Seraphim

Prologue: He Be Judged

Gregory was dreaming.

He knew it was a dream.

He didn’t care. It was going to be one of those dreams he would wake dripping with sweat and a massive erection. He had them every couple of weeks since he had gone into hiding.

This time, it was an incident from maybe seven years ago. He was in that old house across the street from that white trash dive bar in Rocky Hill, Connecticut.

He was in the basement. He’d laid the clear plastic out on the floor perfectly. All the furniture and equipment in the room had been covered and taped properly. Once again, he was certain there’d be no trace evidence. The police had searched his previous home in Norwich 4 times. He had gotten lucky. The law wasn’t very thorough those days. But it was a close enough call for him to change locations.

Here in Rocky Hill, he had just set up shop. This was his third guest in as many weeks. He had thought his set up was too good to be true. Trashy drunk women would stumble out of that bar before midnight. Most would have a ride or call a taxi. But there was a few. Just a few who convinced themselves they could just walk along the highway and hitchhike their way home.

That’s where he met Mandy.

When he pulled up alongside her and asked if she needed a ride somewhere, he could barely make out her inaudible slurring. She stank of Bailey’s Irish Cream. She even had spots of creamy white splashed on your tight red shirt and her black lace bra peaking from out of the top. When he told her to get in, she muttered a few words and nearly tripped off of the curb trying to climb in the passenger seat.

And now, here she was. Mandy.

Sitting in his fun room. His house of pleasure.

He had her tied firmly to his favorite chair and black electrical tape across her mouth. He made sure not to cover her nose because he didn’t want her to suffocate. That would be too easy.

She was barely conscious. Her head bobbed every once in a while and she tried to mumble something from behind her taped lips. He sat across from her in an identical chair.

These were the moments he cherished the most. The calm before the storm. The foreplay. The kill would be over in a matter of seconds. It was the anticipation that drove him crazy. He licked his lips, observing her heaving chest. Her breathing was irregular. When she coughed he was afraid she would vomit, and with the tape across her mouth, she’d surely suffocate.

He didn’t realize he was drooling. He wiped his moist mouth with his calloused hand. The rough jagged edges of his crusted skin scraped across his mouth and chin. He licked his lips once again as he rose to his feet and approached the incoherent Mandy. He bent over until he was almost face to face with her slouching head.

He gently brushed the stray strands of hair from the left side of her face and pushed them behind her ear. Now he could see her entire face. And judging by the movement of her eyebrows and the rapid fluttering behind her eyelids, he knew she was waking up. He braced himself for the moment her eyes opened. He waited for her stare to widen when she realized what was happening.

Her fear would wash over him like an orgasm. His pants throbbed in anticipation.

Her eyes slowly opened and her vision locked with his.

And then he woke up.

“Greg!” was the first word he heard when his eyes opened. He jumped, startled.

“Greg! Take out the trash! It’s after midnight!” A familiar voice cried from behind him.

His vision adjusted and the site of his television replace the gaze of Mandy. He realized that the dream was over. He was back on his couch, still in his work clothes. He had come in from the gas station, had a beer to watch the news and nodded off to the sweet memory of Mandy in his basement.

And then she woke him up.

“I’m getting sick of having to tell you every goddamn time to take out the trash before dark! You know we have a critter problem!” His wife Justine bellowed at him like a broken record.

He wanted to jump up and grab her by the throat, or he’d grab her head from behind and twist it with all his might. The pleasure of hearing her neck snap would probably be worth having to leave San Francisco.

He’d buried twenty four beautiful bodies in his eight years of fun. It wouldn’t be prudent to kill his camouflage wife and bring attention to himself. After all, he’d done the impossible. He’d gotten away with mass murder.

But still, he smiled at the thought of her head falling limp over her body after breaking her neck.

He could still hear her arguing to herself in the bedroom when he grabbed the two large black garbage bags she had tied close and left next to the back door.

“And please remember put the lids on tight! The dogs are getting into the…”

He stepped outside and closed the doors before he could hear her finish her rant.

The wet, biting cold hit him in the face immediately. He thought about going back in quickly for his jacket, but realized he’d have to hear her mouth again. He wanted to delay that as long as possible.

He crossed the small backyard grass and reached the tall wooden back gate door. He jiggled the small metal handle until the door swung inwards, revealing the darkened alleyway.

His wife called out from the house again.

He quickly stepped into the alley and shut the door behind him.

A moment of peace was upon him. He stood where he was for a second and took a deep breath and enjoyed the nothingness that was the alley. It stretched for as far as the eye could see in both directions. It was faintly lit by the luminance of light coming from the houses that ran parallel on both sides.

Greg had walked six houses down to the mass of grey, blue and green garbage and recycle bins that were crowded in an empty lot where a house use to be. It was an unwritten rule that this would be the only place the garbage men would pick up trash. This would cut down on the time the large idling trucks would be in the area at 4 in the morning.

He reached a long row of grey garbage bins and started the tedious task of opening each one to find room for his garbage. He held his breath the entire time.

He finally found room in the seventh bin he checked. It was half full but there was still plenty of room for his two bags. Or at least he’d make the room. He swung the first bag up and over the bin and brought it crashing into place. The second bag needed a little help to fit. He lightly pressed in, pushing the second bag down until it was level with the top of the bin.

As he pulled the lid down and started to make his way back toward the house, he managed to look up to his left and see that a window on the third floor the house opposite to the garbage lot. The light was dim but still managed to radiate the darkened alley. In the window, there was the face of what seemed to be a little girl. He thought she had to be around 5 or 6 years of age. He could barely make out her blonde ponytails and the pink ribbons that held them.

