The place smelled old and looked even worse. It was an old abandoned barn, which always tended to be a good creepy crawly place in the Upper North East. It was cold and the weather in Maine was colder than usual. She could see her breath and felt the chill down to her bones, or it could be that this prey was personal.
She prided herself on being able to see in the gray between the black and white, but this time she was white and it was black. Her pale skin shown in the night and she knew it would see her perfectly, just as she hoped.
She was dressed to kill, in the most malicious way. Usually she would wear jeans, skintight shirt, and skintight zip up, no chances to caught or stumble and her tennis shoes had the perfect grips. Tonight was completely different. Tonight she dressed to kill. She wanted this thing to suffer.
The dark blue jeans hugged her legs perfectly, the black stilettos sharper than most of her blades and outlined her little feet. She had on low riders and a black belt studded with silver. She wanted to make this thing's skin crawl and shiver. She wore a zipped up collared black shirt tighter than a corset that showed her tantalizing skin. Her leather jacket was black and skin tight against her body. She left her dark brown hair down, letting it fall past her shoulders, usually it was up. She left her neck exposed too, the perfect bait.
There was no gun, the thing could sense that. She wasn't going to use any ticks, she wanted this thing to feel her human power. The only thing she carried was a knife, more specifically, a jagged, large hunting knife. Tonight this thing would feel pain.
She slowly got out of her black 1967 corvette and stood up slowly. Every move calculated like a dance, the choreography was known for centuries, it's dance made to kill and she knew it down to every second.
How she couldn't wait for the exact right moment. To revel in its sweet death from her hand. The smooth entrance of the blade into its side. It may be a thing, but cut anything's stomach and it'll scream, at the perfect pitch too.
She walked out to the middle of the field, exactly between the barn and her car. She watched the barn carefully waiting for a faint golden glow from its eyes. She leered at the thing in the dark.
How she loved to hunt these things. The thrill, the fear she got off of, and the undeniable sense of self-righteousness. No one may know she did this, but she left her mark in the world by killing just one more.
She felt her breathing quicken, like the pace of pleasure at the height of a climax, the exact desire of it. God how she wanted it, how she wanted it to know you couldn't toy with her.
It could mess with her all it wanted, but go after her family; they didn't need to know what she did. This thing needed to die slowly and painfully, by her blade.
She looked away for a moment, a trap it took. Its eyes shimmered for a moment but she saw it and her head cracked to the side. Sneering in a vicious way, she let the blade in her sleeve slip slowly into her fingers, the smooth silver like glass. She had sharpened the edges just for it. The jagged side pointed out to it and the point ready to strike.
She slowly sunk down into a striking position and waited for the moment to strike.
Quietly, she breathed, "And you thought it would be easy."
The words had been said and the creature flew out of the barn. She couldn't see it but the wood from the wall shattered in every direction and she struck her arm out before the wood even hit the ground, feeling the thing slide onto it.
The thing snarled and groaned, a sickening gargle interrupting it. It dropped against her, using her as weight. It's arms useless as she twisted the knife in it.
It screamed against her ear and she was so close it its neck she could smell it. A sickeningly sweet scent that made very sense recoil, but she rejoiced being this close. She wasn't afraid, she was willing.
"Say hello our friends in hell for me." She twisted the blade once more and before the creature could get away and strike she slide the knife out of it and sliced off its head.
It rolled and she watched it, not even registering the blood streak left on her jacket, only staring at its golden eyes and twisted mouth.
Getting down on one knee, she stabbed the heart and said to the bloody stub, "Serves you right you bastard." Cutting out its heart, she put it into a bag and tied of the end, full of other souvenirs collected from others.
Standing up, she threw the bag in the trunk and took off the jacket. Glancing once more at her jacket and once more at the thing, she slinked back and looked for a wallet, just as she thought, money form the victims.
As she was crouched down she looked once more at him and muttered, "You're paying for my jacket."
As she got into her car, she pulled out the wallet and took out all the cards.
"Good, more than enough money to pay for my gas…you're so kind," she squinted at the card, "Divelo Mickoratich? Dude, so need a new name."
She filtered threw them until one card got her eye, Mick St. John, Private Investigator. Her eyes became wide and she stared out of the windshield feeling her heart beat faster.
"Got yah."