“Never thought you would go out so mundanely, Leda. Thought you were going to be one of those melodramatic, crying to the moon types. You always dressed like you were headed to a Salem revival; thought you would be slightly more entertaining.”
He walked to the corpse and flipped it over. The head stayed put as the body rolled over, a silver necklace left among the red pools. The man grimaced at the condition of the body.
“Well, damn, apparently you could take a hit or a stabbing. Not so good with decapitation, but points for tenacity,” he snickered.
Unsurprisingly, the corpse did not respond.
“I didn’t bring any flowers with me, but I can give you one last parting gift. A bewitching funeral.” He stood up, taking a red handkerchief from his vest pocket, and picked up the bloody necklace. Folding the handkerchief up and sliding it back into his pocket, he walked out of the lodge. As soon as he stepped out of the front door, the building blazed behind him. He walked down the path deeper into the forest as the flames began to engulf the trees and flora around him. He took out his phone and clicked on a contact.
“Good evening, good sir, it’s Salvo. I felt I should be the one to inform you of our dear Leda’s passing. No surprise? Really, that seems a little harsh, I think. She could be a little snappy, but she played her part well. I always figured you had a soft spot for a good performance.”
The blaze surrounding him grew larger, consuming the forest at a rapid pace. Salvo frowned as he adjusted the angle of his phone.
“Yes, I get it, however…what? Yeah, it’s a little loud over here, can’t really hear you. Oh fine, ruin my fun.”
An object appeared in Salvo’s grasp—a short, dusky stick crowned with a red diamond. He reached up with the wand and drew it across the sky. In an instant, the flames were snuffed out. The forest had become a void; the trees were blackened, no cries of birds or chirping of insects could be heard, and ash was falling from the sky. It was silent.
“There you go. Better? You know me, causing a bit of calamity is my way of having some fun. Well, yes, an inferno does have a way of making itself known, but so does a large patch of forest suddenly fried to a crisp for no reason. I’m not back-talking, just pointing out the flaws. Do you want more of those Twixt assholes coming here? They already are? Well then, more fun for us, or me, if you’re too busy. Though I have to say, it has been too long since you and I have just enjoyed a night on the town. Get a few drinks, see the sights, moderate amounts of slaughter. I really think you could do with some unwinding.”
In the distance, the rapid sounds of boots crashing against the earth could be heard. Seemed that someone had noticed the abrupt hellfire.
“Well, I must bid you farewell for now; some troopers may be on their way for an investigation. Of course, I could just… Not even a couple? Very well, if I must remain incognito for now, so be it, but I’m starting to feel a bit confined. It’s been ages since I’ve gotten to really enjoy a nice, violent orgy, you understand. Yes, two days is ages. I’m not patient; you know this about me.”
With his next step he began to run, the burnt trees and ash whirling around him as the Quintessence that coursed through him hastened his unnatural pace.
“So, shall I see you at the den? Going out? Where to? Ah, found another possessed person, did you? Well, have fun on my behalf. When you get back I’d like to discuss what we shall do about our little friends in Ombre Falls. I’m dying to see if the boy can put up a better fight than his father, or if he’ll also go out like a bitch. Yes, it was disappointing. I’ll see you then.”
He put his phone away in his pocket and let a warped smile curl along his face. He would be patient for now, but he knew that there would be plenty of time and opportunity for him to entertain himself quite soon.
---
The crisp fall air drifted through the vine maples of the Eventide Forest. A light mist hung above, creating a shrouded but hypnotic view of the moonlit forest. For some, it was the perfect scene for romance; for others, a chance to explore. But for one, it was the ideal time to kill.
On the bank of Little Fox Lake, nestled just on the edge of the trees stood a man rocking back and forth in worn dark leather boots. He had one hand inside his black and white flannel jacket, fiddling with a strap across his chest. He looked around, his head bobbing anxiously but his eyes alight with excitement.
This would be his fourth time. Tonight felt right; this was going to be the real beginning of his new life. Ironic that another had to end, but he found the humor in it, at least. He remembered the first time: the “accident” at his “friend's” home. He wondered if that really was an accident. He didn't intend to get into that argument about a girl or for the blade to pierce the guy’s stomach, or for the blood to flow that quickly and his eyes to shut one last time. He also didn't intend to get such pleasure from it.
The air had been filled with insults and screaming, but he felt joyous chills at the rapturous crackling sound his buddy made as he looked down at the protruding knife and then collapsed.
Thinking back, he figured it was odd that his friend didn't scream. They usually scream in the movies, and the girl he had killed that marvelous night a week later had screamed absolute hell, but the first one did not. Just a sharp gasp, a throaty gurgle, and then that wondrous absolute silence.
