Curse of the Nightfall

‘Hello Mrs. Chair, do you still remember me?’, an introductory form of guile, as he was welcomed in the Chair house, as always playing the wholesome kind of guest, respectful and down-to-earth yet in his blood were seething evil. Much so as narcotics pumped in his veins making his mind a kind of demonically inclined. It is 1 PM, and before he came here, he injected drugs in his veins that kinds of ignited his twisted passion for sex, as the fantasy on Mrs. Chair was strong. He didn’t go to the old house but instead camped on the riverside just South of town. He masturbated many times that night.

‘Oh, hi Roland, long time no see. Have you come home for good or for vacation?’, Mrs. Chair was accommodating. She prepared snacks.

While they were chatting, she unintentionally mentioned being alone and that for some few hours. Stephen was in school and Fred in the police station. This information was sort of a nerve signal that jerked off in his malicious mind—it must be today as his sexual inclination was being aroused. He became wary as if a hungry dog was offered meat he cannot resist.

‘I’ll leave you here for a second okay?’, courteously said, she went to the room. As she turned her back, Roland has the compulsion to touch her as her jingling butt in tight jeans was too provocative, yet he controlled it. He was fidgety.

He followed her in the room and with sudden volition, he locked the door. Mrs. Chair was taken aback.

‘What do you mean by this?’, she demanded.

Producing a knife, a hunting knife he always carried with him he threatened to kill her if she would not be silent. He approached her in lightning speed and grabbed her with a bit of commotion. She struggled but with the knife on her neck she was applying some sense of precaution.

‘What are you planning to do Roland?’, she struggled to talk yet threatened. Roland tied her on the bed, gagged her mouth then raped her. Tears were flowing from her eyes in anger as she was incredulous how Roland, a friend of his son could ever muster the evil to do such thing on her. He was a beast.

Roland after 3 rounds of intercourse, have finished off with satisfaction and he became agitated as some sort of paranoia prevailed. They could be home. Playing on the knife with thoughts drawn afar, he decided to kill her. It would be pleasure seeing the eyes of dread in his victims, but he was disrupted as Mrs. Chair was mumbling hard through her gag—then, as the last straw of sanity was gone, he struck him with the blade numerous times as blood splattered and bloodshed has materialized. Splatters of blood on the wall, oozing on the bed as though a slithering cobra in his slow imminent birth. She was dead immediately. Roland wiped off the patches of blood on his shirt and the glistening knife, too.

He was rash and quick as he darted off the house wearing a hood so as not to be recognized. He went away to his camping site—then off to the city away from the crime zone, as he injects more narcotics to his vein to calm his agitations. Nobody saw me, he guaranteed himself as an awkward form of agitation pervaded in his system.

The thing is, there was a witness. Perch on the window, a crow witnessed everything until the blood stopped to ooze then flew away with a caw. How is that relevant to the birth of the vapoury night killer is unknown yet it brought a curse—the curse of the nightfall, the curse of the moonlight. It has begun—to hunt for Mrs. Chair’s killer.