She screamed herself to sleep, adrift in the dark, her soul lost and desires unleashed; she thrashed upon her stained sheets, her pale skin covered in a thin veil of sweat, blood and tears. Awoken with a start, thrown back to the world ungraciously, adrenalin pumped through her system like a drug and on the still, humid air she could hear him. Calling her forth, invoking her to find him. She stood on alien legs, draped in a torn robe she left her flat, walking the streets in the midnight hour, passing through the shadows, under the cold light of the moon.

She stopped by his door, her eyes drawn inexplicably to the mark upon the wood, edging closer she ran a fingertip over the sigil, the fresh blood warm at her touch. She pushed the door, and it creaked open, the light of the moon spilling into the darkened, squalid hallway. Stepping inside, she strained to hear his voice, fainter now, urging her closer, to descend to his lair. Locating the steps, she crept down them, wet palms grasping onto the rickety banister, bare feet catching on the rough concrete.

Slipping to the bottom step, she stepped down into the basement, the darkness caressing her body like a lover's feather light touch. She stopped at the heavy basement door, reinforced and studded, her fingers reaching to stroke the splintered wood before she rapped her knuckles upon the panels and awaited his approach.

Metal grated on metal as the bolts were drawn back, the door easing open to flood the dank passage with blinding light, which streamed from his dungeon, silhouetting him in the arch of the door. She fell to her knees; skin scraping on the jagged concrete, her head bowed, averting her eyes from his. He laid a hand upon her head and whispered, "Arise". She stood slowly, her eyes tracking up his body to meet his.

He murmured to her, her eyes closed as she savoured the sensation of his breath on her neck. He reached gently for her hand and she gripped his fingers in return, spellbound, she allowed herself to be led into the chamber. Behind them, he swung the door shut, and slid the bolts home. Her gaze circled the room, unbelieving what they were seeing, and refusing to acknowledge the scene before them.

He called her attention back as he stirred a powder into a glass of wine, pulling the mixing implement from the glass, he wiped it against his arm, the scalpel caught his skin and blood welled in the slit. He flinched and sighed, offering the glass to her he held the wound closed, and wiped it with a cloth. She sipped at her drink, and smiled at him, drinking more she felt her vision beginning to swim and as she swayed, the glass tumbled from her hand and shattered on the floor, moments later, she crumpled to join it.

His eyes drank in the beauty of her, as she lay among the shards of glass and drugged wine, he knelt down beside her, hands stroking along the silken black hair. Scooping her gently into his arms he laid her down onto long metal counter and then went to fetch his tools. Swinging the lid of the steel chest open, he swept away a dangling foot which caught by his face, the putrid stench catching in his throat, as he reached in for the rucksack, pulling it out, he walked back over to her; a sleeping beauty, angel at rest, canvas for the lick of pain.

Undressing her slowly, he bared her soft flesh under the cold glare of the halogen lights, she felt clammy to the touch as he positioned her for the transformation. Reaching into the bag, he withdrew the tool. Snapping the battery into place, he pushed the switch down, the drill buzzed to life in his grip. He leaned over her, positioning the drill above her shoulder, he started to push it down. It eased through the flesh then caught on the bone, grating and juddering in his grip, he leant his weight onto it. Roaring free, it rushed through the joint then stopped, rattling off the table beneath her. Blood splattered everywhere, but she didn't move or make a sound. He sighed; the power of good drugs was not to be underestimated.

He lifted the bolt from the bag, and threaded the end with a piece of taut rope before driving it through the bloodied flesh, as it hit upon the table, he turned her over, securing another piece of rope with the bolt through it, he screwed the nut on. He grasped both ends of the rope in one had and pulled them up; her shoulder reacted, and then fell loosely back to the table.

He reached for the drill again, and repeated the procedure on her other shoulder. Time droned on as he made similar holes in her wrists and ankles. He stepped back, after securing the last piece of rope, and looked at her. She lay quietly, her breathing laboured. He knew death would take her soon; none had survived much longer than this. Between shock and blood loss, they normally passed before he mounted them.

Reaching under the table, he pulled out a noose. He gently placed it over her head, and laid the end out with the rest of the ropes. He looked at her; she truly was beautiful, broken, but beautiful. Turning away, he went to fetch his pre-made wooden cross, to which he would attach the ropes too. It was the final step in making her his puppet. Then she could join the rest of them. His head rolled to gaze at the ceiling, and from all around the room, he could feel their dead eyes watching him, dead eyes that were rotting in their decaying bodies, which infused the air with a perfume unique only to death.

