There’s a tall figure, his back turned to me, blood dripping over his lean muscles. He looks like he was carved from stone. He could have told me he was Lucifer himself, and I would believe him. His semblance transcends therealms of humanity, embodying a mystique that surpasses mere mortal attributes.
His head turns over his shoulder to look at me. That familiar smirk matches those dead pale eyes reflecting back at me.
As the corner of his lips peel up into a smirk, that predatory clicking rises in his throat, like some type of demon from a deep circle of hell. Explicitly tasked to torture me.
I stagger back as my vision blurs again. All I see is the predatory reflection of his eyes in the low light as he approaches.
“I look forward to us, little shadow.”
The sudden drop of my heart ripped me from my mind and back into reality.
“It’sbecause you’reworkingall the time instead of having fun withme,” Phoebe badgered, tapping the rim of her cup.
“It’s not that. I haven’t slept well the past few days. Work relaxes me.”
“Workrelaxesyou? Please, when has any normal person ever said that and meant it?”
“I mean it!” I laughed, but Phoebe’s expression told me she didn’t believe it.
We decided to meet at Phoebe’s place for our morning gossip session, as the rain had put a damper on our walk.
“Maybe you’re not sleeping because apparently there’s a ripper running the streets. I am sure you saw the story about the new bodies,” Phoebe murmured.
“What new bodies?” I reached my hand out eagerly. “Show me.”
She offered up that morning’snewspaper.
There were two bodies found in the harbor. The illustration pictured their pale faces and rigid bodies laid out on the dull cobblestones where they were dragged out.
It was notable that the two girls appeared similar. The paper stated they were not related, not even acquaintances. But they lookedsofamiliar.
Their eyes were clouded, yet a glimpse of light hues remained visible. Dark, wet hair clung to their faces in disarray.
Another item of interest was the skin on the left side of their faces. It was neatly peeled off from above their eyebrow and through their eye. The exposed muscles and neat borders of the wounds on their faces insinuated that it was meticulously done, methodical, even.
There was no question about who did it, but it made me wonder about the need for theatrics.
This was a message for me. Trust me, it was received. Though the motif to my markings was distasteful at best.
My repulsion must have shown on my face, since Phoebe yanked the newspaper from my clenched hands. “That’s enough of the macabre for one morning.”
My mind swam with possibility. Would he come for me today? Tomorrow? A fortnight? I was relieved he had not shown himself yet, as I was not looking forward to such an interaction. I could only hope this threat was a stand-alone. Luckily for him, there was no need to worry about the police. He would have to worry about whatIwould do to him, especially if the taunting continued.
Nevertheless, I had to be prepared for whichever scenario he chose. There was no knowing what he would do, but I had a feeling that killing me would be too kind based on this creature’s cruel tastes. Putting so much effort into a message would be a waste if he were going to make it quick.
After I partedwith Phoebe, I made some stops at the market and the apothecary. The bottles and pieces of metal clinked together in my satchel on the journey home. The dark was not something I was afraid of, but I was not going to put myself in such a precarious situation either way. I closed the shop early to make sure of it.
The contents of my satchel were dumped over the kitchen counter as soon as I arrived home. I could not decide what I needed, so I grabbed a little of everything. Small, oddly shaped vials of varying colors rolled across the wood. Some were clear glass, exposing different-colored liquids. Others were dark brown tinted glass for the more photosensitive solutions in my collection. I forgot to label them, so it would be a surprise for both of us if I decided to use them. Other items clattered onto the table, such as a metal syringe, freshly sharpened seamstress shears, and an extra folded barber’s blade. I had many knives at home, though you could never have enough.
I had to admit, I caught myself getting almost giddy thinking about what I would be using. Fantasizing about the confrontation. Would he be surprised to learn that his hunt will end with his death? I daydreamed about the look that might cross his face when he realized that he would be pursued back. Should I make it fast or slow? Which reminded me, I needed to retrieve some rope from the greenhouse just in case I got the opportunity to drag it out longer.
The surface of the glass bottles was cool against my fingers, trailing over to the assortment, not sure which one to pick up first. My fingertips had a slight red tint, as I habitually forgot to use my gloves when appreciating my beloved greenery. One of many awful habits.
Phoebe would always scold me and attempt to prescribe her own beauty regimen of beef tallow and other ointments to ridme of the irritation. Luckily, gloves would forever be the norm, and no one had to see my hands for as long as they were fashionable.
I didn’t mind. Getting my hands like this had taken many hours of work. It was a sign of accomplishment. My father said unmarked hands were a sign of a man who had not worked for his achievements. He was most likely referring to a future husband, but I decided that it was a standard I wished to hold myself to as well.
My attention was eventually pulled from my trinkets and on to more important tasks for the night. I turned to the doors, windows, and anything that opened to ensure they were locked. I even closed the shutters for good measure.
