"Dracula: Retro. Present Day Pt-3" ©

The Shadow stood with boots planted evenly apart. Knuckles whitened as fists balled into a vice of curled digits. Grey eyes, narrowed, glared from beyond a ridged brow. The wind tore at her, yet, she refused to yeild to the frigid gusts. Her coat billowed and twisted, the leather damp with frozen rain. Fierce plumes of breath surges from flared nostrils. The demonic engine idled, it's power readied for release. A fresh wound marred an otherwise smooth complexion, the ugly gouge spanned from cheek to chin. Obsidian fluid leaked from the narrow gash and dripped from a clenched jaw.

Dominika wore her own scowl. Fuchsia orbs settled deep into their sockets and fixed upon the demoness who stood about a yard's distance away. Behind the vampire, an iron door, beyond said door a chamber which held an onyx casket rested. Within, her lord slept. Nails clicked against one another as fingers clawed then flexed.

"Move aside." She'd heard the demoness say.

"Never." Was her reply.

Her eyes ticked from the angry blade the Shadow gripped. Once already the huntress attempted to pass...but was halted by a scratch delivered with an index finger's talon. The huntress' chest rose and fell with fueled breaths. As if the engine wound itself up. Steam sprang from duel cavities, growing thicker as the motor revved. Fingers opened to spin the hilt upon a damp palm, before closing once more around the cool metal.

"Move. Now." The two words spoken with a snarled growl.

The vampire only shook her head. The inner spring broke then, hurling the huntress towards the matriarchic blood-sucker. The vampire startled, then quickly prepared for a second coming. Dominika was thrown backwards into the door. For a moment, she couldn't move and leaned against the metallic surface, the body of her foe pressed firmly against hers. She could feel the blade's tip against her cheek. It sank into placid flesh and slashed a wound matching the one the huntress wore. Teeth sank into her lower lip, refusing to free the scream which had swollen her throat with a pain-filled sonance. She felt warmth stripped away as the otherworldly assailant retreated from her.

"I will kill you, in that you can trust." The demonic opposer said. And she believed her.

"Move." The command was made again

"I cannot let you have him." The vampire sneered.

A fine brow arched and her head shook. "It's not for you to decide." The huntres replied.

"You'll have to kill me." The vampire said, though she tried to mask it with a harsh tone, fear was evident.

The blade was once more displayed with a petulant twirl. She'd come to destroy him..as well as destroy whomever tried to stop her. And there, in her path, was a petite woman. Much smaller then herself. However, she bore strength guised within that small frame. She'd prove to be more then an easily discarded nuisance. Dominika squared her shoulders and lifted a chin. She prepared for a third assault, which came by boot heel. The rubbery sole pressed against her throat, pinning her against the iron door. Boot was ground against her windpipe and sanded away several layers of skin. She grabbed the leather draped ankle and dug her nails into the hard material, attempting to shove the foot aside. However, it remained anchored there by a powerful thigh. Beyond the scuffed toe a pair of grey eyes sank into her own. Blackness bloomed as her throat was crushed. It fogged her vision..for a fleeting moment, she thought she heard the demoness snicker.

The huntress relieved just enough pressure for the vampire to fall forward an inch or two, before the boot returned the back of her skull to the door with an echoed thud. The vampire winced and uttered a faint whimper. Again, the boot suspended the vampire from the metal slate before shoving her back into it. The network of tendons and muscle began to stretch and snap. The vampire freed a series of choking coughs, with each came spewing a frothy crimson. Once more, a knee was bent and the vampire balanced upon the boot's sole. She hovered there, staring at the demoness, who seemed intent on decapitating her with the rubbery heel of her shoe.

"E-enough." The vampire begged when the pressure applied to her neck lessened.

It took every ounce of strength to roll herself from the boot. She fell to the frost-bitten ground, a hand clamped upon her raw throat.

"P-p-please. No m-more." She stammered.

The demoness, who had returned her foot to line with the other, loomed over her, with arms now crossed over her chest. She lifted her gaze to the huntress, and found that her demonic opponent had fixed a grim stare upon the door. She knew then what was about to happen.

"No..wait!" But the words fell upon deaf ears, as the same boot which nearly drove the life from her, impacted the door. It flew open, the steel hinges buckled and snapped. The huntress stepped inside.

The vampire tried to swipe at the passing Shadow's leg as she stepped over her. But, the demoness proved to quick. Before she could utter another word of protest, she had vanished inside. The vampire crawled after her, into the crypt, where she staggered to her feet. The woman was already at the coffin, fingers digging at the lid.

