Rain poured down onto the cold, dead streets of Chicago while the wind cried through the silent streets. The sun was shining, but it's loving rays of light could not make it through the dark clouds that boded disaster. The streets of Chicago had been like this, void of anything that resembled light or happiness ever since the S Killer had been made public. His victims had nothing in common with one another, at least nothing that could be seen. The killers victims ranged from Children to the elderly.
Detective Jaston put down the report onto his desk, recounting the number of victims from the last mass murder from the S Killer. That had marked thirty-three dead now. Thirty-three men, women, and children whose lives had just been whisked out from under them. None of them ever knew or would ever know what happened.
"I need to do something about this, this can't keep happening." Jaston looked up from the piles of papers on his desk, at the mounds of coffee cups on his desk. His hands went to his face as he rubbed his face and eyes, trying to wake himself up from the slumber that was threatening to overtake him. He could feel the stubble on his face, three days now. Three days since Jaston's last shave. Three days spent in that damned Police office, at that damned desk, with those damned reports.
"How is there nothing we can use?" asked Jaston to himself, now cradling his face in his hands. Jaston stood up and stretched, a much wanted reprieve from the cramped chair and desk he usually sat in. His feet seemed to carry him to the window in his office, overlooking the street down below. Across the street was the coffee shop, right next to two abandoned buildings. Those buildings had been vacant for so long, even Jaston who had been here for just over five years didn't know what use to be there.
Jaston headed to the bathroom and stopped at the sinks, looking at his disheveled face and hair in the mirror. Black bags hung under his eyes, and his hair stuck out in the different directions, three days since had last taken a decent shower, not just those twenty minutes trips to his apartment to freshen up then heading back to the office. His holster hung lazily at his side, barely hanging on by the leather straps. The gun heavy at his side, itching to end the life of the vermin that poisoned the city he loved. Reaching down, Jaston turned the knobs on to sink, the cool water washing over his hands. He pooled water into his hands, and splashed the it onto his face, feeling as sleep's cold embrace fell back from him. His eyes widened for a minute in shock, but then they were heavy again.
"I need some coffee" said Jaston as he stood up straight, and tightened his tie, which barely hung around his neck. The light flickered, and a shadowy figure appeared in the mirror for a split second, but that was all Jaston needed to take in the figure. The figure's face was gaunt and white as snow, standing a good six feet. Bald as a new born baby it was, with fangs that seemed to grow down from his lips, like that of a dog. All except for his head and hands were covered in black, clothe apparel. Blood stained his hands, dripping and pooling slowly into hot sticky puddles on the ground. His marble white mouth was stained with scarlet, blood dripping out from the corner of his mouth. Then it vanished, as if it wasn't even there.
Jaston fell back the sight, lurching backwards away from the mirror, reaching for his gun. But as he fell, he saw nothing. Nothing except for the bathroom stalls, sinks, and white tiles on the floor. No pools of blood, no blood at all. Jaston stood up slowly, never exactly lowering his gun, always ready to fire it if the need arose. Instantly sleepiness vanished, and his senses went to alert. He saw nothing out of the usual, heard nothing out of the usual, and felt nothing out of the usual. He stood up, shaking, quivering in place, waiting for something, anything to jump out at him. His hair stood up straight, he could feel the tension in the air, but nothing came.
Ten minutes passed, ten hard grueling minutes, waiting for a creature to strike out. "I need sleep" said Jaston, as he straightened out his clothes and waved his fingers through his hair. He left the bathroom and walked down the hall. As he walked past each room, he took a second to look in each room before walking. The second to the last door in the hallway, was ajar, usually closed. Multiple large white boards covered the room, with news trimmings, paper clippings, and all other sorts of information, linked together by red string. On the main white board, stood out a single phrase Maledicite Satanae- the curse of Satan. After all the work that had been done, no one could figure out how these mass homicides were linked together. Nothing made sense, no one even knew how they were killed. When the murders were found, they were lumps of flesh, with the blood of the fallen covering the walls and floors of whatever room they were in.
Jaston walked out the front doors of the police precinct, walking down the cold and wet marble steps and out to the main street. The street would normally have been brimming with life, the sound of people trying to get to work, and live their busy lives. Now, silence threatened the take over the entire city. It had never occurred to Jaston how businesses would make up for this lost time. Jaston didn't care, he just wanted his coffee. He walked across the street, into the coffee shop, and was surprised to find it brimming with life. Florescent lights covered the walls, brimming bright green, pink, and blue lights. People were standing in line, or simply just talking to friends at a table.
Jaston looked down at his watch, trying to see the time, when a thud took his attention. A figure, gaunt of the face, stood in the glass of the window, more than a mere reflection. The specter stood in the glass itself, manifesting its will to appear only to him. Jaston grasped at his heart, as a stabbing pain over took him, stumbled, and fell to his knees, still clutching his chest, hoping for anyone to notice and help. But it was too late.
Jaston watched in horror, as the creature in the mirror, smiled and flailed his arms to the left and right. Invisible tendrils cut through the walls and floor, like sharp daggers made of air. Invisible forces, over took Jaston, keeping him nailed the ground. Jaston watched, as men, women, and children in the coffee shop, had their flesh ripped, slit open, but not by the motion of a knife. Flesh torn, ripped apart, only possible by someone or something filled to the brim with malice. He watched their faces contort, as lungs were crushed and slashed. Some had it easier that others. One man, was simply flayed, leaving him a husk of muscle and bone, while a small children had her neck slit. She fell to the ground, and drowned in her own blood.
The gaunt specter stepped out of the window, appearing before him instantly. The figure, gripped Jaston's face with his black nails, gripping him like death itself. The creature, pulled back its lips, to reveal sharp daggers of teeth, and let out a strange wheezing noise, which Jaston realized was a laugh. The specter, twisted Jaston's head to look at the wall. Invisible tendril's whipped around the room, destroying property and bodies alike. After all the carnage was done, Jaston saw one final thing written on the board, that was made for specials. Written in blood was...
Maledicite Satanae
YOU ARE READING
Time fillers
Short StoryJust a series of random short stories I am starting writing these stories, because I want to get better at writing. So this is my way of just getting some feedback.
