Somewhere Sane by Molly Black

Author:Molly Black [Black, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-06T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Almost time, the man thought grimly, taking a deep hit of dream fever. Almost time.

The low hum of the engine was barely perceptible, a soothing background noise that accompanied the man's thoughts as he drove along the moonlit highway. The van's headlights cut through the darkness like twin blades, illuminating the road ahead while the taillights of his unsuspecting prey danced in the distance.

He felt a familiar thrill coursing through him, an electric current that set his nerves alight and made him feel alive. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his fingers twitching in anticipation.

The hunger for the hunt never left him. It was an itch that needed to be scratched, a compulsion that had taken root deep within his psyche.

"Show me the way," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the taillights of his prey. "Lead me to the next sacrifice."

The man's fascination with Native American customs had been an obsession since his youth, a means to escape the harsh reality of his broken home. Over time, he had pieced together a patchwork of romanticized beliefs, weaving them into his own distinct narrative. He saw himself as a modern-day shaman, one who walked between worlds, carrying out the will of the mighty spirit who guided him.

As the man drove, he envisioned the ritual he would perform after the kill: the chanting, the rhythmic drumming, the burning sage—all elements borrowed from genuine ceremonies but changed to fit his own purposes.

"I will cleanse their tainted souls," he whispered to himself, his eyes fixed on the car ahead.

He recalled an encounter with a Native American elder at a powwow many years ago. The elder had spoken earnestly about the importance of respecting ancestral teachings and preserving their sacred nature. Listening, the man had nodded in feigned agreement, but deep down, he'd known he was destined for a different path, one that would set him apart from the ancestors to whom he had so badly wanted to belong.

"Those old ways are not for me," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. What need did he have for customs when he communed with a great and powerful being directly through his visions?

It was during one such vision that he received what he believed to be divine inspiration. In his feverish state, he had seen a great spirit, a fearsome and powerful being that called itself Groll and demanded a tribute to human life. It was then that he understood the true purpose of his life: to serve as an instrument of this deity's will, to guide those it selected on their way forward into the next life.

Groll was not a name he had come across in any literature or heard spoken of by anyone else. No, he was the only person to whom Groll had made himself known, the only one worthy to receive his instruction.

And so, the killings began.

As he followed his latest quarry down the highway, memories of his past victims flashed through his mind.

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