Jeff the Killer : Face of the Devil

1) Investigation

*An Arabic / Middle Eastern Agent/detective's POV*

Night time twists back around again, children are tucked in, gangsters walk. After sunset, each person is either a player or a nobody. The sensible pray to stay without a name, because once a person gets one, it’s only a matter of time before it’s called.

The glittery sky was no more, as the clouds masked its glamorous sight, the full moon occasionally showed itself time after time as the clouds went by.

I was outside a small house, and was just heading in to investigate the latest crime scene. I slowly headed for the door, pushing it as it creaked open. The room was so dark, I could feel getting absorbed by it. Apparently, the electricity was cut off before the perpetrator did his job.

His victims were a middle-aged couple, and their son, named Lui. There faces were carved into a smile using a sharp knife when they were still alive. Their abdomen was carved with letters “GTS”. Such horror, such brutality, only a monster is capable of doing something as horrendous as this. I can’t even begin to comprehend what pain they must have been through. However, I will get at the bottom of this.

I investigated each room with my flashlight turned on, but I couldn’t help but feel paranoid as I had a feeling of being watched. I kept glancing back and forth and held a pistol as well.

As I went to investigate the bathroom where the mother was murdered, the door immediately fell shut. I jumped in surprise as I looked around. Somebody was in here all along and I was trapped in the bathroom, oh, how convenient. I was sweating nervously and my hands began to shake in fear. The million dollar question was whether this another person oustide the lavatory or inside. But when I did check I found nothing.

I was stricken with fear just at the moment I saw an ominous pair of eyes, clearly visible in the dark so I beamed my flashlight at the perpetrator...

----------------------

The “stalker” lashed out at the detective with a butcher knife as he stabbed his chest. The blade dug inside the chest as thick red liquid began streaming out of his body gradually, before taking out his knife, causing substantial amount of blood to flow out of his body, then the blade dug in at another spot, as the detective screamed in agony and the “stalker” cackled in pleasure. This continued on for 15 seconds before the detective shakily took out his pistol and aimed at the perpetrator, before firing off, alarming his hunter and causing him to run out of the lavatory, still laughing in pleasure. The detective wimpily got up, trying to stop the blood as he tore his shirt's cloth and tied the wound. The cloth was already stained in red.

The detective eventually stepped out and stopped by the front gate of the residence, as he gasped for breath and shakily dialed the authorities.

His vision was getting hazy after each passing moment, but he saw a young man in a black suit approaching him. He was a fairly tall, lanky man with jet-black hair and wore grey thin-rimmed spectacles. His black jacket was open and his black tie was blowing in the direction of the wind, along with his medium length black hair which were covering his eyes due to the wind force. He had a very calm look on his face, but the word “apathetic” seemed more appropriate. He gradually approached or seemingly approached the injured detective while his hands were in the pocket. As he passed by him, that’s when the wind stopped and his hair stopped dancing wildly. That’s when he looked at him, the face he wasn’t supposed to see, not ever in his life. He was an attractive young man with a stoic expression on his face. His black, soulless eyes looked at his, filling the detective with fear and curiosity. He gradually turned to look at him, so the wounded agent immediately stood up.

“H-hua anta... s-sorry, I mean... who are you...?” He asked, stuttering.

“Ana mout (I am death),” replied the young man.

The detective’s eyes widened in horror at this, not expecting the sort of response he received.

“As you can see, I’ve had my tabs on you, Mr.Detective. But you saw what you shouldn’t have. Jeff the Killer's stories will fade along with time, but the legend of the black suit will live forever. No matter what era, the black suit will always haunt societies, no matter what the country, what the culture. You see us everyday, we’re ordinary citizens too. Alas, I’m the only remnant left, so I’ll have to find someone to take my place after my time’s up. You seemed promising, but were a complete failure. What’s wrong? Hal anta khaa ef (are you scared)?” He said as he pointed his pistol at the detective's chest and pulled the trigger, as a bang was resonated, and his victim fell down on the cold ground.

The young man in the black suit instantly looked behind only to find a tall, skinny man in a white hoodie which was stained with blood, and wore black jean trousers. His eyed lacked eye lashes and skin around it, and had a smile literally plastered on his face. He had a pale complexion and jet-black hair.

“That was supposed to be my victim I believe,” said Jeff.

“Don’t get so full of yourself, you disdain.” Replied the young man who then aimed his gun at Jeff, before he fled into the woods.