Fairy Morgan - In The Mist Nothing Is What It Seems

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

In any Italian province, these days

Six o'clock in the morning.

It's still dark outside; the winter nights are cold and dark, and they seem to be everlasting..

The digital alarm clock projects the red numbers on the ceiling.

The shadow turns between the tangle of sheets and duvet. It is obvious now: he will no longer be able to go back to sleep.

He lifts himself on his elbows, passes his hand on his sweaty forehead. The fingers tremble imperceptibly; he feels a strange sense of concern.

His breathing is irregular and labored, and the rhythmic beating of the heart in his chest races. He gets up, puts the slippers found, mechanically, next to the bed and starts slowly to the window.

It is raining.

Thin strips of water streak the glass and melt shapes and colors of the surrounding night. Elusive headlights fleetingly obscure the darkness, barely countered by the lights of street lamps and sizzling neon lights.

The shadow approaches the face to the glass, which immediately tarnishes because of his breath. A strange sensation pervades his body like a sticky element, so enveloping that it penetrates his cells and permeats every molecule of his body. An entity that invades the mind and takes possession of thoughts and memories.

As the sensation progresses, he begins to understand. Something has taken hold of his will but is not limited to that. It goes further. It is taking his place, replacing his ego.

Everything is clearer now. Even the eyes have become accustomed to the dark and distinguish figures and outlines, like those of the face reflected in the window glass.

It is a calm face; he has his eyes fixed, who knows where beyond the rooftops, lost in the darkness of the night. He does not remember any name to associate with that face, nor wonders why he's there, reflected in the glass of his bedroom window.

Suddenly a smile appears on that face, slowly spreading from side to side of the face. The look, low below the eyebrows, seems hallucinated and determined.

The shadow breathes on the glass, opaque it in correspondence of the face. With his fingertips he draws new traits, frowning and aggressive. The traits of the one who killed. And he is preparing to do it again.

He laughs and walks away, disappearing in the darkness of the room.

That face, it's her!