Natas Devil

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 13, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 13, 2017



Natas Devil


Mason Davies, a 30 year old detective for the NYPD, walked into the abandoned warehouse. The first thought that came to his mind was that the Natas Devil struck once more. A homeless man’s body, laid face down in a pool of blood. Flies swarmed around the body, indicating that he has been dead for a couple days. The fatal blow seems to have been a stab wound to the torso. A gut wound is the longest and painfullest way to die, perfect for someone exacting revenge or making a point, thought Mason.


This was the fourth body that had been discovered, the three before were all stabbed in the gut, one was a homeless man, the second, a middle class man and the last, was a rich CEO of some company. Down at the NYPD, they thought it was random killings in the beginning, but they still didn’t know the motive behind the murders. The message is loud and clear, he wanted to yell at them, the Natas Devil is showing that no one is untouchable. At every crime scene Natas Devil was engraved in a wall. Rivulets of blood were seeping from the engraving. The walls seemed to be screaming in pain, thought Mason.


Two weeks have passed and two more bodies have turned up. Another middle class man and an executive film producer. These two were different from the others murders, the NatasDevil had hesitated. Emotions had threatened to overcome him but he managed to contain them, thought Mason. He clearly had a job to finish, almost like he was taught this unusual trade. It was the hesitation that had gotten him caught. Another win for the NYPD, for putting another notorious serial killer away for good.


“Welcome to Pilgrim Psychiatric Center! Here is the your charge. He is 30 years old, was abandoned as a child in a warehouse, raised by Satan worshipping cult, which resulted in him becoming a serial killer known as Natas Devil. Have you noticed that Natas is Satan spelt backwards.” The new ward peaked in the small window on the door. The man was sitting on a chair muttering to himself “At least that’s how I think my legacy goes on.”, as if sensing someone watching him, he turned and stared at the window with crazed eyes. The ward backed away and looked at the name scrawled on a plaque, Mason Davies.


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