Dark Stalker
(WARNING!: The Material of this monsters origins is very mature and graphic, and may be offensive to some readers...)
Note: Vincent Mancini
Physical Description: When not completely engulfed in "the Darkness" Vincent is a handsome, and Distinguished Young man. He is athletic and carries himself with Dignity and with an often playboy-like attitude.
However, when consumed with "The Darkness", the many Daemons that make up his personae, Dark Stalker is an Intimidating, 7'0"+ Hulking mass of Black, Writhing, Necrostuff. With a Maw of razor-like fangs and Eyes which glow brilliantly golden... Bony-like callouses dot its frame, armoring it against attack.
Dark Stalker Speaks with many Voices in either form, some of which sound like male, female voices, some pained, others melancholy, and some even distorted or completely inhuman. Needless to say, his words are often Eerie, and the voices don't always speak in Unison. ((Think The Exorcist)) However, "The Darkness" has made great progress with its Speech, and can focus the Voices into unison, for collected speech. This has helped the otherwise fragmented thoughts and opinions of the Creatures to carry intelligible and even insightful conversation.
Character Logic/Power Type: Multiple Lesser Daemons, who have grown into one communal entity have possessed Vincent, and Feed from Ambient SIN, whether deed, thought, or literally consumed from the individual. ((Supernatural, Power Armor, Might))
Powers/Technology: "The Darkness" that envelopes Vincent is a physical manifestation of the Daemons within, they are amorphous, and can take on virtually any Organic-like shape (Typically Tendrils, Spikes, Elongation, etc) The Daemons grant immense Strength to Vincent as well as Resilience. Vincent can pass "The Darkness" through Shadow, transporting a portion, or its entirety to another location, nearby. (Allows him to tap others on the shoulder, grab feet, etc, from a distance) The Daemons breed Fear, and know how to implement their Daemonic presence to influence intelligent minds. They simply tap into their Monstrous heritage, to grant a moments understanding of the true horror they represent, tapping that subconscious part of all intelligent things, to simply understand that the creature before them simply is "WRONG" The Daemons Consume, they FEED, primarilly on SIN, which often can be done without any discomfort, however to those they deem their enemies, "The Darkness" makes a special case, which is all too often much more gruesome.
Back Ground: Vincent was involved with the Criminal Element from his childhood. He grew up in neighborhoods, that were rife with criminal activity, and his people (Italian Americans) did not want violence running rampant in their lives. Many have called this lifestyle and application of force to ensure a more peaceful way of life the Mafia, as those involved tend to be criminally involved themselves... to Vincent it was how things were... Vincent was a middle level enforcer, providing protection, and strong arm tactics to his neighborhoods, from outsiders, he was endeared to his Neighbors, and they turned to him for virtually everything. Vincent made it a point to treat his people like family, and in return, he had their undying support. Any time he had to lay low, from a job he performed for the Don, he had his Neighborhood to turn to, they would always provide him shelter and resources, given the need. Despite this heroic demeanor, and means to familiarize with his fellow Italian bloodline, Vincent was a Criminal. Vincent engaged in everything, from smuggling weapons, exotic materials, petty to grand theft, threats and strong arm tactics, to Ordered Murder. He was in deep, and as far as he knew, that meant he was doing well for himself. During an organized meeting, to discuss disputes about new avenues of income in their Territories, Vincent, his Don, and several armed enforcers of theirs, made their way into unfamiliar territory, to discuss with another Don these matters. During the proceedings Vincent received a call, and stepped from the room, into the hall... Whether by divine grace or sheer fate, Vincent was spared the immediate carnage that ensued. Something attacked the men at the meeting, it shred their bodies, it fed on their flesh, it splintered the furniture and seemed to move through shadows. Vincent attempted to get back into the room, but men were flung through the doors, as he made to enter, gun drawn...knocking him out cold. He awoke to find himself across the room, buried under a splintered door, and his fellow enforcers. The Thing was looming over him, its body was like smoke in the darkness, it moved, it grew and shrank, pieces of it reached out, like fingers all around it. Its huge Maw of Fangs, much like a Mako or Barricuda, hovered just above his face... its eyes, weren't eyes at all, but discolored patches of its alien flesh... As it hovered there, over him, its weight came upon the door, pinning and even crushing Vincent, it snaked out a long tongue, that molested his face, and recoiled in glee. The beast looked directly into his eyes, and Vincent felt something there, something in that void, call to him, like a hundred voices, crying for salvation, and Vincent let down his guard... When he awoke, it was with new eyes... there was no "he" anymore, it was us... WE, the ones of the earth, we move in shadows, we are timeless... It is we who know the secrets, we who walk between the worlds, we who are now you!
