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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2195252
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Death · #2195252
A man, arrested by the chief of police, is interrogated about his demon friend.
I rested my hands on the cool metal of the table in the interrogation room. Besides, there wasn't much I could do even if I wanted. My hands were bound, as were my feet.

The police chief had given up on the niceties, and dug right into the meat of the situation. "Can you see it? Tell me what it's doing."

I smiled, and my eyes glazed as I looked past the police chief, past the material world. A dark, angular, jagged form of darkness put a sole finger up to its bloodstained lips. Silence it would be, then.

"No."

"No to telling me, or you can't see him?" the chief demanded, standing and placing his hands on the table in a threatening fashion.

"Why would I tell you anything?" I countered.

The police chief sighed, sitting back in his comfy rolling chair, in contrast to my bolted wooden one. "Did you kill them? Or did it?" He demanded once more.

My grin widened. "He doesn't kill. I do." I began to laugh. "I took great care of them." Leaning forward as far as I could in my bound state, I continued to recount my actions. "Those who fought died quickly. I bit out their throats and removed their heads. Those who cowered.. Their screams were pure joy to my ears as I slowly removed their skin." I laughed, rich and deep as I looked past the world again, into the shadowy realm that held my friend. He was laughing too, just as hard as I. The sound was deep and raspy, like sandpaper.

"That's enough. Shut up!" he shouted, as if I hadn't just finished anyways. The man shivered with rage, his intense blue eyes shooting holes through me. Not that it mattered.

"The sweet joy of their screams—"

The door opened, and a blonde woman spoke to the bald chief. "That's enough, sir. The confession is o—" She froze mid sentence, her eyes bulging out of her head as the massive black blade went in through her back, and out through her stomach. The chief shrieked in mixed rage and fear. The woman's shirt turned red as blood hemorrhaged out of her, and she coughed up red. I laughed and laughed.

The dark, angular figure's misty form came in the room, past the lady whose eyes were already glazed with the familiar look of death, past the petrified chief. My bonds shattered, and I rubbed my wrists where the cuffs once held me. Once again, I was free; free to experience the euphoria of killing once again.

As if I were a deranged madman, I leapt upon the table, laughing madly. "I lied, I lied! He does kill!"
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2195252