2: Who's Next?

                Blinded by fear and crimson tears, a body shook violently in the cold empty room. The sound of silent whimpers, breathless gasps, harsh friction against skin and metal and the constant plop of dark liquid resonated throughout the room. A pale yet bloodied stomach curved upward as its back arced and its head was thrown backwards. Black bangs dripping in sweat followed the arc as it once again plastered itself against a pale yet feverish face. Eyes so wide and blurred continued to move wildly in vain, searching for something beyond the room.
 
                Chapped ripped lips opened wide as a gut-curling scream shook the boy’s body once more. His pale and thin hands flew upwards in a tight fist, yet it did not connect to its target… restrained by the skin piercing metal that captured his delicate wrists. His arms were stretched well above his head and his legs were separated just well enough apart to be thoroughly exposed. His ankles were covered in dried blood as they too were captured by metals that ripped open his skin with every movement he involuntarily made.
 
                A dark chuckle reached the boy’s ears as yet again another chunk of skin was ripped from his bleeding thigh. Another scream. The white of his bones were clearly seen against the wide pouring gash that expanded from his hip bone to his knee. The loud clinking of a fork and knife sounded as it picked through a plate covered in familiar crimson meat. Another whimper.
 
                A chilling voice mimicked the plop of the liquid that fell from the metal table to the floor, joining its siblings in the red puddle. The man continued to sing along to the sound as his dark and bloodied hand caressed the thigh of the young boy while the other had yet to remove its grasp from the metal fork. As the fork was lifted to the air his lips parted revealing yellowed sharpen teeth smeared by the metal tasting juices. His dark eyes closed in bliss as his lips spread to a thin smile. He hummed.
 
                The boy’s body never ceased to shake and his voice continued to die as another scream was heard and another piece of his flesh went missing. The process never stopped even as the boy finally ceased in his movements and the screaming died on his ripped bloodied lips. No, the man never stopped ripping and feasting upon the boy as his hunger never stopped increasing. Once the boy’s body had nothing but bone, hair and organs to offer, the man stopped. He wiped his mouth with his bare beefy arm and sighed. He sighed in displeasure as his meal had to come to a stop as there was nothing left to consume. The man stood, straightening his back and ruffling his brown hair as his hand combed through it. Never once did he leave his glaze from the boy’s remains.
 
                He reached forward and opened the latches that once kept the young lad in place, He lifted the skeleton and tossed it to the other side of the room. The head detached from the body as it crashed among a pile of others, the skull rolled and came to a stop a little distance away from the pile. Its black sockets seemed to glaze at the man and its teeth seemed to smile inn a knowing way.
 
                The man huffed as he turned away from the table and walked towards a board covered with pinned pictures of young teens and children. The man hummed in thought as his eyes scanned throughout the board, searching, completely oblivious to the sound of rattling bones. The man smiled in glee as his eyes stopped upon a young girl no older than three with blond pigtails and blue eyes. A red circle was made around her picture while a dash was made across the young boy’s.
 
                The man was so distracted by his hunger and need that he was oblivious to the sound of a dozen footsteps heading towards him. So oblivious to the sight of pale white bony hands behind him. The man smiled once more as he whispered
 
“You’re nex-”
 
                He never did get to finish his sentence that night as the hands grasped hold of his body and pulled him backwards. No, he never did get to finish as he was too busy throwing his limbs against his attackers. He was too busy voicing his muffled screams and pleads. His attackers were too busy giggling in glee. The man eyes never ceased to stare into dark endless sockets and blinding white smiles.
 
                No, the man never was able to finish his sentence that night but it was all but quite. It was all but voiceless for there was one complete sentence voiced that night in that particular room. A sentence was voiced by a dozen of skinless children.
 
“No, you are.”

3: Confessions of the Grave

                Sleep has now become a rare luxury and peace has become none existent. Her words and voice never leave my mind and I can feel her stare in the moonless night. At times I would catch myself staring at my reflection, turning my body in order to both see and trace the vibrant mark. Sometimes I would stare mindlessly at the scramble game placed in the middle of my living room, untouched since her last visit.

