Punition
Inspired by the Pentatonix cover of Imogen Heap's "Aha!"
Uhm, so... wow. Haven't written anything this dark in a loooooooong time. Was fun, though. Enjoyed it, in the least psychopathic manner possible. Yes.
That's all I've got.
What do y'all think?
Eleven people killed in a nine-hundred mile radius, all in a span of four months, all murdered violently. No connection between any of the victims, no concrete suspects. The authorities scratched their heads, while he and I laughed at their bewilderment. He laughed because was rich, because he was powerful, and because he had nothing to fear while I was on his side.
I laughed because I was never on his side to begin with.
Humans are predictable beasts - always in it for themselves, not caring about anyone else. Offer them a fair deal, and they'll always go behind your back to make sure they come out better off than you. It's their nature, I suppose - but at least it never makes for a dull moment.
He was a senator. Popular. Powerful. Crude and corrupt. Had a hand in every food basket as far as the eye could see, and a thumb on the back of everyone beneath him. His sights were set on a higher seat of power, but his path was blocked by a few key figures who held enough voice to keep him from his goal. He needed them out of the way, and quickly - which is where my services were needed. I would eliminate his competition unobtrusively, and he would rise to the top. In return, I would get to devour the souls of anyone I killed.
"Eradicate everyone in my way, and you can have anyone you wish."
The kills were simple to carry out. Child's play, for one like me. A fiery automobile explosion in one place, a hostage situation gone terribly wrong in another. The victims dropped out of existence like flies around a campfire, the blame being placed on anyone except the Senator. Whenever a breath of suspicion fell on him, I whisked it away and replaced it with the admiration the Senator so dearly wanted. He would hold conferences, telling the press just how sorrowful he was to hear of such loss, and how he wished well the victims' families. I would sit in the shadow of a nearby hat brim, listening, nearly able to taste the lies and crookedness that filled his every breath.
It was delicious.
His family threw the wrench in his plans - his own daughter, in fact. She was young, smart for her age. She had begun to see through his lies. Though not completely aware of our situation, she knew something was wrong, and she confronted him about it. She brought it up over dinner one night, while they ate pasta and clams and drank their wine. The Senator brushed her questions away, but she persisted. Her mother asked that she not raise her voice at the table, but she would not relent. She sent a barrage of accusations at him, harassed him to no end. An argument ensued. A wine glass was broken. She stormed out of the house while her mother cried and her father roared at her to stay out of his way.
Naturally, I killed her the next day.
Electrocuted in her jacuzzi, nothing serious - but he was furious, as expected. He swore at me when I next approached him, as he nursed his broken soul with a liquor bottle. I told him that I was only carrying out the terms of our contract, and that I was hardly in the wrong. He spat, and swore, and screamed until he fell into an alcoholic stupor. When he awoke, I was perched on the arm of his favorite recliner. He cursed more, and informed me that the deal was off.
Terminating our deal? Not wise. Not wise, in the least.
I informed him that cleanly ending our contract was not possible, nor was it the best course of action. He ignored my warning, screaming something about being played as a fool. No matter what soft-spoken precautions I whispered in his ear, he batted me away. He said he'd have nothing more to do with me, or our pact. He left in a rage, shouting in a manner that left no doubt in my mind - he had broken our deal.
Predictable beast.
The past murders were slowly brought once again to the media's attention. Tiny clues, easily missed beforehand but now glaringly obvious, came to light. Suspicions arose, rumors started, fingers were pointed. Evidence of the crimes traced a path straight to the Senator's doorstep, and he had nowhere to run. He was questioned, arrested, put on trial. Found guilty of twelve cases of murder, including that of his own dear daughter. Sentenced to life in prison. An easy punishment. I would stand for none of it.
So I stepped in.
Possessing the broken man was easy. His defenses were down, he wasn't expecting it. I slid into his consciousness and whispered suggestions into his mind. You're getting away too easily, I told him. They're being too soft. You deserve something worse than this.
"Death," he said aloud. The court fell silent. His attorney paled, and tried to shut him up, but my suggestions were too sweet as he continued to speak. "I want the death penalty. Death by hanging." Any attempt by his lawyer to shut him up was ignored. I stroked his consciousness, convincing him exactly what a grand idea this was. He repeated his request, and I left his mind as he spoke. The judge and jury suddenly found themselves agreeing with the Senator. Hanging would be a lovely punishment for this foul man. The gavel rang out across the courtroom, sealing his fate. Death by hanging.
The appeals took time, like they always do, but the day finally arrived. Woolly gray clouds covered the sun, and the barest hint of a chill breeze tickled the necks of the people gathered there. There was a crowd, and a gallows, and it was a lovely scene. My beloved Senator was steered towards the scaffold, hands bound behind his back, feet shackled. Perched above the rope, I nearly sang with gleeful anticipation of what was to come. Months upon months of what could've been a satisfying meal had become the most delicious, succulent feast. His fear was tangible. I breathed in his rotting, corrupted, lying aura, and tasted every fleck of his fear.
Delectable.
The hood and noose were placed around his neck, and the Pastor began to recite the Lord's Prayer. Women began to cry, men turned pale, and the hangman pulled the lever.
Clatter - snakt!
He dropped, and I laughed. At first a giggle in the throat, then a laugh in the chest, then a cackle that enveloped my entire being. This, above all things, was the best part. The anticipation of the reward, so close, close enough to feel... I watched in morbid fascination as his body twitched. He struggled in vain, his feet trying to find purchase against the air, something to balance on so he could inhale some sweet, sweet air. He wouldn't find anything. They never did. He fought against his binds, and I could hear his gasping. Sweet, sensual gasps. A tingle ran down my spine, and I shivered. This was, above all things...
After a moment, his convulsions ceased. People began to mill away, and the hangman moved to cut the Senator's body down. I watched from my perch as the Senator's soul - dark, shadowy, and reeking of extortion - drifted out of his body to form as his spectral double. It surveyed the removal of the body, looked around, then glanced up. The silent scream that erupted from his mouth as I swooped down was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard.
The souls of beasts are the most delicious.
Call me what you wish. Crossroad Demon, Contract Devil, Pact Fiend. You wish to make a deal with the devil, you deal with me. I don't question how you come to require my services, and I never wonder how you find the means to contact me, but I always see our deals to the end. A Pact Fiend never goes back on his word; doing so is death most certain. He also cannot break conditions of his deal. Everything stated at the writing of the pact is how it will be carried out. Each contract, however, is unerringly broken by the human in question as they try to weasel their way out of payment. Once the lines are broken, there are no rules to bind us. We finish our tasks as we see fit - whether it benefit the other party or not.
Oh, don't look so shocked. Things like this happen constantly, always with the same results. We are used to things like this. It's why we agree to such petty requests - we know we will end up ahead. Once your kind become less predictable, the tables may change. Until then...
Your souls will be the most delicious.