He reveled in her fear, loved the screams and the minstrel eyes so wide in her blood stained face they looked like they would burst. He sucked in a wonderful lungful of air, drinking her sweet, sweaty odor that was mixed with the coppery scent of her blood. “Any last requests?” He moved around her so she could see his face and gave her his best smile.
“Please… m… m… mister. Don’t” she managed between hysterical sobs.
“Sorry, don’t know that one. How about ‘Living on the Edge,’ or ‘A Good Day to Die’?” He hummed to himself, pleased with his own joke.
He drew back the knife, getting bored with her now, as she simply sobbed and shook against the post. She was not a screamer. He preferred the ones who cried and screamed constantly. They were much more satisfying. He raised the blade to her eyes, watching them open even wider. The whites seemed to fill her face, like dinner plates on a pink cloth. He stepped behind her, but kept the blade where she could see its edge, as it winked in the darkness. She was whimpering. “Please, please, please.” Over and over, the words becoming indecipherable as tears and wails joined her pleas.
With his arms around her, he pushed his face into her dark hair, breathing deeply of her scent. She had used a coconut conditioner some time recently, and the smell was intoxicating, clean and fresh, a contrast to the smells of fear and death that permeated the cellar.
“Bored now,” he said. He had seen this on a TV show and had always wanted to use the phrase. A further chuckle squeezed passed his lips as he enjoyed his own sense of fun. But now for business. He had a lot to prepare. His right hand drew the blade across her throat. The cut was deep and smooth, the blade never hesitated. He effortlessly sliced through skin, sinew and gullet down to bone. Blood gushed instantly from the wound, warm against his skin, followed by a pulsing stream. He caught the liquid in the ornate pewter horn, moved expertly under the flow by his waiting left hand.
The girl’s screams instantly turned to gurgles as her vocal cords were sliced through. Her body arched against the restraints, then convulsed madly. As if it was trying to break-dance against the post, and then she was still, her life gone.
He stepped around to face her. Her head hung lifeless against her scrawny chest. A river of blood worked its way down her breasts, across her flat stomach and then into the curly pubes between her legs. Some of it dripped, slowly, from the dark tangle of hair to drop unseen on the floor. He scooped a little from her left nipple, stopping to squeeze the taut bud, then raised his fingers before him. He studied the blood covered appendage before sliding it into his eager mouth, licking hungrily. “Your life wasn’t a total waste,” he said to the corpse. “This blood will make me strong. Thank you.” He raised the horn in a mock toast. Turning away, he sauntered out of the cellar, taking little sips of the delicious warm blood.
Behind him, a pentagram shaped seal in the cold concrete floor began to pulse, thin slivers of light escaped at its edges.
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Table of Contents
A Dark Psychological Thriller
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Daddy Won't Kill You (An Occult Horror) Page 16
