How I Disappear

Chapter 4: No Rest For The Righteous

          Abaddon stood across from the house, the night was pitch black, save the light of the streetlights and the brightest stars, and neither allowed Abaddon to be seen by anyone within the house. Abaddon felt the knife in his coat pocket, pressed tightly against his chest. This wouldn't take long, he'd simply slit the old man's throat as he slept and it would be all over. Abaddon couldn't stop picturing it, the blood oozing from the open wound as he withdrew the knife, the serrated edge tearing skin and tissue, the fear in the old man's eyes as they were robbed of light, maybe he would even leave a little message...written in the man's blood of course.

          As soon as he was sure no human eyes were on him, he stepped across the street, not allowing his feet to make so much as a soft tap on the concrete. When he reached the house he gently picked the lock with an instrument Saleos had given to him. He silently opened the door and stepped inside.

          The house was not typical of what Abaddon had been used to all those years ago. He made his way around it, searching for wherever the old man could be.  He withdrew his blade and ran the cold, serrated steel over his fingers, splitting skin at their tips. In seconds, the cuts closed, no blood oozing from them. Abaddon stopped at the small table near the doorway out of the living and dining rooms, on it was resting a small bible. He smirked and walked on, pocketing the thirsty blade once again.

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          "Aura!" cried Hunter into the darkened backyard of her house once again. She stood there in her Star Wars pajama pants and white tank top, he arms around herself, waiting for her cat to return, as she did every night, but this night was oddly cold. It was still late summer, Hunter knew this because she was yet to return to school for her senior year, and nights at this time of year were rarely this cold. Hunter felt like something was not right.

         "Meow."

         She glanced at her feet and smiled. The skinny brown tabby was sitting there, pawing at her feet. Picking up Aura and walking back to her room, a different thought struck her. She thought of the guy she had met earlier that day, Abaddon. He was very handsome, and seemed like a kind person, but something was strange about him. What was it? He was very pale, tall, and his hair and eyes seemed almost unnaturally black. That couldn't be what she found strange. he just seemed to have a strange air about him, like someone who will become something unexpected in the future, you have no way of knowing, but they seem like they're headed in an iffy direction. Are there certain guys like that?

          "Oh god." she said softly to the cat in her arms, "I'm about to start senior year and I still don't understand guys."

          She sat at her desk, unable to find any will to sleep, and opened her notebook, where she kept her poetry, her boss, Ernie, had always told her she should compile her poems into a book, and when she got it published, (and he did say when) he would buy hundreds of copies to sell in the store because he knew they would be a success. With her thoughts about her meeting with this perplexing creature on her mind, she wrote the title The Pale Recluse at the top of the page, but she was asleep, her head on the desk, before she could write a word.

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          Abaddon had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing loudly, The young man who had loomed over him 66 years ago now lay less than three feet from the waiting blade, helpless in his bed, the unpleasantness of age prominent on his face.

          Without hesitation, Abaddon drew the knife and brought it forward, resting it under the old man's chin. As the old man stirred, Abaddon allowed his eyes to go red. The priest's eyes opened, and they found their way to the demon standing over him.

          "Abaddon?" he whispered, his eyes widening.

          "Hello preacher." replied Abaddon, smirking. Before the man could scream, Abaddon moved forward, his blade finding its mark, and what would have been a scream was replaced by a pathetic choking noise as blood pooled onto the sheets. Abaddon cleaned the blade on the old man's sleeve and returned it to his coat pocket, and stepped into the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of olive oil, he poured it in a trail from the man's bed to the living room rug, knowing that the wood would do the rest of the job for him. As he walked towards the door, he lit a match and tossed it over his shoulder. he was already out the door when the oil burned.