Devin Ballard was a very average man. He was of average height with brown hair and dull brown eyes. He wasn't particularly handsome nor was he all that ugly. He was just that: average. He worked in the Marketplace at a little grocery mart; he was the manager of the store there. It was a dull job but provided a stable income. He would work from early mornings to late evenings, come home to his one story house and have dinner with his wife, Rebecca, and his son, Quinn.
The table was a square piece of wood on four legs. Devin sat across from Rebecca, Quinn on the left side between them. His wife was a pretty woman, but again, she was nothing remarkable, and Quinn was an average boy of ten, his primary interest being the latest comic books and video games.
They were an average, albeit happy family.
Robin was drastically different from Devin. He was tall and willowy thin, with pale blue eyes and incredibly dark hair. His skin was fair and smooth, his voice rich, everything about him seemed expensive and silky. He was Devin's neighbor, and the pair didn't care much for one another. Devin was rather kind and polite; Robin had the superiority complex of an egocentric monarch. They generally didn't speak with one another.
One night after dinner and tucking Quinn in for the night, Devin stepped out onto the front porch of his little home to smoke a cigar and watch sky, dark clouds rolling overhead blotting out the stars and the moon. He sighed, a storm was rolling in and the thunder still frightened Quinn, neither him nor Rebecca would be sleeping well tonight.
He put out the cigar and wrapped it back up, slipping it into the box for later. Turning, he reached out to grab the screen door but paused when he heard the loud snap of a twig breaking underfoot. Devin tossed a look over toward the tree in his front yard, where twigs and leaves lined the ground around it. There was no one there, maybe he just heard one fall instead. Shrugging, Devin stepped inside and closed the door behind him, locking it and flicking the porch light on.
He walked through the small house and checked the back door and every window, as he did every night, making sure it was all safely locked. Then he went to the bedroom where his wife sat in bed, reading one of her magazines. She smiled at him and he smiled back.
"I'll be just a few more minutes, "Becca." Devin said.
"All right." Rebecca replied.
As he turned to step out of the bedroom there was a bright flash of lightning that briefly illuminated the wide hallway followed by a loud crack of thunder that reverberated in the walls faintly.
"Dad!" He heard Quinn cry out in alarm.
Sighing, Devin rubbed his face and walked down the hall a few doors, stepping into his son's room.
"It's just a storm, Quinn." Devin said as he walked over, perching on the edge of the boy's bed. "It'll pass in a few minutes, it's nothing to be afraid of."
Quinn looked more like his mother than his father; he had blonde hair and green eyes and high cheeks. Those eyes of his were wide and fearful at the moment, widening when another flash of lightning illuminated the room and flinching at the booming thunder that followed.
"Shh. It'll be fine, there's nothing to worry about." Devin assured the boy, reaching down to gently comb his fingers through Quinn's hair.
"Go on and try to get some sleep, Quinn. It'll be gone before you know it."
"Okay."
Devin stood and turned, stepping out of the room and leaving the door ajar so that the light from the window at the end of the hall would spill into the bedroom just a bit, enough for the boy's comfort. He walked down the hall and into the kitchen, reaching up to open a cabinet and grab a glass.
Flicking the faucet on, he held the glass under the flow of water from the sink and filled it quickly, shutting it off soon after. Devin turned, lifting the vessel to his lips and taking a sip. There was another flash of lightning, his back yard lighting up for a brief second.
He blinked, eyes narrowing.
"What the?""
Devin was sure his eyes were just seeing things due to the lightning, because he had just seen a silhouette of a man in his backyard, which had an eight-foot tall wooden fence. He shook his head, deciding it was a trick of the light.
He took another sip of the water, still watching despite his assurances, and frowned when the next flash came. There was nothing this time, though, no silhouette, no man.
"Crazy old coot." He mumbled with a self depreciating chuckle, taking a sip of the water again and walking toward the hall.
Rain was pouring heavily on the roof by now, the sounds of the water falling so heavily that it could have been mistaken for the hum of the AC. He paused in the junction between the kitchen, hallway and living room, seeing the living room lamp still on.
