Saints Of Satan Chapter One

Chapter one

The two officers pulled a body bag up and over the corpse. Around them forensics took swabs from surrounding bushes and, especially, from the tiny pool of blood drawn around the body. There was no space for vehicles along the thin wooden path, so a trolley had been brought down, upon which the body was being set.
“I want a post mortem on that body ASAP!” commanded the chief officer, ducking under the police tape that had been strewn hastily around the murder scene. He turned around, scratching at his head. Two young female assistants stood by the body, clasping clipboards to their chests and frowning.
“Ladies, what have we got?” he barked, frowning down at the blood stain on the ground. One of them turned back a few pages, then began speaking.
“His names, Henry Hassfield, worked at the estate agency down on Maine Street. His corpse was found by our witness over their,” she pointed to a shaken up women in tracksuit trousers and a sweatshirt, “The corpse had a single wound, a deep gash across the throat, we’re not sure yet but we reckon it was caused by some sort of claw,” she paused, reading through her notes. “A dog perhaps?”
John looked at her sceptically, and the other women shook her head, “Too deep, and anyway a dog would have to-”
“Spare us the lecture,” John mumbled, then frowned apologetically when she gave him a hurt look. “I’m sorry, it’s just this is the fourth case like this in three months. Something has to be done, and we’ve got nothing. No lead, no cause. Whatever we’re dealing with, it’s covering its tracks like an expert,”
♦ ♦ ♦
I leapt from branch to branch, tearing through an onslaught of twigs and branches that nicked my face and stung my legs. The taste of the man’s warm salty blood still burned in my throat, and my senses had only just returned to their normal state. My first quenched, I sought shelter from the terrible black clouds that had begun to creep across the sky, threatening the world below with its hold of icy water.
My strong legs catapulted me from tree to tree, until I burst from the woodland and onto hard gravel. I carried on past the country road, faster and faster, hurtling now through field after field, sending a cloud of dirt and dust up behind me.
I felt stronger than ever, so alive I felt I could leap up and touch the stars. Moving with speed no mortal could ever hope to achieve, I stormed past the last stretch of farm land before me, and exploded into a small nearby village.
I slowed to a gentle stroll, the adrenaline of the run still pumping through my veins. My gaze wandered over the deserted streets, devoid of even the drunkest youths, who had collapsed into their beds hours before.
My dark cloak swirled around my feet, brushing up snow and ice around its rims. As I wandered between small rows of tiny cottages my eyes darted about, searching for a place to hold up.
After an uncomfortable few minutes stalking the few streets amidst the village, I found what I was looking for. Picking up pace, I sped through the last part of the street I was traversing and reached a small sign. ‘Pillars Farm’ it read, and I smiled, following the arrow north out of the village, the bronze gleam of the sun begging to appear on the horizon.
♦
My eyes snapped open, the sound of metal on metal filled the air. It was still daylight, slithers of golden light filtered through tiny gaps in the old barns decaying roof. I could tell something was wrong, I always slept until night, especially after having fed. By judging the light, I could tell it was still mid-afternoon and unsafe for me to venture outside.
Cautiously I sat up, the piles of hay around me blocking my vision until I was bolt upright. Looking about myself, I saw no sign of life within the barn, but this made me all the more nervous.
Licking my lips, I gently stood, purposely treading on the matted straw so as not to make a noise. After a few steps towards the barn door, I winced as a wooden plank I had just tested my weight on let loose an ear-splitting groan.
“Hello?” came a gruff voice, and immediately I felt my nerves subside. It was the farmer. “If it’s you lads again I swear I’ll call the police,” his voice was shaky, nervous.
Smiling, I sneaked across the barn to three large bundles of hay stacked up one on top of another. As I slipped behind the pile, I heard a bolt being slid and the barn door creak as it came ajar. Through a small gap in the musty straw I saw the farmer, standing in the doorway, bucket and pitchfork in hand. Cursing under my breath, I realised that he had probably been calling his animals in for their feed.
The farmer took two cautious steps inside the doorframe, chewing his lip as he scanned the barn. I waited patiently, aware of a jagged crack in the roof letting loose the sun’s fury on a slither of my face.
“Come on,” I murmured, so quietly even my enhanced ears found trouble hearing it. After a few painfully slow moments, the stout man grunted, and then sighed as he pulled the door closed. Again came the screech of the bolt being drawn, and then a low grumbling from the farmer as he carried on with his duties.
Sighing, I traversed the barn, and then settled back down into my makeshift bed. Only a few hours remained before I could leave the confines of the barn and as I fell asleep I yearned for night to come.