The Scream

The cloaked figure

Sydney Moore
10/20/16
     The air grew thick, and the smell, vile. Everything you'd ever feared awoken with determination. Wind whirling, it scraped against the eyes of a soul so lost, it cannot reach the surface anymore. A sickness lurked around their minds, ripping apart their thoughts. Tearing away at every hope and dream you've ever thought about.
     The streets were glistening with morning dew, and the air sparkled in the moonlight. The town was shadowed for no-one ever dared to walk down to a place so dreadful. Wind whistling, the trees around the dark soulless gates wilted almost to death, yet still holding to that gasp of air to an extent of suffering so painful its fate was to endure this till the end of time. The people of the town had this exact fate, to deteriorate till nothing is left but a lost memory.
     The "town of Red" they called it. For no-one ever got in, nor out. The clock struck 12, hearts racing, vocal chords straining, "HE'S HERE," they screamed. A figure cloaked in a black material that trailed on the ground entered the town through the soulless gates. One step at a time, invading the town with ease. People running for their dreadful lives. Except one little girl, she sat in the middle of the chaos, oblivious of her surroundings. Closer and Closer the figure walked up behind the little girl. Step, the girl was deaf, step, the girl was bind. Minutes went by and the little girl died a gruesome death so I'll spare you the details. Her innocent body lye there, lifeless. Once vibrant, now gone. The figure moved on to its next victim of the night. 
     The city seemed empty, dark and abandoned. The figure noticed a small noise coming from a quaint house made out of loose wood. The shutters, broken and tattered, swung in the breeze.  The figure slowly walked along the once mossy path. As its hand was about to touch the rusted metal handle on the broken door, the figure took notice of a noise coming from the east. Just the wind? No, it had a hissing sound of great measure. Every minute it got closer, every second it got louder. Yet the figure turned back to the door, ignoring the sound. The figures deadline had been missed, he needed to finish his job for the night, as he did for the past 1,000 years and beyond. 
     In a corner he noticed one little white refrigerator with nothing else inside the room. He walked further, the next room had a couch, and the next, a cupboard. There seemed to be no-one home but just as he was about to leave the entry way, The figure turned violently towards the one room with nothing but a golden bell in the middle of it. He picked it up, shocking him, it flew out of his hand and onto the floor once again. Ear piercing, eye aching, a sudden flash filled the room and a family appeared from the smoke. Shaking, crying, hugging, The family knew their fate.
"don't hurt us," The family begged.
"But you know the rules," Explained the figure
"We did nothing wrong!" The mother pleaded.
"That's not why I'm here!" Screamed the figure.
As the family could do nothing, they sat there waiting for the pain to begin.
"who's first?" Asked the figure. 
The mother raised her hand, scared, and excepting, the figure began his process. He rolled up his black coat, revealing his hands. His fingernails, tall and red, yanked the mothers arm. He punctured layer after layers of skin. The mom, screaming and in pain, she fell faint. Once the nails had reached the bottom her blood seeped into his long nails. Immediately he slashed her through with her own blood and she fell dead.
"Who's next?" He said, with a sickening smile across his face.