Her eyes fluttered briefly, then opened wide to stare in horror at the bodies hanging above her. Pain flooded her body, and she could hear him dimly on the other side of this hell, hammering into something. She squirmed slightly, as she tried to see down her body, all she could see were ropes and more ropes. Her vision swam as the pain rolled over her in nausea, she forced herself to sit up, a bride of Frankenstein coming back to life. She faltered as she tried to balance herself in a sitting position, and tumbled over the side of the table. Crashing to the concrete, a low moan emitted from her throat.

He turned around sharply and ran over to her, the piece of wood clasped to his chest. She looked up at him with double vision and tried miserably to crawl away. He dropped the wood and reached for her, cradling her in his arms before placing her back onto the bench. She moaned again as he pulled all the ropes taut and began to fix them to the wood. He took the end of the noose and tied it to a ring that was screwed into the centre of the cross, pulling it as tight as he could before she spluttered. She stared at him with eyes full of hatred; unable to struggle due to exhaustion and through the pain she could feel the gentle pull of numbing death.

The ladders stood to the side of the bench, and he started to climb up them, dragging the cross - now heavy with the weight of her body with him. The rafters in this room were perfect, he could slot each puppet in as they came, and slide them along. He pushed the wood up into the rafters and slid her next to the previous week's victim, whose pretty blonde head was now a bloodied, unrecognisable mass. He liked to play with them, often for weeks after their death. He tugged on one of the girl's ropes and her right leg jerked up, he grinned and descended back down to the floor.

Standing beneath her still writhing body, he stood. Legs apart, arms held wide, eyes closed and focussed on that special music that played only for him on the inside of his head. Beginning his chant, he pulled her energy back into himself, allowing it to build in power and intensity. Her body twitched one last time, and she let life flow out of her in a sigh. As the soul left the body, he threw out his power and pulled her back and into himself.

Instantly his head filled with her life, her loves and her death. The pain made him stumble and collapse to his knees. Never before had he experienced this before. The full glory of having consumed another's soul this soon, usually he could glimpse them a few days after they died. He'd been working on this spell for weeks, a way to absorb the life of another. And it worked. It worked. And as her life surged through his being, he stood then turned away from her violated form and selected the scalpel from the table of finer instruments.

Circling the room, he began to feel his own soul slipping away, the total indignation of this new spirit was pushing his out. He gazed at his creations with hatred, dead girls hanging like macabre dolls. Each abused in a different and unique way, from the whisk used to destroy the sexuality of one blond girl, to the gutted chest of a brunette. It was wrong. She picked through his memory, every guilty pleasure unravelled as she viewed his life with horror.

Through his memories she learned of his craft, aside from the art he created - he had been a practitioner of the dark magic arts. He had hoped that by retaining her soul, he would be on the road to immortality; instead the results of the spell would only prove his complete mortality. She turned back to her corpse that hung broken from the ceiling. She fingered up the soft, flaccid flesh and felt tears sting in the back of his eyes.

Kneeling beneath her body, she raised the scalpel high so it glinted in the glaring lights which made every horror stand out in a way which made her shake with grief. She knew what these women had suffered and she could not let him do this again. Neither could she abide staying in this form, even though the thoughts randomly chasing around his head suggested he knew a way he could put her back and let her go to rest in her own shell. This was perhaps the only chance a victim of his would ever get for revenge.

Lowering the blade she closed her eyes and felt along the side of his throat, finding the vein, she centred herself. She could do this. Tears bled from his eyes. It was bad enough facing death once, but to go twice. Once by murder, the second by suicide - but she had to leave. She wasn't the only voice in his head; she knew they could drive her as insane as he was. Easing her hand back, she took one last breath before slamming the blade into the jugular vein.

The body shuddered and sank to the floor in a pool of crimson at the feet of his executioner, and from the final exhalation of life, the souls he had held captive flooded out to the room. His soul wavered in the centre of room, surrounded and watched by the essence of all those he had killed. She turned away as they closed in to devour him. Revenge all round.

She moved slowly towards her body, dancing around it in wonder. Her skin glowed with purity, radiating the good she had done by ridding the world of sickness that plagued her slaughterer. She sighed and allowed herself to slip back into her shell, like a jigsaw finally slotted together with all the bits, she felt at peace, and in her dead mind, she ran to the sounds of her mother laughing.

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