"Don't...!" The vampire wailed.

The Shadow lifted the heavy black cover, blade poised and ready. The lid was flipped over and dangled upon it's ancient hinges. The vampire clamped her hands over her ears when the huntress released a hellish roar.

"Where is he!?" The demoness hissed and spun around to face the vampire.

"You think he'd be stupid enough to sleep in such an exposed place?" The vampire answered, nodding towards the open casket.

The Shadow's features burned with rage. Her blood boiled, and through a twisted sneer the steam was freed. The demonic engine sputtered and whined, orbs of grey darkened as anger swelled to a feverish pitch. Pale cheeks flushed red..it seemed then to the vampire that the Shadow just may explode. For the first time in her existance, she was afraid..afraid that upon this day, she would met her end. Dominika 's shoulders shook, her very being releasing a silent distress signal. Soon to be answered by a trio of silhouette's gathered at the door. The demoness's eyes tore their stare from the single vampire to the three more who had joined them. The vampire stood straight now, regaining lost composure. Her glare fixed upon the Shadow, who hadn't seemed effected by the new guests.

"Kill her." She demanded of her daughters. In a rush of sheer cloth and curved nails, the three rushed forth.

The huntress stanced, taking a moment to size up each on-rushing banshee. They were upon her in an instant. A blanket of claws and teeth tore at her flesh. Fingers found blond tress's and fisted deep near the scalp. She pulled back, her own canines now thrice their original length. She sank a twin set of fangs into the exposed throat and yanked back a sizable chuck of flesh and muscle. The blond vampire wailed and retreated backwards, plugging up the neck wound with two fingers. The Shadow then focused her attention upon the remaining two. The red-head seemed taller then the brunette, however, the shorter of them was stronger. A thumb was jabbed into her right eye, she felt warm wettness dribble down her cheek. She roared and fling a fist blindly outward, it connected with the red-head's gut. The vampire doubled over. The thumb pressed further, threatening to shove the grey orb into her skull.

Wrong one, she decided.

Hands reached out...for anything. Fingers found cloth and skin. They grazed the cool flesh, sensitive trips traced out a collar bone. A new fist was made..and a punch delivered. Beneath her knuckles she felt the bone give way with a splintering crack. The thumb withdrew itself from her eye socket. The huntress rubbed the damaged orb with the meat of her palm. She blinked away blood and tears, her vision blurred, she closed it then trained the remaining narrowed sphere upon Dominika. The three vampires huddled in the corner, licking their wounds. They wouldn't attack the her again, the Shadow assumed. As fear rose from them in crimson waves. Her attention now..upon the mother. Her eye continued to seep, soaking her cheek with black, oily liquid. Lips peeled back, baring teeth. She growled and stalked towards the vampire. Before the leech could properly react...as it seemed shock encased her body in stillness, the Shadow had folded her fingers around her throat.

Dominika managed to gasp before the sound was crushed from her. Eyes wide and fixed upon the demoness. She prepared to die..as best as she could. Her expression harded, she refused to die in a dangling mass of screaming flesh. She fixed a cool stare upon her executioner. Digits squeezed then suddenly, she felt herself slip from the Shadow's grasp. She sank back against the wall. The demoness's expression faltered, then morphed into one of agony. Lips parted, but no sound slipped past. Eyes ticked over the Shadow's shoulder. The vampire favoring a shattered collarbone had found the demoness's blade. The Shadow stumbled forward, however the blade wedged between spinal plates made motion difficult. She sank to her knees, her head swam. The metal lodged on her back felt cold. It's steel numbed the surrounding tissue. Her heart pumped doubletime within the walls of her chest. The tip of the blade scratching the muscle with each beat. Quad figures surrounded her. By now, her vision had failed in the assulted eye...but pain had also dulled the other. She could no longer make out who was who. She felt herself being lifted, then carried. Shortly there-after, she was settled down again. The square of light grew smaller...before blackness washed over her like a heavy blanket.

Dominika stood over the coffin which now held the Shadow. Already a steady drip of obsidian had begin to leak from it's creases.

"Let her bleed to death." She seethed and turned from the casket, her daughters in tow. They left the crypt and shut the heavy door, through it still sat crooked upon it's hinges.

"You...fuck." The huntress spat, spraying a fine mist of pitch upon the silken ivory lining of the coffin.

