Page 9 of The Hellkeeper

A small shape is curled up by a building; a cat. Thin. Patchy fur. Trembling. It flinches away from people as if expecting to be kicked.

I turn and step into a convenience store without a second thought. Five minutes later, I crouch in front of the cat, peeling open a can of tuna. It stares at me, suspicious. But hunger wins out. It slinks closer, sniffing before taking the first bite.

“There you go,” I murmur. “Better than nothing, right?”

Eventually, the cat finishes and licks its paws, already forgetting I exist. Typical.

The sun bleeds into the horizon, deep oranges fading into bruised purples. By the time I reach the restaurant, the windows are dark. Margaret’s already locked up for the night.

I fish my key from my pocket, hands stiff from the cold, and slip inside. The restaurant’s atmosphere has become comforting. Familiar. I lock the door behind me and make my way to the back.

The storage room is small, but it’s mine. A bed is shoved against the wall, and a small bedside drawer houses all my belongings, which are not much. The lamp flickers as I turn it on, casting everything in a dim glow.

My eyes widen when I notice something on my bed. It’s the emerald green dress from the store, it's lying there, spread out like something waiting for me. My heart stutters.

There’s a box beside it. A gift box.

The box is smeared with something dark, something that looks too much like blood.

My ears ring.

My hands shake as I undo the lid. Inside, nestled in white tissue paper, is a severed human tongue.

The air leaves my lungs. A sharp, choked sound gets caught in my throat.

My vision blurs, my body locking up, refusing to process what’s in front of me.

There’s a note.

The paper is folded neatly, placed right beside the tongue. I force my fingers to unfold it.

The words are scrawled in deep, jagged ink.

No one disrespects my angel and walks away unscathed. Now, be good and put on the dress for me.

I drop the note. The room tilts, my breaths coming too fast, too shallow.

There’s something wrong in the air.

Something watching.

I am not alone.

Chapter Five

Damien

They say obsession is a drug. I wouldn’t know. I never needed narcotics, never indulged in anything that could cloud my judgment. Weak men use substances to escape their reality. I have always welcomed the darkness, the pain, the hunt.

But this?

This is unlike anything I have ever known.

It’s worse than any addiction, deeper than any craving. It’s in my blood now, pumping through me every second of the day. It poisons me in the most exquisite fucking way.

Her.

Amelia.

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