Death Mask Jim Butcher Novels & Stories

"Not just this thing. The smell. Under the rot." I've been choking on the rot. I push past it. And there it is. The same wrongness that was carved into the birch. I study the thing we killed. I’ve seen enough dead to know the stages of decomposition. This didn't die Tuesday with a cute phone in its pocket. "It's old," I say. "Been dead a long time." Dax goes still. "The ones going missing," he says slowly. "They're disappearing alive." "Yeah." "So this isn't one of them."

Wherever he went, the angels of death held a feast—it was always a massacre. I swallowed hard. He was worse than a thug, he was the Devil's Spawn. “He's been quiet for a few years for whatever reason.” Liam pulled a chair and sat on it the wrong way. “But he's back and there's been a couple of kills recently.” Liam showed me a picture of a corpse that was beaten beyond recognition and then shot. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to reconcile the man I fell in love with this monster Liam was talking about.

CHAPTER 15 Slouching Towards Bethlehem Jon came back to the beginning. For eighty one days, the beast was fed. Crixen Runeburner, in human flesh, ate, drank, fucked, and shit in the mausoleum below Goodleburg Cemetery. All the cousins below, several hundred of the St. Fond family, continued non-stop until they were hollowed-out zombies, merely a shell for their magical egos.

"She called for help, and not only did I hang up on her, but I also mocked her for pulling petty tricks like this." He was shaking violently. "I killed her, Chris. I was the one who sealed her fate with my own two hands." Throat tight with grief, Chris could only hold him closer. After all, any words seemed pale and powerless in the face of such truth and despair. After what felt like an eternity, Connor gradually stopped trembling. He pushed Chris away and staggered to his feet. His face wore an eerie, almost unnatural calm. He took off the uniform jacket that symbolized his role as a patrol officer and draped it gently and carefully over my mutilated body.

After a while, the internet finally stopped talking about me. But then, a random comment brought everything back. Arcadezwade: The day my grandma passed, I saw this really wide-eyed, pretty girl buying a burial plot. She looked about my age. I overheard her telling the salesperson that she was buying it for herself. She said she wanted the quietest place possible to lay herself to rest. She’s still so young. I hope she changes her mind. Attached to the comment was a blurry photo. Even though the picture was of poor quality, my figure was still recognizable.

Jonathon asked, his eyes wide. Mason nodded. “Remember when I first met her and I told you she was doing some suspicious shit, like dragging Persian carpets down to the dumpster?” They nodded. “Turns out they were pig carcasses. She was butchering them in her apartment, working out how you’d go about dismembering a human body for her books.” “Can’t you just G****e that shit?” Brian asked. “She wanted to know what it felt like. Had a local butcher teach her how to do it.”

“James, I don’t think that’s a good idea. With everything that’s been going on—” “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I know. It’s fucked! Totally and completely fucked! People are fucking dead and I want to go out and throw fake body parts around and make fucking jokes about Torso and I Dismember Mama. But I love this stuff! My whole fucking life has been leading up to this. It’s my chance, you know? To not be a freak anymore.” “James . . . ”

Reaching a few cells from the end of the hall, the guard points to a door marked twenty-seven. "Adam Blanc is just behind this door, I'll wait outside. If you need anything, just call me," he says unlocking the door. The guard holds the door open as I step into the dimly lit room. Looking around my eyes land on the butcher who chained to the back wall. He is shirtless and his hairy chest is covered in chunky yellow vomit and crusted blood. As I step closer, I see his long greasy hair hanging in a matted mess in front of his face. His breath is coming out in loud shaky huffs, along with spurts of blood and vomit. The putrid smell coming from him has me stop in my tracks for a moment. Holding

The morgue was cold, carrying a foul, sterile smell. Expressionless staff pushed me into a metal drawer. With a soft "click," the door closed. The system's voice echoed in my mind. [Death confirmed. Final storyline completed.] [Countdown to soul departure: 71 hours 59 minutes.] [Please await the opening of the passage.] I drifted in the cold, hollow air and let out a breath. Finally, things were coming to an end.

Death is unpleasant, especially with Lucifer grinning at his victim. He is wearing his three-quarter Jacket with his leather gloves on. The victim's eyes widen as they have their final breath. It's dark and raining as the victim's blood runs to the drain; the streets are quiet. “Burn that body and ensure there is no evidence. I want to see the ashes of that remains!” Walking over to the car Lucifer gets on the phone. “Larry, how are you feeling?” “Good, thanks, boss.”