Tag: horror

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The taker of the last breath (922 words)

She runs through the night, heavy footsteps are following her. Eating up the space between her and her predator. Her lungs are burning and her legs are slowing down; her muscles are tired and shaking from the unusual exertion. Her breath puffs out between her lips in visible clouds. Panic is all she can feel. And cold.  It is an icy cold, fueled by the terror that spreads inside her bones and infests her entire body. The footsteps behind her come closer. She keeps running. At least she tries to keep running. Panting. Gasping. Fighting for air. She is trying to fill her lungs with oxygen, but she doesn’t succeed. Her breathing is too shallow. Her heart races too fast. It is quiet in the dark. Lonely in this winter’s night. She can only hear his steps. Her own steps. The blood in her ears. Please, please. Please!  she whispers into the gloaming nothingness. She sends silent prayers to every divinity she remembers, asking that someone will stop the demon behind her. But the cold in her heart lets her know that she will not be saved. Her soul is lost. Rotting. Decaying. Turning to dust. She will be forgotten. Erased from this earth. And no one will know that she ever existed. She never left a notable trace. The woman rounds a corner, losing foot on the slippery pavement. She struggles to get her feet under her body again, partly because her limbs are exhausted,  partly because in her haste, she stepped on her scarf that came loose. She turns around, feeling the wet pavement underneath her palms. She tries to crawl away from the creature that has been following her, looking at him. Eyes wide, she finally sees him up close as he takes long strides in her direction. He isn’t running anymore. Like the predator he is, he comes closer. And closer. She makes one last attempt to get up and run away, but her body doesn’t belong to her anymore. It doesn’t follow her orders, and when he kneels in front of her, with his long cold fingers enclosing her throat she looks in his dark eyes for the first and last time. Black like obsidian. A dark abyss. Beautiful. Beguiling. Pleading? As if they were asking for forgiveness and permission, all at the same moment. But then he blinks and the gentleness she thinks she has seen is gone. It made room for something cruel and soulless. The hand around her throat closes and her breathing air becomes less. And less. She tries to gulp in some oxygen, but the hand on her throat prevents it from reaching its destination. Her body spasms. Her hands touch his wrist and her legs are flailing, trying to find enough grip to push away from her murderer.  “Please, don’t let me die like this” are her final thoughts before she feels a strange and uninvited sense of lust. Her eyes keep staring at him but her soul is on its way out of her body. The horror and confusion she felt will be forever painted on her face. In rivulets, blood runs down her throat from where his sharp claws held on to her. The demon lets go of her empty vessel, and pushes angry tears off his face with the back of his blood-stained hand.
I have to do it. I will die if I don’t. He bares his fangs and with gusto, he buries them where his claws left a bloody wound on the woman’s throat.
The heat leaves her body as one last breath, one last puff of air is pushed past her lips. He stills his hunger. His thirst. His need. Until he feels the energy of his young victim setting in his veins. He sighs satisfied, but he wants more. He needs more. He can never get enough. It is the nature of things. He lets go of the limp, pale body and gets up. He looks at her. Grief is painted all over his face. He is desperate for a companion, a mate. But who could ever love what he is? Who he is? She was his first for this night. A good start. Invigorating. Growling, he pulls his fangs in. A tortured sigh escapes his lips as he turns to leave. One last look at his prey and the peaceful way she looks. All dead people have this look. At least the ones who died because of him. If he could only feel some serenity. Not much, just a glimmer of it. If his tormented soul could only find peace. He is not asking for eternal bliss, just a moment of calmness in his mind. His hands turn to fists in his pockets as he pushes the string of weak and romantic thoughts aside. This is his life. There is no choice. No other option. His hunt continues. It has to. It will never stop. Because if it does, he will cease to exist. And with him, the tiny fragments of the souls of the people he has had the privilege to empty of their blood would be gone too. He can’t let that happen. They all are part of him now. Memories of them are in his bloodstream and nurturing his body. Squaring his shoulders, he walks into the dark moonless night. He was always a man of honour and principles. At least he has been before he turned into this… A demon… A walking nightmare… The taker of the last breath.

(Originally written in August 2017, edited today.)

