Kill the Devil

God asks the world’s most proficient murderer to help him kill the Devil for a ticket out of Hell.

Charlie
Charlie
Sep 5, 2018 · 6 min read

A man will say anything to save his own life.

'Please, have mercy! I won't do it again. I'll get help! I'll give you money. Women. Anything!'

I pressed the knife into the flesh of his neck and drew it across quickly and cleanly.

'I won't do it again, please. Mercy-'

A wet, ragged gasp as his life spilled out. I relaxed my grip and he fell forward, to the ground with a heavy thud.

'If you deserved mercy,' I said. 'I wouldn't be here.'

An ocean of blood spread out across the wooden floor beneath him. He convulsed and gasped for a moment before he finally became still.

I looked down at him, quiet until I was certain he'd gone, then removed a serviette from my pocket and wiped the blood from my knife. I put both carefully into a clear, zip-loc bag and into the pocket of my jacket.

Stepping carefully over the corpse and away from the growing blood pool, I crossed to a nearby coffee table and removed a business card from my breast pocket. It was blank white, but for an embossed image of a black crow. I placed it down carefully and turned to survey the apartment.

Even Patrick Bateman would have thought the place cold. Bare marble surfaces and iron railings gave the place a clinical feel. I would have thought I was in an operating theatre if not for the floor to ceiling window which opened out onto a glorious view of early morning London. A lazy sun hung over the surface of the Thames.

This was no one's home. It was barely more than a hotel for a frequent visitor to London, a place to rest between sessions in the House of Lords... And a den of torture and murder.

The door in the kitchen drew my eye. It disappeared under the minimalist staircase which led up to the loft space above. It could have been a pantry, or a water closet... But for the broad bolt on the outside, and the quiet, terrified breaths I heard from within.

I crossed to the kitchen and pressed my ear to the door. The noises from inside were clear as day now, quiet sobbing and desperately held breaths in tiny lungs.

'I am going to open the door,' I said. 'When I do, you will leave, quietly and quickly. Do not look at me, or anywhere else in the apartment. Head for the door, and go. Find a place of safety and tell someone what happened here.'

No response.

'Is that clear?' I asked, more firmly this time. A few moments later, there was a quiet, almost inaudible 'yes, sir.'

I slid the bolt across and pulled the door open, keeping myself behind it, my face hidden.

A rush of bare feet, at least three pairs, echoed throughout the apartment. I did not look. I did not want to see the state of them. I had freed them, and that was the extent of my charity. But then...

'Sir?'

'Go.'

'I am... but Mary... she died yesterday. Will you help her?'

'I cannot help the dead. Someone will come for her when you are free.'

A brief moment of silence. Then, the last pair of tiny feet fled from the apartment.

When I was sure I was alone, I left my concealed space behind the door and looked into the small room.

It was dark and tiny. Three buckets emanating a powerful odour were all that could be seen... but then I spotted the small corpse in the corner of the room.

This child was barely ten years old, and her death had not been quick. For a moment, I hated myself for gifting her killer such a merciful end.

Her naked body was blackened and bruised. Her head had been shaved and there were wounds across her face. I realised I should have made him suffer.

No... I could not be drawn into thoughts like that. Sadism and rage were the enemy of the successful killer. To linger on a kill, to enjoy it too much, was to end up in the same position as the man I had just ended. I turned to leave, only to be brought to a halt by a rasping gasp. Was it possible the girl still lived?

I looked back to find the corpse still in the same position. Only now, its eyes were wide open.

'Crow.' She whispered, and somehow I knew this wasn't the voice the girl had been born with.

'Who are you?' I asked. The girl was dead, that much was clear, but now someone was using her body.

'A messenger.'

I heard the voice echo. Then I realised it wasn't an echo, but the same voice coming from another source. I left the small prison and went out into the living room, where the corpse of my prey still lay face down. It, too, was speaking, the words bubbling against the blood.

'A messenger for who?' I asked.

'A messenger of God.'

'I recognise no God, especially not one who steals the voices of the dead.'

'This was necessary. We have an offer for the Crow.'

This was not my first time encountering the unexplainable. The supernatural.

When one spends their life around death, one begins to view life differently. But I had never been addressed so directly before.

'Speak quickly,' I said.

'You hunt the hunters,' the two voices said in unison from separate rooms. 'Kill the killers. End the evil.'

'Yes.'

'We require you to end the greatest evil this planet has ever borne witness.'

I crossed my arms but said nothing.

'Who?'

'The devil himself.'

If I had been one to laugh, I would have. The absurdity of the moment was not lost on me.

'How can a man kill the devil?' I asked.

'Angels can die, like any creation of God. It simply takes the right knife... And the right killer.'

'And why would I do this for you?'

'Not for me,' the corpses hissed. 'For God.'

'Why would I do this for God?' I asked again.

'You seem yourself righteous for killing the ones you do, Crow, but you are still a killer. When you die, only Hell awaits. An eternity of torture and punishment.'

I said nothing.

'Do this and you will be granted a reprieve. You will be welcomed into Heaven.'

'Kill the devil... Go to heaven. These are your terms?'

The corpses gasped a weak yes. I pondered this. The ones I killed deserved it, yes, but I killed for the same reason they did. Because I wanted to. I enjoyed the power, controlling not just the lives of others but their deaths also.

A reprieve from an eternity of torture for one more kill? It was too good a deal to turn down.

'Deal,' I said. 'Tell me more.'

'Not here. Not now. But soon. Watch for the falling star.'

The corpses gasped and fell silent. I swept the apartment for any signs of my presence - beyond the corpse of course - and then left quickly, via the same unmonitored route via which I had entered.

When I climbed into my unassuming car, parked just over a mile away, I caught sight of myself in the early view mirror. White hair falling over pale skin. To kill the Devil himself... To avoid Hell. It was a wonderful offer.

Though one had to wonder why God wanted the Devil dead now, after all this time. And why He would come to me and offer me such a fine deal to do it for Him.

A man will say anything to save his own life... perhaps a God would, too.

-

Based on this Writing Prompt. Follow me on Twitter!

Written by

Charlie

Incapable human. Twitter: @Eilrahhc

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