Flash of Silver

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
William Shakespeare wrote "Hell is empty because the devils are here," and this story shows why.

Submitted: September 09, 2015

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Submitted: September 09, 2015

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1

He haunted the shadows of my dreams and the shadows of my reality. Every strange figure, every feeling of being watched, every eerie moment was him. He was inside me, nestled into my---no, latched onto my heart with a hook that went straight through. This awareness of him had forever changed me. It brought out something of me that was hidden deep.

Every day as I walked through the bright, warm sunlight seemed one day closer. Closer to what? I didn’t quite know. I just knew that each day that morbid lust disguised as darkness devoured another piece of me. That darkness seemed to know what I was waiting for but deemed it unfit to tell me, though I could guess.

I was a bystander to the war inside me: the dominant part was bloodthirsty, yearning for that indescribable, unnamable horror the observed facade refused to acknowledge. Part of the being-devoured me wanted to run screaming; the other part laughed in a way that could only be described as lewd.

 

2

It happened on a bright sunny day when I was walking home; I took a shortcut through the graveyard and was hidden from view by some shrubs when I saw the flash of silver. His strong arms wrapped around me and a cloth with a weird, sickly smell was pressed over my mouth and I took in a deep breath. The sin inside me screamed and I threw myself into the darkness. Something gave a laugh that would make the Devil envious.

 

3

He was so close I could practically taste him.......or maybe that was the metallic fear of his very presence, or that alien but sultry burn that started at my core. Or maybe it was both. But I opened my eyes to his gray ones and that morbid lust finally devoured the last piece of me. I smiled and wished so badly to kiss his lips.

 

4

A delightful shiver crawled down my spine; he had drawn the final, fifth streak of red. Contoured lines of crimson had rolled down. He stepped back to survey his artwork and I glanced over my shoulder—bright eyes and the easily seen excitement down below. He finally caught my eye and I raised my brow, willing him to give in to that true monster hidden below the surface. Walking to stand in front of me he raised the knife blade close to my face. I couldn’t resist giving one long, slow lick along the blade; watching him become aroused even more by my wickedness.

He stepped forward and put his mouth to mine: the taste of my blood on our tongues was what broke him and triumph unfurled its wings inside me. He didn’t notice when his blood began to mix with mine.

 

5

We were one writhing creature on the floor; my bindings had come undone long ago, and the only thing to witness this unholy union a single picture of a little brown-haired girl. Someone looking in would have noticed the strong resemblance if they would have seen me before my bindings came undone.

He was caught in my spell; entranced tighter than a fly wrapped in a widows silver wrapping. He was drunk on my saliva and would not let go even as the fluid from my five cuts began to turn shiny and his skin began to boil. He did not see the way the light reflected off my vertical pupils or the reddish sheen on my body, he did not feel the sharpness of my teeth, the jagged edges of my nails or the double tip of my tongue.

He did not hear my giggle as the blood vessels finally burst in his eyes.

I rode him high and hard, coaxing his heart out of his chest so he writhed and gave a breathy, soundless scream. I crooned to the crimson, soft, warm beating tissue as it crawled onto my hand where I held it high—it was beating its last beat and I finally let him see.

This time he really screamed.

And I laughed like the jackal I was.

 

6

I got my wish and I couldn’t decide if it was Heaven or Hell, so I decided on both.

I woke up after being chloroformed and, because I looked like his little girl, he did to me what you only read in stories. In return for his wickedness I did to him what you can only think of in nightmares. I decided that silver and red are the prettiest colors ever.

 

7

On my way out the door I stopped to look at the picture. I stroked her soft face and whispered “You’re even, angel.” The vileness just grinned and gave her picture a wink as she closed the door. Behind me his body held a key and another picture, and through the window there was a flash of silver. The cops would figure it out, and if they didn’t the devils rogue would have to say hello.

 

In another city, in another place, I felt my features shift and when I looked in the mirror a fiery-eyed redhead looked back. I grinned wickedly. In the end, there’d be another flash of silver.


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