Hell en Pointe | Alastor ✓

chapter 17

Alastor led you away into the forest, and you followed behind him closely. You didn't exactly have the power you had in Hell here in the Overworld, so you felt disgustingly vulnerable in this dark, twisted little forest, like a murderer could jump out at any second and slaughter you.

You stared at the back of Alastor's head, at his fluffy, thick brown tresses that hardly reached the base of his neck; his hair was shorter here than in Hell. Then you realized — he's the murderer in the forest you need to fear.

Has he killed people? You began to wonder endlessly about it as he led you last shrubbery and fallen logs and protruding stumps. A few times, you almost tripped over veins of branches invisible to the human eye, covered by heaps of dead, late summer leaves. You determined that he probably had, most definitely in Hell, but even more certainly when he was alive in the Overworld. How else did he come to Hell and rise to power so quickly?

A certain little voice arose in the back of your head. You have too, it said. Many, you have killed. You shivered and pushed it down, trying to ignore it. You had tried to forget about that side of you up until this point. You had pretty much forgot you were serial killer when you were alive on Earth when you were in Hell. The hunger you had for blood...

No, you thought. No, that wasn't me... I didn't do those things. Were you going crazy? You did do those things. You killed dozens of innocent people, particularly women, in your climb to the top of the ballet scene.

I didn't do it, you told yourself, but the little voice returned, screaming, yet whispering in your ear: But you did.

You tried to push the thoughts away, but the eerie atmosphere of the forest and the reminder that someone scarily just like you was leading you away to his old personal home in the Overworld was a constant reminder of the terrible things you had done while you were alive here.

You wonder what he would think of you if he knew you had killed so many people... Would he praise you? Would he be disgusted? Jealous? What would he say...?

"We're here," said Alastor, and without you even noticing, you had arrived at a creepy, clearly abandoned estate. It was a two-story brick house with a chimney and hardly any windows. The lawn was overgrown and unkempt, going to your knees, and there was a cobblestone pathway trailing out from the steps to the door.

"You lived here?" you said. Your voice sounded strange in the silence of the forest. Your eyes latched onto a squirrel that was collecting nuts atop a tall tree just behind the house.

"No, love, I lived in a tree stump," said Alastor with a cocky simper. He turned his head back to look at you, his hands folded behind his back. You deadpanned. Did this motherfucker really just get sarcastic with me...?

"Fuck off," you said.

He only chuckled, and it was this interaction that made you notice how different his voice sounded without the filter of radio static over top it. It was clear and melodic, yet deep and low and reverberating. You had a hunch that he was a fantastic singer.

You followed Alastor to the front door. He grabbed a spare key from under the mat and stuck it into the keyhole, but the keyhole fell off the door and clattered to the ground.

"Well," said Alastor, his voice full of humor.

"Just push it open."

"What else would I do, my dear?" said Alastor, and then he proceeded to push on the wooden door. You stared burning holes into the back of his head. The fuck was he being so sassy for?

"Y'know, sugar," you said, irritated. "You're just proving my point."

You entered the threshold, Alastor holding the door open for you. You stepped in first and he shut the door behind the two of you. The floorboards creaked as you entered through the foyer.