Distinguishing Features: Long, sleek, black hair. Voice sounds like many people talking...
Characteristic Gestures: Has a "Devilish" Grin, often promising something dark behind his otherwise charming and handsome pearly smile, whether its playful naughtiness, or underhanded maneuvers.
Family Background/Lineage: "Vincent" is the bastard-born son of Santino Vertacci, being born out of wedlock to Santino's Mistress. Vincent did not grow up as the son of Santino, but as a typical Italian boy with Italian neighbors. He always knew of his father, but due to the nature of his relationship with Vincent's mother, Vincent was not able to call him "father". Though he could not be his son in public, Santino, saw to it that his Mistress and her boy were cared for, providing the basic necessities for them. Santino was murdered in his service to his Don, and Father... his little brother Michael, would later take control of the family... and in time, Vincent would take his place among his family, and be granted his birthright.
Special Occupational Training: Vincent was raised understanding the complexities of the organized criminal element, growing familiar with customs, references, traditions, and even "messages". Of course with this, came other minor talents, such as lockpicking, concealment, slight of hand, shadowing, and a small number of other "related" skills.
Skills, Abilities, and Talents: Vincent is a very amiable personality, being well raised in manners and civility. He is very suave and respectful, well spoken, and even charming. Vincent has an eye for perfection, with hints of artist's blood.
Areas of Expertise: Vincent was by necessity, educated in the areas of vigilance and recognizing unseen threats. He can be very calculating, and even connivingly cunning when dealing with what he perceives as such. Vincent was an Enforcer for his family for several years, learning how to "send a message" that one soon wont forget.
Military Experience: Vincent spent four years in the U.S. ARMY, learning Counter-intelligence, and the other sweat inducing labors that come with the territory.
Short-Term Goals:
Long-Term Goals: Dark Stalker; Better understanding the "Human Nature"
Short-Term Needs: FEEDING
Long-Term Needs:
General Personality Type: Studious, Dark Stalker is ALWAYS learning new things about the complexities of human nature and the personality traits of those around them...
Introvert/Extrovert: A bit of both at times...
Quirks:
Eccentricities: The random use of their Alien tongue... Dark Stalker seems to host a long (over 3 foot) Prehensile tongue, which he sports to disturbing effect...
Temperament: Dangerous... Dark Stalker is almost always sizing people up, whether as to potential allies or enemies, he takes into account, that ANYONE can one day become an enemy... in Vincent's experience, it was commonplace for an enemy to completely be amiable, until the roar of the gun silenced their false smiles. Method of Handling Anger or Rage (Repress, throw things, etc): Stalk, and Feed, preferably upon the source...
Admirable Traits: Handsome, with charm and sensuality as Vincent... Fearsome, with Primal and Dark enforcement as Dark Stalker... Courageous... as both Vincent or Dark Stalker... Loyal to the very end, is not an idea, but a WAY OF LIFE to Vincent. Determined... Mettle, is not detered or swayed, regardless of the odds, the pain, or the potential loses in any courses of their actions.
Negative Traits: Dark Stalker can come off as Eerie and downright frightening sometimes with heavy disturbing elements.