 

                I can’t say for sure what she does when she’s not here, I can only assume. But I could bet without a doubt that wherever she is, she’s alone… I glanced down, staring at my rippling reflection on my hot chocolate, wondering, wondering how it had all come down to this. And then I remember, I remember that night, I remember[ys1] [ys2]  that lullaby voice… I remember her hollow eyes.

 

                A sinner, that’s what she had called me. A liar, is how she had made me feel.

 

She had appeared in front of me one night, without a sound, without a trace. I remember my complete shock as I stared into her empty violet eyes. She stood there, silent as the midnight air and breathtaking as the moonlight glow. Her black hair swayed around her, the tips grazing the back of her knee caps, eyes covered by her unsymmetrical bangs.

 

I remember the lump in my throat as I saw her… appearance. Her long silk black nightgown was torn and barely hung on her frail figure. Her bare feet were covered… entrapped by my plush white rug. Her alabaster skin would have been flawless if it were not for the bleeding.

 

Trails of crimson liquid leaked from tiny gaps of her ribbon stitches. Colored a deep red as though it had absorbed every drop of blood from her very veins. The ribbons seemed to enter and exist her body, tied into a silken corset. The poor child looked like a broken doll. Such ribbons were placed in various places on her right and left side. Her limbs were most likely held in place by such ribbons.

 

I remember placing my book down gently beside me, as though to not disturb the silent girl. I was not so startled of her appearance but the very fact she existed. A ghost they have said… a demon they had yelled. They had called me a fool for buying this estate, they have claimed my death by next fall. I slowly rose from my chair, feeling my night gown sway behind me, grazing my lower thighs.

 

She had yet said a single word or made a single move. She stood there, surrounded by the puddle of blood beneath her feet. I walked towards her, my hands placed in front of me and my steps small… I wished not to startle her. I remember my relief when I had finally approached her and knelt down before her. I remember the rush of excitement and fear as she refrained from stopping me as I placed my hand on her shoulder and moved her locks behind her ear, revealing her empty violet stare. I watched in fascination as her lips moved into a small yet trouble smile. As her pale lips parted and voiced 3 single words.

 

“Confess… your sins.”

 

I remember my confusion and bewilderment, for I had no sins to confess.

 

“I have no sins.”

 

Her body tensed and shook, speeding the drops of her liquid life.

 

“Confess… your sins!”

 

Her crimson liquid soon spread through the carpet, soaking the tips of her nightgown and caking my exposed legs in blood. I watched as the red metallic liquid reached my maple wooden floors and cringed at the thought of it sinking through the gaps and into the ceiling of my living room. I gasped in shock and pain as I had felt her nails pierce my skin and gave me a sharp shake that covered my sight with a darken haze.

 

I felt my head snap forward only to be yanked back, bringing a sharp crack to be heard. My hand reached upward and back as I gripped onto her pale small hand, urging her fingers to release their tight grip on my hair. I remember my slight shiver of fear as my eyes opened from their clenched state and their glaze locked onto her crimson stare… weren’t they violet before?

 

                I’ve always wondered how she was able to change her eye color. I’m aware that she’s mot human and so she was able to do certain things that no one else can, but how? How can she change her stare from violet to crimson in a matter of a single blink? Do they merge and blend, or do they just change color when the light hits? I never asked her and I don’t think I ever will… She probably wouldn’t have answered me anyway.

 

I remembered my terror and confusion as she released her grip on my hair and instead gripped my face, nails piercing into my skin, urging drops of my own blood to join hers. The rapid beating of my heart flooded my ears and I prayed to God. Prayed that she didn’t sense my fear.

 

I winced as she raked her sharp broken nails down my cheeks, leaving trails of red droplets behind. It stung, it burned, but I didn’t move. I did not move for I was paralyzed. I wasn’t physically restrained, I was not bound to anything, but in the back of my mind… in the shadows of my mind I saw why.

