After a very long hiatus I have finally written the second chapter of Scarlet in the Night of Terrors.

The first chapter can be found here.

https://steemit.com/fiction/@jeezzle/scarlet-in-the-night-of-terrors-chapter-1

There exists in the world a certain blackness. Something that was created at the dawn of time.

Call it an aftereffect, if you will, of creation itself.

Through whatever means you want to imagine........the world was created. This blackness was created right along with it but it found itself without purpose so it simply waited.

It sat quietly not even knowing of it's own existence.

It had no name and there was no reason to call it anything at all.

Something unexpected happened in the world to disturb the empty slumber of this blackness though.

Through some force of nature it began to feel the things that mankind felt.

It became in sync with the heart of man.

It gained sympathy for him.

When men were hungry this blackness felt hunger.

When men were sad this blackness felt sadness.

Throughout the years, throughout the seasons, throughout time it lurked close to the thoughts and hopes of mankind....perhaps feeding off them.

It was a simply a passenger, an observer, eyes without form.

Then one day for a thousand reasons men became cold. The world was harsh and we became harsh as well.

Brutal rape for no reason but sport. It wasn't sex.

Murder for small change. Anything you can get away with. It's OK as long as it means your own survival.

The Blackness felt this too and it moaned and ached.

In a dark cobblestone alley in London in 1886 the blackness coalesced and took form.

Stretching out a mist covered arm it took it's first breath.

It was awake but it was no longer content to observe.

Slipping down an empty dimly lit street in the darkness of the night it came across a huddled form.

A homeless man sat limply forward, knees bent, head down.

His sight was poor but he looked toward the misty form and rubbed his eyes.

Pulling his tattered coat tight he whispered hoarsely

"Can you spare some change, Jack?"

The Mist was watchful and curious.

It was full of angst and anger and desire and all of the other traits that men had taught it.

Reaching slowly outward the blackness produced a barely formed arm.

It touched, very slightly, the nape of the man's neck.

Oh how he wanted to recoil at the coldness of the touch. He was frozen to the core so he stared as best he could through foggy, cloudy eyes.

The Mist formed an index finger and then a long sharp nail.

In one swift motion it slit the man's throat.

A gasp and a cough as black blood spilled down his meager neck and onto his gaunt form.

The mist was delighted at this. It reveled as men do in their successes.

Putting on the homeless man's tophat and tattered jacket the blackness grimaced through slivers of ghostly teeth.

"Jaaaackkkk."

A maniacal laughter filled the air and then it was gone.

End of Chapter 2.