Once I confirm me and my henchmen are well and truly alone, I calmly walk behind a squirming Gary, press my thumb into the pressure point in his neck and increase the pressure until he’s once more slumping in his seat. After untying his bonds and dragging him out to the middle of the foyer, I walk away.
It’s always my favorite part when they think they have a chance of escape. To see the hope slowly fade out of their eyes when they realize there’s no chance of them getting past my henchmen.
I make my way into my playroom, sit crisscross-applesauce on the floor and wait with a smile on my face. My pretty knife rests loosely in my hand. While I wait, I hold the knife to the light. It glints off my blade, turning the dull metal into a pretty sparkle.
The only thing that would make this prettier is bright red blood dripping off of it.
I giggle to myself. Soon. So, so soon.
It takes all of ten minutes before I hear a thump from somewhere downstairs. Mortis stands in the corner of the room, his face slack and bored as usual. He doesn’t move an inch from where he stands, just like a loyal little henchman. He won’t move until I tell him to.
“Let me out!” comes a muffled shout from below. I’m sure he’s currently shouting in one of my henchmen’s faces. Plenty of the demons try to fight them, but they always ended up getting knocked down anyways. My henchmen don’t kill the demons—they leave that to me. But they do enjoy hurting them.
“Ring a’round the rosies, pocket full of posies,” I sing, making sure my voice is nice and loud. Another thump, followed by a growl of frustration. Eventually, when the demons get tired of trying to make their way through my henchmen, they come to me, pleading for escape. Some try to kill me even.
“Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” I end the song on a shout, giddiness taking over.
“You fucking bitch!” Gary shouts again, pounding on something as he does. I hope he doesn’t start destroying shit. It took Mortis all night to repair the wall from the last guy who took an axe to the wall.
Finally, I hear his loud footsteps coming up the stairs. He’ll make his way in and out of the maze of rooms before he finds himself in the hallway outside of my playroom, with Jackal standing at the end of the hall.
And just like the guests, he’ll want to avoid Jackal, so he’ll come into my room. I smile when Gary comes barreling into the room, chest pumping a mile a minute and a pissed off expression on his ugly face.
He’ll look so much prettier after I rip it apart. Maybe peel the nasty flesh from his face.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong with you?!” he shouts, spittle flying from his rotted mouth. My smile grows when I get a glimpse of blackened teeth. Whether it’s from the drugs or his soul doesn’t matter. He’s going to die either way.
I stand slowly, a serene smile plastered on my made-up face.
He charges at me, a loud shout ringing from his mouth. I easily side-step, watching as he catches wind and falls face first onto the ground. I giggle, covering my mouth with my hand. He struggles to get back up again, disoriented and probably coming down from his high by now.
Another giggle escapes when he stumbles as he rights himself. Fiery pits full of poison peer up at me. His eyes—they’re forged straight from Hell. I’ve cast my judgement and I’ve made the right call.
“I will fucking kill you,” he fumes, his voice having darkened to a low, deep pitch.
I snicker. “Not if I kill you first,” I sing. He growls and charges again. I time it exactly right, swiping out my hand so the tip of the blade glides across his eye. The cornea of his eye rips away from the pupil, the thin piece dangling on the tip of my knife.
Gary covers his eye, crying out in rage. His voice cracks as blood trails down his cheek. I do love it when they cry blood. Taking advantage of his distraction, I stab the knife into his stomach. He hunches over on a pained yelp, coughing up blood.
Bliss builds in my chest. I retract the knife and plunge into his flesh again, the blade tearing past meat and sinew. The demon gurgles, getting his putrid blood all over me. I push him back, and the pathetic sack of flesh falls backwards. Dropping the blade, I grab my handsaw from the bed.
When he sees what’s in my hand, his eyes widen.
“No, no, no,” he pleads, crawling backwards. I lift my foot and stomp on his ankle. It takes a few more stomps before I hear the bone crack. Screams fill the air. Gary’s hands clutch at his foot, staring at it in disbelief.
“Don’t be so dramatic, I’m sure I only fractured it.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouts, turning his glare back to me. I kick his head back as a response. When he falls back, I step on his chest, pin one arm down and begin sawing at his flesh. Slicing through skin and meat is easy, it’s when you get to the bone that it gets a little hard.
Gary struggles beneath me, further ripping the tendons and veins apart. I jerk down on the handle, cracking through the bone as I continue to saw. Blood spurts wildly, splattering all over me, the bed and the floor. Good thing haunted houses are filled with fake blood.
Even if my henchmen miss a few spots when they clean up, no one will ever