He was about to wave to her, but then noticed that she wasn’t looking at him. She was frozen, staring down the alleyway toward his house. Greg followed her gaze, which in fact was directed at his very gate. It wasn’t the gate specifically. It was the silhouetted figure that stood in front of it.

A cold shiver washed over Greg. He stopped in his tracks to try and let his brain register what he was seeing and his eyes adjust to the dark. Firstly, he was convinced his eyes were playing tricks on him. Even though there was ample light radiating down the alleyway, he couldn’t see any definition in this figure. But the bushes next to him, the old newspaper page beneath his feet– they had color and detail. It was ash if he was looking at the shadow of a silhouette.

Another thing was the size of this figure. Grey knew that his back gate was nearly eight feet tall. He remembered measuring it when they first moved in to make sure prying eyes couldn’t see his backyard without effort. Staring at this figure, it almost looked as if the top of his head was parallel with the top of the gate.

But that was impossible.

The tallest men in existence were barely over seven feet. It had to be some type of optical illusion.

Everything inside of Greg screamed for him to run. Every fiber in his being told him the situation was not in his favor. But he knew that feeling all too well. He’d had it more than a few times before he abducted his subjects. That feeling excited him. It was part of the hunt.

And that’s when he realized that he was in fact the hunter. He was the predator. He was the man who’d captured and killed over two dozen victims. If anything, this shadowy figure needed to fear him. The silhouette’s inner voice should be telling him to turn and walk the other way.

Greg started to walk toward the figure, a grin slowly creeping across his face.

As he grew closer, he looked up at the little girl’s house. She had since disappeared from the window, the light turned off and the curtains closed.

Good. He didn’t need to have witnesses to what he was going to do.

A few paces down the alley, Greg saw what seemed to be a discarded crutch leaning against his neighbor’s gate. One of the screws of the middled handle was missing, so the bar dangled to one side. He maneuvered himself toward it and grabbed it as he passed by. The ice cold metal was wet and slippery from the night’s dew. But Greg’s grip was firm. This would work fine as a weapon.

He didn’t totally lift the crutch. He let it drag along the ground. The rubber sole at the bottom had worn off, so the metal bottom scraped against the dirt and gravel alley floor. The sound echoed in the silent night.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Greg called out playfully.

He didn’t want the stranger to answer. He wanted the confrontation. It had been so long since he tasted another’s blood. He preferred young women. It was always paramount that he had a sizable advantage in the confrontation. But the crutch would be the great equalizer this time. He could beat the stranger bloody, call the cops and be a hero for protecting the community.

“I said.. can I help you?” Greg said again, pulling the crutch off of the ground and getting a firm grip.

He was about 5 yards away by this time. It was at that moment that he realized this figure was in fact the same height at his gate. And even thought he was a mere steps away from him, he still couldn’t see the figure. It was still a silhouette. Light seemed to disappear within it, like a black hole.

His brain tried to process what he was looking at. There still was more things that were off. The height and lack of light was weird already, but there seemed to be even more wrong. It was as if whoever or whatever it was, it didn’t belong there. Not just there. But anywhere. It didn’t seem to fit at all. It was as if someone had taken a pair of scissors and cut away whatever was suppose to be standing there.

Greg stopped a couple yards away. He looked up at where it’s face was suppose to be.

There was just blackness.

Greg gripped the crutch in both hands.

“I don’t want any trouble.” He said. He meant for the words to come out more forcefully, but his voice cracked. He wasn’t use to facing someone bigger than he was. He was out of his element.

He gripped the crutch tighter. He had to muster up enough courage to get into his gate.

“Say something!” Greg said, this time with a little more bass in his voice. He was a fraction of a second away from wielding the crutch. He realized it would be better if he struck first. He’d have to catch the larger man off guard if he were to gain the upper-hand.

What came next was unexpected.

The figure spoke. But it was more than speech. In fact, there was no sound. Only the force of vibration that seem to hit Greg like a speeding car. There was no actual sound, but Greg heard every word. It was as if he were standing in front of an enormous subwoofer.

“JUDGEMENT.” The Thing continued to bellow.

Greg’s knees buckled from the force.

He heaved his empty stomach outward. He felt out-of-breath like he was punched in the stomach. His fingers convulsed as if he was hit with an electric shock. The crutch went falling to the alley floor.

“Oh, God…” he said trying to keep his-self standing. His world was like vertigo and the Thing continued to say that single word.

And as Greg reached down to retrieve his crutch to defend himself, he realized the last strange thing that was bothering him. As his hands gripped the crutch, he noticed that his own shadow stretched in-front of him and into this figure.

And that this Thing had no shadow of his own.

This was no man.

Greg was kneeling by now. He looked up and this silhouette, which now looked even more massive.

Another wave of forcefully vibrating silence came. But this time, it was a name.

“MANDY PORTER.” The last victim. The last woman Greg would ever lay his hands on. That was the moment he realized he wasn’t going to make it in the house. He wasn’t going to see his stupid wife again. He wasn’t going to see anything ever again. The devil had caught up with him.

He had a moment to raise his hands up in self defense. Greg could see that the Thing had a weapon raised over his head.

“Please don’t…” he tried to mutter. But the swinging blow came down on top of him like thunder. The ground buckled under him as the blunt weapon crushed Greg and pushed him into the Earth. A sonic wave, similar to an earthquake bellowed outward. Ripples of rock pushed away from Greg’s eviscerated caucus. The surrounding houses and apartments trembled. Car alarms sprang to life. You could hear the symphony of car horns in the distance.

And in the next moment it was over.

The alley was silent.

The shadowy figure was gone as if it had never been there.

Greg Pinter’s bloody, meaty puree covered the alley asphalt, and walls and tall fences.

“Greg!?! Where are you?!?” Justine Pinter called to her husband from the back door.

There was no answer.