This is a story inspired by the idea that there is a serial killer on the loose in Manchester who pushes people into canals.

As the urban myth grew into headline news, it got my full attention. I loved the fact that I was given a name; an identity whispered by many and feared by some. I like the way that I could always be the enemy of the people while at the same time I gave them friendship. Friendship and confidence. The people of Manchester loved me.

My strikes were seemingly random which is how I managed to evade detection for such a long time. Not that they had identified me now but suspicions were growing.

It was not like I planned the killings. These people just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Watching them slide into the murky waters to disappear was enough to sate my appetite.

The thing was, I had been such a part of their lives for so long that I was certain I was not going to be separated from my friends. I was the one they went to if they wanted a good time, or if they needed a shoulder to cry on. I was everything to them. I was hiding in plain sight, feeling invincible.

Guessed who I am?

Yes. Alcohol.

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