Things That Make Uncomfortable or Embarrassed: None, thus far...
Most Painful Things in One's Life:
Ever Been Arrested?: No, but has been implicated, several times...
Political or Social Issues Most Important To Character: His relationship to Don Vertacci (Uncle) who is the Current Leader of the Vertacci Family, one of the FIVE Mafia families...
Fears:
Hobbies:
Interests (that aren't his hobbies): Women...?
Drinks Alcohol?: Normally no... having no desire for consumption of anything other then SIN.
Favorite Physical Attributes in Opposite Sex: Facial structure, Neckline, Curviture, Posture... and Finally Endowments :p
Attributes About Character that Turn on Opposite Sex: Chiseled, handsome features, carved directly out of home grown Italian blood. Vincent has dark, tanned skin, with strong masculine angular features, with just enough soft edges to make him charming and even boy-like under certain situations. Vincent has powerful, piercing eyes, that are full of Honesty and a certain dangerous / mysterious element. Is very direct about his thinking, but mysterious in the application of conversation (meaning; if he likes you you will know it, but will approach the pursuit of such with intrigue and playfullness) When Standing, Vincent carries himself with Pride and Dignity, promoting an aura of confidence, and alertness... When sitting, Vincent is very half-hazard, draping his arms / legs over arms of seats, leaning back, promoting an air of disconcern, and leisure.
Sexual Turn-Ons: Women who can meet his gaze, with the same primal hunger he has... Women who arent afraid to Touch him, or better, who openly pursue touching him in any intimate manner...
Sexual Turn-Offs: Rudeness... Especially Threatening Posturing or insinuation.
Speaking Style: Multiple Voices...
Philosophy of Life: Has no real concept of Idealism... has only began to understand the Ideal of Following Ideals...
Type and Number of Close Friends: Values others greatly, and appreciates life, can be VERY empathetic towards others plights, needs, etc... but is terrified that his condition will affect others, that the Darkness will contaminate them or in some more roundabout fashion, cause them harm...
Best Friend: Other Friends:
Most Crucial Experience: They have them, just need to be RP'd out of them...
Major Problems to Solve or Overcome: The Appearance of LEGION.
Solutions to Problems: normally, this is Primarilly DEATH, however, Dark Stalker is learning that a certain satisfaction is to be had from out-maneuvering an opponent.
Minor Problems to Solve or Overcome: Communicating with others as an equally developed entity with a sense of some individualism... this process has been failing utterly... However, more and more of Vincent is beginning to stand out, helping to make a more "me and them" mindframe... *this is still in the VERY early stages...
Name: Dark Stalker
Real Name: Joshua Thorn
Gender: Male
Age: Looks 11 - 12 (Human)
Height: 5'0" (Human)
Weight: 95 lbs (Human)
Hair: Dirty Blonde, with highlights (Long) (Human)
Eyes: Black with Intense (Glowing) Iris "Human"
Skin: Caucasian, child (Human)
Race/place of Origin: American
Physical Description: When not completely engulfed in "the Darkness" Josh, is a typical, yet stylish young boy. He is very stoic, and seems tense or stern. Speaks quietly, with a touch of melancholy, and Fatalistic reserve.
Korn; Forsaken
Korn; System (Good Voice Reference for DS, too)
Breaking Benjamin; Dear Agony (Vincent's Song)
(WARNING!: The Material of these stories is very mature and graphic, and may be offensive to some readers...)
"Life is good..."
He thought to himself, as he lie in bed, sweat still clinging the sheets to their bodies. She smelled like high class, must be the perfume from the high dollar stores she likely frequents. She was laying on his chest, running her hands through his chest hair, adoration thick in her voice.
"I love you Vincent... ya know?" she says playfully, with an edge of eagerness in her voice...
She was beautiful too, short, blonde hair, she wore loose to her shoulders... Her eyes were like starbursted sapphires, deep blue around the edges, but almost quartz like near the pupil. She was beautifully sculpted too, like an artists rendition of woman, en Perfecta.