Sipping on his water, Devin walked toward the lamp and bent down, flicking it off. As he straightened up there was another flash of lighting, his eyes passing over the window behind the television. There it was, a silhouette of a man, a tall and thin man, almost like a skeleton. He frowned and stared; the silhouette was impossible to see against the darkness of the street without a flash of lightning.
He waited for the next flash, but the seconds ticked on to minutes, nothing. He turned away finally. A gasp of air fled Devin's lungs, the glass lurching from his hands as he jumped back, shattering against the floor. A crack of thunder muffled the sound.
He was staring Robin in the eyes, Robin, who was drenched in water, his bangs matted to his forehead. Robin's blue eyes were wide and fearful, lips trembling. There was something dark staining his white shirt, and when Devin's eyes narrowed, he saw that it was blood.
"Help." Robin whispered, eyes shooting over his shoulder.
"Robin?" Devin caught his breath. "Robin! What the hell are you doing in my house" How did you get in here" Get out now!"
"Devin!" Robin cried. "Please! Help, he's killed her, she's dead!"
"Who's dead?"
"Aimee!"
"What?" Devin's eyes widened. "How" What happened?"
"I don't know!" Robin cried, palming his eyes to try and push back what were likely tears, but Devin couldn't tell. "I found her on the couch, dead, stabbed! Blood was everywhere!"
"Devin?" Rebecca asked, stepping out of the bedroom with her robe wrapped tightly around her. "Devin, what?s going on?"
?"Becca, get back to bed."
"But Devin?"
"Now, "Becca! Now is not the time."
Grudgingly, Devin's wife returned to her room and he turned back to Robin, frowning.
"Okay, have you called the Watch?"
"No."
"Well, here, use my phone."
Devin turned, walking across the room and picking up the phone set on the charger. Something sharp made him cry out in pain, a cold feeling spreading through his back. He turned, trying to see what was happening, and saw Robin standing there with the coldest look he'd ever seen the
His eyes had changed, the left was still cold and blue, but there was so much black, too. And the right, it was as though flames were dancing in his irises, burning hot and angry. Robin wrenched the long and rusty piece of metal he held in his grasp, turning it roughly and tearing it from Devin's back.
Devin cried out again and slumped to the floor, rolling to try and lift a hand to protect himself before the blood soaked metal came down again, shearing through bone and rending fingers from a hand as it descended, the strike punctuated by a quick gurgle of blood and an attempt at breathing as it tore into Devin's neck.
The table was a square piece of wood on four legs. Devin sat across from Rebecca, Quinn on the left side between them. His wife was a pretty woman, but again, she was nothing remarkable, and Quinn was an average boy of ten, his primary interest being the latest comic books and video games.
They were an average, albeit happy family.
Robin was drastically different from Devin. He was tall and willowy thin, with pale blue eyes and incredibly dark hair. His skin was fair and smooth, his voice rich, everything about him seemed expensive and silky. He was Devin's neighbor, and the pair didn't care much for one another. Devin was rather kind and polite; Robin had the superiority complex of an egocentric monarch. They generally didn't speak with one another.
One night after dinner and tucking Quinn in for the night, Devin stepped out onto the front porch of his little home to smoke a cigar and watch sky, dark clouds rolling overhead blotting out the stars and the moon. He sighed, a storm was rolling in and the thunder still frightened Quinn, neither him nor Rebecca would be sleeping well tonight.
He put out the cigar and wrapped it back up, slipping it into the box for later. Turning, he reached out to grab the screen door but paused when he heard the loud snap of a twig breaking underfoot. Devin tossed a look over toward the tree in his front yard, where twigs and leaves lined the ground around it. There was no one there, maybe he just heard one fall instead. Shrugging, Devin stepped inside and closed the door behind him, locking it and flicking the porch light on.
He walked through the small house and checked the back door and every window, as he did every night, making sure it was all safely locked. Then he went to the bedroom where his wife sat in bed, reading one of her magazines. She smiled at him and he smiled back.
"I'll be just a few more minutes, "Becca." Devin said.
"All right." Rebecca replied.
As he turned to step out of the bedroom there was a bright flash of lightning that briefly illuminated the wide hallway followed by a loud crack of thunder that reverberated in the walls faintly.
"Dad!" He heard Quinn cry out in alarm.
Sighing, Devin rubbed his face and walked down the hall a few doors, stepping into his son's room.
