The ballroom was filled with beautiful dancers. Many shades of red – passion – fluttering from each twirl to dip that their partner in black – darkness – had done. Masks shielded the many faces. Masks of gold to red with black lace and gold trimming, some even possessing feathers as the passion remained alive and well on the polished mahogany dance floor. It contrasted well with the while polished walls that glistened in match to the full moon outside. It was the only shine to bring to the black sky on this night of passion. Soft music filtered through from the live band dressed in theme for the masquerade. Tonight's theme: passion in celebration for the holiday on February 14. Valentine's Day.
Harmony, Pennsylvania was finally back to its original structure of a graceful small town where everyone knew each other by name and lived in harmony. Mocking as it may. No one lived in perfect harmony, anyone who felt like they did were clearly too much engrossed into damn fairytales. In truth, beyond a story, behind each word written on the fine pages, in the shadows to each light and joyful happening laid a darker shade. Everything always had an evil double, a demon that lurks behind each corridor in a hall, in each darkened corner away from the sunlight. Tonight, Harmony will be reminded of why they stopped celebrating this godforsaken holiday.
Many more came waltzing inside from the cold night. Shrugging out of their jackets to reveal the red in contrast of fair skin. Makeup done well, hairs curled to perfection, all behind a mask of red or gold. They danced the night away, reliving in their passion they had for their dance partner and creating a blissful memory to remember from years to come. Tonight, it would be their end. Each and every one of these putrid humans would quite literally…bleed out their passion until dead.
It was nearing midnight – 11: 35pm – as the time on a watch read when the violinist checked it on his wrist. He sighed and wandered along the stage and to the microphone. He cleared his throat and looked at the loving dancers, their eyes solely on their precious little doves. White doves of innocence, up until tonight that was. Behind each beautiful dove lived a crow clawing to break free, waiting to be let out and spread its poisonous venom, corrupting every innocent in sight.
"Alright everyone, it's almost midnight, do we have any requests?" His warm honey silk voice spoke through the microphone, casting his voice outward into the sea of people through the speakers resting in each corner of the room and behind the band. All dancers stopped and stared up to the man speaking. His brown eyes looked about, "Anyone? C'mon people its Valentine's Day!" He smiled as if to draw in more hype for them, but it fell flat. His smile had faltered and he sighed.
"How about a song of passion?" A rough and husky voice came about through the crowd. The speaker looked about with squinting eyes behind his golden mask. People looked around, wondering who had spoken just now. "Well, what kind are we talking?" He asked nervously as he tried to find the voice in the crowd. His brown eyes picked up one dancer, a man standing still in the crowd with blazing emeralds behind a black mask with a longer than usual nose. It looked more like a vulture in structure with the long beak. Dark hair melted into the all black attire of a nice suit. All black – darkness. His full lips spread widely, showing peaks of white vibrant teeth. His incisors seeming longer in the position of his profile, making him seem even more uneasy to stare at.
"The kind with a dark story, maybe Phantom of the Opera scheme," he said as he walked through the crowd. They seemed to create a path for him as they stared with wide eyes. Mutters and exchange in hushed whispers through partners at the dark man making his way to the stage.
"It's him…"
"No, it can't be, he's dead, isn't he? Axel said he was dead!"
"That's got to be him, who else would show in all black to a party like this?"
"But I don't understand…he is dead."
The black masked man stepped up on the stage from the side and made a strong and confident stride to the still standing man. For some reason, his heart was speeding, his blood felt like it was growing cold the closer this masked man stepped. There was something about him, something dark that unsettled everyone. It stopped the passionate night to a cold still of fear and unknown. "Erm, Phantom of the Opera?" He stammered at the man once he stopped mere inches from him. The man said not a word. Emerald eyes rimmed with thick curled angelic lashes remained to bore into the unsettling browns. Who was this man?
A dark chuckle came from his closed lips, "Precisely, after all…" he opened his arms out wide and gestured to everyone around, "Who doesn't love a little bit of theatre drama?" His voice was icy and unsettling. Beautiful and enchanting, but icy and unsettling. The man swallowed harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing from his long and thin neck. The unknown man's arms lowered down to his sides as he looked over to the man once more with a little grin, "because to every heart, there's a crack that slowly expands until there's nothing left but a gaping black hole…" The smile faltered, the voice lowered into a near growl as his upper lip curled briefly over his teeth. Pulling the hidden dagger from in his sleeve, he grasped it firmly at the slender hilt and soon swung the polished, sterling silver across the throat. It made a sound, a sound of a clink and then gurgling. Blood slowly seeped down in trickles as a shaking hand trembled along the fine line of red crimson. He choked on his own blood. Copper strongly tasted on his tongue as he coughed. The white collar of his shirt slowly seeped with crimson – passion. It bled with passion beyond any form of words.
