Page 172 of Sinful Lord

“Who the fuck is that?” Krol grumbles to himself. The massive blade in his hand shimmers against the soft light seeping in through the windows. He lifts the knife to his ear and waits.

A thick silence follows.

I don’t dare break it, fearing that I might be imagining the whole thing.

But when another round of knocking breaks through the tension, even I manage to perk up.

Unfortunately, Krol is unfrozen as well. With his butcher’s knife held high, he slowly approaches the door.

I desperately try to swallow, anything to lather up my broken throat. I might only get one chance to scream. It’s going to have to be loud.

“What the hell is this fucker doing here?” Krol curses, blinking through the front door’s peephole with his one remaining eye.

He pulls back and that eye darts back and forth as it tries to figure out what to do next. His knife lowers, my stomach drops.

Whoever’s outside, it isn’t someone Krol thinks is a threat. That means they’re not here for me.

Shit.

“You,” Krol hisses, glaring my way. Without another word, he lifts a bent finger to his lips.

That’s enough.

It doesn’t matter who’s outside. This is my one chance to do something.

My dry lips open wide.

But before I can scream, a loud bang ruptures the silence. Just like that, the front door bursts open, flying off its hinges and right into Krol.

He’s flung out of sight. A flash accompanies his disappearance. Then, the newly uncovered doorway starts to fill with a sickly-looking smoke.

The yellow-tinted fog fills the front room, shrouding Krol’s guest.

No. Not guest.

Guests.

Four figures sway unsteadily in the smoke. Then, they collapse.

I don’t even get my chance to hope. Suddenly, the upended door is pushed back into view. Krol groans as he stumbles into the living room, shirt stretched over his nose and mouth in a makeshift gas mask.

“Fucking idiots,” he coughs toward the door, leaning against the painting. “You didn’t think I’d set up some security measures of my own? Have fun choking on your own tongues. This smoke is a special concoction. Poison, made just for you. It will leave you paralyzed until your body starts shutting down on its own. That means you’ll get to watch what I do to her before you die. And you won’t be able to move an inch to stop me.”

Pushing himself off the painting, Krol lifts the massive butcher’s knife back up to his face.

“Fuck. Who do I send your parts to now?” he taunts me, taking a limping step forward. “Grandpa maybe?”

“No,” I gasp, my eyes trembling as I look back to the hazy doorway. “Your lying…”

It can’t be.

The four figures lie in a heap, one stacked on top of another. I can’t make out any features, but Krol’s words are enough to confirm my worst fears.

There’s no holding back the scream that tears from my throat. But My cry doesn’t even slow Krol down. He just limps forward, knife raised, snarl lifting his sunken cheeks.

There’s no more hope. Anyone who could help me is lying paralyzed by the front door.

Four figures.