This is not really a fanfic, it is more of a novel so enjoy! =)
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The Glow of the Dark: Part 1-Visitor by Kikard
I wake with a start to find myself in bed as I should be. Except I’m covered in sweat. And it seems hotter than usual. I look around and everything seems normal, except for one thing. The door. It’s closed and I always sleep with the door open. As I’m starting to convince myself that I must have left it closed on accident, It starts to throb, and a sickly orange glow forces it’s way through the cracks.
I get up and the stench of burning flesh hits me like one too many ****tails. I reel backwards, barely able to keep my footing. I make my way over to the door. It gets hotter with every step. The stench gets worse and mixes with that of flesh and blood. I fight back the urge to gag and reach the door.
I put my ear up against it and I hear something bubbling, like boiling water. And then I hear laughter. Not the happy, pleasant laughter of children playing. The maniacal, halting laughter of the psychotic. It’s low, but obvious. Someone, or something, is on the other side of the door. Something is laughing. But at what it’s done or what it will do, I don’t know. I hope for the latter.
I figure it’ll try to kill me when I come out. It can try, all right. Doesn’t mean it’ll work. I grab my pistol and get ready to open the door. I throw it open and bring the gun to bear. I don’t pull the trigger. One benefit of staying in a hotel is you don’t have to pay as much for property damage. The people across the hall no longer have a door.
The laughter’s stopped, but it’s obvious why. The room across the hall is a wash in blood. Someone had a blast ripping the couple across the hall to pieces. Well, one of them at lest. The other is a smoldering carcass in the kitchen. I fight back the urge to gag again. Sixteen years on the force and I’m still not prepared for this. I stumble out of the kitchen.
The head of the young woman is still intact, which is more than I can say for the man in the kitchen. The rest of her is spread out across the apartment. I move over to the bedroom and the smell of sex mixes with everything else. The ******* raped her first, then chopped her up into little pieces and stuck her head in the middle of the table like some kind of sadistic centerpiece.
I step outside the room and find that my door has been marked. Not with spray-paint like it normally is. Someone etched a pentagram on my door. And not just the circle with the star. There are some weird occult markings in between the points. It’s very ornate, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Someone must have carved it while I was in the other room. They carved the whole door in about five minutes.
I tell myself that that’s not possible, that I must have missed it on my way out. No one can do that in five minutes. But they did. Somehow, someone did. They carved the whole door in less than five minutes. They even put in an ornate arrow telling me where to go. I listen to the door.
I check my gun again. It’s all set. All it needs is a target. I walk down the hall, past four more rooms that look exactly the same as the last. Past four more arrows. They hit every door after mine. I don’t know why, but they did. The last arrow points down the stairs. Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do.
I move down the stairs. First thing I see is a headless security guard. I figure he won’t mind if I borrow his pistol. Can’t hurt to have a back up. I see more signs and arrows, all pointing down, and the little voice in the back of my head tells me I should just go back. Just be happy I’m still alive and forget this whole thing. But I know I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try. And besides, someone has to put this freak down. I get to the bottom of the stairs. The arrow points out into the alleyway.
The door’s unlocked, but then it’s hard to lock a door when it’s been slashed open. I come out into the night air in the darkest part of the darkest alley in the darkest city I’ve ever seen. My eyes adjust and then I see him. Standing in the middle of the alley, dressed all in black and covered in blood. His weapon was a long sword, gleaming red in the darkness. What he used to burn those people though, is either hidden or he got rid of it.
He saw me walk out and smiled. The light caught his face and I realized who it was.
"S’been a while, mate. Betcha weren’t expectin’ this, now was ya?" He said.
His name was Carl Lockley, an ex-rapist and serial killer. I say "ex" because I blew his brains out four years ago.
"The Hell?" I mutter. "I blew your head off. You’re dead."
"Eh, I’s not that bad, really." He grinned, "Being dead, I mean."
"No. It can’t be. You’re just some guy who looks like Lockley. Hell, you could just be an illusion. A figment of my imagination."
He laughed and pulled his hair out of his face. Right in the middle of his forehead was a gaping hole. Just the size my gun would have made.
"No. No. I don’t believe it. You’re not real. I’m just imagining things. You’re dead. You’re ****ing dead."
Again he laughed. "I’m real enough. Anyway, I’m not here tuh prattle. I’s got a job tuh do, ya know."
"What? A hallucination is going to kill me? You’re insane."
He threw his head back and gawked. "I’m insane?" He laughed the same laugh I’d heard before, "I think not. Who’s more insane? The ‘imagination’ oo says ee’s dead, or the man talking to’im? ‘Sides, Ah’m nah about tuh kill ya."
"No? What do you want then?"
"I got’s a message for ya. Say’s right here on the envelope," He flicked his wrist and an envelope appeared from out of nowhere. "’Detective ‘Enry Yaites’. Thas you, ain’t it."
"Yeah. Who’s it from?"
"What’s it matter? I’m not real remember?" he laughed again. "’Sides, it don’t say."
"Fine. Let me have it then."
"’Aight. ‘Ere, ya go, mate." He gave me the letter and turned to walk away. "Eh, sleep well, mate." He laughed.
I looked down at the letter. There was no sender. I looked up but Lockley had vanished. I shoved the letter in my pocket and went back to my room. The blue boys would be here soon enough to sort out this mess. No one would believe me if I told them, anyway.
I fell down on the bed, and took out the envelope. I checked it again. It was plain white with nothing on it but my name, ‘Detective Henry Yaites’, in plain black ink. I opened it with my knife and pulled out a folded letter. It fell open, showing hand written words in the same plain text as my name had been.
Dear Det. Yaites,
I’m sure that by now you’re wondering about a lot of things. First of all, let me introduce myself. My name is Thanatos, and I feel that your abilities would be useful to my cause.
You may ask, ‘What abilities?’ Have you noticed your innate ability to sense danger? Or your ability to take far more abuse than any other human you know? You have been shot over forty-five times, have you not? This is more than just luck.
As my associate has undoubtedly shown you, the dead do not necessarily stay dead. Some rise from their graves to become the re-animate, more commonly known as zombies or ghouls. You may think that these are simply creatures out of horror stories. That they can not possibly exist. You would be wrong, however.
And it is not just re-animate. Angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, ghosts. All these creatures do in fact exist. It has come to my attention that you are half demon. This explains the abilities I described above. Because of this, I seek your assistance in a matter of grave importance. It is imperative that you respond as soon as possible.
You would fill as a hit-man of sort. Your targets would be the aforementioned creatures who have gone against the code put in place to protect all beings, living or dead. You would be a police officer of the underworld in a way.
I can assure you that your services will be well paid for and that you will be properly equipped and trained in the dark arts. I apologize for my messengers rather brutal way of getting your attention. He has the same tastes in death as he had in life. He is in fact in my employ in the position you would be taking. You two would not have to work together, considering your past.
If you accept, please meet me outside of the cemetery in four days time at precisely 12:00 midnight. Come alone, but you may arm yourself if it makes you feel more secure. I hope to see you then.
Sincerely,
Thanatos
A letter from Death. Or at least that’s what they want me to believe. I figure I’ll go on down, just to see how much of this bull **** is actually true. Someone’s pretending to be Death. That’s funny.