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the rocking chair

He sat naked in the rocking chair, swallowed by the dark room around him. The door was closed. The three windows, wide open. Cold wind whistled in, brushing his bare skin, making the thin white curtains billow like ghostly hands reaching out. Outside, the moon played hide and seek with the clouds, its pale light cutting sharp shapes against the walls. The shadows it left behind were alive, twisting and shifting as if taunting him with their slow, deliberate movements.

The chair creaked on the floor beneath him, its slow, rhythmic sound cutting through the silence. Each rock forward sent another wave of tension through the room. The floorboards had grown loose from years of wear, remembering the weight of every footstep, every shift of his body. Back and forth, back and forth, he rocked. The repetition was almost meditative—almost. But the calmness he craved remained just out of reach. He longed for sleep, but it wasn’t an option. Not tonight. Not with them lurking. Waiting. Everwake.

His mind was both void and chaos. A swirling vortex of thoughts he couldn’t hold onto, and yet, nothing. Heat radiated from his chest one moment, burning him from the inside out. The next, the cold night air sent shivers across his skin. Nothing felt right. Everything was wrong. But still, he rocked. Back and forth, forward and back.

The cushions beneath him were invisible in the darkness, but he knew every flaw by heart. The tear at the back, the stains underneath. He could feel them beneath his weight like the scars that marred his own skin. Each imperfection carried a story, a memory that burned through him tonight. Each one a reminder of the man he had been—and the man he had become.

The moon inched across the sky, dragging thin clouds with it. From the tree below his window, an owl hooted, its call slicing through the night like a knife. The sound was sharp, dissonant—another reminder of what he was. Alone. Always alone.

He craved a cigarette, his throat burning for the scratch of nicotine, for the warmth of a drink. But he couldn’t move. The chair was a prison. The walls were closing in. He was trapped. Not just by the darkness of the room, but by the darkness inside him. The shadows on the walls danced, mocking him, laughing at his misery. If he were stronger, he would fight them. He would stand up and tear them apart. But he wasn’t strong. Not anymore.

Another memory clawed its way to the surface—her. The only woman he had ever loved. He remembered the softness of her skin, the way her voice once soothed him. There had been a time when love was something he could hold, something he could give and receive. But he had pushed her away, just like he pushed everyone away. He had been too afraid of letting her see who he really was. Now, no one could love him. And even if they tried, he would ruin it. He always did.

The rocking of the chair grew faster, the creak of the wood more urgent, as if keeping time with the chaos in his mind. The voices grew louder, rising from whispers to angry shouts. He slapped his temple with his palm—hard. “Stupid.” The word left his mouth before he could stop it, a weak protest against the madness inside him. The ghosts in his head remained. The curtains behind him rustled with the wind, and he froze.

They were here. They had come for him.

His breath caught in his throat, the air thick and heavy. If he stayed still, maybe they wouldn’t see him. Maybe if he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, they would leave him alone. He held himself rigid, his mind spinning with possibilities, but the shadows reached out, creeping closer, ready to drag him into the abyss.

The owl called again from the tree. A sound too distant to save him now.

He wanted to close his eyes, to scream, to do anything to escape. But his body betrayed him, frozen in place. The weight of his sins pressed down on him, crushing him, suffocating him. The terror of everything he had done—and everything he had failed to do—hung over him, staring into his pale, red-rimmed eyes.

Then, for a brief moment, clarity broke through. None of this is real. It’s all in your head. The shadows. The voices. The fear. They couldn’t hurt him.

A grimace spread across his face, and then, without warning, laughter bubbled up from deep inside. First a soft chuckle, then a loud, manic laugh. His shoulders shook as the sound escaped him, filling the room, bouncing off the walls like the ghosts in his head. The chair rocked harder, faster, the rhythm now wild and erratic.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

The moon was fading, giving way to the early light of dawn. The shadows shrank into the corners, retreating. The owl had fallen silent, its calls fading into memory. Even the wind had stilled, leaving the curtains limp and motionless.

He tried to exhale, to let go of the tension in his chest, but all that came out was a wheezing breath. His body was soaked with sweat, cold and clammy, like a second skin sticking to him. But still, he rocked. Back and forth, as the memories played on a loop inside his head.

He deserved this. Every bit of it. The torment, the isolation, the terror—they were his punishment. And there was no redemption. There was no salvation.

