There was some major explaining to do.
Why and how he had done it was a mystery. Even to himself. His father was dead. His mother was dead. As were his two younger siblings. The police were here.
They wanted to know things that he could not explain.
How had he killed them? An angry thought, a hasty wish, an ill spoken mantra.
Magic. Dark magic. It had sucked him into an endless downward spiral. He was controlled by it. Consumed by it, he knew. But he could not stop. It had him in its grasp, and he used his new-found powers in hideous ways.
When the police went too far in their questions, an anger swept over the boy and with a grunted word and sharp gesture, all of the accusing necks snapped and the interrogators crumpled.
He screamed and glared at the offending hand.
He wanted to stop. He hated himself for this. With the same word, he turned his evil on himself and set an end to his hideous existence.
Yes, there was explaining to do. The magic had moved on... to find another victim. They who discovered the gruesome scene would inherit the curse.
Oh, thought the evil, if it were indeed capable of such coherent measures, pity to he that shall be my weapon...