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DigitalBlue
Star
- Joined
- Jun 26, 2018
- Location
- The Final Blue
Jonathan Langdon, 38, crept to the rear of the large house. It had several bedrooms and was more of a sorority house than anything. But this house did not contain a sorority, it contained a coven. It was hidden in plain sight within the neighborhood. No one would ever thing that witches were living inside. Jon had coerced his last victim into telling him the location of this coven. He had killed 3 witches already. But he needed more blood. He couldn’t stop now.
Jon wore a black ski mask over his face. Black leather gloves covered his hands. On his body he wore close fitting, black sweater and black pants. Jon carried a duffel bag in his right hand. He stealthily stepped up to the rear porch. There was a grill and a small table for eating and mingling outside. A French door separated him from the inside. Peering in through the glass, his eyes flicked from side to side. There was no one immediately inside. He tried the knob, locked. Setting the duffel bag down he retrieved a lock pick set from one of the outer pouches and went to work picking the lock.
Got it. He unlocked the door with a satisfying click and opened it. It creaked just slightly as it slowly swung open. He placed the lock picks back into the duffel and stepped inside. Creeping around the bottom floor, he would come to find that no one was downstairs. But one room in particular interested him. The main living room was large, wooden floored and had a fire place, it would work. As he went he meticulously smashed every light bulb he could. Silently he stepped upstairs. It seemed like everyone was sleeping or at least in their rooms.
The first room was unlocked and Jon let himself in. The girl, the witch, slept soundly in her bed. Jon retrieved a knife from his duffel bag. Well it was more of a dagger. A pure silver dagger, from the grip down to the tip. It was engraved in words he could not read. He placed the tip just at the witch’s heart and pressed down. One hand went to cover her mouth as she tried to scream initially but quickly died. Tipping her, he made sure to collect the blood. Then it was on to the next and then the next.
Dragging each body to the main living room downstairs. He had stripped all of them of their clothes. There were six of them and he began the ritual. Offering up their blood in exchange for the return of his wife. When he was finished, five of the bodies were placed in a half circle around the fireplace, facing it. Their bodies were placed as if they were prostrating, worshipping. Above the fireplace was one of the bodies strung up with some rope and spikes he had brought in his bag. The body was placed with its arms outstretched, feet together. Attached to the head was a pair of deer antlers. At the center, on the floor, was spiral drawn in their blood. All this was just more fuel to add to the fire that would eventually bring back his wife. Even if he had to kill all the witches in the city.
—
Connor Ambrose, 31, jolted awake the next morning. He was drenched in a cold sweat. The morning sun seeped in through his blinds. He checked the clock, 10:34. Connor was late, very late, again. Well, there was no use rushing now he would just take whatever verbal beating the chief had in store for him when he got there. Climbing out of bed he padded to the kitchen. His apartment was sparsely decorated and he needed to clean up. Starting s pot of coffee he headed to the bathroom and hopped in the shower. After his shower he got dressed in a suit, grabbed his gun and badge. Then sat in his kitchen sipping coffee.
Where was his phone? He patted himself, realizing he hadn’t checked his phone yet he bet that the chief was furious. Walking back into his bedroom he spotted it on the bedside table. He grabbed it and unplugged it. Looking at the screen he had several missed calls. All of which were not from the chief, but from one of the other detectives, Barry. Connor placed the phone to his ear and called him back.
“Ambrose,” Barry answered. “You gotta get down here and check this out.”
Jon wore a black ski mask over his face. Black leather gloves covered his hands. On his body he wore close fitting, black sweater and black pants. Jon carried a duffel bag in his right hand. He stealthily stepped up to the rear porch. There was a grill and a small table for eating and mingling outside. A French door separated him from the inside. Peering in through the glass, his eyes flicked from side to side. There was no one immediately inside. He tried the knob, locked. Setting the duffel bag down he retrieved a lock pick set from one of the outer pouches and went to work picking the lock.
Got it. He unlocked the door with a satisfying click and opened it. It creaked just slightly as it slowly swung open. He placed the lock picks back into the duffel and stepped inside. Creeping around the bottom floor, he would come to find that no one was downstairs. But one room in particular interested him. The main living room was large, wooden floored and had a fire place, it would work. As he went he meticulously smashed every light bulb he could. Silently he stepped upstairs. It seemed like everyone was sleeping or at least in their rooms.
The first room was unlocked and Jon let himself in. The girl, the witch, slept soundly in her bed. Jon retrieved a knife from his duffel bag. Well it was more of a dagger. A pure silver dagger, from the grip down to the tip. It was engraved in words he could not read. He placed the tip just at the witch’s heart and pressed down. One hand went to cover her mouth as she tried to scream initially but quickly died. Tipping her, he made sure to collect the blood. Then it was on to the next and then the next.
Dragging each body to the main living room downstairs. He had stripped all of them of their clothes. There were six of them and he began the ritual. Offering up their blood in exchange for the return of his wife. When he was finished, five of the bodies were placed in a half circle around the fireplace, facing it. Their bodies were placed as if they were prostrating, worshipping. Above the fireplace was one of the bodies strung up with some rope and spikes he had brought in his bag. The body was placed with its arms outstretched, feet together. Attached to the head was a pair of deer antlers. At the center, on the floor, was spiral drawn in their blood. All this was just more fuel to add to the fire that would eventually bring back his wife. Even if he had to kill all the witches in the city.
—
Connor Ambrose, 31, jolted awake the next morning. He was drenched in a cold sweat. The morning sun seeped in through his blinds. He checked the clock, 10:34. Connor was late, very late, again. Well, there was no use rushing now he would just take whatever verbal beating the chief had in store for him when he got there. Climbing out of bed he padded to the kitchen. His apartment was sparsely decorated and he needed to clean up. Starting s pot of coffee he headed to the bathroom and hopped in the shower. After his shower he got dressed in a suit, grabbed his gun and badge. Then sat in his kitchen sipping coffee.
Where was his phone? He patted himself, realizing he hadn’t checked his phone yet he bet that the chief was furious. Walking back into his bedroom he spotted it on the bedside table. He grabbed it and unplugged it. Looking at the screen he had several missed calls. All of which were not from the chief, but from one of the other detectives, Barry. Connor placed the phone to his ear and called him back.
“Ambrose,” Barry answered. “You gotta get down here and check this out.”