Chapter 16
Night had set and the moon was silently rising but he did not turn a light on. Instead he sat in his favorite armchair in the dark. He twirled his knife in one hand absentmindedly as he started out into the darkness of the night trying to figure out what the fuck to do next. Everything was going according to plan, the amount of bodies, where the bodies were, everything was great except for the fact that they weren't staying dead.
He had been sitting in the same spot all day, with his knife, trying to figure it out. The whole thing was driving him insane, well more insane. He was self aware enough that he knew that most people did not have the same thirst for blood that he did. But that was fine with him, that just meant there were more people for him to use to create his very own art with. And his family believed in him, they nurtured him, they fostered his talent. They never shunned him for it, in fact they embraced him for it.
They applauded him, they revered him. It was his best trait, it was something that they looked for in children. And here he was, he had the artistry, the vision, and the drive in spades. That was the whole reason why he was chosen for this assignment. He was the only one that could ever hope to succeed. But right now he was failing, and he never failed. It never occurred to him that he could fail, he had everything on his side, and yet here he was 10 kills in and not even a body to show for it.
It was grating, knowing that he stabbed so many nameless and faceless; at least to him; people, and well they barely counted as people in his eyes; the only true people were his family and this cattle called humans hardly qualified; and watched the blood and the life drain from their eyes only to see them walking around town the very next day. It was infuriating, he did not put in all of the effort to perfect his art and his craft for it to all be wasted in the matter of less than a day.
He had been sitting in his day trying to figure out what went wrong. It never even crossed his mind that he did something wrong. He knew with certainty that he did everything right. He had spent most, if not all, of his life mastering his art. And the current bodies he dropped were by no means his first. So he knew that it wasn't him, which meant that it had to be something else, or someone else. He had heard the rumors of course, how couldn't he? But he had pushed them from his mind, but now, could it be?
"No." He scoffed at himself for even considering that nonsense. "Magic doesn't exist." Of course he was conveniently ignoring exactly why he had been sent to the town in the first place, but that didn't count, not really. What he was doing was the truth, it was fact, he had evidence, it was totally different from what the townspeople whispered about. Or at least that's what he told himself.
"But what else could it be?" He growled to himself and gripped his knife tighter. It was then, as he clutched the knife; his knife; that he felt it.
It was a rush. All 10 lives that he had taken rushed back into him all at once. It was as if he had killed them all over again. With a gasp he dropped the knife on the carpet and as suddenly as the energy surged within him it was gone. He looked at his hand and then ever so slowly bent down to grab his knife. But he couldn't quite make his fingers close around the knife and they just hovered over it.
Never before in his life could he remember a time when he did not revel in the feeling of his knife in his hand. It had always been a part of him and he had never been afraid of it. But that rush of power, he had never experienced anything like it before. Of course he had always felt like he had been reenergized when he stabbed someone and watched the life drain from their eyes. But he always thought that it was just because of the rush of the kill and not anything else. But now he was questioning everything.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he took a deep breath and curled his fingers around his knife. He braced himself the moment that it was fully in his hand, but nothing happened. "Hmm," He mused. "What to do with you?"
And then suddenly, inexplicably, it came to him. It was as if the knife had whispered its every secret in his ear and suddenly he understood. He grinned sharply and shark-like. "Oooh," He crooned. "The fun you and I will have. The best is yet to come."
And now, now that he had a purpose, he no longer had a need to prowl at night. Oh he would prowl at night, one couldn't stop an artist from painting, could they? No. He would never stop hunting, creating, but he had everything he needed. That meant that he had to focus on the second part of the plan. So having received all of the answers he slipped down to his basement to make preparations for the next part.
"Oh baby, you and me. You and me. We will make art like no one in this town has ever seen." He crooned delightedly to his knife as he settled himself in for a long night.