Reaper

Reaper


By Andrew Kullas
2011

The wind struck violently against the windows and doors, threatening to break them loose. The T.V. flickered between the news channels, the aerial struggling to remain still against the winds. Diane was just out of the shower, and she wanted to relax in her living room. But tonight was not her night it appeared.

Still not fully dry from the shower, Diane moved from one window to another in her small cramped apartment, shutting the blinds and windows. Once done, she changed into her pink and white pajamas, and then snuggled under her matching blanket in her bed. Diane lifted her small mirror from the side cabinet, fixed her hair while she lay, wondering how to spend her week off work.

Bolting upright, sweat dripping from her forehead, Diane’s eyes flickered to her window, then across to her door. After a few excruciating seconds, Diane let her body relax, so she lay back down on her soft pillow. Diane thought back on what she had been doing before she fell asleep. She remembered holding her mirror, but after that, nothing. Leaning over the side of the bed, and reaching down, Diane felt around on the dark floor. Before long her hand brushed against the butterfly shaped mirror.

Lifting it up, Diane opened and looked into it. She struggled to see, so she switched on her bedside lamp. Gasping and spinning around in her bed, Diane was unsure what to expect. She was conflicted about what to be more worried about, the fresh thin cut running along her cheek letting out a slow stream of blood, or the sleek shadow she seen slither behind her in the mirror.

Frozen as she watched her bedroom door slowly creep close. The sound of something hitting the floor and smashing came from the kitchen.
‘It must be the glass of orange juice I left out earlier’ Diane realised.
Still staring, Diane began to scold herself.
‘It’s just the cat’ she reminded herself, just wanting to get to sleep again. Unwilling to switch off her bedside light, Diane lay her head gently on the pillow and cautiously closed her eyes.
‘This won’t do now, will it girl’ she whispered to herself. ‘Your first free night, and already having a bad nights sleep’, Diane sighed.
Disappointed in herself, she stroked the cut wiping away what blood hadn’t dried, winching as her fingers brushed against it.
‘I’ll deal with it in the morning. I just want to sleep for now’

***

Ginger the cat, being so appropriately named, stared at the glass shards lying on the kitchen floor. Turning his head to the side curiously, pondering to himself, who could have caused the glass to fall from the counter.
The Mistress was asleep, he had heard her gentle snores, and he in the litter box at the time, caused him to wonder what other creature could possibly be lurking nearby.
Softly, ever so cautiously, placing one paw in front, bringing the other forward, Ginger bent down to sniff. He smelt so many curious smells; most were familiar to him, only a few were not. He smelt the orange juice, its smell overwhelming most others. He smelt the unusual mix of nasty liquids that was ever present, that the Mistress used to clean the floor.

Noticing a particularly unusual smell, Ginger the cat decided to pursue it. It led Ginger into the living room first, then across to the front door where there were small amounts of mud on the ground.
‘The Mistress would never allow mud in the house’ mulled Ginger. Sniffing at the ground again, he picked up the trace again, following it this time to the bathroom. Ginger warily edged in through the bathroom door.
The door flung open. Ginger sprung out of the way of the black boot and narrowly avoided getting hit in the face.
‘Who was this?’ Ginger hissed furiously. ‘They aren’t allowed here.’
Ginger ran after the black boots, hissing as he went. Catching up, he leaped onto the boots, digging his claws in deep.
‘I must protect the Mistress from these boots!’
The cat felt himself being wrenched from the muddy boots from behind. It lifted him up high, until he was staring at level into the big green eyes of a person. The person lifted their free hand towards the cat, and bore a large knife blade directly into Gingers stomach.
Slicing the cat open, it was thrown to the floor dead.

***

Slowly edging the door open, the gloved hand slithered its fingers round, the muddy boots gently stepping inside. The body, to which the hand and boot belonged, inched its way into the bedroom. Slowly creeping towards the bed, the hand of the black shadow slid down it’s own leg, stroking itself softly, trying to relieve its own tension.
Sitting on the bottom end of the bed, the shadow rocked back and forth as it sat watching. Its hand raised and was placed softly on the subtle curves outlined by the thin revealing sheets. Stroking its hand along the unconscious woman’s legs, it softly purred to itself. Gently taking hold of the blanket, it was pulled from the woman’s body, and the shadow leaned over her, breathing heavily on her neck.

***

Diane stirred. She could feel that her leg was cold. When she looked she seen that blanket had fallen to the ground. It was then that she noticed the heavy breathing that was close to her. It was close enough she could feel its warmth against her skin. It gave her Goosebumps. She reached out with her hand, ever so slowly towards the side lamp. Her hand hit against something beside her, but it wasn’t her drawers. It was then she noticed the shadow standing over her.
She looked up and seen the green eyes that seemed to pierce right though her soul. The shadow only stood and watched.
Neither of them moved.

The bed groaned as the shadow landed on top of it. Diane screamed. She kicked towards the shadow, but it grabbed hold of her legs and they were shoved aside. The shadows fist collided with her jaw.

