Goosebumps - Harry Styles

Pilot

Beads of sweat roll down his face, though he is freezing. The weight of 100 elephants on his chest, though he is not pinned down. The continuous ticking of time, though the Grandfather clock was not there.

He sat at the end of the old dusty mattress, wet hair dripping onto his exposed back. Head in his hands, eyes glued to the floor, breathing labored.

He saw it.

He saw her.

Now looking at his hands. The blood dried and cracked, the feeling of it thick under his nails.

He had to do it.

The screams echo in his head. His once dry bloody hands moistened by his hands, now in his hair. Pulling and gripping it as though it was going to bring back his sanity.

Why did he like killing it?

Why did he like killing her?

Jumping up, grabbing the shiny metal next to him. He walks out of the abandoned house and into the dark night to find his next prey.

He needed it.

He need to kill.

He walks what seems like forever, cars occasionally passing him, not noticing the half naked boy. After walking till dawn he entered his destination. The sour smell of hand sanitizer and latex. The receptionist looks at him, eyes wide, she opens her mouth to speak, maybe even scream, but she did not do so quickly enough. The sounds of a gun going off echoes through out the building, following with the sound of her body dropping.

Why was he like this?

Why did he enjoy the look of fear in ones eyes right before death?

People come running towards him, weapons in their hands. They thought they could stop him. His head snapped towards the direction, gun aimed towards it.

He is not afraid.

He shoots everything that moves, with calculation with each aim. The sounds of gun shots and bodies dropping never cease to stop.

"Where is it?" He thought.

He continued through the cold building. Killing everyone that got in his way. Not even stopping for the child who stepped out of their room for a drink.

There it is.

He walked in, viewing the small creatures. The one things he has never harmed, or killed. He always thought the guilt would eat him alive, until one day he learned to feel guilt, you must have a soul.

With the thought in mind he opened fire. The screams of the innocent filling his head.

Pleasure.

He stopped suddenly. Most of the screams died, but that's not what made him stop. He walked across a room, enchanted by this newborn. The bright green eyes, filled with innocence, but with a glint of evil deep down in them. 

This one is special.

He grabbed a small knife from his pocket, bringing it to the throat, then down above her heart. Then ever so slightly he cut into her, screams erupt from the small thing. It only fueled him more. He took the blade off the skin, admiring his work. The letter D etched into the new child's skin. Blood running freely, slowly puddled the child. He looks up the sky, grinning evilly, he then looks back down at the child. Placing his hand on the child's head. The warmth beating against his cold clammy hands.

The sound of the door slamming open snaps him out of his daze. A voice echoed throughout the room, but he could not hear them. He slowly raised his hands, turning around to face the armed men. Though fear was not a feeling he felt. An evil grin pulled on his face. Eyes glimmered with rage and his body twitched with excitement. He did not fear these men, he pitied them.

His toned body jolted back with the force of a bullet ripping through his skin. Another hitting his right shoulder, and even though he was hurt and was soon to die, he was still smiling.

He knew what was coming.

A final shot rippled through the air, hitting his chest. Nearly seconds after the boy dropped to his knees, then slowly sank to the ground.

The darkness enclosed him, but it has always been dark for him.