Okay so this is just a test run, to see if I'm actually good at writing before I start some HUGE story that will take up all of my free time. Please give me some feed back, and yes, this is a o/s!
Enjoy!
Midnight Sunfire
The Heir of Death
Sitting in his big chair, Mitchell reviewed every monitor, each displaying a different street in London from this afternoon. Every morning Mitchell would wake up and come to sit in his chair, watching the interminable shoppers and tourists unknowingly pass by a different one of his cameras. It was two-thirty in the morning, and if he hadn't of eaten them, his parents might of had a heart attack from him staying up late. Mitchell felt his green eyes start to droop with fatigue, the videos were boring. Instead he decided to admire the walls around him, each lined with rows of glass boxes, each with a skeleton inside, and a name plate in front, when all of a sudden, his eyes noticed a woman walk across the screen. She had wavy caramel colored hair, was wearing a tan trench coat, and had deep azure eyes.
"So familiar," Mitchell mumbled, and his intelligent twelve year old mind suddenly remembered where he had seen her before.
"My waitress Lavender!" he exclaimed. Lavender had served him countless time at the little diner on the corner of Belgrave and Bridge, she was also his Aunt, his last living relative, even if she didn't know. A few days had passed since Mitchell had eaten a proper meal, and he was in desperate need of human flesh. Mitchell suddenly called out,
"Mr. Jones!" and the little old man came rushing into the surveillance room, ready to be instructed by his Young Master.
"Tomorrow afternoon, I want you to go pick up a young woman in a tan trench has caramel colored hair and blue eyes. Remember Lavender from the diner? Bring her to me." Then with a wave of his hand, Mr. Jones left Young Master Mitchell to his sleep.
Rain poured in heavy waves, down the streets of London, yet people were still out walking, shopping, or quickly dodging under awnings for cover. On the roads, traffic was a nightmare. Rows upon rows of yellow and black cabs, all filled with petulant drivers, laying on their high pitched horns, shattering the ear drums of innocent bystanders. Suddenly a giant crack was heard and lightning flashed, lighting up the black, gloomy sky, for just a moment, before fading back into the atmosphere. With a startled yelp, a woman of twenty-six, hurriedly closed her metal lined umbrella, she desperately waved her hands, trying to hail a cab. The muggy rain soaked her clothes and faded her homemade name tag that read Lavender. The "L" "e" and "d" ran down the thin construction paper in faint lilac tears. A gust of wind blew her long jacket open, and shuffled her caramel colored hair. Her shaking hands fumbled to button up her long, tan jacket, and retain what little body heat her body could muster.
At last, an older black cab pulled up next to her, the engine purring like it was in its prime, not sixty years old. Lavender quickly opened the right door and slid onto slightly cracked, black leather seats. She immediately felt the warmth travel up her arms, and spread to the rest of her body, sending slight goose bumps to where ever the heat went. Suddenly her nose was flooded with the smell of sweet smoke and she coughed, her lungs burning. Lavender looked ahead to the cab driver, and rattled off her new apartment address, hopping she could get home without any fuss.
In the rear view mirror, she saw two beady black eyes narrow under white as snow eyebrows. The back of his head was full of the same colored hair as his eyebrows, and pulled back into a short ponytail, held together by a wrapping of twine. Lavender quickly rethought her decision to get into this cab, driven by a creepy elderly man. Yet against her better judgment, she felt her eyes involuntarily droop, and she thought as she fought the raging battle in her mind between the foggy, grey cloud of sleep and consciousness, that she saw a demented twinkle in those black soulless eyes. Suddenly, she coughed up more sweet smoke out of her lungs, and against her will, she succumbed to sleep, letting the foggy, grey cloud sweep over her mind.
Lavender awoke with a fright, her breath coming out in ragged, short huffs. She couldn't see a thing, and felt and heard her heart beating almost faster than a hundred hummingbirds. She shook her head to dissipate the remaining wisps of the cloud of sleep, and then turned her head to the right, blackness, then to the left, nothing. It was all quiet except for the interminable dripping from the ceiling, through the black abyss, to what was likely a small puddle on the floor, somewhere close to her.
"Where am I?" Lavender thought. Her curiosity was much to great, and she tried to stand, but her legs and calves felt like jelly, and she crumpled to the hard, dank ground once again.
"Drip...drip...drip" The dripping continued, uninterrupted by the commotion of falling close to it.
"Help! Help! Somebody please! Help!" Lavender wailed, yet nobody came, just her and the dripping.
"Drip, drip, drip" She was in solitude. No one was coming for her. Lavender's eyes became glassy, tears building up behind her eyes. By her self, she was alone.
"Probably going to die here as well." With that thought, the tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks, falling to the floor.
In the dank darkness, Lavender shook with tears, and sobs racked through her body. Mitchell smiled, watching from his observatory. His night vision cameras gave the room a green glow. Tears! He chuckled.
"She's falling apart, what a show!" Mitchell exclaimed, soon she would break completely, and he would have his meal.
Lavender decided that she needed a tissue, she couldn't stand having her face wet, and there might be something in there to help her get out, so she looked for her purse. Hoping and praying to who ever was out there, that they didn't take her bag. All around her, her hands scampered, looking for the thing she thought she so desperately needed. Lavender's hands traveled down next to her left foot, and she felt something. Something that was far from her purse. This something, was cold, hard, and linked. Now for sure, she couldn't escape, she had a chain connecting her left ankle, to what she thought to be a wall.
