Suffer the Witch

“You hunt, I hunt, we all hunt sooner or later friend.”

A young man brandishing a cross and a look of soul gripping fear has himself pressed against a chain link fence mumbling prayers.

“Fool!  He suffers the witch to live to watch you suffer.”

The young man drops to his knees dropping the wooden cross and pulls out a six-shooter, flips open the drum and stares at the one unfired piece of death and then snaps it back shut.

A man in baggy black pants, a black hoodie, and no shoes steps out of the shadow facing the young man.  The stranger is holding an extremely intricate dagger.  Blood is dripping from his palm and spiraling down the blade to the tip; dripping on the ground with a puff of smoke and a hiss. 

“Now young one, if you put that bullet in your brain, your God can not forgive you for your sin.  Best just to come to me.”

The young man drops the gun and stands.  He shambles over to the stranger in the black hoodie and stands in front of him.

The stranger holds the blade above his head and then strikes the young man across the jugular.  The stranger bites down on the neck and the young man drops into the man's arms. 

The rush of the bitter adrenaline in the blood made the stranger shudder.

He drops the body in a shadow behind a dumpster, wipes his mouth, then melds with another shadow and is gone. 

Another unknown figure lost in the savage streets.  No one notices but the mortician because the young man's name is now John Doe 03-12-06-12, not 03-13-06-12.