 

I could see myself chained to the floor, restrain from any movement. The chains bit into my wrists, so short that I could not raise them more than an inch from the ground. My ankles were locked in metal claps, preventing me from moving from my kneeled position. But despite the pain, despite the discomfort, they almost went unnoticed. I bared them no mind for what lay before me broke my heart and left me gasping for a single breath.

 

My chocolate eyes danced alongside the colorful movements of the horrifying videos played before me. I was terrified, speechless and mortifies for the scenes and screams seemed to bounce and project off the walls of the back of my mind. Dozens of humans’ lives were ruined right before me, each left to face the same tragic end.

 

I watched as each man, each women… each child were given 3 days to survive, to confess, yet none of them did. Each day was played the same but each reaction was different.

 

They would be visited by the violet eyed girl on the first day. She would say the same 3 words and would restrain them the same way as I had previously been. She would stare into their eyes and search, but instead of smiling as she had done to me… she grimaced as though in pain.

 

She would leave but in her place would be a single scramble game, completed and worn. Each person reacted differently to the words spelled on the board. Some tried to destroy it, only for it to return a moment later. Others tried to simply ignore it, refused to even acknowledge its existence.

 

Then came the second day in which they all awoke screaming with their body in large arcs. Their backs tore open, releasing large rivulets of crimson blood. They would bleed until their bed covers were drenched and their screams turned silent. Body shaking, unable to voice the unbearable pain.

 

Distracted by the pain they remained unaware of the little girl with the long dark hair and ribbon stitches. They remained oblivious to the little girl as she crawls from beneath their beds and places three hour glasses by their nightstand. One is completely filled at the bottom and the one in the middle is just starting. The pain stops and they fall on their bed as she crawls back under.

 

The second day is spent trying to rearrange the hourglasses or trying to clean out the bloodied message on their sheets.

Confess your sins, Tick Tock

Their fingers go through the hourglasses, enabling them from touching them. Every bran new sheet placed on the beds begin to redden as the message sinks itself into the fabric. And as every hour passes a new phrase repeats itself onto the sheets.

Tick Tock Times Up, Tick Tock Hurry Up.

 

By midday all the exits lock and a dark shadow falls upon the house, the only light visible a few paces ahead of you, always ahead.

 

Without a single hope of escaping and no way of contacting the outside world, the third day is spent in a state of panic and insanity. An hour before midnight, she appears before them once more.

 

“Confess your sins.”

 

None of them did… not a single one.

 

                The images of them dying tore me away from my thoughts. A shiver raked through my spine as I pictured their deaths one by one. There was never an identical kill, they were all different. Not a single one was torn the same, burned the same, impaled the same nor buried the same. While one could be strapped and butchered from toe to head, another would be chained, cut open and shoved hot coals into their new openings. One would be nailed to the ceiling as a shadowy figure ripped them limb from limb, their blood dripping down to the floor. A young child was even given a false sense of security as a shadowy hand caressed their face and stroke their hair only to have it yanked back, snapping their backs in half, every single bone was then crushed until his bone marrow reached his blood stream and silenced his desperate screams.

 

                I glanced back towards the mirror, ignoring the soft voices from the news reporters in my television. I slowly approached it, letting my cup drop to the floor, spilling its contents. I caressed my reflection and turned. I tilted my head back in order to see my back reflected and slowly lifted my shirt.

 

                My breathing remained steady as strips of pale flesh was revealed. I reached backwards and traced the markings on my back. I traced the patterns of the three hour glasses and the single bold word. While the scaring of the hour glasses were faint, that single word was gashed in deeply and unsteady. My lips moved in sync with the tracing of the mark, voicing it in a shallow whisper…

 

“Redeemed.”

 

                I closed my eyes and smiled bitterly. Not a single death was the same but the events that occurred afterwards were identical. As the last drop of sand feel from the final hour glass, the screams died, the hour glasses shattered, the sand turned to blood, the sheets caught on fire, striking the house down in flames and then the painting… blood seeped onto the walls forming the figure of the victims’ back and on the very center of its back, in clear blood, it displayed three hour glasses and a single word slashed through.

Confessed

I glanced up and saw the little girl through the mirror and I couldn’t help but smile.

