The Devil on G String: The Sixth Movement

Reads: 402  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 5

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Is this about God....or maybe it's about the Devil?"

A serial killer - who kills other serial killers, leaving a popular piece of classical music playing at each crime scene. The city hails the mysterious "Devil" as a hero, but the police department is determined to catch him at any cost.

CHAPTER 6 OF THE SERIES! Once again, if you have no idea what this series is, DON'T START HERE! Go to my page and click the First Movement :)

Loyal readers, welcome back to this especially long and taxing chapter (for me that is, >.

Submitted: November 13, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 13, 2012

A A A

A A A


The Devil on G String

The Sixth Movement

Here was home, the happy place.


Yeah right, who was he kidding.


He had no feelings for that flat at all – none whatsoever. Not even the lingering kind of affection that homeowners have for their first homes. It was understandable really, since he had been living there for a mere five months after the divorce. Noel saw it only as a shelter – a rooftop over his head for his sustained existence, nothing more than that. The title of “Home” belonged not to this soulless shack, but to the small, warm apartment back in downtown, where he had once led a reasonably satisfactory, if not wonderful life.


Those days were long gone. And thinking about them isn’t going to help, he thought bitterly.


Pushing the door open, Noel saw that the flat was exactly how he had left it that morning: chaos laid out bare. Ordinarily, he would have started cleaning up the mess, but there was a more important task that called for his attention at the moment.


Striding over to the tabletop, he located the little puppy figurine that was grasping an ornate teacup with its ceramic paws – a cute present from Mira, after he had successfully cracked his first case with her – and retrieved the iron key within. He ran his fingers over its jagged teeth, taking solace in the way they ran over his flesh.


In went the iron key – a twist, then another turn – and the basement door swung outwards with a metallic groan.

The sun hadn’t begun to set yet as it was still late afternoon, so Noel saw no need to switch on the basement light. In the semi-dark gloom of the basement chamber, he found exactly what he was looking for.


There it stood, a seemingly sinister figure hunched at one corner of the room. He stared at it. It stared back. If it were sentient, it would know exactly why he was there. And perhaps, it would have done whatever it needed in order to stop him


But of course, fairytales were fairytales. There were no fairy godmothers to coddle and protect you in times of need, no knights in shining armour to rescue you from the dread claws of the dragon, no incinerators suddenly coming to life and changing the course of the story.


In short, no happy endings.


The incinerator was not a very large one, as his basement was small enough as it was, but it was still spacious enough for Noel to get in if he wanted – crouched and horribly cramped of course. Switching on the power source, he carefully prised open the trapdoor lid and peered in. Empty, as expected. He had already cleaned it last week, sparing no effort in making sure that it was nearly spick and span, although that was near impossible due to the burn marks.


Then he got to work, retrieving what he needed from another corner of the basement and painstakingly loading it into the incinerator – somehow with every use, the incinerator seemed to shrink. Finally, he managed to get it done and slammed the trapdoor lid with much unneeded force.


That was how Noel did things – quickly and efficiently. If fists and blows could get the job done faster, then so be it. If a suspect refused to break under interrogation, bring on the threats and intimidation, he would say. If all that was needed was an extra push, an extra burst of strength, then he would provide it.


Most unfortunately, this also meant that he failed to listen to the telltale clang of a small metallic object falling out of the gaps in the incinerator door just as he banged it shut with all the force he could muster.


But Noel had other things on his mind than to contend with such trifling events. He shuffled over to the switch on the wall, and calmly turned the dial all the way to “HIGH”.
As the incinerator began to groan and rumble, a sure sign that it was doing its work, Noel thought of the dream he had had in the hospital. They were becoming more and more frequent…Tessa and the screams…and the heat, goddamnit, the heat.


He didn’t want to think about how it would be if his dream was true, if he was actually roasting in the fires.


All that he knew was that he was doing what was necessary, and that was all.


Through the gaps in the door, Noel saw the incinerator’s flames flicker and dance madly, devouring their contents with malicious glee. Seemingly licking, caressing and then suddenly scorching – much like how a cat teases the mouse it has caught playfully before callously ending its life with a quick bite to the head.


He quickly became aware of the throbbing heat wave that was beginning to emanate from the basement – it quickly enveloped him, wrapping him in its tight embrace, forcing him to relive that terrible moment in the dream.


Panting, he ran out of the basement, slammed the door shut and fell onto the couch nearby, covering his eyes with his arm.


It’s not my fault.


It’s not my fault.


It’s not my fault they…


He refused to enter that dark place any further.


Noel’s mind apparently agreed, as he quickly began to feel the tendrils of sleep closing in on him. His last thought before the tide of slumber swept in was Tessa, in their school days, she had looked exactly like in that dream in the meadow, pristinely pure and beautiful, if only the old days came back and they could fly together up in the sky and go to any place they wanted and leave this whole mess behind and….


***************
When he woke up, it was dark.


Not as dark as that terrible house of course – Noel thought he would never encounter darkness that was more terrifying or suffocating than that – but the darkness he was now in was pretty close.


Even from his sleeping place on the couch, he already knew that the sun had set long ago.


He got up, and rubbed his head. For a brief moment, he had enjoyed a dreamless, deep sleep. An unnamed sanctuary where for just a moment, serial killers didn’t exist, neither did the Devil nor his cryptic actions, all the madness and death and heat and screams – all of them gone, banished into the abyss of the void, and it was just him and it.
But that sparingly brief time in paradise was over, and he was back in purgatory.


