DEADLINE

1st Scene: Enticement.

The ambiance of the party was broken by the piercing roar of a gunshot. Next was just silence. Not a peep in the room. Startled and uncertain glances were passed around quickly between me and the others like condolences hastily passed between mourners. "The hell's going on out there?" As if any of us would know. I walked cautiously to look out the window into the front yard. I peek my head out, the cold like flinching daggers on my skin. It made me wince. Luckily, I didn't need to remain for longer than a second. I saw it immediately and retreated back inside. A person left discarded in the grass. Their chest was sliced up, the ruinous tear of a bestial claw carving through their tattered shirt. I looked back at the guys, hastily shutting the window behind me.

"Someone's dead out there," was all I could manage to shout before another burst of shots exploded through the house. I recoiled as if the trigger was pulled beside my head. But it wasn't, and in the brief moment it took me to figure it out, another shot rang out. That was followed by more sickening silence, then by the sound of the Uzi dumping its remaining magazine, all at once. None of us knew what to do. I mean, how could anyone predict something like this? Finally, one of the men stood. He was as bald as a skeleton and looked as old as one. His cerecloth was a fancy white suit. Must've been some higher up I never talked to.

"I'm going out there, dammit. I won't sit here and wait for whatever the hell is tearing up this party to come and get me." He grabs a gun from his hip and checks how many rounds he has. Satisfied with the count, he moves to the door. A few other lackeys join the precession behind him. They grab whatever they deem lethal enough. A bowie knife, a sturdy baseball bat. The old, bespoke officiant turns to me and some other guy. "You two wait here. Watch the window. If you see someone leave, shout." He speaks with authority. Neither of us is too enthusiastic about joining them, so we quietly agree.

As they shut the door behind them, I grab a bottle in case they got taken out. I hoped I didn't need it. The seconds scraped by, dragging along for what seemed like hours at a time. I never felt so claustrophobic before. The distressed walls closed in around me. It was as if the night sky itself was entrapping me, seeping in like a foul ink from the pitch-black window, and I was getting crushed against the wood floor.

"Hey! Snap out of it, damn it. Keep watching the window." I was shaken out of thoughts by the other guy. He was right, I had to get a grip. I give him a nod, a little way to show him I was still there, still as alert as I could be. He looked younger than me, probably gotten taken in as a kid, like me. He clutched a bottle, almost tight enough to shatter it himself. We didn't really pass names around here, I didn't bother to ask. My attention turns to the window again, and my eyes drift down to the path out. And the corpse. The poor bastard's face was twisted in shock, still confused as he slipped away. I turned away from it. I couldn't get distracted again, so I turned to the silent night. It got so quiet after those gunshots… There was nothing but silence for around a minute, then that was shattered by the sound of breaking glass. That had to be close. I tried to breathe, to fight that rising panic. There was a thump on the floor, a pained cry, then followed by the sound of multiple, violent cracks. They just kept going, getting wetter and wetter, like they were hitting jelly. Then, wood against wood. I felt sick. There was no other sound after that, aside from the guy mumbling under his breath. That must have been the attacker dealt with, ambushed and killed with a bat. It was disgusting, but at the same time, it brought relief. The ordeal, as short as it was, was over. I let out a sigh of relief, then stepped away from the window. I turned to the kid at the door. I was going to speak, but then...

…

There was a sudden, loud slam. The door was sent back inwards, hitting him like a truck into the wall. I was shell-shocked, unable to move as the figure stood in the doorway. I could only see the silhouette of this reaper, its scythe bouncing light into the room. It lurched inside, hardly even acknowledging the kid before a swipe of its talon left him slumped on the floor. Like a flash, it grabbed his bottle, sending it careening towards me. That thing was an impeccable shot.

