LegendeMature

A greasy man creeps through the woods.  His gait is light as he treads softly over the fallen leaves of autumn.  The moon casts a pale light upon his countenance, revealing his sinister smile to the watching eyes of the night.  He creeps along sureptitiously, so as not to stir the attention of the vicious nocternal creatures which prowl the woods at the witching hour.

He comes to a small shack, the roof illuminated by the mysterious glow of the moon.  He enters, and locks the door behind him.  He breathes in the darkness of the new atmosphere which now surrounded him.  He loved the feeling of the dark air permeating his lungs, making his essence feel pure.  He chuckles under his breath, allowing the walls around him to absorb the remaining light in his soul.  The last candle is snuffed out, and he is now at peace. 

A creature now stirs within him. It growls dangerously, testing the bars of its prison cell with its claws.  The man's soul doesn't protest, and he lets out a half-crazed laugh.  The creature let itself out of its cage, its essence now mixing with his.  The man's soul darkens as the creature once again takes hold of him. Every day becomes harder for the man to bear.  He waits anxiously for the night, so that the creature might free itself from his soul and possess his body once more. It is like a drug; an evil, insidious heroin that spares its victim no mercy.  But this man is no victim.  No, he sees himself as a priveledged individual, for few other men have felt their demise come about by such a dark ecstacy as this.

_________

"Dr. Wilkins," said the harried police captain Theodore Felco, "I don't really know much about your line of work, but I don't think it helps much to touch the victim."

The doctor paid him no mind, as he was furiously racking his brain for a memory he seemed to have lost.  The marks all over this man's body... where have I seen them before?

Felco sighed and shook his head, "It's a cryin' shame.  Another man defeated by the madness of the world."

"Madness has a nasty habit of collecting confederates." declared Dr. Wilkins, "I.e. depression, trauma, stress, ect."

He turned from the body, deciding his mind needed a rest.  Today was not his day at all.  The damned phone woke him at the ungodly hour of five in the morning.  He hadn't been asleep for three hours, as the previous night had been quite busy indeed.  As if he didn't have enough on his mind already!  But alas, none of the rest of it mattered now.  This case now demanded the complete and undivided attention of his psyche.

"Hey Felco, I'm gonna take a breather.  I'll be back in half an hour."

"Make it quick, buddy.  There's already another body report waiting for you."

Shit, I need a smoke.

The End

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