Interlude
3
.doom.
Edward Anthony Masen
I had never experienced guilt like the night I made my decision to return to Carlisle. Of course, I had felt the dwelling pain of remorse after every kill, but that was nothing compared to the pain of murdering an innocent, of looking into their eyes afterwards and seeing nothing but a shallow stare.
It nearly drove me insane in the months to follow, seeing the young woman's face in the back of my mind, wondering if everyone I passed would pass judgment on me if they knew. If they knew the man they were sharing the sidewalk with had murdered hundreds, maybe thousands of people. People that could have just as easily been them.
Rapists and murderers were no monsters compared to the kind of beast that dwelled within me, swelling with each trace of the sweet aroma coming off a child's skin, or from a housewife's jugular.
It was a housewife--that night in the alley that had played victim to my monstrosity. She was a victim of another as well, and I had killed him too. She bled however, and I couldn't resist. Her smell was not intoxicating, but it was sweet enough, lovely enough to call the monster out to play.
And play it did.
...somebody help me through this nightmare...
...I can't control myself...
...somebody wake me from this nightmare...
...I can't escape this hell...
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Also Not Edited.