The life of a Homicidal maniac

    A loud scream echoed through the quaint little town of Never wood. The source traced back to the only mansion in the town. The scream was bloodcurdling, full of agony that dripped with pain. In his memory a boy sat innocently in the ball room, a blood-clad knife in his hand. Behind the small child, in a dark room was the body of a woman hung by a makeshift rope, her shadow cast and her figure lit by a small flash of lightning. His vision flashed to the womans cold and blue face.

    Stetsons eyes shot open. He wasn't greeted by warm sunshine through a window near a bedroom made in his taste, nor the sounds of a house in its busy morning, with its smells of batter and butter. No, he was only greeted by the darkness he had known for so long of an ever lasting eternity. Here he sat, day after day in the endless monotony of the Harefield insane asylum located in London. Now it was time. Time for his freedom. His revenge; after all he was completely innocent of the crimes he was accused of. Her didn't kill that woman...well maybe he did, but technically speaking, he didn't.

  "Oi! You! You awake?!" the guard asked through the cold bars of the cell. Stetson simply shifted his eyes up to the guard, looking through the black strands of hair that had fallen into his face. The guard put his face to the bars and growled lowly "You deaf? Can't you 'ear me?!" Stetson shifted slightly in his bed, his straight jacket bothering him. The guard growled again and began unlocking the door to give him a good beating. Once that door creaked open, Stetson ripped free of his jacket. He shot himself through the air and made a slice, blood lining the walls. Stetson leaned against the cell door with one arm to keep him up. So long since he had actually walked. He entered the white hall way, the light illuminating the blood underneath his right eye and on his belted straps he called a shirt and pants.

  Immediately the halls filled with somewhere around ten to twelve guards all dressed up in bullet proof vests and riot helmets, their hands all clasping the triggers of large two handed guns. Stetson sighed heavily. "The world would be so much nicer if people only used guns on themselves," he stated glancing from one guard to the other. Shots were fired as Stetson, crouched to the floor and shot up, sticking the pointed end of his knife through the barrel of the gun. He bounced around, jumping from the floor to the wall with a slice, the wall to the floor behind the guards with another slice over and over killing several guards and cutting off each and every barrel. When he was done he was in the middle of the circle, grinning at one of the guards. The action resulted in physical force. Stetson dropped his grin as the guards came piling in at him. He jumped up, landing in the rafters, his grin coming back. His shadow began growing, spreading in its mangled twisted forms, making a box in the hallway of darkness.

  Crouching, Stetson looked down at the guards. "Welcome to my Hell gentleman. Enjoy your eternal torture. Suffer as I have suffered." he laughed as he brought up two clawed hands from the darkness. They clasped around the guards, locking together in air tight. A few ear shattering screams, then nothing. The hands released and dipped back into the darkness, leaving the men gone without a trace. The shadows of the long dead and the coming demons found their way back to Stetsons original twisted and mangled shadow. Stetson looked at the nearby wall and jumped down from the rafters. The shadows shot at the wall, pushing, biting, screaming as they demolished it. Stetson grinned to himself and stepped out into the warm air of bittersweet London's night. Stetson Artemis Croach was back.