As subtle as a shadow, she jumped through the open window rolling once to her feet on the soft rug. The bedroom was quite big, compared to her own anyways. She walked across the room nearly blinded by darkness but it didn't take long for her age perfected night vision to make out objects. A closet door half open, a desk positioned near the window, and a bed. A bed that contained none other than the sleeping form of Christine Anthony. Her next victim.


She stepped carefully over astray items as she made her way to the side of the bed. Leaning over the sleeping women, she pulled back her black hood, revealing so much long and thick black hair that almost looked blue in the moonlight. Her eyes were rimmed with dark blue and black liner with creamy silver shadow on her lids. Her eyelashes looked spidery, long, and voluminous.


Pulling a switchblade out of her black combat boot, she whispered into the blackness, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

Christine twitched but didn't awaken. Sympthia smiled showing her paper white teeth that practically glowed. The blade flipped out of the knife handle with a fairly quiet pang! Christine's eyes flew open, as this was right next to her ear. Before she could scream Sympthia's hand was over her mouth, holding the knife to her throat.


When Sympthia was sure Christine got the message not to scream, she carefully removed her hand. Christine's gaze followed the shiny black polish of her claw shaped nails.


"Who are you?" Christine whispered in a barely audible voice.


At that Sympthia smiled and said, "Let's just say you have had nightmare's about me." She paused, then her malicious grin widened. "Including this one." Christine's blue eyes widened in fear. Before Christine could even scream, Sympthia pushed the blade into her throat and pulled it along until the whole blade was out. Christine made a gaging sound, then went limp. Blood gushed out of the slash wound in her neck.


"Oh," she said using the tip of her switch blade to draw a bloody number 7 on Christine's forehead. "You can call me The Nightmare. " She threw her head back laughing in an eerie shriek like tone. Hearing voices in the hall, Sympthia (the Nightmare) ran to the window and launched herself out onto the porch roof below just as Christine's door flew open.

In the moment the light flashed on the whole town was filled with the screams of horror and pain. Just like the last six people The Nightmare visited. But Sympthia was long gone when the police would arrive.

This town was a haunted place. The Dark Huntress (named by the townsmen) seemed to always disappear. Will she be found?






Sympthia walked down the silent night street, wiping the blood off her switch blade with a black unused handkerchief then tossing it in the gutter on the side of the road. She closed the knife and stuck in back down her black combat boot. Pushing her hair into her hood, she struggled to pull it over her head. A little way down the street, a man walked toward her with one hand around a cigarette and one hand grasping something in his pocket.


Sympthia planned to leave him alone but it didn't appear he felt the same way. He quickened his pace toward her and she could finally see the other thing he carried was a revolver. The end stuck out of his pocket. That gave her an idea. She smiled to herself as he approached her.


"Hello there," He gave her a toothy grin. "Are you lost? Do you need help?"

Sympthia laughed aloud at the stupid question. Clearly he thought he was the dangerous one.


Wrong.

"Do I look lost to you?" she raised her black sharply defined eyebrow underneath her hood, her eyes were concealed as well.

"Why don't you come with me, I won't hurt you." He said doing a horrible job of faking innocence. "My house is that way." He pointed a crooked finger down a dark alleyway.

"I'm fine, I'll be going now," Sympthia said the whole time pretending not to notice his hand holding onto the gun in his pocket until he brought it out and aimed it at her.


"Come. Now." His tone dripped with acid. Play an act of being frightened, she followed him into the dark alley. As soon as the night cloaked them she went into action starting with a blow to his hands making him drop the gun. He tried to punch her but she effortlessly used her forearm to block it then brought up her foot and sharply kicked his stomach. The force sent him flying back. While he struggled to get up Sympthia bent down and picked up the revolver.

He froze when she aimed it at him. "We are going to play a little game," she said the last shred of her saneness fading if not already gone. "It's called Russian roulette."

His face paled and he sputtered, "Are you crazy?"

"Yes," she said confidentially. "Yes, I am." She began to remove all the bullets accept one, throwing the rest down by her feet. The second she was done he lunged at her but she was faster, bringing her knee to his gut in one swift motion. When he doubled over she brought her elbow down on his back and he crumpled.

"Behave." Sympthia grinned, using her free hand to take her switchblade out. Putting the blade between her teeth she spun the barrel and clicked it shut. "First you." she aimed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger.

CLICK.


Still smiling she put the gun to her head, "Now me." The man's eyes widened, stunned that she would take that risk. Sympthia pulled the trigger.

CLICK.


"You again," she turned the gun to him.

"No wait! Please don't shoot me!" He cried.

"Okay," she snickered taking her knife out of her mouth. He screamed as she plunged the blade into his heart. After mere seconds he slumped over. Dead.


An amused look crossed Sympthia's face, "I forgot to introduce myself. You can call me the Nightmare." His blank eyes starred at the sky, unmoving. Sympthia aimed the gun at the stars and pulled the trigger...Another click.
She pulled it again..................

BOOM!

"If only he would've played one more round, he would have gotten away." The Nightmare laughed, "To bad."


Before she took off down the alley she dropped the gun by the man and pulled her switch blade out of his chest. Quickly drawing a number 8 on his forehead, she bounded off into the night listening to the wailing of sirens drawing closer.




She sighed, "I love winning."


TO BE CONTINUED...