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A Short Story : A Story?

Decent Essays
I held open the door for the boy and he mumbled something inaudible as he shuffled past me. “It’s just sitting on that first pew over there,” I told the boy as I slowly began to pull the athame from having had it tucked away in my waistband. “Ah, man!” the boy exclaimed. “What the hell is that… did something die in here?” “Yes,” I replied as I raised the athame up behind him before quickly dragging it across his throat. “You,” I then told him. Fangs sprang from the boy’s jaw as pure black and petrified blood poured from the new smile I had given him. He raised a hand up to his throat that quickly became covered in a disgusting syrup that leaked from him, his other hand lunged for me—three inch daggers now where is fingernails used to belong. He garbled his words, but I didn’t choose to listen, I was too busy positioning myself behind him as he fell to his knees. In a motion so swift I didn’t know I had it in my old bones, I swung one of the sharpened crucifixes in an arc slamming it deep into the back of his neck. It had buried itself into his flesh up to the crossbeam and the boy slumped over hitting the floor, his eyes as empty as his soul. I didn’t even have time to hide the ogre’s body before I began hearing cries of torment outside. Quickly, I raced over to the window next to the doors and peered out. Thank Heavens, my plan had worked it appeared and two of the other boys who remained outside were now screaming and turning into soup
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