Diane flung her body on her side. Grabbing the edge of the bed, she pulled herself over the side. Diane spit out blood from the split lip trying to rid the taste of blood from her mouth. Pushing herself up, Diane sprinted for the door.
The moment her hand caught a hold on the door, it was cruelly torn from her, along with any hope of escape. She watched as the shadow violently kicked the door, smashing the lock as it collided with the doorframe.
Diane screamed again. Screaming as loud as she could, in desperation that someone would hear her pleas. The shadow attacked her once again and grabbed her hair, pulling her down. Diane tried to pierce her nails into its skin, but was met with tough resistance. Feeling fresh blood, Diane felt herself slipping into unconsciousness as the attacker punched her.

Diane opened her eyes. Instantly she felt the pain raging through her body. Her throat gagged as she tried to scream, but it would not relent to her wishes. Then she heard grunting, but it wasn’t from her.
The grunting sounded monstrous in Diane’s ears, entirely un-human. Diane began to cry, hating what was happening to her body. She felt the heat, on top and in her. The heavy rasping noises got louder as she began to feel hotter and the pain got worse. She moved her body in vain to get away from the black shadow pressing on top of her. It pushed its gloved hands on top of her chest, tearing her top, groping at her breasts, pinning her firmly to the bed. The pain between her legs intensified as the thrusts became quicker and harder than before.
Diane tried to scream yet again, but she felt a hand clasped tightly around her throat. Stretching out with her hands, desperately trying to grab hold of something solid and heavy.

Finally catching hold of the lamp, Diane swung at the attackers head. But she was in too much pain, as the shadow hit out at her hands and knocked it out of her grasp.
As the tears streamed from her eyes, Diane felt the full force of her attackers strength as his fist collided against her head.
Diane’s last thought before slipping into unconsciousness, was only that she could die

***

The two police officers stood fidgeting. They were unsure of what to do. Detective Stringer expected that however. He’d been investigating these special cases for a little over twenty years, and it was the same every time unfortunately.
The general police force didn’t know how to handle these cases. This was the scene for more specialized Detectives.
‘Yes they would investigate,’ He thought to himself, ‘and do their job the best they could, but it was uncomfortable for them. It wasn’t something anyone should have to get used too’
But Stringer knew from experience that it wouldn’t get easier. He never got used to dealing with the victims, and he never felt like he wanted too.
Every new case was unique - new faces, new locations and settings, but normally the same script. The young lady was sitting, crying, in the kitchen, in her small but tidy apartment. The Detective silently nodded at the policewoman standing watch giving her an unspoken cue. Taking it, the officer left, leaving the two of them in privacy. The young lady crying, and the ageing Detective, expressionless as he stood.

Taking a seat to the young girl’s side, not wanting to intimidate her, Stringer placed a small notepad on the table in front of them.
“Diane” Detective Stringer spoke gently,
“My name is Detective William Stringer, I’m here to help you through this.”
Carefully observing Diane’s body, he made note of her violent shivers, her hands slowly clenching shut, opening suddenly, only to repeat the process.
Not wanting to rush the girl, Stinger simply leant back in his seat and waited, pondering how the girl would react towards him.
The young girl looked up and looked at the Detective. Stringer could see the fear in her eyes, the fear of something un-human, a fear of something worse than death.
Without warning, the young lady jumped forward and wrapped her arms around Stringer, holding tight, and sobbed with a renewed vitality. Slowly placing his arms around her, Stinger whispered a repeat of his earlier promise
“I’ll help you through this Diane”

It wasn’t the first time he had been through this, nor did he suspect it would be the last. Stringer knew how unlikely it was to find these sort of criminals, and even harder to prove them guilty. It was hard to get convincing evidence on any certain person.
They had at least found this one. Stringer was thankful at least that much. Sitting in his small dirty office he casually flicked through the case file. Eventually he stood and grabbed his coat. He never did have time to clean his office he thought to himself as he looked around.
They always got to him, his cases, and the chaos. He was sick of the things that people got away with in this city. It was his job to track down these un-human beasts, his job to lead them to justice. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t make it go away, the pain he shared with the victims. The pain he felt when he got home to meet his distraught wife, his sweet Lily, beaten and raped. The pain he felt as he watch the scum walking in the court, smiling.

That’s why he took his walks, to clear his head. Without them, Stringer knew he’d go insane. He knew he was getting too emotional. He had to clear his head to block out the hurt, the guilt. Nothing in his life made sense anymore, everything seemed to go to hell on a daily basis. But he must push on; Lily would have scolded him if he gave up now. He knew only one case, to find the bastard that tore his world apart. He had to find the beast that touched his wife. Stringer felt no happiness in life, only the self acknowledged, cheap, temporary sensation, still to come from the faithful half full whisky glass could calm him for tonight. But tomorrow was another day.
Another day to keep going forward.
“Eventually” Stringer whispered as he lifted the whisky to his lips.