My head spun and my ears ringed, as it soundlessly approached me. I felt a weight on my chest, and the sound of a switchblade pierced the ear-splitting sound echoing around me. A porcelain white, traditional kitsune mask stained and speckled with blood stared down at me like the twisted visage of a demon. As my head still reeled from the impacts both with the bottle and the hard ground, ghostly silhouettes of the mask seemed to crumble off from the main image. Like dancing smoke, wafting away before being dragged back, then out the other side. Then, the figure smiled. A twisted, toothy grin. Their eyes, though I could hardly see them, looked manic. Ablaze with rabid fury. Suddenly, the world stopped spinning, my mind was brought back to the present with a spike of pain. Then, my stomach suddenly felt warm, and wet. My clothes were pulled down towards my skin, and I feebly brought my head up to examine the oddity. There, impaled in my flesh was a knife, and my shock was followed by a crashing tidal wave of burning pain. I shouted out, weakly trying to pull myself away from the maniac. My hands slipped off the hardwood as I tried to pull myself out from under their weight. But it was pointless. My pathetic struggle was met with another swift stab, this time further up my body. My clavicle was shattered, flooding me with more pain. I kept trying to break free from under them, before another stab, and then another. Each one went deeper and deeper as if they intended to pierce the floor beneath me. Blood pooled under my back, staining my white clothes red. And they were laughing. It started in this sick, twisted giggle. Like a giddy little kid. Then it warped into a maniacal cackle, shrilly piercing into my mind alongside the continuous pain. The puncturing assault continued, one after the other with the same rapid pace as gunshots, twisting and tearing as they pulled back. My vision was failing me. I lost the energy to move. There was one final thump as my head fell back against the wood for the last time, and my ears were filled with that laugh. The stabbing persisted, even as I slipped away.

That was it. The house was cleared.

Yuri stood, bloodier now, and stared down at her works. He was entirely still, almost as though he were sound asleep. A bloodied hand reached out to the window as if calling for the night itself to aid him in his dying moments. The adrenaline began to die down. The music that scored the massacre kept droning on and on as Yuri stood, her breath labored. But that soon turned to panic. The gravity of her actions fell upon her all at once, each drop of blood weighing thousands of tonnes when seconds before they fell upon her like a refreshing rain. She was met with the glassy stare of a dead man as she fell to her hands and knees, staining her palms and jeans red with blood. Tears fell from her face as she tried to piece everything that happened together. She was confused and terrified, surrounded by a nightmare of her own design, and her ears were berated by that loud, droning music. She wanted to chuck that damned knife in her hands as far away from her as physically possible, but she knew she couldn't. Not now.

She had to run. Had to. Surely someone would've heard the carnage, reported the unrest to the police. On shaking legs, she stood and fled from the building. The world was a blur, the glow of the streetlights and the ringing music behind her were like flashbangs assaulting her, and each clumsy footstep she made would make the drunkest bar patron look like a graceful Olympic sprinter. But she didn't stumble. Each second of the two-minute sprint to her home felt like a torturous year, but she persisted, carrying now fear instead of the adrenaline that fueled her atrocity.

Her home, her sanctuary, was soon tainted by the stain of what she had done, and still filled with the droning music that incited the killings. No matter how quick she was in getting to her bathroom, it wasn't enough. The blood that spoiled her delicate skin felt like concrete, solidifying into an unbreakable momento. Yuri reached the sink and was immediately scrubbing her hands clean, trying to scrape the sickening liquid from every fold and wrinkle on her palm, tears streaking down her cheeks. And that damned music continued to torment her, worming its way into every room of her home. The water was scalding hot, cascading onto her hands. Yuri hardly noticed the heat, the blood withstood everything. Eventually, the pain became too much, and the purplette withdrew her hands from the running water. She was still bloodied, sobbing on the bathroom tile. What had she done? So many people, dead and disfigured, all because of her.

But her remorseful cries were broken by a pounding at the door and a voice calling it.

