There was potential in the lives of infants. Energy there for the taking.


    That lifeblood flowed into Harrison as he slit the infant’s throat, his last cry waning into the night.


    His body did not have the means to process it properly. Perhaps it was the fact that his heart had stopped beating long ago. Or, it could be the universe’s way of declaring the wrongness of his actions. Neither mattered, only that what should have been a lifetime of potential only could sustain him for a short while.


    The last of the blood leached from the child’s body, trickling between his fingers and vanishing before it hit the ground. He cradled the near weightless form to his chest, nestled in the crook of his arm, carrying it away from the quiet house. There was no reason its parents needed to find its corpse in the morning. No parent should awake to find their child dead.


    Missing was bad, but it would be a mercy. Perhaps they would think the fae had taken their child, or some other fantastical creature. They could have that belief. Not Harrison.


    He knew monsters didn’t steal children, only men did.


    In a secluded copse of trees, surrounded by night flowers and veils of vines that tangled around the legs, Harrison laid the child down to rest. He tucked the small body into the leaves, caressing the side of its face. For a moment, he could feel the blood warm skin and shallow, soothing breaths, and could imagine himself to be standing over his Arabelle.


    Then the memory faded, and the cold returned.


    He turned away from the child, whispering a prayer for peace as he slinked through the night. He offered up a prayer for the child to find rest, as he’d prayed over his own child, crying out to God in despair. The same prayer now propelled his dead body through the world, on the energy of murdered children. His heels dragged against the ground, every step coming with a weight and at the same time, a momentum he could not stop.


    He longed to lay down and rest, but he could not. He had one more man to kill.


    *****


    The man was not hard to find, but he was hard to access, especially as a corpse. Even if Harrison did not look especially dead, there was an uncanny grayness to his skin and a levity to his steps that even the depressed living couldn’t match.


    He pulled a cloak from a washing line as he walked into town, donning it before splitting between two houses to enter onto the main street. The cloak curled around his frame and over the peak of his balding head, the hair coming out in patches. If he’d been better with this power, he would be able to keep his body looking natural. Unblemished.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    But he didn’t want to be good with this power. He didn’t even want to know this power existed.


    In the light of day, he was an oddity, but the town was crowded enough he was able to slip by with little notice. If anyone did, it was more likely they’d think he was a victim of pox or a curse.


    Tension strung high through the town, every movement wound tight. Women walked together in clumps, children clutched tightly in their grasp, knuckles going white around thin limbs.


    With a sigh that only brought his heels weighing harder into the soft earth, Harrison knew they must have heard.


    The tension of the town getting to him, Harrison stepped with heavy feet into a local tavern, the buzz of conversation hitting his ears the moment the doors opened. If there was anywhere he could learn what was happening in town without looking suspicious, it would be here.


    Liquor left the wooden floor tacky, stale beer and the scent of day old bile stinging the air. Evidently, Harrison hadn’t chosen a reputable tavern. Or perhaps, reputable for all the wrong reasons.


    As he expected, news of his crimes reached his ears as he sat down at the bar, head tilted toward the conversation.


    “...the babe was found outside Yjorm,” a man whispered, breaking only for a long draw of his beer. “Completely dried up.”


    “Dried up?”


    Harrison winced, covering up the motion as he flagged for the bartender.


    “Like a husk! You’d think it’d been lying out there years, not two nights.”


    So it wasn’t his victim from the night before. He’d need to be careful, but Yjorm was far enough away he should be distant enough to avoid suspicion.


    “Fae,” the speaker’s companion spat.


    A weight shifted off Harrison’s shoulders, hand sliding easily across the wooden bartop for his mug. They suspected the fae.


    “Dunno, Merk. It’s awful odd for fae action. It’s gotta be something else.”


    “What else is there?” the man scoffed.


    “Something bad.” He stared into the dregs of his cup for a long moment, silent stretching before he chugged the rest. He slammed the mug to the counter, looking around for the barkeep, only for his eyes to land on Harrison.


    Harrison froze. He hadn’t meant to stare.


    Blinking slowly, Harrison took his untouched mug and slid it down to the man. “Here.”


    His eyes narrowed. “You know something?”


    Harrison only hesitated for a moment before nodding. It was the truth, and that obscured more than any lie. “I do.”


    “Tell us.”


    “It took my daughter,” he said, wishing now he hadn’t given away his drink. He glanced around for the barkeeper, off taking orders in the corner of the room, before turning back to the watching man. “Been hunting him ever since.”


    The suspicion faded from the man’s face, and he looked at the mug regretfully. “Sounds like you need this more than me, then.”


    “Keep it,” Harrison said, throat dry. “I should keep a level head.”


    “I hope you find it, friend,” he said, tipping back his drink at Harrison. “Bring it to an end for all of us.”


    “That I will do,” he promised.