Finally, his eyes fluttered closed, a twisted smile on his face.

Maybe next time, he would fight back. Maybe next time, he would claw his way out of the darkness.

Or maybe, just maybe, he would surrender to it. Forever.

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I can see you, I will come for you

I watch her. Daily. I know her routines, and I know when she goes to sleep. I stand on the street, hidden in the shadows, but I see her. I see how she pulls her curtains close. Does she know that I can still see her? I see her silhouette undress. The shirt that glides off her shoulders and how she shakes her head. Her hair falls in long waves down her shoulders. I see how she unclasps her bra, and I wish it would be me doing it. But I am doomed to stay in the shadows. Is she aroused or is it cold in her bedroom? I would like to taste her breasts. I am sure she is very sensitive, and it would make her moan. She pushes down her skirt and I long to see her like that. One day I will. I won’t hide forever. Once not that long ago, I worked up all my courage and asked her for the time when she passed me on her way home. Her icy blue eyes stared at me as if I was the scum attached to her Manolo Blahniks. Her slender fingers brushed the cuffs of her stylish trench coat back and revealed an expensive watch. She answered curtly and was gone before I had processed it. Her voice was deep and raspy. Really sexy. Ever since that day, I imagine her moan my name. Maybe even scream it in ecstasy. One day she will. I am sure about that. I wish I could see more of her than her silhouette. All too soon, she turns off the lights, and her room is bathed in darkness. I wonder if she sleeps naked or if she puts something on when she turns off the lights. One day I will go upstairs and find out.

Why not today?

I managed to get a spare key to her apartment. I stole her best friend’s purse because I knew she had the key. It was too easy. I have never used it before. But I will be using it today. Oh, this is so exciting. I am going to see the woman of my dreams soon. She will be pleased to see me and invite me to stay the night. Of course, we will not sleep. We will be busy making love. Yes, making love – not fuck. She is my only real love. My soul mate. It’s a good thing I remembered to steal some chewing gum this morning at the newsstand. I put a stripe in my mouth and let the minty flavor take away the furry feeling on my tongue and teeth. It’s a struggle to chew because of the many missing teeth in my mouth. She will love that too. I can kiss her with my tongue without too many teeth in the way.

I am already on the right floor. How can she live in a building without security? Every creep can walk up and break into her home. It’s a good thing I am here to protect her. I sit in the shadows of the streetlamps every night, and I wait until she turns off all of her lights. It’s just to make sure that she is alright.

Not so long ago, she had a male friend over. She tried to make me jealous. She didn’t even close the curtains. That’s how I know that she has milky white skin, and the aureole of her nipples are a dark shade of red, almost brownish. She’s a natural blonde. She wanted me to see it, and it turned me on so much. That’s how I know that she is waiting for me too. She put on that show for me and now I am here, putting the key in the lock, and I am ready to surprise her. I try to be as silent as possible. I don’t want to wake her up just yet. I want to surprise her, see her sleep, maybe inhale her scent. I am planning to cut off a little of her hair as a souvenir. She will not be pleased, but if I do it while she’s sleeping, she won’t even notice. I remember where her kitchen is and look through the drawers to find scissors. Her kitchen is not as neat as I would have expected it. The dishes from her dinner are still in the sink, and there is half a glass of wine on the counter. On second thought – she must have left it for me. I drink it in one go and lick the rim of the glass. She drank out of the same glass. Some of her DNA is going over into my bloodstream now. I feel euphoric. She is in me.

In the dark, I have trouble to find the right door, but soon enough, I find it. It’s not closed, and I sneak in. Her breathing is calm and even. Almost hypnotizing. She is only wearing panties, the sheet that must have covered her earlier is a mess and not doing its job well. I bend down over her to smell her. I want to memorize this moment. I let my nose roam over her body, paying particular attention to her genitalia. The scent of woman and sweat arouses me further and I stroke myself through my clothes. I can’t hold back a moan. She stirs in her sleep, but she doesn’t wake up. She parts her legs, and her slip moves a little to the side. I am sure she did it on purpose because now I can see her most intimate secret place. I am going to taste her tonight. My cock strains against my pants and I have to free it. I let out another groan when the chilly night air blows over its precum drenched head. I imagine it to be her mouth and her breath on me. Will it ever be more than just a fantasy?

