Breath like rancid meat washes over your face and you stare into the jagged, rotting teeth of Relique. His eyes are small and far spaced. The light reflects dully on the surface of the milky black irises. Looking at his disgusting fleshy face you feel the familiar nausea that plagues you whenever he is near. Bushy grey eyebrows are flaking with dandruff, and now you just feel fed up. Whenever Relique appears, there is never that feeling of confused comfort you get with some of the others. Well, at least not usually. Relique breaths heavily from his mouth, and says with a voice that drowns with the sound of blood filled lungs, “I need something from you.” When doesn’t he? Never once has he appeared with out some obtuse task to be carried out. You vaguely wonder why you ever bother listening, but then you recollect that old threat he made to you as a child. “If you ever disobey me,” he gurgled, “I will eat you brains, rip your eyes from your skull, and make you watch as I slice your intestines.” Oh yes, you remember now, it had been a promise at the time, not a threat. Now you know that the possibility is unlikely, but the young fear still latches to you. Surely you‘ve disobeyed before, and you eyes are for sure still intact, but you know that he is entirely capable of tearing you to pieces, even if it would anger Rashidi. “What I want… is…a child’s heart.” That’s sick. He knows as well as anyone –in the living world or otherwise- your love of children. Denying him is not an option this time, so you just nod your head numbly and don’t ask question.The problem with this is that you don’t want blood on your hands. No, no, no, you must kill the child in real life. Once upon a time you bluntly refused to run an irrefutable errand, and that was the day you realized that these monsters were real.
When I opened my eyes I felt an immediate sense of dread. My clothing was not drenched in sweat from last nights dream, a welcome surprise but still worrisome. Standing slowly from my bed I felt completely normal, and though I was still shaking off the dredges of sleep, I could feel that today was going to be normal. So I went to school, and I blew through my first five classes, but as I finished lunch and made a run to the bathroom with my girlfriends I smelt something awful, worse than the normal bathroom smells. It was frighteningly similar to the smell of Relique’s rancid breath. Nervous now I dismiss myself to actually walk into one of the stalls instead of just giggling by a mirror. The moment the doors closed I gagged, but kept from vomiting, because if I did Relique’s flabby face would be misted in half digested salad. His beady eyes are squinting into tiny slits now, and I feel my heart skip a beat before he raises his chubby molded fingers and drags them across the stall door. The sound of ripping metal is horrible, and it instantly draws attention. My friends are quick to rush the stall and they question my well being. I just nod my head and assure them I’m fine. Satisfied, they joke about explaining the claw marks to the janitor, and before I leave with them I look back at the now empty stall. As I walk away I hear a damp chuckle, and I hear one of the girls make a comment about the strong scent of decay.
With a heavy heart you pick yourself up from the bed and begin to look for the necessary tools needed to commit a murder, not terribly worried about being caught, Relique will certainly take care of what you miss, least he wish to loose your services.
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