Tuesday, March 7, 2017
All the Lonely People - Part 2
Despite the decrepit exterior, the inside of the church had been decorated.
White streamers lined the walls of the abandoned building. Great baskets of flowers ran the length of long forgotten pews and a single red carpet had been rolled out along the aisle. Rice was scattered about the ground, leading up to the altar. At the far end, a double set of candles burned dimly in the dusty darkness.
Their lights highlighted it.
It was disguised as the same young woman he'd seen so many times looking through her windows. She was dressed in a long, flowing white wedding dress and had her back to him. In any other instance, he might have approached her; maybe attempted to help her or even check why this seemingly innocent young lady was standing in the middle of this hall of horrors.
He knew better.
Pulling the hammer back on the revolver in his hand, a satisfying click echoed the derelict church.
The slight twitch of her head told him it had heard.
She turned around to face him, a soft smile playing along her lips. She had been beautiful before it had gotten to her. Blue eyes, rosy cheeks, blonde hair, and a slender figure. Now, staring at that same visage, he knew it was just a facade.
"Hello, Father." it said with a growling voice that surprised him.
There was no pretense here. Despite wearing its victim's face, it knew that he wasn't going to be fooled.
"Hello, Demon." he responded in turn.
"Demon? Now is that anyway to talk to a lady?" it asked with a smile far too big and viscous for girl's dainty mouth. "Especially on her wedding day."
The Hunter glanced around briefly at the macabre display. His thoughts drifting to the poor young man who would begin desperately searching for his lost love; if he hadn't already.
"You haven't killed him yet." he said.
"No." it confirmed. "But it won't be long. I want to let it set in first."
"The loneliness." it said with a smile that now cracked the edges of her mouth, splitting it into a hideous clown-esque appearance. "I can't help but enjoy all of those lonely people."
"You're a monster."
"AND YOU'RE A FOOL!" it snapped with sudden force.
He brought the revolver up to bare; focused dead on the creature before him.
"After all," it continued, bleeding back into its softer tone, "This wedding is for us."
The creature extended his hand and he felt himself tighten. Felt his strength drain away as he was lifted from the ground as if by an invisible force. It wrapped around his body, held him still, and dragged him forward towards the altar not a foot from the creature.
"Tsk tsk. And what groom forgets to wear a suit?" it said with hideous intent.
This close to the creature, he could smell its rank breath. The scent was heavy with rot and decay and he could plainly see every needle point little tooth in her mouth.
With tender, gentle hands, it reached up to start unbuttoning his collar.
"I should tell you," it began. "I'm often quite accommodating."
The next few buttons.
"I often kill them quick."
A few more.
The coat came off.
"It's no fun to let them die screaming. It ruins the flavor of the meat."
It reached for his shirt.
"I don't think I'll afford you the same luxury." it said with a hiss.
Peeling away the first button of his shirt revealed the silver cross he wore around his neck. The result was an instantaneous roar as the creature dove backward. It was a defiant, sickened noise that matched the hideous sight as the creature bent backwards in a fashion that would have broken a human's spine and leaped against the nearest wall.
But his hands were free.
The gun came to bare a second time and he had emptied the revolver into its chest even before he could feel his fingers again.
With a heavy thud, the creature hit the ground.
It did not get back up.
As he went about burying the creature in the graveyard behind the church. The Hunter considered removing its damaged visage, but decided against it. While the face it had stolen was cracked and broken, he had no interest in seeing what it really looked like now. Plus, he didn't think the dead cared much one way or another if her face was buried with it.
He gave it its last rights all the same.
With a sigh, he wiped the dirt from his hands as he walked from the grave. With the exception of the fresh mound, Father McKenzie had left nothing to signify that the graveyard had a new, unaccounted corpse.
He would call in the death in the morning to the local police department. An anonymous tip, like always. There was no point in letting the poor boy, or the police, continue their search. Eleanor Rigby was dead and she had been for weeks; she just finally had a grave to go with it.