Still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he lumbered over to the light switch and flipped it.


No response.


He flicked it off, and flipped it on again. Still no lights.


That was strange. He was absolutely sure that those lights had worked the previous night, and in no way were they old or needed replacement. It just didn’t seem right that they would suddenly become faulty.


Then Noel turned, and noticed the front door was ajar.


He cursed his own stupidity. After dealing with the incinerator in the basement, he had foolishly forgotten to lock the front door. Now, any opportunist burglar or psycho within a mile’s radius of the building could now be inside his flat, ready to strike when the stupid, careless homeowner finally came bumbling down the corridor in search of him.


Licking his lips, he trod silently over to the dresser table near the basement and opened the drawer with utmost finesse. He drew out a flashlight (and don’t switch it on yet you idiot, you don’t want to alert the intruder, he admonished himself) and his spare pistol, which he always kept around for extra protection, even though he didn’t need it. Apparently he was wrong.


Grasping the pistol gently, he silently crept down the hallway, checking the rooms to make sure no one was in them. He had no need to fear – each of them was completely empty. No devious burglars hiding behind the curtains waiting to bludgeon him, no crazed psychos with bloody knives waiting to carve him to pieces behind the doors – there was no one there at all.


I’m getting too paranoid, he thought. This Devil case is beginning to make me crack, just like it has done to Mira, maybe I’ll talk to the Chief tomorrow and we’ll make some kinda arrangement-


The bathroom door slowly creaked open behind him.


He spun around immediately, only to be greeted by a vacant room – the wind, gently blowing through the windows in the hallway lightly chuckled with mischievous glee, admitting to its devious prank.


And yet, something was wrong.


Noel could feel a ball of tension rising in his throat. His skin prickled with anticipation, a light chill ran down his spine. He knew that feeling – something was out of place; something was terribly and unmistakeably not right.


He switched on the flashlight. It sputtered to life reluctantly, weak rays of light shining weakly and illuminating the bathroom with just enough light for Noel to see clearly.

Everything in that bathroom was perfectly fine – except the mirror.


It was a typical medium sized mirror that nearly everyone hung over their sink in the washroom –the one that mothers used to teach their children how to brush their teeth, the one that plenty of teenagers used to prim and groom themselves, the one that many adults glared at with bloodshot eyes before work.

This mirror, however, was different.


Noel felt his stomach churn, his head spun as he realised the nightmare he was trapped in. The thick, red paint that the words were painted with still dripped to the sink below, enhancing the horrifying illusion that blood was splattered all over it. The words themselves were beginning to smudge, the red paint of each letter mixing and coagulating much like blood with its adjacent neighbours, producing a gory effect. But there was no denying it: the message itself was more than enough proof of who had deigned to visit him on this dark November night.

Fire, fire, burning bright.


Look who we have on this night!


A lost child, on the path to doom?


Oh, fear not, for the Devil will get you soon!


He dashed out of the bathroom in a blind panic, sprinting wildly along the hallway to the main room, just doing anything, anything to get away from that room, get out of this flat, it was no longer safe –


As Noel made it to the living room, he paused.


The computer, stereo, and even the TV had turned on by themselves.


The computer – its screen was set to his default background, a programme already running.


The stereo – a bright orange light flashed steadily at him, signaling that it was ready to begin playing.


The TV – a dark, voluminous screen stared back at him. Only the speakers’ light beside it gave any indication that it was switched on.


Then the insanity began.


As one, the three electronic devices began playing the same piece of music. Noel had already heard it twice, this time would his third, and the one time that would seal it permanently in his memory.


Like an old friend, the same clear, sweet strains began drifting out from each corner of the room, at exactly the same pace, exactly the same timing. To anyone listening it would be peculiar: The same piece of music played three times upon each other, but it would still be soothing and calm. To Noel, the music had wicked claws, digging and scratching at his psyche, worming its way deep into his mind, spiraling itself into a twisted melody of madness until he could no longer bear it.


As Air on a G String continued to fill his eardrums, he sank to the floor on his knees desperately, covering his ears with his palms, desperate for anything that would stop the dreadfully serene music.


But the Devil had one more gift for him.


As he sank to the floor, the flashlight he had been holding onto rolled silently across the carpet, once again illuminating the room, revealing the final hidden nightmare.


The floor was literally littered with hundreds and hundreds of postcards. They were scattered all over the place, thrown messily all around: below the couch, under the table, on the dinner table, everywhere. The only reason why he had failed to notice them was due to the lack of light, and his over-determined concentration while searching for his mysterious invader.


Of course, they all bore the same phrase that drove the nail into the coffin; the phrase that Noel knew would be seared into his memory forever. It was a phrase he had seen this morning, heard it again from a dead man in the afternoon, and now for the final time it teased him incessantly again, that formerly elegant handwriting now seemingly twisted and deformed.

IS tHis AbOUt GOd?

….oR mAyBE iT’s aBOuT tHe DEVil?

********************************

Far, far away from that unfortunate man, the Devil began humming, much like a mother would to her distressed child.


A soft tune, a lullaby even, such was its tender and gentle nature.

A sharp intake of breath, then the humming ceased.


The preparations were all made, the traps all laid.


Their little charade was drawing to a close, the games would quickly be over.

And the final hunt would commence.


© Copyright 2020 Leo Cantus. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar
avatar

Author
Reply

More Mystery and Crime Short Stories