Yo, Sparda here. My newest fan-fic (besides my regularly updated profile, which I count as a fan-fic, lol). Mystery and horror await inside. Who knows how it will end, what it will lead to...?
*"Deep into that darkness peering. Long I stood there........
........wondering..... .......fearing...... ......doubting......." -Edgar Allen Poe*
The man walked into the alley. It was a cold, dark, and damp night. His breath came out in wisps, and his steps clicked on the cracked pavement. He knew that who he was looking for was at the other end.
"Yo......you there man?", he called out, his voice echoing a bit.
Slowly, a man stepped out of the shadows, but kept in enough for his face to be obscured.
His head made a nodding motion.
"Good.....I got the cash. You got the delivery?", the man asked again. He was about 5'9, with short, shaved hair, torn jeans and a leather jacket over his chest.
The man stepped forward, revealing his face.
The first man's face went pale. His eyes widened, and his mouth gaped.
"T-the h^ll? Where's Steve? You a cop? YOU CAN'T PROVE ANYTHING!", he yelled to the stranger.
The stranger didn't nod at all this time. He just moved forward.
He reached into his trenchcoat pocket, and extracted a long, silver butcher knife and a cord.
"Whoa-c-calm down man! We can make an agreement! I swear!", the man pleaded as the stranger came near him.
He just moved closer.
The man turned to run, but a strong hand grabbed him from behind and threw him to the side. His head cracked against the pavement. In front of him stood the stranger, knife held high.
"No-f^ck no man! NO!", the man screamed as the knife came down.
A wet slicing sound cut through the air, followed by the splash of blood. The sharp instrument cut in, again and again, screams punctuating the cold night air. It kept on going, until it went down in a garbled mess, drowned out as the crimson blade severed his throat, and he fell. For moments afterwards, the stabbing continued, until the stranger stopped.
Blood went down to the end of the knife, dripping to the wet pavement. He didn't look anywhere, didn't make sure no one saw. Just slowly stepped out of the alley, into the cold night.
"HOLY SH!T!", Kyle yelled as he practically jumped out of bed, gasping. The 19 year old had a sick, twisted nightmare. Murder.
His face was covered in sweat, and he breathed in raggedy gasps.
He slid out of his bed.
He was fairly tall, almost six feet. Somewhat muscular, he was the average joe where he worked.
He looked at the clock. It's surface read 5:30.
He sighed. Work started in and hour.
I better get going, he thought to himself, and exited his room to get ready for his departure.
That's part one! I'll be putting up part 2 soon, where it starts to kick up. Thanks for reading!