Devil's Daughter

Prologue

     Blood splattered the windshield and stained his clothes. A small, high-pitched scream could be heard echoing off te urrounding buildings. It was a glorious noise from the depths of hell. The murderers clothes drenched in their victim's own rose colored blood. The smell of death made my brain and body scream for more. I hated the one's who still had a life, the one's still breathing. I wanted to choke the breath out of them and collect their ever so slowly dying souls. The cry of pain was music to my ears. I would go up and kill for myself, but the thought of slinking along under their cheery blue sky made my skin crawl. I prefer the black, shadowy depths of the underground. So instead, I have someone kill for me, which usually does the trick. Although, once you make a commitment to helping me, the devil, there is no turning back. Try it, I dare you! You will suffer a slow, extremely painful death. This story however does not revolve a lot around me, but my most trusted servant, 17 year old Erin. She was almost like my daughter and I commonly refer to her as such. This is a story of her greatest and quite possibly her last achievement.   

     Erin was a beautiful girl, well in my eyes at least. Her hair was a lovely, gloomy black and her eyes a stunning dark chocolate. She was a woman of little color. She was short for her age and had this mysterious aura about her. She had no friends and no intention of getting them anytime soon. This made her the perfect advocate. She had parents, but nobody knew about them. They abandoned her the day after she turned 13. She still lives in the creepy old house on 22nd street. The floorboards creaked every few steps and the doors eerily squeaked with each push. It was every child's nightmare. The outside was painted a dark brown that was slowly chipping away as the years passed by. The windows were caked with dust and cobwebs. An empty inground pool covered half of the backyard and an old playset littered the rest. The grass was dead and the flowers wilting. It was a depressing place, but it's what she called home. Her place to escape the pressuring world outside. I found her one day lying on the couch, a book in hand, and a finger twirling through a few strands of silky hair.

"Erin." I called out in my deep voice.

She jumped at the sound of her name, but smiled because she somehow knew exactly who had called her. I walked out of the shadows and she ran to hug me as if I was her long lost friend. I explained to her why I was here and what terms she would have to abide by if she agreed to help me. She nodded eagerly, awaiting the beginning of her journey.