"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." –Joseph Conrad, Under Western Eyes (1911)
"This would be so much easier if you just gave in."
You ignore the exasperated comment from the longhaired figure sitting opposite you in the café and continue to read your magazine. Two cerulean eyes stare pointedly at you from across the table despite your best efforts to ignore their owner, each of them glinting with equal parts of amusement and annoyance.
Several moments pass in silence before the page you are reading vanishes into near-complete darkness. You blink slowly as you realize that the burning lamp overhead, which had previously been illuminating your magazine, has suddenly been snuffed out. Your mouth twists into a frown as you glare at the man smirking in front of you, clearly pleased with his handiwork amidst the cacophony of confused shouts from your immediate surroundings. "Stop it, Kayn," you say.
"But we're just getting started…" He lets out a low chuckle and slides over to you, taking your hand and interlocking your fingers with his. "It's so much more fun to play in the dark, don't you think?" He gestures with his chin over to another table at the opposite corner of the café. You follow Kayn's gaze to see a toddler fidgeting in his mother's lap with a spoon, holding it up and cooing in wonder at the shadow it casts against the wall. The happy gurgles from the child's mouth quickly turn into terrified shrieks as the spoon's shadow starts to morph into a monstrous abomination, its jaws opening to reveal rows of curved sharp teeth that look remarkably like scythes. Laughter fills your ears as you watch the toddler's mother attempt in vain to console him.
"Enough," you snap, standing up and snatching your purse from a neighboring chair. "I won't tolerate any more of your nonsense."
"You can try and run from me all you want," comes the amused reply as you march out of the café. "But you won't ever be able to hide."
The sky is awash in streaks of alternating pink and blue as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Storeowners all across town are starting to lock up for the day, and the streets soon become congested with traffic and pedestrians making their way home. As you wait for the light at an intersection to change, you distract yourself from the chaos around you by putting on your headphones, allowing yourself to be momentarily lost in the music.
Your mind goes blank as you retrace the familiar path to your house, weaving in and out of groups of passers-by. You don't notice when the bells at the city hall chime somewhere in the distance, officially signaling the night's advent. As you arrive at your doorstep and reach towards the lock with your key in hand, you also don't notice the man from your earlier encounter at the café stepping out from behind a corner – until he comes to wrap his arms around your waist.
"Haven't you figured it out yet? You can't escape," Kayn whispers in your ear, leaning in as he kisses your cheek.
"Stop following me," you protest as you turn the key in the lock and push open your front door, taking a step forward in defiance. "And you're not allowed in my house."
"How precious of you," Kayn mocks, "thinking a mere door can stop me." You roll your eyes as you wriggle from his grasp and shut the door firmly behind you, leaving him outside.
It doesn't take long before you feel his arms around you again. "You don't get it," he chides, flicking his tongue out to place a wet kiss on your neck as a strangely pleasant shiver runs through your body. "I have seen your deepest, darkest desires. I am only here to help you fulfill them."
"Lies," you retort weakly as the man – no, the demon – silences you by covering your lips with his own. As you break away from the kiss momentarily for air, you find yourself mesmerized by the hypnotic blue depths of his eyes, appearing to you as an infinite ocean against the dimly lit room. You think of all the connotations of the color blue – coolness, calmness, innocence – and scoff inwardly as none of them even remotely describe who he is – no, what he is.
"You don't have to be ashamed of what you want…" – his hand reaches up to stroke the side of your face tenderly – "…Of what we want. That's why you can't do anything against me…" – he goes back in for another kiss before pausing to look down on you through half-lidded eyes – "...we are one."
Later that night, as you lay before him half-naked and his hand travels up your inner thigh, you choke back a sob because you know everything he says is true.
You awaken the next morning as the first rays of sunlight filter into your room, revealing the man ("Demon," your mind corrects) fast asleep beside you, his long hair shrouding his side of the mattress in a dark canopy. A blush creeps up your face as you briefly recall the previous night's events, but you quickly dismiss it as you get out of bed and begin making preparations to start the day.
Arriving at the neighborhood park for your morning jog markedly improves your mood. The scent of fresh morning dew, coupled with the soft chirping of birds and a light breeze tousling your hair, is more than enough to lift your spirits. You take a sip from your water bottle and are about to set off on your daily route when an all-too-familiar vision of a patch of azure locks against jet-black hair stops you short in your tracks.
"Such a nice day to be out," their owner drawls, uncrossing his arms and wrapping his fingers around his scythe as his blue orbs lazily scan the area. "Let's have a little fun, shall we?"
"Kayn," you hiss through gritted teeth, "don't you dare."