"C'mon... say it?" She pleads, playfully, but the need is detectable in her voice.
"C'mon..." he replies, urging her to let it go.
"I want to hear you say it, that you love me."
She's been like this, lots of them were. Suppose he should be used to it, these American Girls, from their high society, see something dark and mysterious in the Italian boys, with their home grown physiques and their wistful easy going attitude. Dark passion burning behind their dark eyes... He's been here before, and things were rough right now, he couldn't be settling down with a woman anyhow... regardless how godlike she may be.
"I'm thirsty, C'mon get us a drink... we'll talk about it." he urges her.
It’s cruel, he knows, but he can’t say it, if he doesn't mean it, he may be a lot of things, but a liar, his mother would never forgive him that. She stares at him, lifting her head to meet his eyes with incredulous indignation.
"Thirsty?!" She says with distaste. "Yeah, get us a drink, and we'll talk, you gotta be thirsty too..." She stares at him a moment, then punches his chest with mild frustration.
She rises from the sheets, her lithe form beautiful against the stark lamplight from the Street outside. She slips into his White, Gucci Shirt, long sleeved, it barely hides the sleek curviture of her ass. He smiles as she finishes a couple buttons, enjoying her figure in the darkness. She turns to him one last time, before shuffling from the room, in irritation. Outside the room, she shuffles through the darkened hallway, the lights were out in the whole place, and only the Street lamps from the avenue were lighting Vincents room.
"Don't know why I am even doing this... fuckin thirsty... " She whispers in protest, making her way to the Kitchenette of the small apartment.
She wondered if this apartment was really his, Seemed sort of lower class then he came off, especially with his ring of friends. She knew Louis was pulling Coke from the West side docks, and he was all friendly with Vincent earlier. And Don Vertacci, that was a high roller, he was the prime time of their organization, she needed to get closer to him, to really get her scoop. Vincent had some kind of relation to him, she heard someone at the party earlier mention as such. She made her way into the kitchen and had just enough ambient light to find the refrigerator, placing her hand around the metal handle, she heard a feint shuffle, from behind her.
- * * * * * *
Mama mia, some girls! Vincent thought to himself, as Alissia left the room. He had no idea how he would let this one off. He really liked her, much more then the rest, she was sharp, perceptive, but then again, maybe too perceptive to keep the charade up. She couldn't come to accept his way of life, and even if she could, could he accept the weakness she would present for him...? Vincent and the Vertacci Family had many enemies, she could be used against him, to hurt him. OI! He rubbed his hands down his face, in frustration, he knew what he had to do, but for some reason, he really didn't want to this time, was she growing on him?
There was a sudden, almost violent shuffle from down the hall... she may have tripped in the darkness, but years of life on the lower West side taught him not to underestimate anything. He slipped out of bed, and quickly whirled a Red Velvet Robe on. Damn! he hadn't brought a gun here, no one knew about this place. It was one of his hideouts he had just established, and in his flirtations with Alissia tonight, he hadn't even considered arming the place. If someone was here, he would have to make due with what God gave him. Vincent Crept down the Dark hallway, to the Living area, and kitchen, suspecting an ambush, since he didn't hear Alissia complain or curse about tripping. His tension and focus deepened as he neared the corner of the long wall, from the hallway into the Living area, it opened out there, and the wall ended ubruptly.
