The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger; the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind, the latter to preserve themselves.
- Joseph Addison
Seven of us were chosen as Keepers of the sins. We tracked and eliminated those who crossed a certain line; we dragged them to hell. They died horrific deaths. We scared them, made them sleepless and touched their minds with insanity.
Greed, envy, pride, sloth, gluttony, wrath and lust – we are hell hounds, in the form of humans.
And I am lust; the most blood-thirsty and merciless of them all.
Highway to Hell blared through the radio, making the tar under the speeding Mustang vibrate out a groan of protest. It whizzed past the streets, into the dark as a very satisfied lad stirred it. He couldn’t wipe off the smirk plastered on his lips; that smirk found a way to his lips every night as he drove back from wild, kinky sex.
Sid Everill was a sex addict, and he was proud of his sinful lifestyle.
The radio started buzzing with static, tuning the music out into the background, until it eventually devoured the rhythm and replaced it wholly with the pitched screeching. Confused, Sid fiddled around with the knobs and buttons, trying to somehow fix the protesting gadget. However, with no luck, he just settled for the off button. He clicked onto the silver little badge, but the screeching continued. Deciding that he didn’t apply enough pressure, he assaulted it for the second time.
“Oh great, this damned thing is broken too,” he mumbled as he attacked it multiple times. With a frustrated grown, he just let the cursed stereo be.
“Sid,” a guttural voice dragged his name.
His head snapped to the gadget, with eyes like saucers and a gaping mouth. He could clearly hear his name resonate in the hissing abyss of static.
“Violent appetites have violent ends.”
The car came to a jerking stop as he immediately lodged it halfway on the sidewalk. His mind kept trying to convince him that it was a sick mind trick, while his gut said otherwise; he could still hear the chant like a broken tape. Occasionally, his name would break the cycle of these unearthly chants, the hoarse whisper becoming louder with each second – the phrase becoming clearer.
His head started becoming sleek with beads of sweat, his breathing hitching to an irregular pattern. Panic made him savagely haul himself at the radio, stabbing and rolling each and every button in a shaking frenzy. He twisted the key in the ignition forcefully and began driving once again, desperate to get to the sanctuary of his home as fast as possible. He was desperate to get home, but walking (or running) was not an option in these deserted streets.
The screeching had become clear ghostly howls, billions of voices chanting the same phrase.
“Violent appetites have violent ends, Sid.”
His car zoomed in the deserted streets. The voices driving him to the brink of insanity and his body being subjected to wave after wave of chills, as the chanting slowly converged into one strong, feminine voice. A sultry voice hissing a deadly hymn; until it felt like the voice was in the car, right behind him.
Instinctively, his eyes darted to the rear view mirror, and landed on a pale face.
“Fuck!” he yelled. The car, once again, wrenched to a stop. With maniac motions, he turned to face the backseat, looking for the pale woman in all red. A gulp travelled down his restricted throat, he ran quivering fingers through his sweaty hair.
“Calm down, Sid, you’re hallucinating, there’s no woman there,” he said and let out a nervous laugh.
He started the car once more and continued on route, determined not to glance at the mirror again. Everything in him was trembling, from his heart to the very marrow of his bones, but he was unwavering with his need to stay calm – so that’s what he did, calmly drove, looking nowhere but ahead.
Sometime during the freak show, the stereo had completely died down. Leaving him and his thoughts in an eerie silence and for some reason it didn’t feel like the end…rather like anticipation, for something he clearly didn’t want to encounter.
The sidewalk was a blurry haze of lights and shadows but suddenly, the images became more defined even though the car traveled at a hundred miles per hour. Sid felt like he was stuck in a bubble where time had become jelly; wobbling between fast, slow and normal, but never sticking to one pace. His demeanor started slipping once again, since he was human and humans had hearts pledged with fear and sin. That’s when he saw her again.
A body hugging red dress, just an inch below her fit behind, her legs miles long, shiny and adorned with stilettos. She was sexy, but the eyes that were following his car were demonic. No irises, just depths of black nothingness. He realized she was the same woman he saw in his rearview mirror just moments ago. Her plump lips opened and moved in a slow and seductive manner and even though his car had passed her on the street, the whisper filled his car.
“Lust is your crime, henceforth; it will be lust that will end your time.”
The pedals were pushed so hard that Sid could feel them hit the very bottom. The car roared and snapped out of the cocoon of horror, rushing past the scenery. However, one thing remained constant; the little red number clinging to pale face, she rushed past the car every other minute, standing like a statue on the side walk and seductively whispering Sid’s death note.
Finally, he reached home and stumbled to the door, fumbling with the bunch of keys and fighting a war just to get the right one into the key hole. The wind was still whispering the demonic cheer, making sure he heard every fleeting word.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god, please…save me,” he said.
The door finally unbolted and he stumbled drunkenly into the silence. He rushed to lock the door and then hurried from window to window, securing them tightly. Thereafter, he rushed up the stairs, just as the ceiling lights began to flicker. He could hear the television flipping channels downstairs, the pans clanking in the kitchen and ceiling fan grunting to life somewhere below, but he didn’t stop.
He got to his room and banged the door shut, a steady stream of tears making their way down his face. He was sobbing, sniffling and praying for his dear life. He knew, for fact, he was not hallucinating. He dejectedly slid down against the door and looked at his candle lit rooms; romantic candles, the ones he used to woo the more innocent girls.
He was the victim this time; he was the prey.