 

“You’re back…”

 

                A single nod was her response and as she reached her arm outwards, I didn’t hesitate in releasing my shirt, letting it fall back in place and gripped her hand firmly.

 

“Where did you go?”

 

                She remained silent as she lead me back towards the scramble game in which we would play for hours and even days on rare occasions. But that’s okay, it no longer mattered. I was redeemed and I could play Scramble for as long as I wanted. I no longer needed to rest for I never grew tired, I stopped being exhausted since her first arrival and my last breath took place.

 

                I looked up from the game and placed her bangs behind her ears, revealing the eyes I adored so much. Because even though those eyes belonged to the person who yook my breath away quite literally, they allowed me to stay. They refused to let me go, to pass over and as long as I could glaze into those violet eyes, it didn’t matter.

 

“Violet…”

 

“No, it’s Amber.”

 

                It didn’t matter because Amber confessed.

 

“There has been yet another horrific death in our small London town. The house of Lily Claire was seen to burst in flames. The main source was conformed to be her bed sheets. Marked on her walls with her body missing is yet again the troubling message, what has our world come to? Is there another murderer on the loose?”

 

                As I picked up the remote to turn off the news a single thought passed through my mind: It doesn’t matter for no one can hear the confessions of the graves.

4: The Color Red

It is the color of our very strength and veins. It is the color of the tears of our hearts. It is the color of a child's first breath and a mother's last farewell. It is the color that flushes the faces of our laughing friends and tints the cheeks of our beloveds. It is the color of our lips on drunken nights and sincere apologies. It is the color of temptation's very stare and betrayals' every touch. It is the color in which we meet our end.

            Another tragedy has hit the hearts of our people as another child laid broken in their mother's doorstep. I can hear the voices of the men and the hurried footsteps of the women. I shifted slightly from my place on the floor, rattling the chains that bind me. Warm crimson liquid trails down my arms as that single movement irritates the biting metal.

            But despite the pain, despite the loss, I force my body to lean back and stretch my legs for I knew they would be coming soon. I know that they need, I know that they crave the answers that only my ability can give. And so I must prepare, I must prepare my withering and aching body for the strain that will soon meet them in the crime scene.

            I kept my head down, blocking the view of the metal door with a fiery red curtain. But even so, my chocolate glaze never detached itself from what they knew was in front of us. I shut my eyes as a sudden gust of chilling wind hit me, causing my hair and dress to sway either which way. I cracked my right open as a single set of footsteps approached me.

            The footsteps were neither heavy nor light but they did possess a calm manner as if the urgency of this case was nonexistent. Black polished shoes came to my line of vision as I looked towards the ground. Black polish shoes, silver buckles.... He must be new.

"Miss Scarlet..."

            A large smirk spread through my features, he was definitely new. I licked my dry chapped bloody lips before I answered in my strained gasping voice.

"Yes..."

            I chuckled lightly as his feet fumbled among each other.

"It's time..."

            Wordlessly, I brought my bond arms upward and watched through the gaps of my hair as he inserted the key and unlocked the chained cuffs. A sigh of delight left my parched throat as the metal fell with a heavy thud. I twisted my delicate wrists, hearing slight pops as I cracked my neck to relieve the stress.

"Young Elizabeth Green was found dead in the old abandon tool-shed in Oak Groove Grave after being reported missing 3 weeks prior. She was found decapitated and bound to a stake in which she was later penetrated by various tools."

            I hummed in concentration and nodded once to show that I understood. I smiled gleefully at the imagined scene in my head.

"That sounds like there would be a lot of blood~"

"... If it wasn't, we wouldn't have called you."

"I suppose you're right. I would have been long dead if I was no longer needed~"

            I smiled as the young brunette shifted with unease. I stood from the floor and took precautionary steps forward, arms stretched either way. I wouldn't want to fall.

            I closed my eyes as the cold metal of the door sent a pleasant chill down my spine. With a firm grasp on the handle, I glanced back at the man.

"I hope everything is step up."

"Every last drop..."

            A last mumble I opened the door with a single push.

