Behind closed doors

Prolouge

We read the stories, listened to the tales, seen the artwork; no doubt even created our own visions and ideas for them. There's a twisted sense of admiration that we hold, wanting more and searching endlessly until the next phase comes along. Oh we fear them also, but that's what intrigues us all the more. The unbeatable monsters. The heartless murderers. The tormenting specter's. The things we cannot explain or even dare to do. We crave it. It's a natural instinct to have when coming across something we deem as original and available for our own personal interpretation. Isn't that what we do anyway? We take these ideas and alter them to satisfy ourselves, but what we forgot. Deliberately ignore and fail to realize......is that they're watching us.

They watch our activity with amused expressions. The fan-work, the elaborate and gory stories that were once so true to the facts but span into the media with the hunger to make the author noticeable. They watch, they listen, and they read.  Then they laugh. They laugh and mock us for one fact only. That fact is this. It's the fact that we've had it all wrong from the very beginning.....

Yes, they kill, they torment, haunt and hunt just as we've heard. It's not mindless, or bad luck on the victim's part. Mostly. It's far more organized than that. You see, there's a lot of bad people in the world. We may even know them, if we're aware of their inner evil that is up to our nativity, but it's there. Darkness cannot hide within its own shadows forever. They track down this immortality, discover it, and examine it with the greatest care. It would be a shame to make a mistake now, wouldn't it? If this dark secret deems acceptable, then they return to silence it.

That goes on behind closed doors. Especially closed doors hidden behind cloaks of secrecy and darkness. For when the 'job' is done, they must return, and in a place where everyone knows what you've just done, what you've just been ordered to do, there is no sense in hiding who you really are. The blood is washed away, the weapons laid to rest, and there's someone in the same position as you not far away. A safe haven of sorts, ironically. The very place that assigns you the deed is your getaway from it. But isn't that good? The outside character that the media and fans create of you vanish, here you are not the killer, the spectre or the monster, you're you. Not normal, not always human and by far not stable; but you. And that is why, at the end of a long night and there's no more to be assigned, they return with one common pass-time in mind. To watch, and laugh. Laugh at the people who they will no doubt be meeting very briefly in the near future. Just as soon as they get the call...A young man stained in the crimson patches of past life was sat within the walls of this haven, blade still clutched in hand and slowly digging its way into the table he so desperately leaned against. He was grinning, the corners of his mouth long since sliced into a permanent extended feature. His eyes wide, but not through choice; shadows of insomnia and deformity from a fire long since dimmed had left them encircled in a black emptiness, leaving the actual eyes clinging desperately within the socket borders. A crazed look illuminated them as heavy breaths whistled through his teeth. He fought with this madness, the memory of this night's stains replaying over and over. Go to sleep... Go to sleep...

Remember who you are, , this image isn't you. It's a mask you wear. And now it is time to take it off...