Hierarchy

Bury a Friend

The night was dark. It's darkest tone of black unfurled itself across the surface of the sky. The void of light stretched to every corner of the small town of Goldenleaf. It curved across the buildings of the downtown area, hugged the sides of house placed in sub-urban neighbourhoods. It soaked up every ounce of light it possibly could, only letting the faint glow of street and shop lights alike illuminate their area. The shadows during this time were one of the only threats luring around as establishments manifested towers and columns of pitch black. It was the only sources of life to occupy the empty streets. At this time of day, shadows ruled the town.
No one would ever dare to venture out at this time. There was a certain uncomfortable atmosphere that hovered over Goldenleaf during these unholy hours. Like a fog concealing the secrets of the citizens. It was the zenith of sin to pour out of houses. As guilt overtook subconscious in their slumbers. Just walking out into the streets were enough for someone with even a shred of empathy become chocked up by terror. They would fall to the ground as the air, burning cold, would envelope them in the most adoring embrace that death could bring. Of course, death wasn't always a regular visitor of these streets.
As the night carried on with it's chilling regime, flickers of movement started to course across the ground. The dead silence of the streets were filling up with slow yet light steps. A few quiet breaths. And a figure, emerging from the darkness, as if their body had been manifested of shadows. There was no chance of confirming the case as their visage was covered with a tightly bound scarf- almost as black as the rest of their attire.
They continued to move along through the town. Making sure they never showed a trace of life, or left any as they went. The figure pursued onto their destination with a goal. And as they thought more about it, their pace had quickened majorly. A trail of air slipped out of the slit of their scarf, pouring out behind them like a stream of smoke.
The shiny black tips of their boots reflected the glows of light and they kept moving.
A rancher made itself present in their direct line of sight. The interior shrouded by the velvety curtains, yet illuminated by the lights inside. Upon squinting, a single figure became visible. Moving around what was supposedly the living room, perhaps watching some late night TV.
It wasn't long until the figure was only a few steps toward the door. Something stirred in their chest and they covered part of their scarf, where the mouth would be covered. They bit their lip to hide a grin in spite of their mouth being blocked from sight by the garment. But it seemed to work well as an excited laugh started to bubble in their throat. It became muffled by the coverage.
With a look to the left. A look to the right. And a look behind. They slipped stealthily past the glass pane. They crouched underneath the sill. Pressing their side into the faded brown walls and making some paint flack off.
Gravel cracked under their boots whilst maneuvering towards a certain entrance. There was almost no stopping the amount of ecstasy pumping through their veins. Their eyes were glazed with excitement as they thought about the result. They thought about it all.
In their clouded daze, they had almost missed what they were looking for. However the slight drone of the person inside snapped them back into reality. The sound brought a shiver down their spine.
A yell. A loud yell.
With gloved fists clenched, they stiffly shifted up. Only the top part of their hooded head popped into view as their eyes peered through the crack of the curtains. Something was approaching. Something fearsome.
A man emerged from the hallway, the owner of the yell. His hair messy and tousled. His eyes bagged and glued to the ground. With a stature of what could only compare to a bull and a bottle of alcohol attached to his right hand. This man was not a clean freak. Not according to the stains blotched on his dirty clothes. Nor the mess the kitchen was, with its messy dishes, its spilt food, the liquid residue pooling on the tiled floor.
The figure nearly gasped as their heart leapt. They could feel their blood roar in their ears. They could feel the blood rushing to their face- their teeth grinding against each other; as their nails scratched against the wood.
The man, having just thrown away his bottle, was reaching for another when he heard the scratching against the wood outside. His face had contorted into an expression of annoyance. He leaned back, slamming the fridge door shut. A mumble came out of his dry, cracked lips. His voice betrayed how youthful he was really was. Perhaps in his late teens.
He had said something about a raccoon before sloppily moving towards the window.
They could see the teen's eyes, filled with drunkenness whilst his steps were clumsy and misplaced. They could barely contain it.
And as the boy's hands pushed lazily against the window, the figure shifted backward.
The two connected eyes.
The teen countenance was a mixture of confusion and fear. It wasn't helpful that their tipsy nature pulled away any signs of fear for mere moments. But it wouldn't be for long.
With an excited, pretty much ecstatic light in their eyes. The figure pounced. Movements instantly switched from humane to outright primal. Body flying at a perfect angle, the dark clothed stalker was able to place their hands perfectly on the man's chest. The force was enough to take the teen's breath away, to stop any sort of noise. Any noise.
There was a thud as the figure's weight pressed the boy's body flat on the wet, tiled floor. The current situation was enough to make the kid sober up and open his mouth to scream out in terror.
However the figure was faster.
Their scarf, shaken by the force, slipped off to the side. It revealed a face. And before the kid could yell out or even process the shock of it all- something shiny was drawn.
And the figure plunged the knife into the teen's throat.