There once lived a man who was too dangerous. He'd never committed a crime, but he was coated in evil. It got in people's throats. His danger level was so high that a judge ordered that he be imprisoned for life. Even though the man had never broken the law, his lawyer didn't dare protest.
The man went without a struggle. He kept himself to himself, mostly because he had to. He was kept in solitary confinement, but he made the most of his time by writing poetry. Even though his poems were mainly about hills, lakes and wild birds, nobody could deny that they were the most evil poems ever written. After three weeks of being behind bars he was set free. He was too dangerous for prison.
He soon fell back into his old life of never doing wrong, but people crossed the road when they saw him coming, they didn't return his calls, and they wouldn't deliver his mail. His life was lonely, but he didn't grumble.
One day, another man, a good man, a churchgoing man, a man named Frank, reached out to The Man Who Was Too Dangerous. Frank invited him over for dinner with his wife and five children.
Over dinner they talked about his time in prison, how wrong it had been for a judge to convinct him without a crime. Frank and his wife couldn't believe how gentle a soul this poor dangerous man was. He never once spoke badly about the miscarriage of justice, he said that people make mistakes, even him. He was more interested in talking about Ancient Rome, for it was his biggest passion. It was his dream to write the definitive book about the Roman conquest of the Near East. Frank and his family listened intently. They'd been to Rome on vacation the previous year.
"Hold on" he said "I'll go upstairs and grab the photos"
By the time Frank got back to the kitchen, his wife and five children were dead. The skin of their faces had been peeled off, and none of them had any thumbs. There was a note on the refridgerator written in blood. It said "I've made a huge mistake". The Man Who Was Too Dangerous was nowhere to be seen.