Righteous Terror

(originally posted Mar 17)

That Sunday night, after Harry had left the church with the bony crown of thorns jutting at uncomfortable angles from his forehead, he had an idea. The Lord had punished him with these wounds, but that did not mean that Harry could not use it to his advantage. The symbolism of the punishment practically begged for it to be used, and he knew just what to do.

Near Harry's haven, there was a small squatter's camp, a group of three to ten men who spent the night in the alleyways around the apartment complex he called home. This particular night, there were only four men. With spring fast approaching, Harry guessed the others had moved on to spots that the winter had made too cold, but were now getting warm enough once more. He had seen it happen before, and he would probably see it happen again and again. The men here tonight though, the worthless bums, were crowded around a small fire in a dark alleyway, heating a can of beans on a fire fueled by trash and cardboard. The whole scene was almost stereotypical enough to bring a tight, ugly smile to the Nosferatu's lips. He approached the bum's carefully, letting the hobo fire illuminate his lower half, but not his face. No, that would have to come later.

"Say fellas, do you know the love of the Lord?" Harry asked them. His voice was loud and grating; he hoped to startle the men with it, or at least surprise them. It didn't quite work that way, as one of the bums, a scraggly fellow in old army fatigues and a full beard, spoke up. "What business is it of yours? Buzz off, holy roller." The reply wasn't particularly vulgar or rude, but it made Harry a bit angry. He could feel the Beast rising up in him, telling him to drain them all, glut him on their blood, leave them dead. He would have to resist for a while at least.

"The salvation of the souls of men is entirely my business, I assure you," Harry says, that tight smile still plastered to his hidden face. "There's a mission nearby, you could learn more about the Lord, get a hot meal, get off the street for a night. More than a night if you take to it. The way I see it, you boys are on an evil path. I'm just trying to save you from a harsher punishment down the line."

The bearded bum, apparently the leader of this group, spoke up again. "What is your deal, man? Leave us alone. What do you know about evil and punishment anyway?" This was the cue Harry had been waiting for. He stepped fully into light of the small fire. The urge to feed and slaughter was beating down the urge to run from the small, but deadly flames. The flickering light cast horrid shadows across his face, and across the alley walls. The thorns jutting from his brow dripped with blood, and cast shadows of their own, making Harry a horrifying sight to behold. "See this crown boys? I am proof that no evil goes unpunished. None of it does."

The bums started screaming, and Harry leaped at the bearded one, tackling him to the ground. The other men ran off into the night. He hoped they would run to the mission like he had suggested. They could use the guiding hand of the Savior. He sank his teeth into the bearded one's neck and drank his fill. He left the man there, unconscious but not dead, after licking the puncture wounds he had made shut. Even in his punishment, Harold Walsh could be a righteous terror, and he could feel Him smiling on his work,