The Hauntings

Chapter 6

Francis can hear Elizabeth's tear-wrenching screams and frantic pacing above him. He thinks it's better to give her space, he can't deal with emotions. 

But this one is different, she has so much life and soul. Francis finds it quite refreshing. His other victims are already broken and twisted but Elizabeth is whole. He can see that she is a fighter, making the duty he came to carry out, so much harder. 

Francis knows, that he will get into trouble for what he is doing but no one will find out. Know one gives a damn about what he does, he is just the outcast. He is, his own man. 

The story he has fed her is working. Reel her in, make her think she is going crazy, drive her into insanity until she can't take it anymore, giving her what he wants, her life.

It's a new approach he's taking, it's makes him feel more powerful, giving him a chance to vent out all the hardships, he has had to deal with. Now he is sliding it on to someone else and it feels good, to watch them suffer. It is sadistic, cruel and twisted but he doesn't care.  

I'm lovin' it

Francis breaks out of his wisps of omnipotence, as he realises the hiccups of sorrow from Elizabeth have ceased. His ears perk up and he hears her footsteps slumping down the stairs, it's like she doesn't have the energy to lift up her own feet. Pathetic.

He doesnt know why, he is still lurking around her home, but he likes it here. It has the air of freedom although empty, a complete contrast from the mansion he currently resides in brimming with a heavy atmosphere of repression and severe pressure of  unachievable standards.

Her tears and sorrow give him a sharp jab but he deflects them. A decent guy would comfort her and apologise, that he didn't mean to say it like that or take back his words and say she is perfectly safe in the haven she has built around her. But he is not a "normal guy". He is something else. 

Francis flashes out of the kitchen, which he has been pondering in for the last half an hour, eager not to be seen by Elizabeth. Her emotions are suffocating him, playing on his morality but he steels himself. No going back, he has a job to do. He is going to get his justice and revenge. 

Elizabeth stumbles into the kitchen, in her bed-raggled hair, swollen eyes and sunken heart. Her eyes scan her marble furnished kitchen, lit up in bright spot lights, the light bouncing of all the shiny surfaces. A sigh of relief is dispelled from her because the crude demon man, Francis is not in her kitchen or whatever he is claiming to be. 

Elizabeth is an emotionally drained woman, now, that is hazard in itself. Those kinds are bombs that can explode with dim flicker of a flame. She craves detox that will denote all that confusion, anger and sadness.

She could drink that all away so easily but there's no alcohol in the mansion. She's an addict. Only now, has she had the guts to admit that, so keeping the booze away, restrains her in but that doesn't stop her going of the wall once in away and in that moment, she wishes she has some scalding, bitter liquid to ram down her throat, which will force her to forget. 

Silence echoes around the kitchen as she sits there, limply. Guess she has to make do with a massive sundae. She grabs anything sweet, fizzy or colourful looking in her freezer and cupboards and plopping them all in an extra large sundae cup.

Her thoughts clatter through her brain as she scoops mouthful after mouthful, immune to taste as well as brain-freeze. 

A sudden abrupt anger rips through her, at her hopelessness now. She is sitting in her seven billion pound mansion wallowing, in the fact she has to commit suicide, to get rid of a supernatural being, which she may as well have made up in head, as no one can see him. Who the hell is he to demand such a price?