Gabriel follows the man up the street and into his house. Everything is exactly how he left it. His desk is tidy; papers spread out across the desk. A picture frame hangs crookedly off of the wall above his desk. His books are lined up neatly inside the bookcase.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, motioning towards a couch. Gabriel sits next to the window, his eyes never leaving the door leading to the other room. There are two chairs on either side of the coffee table. One is occupied by the killer. The other is by Gabriel.
Gabriel swallows dryly. “Are you going to kill me? Is that what this is about? Did I do something to deserve it?”
“No,” Gabriel jumps. The voice is so close to his ear.
He whips his head around. “What?” he asks stupidly.
“You did nothing to deserve death.”
“So why—”
Gabriel is cut off. “Don’t,” he says sternly. “Please. You don’t want to know.”
For a moment, Gabriel hesitates, as if weighing his options. Finally, he nods, although he knows it’s futile. He lets out a sigh and leans his head against the armrest of the sofa. For a moment, he considers asking for some more information, but he decides against it. He doesn' know anything for sure. He doesn't know why this man, this Alastor, is suddenly here. He doesn't know what he's looking for. All he knows is that he's waiting. For what, he doesn't know. But he is not going anywhere. Not while Alastor is still alive.
YOU ARE READING
The Crow
Horror"So here's the thing," says the crow, "if you've never heard of me, hear me now. I'm your least expected fortune teller. I'm the one that brings death and despair. Yield to me, so I shall spare you from your doomed fate." "Foolish," says the human. ...