Just as he peered around the corner, a thug, rushed him with a blade. He was dressed in black, black sweater, black jeans, even down to the black gloves and Head warmer. Vincent Noticed he was wearing the Head warmer over ladies stockings, trying to mask his face. The man made to lunge at him, stepping heavilly into Vincent, trying to unbalance him. Vincent was ready for him, and stepped back, trapping his arm, and giving him a traditional boxing right hook to the chops. He carried him into the hallways opposite wall, near the Kitchen and kneed him in the ribs. The thug, made to swing at him, with his free arm, but it was wild, since he had no sense of balance. They stumbled into the Kitchen, and the thug let loose the knife, and was reaching for something in his belt. Vincent gave him another knee to the stomache, pinning his hand against his body, and presses his weight into the thug, forcing him against the Counter. Vincent beat him to the Gun, he was trying to reach, and quickly put the heavy snub-nose in the thugs face. Once he had established control of the bastard, Vincent moved behind him, grabbing his collar with his free hand, and moved the thug out of the kitchen at gunpoint to the living area. There he found another thug with a blade to Alissia's throat. The tension was palpable, the second thug was on high alert, anxiety pouring through his veins, the whole thing was fuckin botched, what now? WHAT NOW!? Vincent crossed the living area to within ten feet of the second thug, keeping the gun to the first thugs head, he said quietly but with force.
"Let her go"
The Second was undecided, and panicking, he kept looking between Vincent and the first thugs face.
"Kill her!" the first yelled to his companion, his voice thick from exhaustion and muffled slightly by the makeshift mask. The Second pressed the knife harder into her throat" still undecided.
"No, you dont want to do that" Vincent said, tugging the Captive thug, around, he followed this with a pelt to the scalp with the gun.
"Fuckin do it! KILL HER!" The Thug yelled again to his partner.
The second started cutting her, slowly, drawing blood.
"Hey! HEY!" Vincent yelled at him, drawing the thug's attention from hurting her.
"I want to show you something... k?... show you I am serious.." Vincent said, his voice thick with coercion, he met the second thugs eyes, behind his mask.
Vincent pressed the gun to the first thugs jaw, and pulled the trigger. His head exploded in a spray to the ceiling, knocking his black head warmer off. He room was engulfed in the roar of the pistol, and the flash, caught the utter horror of the second thugs face. "OH!" was all the second could muster, as he watched his friend go down, his voice thick with terror and panic. Vincent quickly aimed the pistol at the second thug, who had released Alissia in surprise. Vincent motioned for her to run to the hallway, as he kept the gun aimed at the other intruder.
"Take off the mask, C'mon.... its ok.... yeah take it off" he offered to the stranger.
Trembling the thug did as he was instructed, breathing in large panicked breaths, he was still recovering from his friends death.
"I want to know you you are... who sent you?" Vincent pressed, taking a couple steps closer to him, beading him with the gun. The Thug could only manage more labored breathing, still in shock.
"Sit down, C'mon... take a second...Who sent you?" Vincent offered, watching the man, gain some composure again.
He was half African American, he had long, curly hair, that was sticking to his face, from the sweat of his mask, and his anxiety.
"Who sent you?.." Vincent asked again.
The Stranger met his eyes, and swallowed hard... he darted his eyes about the dark apartment, and came back to rest on Vincent, the Fear was thick in his eyes, like an child caught red-handed. After, a heavy swallow and more composure, the man stammered.
"Loo ... Louis... Louis Stefano... Louis Stefano sent us." he managed meakly.
"Louis" Vincent whispered with a nod, he took a moment to think about his next move.
Vincent took aim at him then...
"NO! NO!" was all the panicked thug managed, his hands before him pleading.
Vincent fired, silencing his protests, and sobs.
