I walked through the secret passage, my cloak trailing around me like a dark cloud. My fingers had blood under the nails and my shirt felt completely drenched, from blood or sweat I could never tell.
I think it went overboard this time. I told it there should only be one body but it must have been hungry because I woke up with three fresh corpses around me. The smell was so suffocating, I half crawled and half ran out of the room.
I passed by a mirror on the way and paused to notice the subtle difference. My eyes were brighter and the bags under my eyes seemed lighter than last time. I seemed a bit taller too, and more stronger. The white shirt seemed to stretch tighter across my chest.
Three hundred and eighty two.....I silently whispered out loud. This was the three hundredth and eighty second kill. Over the span of five years.
I soon reached the little room I had arranged for such occasions, in the passageway under the castle. I walked over to the desk and placed my most recent tokens beside the older ones: a broken watch, a button shaped like a flower, and a piece of ribbon. Seeing the souvenirs collected from all the souls I've taken serves as a necessary reminder of the cruelty and evil I indulge in on a regular basis.
I sat down on the bed beside the table and leaning my back against the smooth rock, stared at the stone wall across me. I considered stretching out and trying to take a nap. Even though I already knew what would happen when I closed my eyes.
Sleep wouldn't come. It never did these days. At nights I end up thinking about all I have and have not done, and the days go by in regret of what I did end up doing, dreading when the nights come and I would have to do it again.
But what's even scarier....is that I actually enjoy it. It isn't a chore I have to get over anymore. It's a thrill. It's a euphoric feeling, liking I'm flying high above the clouds. I enjoy the surge of energy and the clarity I get each time I do it again. The anticipation and waiting and then the sudden jump and it's all done. I try to at least make it quick. Small mercies. The least I could do.
All the bloodshed and tears I've claimed seem to do something me, both physically and mentally. My eyesight is better, my thoughts faster, it's like a pint of vodka keeps rushing through my veins, never fading, never dulling, as if prolonging the inevitable hangover that will be the most painful, most intense feeling ever possible of perceiving.
I lifted my hands in front of my eyes. Monster hands, my inner voice whispered to me.
I grinned to myself in the dark. Monster hands indeed
YOU ARE READING
A Castle of Blood
Historical FictionAvantika is a seventeen year old who lives with her mother and little brother in their quaint little cottage, far from the mainstream folk. A quiet life with simple needs, she doesn't have to worry about the strange palace and the sounds people hear...