I still clutch the scissors in my hand and remember to cut off one of her locks. When I move closer, my penis touches her shoulder. Her hot skin and her naked body are too much for me to take. I rub myself faster and come all over her breasts and shoulder. Some of my release lands on her face and in her hair. She looks good like that. She is such a beautiful woman christened with my semen. She is mine now. I marked her as mine.

She wakes up, I startled her, and she stares at me with wide eyes. I know that they are blue. I would like to see the color again, but it’s dark in here. Her legs and arms begin to flail in a weak attempt to cover herself. I tell her that I am finally here and that I understood her invitation. I sit down on her bed and feel the mattress dip under my weight. The heat radiating from her body is palpable, even through the layers of my clothes I can feel her. I run my hand over her torso and pay extra attention to her breast. As I predicted earlier, she likes it when I knead them. She whimpers and whispers “Please, please,” her voice sounds different from when I asked her for the time, but I guess it’s because she just woke up. My hand wanders further south and comes to rest between her legs. She closes them, trapping my hand over her heated vagina. I stroke it with my thumb. She whimpers again. I let my nose roam over her neck and lick it. She tastes salty and like soap. I love it. It’s intoxicating. But there is something else. It feels like panic. But maybe I only confuse it with the taste of arousal.

She starts to move more. Almost as if she is trying to fight me. But she can’t be fighting me. I love her. She is my soul mate. She pushes me away hard, and I lose my grip on her. She plays hard to get. I smirk at that. I love it when women do that. I get closer to claim what’s mine again, only, this time, she slaps me in the face. That was not nice. Not nice at all. I only want to love her and protect her. “Get away from me,” she screams and slaps me again. I start to wrestle her on her bed and come to lie on top of her. I know that I am a stout man. She can’t get away from me now that I trapped her with my own body, but she catches me off guard when her knee collides with my balls. The pain is blinding me, and I course. I slap her face to make her see sense. To make her stop. The more she fights me, the more I slap her, until she is finally lying still. I tell her that I will put on the lights now. She isn’t protesting. I guess she understood that I am here to worship her. To love her.

In the dark, I try to find the light switch. I blink when the bedroom is illuminated. What I see now is not what I have expected to see. She is full of blood. Her body and her bed are drenched in it. I look at my hands, they are colored crimson from her blood too. Her face looks bloated, swollen. Her eyes are open. Staring at the ceiling. Filled with fear. I didn’t do it. I didn’t want this to happen. I love her. I fall down on my knees and weep. I didn’t want this. The scissors are impaled in her neck. I must have stuck them in while we were fighting. I can’t remember anything.

No matter how many gushing wounds she has on her face and neck and torso, she is still a beauty. I let my hands wander across her body one last time. I want to memorize her and lock those memories inside my mind. Her skin is colder than before, and it is strange that she isn’t breathing, but she looks peaceful. I will miss her, but now, she will be forever mine. It gives me solace.

I get up from the floor and put my limp dick inside my pants again. It’s time to leave and hide back in the shadows. She’s just asleep. Only sleeping. Yes, that’s it; she is resting. Tomorrow I will come back again. Maybe she won’t fight me as much and just lets me in. I know she wants it. I pull the scissors out of her neck and cut a thick lock of her hair off to put it in the pocket of my coat. I don’t need the scissors anymore and drop them on the floor. One last time I kiss her red lips. I expect her to moan or response in any way, but she stays silent. She must be exhausted. Quietly, because I don’t want to wake her up, I leave her apartment.

It is dark and cold outside. I see that I forgot to turn off her lights, but she will certainly do it herself when she wakes up again. I sit down on a bench nearby and pull out the lock of her hair. It’s soiled in blood, just like my hands and clothes. But it’s okay. It’s her blood, and I will put off washing it off as long as I can. It’s a part of her after all. I sniff at the hair, and I have an instant boner. Freeing myself from the confines of my pants, I rub myself until I find release.

Tomorrow I will visit her again. The thought of touching her again makes me shudder. I smell my fingers, they still hold the scent of her skin and of her blood. I am made to love her, and soon, she will see it too. And then, she will love me too.