9 p.m.
Crestville, Wakeville.
The small cabin was dark and was only illuminated by a small bulb which from the broken ceiling.
The cabin appeared old and dirty as if no one had stepped into it for a very long time.
Apart from the ceiling which had fallen on most parts and littered the floor, there were also many broken wooden chairs that were scattered all over the small and dark cabin.
The floor was littered with wrappings and papers. Broken glass fragments were also thrown around and this probably came from the broken glass windows.
The cabin itself smelled like a pool of urine and faeces. Several huge black rats scurried around on the ground, on the roof and on the many black boxes that lay at different spot in the cabin…those were the rats that still remained.
On the ground lay several carcases of rats and other animals most of which had rotted to bones.
It was eerily silent in the cabin despite the occasional noises made by the rats that were rushing to find safety. Even the rats knew that too much noise would not do them any good and they didn't want to share the same fate as their fallen companions.
The moon shone brightly tonight and filtered into the dark cabin through the broken windows or other slits available.
On the left side of the room, several strings hung freely from the roof. Some of the strings had mirrors, paper cranes, red ribbons and dead animals hanging on its end. They kept swinging in perfect harmony.
There were series of soft mutterings coming from the other end of the cabin.
From the moonlight that shone into the dark room coupled with the single light bulb, which hung from the ceiling and kept swinging freely, a large table could be seen.
A dark figure sat at the table clasping his hands together in a praying position.
Although the room was a bit dark but his features could be seen clearly.
His jet black hair swayed across his face as the air brushed against, his receding hairline was particularly outstanding.
His deep blue eyes reflected the table in front of him.
He wasn't praying…he had a smile on his face as he kept muttering indiscernible words.
On the table was a large piece of cardboard, a marker, a surgical blade, and knives. The piece of paper had some words written on it:
"The weak has been exorcised, you're next…"
This wasn't the only thing that had texts which seemed to be written with red blood. The walls had papers pasted on them each with words written in dark red ink…
"The world is corrupted by weakness..."
"I will cleanse the world…"
"Forgive me for what I'm about to do…"
"Flesh and blood must be treated with contempt…"
These and many more writings filled the whole half of the cabin.
On the opposite wall was a whit board with photos pinned to them. The photos numbered seven.
The dark figure raised his head and looked at the board with a sad expression.
His eyes landed on one of the photos on the board.
All this while his voice became clearer, he was chanting "the weak has been exorcised, you're next…"
He walked over to the board and pinned another photo on it. He stepped back and fell silent. One of the pictures caught his eyes.
"Angelina Ezekiel…" he said with a hoarse voice and threw a small knife, which he pulled from nowhere, and it pierced the seventh photo.
He walked away slowly leaving the new photo that he had just pasted on the board:
A young lady wearing contact lenses….
….
9:15 p.m.
Grand Hotel, Mizzleport,
Young Will woke up to the loud thunderclap that sounded. He was drenched in sweat and was panting heavily.
After he sat up for a while, he began to examine himself again.
Just now, while sleeping, he had had the same feeling he had back in Haston city. it was the same familiar feeling he had whenever someone was going to be murdered but this time it was different.
The feeling was strange yet still familiar. So familiar that it snapped him out of his sleep.
He looked around the room after switching on the bedside lamp. He was afraid that "he" was here in Mizzleport and somehow in his hotel room.
After confirming that he was alone, he breathed a sigh of relieve but this didn't disperse the petrifying fear that gripped him.
Goose bumps spread all over his body and he rolled up into a ball.
Several questions rushed to his head. Why was "he" in Mizzleport? What did "he" want? Was "he" following him?
Will addressed him as "he" because he was sure, from what he had witnessed, that "he" wasn't normal. "He" wasn't a human being; "he" was fast and mysterious and even had the ability to draw people to "himself".
"He" had an aura that made you just want to kneel and prostrate at his feet.
Will's heart calmed down after a while.
"It's over." He sighed and sat up straight.
He was afraid that "he" would kill again tonight but now he was sure that "he" wasn't doing anything.
Usually a minute after getting those weird feelings, he would be drawn towards the scene. He didn't feel the "calling" this time and it meant that he wasn't going to kill.
Then again, he had only started to get drawn towards him when the fifth victim was murdered.
Every time he thought about why "he" would want him to witness his cruel acts, he always came down with a terrifying fear…a fear of the unknown.
Another thing that bothered him was that the feeling he had today was familiar but different…like something was wrong…
He wasn't sure if "he" was in Mizzleport or just close by and that could be the reason for the change…
Unless…
His thoughts froze. It was impossible, it couldn't be….
He stared into empty space as his mind exploded with questions which he didn't have answers to. Another wave of fear rose inside of him and he became wore alert than ever.
He had the urge to check on his mother just to be sure that she was fine. He took his journal with him and walked sloppily out of his room and went towards his mom's room.
The only way this change could occur, as he had discovered some moments ago, was an impossibility he couldn't imagine.
It was just impossible….