You watch in despair as a spark of interest ignites in those haunting eyes of his, knowing that means he's found a new target. "See that guy over there?" he asks, motioning towards a secluded area of the park where another jogger sits on a bench underneath an enormous oak tree. "He looks like he could really use some rest." The edges of Kayn's mouth turn upwards in a cruel smirk and you gasp as he holds his scythe out in the man's direction.
"No," you respond as firmly as you can while pushing his arm down, "you are not doing that."
He seems to ponder your words for a moment before the smirk returns to his face with renewed vigor. "You're right…" he whispers, gripping your waist and pulling you into the shadows with him before you have a chance to speak, "you are." In a matter of seconds, he places his hand on top of yours on the handle of his scythe and both of you emerge behind the unsuspecting man, lashing out with a swift strike and driving the weapon into the back of his neck before he can scream.
"You… you monster," you splutter, coming to your senses as the man's bloodied corpse slumps over on the bench. "How could you do this?" A steady trickle of red pours out from the gash on his neck, and you stare at it with equal amounts of horror, disgust, and another emotion you don't want to name for the sake of your own sanity. Unfortunately for you, it does not escape Kayn's notice.
"I am only doing what you want me to," he replies simply, the tone of his voice betraying his barely concealed glee.
"Look at that man over there," Kayn whispers, eyeing a portly man with a stained apron stepping out into a nearby alleyway with a cigarette in hand. "You figure he's a butcher?"
"Kayn," you warn, though you're unsure if the warning is meant for him or yourself, "no more."
He feigns a hurt expression. "What," he says, "you don't think I can control myself?"
You want to yell at him for his insolence. Self-control is just about the last trait you would use to characterize the demon that has infested every fiber of your being and blatantly derives joy from tormenting you. Nonetheless, you scowl and turn away from him.
"Come," Kayn says again easily, "just look at this guy. Smoking and obesity – even if he didn't meet his end now, he'd definitely be six feet under in a few years." He slips into the wall behind the man, and your heartbeat quickens as you follow suit, knowing you have no other choice.
The stench of sweat, dried animal blood, and cigarette smoke emanating from the man fills your nostrils as you draw in closer to him, and you almost gag. "Such a waste of flesh," Kayn frowns, shaking his head, "let's not delay any further in putting him out of his misery." As the butcher holds the cigarette up to his mouth for another puff, the scythe sinks into his greasy neck. He chokes and sputters, spewing specks of blood, tobacco, and saliva everywhere, before hitting the ground like a wet sack of potatoes.
Once again, Kayn doesn't miss the look that crosses your face at the sight. "Job well done," he says, smirking in satisfaction.
"I'd say we had quite a productive day. Wouldn't you agree?"
You shoot a deadly glare at the raven-haired man settling comfortably on a sofa in a darkened corner of your living room, looking very pleased with himself as he leisurely brushes his blue bangs aside. "I can't believe what you did to those people," you mutter in disapproval.
Kayn raises an eyebrow and stands from his seat, meeting you eye-to-eye. "Is that so?" he asks, drawing his face closer to yours until your noses touch. "Funny you say that..." – he brings his arms around you and pulls you towards him, kissing you gently – "…considering everything I did was for you…" – his tongue flicks out to enter your mouth, intertwining itself with your own tongue – "…and was because of you." He breaks the kiss before uttering the fateful words. "All those people died because of you."
"It was you!" you shout, unable to control your rage at his flippant accusations. "I saw you do those things!"
"Hush…" He places a hand on the side of your head and raises a finger to his lips. A chill passes through you as your mind begins to replay the events from hours ago, but for some reason the memories have taken on a foreign, dream-like quality.
You watch in despair as a spark of interest ignites in those haunting eyes of his, knowing that means he's found a new target. "See that guy over there?" he asks, motioning towards a secluded area of the park where another jogger sits on a bench underneath an enormous oak tree. "He looks like he could really use some rest." The edges of Kayn's mouth turn upwards in a cruel smirk and you gasp as he holds his scythe out in the man's direction.
"No," you respond as firmly as you can while pushing his arm down, "you are not doing that."
He seems to ponder your words for a moment before the smirk returns to his face with renewed vigor. "You're right…" he whispers, gripping your waist and pulling you into the shadows with him before you have a chance to speak, "you are." In a matter of seconds, he places his hand on top of yours on the handle of his scythe and both of you emerge behind the unsuspecting man, lashing out with a swift strike and driving the weapon into the back of his neck before he can scream.
Wait. That wasn't what actually happened.