"Fuck." She repeated. She rolled to her back, as she'd been placed sideways inside. The hilt of the blade pressed against the soft lining, tilting the steel shaft buried in her back. Pain raced up her spine. Her legs felt as if they were being chewed off. Hands were placed upon the inner-lid and she pushed. She'd heard the vampires leave, taking with them their rank scent of death. Light flooded into the casket, nearly blinding her. She turned her head to the side and squinted. The Shadow found she lacked the strength to climb from the coffin, thus, she began to rock within it, tossing her shoulders into the side walls. At least, the momentum of her weight slamming into the sides tipped the casket over, spilling her from it. She lay on her belly, cheek resting against the chilly marble. Several moments passed before she tried to move again. A hand reached back, fingers wiggled towards the blade's hilt. She could barely touch it, let alone tear it from her back. She allowed the feeling of defeat to coat her battered body. If only for a minute or so.

"Fuck..." She said, however her voice distorted by the floor.

"Dracula: Retro. 1877 Pt-2" ©

The church lay desolate in all it's catholic glory. Panes of stained glass deplicting various events of the bible lined each opposing wall. The scent of wood oil and incense filled the cathedral. The memorial shrine bore several flicking candles. The pews were empty, as expected for the late hour. Upon the marble steps he stood. A duel set of impressively large, wooden doors seperated himself from the holy basilica within.

The mother of Christ, drapped in granite robes, held together her hands upon her breast. A sad expression marred her carved face. Opposite of her, the crucified body of Jesus, his own mask one of agony and despair.

Obsidian clouds rolled across the sky, covering the stars with an impenetrable blanket of charcoal gloom. Droplets of rain began to fall in a drizzled mist, lightly coating the fabric of the cape with tiny bulbs of dew. He stood within the shadow of the large cross, his arms outstretched to mock the stone figure upon it. Cobalt eyes fixed upon duel orbs of rock, which returned the stare with an empty gaze of it's own.

A smile cursed his mouth as he glared up at the likeness of Jesus Christ. Words fell free in a repugnant sequence of hate from sneered lips. His tone, deep and snarled, as he cast every insult towards the cinereal icon.

Nearby, at the foot of the stairs, sprawled a petite figure. She lay unmoving, now, as only a moment before her body reeled with excruciating pain. Her flesh had ashened and now seemed translucent. Cheeks were marked with a network of scant lines, which spiderwebbed beneath paper-thin skin. Strips of sheer cloth surrounded her body. The pale blue fabric now stained crimson. Upon her throat, twin punctures still leaked blood. 

He paused in his blasphemy to gaze upon the beauty he'd stolen. Steal orbs of cerulean narrowed slightly as he approached the girl. He sank to one knee and a hand came to rest upon her cool shoulder.

"Wake, nina." He murmured.

She stirred, as if his voice had plucked her from the darkest dream. Eyes opened and shifted to fix upon him. Eyes of cinnamon that had now been renewed a fuchsia. This surprised him. He wondered then what else had been altered. He was a virgin to this. Never before had he infected another with his curse. Why her, he didn't know for sure. Perhaps lonliness had at last clouded his better judgement. In any event, it had been done. For now, he was content with his decision.

Lips parted to speak, yet her mouth was so dry. Her tongue seemed swollen, disfigured..as it refused to form a coherent word. He gently gathered her frail body from the steps, the cape was then flipped over her. A cheek rested against the white shirt he wore, she closed her eyes once more. She remembered nothing of the events which led to this present moment.

To be continued...

"Dracula: Retro. 1877 Pt-1" ©

He walked with a sinister gate. Calm, slow..as if time had stopped for only him. A black cape swirled about shined shoes like a heavy shadow. His posture, tall and confident. The self-ruling, characteristic way he beared his body was unmatched by even the most assured man. Kept, wavy hair halo'ed a pale guise with dark locks. Features chizzled to perfection, unmoving as his expression remained frozen. Eyes of ashen blue, cold and steel-like, could crumble even the puriest soul.

Several paces behind him, a broken man staggered. Unlike the gentleman he trailed, with finery draping him like black adumbral, his own endowments were crusted with grime. One shoulder hung lower then the other as an arm swung uselessly at his side. He walked on the side of his right foot, the flesh long since scrapped away, exposing the ivory of bone. A grotesque mask twisted upon his deformed face. A blacked tongue dangled from a decaying lower lip. Indeed, he contrasted his handsome companion.