The body crumbled to the floor, his blood pooling out around. The beautiful silver now fashioning off crimson. It all seemed in slow motion. The attack was so swift, so precise that it left everyone in shock, unable to register as the pounding of their hearts became all that they could hear in their pulsating ears. The man looked to the band, frozen on spot and then screams. Bone chilling screams erupted in the confined room. Many rushed for the exit to find it locked. Many tried to find things to shatter the windows, but to no avail. The man looked around with humor twinkling in his emeralds. Run, run all of you! There's no escaping, not this time. A snort came from his throat and soon his head went back as laughter, cruel and dead laughter, cackled through the room.
"Oh, what a fine day to be alive, unless of course you're dead!"
Jumping off the stage, the man melted into the crowd. He stabbed, he sliced and he demolished. He grew a high much greater than the arousal of sex with each scream he created, with each slice he did. The more blood spilled, tainting the once polished flooring and his face in lovely abstracts up his neck and to his cheeks and jaw, even his mask, but from the dark shade it was hard to detect the splatters there. All of it was blissful to him. He craved more. He wanted more! Have their hearts on silver platters and break each and last one of them individually. Yes, that would do lovely.
The screams soon stopped. The struggles were stilled. The lively room now a dead song. All that remained was a man standing in center of the toppled over bodies, the blood stuck to the soles of his still polished black shoes. He looked around at his work. An animalistic stare to each individual while he remained in the same place he was. Their blood, all were collected on the still dripping blade that remained in the bloodstaining hand. It soaked into the flesh, tucking beneath his nails in a darkening color. The man closed his eyes and lulled his head back to calm his heavy breathing. The aroma of blood, the strong stench of copper and salt welcomed his nostrils. He could taste it all.
With a sigh, he pulled the strings on the back of his head that kept the mask on securely. It dropped down in a clatter to the bloodshed, mingling there. Eyes opened to reveal the maddening emeralds, a beautiful man stood there. A man that said little but carried so much hatred and anguish inside in his eyes. His heart was broken for eternity. The once white innocent dove that was eleven years ago now a far from fixed corrupted blackbird. He looked down to the woman still trying to hang onto her life. Kneeling down, he pulled the red mask off and saw the one who was responsible for his broken heart.
Wide and terrified blue eyes looked into the emeralds, her mouth opened as chokes came out. "You know…even dying you're still the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on," he said in his rough voice. He grasped her chin with his free, bloody hand. "Sarah…" he said in a mock and leaned down, pressing his mouth firmly onto hers. The woman's whimper and her tensed expression showed that the kiss was unwanted. The man didn't care. He pulled back after moments and smiled sickeningly to her, "Let's have our last dance, my love."
He lifted her up, her body slumped into him as he carried all of her weight. "You look beautiful this evening," he complimented the beautiful red strapless that stretched down at her knees. He grabbed her hand and soon danced with her to a muted song. His feet traveled carelessly over the many piles of bodies, never once breaking his stride. He kept his precious dove close until the song in his mind had ended. He slowly fell into a standstill and pulled the woman with the injury to her neck and stomach to view her. Her eyes frozen, her sounds had stopped mid-way through the dance.
The man's brows raised and he soon lowered her down to an empty spot on the floor. He admired her frozen beauty and soon his knife was back in show. His loving expression gone as it fell numb and blank. "And now, it's time to take what is rightfully mine…"
He pulled her top down, exposing her chest to him. With the knife, he sliced through the cleavage, making the incision long enough to where he could tear the rubbery texture apart a bit. More blood spilled, staining his hands worse than the kills, soaking his black sleeves to both his shirt and coat. He lowered the knife and soon his hands enclosed in a fist. A swift punch and he heard the appealing crackle. Smiling with appreciation, he soon ducked his hand under the skin and fumbled her ribcage until he felt a poke. Ah, the broken ones! Playing with the bones by wiggling them, he soon was able to reach behind the cage and grasped his hand around the organ that he desired more than anything. It pulsed a bit in his hand, but with a firm squeeze and a rough jerk, the heart was out of her chest and in his possessive hand. He looked down at the organ, green eyes glistening. Finally, he had what rightfully belonged to him.
Looking to the body, he walked off to retrieve his mask and soon brought it to her. He placed it on her face in askew and pulled a rose from the altar at the entrance. He sniffed it and brushed it along his lips and soon dropped the flower on her body.
And with that, Tom Hanniger had turned his back on the people of Harmony, on Sarah, and left, never to return now that he had his prized possession in his hand, dripping from how fresh the organ still was.
Happy Valentine's Day, Sarah. Your once dove that made your heart soar was now the crow that had ripped it apart.