Demon Hunter

No one in town knew much about him. They definitely didn’t know what it was like to be Dylan Riley. Although not one of the fine folk of Birmingport, Alabama would be able to give a good excuse as to why — other than he looked the part — the outsider had earned the reputation of being a ‘bad boy’ in the small town immediately. All the girls swooned over his ruggedly handsome face and his icy blue eyes. The guys all glared and grumbled. None of them took the time to get to know him though — except her.

Dylan sat brooding in the ill-lit corner of the local diner. The decor was tired-looking, the wall paper pealing in the corners. A loose light bulb continuously flickered above his head. Irritated, he tapped the dated, orange and brown lamp causing a clump of dust to fall on his half-eaten burger. “Doesn’t matter,” he thought. “Overcooked anyway. Everything’s overcooked here.”

He stared at his phone. She was supposed to call. If he wanted, he could have any girl in town, but she was the only one who spoke first — a smile had crossed her lips that said she knew more than she was telling  — the others just stare. He wasn’t the dating kind, but she was going to be his. Jessica Barton was no beauty queen, but she had a subtle charm about her. Wild and frizzy auburn hair framed a freckled face with olive-green eyes.  She was the girl who always had her nose in a book. The girl that popular girls only noticed in order to ignore her, but she had a creative and carefree spirit. She was independent. Dylan had to have her.

“Hi there.”

The voice was familiar. Dylan looked up from his phone and there she was in front of him. He looked back at his phone, confused, as if she had just popped out of it.

“I thought you’d be here. I don’t really like talking on the phone much,” Jessica twisted her fingers nervously through her hair and got tangled for a moment. An embarrassed smile escaped her lips, “I hope you don’t mind.”

His eyes were a piercing blue. Jessica could understand why all the girls were crazy about him, but she wouldn’t be one of them. He could do a lot more damage than just the average ‘bad boy’ in town, and she knew it. She wasn’t going to suffer the same fate as the others.

Dylan smiled, “Wanna go for a ride?”

Jessica grinned.

The wind blowing through her copper hair almost seemed to tame it. They drove his baby-blue, 1965 Mustang convertible into the night, talking and laughing. The moon was hanging low in the sky, fat and orange with wispy clouds painted across her belly. Dylan found a cutoff road, secluded in the woods, drove to the end and killed the engine.

“I don’t really date…” Dylan began.

“I know.” She moved in close.

He could almost taste her lips. He had her — he just knew it. Oh, the things he was going to do to her. She would never be the same again. “She thinks she knows so much, but she doesn’t, not really,” he thought.

“You’re not what everyone in town thinks you are.” Her breath was warm. The smell of bubble gum and Pepsi teased Dylan’s nose. She was intoxicating.

“I don’t know. Everyone here thinks I’m a bad seed.” Revelation struck. Perhaps she didn’t know as much as he thought. “What? You don’t?”

“Oh no… I know you’re no good for me.” She continued to move closer. Her lips barely brushed against his.

Confusion was swelling inside. What kind of game was this? No matter. He would win. Idiot girls — they always go crazy for the bad ones. Dylan had thought she was different though. She was to be his great conquest.

Jessica brought her hand up to his mouth. “You don’t just break girls’ hearts. You devastate lives.” Her finger slid softly down his lips.

She was about to find out just how true that was. He could feel the heat from her body rising. Aroused, he made his move. A sharp pain overcame him. His cold blue eyes became wide, changing into black pools, as she sunk the dagger into his heart.

“So cocky. Did you really think I didn’t know what you are?”

His body didn’t lax and slump. It became rigid and then began to liquefy into the white vinyl seat. A black ooze was still pooling and bubbling as Jessica stepped out of the car and into the night. She would go home to her books and remain invisible to her classmates.


I sit alone in the corner of her room –untouched, neglected — humming in low tones. Memories of times when the stroke of Anna Mae’s fingers created music inside torments me. All the tantalizing melodies are gone though — all is gone — only this cold corner offers support.

I know that the love was false, a ploy to peak his interest, nothing more. Him… the downfall of her…

We were in harmony. That should have been enough. Her hair — blonde with hint of red — flowed over my mahogany. The raspy mezzo of her voice blended perfectly with my warm and dark hum. Why wasn’t it enough? Because of him. It all begins and ends with him. Shame wells up inside. To be tossed aside for him — oh how I hate him — is a cruel joke.

He has his own side venture — Lucille. She’s never cast aside. She’s stroked nightly, and her muddy, mellow moan fills the house. Oh how he loves and worships his Lucille, but it’s the times that Anna Mae’s melodic voice joins in the mix that hurts the most. He caresses both of them, making love to them in much different ways. Lucille croons with each stroke, but afterwards Anna Mae reaches absolute ecstasy with a deep, throaty purr. Such a warm and intoxicating voice — it taunts me with spellbinding tones. I long to reach out to her, but dare not. I’m not enough… she would never understand.

He stands in the way. He is my torment.


Thoughts of the three together cause a fury to swell deep inside. Lucille rests beside the bed, while the two of them come down from a soaring high, their bodies entwined. Their bare skin glistens in the light of a single flickering candle.

I feel cold, unforgiving wire wrap around his neck. It happens in a brief moment. Anna Mae opens her eyes from their dreamy state to see my ribbed strings cut through the skin — blood gushing out to soak the sheets — and her eyes grow wide, her face contorting, not knowing whether to be scared, enraged or engulfed in agonizing despair.

His end comes quick and now I can turn my horrifying vengeance on her. The wire drips with his blood. Slowly the metallic string begins to tighten around Anna Mae’s slender neck. I feel her body become rigid as her breath becomes shallow and quick. She claws at her neck, but the cord is too thin and too tight to get her fingers under it. Tears pour from her eyes as she realizes what’s happening.

You’re going to die, but not too fast, Anna Mae. You aren’t going to have the luxury of going too fast. You need to feel my emptiness… since you wouldn’t fill it.

A slow trickle of crimson begins to flow down her throat as Anna Mae continues, in vain, to get a grip on the fine cable. Her frantic tearing becomes more like a listless patting, as the life begins to slip from her. She fades in and out of consciousness, awakening only enough to make a feeble effort to raise her hands.

I release only enough to give a little life back to her. Still terrified by the site of him — nearly decapitated — she scrambles off the bed. The wire now slaps at her bare skin, ripping back the still wet flesh. Droplets of red merge with the beads of sweat and run down her ass to drip to the floor. My thin cord continues to tear at her skin, over and over, until she is on her hands and knees — a ghostly hint of complaisance in her eyes.

How dare she make me do this to her… something inside snaps. I throw myself into her back, pinning her to the floor. Wrapping around her throat once again, I pull the metallic string as hard as I can. Her head rolls to the side — separated from its once vivacious body.

Cold, empty orbs stare out into oblivion.


She throws her keys on the table after a long day. Her body riddled with aches, she longs for the feel of warm water engulfing her body. Undressing as she walks to the bedroom, she begins to  unwind with a haunting, but comforting melody in her raspy, mezzo. In the corner of her room, her guitar — untouched, neglected — has fallen over again. Anna Mae sighs as she rights her once loved instrument. “Oh Abby. I just don’t have the energy today. Maybe tomorrow.”