Her tears were hot running down here face, she had ran out of terror a long time ago. The Fear of what he had done and the implications of what he was going to do, was only met with a sort of dull dread now. The room, was stale and dank, the fumes of chemicals were strong, permeating into the very plaster and boards of the basement. The thick hint of oil, mixed with the stinging hint of gasoline hung in the air, much like an old time auto shop. Things she found alien and frightening were hung from the walls, but were mostly old tools or parts to machines... This room, THIS ONE was special though, he had taken some care to hide it from view to anyone who casually walked into the basement, it was concealed by a trap door in the floor, that was normally obvious, but his placement of some barrels of salt, and several grimey old tires and boxes of old knick knacks, made for quite the hidden hole. This spot on Earth, this spot was hidden from all eyes, even those of heaven... THIS ROOM, was his special place, where he didn't have to hide who he was, he could make the outside world hurt, like they made him hurt, he was GOD here, and he would show them his wrath. Show them he did, to each new girl he brought here, he had pictures of the ones that had come before, pinned all over the walls, the pictures were all Polaroids, some were even old, starting to yellow around the edges, all of them filthy from the oily, crusty fingers of their owner. The Terror in the poor girls eyes was enough to clutch any human heart, but it was the grotesqueries that followed in subsequent Polaroids that really made you sick. It didn't matter if the girl was alive, whole or even beautiful anymore... he got his sickening, psuedo-sexual pleasures all the same. His Gallery captured every inhuman nuance of his games. Her heart hung low, her sweat stung her eyes, and her pain is all that kept her mind functioning. The man had returned, he was short for a man, perhaps not much taller then her, if she hadn't been hanging from the Leather bonds and chains he had her hands in above her head. The chains riveted into place on a circular jointed hub in the ceiling. How long had she been hanging? Time passed for her not in days, but in anxiety bouts of when the sounds implied he was coming again... The bruises and raw flesh of her wrists would testify to at least two or three days... but in hell who is counting? He was wheeling in a small device, that made a great deal of noise as he managed it down the cellar stairs into the hidden room. It was a a wheeled set of canisters, like pressurized gas, with a long hose that ended in what appeared to be a blow torch. Her eyes stung too much to be sure of anything anymore, what she was sure of, is she hoped he just killed her this time...
"Hows my girl?...Huh?" he says coming in, wheeling the cannisters behind him, speaking to her, like he just left his girlfriend in bed, and was playfully teasing her awake.
She didn't even move, her breath, the only sign she still lived.
"Well now, wer'e just gonna hafta' spring you up!" He says as he sets the cannisters into place, nearby, he also places a heavy canvas cloth upon the rickety wooden table to her left, with a dull thud.
"Look what I broughtcha!" He says, motioning to the Makeshift blow torch.
"We are gonna have a spectacular time..." He says, his voice trailing off, growing cold, and evil, as he walks with slow measured steps towards her.
She fails to maintain the silence, a short stifled cry, a pout, escapes her lips... she tried to be strong, her parents always told her she was so strong, strongest thirteen year old girl they knew...
"Awww..." he says, the compassion dripping with venom.
She wanted nothing more then to cringe away, but couldn't. He came up on her, close, she could still smell, the sweat, the oil, and the freshly swallowed booze on him. He cupped her face, his filthy hands smudged new streaks into her cheeks. He shushed her, placing his head against hers, for a moment, not moving, except to maintain his shush... He pulled back a bit and looked at her, combing some of her long auburn hair from her face. She was still very beautiful, every chance to be whatever she wanted to be...
"You been crying?" He says with almost genuine alarm, he leans into her, to place his lips against her cheek, perhaps to banish her fears with reinforced compassion.
He snakes his tongue across the trails her tears have left, slow the first time, and more powerful, and primal the second and third. She cringes, and another pout of fear and revulsion escapes her. He simply recoils, letting her go, smiling.
"Thanks for that love... I got you a present too!" He pulls the Hose free of the short rail and moves to the back of the cannisters, turning short nobs at their top, and turns to a tiny lever upon the back of the device. A short blue light appears, in brilliance at the hose's steel tip.
He stands back a moment, staring at her expression, holding the Rod of the Torch out before him, like an extended penis, leaning back like he is proud of what he is packing.
"Like that? eh.... I know you do...." Coos to her, his voice thick and sultry.
"fuckin' whore, yeah I know you do..." He continues, watching her silently convulse in tears upon her bonds.
