Abaddon’s Apocrypha Chapter 2

Upon exiting the room at Miller’s Court, James Kelly made his way, via the shadows and dark alleyways, back to his own one-roomed domicile at 21 Cottage Lane, just off the City Road between Shoreditch and Islington, constantly alert for signs that his recent masterpiece had already been discovered by a patrolling copper or nosey local. Kelly’s desperation to get home and finish his ritual was overwhelming; sweat trickled down his back and, although the night was foggy and cool, he could feel the shirt sticking to his back. Images of the girl he had just mutilated on her own bed flashed through his mind, causing him to become increasingly aroused, and his need to be safe at home intensified.
Kelly arrived at his home unimpeded, checked around to see if he had been followed and entered his abode. He immediately went to the single oil lamp he possessed, took a match from inside his coat and lit it. The the lamp barely illuminated the room, but the extent of his pitiful existence became all too apparent. The room was small, not too dissimilar to the one he has just left at Miller’s Court, and was furnished sparsely; a stove in the corner provided only the most limited of heat to warm the room and to cook upon, a shabby worn table with a threadbare chair which had seen better days, and, in the right-hand corner of the room, a worn, uncomfortable cot-like bed. No pictures or ornaments decorated the room, except for a single wooden crucifix adorning the wall above the head of the bed.
As a man on the run, Kelly did not possess much in the way of belongings. He had escaped from Broadmoor only two years earlier, locked up for the murder of his wife Sarah, and was spared the gallows due to a diagnosis of defective mental capacity because of his insistence in court that he was doing God’s work. Work he believed he was doing in God’s name that very night.
The killer pulled the chair up to the table, sat down and began to remove his spoils. He unwrapped the blood-stained handkerchief, revealing the pieces of uterus, liver and clitoris from his recent victim, Mary Jane Kelly. As he touched and examined the trophies, he felt himself stiffen, euphoria washing over him and an intense sexual fervour racking through his body. He bit into the largest piece of the poor girl’s offal, causing him to ejaculate with such an intensity he felt as if he was with the angels. The juices trickled down his chin and the sensation of the blood and raw meat sliding down his throat caused him to, again, become hard. This was his favorite part of the whole ritual, the part he could savour on his own.
As Kelly ingested a second bite of the girl’s liver, the single door to his small room burst open. Standing in the doorway was a tall, well-dressed man wearing a black overcoat, top hat and holding a cane. The man’s voice reverberated around the room but did not actually appear to come directly from him.
“Mr. Kelly, we need to talk.” Kelly instinctively reached for the dagger in his coat pocket and sprang from the chair, knocking it sideways across the room. He lurched at the intruder, slashing him across the cheek. Kelly recoiled in horror; the wound he inflicted on his mystery intruder was deep and long, but not one drop of blood flowed from the cut, and before his very eyes it began to knit together and heal. Within seconds, no sign of his assault remained on the man’s face.
“Demon!” cursed Kelly, wildly flailing with his dagger, although deep down he knew that his actions were futile and pointless. Within seconds the man was upon him, his vice-like grip around Kelly’s throat. Kelly was lifted off the floor and thrown across the room.
“Demon to some, angel to others,” his assailant remarked glibly. The man was upon Kelly again, within seconds this time, lifting him from his slumped position on the floor and raising him up to eye level. As Kelly’s eyes met those of the unknown attacker, all strength seemed to dissipate from his body, and he realized that he was in the presence of real, unbridled, primal power, not knowing whether it was a force for evil or good.
“Relax, Mr. Kelly. I do not intend to harm you. I have need of one with talents such as yours.” Kelly struggled to form words but meekly whispered,
“Who- who are you, what do you want of me?”
“My name is Mathers and I have a role for you. You are to be my sword in the darkness, you are to be my wraith in the dead of night, my general.” Mather’s then kissed him full on the mouth and Kelly felt his soul drain from his body. He was reborn.


2 Responses to “Abaddon’s Apocrypha Chapter 2”

  1. Martin Stanton Says:

    Get some more up there Carl! Very intense and vividly described x

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