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Saint

D ead leaves rustle in the breeze, cascading from swaying branches and leaving them nearly bare. The intoxicating scent of cold rain mingles with the metallic tang of fresh blood, enveloping me like a warm blanket and greatly enhancing my senses.

A grin spreads across my lips as I gaze around the eerie yet familiar town of Salem, a sense of excitement bubbling within me—I know already that I’m going to enjoy every second of my time here.

Everywhere I look, the image reminds me of a postcard, even under the moonlight when the vibrant hues of autumn foliage aren’t at their brightest. However, it’s at night that the true beauty of this place actually reveals itself.

Some say the town is haunted by the spirits of the witches who were burned alive; whispers of their screams can be heard while the world lies fast asleep, naive and unsuspecting. Given Salem’s rich history, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is haunted—carrying traces of those lost souls. But regardless, it remains fucking breathtakingly beautiful.

There’s a haunting allure in death, and an even greater one in ending a life—sort of climactic . And I should know—I’ve taken more than fifty lives across the country, each death possessing its own unique beauty and allure .

… But nothing fucking compares to being here in the heart of Massachusetts, savoring the act of taking a life. I feel a profound yet unusual connection to the many men who walked these cobblestone streets before me, drawing the same fucking thrills from the act of murder. Like me, they also sought to rid the world of those they deemed unworthy of breathing the same air.

Maintaining a smile, I begin my stroll back to the abandoned house tucked deep in the woods behind one of the many cemeteries—home for now, to my brother, our friends, and me since we arrived in Massachusetts two weeks ago.

We aren’t the type of guys who need anything fancy—everyone we know is right here. Plus, keeping a low profile suits our lifestyle, especially considering the nature of our jobs. Traveling from state to state has its advantages, sure, but we do it for one simple reason: to not get fucking caught. And for the last decade, it has worked out very fucking well for us.

The flicker from the golden flames inside the fireplace brings a faint glow to the outside of the house as they spill streaks of light out the windows, giving off just enough for us to be able to see. I walk inside; the smell of beer, stale smoke, and dried blood permeates the air, and I follow the scent closely like a fucking bloodhound.

Descending the creaky basement stairs, I hear Blade, Riley, and Nixon deep in conversation, to the point where no one even realizes I’m standing here, watching them dress for the adventure we’re about to embark on.

Looking around the dust-filled space, a glimmer of something silver and shiny catches my eye, bringing another wide grin to my face— my mask . Just as I’m about to retrieve it, my brother speaks up, finally noticing me as I walk toward them, my feet shuffling across the concrete floor.

“Where the fuck have you been, Saint?” Blade asks, zipping up his all-black sweatshirt, wearing matching jeans and steel-toed boots, allowing him to blend in with the shadows of the night.

“I was doing a little exploring,” I tell him, picking up my silver-coated mask and placing it on top of my head, already donning an all-black outfit. “I overheard some college kids talking about some party at Howard Street Cemetery.”

“Then it looks like we’re going to be crashing it,” Blade says, grabbing his black mask and wiping it off with a rag.

“It’s been two fucking weeks and we haven’t killed anyone,” Nixon huffs, his white mask covering his face.

And as Riley pulls on his red mask, he nods his head, anxiety growing inside him. “Yeah, I feel weird, Saint. I’m dying to have a little fun... pun intended,” he chuckles, always coming up with the dumbest shit and thinking it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“Relax,” I assure them, taking the lead as we ascend the basement stairs, anticipation lacing every step. ”We’ll pop our Salem cherries tonight... I promise.”

Outside, the air is crisp and cool, the wind blowing even harder than the rain still sprinkling from the thick storm clouds floating across the dark sky. We keep our masks on and our hoods up, staying in the darkness that swallows the town, hoping not to be seen.

As we approach the cemetery, music echoes in the distance, bouncing off the trees surrounding the graveyard like a fence. Noticing flames from a fire shooting up into the sky, we follow the soft lighting and the sound of voices blending together, louder and louder with each step .

Coming to the back of the cemetery, we crouch down behind a row of large, crumbling headstones and watch the group of unsuspecting college kids, who have no idea that tonight will be the last party they ever go to—for one of them, anyway.