He moves closer to her again, placing the flame near her face, as he slides one of his meaty hands up her thighs, between her legs... She doesn't dare move, last time she flinched at this, he ran a barb through her left thigh, the pain had been excruciating. Every fiber of her was realising terror again, GOD couldnt she just die? He stepped in close to her, he body pressed against her, his eyes hovering near hers, as his fingers traced and parted her sex... the flame burning with roaring intensity near her nose. She trembled in utter horror... everything racing through her head, but most of all, GOD PLEASE KILL ME! Sickened by the sweetness of her, of her innocence, of her perfection, he touched her more forcefully, palming his hand against her pelvic bone, and sought entry into her... She met his perverted exploration with...
"GOD PLEASE KILL ME!"
He stopped then, pulled his hand to his face and smelled his grubby hand... he watched her taking a step back.
"That what you want girl!?" He says with annoyance, with irritation.
"Were just having fun!" He shouts at her,then turns looking for something...
"God Damn it..." He says, not finding it. He quickly realized he left the Polaroid upstairs, he wanted pictures of this.
He came back to her, kissed her roughly on the mouth, the best she would let him, as she recoiled...
"You just wait there, bitch, I got what you want.... you just wait..." He says to her, voice thick with anticipation.
He steps away from her, and is suddenly ripped from the room... One moment he is standing, taking his step back, the next his is prone, stomache level, and whirling from the room, fast as you blink.
The torch drops to the floor, scorching the cement flooring, casting a ghostly blue light. He hit the doorframe heavily as he was torn from the hole, his ribs protesting with a gravelly crunch, and further as he is yanked up into the basement level, the barrels bowling over as he splits them like a bowling ball. He is stunned, completely unaware of what was happening. He was hurt too, breathing was hard, his ribs felt snapped, his jaw busted too, it burned with intense pain, from where he collided with the stairs. He was moving slowly now, like he was being winched, something was recoiling him, it had his legs, he looked around feebly, trying to see more, to see what had him.
Something big poured out of the Darkness then, sort of melted from the ceiling and wall, it was only lighted by the feint moonglow that poured through the crusted half windows high on the walls of the basement. His blood ran cold, nothing on Earth could do that! It took more shape, at first it was something almost amorphous, like many, many arms crawling in the dark, down the wall, out of it... but as it moved, it grew, and took shape, like a Big human-like creature. He was terrified, he looked to see what had him hanging from the ceiling, had his legs, and recoiled in horror to see it was more of the shadowy substance, like tendrils, that ended in vicious fangs, that snapped greedily at the air.
Melody could hear it all... Heard the voices, heard the splitting and crunching, and she heard his screams... GOD had she sounded like that? Despite her pain, her ordeal, she wasn't aware a human could scream so loud, and the agony would haunt her forever... She will never forget the smell... Moments later, the Screams were only whimpers, and during the whimpers she heard, children singing, some old fairy tale like song. She was elated and terrified, what could have done that? She was so glad, but what on Earth could have done that? Sounded like THAT!? After what felt like an eternity, the sounds ebbed to nothingness, the bones of the house were still. The air hung heavilly, like some thick web, had passed over it all. Shortly, she heard footsteps, above her, and she dared not make a sound, what if? What if it was him, what if that was a dream?
The Heavy footsteps, seemed purposeful, and paced, they were always equally chosen... and they were coming down the stairs... Her heart stopped, it was like the man, coming down for the first time all over again, that terror, she thought had bled out of her, had been burned from her, but it welled up inside, thick enough to choke her... she stared at the doorway, wide eyed and clutched in fear. It wasn't the man, it was another... He was dressed completely in black, he stood tall, had to duck his head through the doorway, to avoid hitting his head on the low clearance... he was handsome, and dark like an angel out to be, if he were in white. Where his eyes glowing... he stepped into the room, exploratively, glanced around the room, quickly, before resting his eyes on Melody. THOSE EYES!...
"Lets get you out of here..." was all her angel said, voice heavy with compassion, and sadness.
She wont ever forget the smell... the Smell of Blood in the air, and the song of the children...
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A conceptual Image of Dark Stalker by yours truly...
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