NB: Demon Files (GirlxGirl)

Chapter 1: The Mystery Begins

An old woman is curled up in a ball on her washroom floor, trying to stay silent and still, muffling her sobs into an old towel.

Her arm is broken and blood is dripping down the side of her face. Everything hurts. She doesn't even know if she can stand.

The police said they were on their way. Why aren't they here yet? she thinks, praying for them to get there sooner.

The night had started like any other. "What are you doing?" she had said when she caught her husband sneaking a snack from the freezer. His name is Darcy. He had always been a sweet enough man. Once he had even been handsome. If she pulled back his wrinkled skin, and ignored how his hair had retreated and that his gut had grown, the woman could still see the boy she had fallen in love with.

"I just wanted some ice cream," Darcy had said. The two bickered about his cholesterol until they both agreed that they were tired and ready for bed. The old woman conceded but demanded a taste.

Later in the night, the woman awoke to find her bed was empty. At first, she assumed her husband was in the washroom and waited. After a minute or so, she began to worry.

"Darcy," she called, piercing the silence of the night.

There was no reply.

The woman sat up in her bed. She looked over at her clock. The glowing green numbers showed "4:30". Worried, she called out her husband's name again. "Darcy!"

Again, there was no reply.

Anxious, she walked towards the bathroom and turned on a switch. Light filled the room, stinging her unadjusted eyes. There was no one there. For a moment, she was relieved not to have found her husband harmed. The moment passed, and she decided to leave the room. She turned off the washroom light and headed towards the washroom door. She opened it quietly, not knowing what to expect.

The hall light was off, but she could see a light on in the kitchen. Why didn't he answer me? she thought as she made her way down the hall. Before she turned the corner, she felt particularly vulnerable. She wrapped her robe tighter, as if defending herself from the cold. She wondered if she should arm herself somehow. In movies, people always seem to have baseball bats or golf clubs or some sort of object that they can use to defend themselves against home invaders, but the woman couldn't think of anything around the house that she could use, so she continued as she was.

Before crossing the threshold into the kitchen, the woman stopped for a moment. She took a breath and then continued. And there he was, Darcy, just sitting away at the computer typing away.

"Thank god," she muttered, mostly to herself. Then, louder, she said to her husband, "What are you doing up so late?"

Her husband didn't reply. His gaze remained transfixed on the computer screen as he continued typing.

It was him. He's the one that hurt her. It was all his fault.

"Darcy," she said again. He didn't reply. He didn't respond to her at all. He had never acted this way before.

The woman walked up to him and put her and on his shoulder. "Darcy," she said, "are you alright?"

After another moment of silence, she shook him.

He turned his head to stare at her. He looked normal. The woman half expected to see his face wrinkle up into his normal friendly smile and ask her for a cup of coffee or tell her about his indigestion.

The man's face stayed blank, as if it was little more than a corpse. He looked at the woman without any emotion, and then, with superhuman strength and speed, hurled her against the wall.

"Darcy. Darcy. Darcy," the woman couldn't stop saying her husband's name until at last she managed to ask, "Why are you doing this?"

"We are not Darcy," said the body that the woman had once called her husband. "We are Legion."