Cold Burn: The Demon Chronicles #1

Prologue

I stood and watched; watched the figure at my feet quake and shiver--- watched it dying. God I hoped it would die soon. It was making too much noise. Why was it being so loud? Did these creatures always make such a ruckus when dying? I couldn't remember. The wooden bat was caked in blood and gore, and as it dripped onto the already wet pavement I watched a chunk of flesh slide off the grained wood with a sick squelching noise. I chose to try and ignore it as I looked up and down the dark, dirty open maw of the alleyway wondering if anyone had heard the things mewling's; yet no one came to investigate if they had. The headache at the base of my spine had meandered over to my right temple and it was killing me while it did the samba to the beat of my pulse.

Thoughts wandered as; still, I waited for the thing to die. These things were never ready to go, never ready to leave behind the world they had, maybe even for centuries, longed to see and be a part of. I could have whipped the bat back around and down onto its skull, but it would only scream that high pitched wail that felt like someone was drilling holes into your teeth without the Novocain. It took force to smash in the head of one of these creatures and I was tired and hungry. I didn't have the energy it took and really... really I didn't want to feel the reverberation of its death. This is the reason I preferred to beat it within an inch of its life because if I took the killing blow I'd be the one worse for it.

Pain lanced across my temple and I grimaced trying to ignore the onset of what I knew would be a three day chronic headache if not taken care of soon. Finally, the wailing stopped and in this I found myself wrapping strands of hair around my cold fingers watching the mass on the ground in its final death throws. Finger twisting and untwisting, flipping and rolling the end of my hair around and around, over and over. How was I going to explain this? How would I ever explain this to the others? I scoffed out loud not really meaning to, the sound echoing off the barren walls. Like I would ever actually say anything to the others, as though they would understand or get what I was going through. It was hard enough for me to understand and I'm the one that lost several years of my life only to find that the world had not changed. Not a single fucking iota. Yeah, they would understand... as soon as hell came knocking at their door. We'd see if they'd want to share their feelings then wouldn't we?