"It's just a storm, Quinn." Devin said as he walked over, perching on the edge of the boy's bed. "It'll pass in a few minutes, it's nothing to be afraid of."
Quinn looked more like his mother than his father; he had blonde hair and green eyes and high cheeks. Those eyes of his were wide and fearful at the moment, widening when another flash of lightning illuminated the room and flinching at the booming thunder that followed.
"Shh. It'll be fine, there's nothing to worry about." Devin assured the boy, reaching down to gently comb his fingers through Quinn's hair.
"Go on and try to get some sleep, Quinn. It'll be gone before you know it."
"Okay."
Devin stood and turned, stepping out of the room and leaving the door ajar so that the light from the window at the end of the hall would spill into the bedroom just a bit, enough for the boy's comfort. He walked down the hall and into the kitchen, reaching up to open a cabinet and grab a glass.
Flicking the faucet on, he held the glass under the flow of water from the sink and filled it quickly, shutting it off soon after. Devin turned, lifting the vessel to his lips and taking a sip. There was another flash of lightning, his back yard lighting up for a brief second.
He blinked, eyes narrowing.
"What the?""
Devin was sure his eyes were just seeing things due to the lightning, because he had just seen a silhouette of a man in his backyard, which had an eight-foot tall wooden fence. He shook his head, deciding it was a trick of the light.
He took another sip of the water, still watching despite his assurances, and frowned when the next flash came. There was nothing this time, though, no silhouette, no man.
"Crazy old coot." He mumbled with a self depreciating chuckle, taking a sip of the water again and walking toward the hall.
Rain was pouring heavily on the roof by now, the sounds of the water falling so heavily that it could have been mistaken for the hum of the AC. He paused in the junction between the kitchen, hallway and living room, seeing the living room lamp still on.
Sipping on his water, Devin walked toward the lamp and bent down, flicking it off. As he straightened up there was another flash of lighting, his eyes passing over the window behind the television. There it was, a silhouette of a man, a tall and thin man, almost like a skeleton. He frowned and stared; the silhouette was impossible to see against the darkness of the street without a flash of lightning.
He waited for the next flash, but the seconds ticked on to minutes, nothing. He turned away finally. A gasp of air fled Devin's lungs, the glass lurching from his hands as he jumped back, shattering against the floor. A crack of thunder muffled the sound.
He was staring Robin in the eyes, Robin, who was drenched in water, his bangs matted to his forehead. Robin's blue eyes were wide and fearful, lips trembling. There was something dark staining his white shirt, and when Devin's eyes narrowed, he saw that it was blood.
"Help." Robin whispered, eyes shooting over his shoulder.
"Robin?" Devin caught his breath. "Robin! What the hell are you doing in my house" How did you get in here" Get out now!"
"Devin!" Robin cried. "Please! Help, he's killed her, she's dead!"
"Who's dead?"
"Aimee!"
"What?" Devin's eyes widened. "How" What happened?"
"I don't know!" Robin cried, palming his eyes to try and push back what were likely tears, but Devin couldn't tell. "I found her on the couch, dead, stabbed! Blood was everywhere!"
"Devin?" Rebecca asked, stepping out of the bedroom with her robe wrapped tightly around her. "Devin, what?s going on?"
?"Becca, get back to bed."
"But Devin?"
"Now, "Becca! Now is not the time."
Grudgingly, Devin's wife returned to her room and he turned back to Robin, frowning.
"Okay, have you called the Watch?"
"No."
"Well, here, use my phone."
Devin turned, walking across the room and picking up the phone set on the charger. Something sharp made him cry out in pain, a cold feeling spreading through his back. He turned, trying to see what was happening, and saw Robin standing there with the coldest look he'd ever seen the
His eyes had changed, the left was still cold and blue, but there was so much black, too. And the right, it was as though flames were dancing in his irises, burning hot and angry. Robin wrenched the long and rusty piece of metal he held in his grasp, turning it roughly and tearing it from Devin's back.
Devin cried out again and slumped to the floor, rolling to try and lift a hand to protect himself before the blood soaked metal came down again, shearing through bone and rending fingers from a hand as it descended, the strike punctuated by a quick gurgle of blood and an attempt at breathing as it tore into Devin's neck.