He hadn't meant to do that, but maybe it was fate. After all his drifting through life with no direction, filling the emptiness with seemingly all of humanity's vices, he had forgotten the oldest one of all. He finally knew what he could do to give his life some meaning.
It had already begun; news traveled quickly in this town. There were already some grisly murders happening around the Spice Quarter. Bodies found in pieces were reportedly preceded by some sort of sizzling noise, said one survivor—or at least, brief survivor.
The town of Ombre Falls was uncharacteristically used to the darker nature of reality, if the history was anything to go by. But even the most hardened individual can be frightened when the scene is macabre enough, the horrors grotesque enough, and the instigator unknown.
He began then. He hadn't intended to have a “calling card” after his first experience. He just knew what was effective: insert a sharp object into another person's sternum and pull to the left. It was quick and dirty but efficient, and it happened to leave a crescent shaped mark on the body.
Almost nothing had been written or said after the first killing, but after the second incident, then the third, people began putting everything together. Well, except the bodies. Just this morning, he had seen a blog talking about the killings that bestowed on him the title “The Blood Moon Slasher.” A little fancy for his taste, but it showed he was to be rewarded for his new passion, and tonight he would dot the Is and cross the Ts on his name in the history books.
The crunching of gravel pricked his ears and woke him from his reminiscing. He looked out to see a man approach the lakeside. It was dark but he could make out a few features; he was maybe in late twenties or early thirties, wearing a white jacket and dark trousers. He gazed out at the lake and the moonlight illuminated his face, revealing dark-rimmed glasses and slicked back brunette hair that reached his shoulders. He also wore a long white glove that covered his entire left hand and disappeared into his jacket. The slasher couldn’t help but smile to himself; this would be the first night of the rest of his life.
He slid his hood up and unfastened the strap that secured his blade, a knife inherited from his father’s fishing days; appropriately, it was used for gutting. He didn't remove it yet. After the last time, he grew to enjoy the shock of unveiling it. But he cocked the sheath to the side for easy access under his jacket and left his hiding spot behind the trees to approach the man by the lake.
“You know, I have been waiting for a while.” The slasher stopped as the man spoke, his eyes not leaving his phone as he continued to flick through its contents. “I have to give you snaps, you are far more patient than most of your ilk. Quint usually seems
to make you people more…feisty.”
The slasher gave him a puzzled look. What was this guy talking about? However, he regained his composure and smiled. “So, you know who I am, do you?”
The man nodded.
“Well then, I have to give you snaps. You've got balls.” The slasher chuckled as he took a few steps closer, closing the distance between them but giving himself enough room to maneuver in case this was a sting.
“Who are you, then? Some new detective trying to prove himself and put away the latest killer on the block? Or just some punk looking to get justice for someone I had a little fun with?”
The man put his phone away and removed a cloth from his jacket pocket. He took off his glasses, beginning to clean them in circular motions. “None of the above,” he said.
The killer grimaced. Then his eyes widened and he began to laugh. “Oh, I get it! You're one of the freaky fans of people like me, who like to tag along and watch me do my thing or offer yourself to me as a tribute to forever be a part of my history!” he cackled, finishing his excited claim with a howling whistle.
“You know, I'm pretty impressed; with myself, of course! Only done this a few times and I got me some devoted hang-around—must have made an impression! Or are you like some sort hipster killer-bee? Get in before everyone knows who I am?”
The man put his glasses back on. “Again, none of the above.”
He removed his jacket, folding it up and placing it on the ground. “You know, you are annoyingly loud for someone in your line of work. Maybe if you learned how to be silent you wouldn't appear so pathetic—or is that a symptom of a deep-seated desire for attention?” he asked.
He removed the glove on his right hand as he mused quietly to himself, “I think you may be the most irksome one I’ve met yet. At least the last one just grunted and wept before the final bow.”
The slasher's blood boiled in an instant. He tore his blade from the sheath with such speed and aggression that it ripped his jacket and shirt.
“Listen, you fucking prick! Do you think that just because I've only begun my rise that I'm just some hick who got lucky a few times? Fuck you! I will be remembered and feared for centuries by the time I'm done, a literally bloody rock star! All you will be is one of my mutilated building blocks! You know, maybe I would've let you live to spread my name around and jump-start my legacy, but now I will eviscerate your rich-boy flesh and leave your corpse with so many tears and holes they will have to stitch you together just to try and identify you! They are going to birthath hava koleth—”
The slasher's words jumbled in his throat and he tasted a metallic liquid. He put his hand up to his mouth to see what was wrong, why he couldn't seem to speak. He reached inside and his eyes grew wide as sweat appeared on his face and cascaded down to his neck. He realized he had no tongue, and the liquid that was filling his mouth was blood.
