Phobia

Phobia- Part 1

Thirty years ago, a family was killed. The mother, the father and all three children were butchered in their sleep. Since that night nobody would even touch the house, anyone who went in never came back out and it became a local horror story. It was common for the people in the nearby town to make up scary stories about what happened that night, anything from Satan himself possessing one of the children to one of the parents going insane and killing all of them. The townsfolk didn't believe these stories - after all they were just stories. But each and everyone one of them knew not to go anywhere near that house - even the most curious of children knew better than to investigate the noises they may hear, or follow any shadowy figures that they may see roam the property. They all stayed away.

From underneath the pile of corpses rose a figure - tall, brunette, covered in blood (some his own) and holding what looked like it could be a heart . Whatever it was, he crushed it in his hand and watched it collapse into dust at his feet before he slowly limped away from the bodies he had just risen from - seemingly unfazed by the fact that he was buried under a pile of corpses a minute ago, as though it was a somewhat regular occurrence. As he limped he held his sides, wincing at the pain of his injuries - slowly lumbering out the door of the run down house. The door was coming off its hinges as the wooden frame had rotten away over the years, one strong push from the wounded figure and the door had been removed entirely from its frame. He looked back at the abandoned house, scanning for anything he may have missed. Blood splattered walls, holes punched into the drywall, furniture smashed into pieces and those pieces remained in some of the bodies that littered the floor. He took one last glance at the scene and turned back to leave.

The bodies weren't human. Whether they were at some point, no one can really say, but right now - they weren't human. No one really knows what a demon is, not truly. Many witch hunters have written their theories, based on superstition and speculation mostly. Some say they're formerly human. Tortured souls who were pushed to the brink of their humanity after an eternity in hell and finally snapped - becoming different, allowing a little bit of hell into their hearts and changing to something vile and wicked. Others call them Satan-spawn, claim that all of demon-kind is born of the devil himself. Murdock Adams never really cared how they came into this world, he only cared that he was one of the people taking them out of it.

As the man limped out the abandoned house, he was met with a half-hearted congratulatory cheer by an older gentleman leaning against a car. He was dressed in a long black coat, and all black clothing and shoulder length, greying hair - looking like he was ripped straight out of a teenage goth's Pinterest board. He was clapping his hands and whooping loudly. "Quiet, Arthgallo. You'll alert the townsfolk to our presence here." The man said, his voice strained as it was clear to him he had punctured a lung in his fight with the demons inside the house. "Please, every man and woman - hell even the kids too - knows not to come up here, no matter what happens." Arthgallo responded, "Nasty wound you've got there" He pointed at his ribcage "You need some help with that? I've got some herbs that'll fix you up nicely if you want." He offered, gesturing to the light grey satchel slung around his neck.
"I'm fine, Arthgallo. I'll heal up quickly - I always do." Arthgallo looked at him with curiosity, "You do heal up very quickly, don't you...". The man continued to limp to the boot of the car that Arthgallo had been leaning on, opening the trunk and taking out an object wrapped in a grey cloth. "You know, there are rumours about you."

"I'm well aware."

"The mysterious Murdock Adams - Demon hunter, Devil Killer. Nobody knows where you come from, nobody knows where you're going. Except for me of course, but don't worry. I'll keep my mouth shut."

"They can gossip behind my back all they want, it doesn't affect me - I need nothing from them."

"That sums you up quite nicely, doesn't it, Murdock? You don't care about the people around you or what they think of you, and you don't let them in."