DETECTIVE OF LONDON: A KILLER WITHOUT A SOUL

Chapter Five

The air was cold, and the mist and fog were harsh and strong. Your fear grows as the figure watches you with his seemingly unseen eyes that are darkened with shadow, only shining with the full moon of the late night. Jones still lay on the ground and was still as a rock, never moving an inch. You look back up to the figure of shadow, and you are filled with fear when you stare at his face. "Do not be afraid, for I am your best friend, and I will help you in your troubled times." The figure was not like the terrible one it was before, but now was like a kind man, trying to help a disfigured man. His voice was not the same as it once was before, but now it was like the fairest voice of a young, humble man speaking in parliament. "W-w-who are you, and w-w-what are y-y-y-you?" Your voice is full of fear and stutters for a while, "I can see that you have some kind of fear for me, and I know why. I look terrible and just demonic, and I make people I am around have a new fear. But fear not, for I am not who I seem to be." Its voice was calm and soothing to your ears, and made your fears dissolve. It seemingly puts your mind into a trance, though you yourself do not know or think about it, "Do not be afraid dear detective, for I can help you, and give you power to do whatever your heart desires." You listen and draw near towards him, "What kind of powers do you possess?" Your voice is calm. You make this question with a pushing thought in your mind for its lovely idea. "Ahh, thank you for your asking of my power. I will show you one of my very powers." He turns to a tombstone on your left. It has an etched name on its carven stone. The name was John Murry, and it was just on a normal, rounded tombstone that you have seen before. "Look, dear friend, look at the power that I can bestow to you!" His voice was soothing still, but now with the valor that Ducan had. You look at the grave. A dead officer was next to it, and he was pale with no wounds or injuries. You listen for something.
Nothing happens for some time. Then, the ground around the tombstone began to rumble, and the dirt was being thrown up into the air like the fireworks that shine brightly for the queen's celebrations. Then, with a powerful force, a hand in a pale hew pokes out of the ground. It is disfigured, and skin and bone were rotting off like the wax of a candle, and the fingers were worpped and twisted, but luckily, the hand still had five figures. You watch as the hand grapples onto the ground. The arm reaches out from the earth, and soonly, the body appears with clothing from the 1600s that he, yes, he wore on his death. He soon pulls his whole rotting, pale body up from the ground and stands up on his old legs that are as twisted as your twisted, greedy uncle.

He has the look of a colonist of the America's , probably because the colonization of America's was around the time of this poor soul. He slowly turns his pale face with the skin rotting off his skull. Its pale eyes look at you and stare endlessly at your pupils, "See what I can do. I can raise men from the dead and can even put their soul and thoughts back in if you want them to have another life!" The figure was calm, and its soothing voice ringed throughout your mind, calming it down. "Well, dear," you pause for a moment. You always saw this thing as just an entity that was causing trouble for the citizens of London. But now that its real actions, thoughts, and voices were said and done, the figure did not seem to be too nasty to handle with, he seemed to be ever so more friendly with you than before. "Oh, pardon me, but I have seemingly never gotten the mention of your name! Could you tell me what it is?" You question was not like the one you asked before to its face when you trembling in fear. This question was seemingly combined with curiosity, valor, courage, and a little bit of calm thinking. You waited patiently, and then you see the figure say, "I do not usually take names for people to remember me by since I would usually kill them before the light of day,"
His voice was still so calm in the midst of this battle, which was still raging on against the grave stones of the cemetery. Though the words that came from its mouth were utterly dark, and it made your back crackle with the coolness of the winter months, "But for your sake, you can call me Ystävä." You look at him in confusion. You studied hundreds of languages and know hundreds of words in each language. But you have not done Finnish since your early twenties, and you barely even studied anything about the words of the Finnish culture, so you do not really know what Ystävä standed for.
"Um, I haven't studied in Finnish for ages, so I do not know what you mean." Ystävä looked at you and turned towards the corps, "Well, the word Ystävä means friend in Finnish." His voice calmed your frustrated mind down, and you finally looked back towards the groups of officers that were fighting against the mist that swarmed around them. They were still dying and were frightened at even bumping into each other. "Ystävä, could you stop all of the this, I do not think that they should be losing their lives for something that only effects their minds." Ystävä turned his body towards all the fighting. Blood was being spilled, and men were falling everywhere, and Jones was cowardly huddled up near a broken tombstone. "Well, if this makes your pact with me stronger, then I will do gladly in ridding your other acquaintances of the problems I am causing them." At that very moment, the mist near the officers, or in some peoples own acquaintances with them, bobbies. The harsh tempered men seemingly calmed down and started getting their senses back, and Jones even peeked out from his huddled position. The men stopped holding their weapons against the stones, and they all turned
towards your position after seeing you with a dark hooded figure right next to you and a seventeenth century man in pale form standing motionlessly beside you.
Smith stares at the figure in shock and slowly points his pistol towards Ystävä and prepares to shoot Ystävä. The others with guns and rifles do the same as Smith, and the rest raise their batons and prepare positions to charge at Ystävä. "Friend, step away from the dark figure, slowly!" Smith's voice, expressions, and stance were in the show of fear, frightenous, and worry. "So dear friend, these are the men you are friends with?"