He quickly spat out the blood, then heard a clanging noise on the ground next to him. He looked over and saw his knife had fallen out; more blood ran off it, and seemed to rain onto it as well.
He was shaking. He slowly raised the arm that had been holding the knife and saw that his hand was gone. A bloody stump replaced it, like a razor had cut it clean through. Then he collapsed, hitting the ground hard. He landed chest-down but quickly flipped over and saw that both were legs gone above the knee.
He was now in a full-blown panic. He used his one remaining arm to pull himself along the shore, watching as a trail of life force seeped from his stumps. Then he felt something behind him and looked up to see the man.
“It seems I was wrong. Silence only seems to make you even more pathetic,” he murmured before kicking the slasher. He recovered, now trying to crawl. He didn't know what was happening, but this man had to be the reason. He had never feared anyone or anything like this before.
The man walked beside his prey for a while, simply observing before smashing his boot onto the slasher's hand and stopping him. The slasher shrieked in a garbled cry before catching his breath and slowly looking up at the man.
The man knelt, taking his foot off the slasher's hand, and gave him a slow, devilish smile.
“You were never going to be anything worthwhile...” he began, raising his hand to the slasher's mouth before sliding it away. The slasher raised his shaking hand to his mouth, only to feel nothing but smooth skin where his lips used to be. “Look at you; the moment doesn't go as planned and you reveal who you really are—a pitiful child with a megalomaniac complex.” He swiped his hand again, and the slasher couldn’t breathe, his nose gone along with his mouth.
“Perhaps those you killed were even more useless than you, but that doesn't automatically make you better; most people are utterly pointless. They strive for things like stardom, financial riches, or political greatness. It is all worth nothing, achieved or not.” The slasher's eyes began to flutter; he was choking as the air within had nowhere to escape.
The man held his hand up and the last thing the slasher saw was his porcelain white hand with dark marks crisscrossing it, like an ebon web that seemed to pulse underneath the skin.
“It all means nothing when you have no idea what this world is truly hiding.” With another vicious smile, he let his hand fall.
“At least now you can truly be what you always were—nothing.”
---
There are a lot of strange places and historic landmarks in Ombre Falls, but a new one was added on this night. On the shore of Little Fox Lake, there seemed to have been a gruesome event. Blood stained the shore and a knife was swept up by the water, but no body was to be found, as if there was never a person there to begin with.
Author Notes - D’Artagnan Anderle
May 21, 2017
Hello and thank you for reading my first story and I hope you enjoyed it.
Coming up next: Salvo decides to take on and take out Sylas and his comrades, for kicks just as much as orders. Two new Twixt operatives come to Ombre Falls to assist as Alistair summons new allies for himself. Sylas continues to learn more about Sevanouir and the connection it has to his family and why his father’s killers desire it.
To be continued in:
Sevanouir: Animus
A bit about D’Artagnan Anderle
One, he is shy when speaking about himself. He likes to talk stories and will hold a grand discussion to discuss merits of something into the night on interesting subjects. What he isn’t, is comfortable talking about himself. So, I’ve taken it upon myself to do a little bit of it for him.
Why? Well, because I guess I’m his biggest fan, but that is to be expected since I’m his father. I’m going to say I’m the “marketing consultant” he hired to write the 3rd person blurb at the end of the book. I promise (to myself, since he doesn’t know I’m writing this) I won’t be adding any embarrassing stories of his youth.
This time.
D’Artagnan Anderle is, in my opinion, arguably a better writer than myself. He has been writing since he was either in Junior High or High School. He started in fanfiction and moved on from there.
For me, D’Artagnan was half the catalyst that got me off my duff to start my own writing. I’m much more the type to just do something, and D’Artagnan is the one that wants to know all of the details before he does it. So, it feels very much to me like I’ve given back to my son what he gave me to get me started.
I’ve given him the joy of publishing his own book, and his own series. I would not have been able to provide the pieces he needed to accomplish writing his stories if he hadn’t been one of the reasons I started writing fiction, in the first place.
So, while this isn’t the front of the book, I’m going to dedicate my piece right here to D’Artagnan Anderle - thank you for wanting to write in the first place.
I wouldn’t have pushed myself without the desire to have the world read your stories, as well.
Michael Anderle - May 22, 2017
Social Links
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D’Artagnan Anderle
Tales of the Melefic:
Sevanouir: Rebirth (01)
Sevanouir: Animus (02) (Coming)
Sevanouir: Hunted (03) (Coming)
Sevanouir: Fiend (04) (Coming)
Sevanouir: Genesis (05) (Coming)
Sevanouir: Reborn (06) (Coming)
Sevanouir: Rebirth (The Strange Tales of the Malefic Book 1) Page 10