And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. John, 3:19.

The verse had been repeating in your mind since your father's last sermon at church, his stare in your thoughts as you wiped the blood off your hands in that motel bathroom that stank of piss and booze. In the dark... Because if you turned on the light, then you'd see your own evil.

The woods around the small town covered your tracks in a way that not even the best sniffer dog could get to you — not that the local police would've tried to use one, they didn't care, not if the missing men didn't turn out to be found corpses. Who'd link murders to you? so kind, so pure... But your family would. They saw the darkness from day one, so they put you in the front row and made you read the bible more than you could count, until they could believe that the devil left your body; that's why you read the bible every day since childhood, word for word. It wasn't the devil, it was you, you were the devil who punished those “holy men” who preached for hours but didn't turn off the light when they were sinning and going against their own words.

The time it took you to read the book of Jeremiah was the time you spent with your hands pressing on their necks, until there was no air... And no evil, nothing, not even the soul to sin. However, sometimes they reacted and tried to do the same to you, which is why your hands were bloody this time, you used the knife in his pocket against him. You heard that he had threatened a woman with that same knife, how ironic, that joke doesn't seem so fun to him now, does it?

You hated the feeling of blood on your skin, some said they couldn't feel it, but you felt it when it wasn't your own blood staining you — you could smell it, feel it, feel the sin in every drop of blood as it clung to the skin and the water could wash it away, didn't mean it could erase it from your mind. Drying your hands on a white towel, you walked back to the bed, watching the stabbed corpse in silence, the blood on the sheets looking black when the red led lights from the motel facade coming through the window were the only thing reflecting it. How would you get rid of this body? Just like you got rid of the others, you didn't know.

“You went far this time, huh?” His voice sounded like darkness if it had a voice, it was husky, low, but not enough that you couldn't hear it, you heard each word perfectly pronounced and the hoarseness that came from each syllable. You didn't hear Arthur coming, you didn't hear the door unlocking, but he did everything right under your eyes and ears, it was nothing new. “Where is it?”

“Stuck in his right arm.” You answered him, sitting in an armchair after moved away from the bed, letting him do what he knew how to do. Arthur didn't say anything for a moment, he raised his eyebrows in curiosity, then turned his eyes to the man on the bloody sheets. “Stuck, you say?” His expression already spoke of his curiosity with your sentence, he took calm steps to the opposite side of the bed and let out a disguised laugh.

The knife you used was lodged in the man's arm, he tried to defend himself when you used it against his chest and that only made you push the knife hard into his arm, leaving it lodged there. “You couldn't pull the knife out? How adorable of you.” He didn't hide his mocking tone, one hand going to his chin as he thought. “Did anyone see you?”

“No, I found a back door and went in.” Your voice was as low as his, not low enough to not be heard, just low enough to not be overheard. “What are you going to do with him?”

His long, pale hands stuffed into his pockets, he fell silent again, thinking about something. “Good.” He said before looking at the door. “You can go. I'll get rid of him... And the blood.” His cold, pale skin already gave you something to think about, but the fangs in his mouth made you sure. A vampire addicted to blood, that's what he was and you liked knowing that your wickedness didn't make you so lonely.