"How bloody perfect~"

...

            The chilling breeze was pleasant and all was quiet but the sounds of our footsteps. Every step made a sluggish sound as we step through the graveyard. I wasn't offered a change of clothes and so my small sickly pale skin was torn with every pull of a torn or twig. Leaves clung to my legs as the muddy soil traveled past my ankles. Goosebumps appeared in my flesh as my flowing torn white dress swayed with every step. My long uneven fiery locks tangled with every gust of the wind, occasionally blocking my sight. I could feel the man's presence as his intense glaze burned my neck. But despite the discomfort, my chocolate brown eyes never once stopped looking forward.

            The toolshed was worn down and I could hear the creaking of the wood as the loose door swung open and shut. Many officers were around, but no forensics, they didn't need them if I was in this case. All conversation stopped short as I took a single step inside and once I focused on Elizabeth, they spoke in hushed whispers.

Her body remained bond to the stake and her clothes were missing... a sacrifice ritual. Dozens of buckets surrounded her corpse as it filled with her blood. I walked towards the biggest bucket, watching my rippling reflection in the crimson surface. With a single a breath, I knelt down and plunged both arms into the warm liquid life.

            I shut my eyes as the red colored my pale complexion and with a single movement, I threw my right arm in an arc, painting a dark line in a wooden wall. In a matter of seconds I was before the newly painted wall with my eyes closed, marking the surface with my stained palms. I never once opened my eyes as my body swayed with every brush of my fingers, enjoying the caress against my tips. My breathing was slow and even as though I were in deep slumber. I would occasionally head back towards the bucket when my hands would dry.

            Not a single person spoke as I marked the walls but I could feel their intense stare and unease. With a final hard press against the wood, I leaned back and opened my eyes. The muttering and whispers rose.

            Caked with dried blood, Elizabeth stood before us. Her head was intact and not a single weapon was plunged deep within her corner. A single red tear fell from her hollow eyes and her body was dressed in a crimson gown. Her right arm was stretched out and her pointed finger focused on a dark corner.

            I watched as an officer step forward and followed the direction in which her finger directed. I grabbed another bucket as the man knelt down and, with a metal tweezers, plucked a strand of black hair from the ground.... Elizabeth is blond.

            The process continued until every single drop of blood was painted on the walls and the warm embrace in my mind left. They had managed to receive a strand of hair, a glass shard with a single red dot, a thread from a wool coat and what seemed to be a piece of nail.

            I watched wordlessly as the officers collected the evidence and abandoned the shed but before the man, whom had accompany me here, left, I grabbed a patch of his black leather jacket.

"What is it...?”

"Her eyes..."

            To another person it would seem as if the only different between these pictures would be the direction of which her pointed finger would lead but her eyes... They all seem to shift, staring at a patch of the ceiling. With a single deep breath, I grabbed a hammer and threw it up above, hitting the patch of ceiling directly.

            With a shattering cry, the ceiling caved in. I heard the man sputter and cough as a swarm of dust enveloped us and dozens of insects scattered. I remained in front of the pile of fallen wood and cement as I waited for the man to regain his poster.

"What the heck-!"

"Her eyes..."

            I headed towards the door as he stared in shock for on top of the pile laid the missing head. I could hear him stumble for gloves and a box. I could just imagine him gently grasping the head and securing it within the box. I was stopped from grasping the doorknob as he stood behind me.

"How..."

"Her eyes were the color red... The color of truth and vengeance..."

            I was met with a gust of cold wind once more.

...

            I stared at the blank walls as I once again bond. Time has passed since the last case of Elizabeth Green. I have no knowledge of whether the murder was caught but the feeling of satisfaction told me otherwise. I could feel my legs cramp and stretched them with a pained gasp.

            I sighed in displeasure as white met my line of sight with every direction I turned. The men in white had tied my fiery locks in a bun and could no longer glaze at its bright shine. I closed my eyes and continued to shake my head, hoping to loosen the band's tight grip. I smiled and my eyes filled with glee as a single strand feel before my eyes.

The color red is after all livelier than the color white.