Suddenly, straight ahead of her, she saw a yellow light coming in through a newly opened door. Lavender quickly tried to muster feeling back into her legs to stand, or maybe make a run for it. Then, a short form appeared in the door way. It took a couple steps forward, and flipped a light switch up. In an instant, the black abyss of nothing Lavender came to know, vanished, and she saw where she really was. She was in a large room, with no windows, and only one door. The walls were made of cinder blocks and mortar, and the floor was solid concrete. There definitely was a chain on her left ankle and it was rusty and cutting into her bare skin. The drip dripping sound came from the wooden ceiling, and it was dripping something claret, blood. It seeped through the ceiling profusely and made a large puddle five feet to the right of her elbow. Strewn across the floor diagonally from her was her tan coat, all eight buttons ripped off and scattered across the floor.
Looking down a her self, Lavender saw her above the knee waitress uniform was rumpled, and her white apron with pockets was torn in multiple places, and reeked like sweet smoke and body sweat. She looked again at the strange form, and saw not the creepy cabbie, but a young boy of eleven or twelve years old. He was at most five foot five, and a he stepped forward, so maybe she could see him better, and she could. He was wearing a white button up shirt and a red tie, with black slacks and dress shoes. On top of his head was a mopish mess of golden blonde curls, and he had piercing green eyes. The boy, Mitchell, from every Tuesday night a the diner. He smirked a malicious grin and walked closer to her.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap." Ten steps away, his dress shoes plunked against the concrete floor. Inching his way closer to her.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap." Six steps away, his grin got wider as she shrunk away, pressing her self against the wall.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap." He was now standing right in front of her, and Lavender was paralyzed by the fear, and somehow, only her mouth would work.
"W...why..." She sobbed, and Mitchell's grin turned into a face splitting smile, showing every one of his teeth. They weren't regular human teeth, but razor sharp. He had two rows on the top of his mouth, and four rows on the bottom, each sharpened to a wicked point.
"How could I have not seen these teeth?" Lavender thought, shame filling her mind, and she choked on a sob.
"You see, I haven't had fresh meat in quite a few days, and I only eat those I know. I find that their taste is...much more...enjoyable. To me, strangers don't taste as good, as truly getting to know your victim, then seeing them die. I find it much more pleasurable breaking them down, and watching them cry. Seeing the hope and fire in their eyes dissipate into nothing but fear and despair. Hundreds have been in the same position you are in right now, and none have made it out alive. Each asking the same questions," Mitchell made his voice higher, poorly impersonating a woman,
"Why are you doing this? What are you going to do to me? What do you want? Am I going to die? Why, Mitchell, Why!" He then let out a haughty laugh, and crouched down, looking ready to pounce on Lavender. Looking into her azure eyes, he said,
"You know, I've always preferred the taste of blue eyed girls."
Mitchell opened his mouth, and Lavender let out a blood curdling shriek, then, Mitchell pounced.
Blood covered the wall Lavender had shrunken into, and her internal organs were scattered. In front, Mitchell stood, blood soaking his white button down, staining it to the rust color of dried blood. He had enjoyed his meal, very much.
"Mr. Jones!" Mitchell called after looking at his mess, summoning the old servant to his side, from where he stood outside the room.
"Yes, Young Master Mitchell?" The old man asked, hobbling to his employers side within the prison hold.
"Clean this up, and pick the bones dry, then clean them. I want this woman's skeleton as part of my collection. When you're done, put the skeleton together, and bring it to my office, like the others." Mitchell gave the instructions to Mr. Jones, then looked down at his now bloodied and battered clothes.
"Also, bring me a fresh set of clothes as well, drop them off in my room. But... do that first, then the bones." Then Mitchell walked off.
Mr. Jones waddled off close behind him, and went to Mitchell's closet room to pick up another pair of slacks, a white button down, dress shoes, and red tie. He folded them up in a nice pile with the slacks on the bottom and the shoes on the top, then placed them on Young Master's bed. He turned around, and waddled back to the prison hold where Lavender's remains are now. He opened the steel door, and picked up each piece of Lavender, and carried them to the cleaning room. It was all white, with a large metal table in the middle, with a tray full of cleaning tools.
Mr. Jones carefully placed the bones onto the table, and put on latex gloves. Piece after piece, bone after bone, he striped the remaining flesh off and threw the flesh away. It had no use to Young Master, he only ate fresh meat. He then washed the pieces and bones in soapy water. After, he disinfected the pieces and bones, then laid them out on the table, as if she were sleeping, but without skin, muscle, organs, or blood. Mr. Jones then took platinum rods, of all sizes, and made it so the bones would stay together, standing up, or laying down. Finally, he picked up the body tenderly, and placed it in an air tight glass box, so Young Master could admire it forever. He then put that glass box on a moving cart, and towed it to Young Master's private office, where he housed his collection. He took the box off the moving cart, and found an empty place so Young Master could see the skeleton clearly.
Mr. Jones then waddled out, made a quick plaque, then placed it at the feet of the new skeleton, number five hundred sixty-three, Lavender Walburgah.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap." Young Master was coming, so Mr. Jones quickly fled from the room as fast as his stubby legs could have taken him, to clean the prison hold again, for the next victim.
Mitchell walked into his private office, immediately noticing the new addition to his collection. He sat down in his large chair, and he cackled with maniacal laughter, and turned to his extensive video monitors, looking for his next meal.
Lavender Walburgah
Victim No. 563
Occupation: Waitress
Relation: Aunt
Eye color: Blue
Age: 26