"Hello, is anybody home? This is the police, we need to ask a few questions." Yuri froze, her eyes wide in terror. How did they find her out so quickly? Surely it was unrelated. It had to be. Unless… oh god… What if she left a trail behind her? Bloody footprints like a trail of breadcrumbs. Her mind raced, only to be interrupted by more knocking. She tossed the bloody clothes off her in an instant, surprising herself with how quickly she was able to move despite how badly she was shaking. She called out, "One moment, please!" She tried to breathe, to clean herself up. She put on a delicate silk dressing gown, before heading to the front door. Nothing could stop her racing thoughts, her panic, but she at least looked a bit less disheveled now. A shaking hand reached out and opened the door, and she was face to face with a lone police officer. His weathered face and tired auburn eyes led Yuri to believe he was experienced in his field. He probably dealt with countless homicides before hers. He could figure her out in a heartbeat if she made the slightest slip.

"We're sorry to disturb you, ma'am. There's just been an incident next door," They had found her brutal killings already, they had to know. "And I just need to know if you have seen anything unusual these past few minutes."

Yuri stood silent for a second, trying to keep herself together. This was all too much, too soon. What could she do? She knew deep down that she had to turn herself in, it was the only thing she could do to right her heinous act. But she didn't. Fueled by persisting panic, she shakily replied. "No, I'm sorry but I haven't seen anything." What was she doing?! How couldn't she have seen anything? Lying now would only make everything down the line worse when they inevitably find out. But, then something clicked. An alibi wormed its way into her consciousness, her salvation from the punishment she undoubtedly deserved now blatantly obvious to her. "I just woke up."

The officer nodded curtly, jotted down a few notes on a notepad and opened his mouth to speak again. "Well, I appreciate your time, ma'am. Sorry for waking you." And that ought to have been it, but it wasn't. Instead of turning away from her home and giving Yuri some much-needed solace, he stayed.

"I just need to clarify a few things before I go. You filed a noise about an hour ago, correct?" Yuri paused, fearing her alibi was crumbling apart.

"...I did, yes."

Another nod from the officer, the scribbling of more notes. The sound of that pen sounded like nails on a chalkboard, dragging along the paper. She felt her facade cracking, but she had to remain stalwart. She didn't want to be imprisoned.

"And I'm to understand you fell asleep after filing this report, right?" The officer pressed.

"Yes, I went to sleep when the officers arrived. The noise didn't stop so I had to wear my noise-canceling headphones to bed." Yuri gave another nod, speaking softly, her voice a bit shaky. Hopefully, that reinforced her alibi at least somewhat, accounting for her lack of response to the gunshots. It seemed to, judging by the brief look of clarity on the veteran cops' face.

"Alright, that's all I needed. Thank you very much for your time, ma'am. Good night." With that, he finally turned away, and Yuri waited for him to drive off before weakly closing the door. Her heart was pounding, fit to explode out of her chest. A creeping familiarity came over her, as her adrenaline was pumping in her veins. She dragged her feet to her bed, worn out beyond belief. She felt so fatigued, so exhausted.

Hours later, as the night crawled along, the poet still felt haunted. The images of that night replayed in her mind. All her tears were spent, she had no more to shed for the deeds she committed, she could only stare blankly into the ceiling. She was a monster. A bloodthirsty witch. Those horrible rumors at school were true, she was a freak. Never before did she feel so alone then she did while in that bed, the only company being the spectral echoes of her victims, the gunshots, the blood, flooding her mind like a swarm of discordant locusts. But as those memories replayed, stalling like a ruined CD, she recalled that adrenaline rush. The unchallenged power she felt storming through the halls. But she shook those thoughts from her mind. She knew she had done something abhorrent, no matter how exhilarating it was in the moment. No matter how freeing it felt behind that mask, holding that knife. There was such a thrill that preceded being feared, seeing that in the eyes of those below her. She had power in those moments. A person's life in her hands, and the means to snuff it out. It was that same feeling of control she felt when she would feed her metaphorical raccoon, but leagues above it. The rush of blood she felt before was amplified tenfold when she was in that mask. The feeble, soft-spoken girl, only ever admired for her looks instead of her intellect, alienated for her hobbies was gone when that mask was on. Despite all her better judgment, her moral compass, her common sense…

She was so infatuated with that feeling.