PROLOGUE
Pius Thicknesse was strung to the ceiling with braided deep sea fishing line.
It held him up unnaturally in his office chair, looking like an uncanny image of a puppet.
A whimpering puppet; whose hands were fingerless, besides one remaining index finger, which pointed plainly at an untouched envelope on the large mahogany desk in front of it.
“Perfectly executed, my dear,” a cool voice sounded.
The walls were pristine, practically gleaming.
…clean.
Every window, door, and entry to the property looked arguably brand new - which they presumably were, considering who owned the premises.
Or, rather, had owned.
“It’s been months and there’s still no sign of him,” a second voice echoed as they looked around the room, “You’re certain he will come?”
Two sets of eyes panned from the strung man to the lone marked wall to his left. Cursive writing protruded from the brick, the calligrapher’s ink pot being that of Pius Thicknesse’s blood - a vermillion shade, still warm and trickling to the hardwood flooring.
“Of course he will, an animal always goes where the scent of blood is strongest,” they laughed before they sauntered toward the body of Thicknesse and placed his forefingers on his forehead.
Ticknesse’s pupils dilated with fear.
His whimpers grew more strained, against the tight gag in his mouth, as the fingers dug deeper into his skull, leaving indents in their wake.
However, after a moment, his face drooped, relaxing so suddenly that an abnormal air began to fill the room.
A toothy grin stretched across Pius’ face as a single tear ran down his ghostly pale cheek.
Under the murky light of a Yule moon, a sinful smile gleamed, “Oh yes, he will come,” they whispered to Pius, watching as his eyes dimmed with dread before they turned their attention to the bloody wall, where a message dripped… “- and when he does -”
…dripped…
“- he will follow.”
…dripped…
..A Riddle for a Riddle.