The time was simple, easy. The torches which lit the cobble stone streets allowed him to float undaunted from shadow to shadow. He enjoyed the fruits this land provided. Soft, supple and free-flowing. He had come by ship to this country..accidently, as he had planned to dock in France. But, as luck would have it, a terrible storm rocked the boat and steered it into a different direction. The sails had been ripped away and nearly half the crew drowned. What remained were those who served as food until the ship drifted to land.

Alas, the ship was discovered floating off the shores of Portugal. Of course, it was seized, now belonging to the Spanish government. He managed to slip away, with the last of the ship's crew, a man named Reginal. Ghouled and now existing to serve his master. Together, they traveled to Valencia.

He adored the almond eyed Spaniard women. With their thick-tongued accents and moralismless ways. Their curvaceous hips, narrow waists and lavish breasts. They were rounded women, beautiful and well-proportioned. Their blood tasted of spiced meat and custard apples. But there was one which peeked more then a masticate interest.

The name of said woman was Dominika Ramirez de Arroyo. Beautiful and possessing an intelligence rare in one so young. However, she retained a flippant innocence her dark pursuer found alluring. She worked in one of several seedy taverns siding the streets. He had followed her home one eve and to his surprise, this barmaid called an impressive estate residence.

The Manor, perched atop a rolling carpet of trimmed grass, sat boldly amoung manicured brush and trees. He found it curious as to why a debutante chose to toil in the run-down heart of the city. With a little looking into, he discovered the lass to be least favored by her domineering father. Sir Ramirez de Arroyo had 3 children. All female. The fair Dominika being the last hopeful for a son, as Lady Ramirez de Arroyo passed on later in the year the girl was born. Thus, the child was punished for being born the faulty gender.

He'd position himself below her balcony, watching her silhouette drift past the sheer curtains of her window as she prepared for the evening's rest. He'd done this for several nights. More often then not, he'd bear witness so her sorrow, as she wept quietly towards slumber. He grew bold with each twilight's passing. Edging further from the darkness which concealed him before dawn forced his return to shadow.

Upon the full light of the moon, when she had opted to bathe beneath in the pale glow, he ventured forth. Full lips parted to free a Scottish accent. His baritone drifted upwards and caressed the delicate curve of her ear.

"Hello."

She lifted her cheek from it's perch upon her forearm and gazed past the rail of her ivory tower. Into the depths of pitch below she then spied a caped figure. A fine brow arched as she leaned forward in an attempt to gain better view of the stranger in the garden.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

He obliged the lady a better glimsp as he stepped forward. He casted a nonthreatening demeanor, one he could best muster. "In nights past I've overheard sadeness from your window, Senorita. Forgive me, as I've been compelled to..perhaps offer a touch of comfort."

"Who are you?" Came the question again.

"My apoligies." He said with a modest bow. "I am Senor Tomas Jaun Bonifactio." And again, obligated the lady with another bow.

"What are you doing here, Senor Bonifactio?" She asked, her curiosity peeked, however cautious.

"As I said, la Belleza, I've come to offer comfort...If I'm allowed." He purred.

She let escape a soft laugh. "And what makes you think you can offer me comfort, Extrano?"

"It is my gift..." He replied.

She blinked. Not more then a moment had passed before her eyes fell again upon the spot he stood. However now, he was gone. She had but a instant to drew a breath before he now accompanied her. The hem of his cape tickled her bare ankles. Cobalt eyes penetrated her flesh, she suddenly felt a damnable chill. "...el Diablo!" She gasped. 

"No, nina...something much, much worse..."

To be continued...

"Recollections of a vampire." ©

"This is a fairly humorous story about an assassin I encountered during my stay at `Eve. When I first laid eyes on her I assmued her to be another vampyre...or demon of sorts. Yet upon closer inspection I could not sense life. A brief conversation with the assassin ensued. She has told me of her transformation. How she was taken and made into this being. She did not know why but she didn't seem to ponder the question either. I asked if she remembered anything from her previous life and she claimed to possess fragments but nothing more. So I gathered at one time or another she did in fact live. Now she was just an animated corpse created to kill. Who did not breathe nor contained a beating heart. What replaced these where machanical devices and organic material that enabled her to lose a limb and reattach it without incident. Out of mere curiousity I raked a nail along her pale cheek and noticed that what flowed from the scratch was not blood. Instead what ran through her veins was a substance she called protoblood, a bluish fluid containing millions of tiny man-made organisms. I was in awe. She did fasinate me. She was beautiful even is she was dead. But what drew me to her was the fact that she was indeed the definition of the perfect killing machine. She lacked emotion and modivation to do otherwise.

