The Blood Devil Chapter 1 The window slowly creaked open. His delicate fingers played with the latch. He closed the window and the rush of outside ceased. Deep breath. A grin spread across his face behind his twisted mask and he resisted the urge to laugh. This was it, he was finally here. He scanned the room, it was a bathroom, he ghosted over to the door, the edges of his coat dragging against the sink. Without the slightest noise or hesitation he opened the door and tip-toed across the hallway. He found the right door and pressed his ear to it. Just the soft creaking of the old house. Perfect. Slowly he opened the door a fraction. It was dark inside but enough moonlight penetrated the curtains at the far end of the room so that he could see. It was a large room with a large double he'd at it's center, occupied by a single silhouette. He caressed the door open and he drifted like a phantom over to the bed. His black cloak dragging on the cream carpet behind him. He pulled out the knife from the inside pocket of his cloak and ran his finger along the razor edge. He flinched. A line of blood dripped off his finger on to the carpet. Still got a lot to learn, he thought to himself. Then he reached across the bed. Slowly, deliciously he drew the blade across her neck. A soft gargle, then a perfect silence. Then from the same pocket he drew a long, thin, wooden paint brush; he began to paint.