The fire was lit. The flames grew, consuming every upwards, vicious tendrils licking towards the black night sky. The bell within St. Louis began to toll the hour. The sound reverberated around me as if I existed at the bottom of a glass jar, every noise echoing and pounding against my head.
I did not know what I had become. I could not control my own movements as I turned back toward the crowd. The laughing children, cheering onlookers, couples kissing and dancing as another cheerful tune began to play over the speakers. I wanted them all dead. I wanted it more intensely than breath itself.
"Let's have some fun," I murmured. I did not want to say it. I did not want to move towards the man with his wagon, the knife he used to slice the meat he served temporarily unattended. Before the crowd of people who waited there I took up the knife. Holding that hot, dripping steel in my hand made me shudder with pleasure. The onlookers began to murmur. As I turned toward them they stepped back. There was uncertainty in their eyes, fear in their slow steps backwards. Their pumping jugulars were founts waiting to be tapped.
No, no, no! I don't want to! Someone stop me...please...someone...has to stop me...
I could feel myself grinning but I could not control it. I felt my throat pulsate with the force of words that I did not choose to utter. In a guttural mockery of the very vendors that surrounded the square, I said, "Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Gather round. The fire is lit, the night is young." I cracked my neck, feeling every pop in my spine. "Who would care for an audience with His Infernal Majesty?"
What was happening to me? Why couldn't I stop? Why were the voices coming out of me, while my own voice was trapped within? I wanted to scream, to struggle, to run. I could do nothing. The crowd was staring and murmuring and shaking their heads. They should have been running, they should have been stopping me! But what was one small woman with a knife?
"Miss! 'Ey! You give that back here now!"
I turned. The wagon vendor was holding out his hand furiously, demanding the knife I had taken from him. "Ye've had more than enough to drink, no doubt!" he said. "Give that here before the police come down on ye'!"
I lurched forward, eliciting gasps from the crowd. Never taking my eyes from the man's face, I dug my nails into the burning hot roast over his hot coals, the oils sizzling down my arm, drawing out the raw flesh and blood from deep within the meat. As his face contorted with disgust, I stuffed the raw meat into my mouth, juices dripping over my red lips, and grinned.
"Step closer, old man," I said, gristle crunching between my teeth. "And take it."
Fear flashed through his eyes, and I relished it like the blood filling my mouth. Vivid memories of a day not so long ago, when I had spilled another man's blood and loved every second, overtook my mind like a heavy draught of alcohol. I wanted that again. I wanted to experience that power, that revenge-
That's not fair, that's not right. With Richard you were protecting yourself...at least...I can't...please...
All the muscles in my arms tensed. I was raising the knife. The urge to hurt him was undeniable. I couldn't stop myself. Control had been taken from me utterly and I couldn't understand...
My body jerked rigidly to a halt, the knife half way up. The vendor had seized a plank of wood from his wagon, prepared to defend himself. But I was no longer looking at him. The sensation of having my eyes forcibly dragged in a direction with no choice of my own was utterly disconcerting.
It was the red-haired man, standing just beyond the cart in the light of a streetlamp, that had captured my attention. The moment I realized who it was, fear shot through me like a spear into my heart. My lungs constricted. I dropped the knife.
"You're not welcome here, Reaper," I snarled. The term "reaper" seemed to burn over my tongue, and I did not know where it had come from. Was it his name, or something else entirely? The vendor looked confused, then sought to seize his opportunity. He arched back the plank and swung it down - I caught it easily in one hand and wrenched it away. The red-haired man slowly shook his head, his face almost pitying. For some reason this made me furious, even as fear held me back. I could not touch him. I could never, ever, touch him.
I had the sudden, small hope that he could stop me. But the moment the thought crossed my mind, I began to run. I swung the knife sporadically, slashing this way and that as I dodged through the crowd. Any damage done was pleasing. My vision was becoming dark at the edges, as if someone was slowly enclosing me in a thick black bag. Through all my fear, I also felt a fierce excitement. The crowd parted before me like the sea before Moses. There were screams and shouts, parents snatching up their children. Who could stop me, who could tell me no?
The power was mine. Control was mine. I was the one to elicit fear, not...not the one who would cower in it.
As I left the square, I paused to glance back. I saw dozens of eyes staring back at me with terror, uncertainty. The crowd had been thrown into confusion. Some had been too drunk to notice me, others were fleeing.
Was this of my own volition? I had not willed those words to come from my mouth...I had not willed my feet to take these steps...but how could that be? I strained to make my arms move, my mouth open, to make anything occur of my own, frantic choice. Instead I was met with sudden pain and dizziness. My stomach cramped so tightly it felt as if fingernails were digging into it, and I promptly doubled over and vomited. Passersby were giving me a wide berth, pointing and murmuring.
They were afraid of me. They did not dare touch me. I, alone, one small woman, frightened them. The feeling was intoxicating
"Don't fight us," the voices murmured through my own mouth. "And you will always feel this powerful."
A slow chill ran up my spine. The darkness descending upon my vision had turned the warm glow of the streetlamps to gray. The faces of those who stared at me had become distorted: their eyes and mouths widened, their bones twisted and stretched, their masks making them hideous, terrifying. No words came from their mouths, only howls. What was happening? How was this happening?
Who was I?
"Samara!"
A/N: I'm sorry but all I could think of when I described that meat was al pastor and I'm frikkin hungry now. Wanna get some tacos before you go to the next part? I'd suggest it. Go get tacos. You have frikkin time to do it too because the next update isn't until Monday :P
Vote if you love tacos. Or if you don't. Ya know. Just don't forget to vote ♡