Something filthy about Mr.Haynes

Night of a bloody moon

Somewhere deep under the ground, among the long and dusty corridors with a dim light of the dirt covering light bulbs, was a rusty metal door, leading to one very important room.

Behind those doors was one very busy man, with hard expression and seriousness in his black motionless eyes, working on something special.

He held a rough hand to his pale face and with the back of his palm he brushed off the sweat from a forehead.

His filthy fingers left a shallow trace of crimson red on the cheek and slowly dripped on his arm. As his eyes darted at all the mess below, he clenched his fists tighter on the edge of a table and watched it lazily, somewhat odd.

The man stood silent for a while, hidden in his thoughts, while staring at the little spring of blood reaching the edge and stopping for a little moment, like preparing for the jump. Instead it carefully rolled thought the border of the table edge and started ticking down. Drop by drop going faster, till there appeared a shiny swamp of redness under the man's bare feet.

Mad man held his deep black stare at the table like altar, with grace and devotion examining every inch of the perfect figure lying naked on the top of it.

His jaw line was tight and his features showed no humanity in his black and evil eyes, that shone like a night of a bloody moon, reflecting the flame of a fireplace.

He wasn't human at the second. In his twisted mind he felt somewhat beyond human.

Better than human.

The man liked to control things. Be the fearsome master of situation and a God for this abandoned building he called home, and for his lovely guests, who came here by force.

Somewhere in the dark corner, at the very distant part of the room, filled with creeping shadows that danced among the thick and frozen walls, led one more figure, with his lifeless and pale eyes watching at the nothingness. His white curly hair was hanging to his chin and landing like dead feathers on his twisted neck.

There were bruises from the strangling on his skin. The fingers of the boy were bloody, with it's broken nails hanging from the tips on tiny skin. The boy was fighting for his life so hard, but someone's strong arms ended it fast enough for the boy to not feel endless pain. He never saw how a woman beside him was screaming helplessly and the way the blood was dripping from her mouth, soaking lonely and cold concrete grounds.

"Steven!"- she whispered the name.

But the boy was gone by then. Moments passed and the woman kept silent on the floor, gasping for air and trying to bear with shock of her dead child.

The man leaned back, straightening his body after all the sleepless night he had. He held his eyes up to see the clock ticking on the wall. 2:37 am. He was tired. And the soft armchair by the wall was tempting him for a moment of rest.

The man slowly walked towards it and sat down so carefully, so slow. His head rested on the decorative pillow and eyes closed peacefully.

Just for a little while.

The clock slowly kept ticking. Hours and hours past in pale dusty basement. It was the only sound dying victims could hear, and some desperate yelps from a grieving mother.

Chains creaked carefully on the ground and mother with horror on her expression tried to make herself free one more time.

"I do not sleep",-said silent, yet threatening voice from the armchair and the woman froze.

She caught him starring at her from the other side of the room. His eyes bright among the darkness of the night. He gazed at her for few exaggerated seconds, then stood up and slowly stepped forward, enough for the chain to let her reach the evil man.