Cold Hearted, Cold Blooded

The Shapeshifter Monster

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The figure moved swiftly and noiselessly, as if not wanting to be observed. It flitted across the rooftops with the speed and nimbleness of a mountain goat, sticking to the dark shadows of the night. The figure came upon a crack in a window pane and, like a strange glob of dark matter, it melted into the crack like liquid, disappearing into the house.

Curious. How curious. I'd been watching this figure's movements for the past week now, but it hadn't done anything other than run across houses and rooftops. Until now. This was the first time it had actually entered a home, and I wanted to see what it was going to do. My job as an agent of the Supernatural Department was to monitor this clearly supernatural creature and report back my findings. Based on my observations so far, I deduced that this creature was some kind of shapeshifter. All I had to do now was determine if it was malicious or not.

I grappled to the rooftop of the house it had disappeared into and peered through the cracked window pane. Nothing. Hm, no surprise there. I carefully pulled out some tools and got to work picking the lock on the window. Too bad I couldn't enter the way the shapeshifter had. It would've been a lot easier.

I silently eased the window open and jumped into the room, landing lightly on my feet. I observed the room I found myself in. It appeared to be a child's room, judging by the dolls on the bed and the small table set. I was about to walk across the room when I noticed an odd rust-coloured stain seeping from under the door.

Oh no. Was I too late? Was this creature malicious after all?

I ran across the room and wrenched the door open, nearly slipping on the huge puddle outside the room. It was too dark in the hallway to determine what it was but I was fairly certain that it was blood, given the coppery tang filling my nostrils. I noticed the faint outline of a figure lying on the ground, unmoving. I didn't dare touch it. Instead, I stepped over the puddle of blood and what was clearly a dead body and pulled out my special gun, created specifically for fighting supernatural creatures like these.

I kept my eyes peeled as I cautiously crept down the hallway. I refused to look down, ignoring the soft plonk of my boots as they stepped into more puddles of red liquid, ignoring the five motionless figures I silently passed by, ignoring the horrible stench of blood in the air. My only goal here was to kill the monster. These people—their lives—they were none of my business. Besides, it was too late for them.

I finally came to the end of the hallway—to a door almost completely torn off its hinges—and silently slid in, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. The sight that greeted me would forever haunt me in my nightmares, that is, if I could even survive long enough to have nightmares.

Blood coated the walls of what was clearly once a fancy drawing room. Mangled bodies—why were there so many?!—and disembodied limbs scattered the floor, stained with the garish red of blood. What was worse, some of the bodies were still alive, writhing and shrieking in agony, missing limbs and flesh and body parts—but otherwise alive. And, amidst the mess of corpses and blood, amidst the limbs and cadavers, in the middle of it all stood the one responsible, chomping down on a human's head almost casually as his screams of terror were silenced.

The shapeshifter monster.

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