Short Stories

The Job

I just wanted to write a short story about an assassin. So here it is.

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It was a job like any other.

Get in, get out. Be quiet about it.

Don’t be seen.

But she was.

Her black cloak followed silently as she slipped around the corner. The deep hood hid her face. A normal cloak would have rustled, and its normal hood would have muffled her hearing. But she’d gone to great lengths to get it enchanted. While wearing it, she could see in pitch black darkness, and she could hear a mouse’s heartbeat below the floorboards.

Her boots too, were enchanted. They made no noise on the inn’s creaky wooden floors. That was it by way of magic, the only other thing she needed was a shining sharp knife.
She flew up the stairs to the second floor, searching for the right room number. A vase of flowers stood on a stool by the stairwell, their sweet scent hanging in the air. A dull red rug was sprawled out in the hallway, running all the way to the other end.

There. Room 34.

She reached out, her black gloved hand slowly twisting the knob. It was locked.

Her face, if not hidden by the shadow of her hood, would have shown something akin to annoyance. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her lockpick.

It was quick work.

Too easily, the lock clicked, and she opened the door. Masterfully, she swung it first quickly, then to a silent halt. Just enough to get in. Just enough to get out.

It wasn’t a very big room, you would have thought someone so important could have afforded to stay somewhere nicer, somewhere fancier. But he was trying to keep a low profile, to avoid people like her, to avoid people like her employers.

He had failed, she was here now.

And she had a job to do.

Her target lay asleep on the bed. An Eastern Diplomat. He had likely been sent to discuss the recent trading issue. If neither of the countries could come up with a coordinated solution, the highway robberies would continue. Someone wanted them to continue. Someone had hired her.

Next to the diplomat, a stunning woman slumbered. Recalling her mission briefing, she knew the woman must be the diplomat’s wife. Their son was asleep on the couch a little ways away. He looked so peaceful under the thin blanket.

She shook her head. Tomorrow they would both wake to a terrible tragedy.

She grasped the hilt of her knife, drawing it out from underneath her cloak. The silver blade gleamed in the moonlight, and she paused for a moment to find the right spot on his neck. He wouldn’t even know-

A large creature lumbered into the room, all six of its legs carrying it quietly, though not noiselessly, across the floor. Its black scales didn’t glint in the moonlight like a dragon’s would have, and its four eyes cast a sinister blood red shine around the room. Two horns with slight curls sprouted from the back of its head, and a slender, barbed tail twitched patiently behind it. The claws left deep marks in the floorboards, and she glared at it.

A Nightmare.

It knew something bad was about to happen, it knew disaster was about to strike. Nightmares fed off negative emotions like grief, sorrow, and anger. The morning would bring a feast, and it knew.

It threw her off guard. She hadn’t expected a Nightmare to show up. It had never happened before.

It watched her, waiting. The twitching tail became more and more impatient. It was hungry. It wanted to feed. Now.

She took a deep breath and poised to strike-

It was through waiting. If this human would not create its meal, it would do it itself.

It sprung, not toward the bed, but the couch. What better way to create troubled emotions than to attack a child?

His scream rang out, the Nightmare’s claws ripped through the blanket, the next blow would scar even deeper-

She thrust her dagger through the air, sending it straight into the Nightmare’s side. It growled, a high pitched whine that rang through the room as it turned to face her.

The diplomat and his wife were awake now, screaming and shouting. A stranger and a monster seemed to be attacking their son. The diplomat moved to subdue the cloaked figure, but she threw her elbow out and caught him in the stomach before leaping to the Nightmare.

She drew another knife and sliced through one of its limbs. It disappeared into black smoke. She stabbed the dagger into another oncoming limb, meant to rake across her torso, and that one disappeared too.

She drove it into the creature’s chest, feeling it rupture something.

The glow in the Nightmare’s eyes dimmed.

I will feast on your sorrow.

The promise rang in her head as it vanished into smoke.

Her other knife clattered loudly to the floor.

The boy looked up at her with relief and terror. This stranger who had saved him seemed to be made of shadows. The diplomat cleared his throat, and both he and his wife began spewing their thanks to her.

It felt nice to be congratulated, to be known for once. To have people think she was a hero, that she would protect them.

It felt good to be thought of as good.

But...

Her hand tightened its grip on the dagger.

She had a job to do.