Page 18 of Mortis

I slipped through the sleeping village, keeping my hoofsteps as quiet as possible. My gaze darted from shadow to shadow, ready to disappear should an unexpected mortal emerge. All the while, I searched the signs hanging above the various establishments, until eventually I found the name I sought.

Adler & Sons Funeral Directors.

A low growl of satisfaction rumbled from my chest.

The building sat at the opposite end of the street to Barrowfell Woods’ treeline, tucked neatly between several others. My pace quickened, then quickened again. Any notion of stealth vanished entirely beneath my excitement. I stopped just short of charging through the front door. A decision I immediately regretted, because when I pushed against the wood, it refused to move.

Locked.

I supposed this made sense from a mortal perspective. The night was dangerous, and monsters lurked beneath its cover. Caution was sensible.

Still, I found myself staring at the door in confusion. The only thing preventing my entry was a tiny piece of shaped metal between the wood and the frame. That was it. No sigils, no wards, no sacrificial offerings. No circles of protection etched into the threshold.

Nothing.

Even the lesser demons of Hell knew better.

The higher-ranking demons relied upon incantations and blood magic to protect their domains. Creatures far weaker, like myself, routinely carved defensive sigils into stone and bark. It was how my own den had remained hidden for decades despite sitting within walking distance of one of the woods’ most popular trails.

Yet mortals entrusted the security of an entire building to this?

It was practically an invitation.

Fortunately for me, overcoming the obstacle proved remarkably simple. I wrapped my hand around the handle, and the metal crumpled immediately.

“Oh.”

I stared at the mangled remains in mild horror. That hadn’t been my intention. Carefully, I tried the door instead, and what I considered a gentle push sent it swinging inward. Unfortunately, the surrounding wood splintered with a loud crack. The ruined handle slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the ground.

I grimaced. If I’d known how to write in the human tongue, I would’ve left a profoundly apologetic note. Instead, I attempted to close the door behind me, and the wind immediately pushed it open again. Growling under my breath, I tried a second time. Then a third.

After the fifth attempt, I was forced to admit defeat.

The sentiment was there, at least.

I lifted my nose and inhaled, searching for the scent of the recently deceased. It was faint, but it was there. I followed it through a space filled with polished wooden boxes. Each one was empty. A deeply disappointing discovery I made only after opening every single one. Still, I handled them with considerably more care than I had the front door.

The scent grew stronger near the back corner of the room, drawing me towards a second door labelled Staff Only. I didn’t know what those words meant. Unlike the entrance, however, this door was unlocked, so I took that as a sign I was welcome to proceed.

Beyond it lay a narrow corridor shrouded in darkness. Thankfully, my vision required little light, and I continued onward until I reached an open doorway on my right.

A kitchen.

It reminded me somewhat of those we had in Hell. There was certainly more cupboard space, but less fire and brimstone, and far fewer screaming souls.

Before I could investigate further, His fingers closed around my consciousness.

The world lurched. I was unceremoniously shoved aside, and my vision darkened, taking on a crimson tint. My fangs lengthened. Saliva dripped from my mouth and spattered onto the floor like a feral hellhound.

Just like so many times before, He had taken control.

What are you doing? I demanded, panic rising within me. It’s not yet dawn. There is still time.

A growl rumbled through my chest, but it wasn’t mine. Not at this moment.

You move too slowly, He complained, the words slithering through my mind. There is no flesh here.

He turned to leave the room. Feeling desperate, I argued, How do you know? I haven’t finished searching.