Suddenly, Riley gasps, lifting his mask off his face and putting it on top of his head, trying to get a better look.

“What is it?” I ask, trying to see what he does, but I’m confused as fuck as to what it is.

“My fucking sister is here,” he says, seething, his beady eyes landing on a girl with red-painted lips sitting by the fire to keep warm, her hair so blonde it’s almost white.

“Shit, I forgot you said she was going to Salem State,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her.

“She can’t know I’m in town,” he insists, pulling out a cigarette. “She’ll fuck everything up for us.”

My eyes flick from her to another girl sitting across from her, writing in what looks to be a journal, her jet-black hair falling in wet strands in her face. But even with the hair in her face, I can see how fucking beautiful she is, and I know immediately that I have to fucking have her.

The way the fire flickers across her features pulls me in like an irristably strong magnet, and my focus sharpens despite Riley’s growing agitation beside me. There’s something grave about her presence, as if she carries a story deeper than the one she’s scribbling in ink on the paper in front of her.

“Keep it together, Riley,” I mutter, my eyes glued to the girl. “We can still have our fun. Just let her be for now.” My voice is drowned in the pounding anticipation resonating in my chest.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Riley snaps, taking a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brighter in protest. “She’s a fucking liability! We can’t have her wandering around asking questions. ”

“Relax, man. She’s just a girl sitting by the fire,” I urge, suppressing my need to pounce on the opportunity. “ One little distraction won’t matter . Think about it—your sister being here can work to our advantage.”

Riley exhales sharply, the smoke curling in the air. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

I cast a casual glance back at the group, noticing a couple of them getting restless, fueling my imagination as I formulate a plan.

“What if she screams my name? I can’t let her see me. I’m not risking it,” Riley insists, already able to tell what I’m thinking.

“Just put the mask back on, Riley,” I demand, letting a dark chuckle escape my lips. “This way you get to keep your secret while we all still have our fun. You can always claim you were in a different part of the city.”

He hesitates, still unconvinced but swayed as the growing excitement in my voice ignites the darker corners of his mind. “Alright, fine… Just... just make sure she doesn’t see me.” He gingerly puts his mask back on, but I can see the trepidation masking his aggressiveness.

“Trust me; I plan to stay far away from your sister and that other girl.” I turn my attention back to the group of oblivious students, already whispering the mantra in my head: blood flows, and the world thrives in chaos. My fingers twitch with anticipation.

“Let’s move,” I say to the group, making my way toward the edge of the firelight, blending in with the shadows as I venture closer and closer to the scattered group. The intoxicating buzz of youthful laughter fills my ears—intoxicating enough to drown out the growing sense of dread that comes with what we’re about to unleash.

In the back of my mind, the haunting folklore of Salem runs like a twisted lullaby. The witch trials, the whispers of blood-soaked earth—it all bleeds into my thoughts as we approach the unsuspecting gathering. Every shred of my being ignites with the thrill of the hunt. My senses tune in sharp as I note the subtle shifts in their laughter and the way they lean into each other, clueless to the fate that awaits them .

I lock eyes with the girl with black hair again—she doesn’t see me, but I see her—and a thrill courses through me, a silent promise; she will not walk away unscathed.

“Sil,” Nixon whispers, using my nickname now that we’re hidden beneath our masks. “What’s the plan?”

“I’ll lure one of them in. Just like hunting deer during mating season; act weak, and they’ll come charging at me. I don’t want any witnesses, so we grab the easiest one.”

A shared grin spreads amongst us as we step closer, huddling together in the darkness.

Riley, though agitated, nods subtly. “White,” he mutters to Nixon, using the color of his mask as a nickname. “Just get my sister out of there. Once you do, don’t let her out of your site until we’re ready to go.”

The beauty of the night dances before my eyes, mingling seamlessly with elements of danger and deception. I adjust my mask, ready to play my part in the game we’ve turned this into.

I’m going to make this night unforgettable—both for me and my new muse. And as we emerge from the shadows, a promising deathly silence begins to wrap around the party like a shroud.

“Time to pop them cherries,” I say, a vicious grin splitting my face. “Let’s give them a night to remember but that they’ll so desperately want to forget.”