Now on to one particular occurance I'll soon not forget. The sun had dipped below the tree-line, darkening the sky just enough for me to venture out. During my walk I heard a strange sound. This sound emitted from a ball of light that grew closer and closer upon it's appearent decent as it cut through the night sky. It crashed a few hundred yards away. Smoke plumed from the canopy of trees. I could not see this object as the surround forest provided an effective barrier. Curousity consumed me and I had to see for myself what this thing that fell from the sky was. It only took me a few moments to reach it. When I stepped into the blackened clearing I saw bits of metal and wreckage that spread for what seemed miles. And then I saw the assassin. Her arm was raised towards the large hunk of steel and from her wrist fired an odd looking weapon. She effectively sliced a hole through the side of this what I assumed to be a craft of some sort then dissapeared within it. I remained where I was and watched. I could heard her echoed monotone but was unable to make out the words. Thudding and banging emitted from the craft as I assumed she moved through it. It was then, from the hole I saw a series of flashing lights then a booming pop. Three crashes rattled the ship and what I saw next was something my eyes have never seen before. The assassin was torn through the hull of the craft and thrown 3 hundred yards into the air. A thick trail of smoke followed in her wake as her body traveled into a perfect arch before making it's decent back to the earth. I watched her fall then land in a billowing plume of dirt. I couldn't take my eyes from the spot where she had landed. I suspect that only a few moments past before I saw her roll to all fours then rise to her feet. I do not know what happened afterwards for I retreated swiftly.

Who said assassins couldn't fly..."

"What Alice Did. Pt 1" ©

They found her in the basement, huddled in the darkest corner. Her knees were brought up so tightly with her chest, it seemed the bent caps would puncture her ribcage. A tattered bear was held possessively in the crook of an paled arm. The white night dress she wore clung to skin bathed with sweat, grim and blood. Matted sun-streaked hair plastered in twisted strands to her forehead and cheeks. She was shivering, dispite the heat induced humidity. Two hulking forms shadowed the tiny form. Neither made a move towards the girl, instead, they irrupted in conversation, seemingly oblivous to her presence.

The two police officers had wandered about the house, along with several other uniformed counterparts. Evenually, the pair had made it into the cellar. It was odd that little compassion was shown towards the child. No attempt had been made to comfort nor remove her from the filthy sand-packed floor. The history of the family, which owned the run-down home, was known through-out the small backwoods community. The father worked at the mill, the mother, rarely seen, with the exception of the infrequent visits to the general store for the quartly stock up. There was a brother as well. A good for nothing hick entering his late teens, with little else to do then to torment his baby sister. And this little girl, who'd never attended school, who had never been seen...until this day. Her existance would have been left unknown, had her birth not been recorded. In fact, it would seem as if she never existed at all. Perhaps, in some twisted way, the rumors flying about had kept her alive. Less, it was no surprise to the officers when they discovered her.

The rumors traveled quickly through the small town. Stories erected. Horrible things were told. And most, revolved around the child which remained hidden away. Like a dark secret, a filthy lie. Some said she was deformed, some claimed she was a freak. In either case, the folk never portrayed the youngster with any normalcy. And these two armed men...were perhaps afraid of the little girl.

"I heard she wasn't nothing more then a vegetable who knew shit about life, except excruciating pain. Heard she'd lay up all night screaming. She wouldn't walk, talk or feed herself. She functioned at the level of a three-month-old, man."

"How'd she get down here then?"

The first officer answered with a shrug. The second merely rubbed his unshaven chin and bobbed his head lightly.

"What do we do with her then?" The first nodded towards the huddled ball. "I dunno, maybe wait until the EMT's get here. I dun wanna touch her or nothing." Replied the second. The two paused and fixed their gaze upon the girl, who hadn't made a sound. The second pressed his lips together, flicked the rim of his hat and sank to one knee a few feet from the child. The first shook his head and croaked. "Ya ain't gonna get nothing from her, man. She's mute or something."

"How old is she anyway?" The first snorted at the question. "The hell if I know...maybe 7...8. Something like that." The second nodded slightly. "Christ, she looks 4." The first shrugged and turned his attention elsewhere. With the shifting of weight between one foot to the other, it would seem that his had grown suddenly uncomfortable. After a long silence, the second cop spoke. "Looks like she's got a few bruises. Some appear fresh...some old. Think they beat her?" The first, proccupied with swiping cobwebs from his brow, shrugged. "I dunno, maybe. Listen man...I'm heading upstairs. This place is giving me the creeps." The second laughed then. "Creeps huh? At least we're free of what's upstairs."