You screw your eyes shut as a deep, foreboding sense of dread settles in your stomach. The scene in your mind twists and changes into something far more familiar, far more revolting, far more real…
You watch the jogger silently from behind the trunk of the large oak tree in the park, following his movements with interest as you ready the sharpened knife in your hand. He relaxes on the bench, closing his eyes to enjoy some peace and quiet in this secluded spot far away from most other park visitors. Once you have ascertained that the coast is clear, a surge of adrenaline races through your veins as you plunge the knife into the back of his neck before he can scream.
Your eyes snap back open in shock as you take a few moments to catch your breath. They meet Kayn's ethereal gaze, and looking at him now, you notice that his features appear far less defined, like a grainy picture on a static-filled television channel. "Do you see it yet?" he asks, the trace of a playful smirk dancing across his lips.
The wail of police sirens from somewhere outside resonates faintly in your mind and you reach out to him. "Kayn…" you falter, just as another memory – or is it a dream? – resurfaces.
"Come," Kayn says again easily, "just look at this guy. Smoking and obesity – even if he didn't meet his end now, he'd definitely be six feet under in a few years." He slips into the wall behind the man, and your heartbeat quickens as you follow suit, knowing you have no other choice.
The stench of sweat, dried animal blood, and cigarette smoke emanating from the man fills your nostrils as you draw in closer to him, and you almost gag. "Such a waste of flesh," Kayn frowns, shaking his head, "let's not delay any further in putting him out of his misery." As the butcher holds the cigarette up to his mouth for another puff, the scythe sinks into his greasy neck. He chokes and sputters, spewing specks of blood, tobacco, and saliva everywhere, before hitting the ground like a wet sack of potatoes.
Once again, Kayn doesn't miss the look that crosses your face at the sight. "Job well done," he says, smirking in satisfaction.
No. That wasn't what happened either.
The butcher has gone outside for a quick smoke break in the alleyway just outside his shop. You steady yourself with one hand as you lean against the garbage bin concealing your presence with the other, feeling the coolness of your knife's blade against your fingers. You watch as he puts his cigarette up to his mouth for another puff and sink the knife's edge into his greasy neck just as he inhales. He crumples to the floor, choking and sputtering, as you look on with awe and amazement as though in a trance.
You blink rapidly, beads of sweat rolling down your face. More and more of these grisly recollections pour forth – men, women, even children – and in all of them, wherever Kayn had once existed, an eerie void takes his place, leaving you alone with the blood of the dead staining your fingers. Yet the most horrifying aspect of it all is not the gory visuals themselves – instead, it is your reaction to them.
They are the most beautiful sights you have ever seen.
Even as you look at him now, Kayn looks completely out of place in the flashing hues of red and blue piercing in from outside your windows, punctuated only by the elongated shadows of the evening. The wail from the sirens outside rises to a fever pitch. He rubs his thumbs soothingly over your fingers and locks his lips with yours one last time as he slips a hard wooden object into your hand. "A parting gift," he says, and your eyes widen as you realize it is the wooden handle of a sharp knife with blood coagulating at the tip of its blade – the same knife that you used to bring all those unfortunate souls to their untimely demise.
Your eyes dart wildly around the room, looking desperately for something – anything – to pin the blame on Kayn, but your efforts are futile. "You demon," you barely muster, as the outline of his form begins to fade into the darkness.
"Silly…" The word leaves his mouth slowly, deliberately, like a parent admonishing a child. "…Demons don't exist." With that, he disappears into the shadows just as your front door is broken down.
The news of your arrest graces the front page of every newspaper in town. The courtroom is packed to the brim on the day of your trial, filled with the mourning families of your victims, camera crews and news reporters, and innumerable onlookers who have taken a morbid interest in your case. You can hear the hushed whispers and sense the judgmental gazes of a thousand eyes boring into you. Yet you remain in an oddly dissociative state, catching only bits and pieces of the evidence as they are read aloud before the jury: "…Serial killer… over twenty victims… stab wounds… highly unstable… prone to hallucinations…"
The photographic evidence comes next, and while the members of the jury visibly pale at the sight of the carnage, you can't help but feel exhilarated at what you and Kayn have caused. You close your eyes momentarily, seeing those brilliant cerulean eyes again in your mind's eye and reminiscing the sensation of his lips pressed against yours. There is still so much more you can do together – all you have to do is to let him in.
When the judge pronounces the verdict, you don't even flinch. Two burly policemen lead you out of the courtroom in handcuffs and bundle you up in the back of a van, driving you to the isolated cell you are meant to call home for the rest of your life.
As the world passes by you in a formless blur, you look down at the shining silver handcuffs contrasted sharply with the shadows flickering across your arms, and you can't help but smile knowingly.
They can try to lock you up all they want, you muse to yourself, but as long as Kayn roams free, they cannot stop you forever.