The Unknown

    The rain was coming in waves. Torrents of huge pelting drops splashing across the barren landscape. Lightning was streaking the skies and thunder ensuing, screaming to be heard.
    She sat on the lone headstone of this ancient cemetary. Black hair hanging and clinging to her skin. Face tilted toward the sky she silently wept. Wept for the sorry little girl that lay alone in this grave she sat upon. Cried for the torment she had endured during the short life she lived this time.
    Standing, a quiet grin began to take the place of her tears. She had been victorious. She had avenged this pitiful death and given a name and face to the little one in the unmarked grave on this silent hillside. How perfect it all had become. No longer small and weak, she had arisen from the dirt and become more powerful than he would have ever imagined.
  He thought by strangling her cries, she would fade away and fall into the nothingness he believed in. Never had he been so wrong. Never had he had such a sin to pay for. It would become her mission to return the favor and await his penance.
    Blood dripping from her fingertips and onto the crumbling stones, she had never felt more alive. He had paid in full his debt to her and now she was relishing the thoughts of torment he had endured.
    Onto the next bastard on her list. Number one had been collected and now she had to take her place in this game. She had chosen in death to come back in spirit. Passing her opportunity to be borne of new flesh and instead take the rotting, decrepit spirits of those that scorched the earth. Demons had to be returned to where they belonged. Thinking they could run amok, her place would be to drag their sorry asses back, one talon at a time.

    She was a collector. It became every breath that she took and all that she lived for. Continuing through this desolate world between the living and the dead. The angels and the demons. And those that would become them. Through this death she would create life for those that were too weak. Spirits that still needed fostering and growth. A chance to bloom in this diseased world that mortals had created.
    A world full of sickness, mental disorders in which to blame pure depravity. A world that made her want to vomit with its putrid stench of death and disarray. A place where a man could beat, mutilate, rape, torture, dismember and destroy those weaker than himself and get away with it in a "legal" court of law. Well, court was in session and it was on to the sick bastard who did such things. He laughed in his tiny little room thinking he had the upper hand. Show some recovery and he would be free within just a blink of an eye. He would do it again. Plans were already formulating within his blackened mind. He had no idea what was coming for him.
    She spread her arms to the heavens and laughed uncontrollably. The blood running thick through her fingertips, she took off. Sprinting down the hillside through the rain and onto the local nuthouse. She had her own plans and he was center stage in her play. It was time to collect again. She ran pumped full of adrenaline and thirst for this man who thought he had it all in the bag. She was off to let the cat out and skin it as he shrieked in agony the whole time. Some of his victims were here to collect their penance as well. This was going to be more fun than she had allowed herself in a long time.

    She lay hidden in the corner of his room hidden from his mortal eyes. Silently she watched and listened to his supposed incoherent ramblings. All of which made perfect sense to her. He was speaking in broken words. A code that he thought too smart for these doctors that treated him daily. To an extent, he was correct, but she was no doctor. She deciphered his full intents. Her grin growing with the plans running through her own mind, she allowed him to play his scenerios over and over in this sparse tiny room with only four walls.
    He would never see it coming. She would allow him to really begin to go crazy. A laugh echoed through the padding and rang in his ears.
 
"Who's there? You think you're coming for me? I will kill you like I did to all the rest. Lay you down with their souls!" he shouted to no one. Grabbing his ears, he lay in a fetal position on the floor trying to shield himself from the insessent laughter that was growing louder.
   
    The blood slowly began to seep through the fingertips of his wrinkled hands. Looking down, he shrieked in agony. Eardrums shattered and yet he could still hear everything! How was this possible? His mind began to swarm as he desperately searched for the source of the hideous laughter. Nothing. Just the dankness of his own cell and the four empty walls staring back.
    That was when he began to feel it. Shrieking in pain he tried to run for the nearest corner to get away. There was no escaping this invisible entity. Slowly, each bone began to turn glasslike and break as he tried to move. Laying in a pitiful, shattered mess in the middle of his four walled protective room, he began to wish for death. Began praying ferverently for this to stop. How could this be happening? Is this what his victims thought? He was the chessmaster, not this unseen force. How had he relenquished his power?
    One by one, he heard the cries of his victims ringing through his head. Screaming for mercy and then his own wicked laughter played back in stereo. An incision here, a piece to go missing there, and then he flipped. Laying in midair, he was stripped to show his naked, broken form. Screaming in agony, she plunged the broom handle deep. Whispering in his ear all those kind sentiments he so lovingly gave to each of his victims.
  As he fell to the ground, broken, bleeding, ashamed and disfigured, she whispered into his ear. Eyes wide with horror, he tried to shriek one last time. Choked on his own blood and blind to what had happened, he entered the flames still not seeing who had won this ultimate game of chess.
   
    Silently, she snuck away to her spot on the hill. Smelling the fresh earth turned from its cleansing waters, she sat on her unmarked grave awaiting the next call of an unavenged death. The next soul to carry to the pits of hell. To give them exactly what they deserved. Their place in her book of collections.