"Fucking God, it stinks in here!" Proclaimed a heavy set man. His tan sports jacket did nothing to conceal the bulb of abdomin which protruded from the clumsily buttoned coat. A third police officer, with nose firmly pinched between a thumb and forefinger, merely cleared his throat. "Where's Mally?" The plump detective bellowed. "Downstairs with Spade, sir." The accompanying officer, with a pinched nose, said rather conjestively. "Well hell. Anyone call EMS...or are we expected to scrape this mess up ourselves?" The 3rd officer retreated a step back. "I called 'em, sir. They said the ETA was about 20 minutes." The detective's eyes narrowed between twin strips of blubber. "Fuck me! I ain't standing around in this pig shit for no 20 minutes. Get Mally up here, for fucks sakes." With that, the fat man spun on the heel of his shoe and strode out of the room, leaving the remaining cop to stand there, a bit perplexed.

Spade rose to his feet and brushed the semi-circle of dirt from his knee. "Well, I'm gonna stay down here. Make sure she don't go no where." Mally chuckled. "Bullshit man, you just don't wanna blow chunks again. But, whatever..." The first officer turned and stomped up the wooden steps, each plank released a whine of protest as he climbed towards the rectangle of light at the top. Spade provived his partner's presented back with the one fingered solute before his attention was once more captured by the only surviver.

"Alice Crates, child of eight, female, three foot two, forty-one pounds based on visual inspection, was discovered in the basement of the residence on 101 Willard Lane at approximately 10:46 am. She was found wearing a white nighty and clutching a stuffed animal. Blood from various sources stained the gown though none was her own. Small tears on the hem and right sleeve were found. Her arms, legs and torso bore bruises from injuries seemingly old and new. She did not speak to the police officers nor the emergency technicians. She is the only surviver of four."

"Five, if you count the dog." Mally interupted. The medical examiner leered at the young officer over the rim of his glasses before continuing with his report.

The two had stationed themselves in the living room. The medical examiner had arrived 2 hours before and immediately set to work. First, he visited each room, took in the sprawled remains and with a the slight bob of his head, would move on to the next body. A tall, lanky man, he was a sharp contrast to the officer of adverage build, who'd shadowed him as they ventured about the house. Once the M.E. was satisfied with what he needed to see, they proceeded to the dank, cubicle consisting of a floral print couch, matching wing-backed chair and a lop-sided coffee table. There was little else in the room. No curtains, no usual decor, not even a television. The thick shades were drawn. By the faded material, it appeared as if they'd never been pulled up. There, the M.E. began to relay each scene into a pocket recorder he had retrieved from his grey trench coat.

"William Crates, male, forty-five years old, six foot one, two hundred, seventy seven pounds according to Dr. Seth Richards medical file, was discovered in the kitchen. His skull had sustained a series of large punctures and lacerations, his facial structure unrecongizable. The right arm, nearly amputated from the shoulder, lay across his chest. The abdomin had been slit, and emptied of it's contents, these were positioned to his right side. Helen Crates was fo-"

Mally cracked his knuckles, pausing the medical examiner again. "Like he was scooped clean out." The officer snorted. "May I?" The Medical Examiner seethed. Mally arched a brow. "Yeah, yeah...sorry.." The balding man nodded and cleared his throat as he began to he speak into the tape recorder, palmed with tighty fisted digits, once more.

"Helen Crates, female, forty-three, five foot six, one hundred, eighty two pounds according to Dr. Seth Richards medical file, was found in the bathroom, the tub had overflowed, sweeping small portions of her intestines into the hallway. Her hands and lower arms sustained small defensive injuries. The abdomin had also been incised, yet the wound seemed to be the effort of several attempts to bisect the woman in two. The boy, Jacob Crates, male, nineteen, six foot even, two hundred, twelve pounds according to Dr. Seth Richards medical file, was found, decapitated, in an upstairs bedroom. His body was intact, the arms, legs and torso appeared to have been void on any injury. His head did not accompany his remains. The dog, discovered in the yard, just to the side of the garage, had in it's possession the rest of Jacob. It seemed the animal had partialcally eaten the head. The dog seemed undernurished, It can only be assumed, that in the canine's haste to consume the 'meal', he had choked to death on Jacob's tongue."

To be continued...

Note from Author: Probably riddled with typos. Will fix later.