A new low

 The Dead Girl wandered down the street on her horse. She could hear the hum of a black heart that acted as her compass. Surrounding her were acres and acres of farmlands where wheat and corn stood tall. She stopped at a barn. Leaving her horse she made her way to the house on the tips of her bare toes. When she came to the front steps she closed her eyes and listened to the call of the heart. The song sung a ballad of an uncontrollable beast that thirsted for the flesh and the blood of the pure. Through the window she could see a guard dog that slept with his head on his paws.

 She turned away from the house and made her way to the chicken coop. Kneeling and taking a hen she brought her outside and out of sight from the others. She took her hunting knife from her sheath, thanked the animal for its body, and plunged the knife into the chest of the hen, slicing down the animal's stomach.

 She returned to the house and picked the lock. Opening the door and waking the dog she placed the hen on the floor and the dog came running to the animal.

 On the tips of her toes she made her way up the stairs. Slowly she inched to the second floor, mindful of the old, creaky home. Still the top step creaked loudly and her head whipped around to face the door to the singing heart. She froze. She watched the door. Eventually she allowed herself to venture to the bedroom where he laid his head, only to stop once she heard the bed creak. She ducked into another room and scurried into an armoire. She held her hunting knife to her opposite shoulder, ready to maim her soon to be attacker.

 The home was dead silent aside from the hum that grew louder and louder as he came closer. The hum spoke to her. She watched as he tortured small animals as a child before moving on to his siblings, then eventually wanderers that found themselves asking for shelter for the night.

 She listened as he left his bedroom, his heavy feet making every movement known.

 "Mom? Dad?" He called before bursting into manic laughter, "Timothy?" He kept laughing.

 He came into the room, stomping as he did. In her mind's eye she could see him hiking up his feet to slam them down onto the floor.

 She heard him rummaging about as she held her breath, her heart drumming loudly, only understated by the hum that grew louder and louder. Her knuckles turned white. Her teeth ached against the death grip of her jaws. She could feel how close he was. She could see him standing before her, only an inch of old wood between them.

Suddenly the door swung open and The Dead Girl swung her dagger toward the man only for him to grab her wrist and pull her to the floor, her body slamming hard against the wood. The knife clattered across the room. The Dead Girl flipped onto her back and the man pinned her arms above her head. He closed his hand around her throat. Her glower burned through him but it only intensified his grin. He squeezed hard, leaning down on her windpipe and bringing tears to her eyes. He let go. He then squeezed harder, staring into her soul, stealing her life with his crazed gaze.

"Your song is a painful one," His voice rumbled through her. He loosened his grip and pushed her hair from her face.

"You hear me?"

He turned her onto her stomach and fastened her hands behind her back. He forced her to her feet and held her arm as he walked.

She closed her eyes and reached through the void. All of her years of necromancy had prepared her for this and she couldn't find a single body. Before her death she could reanimate a corpse for an hour. She hoped her newfound power would play a role in that ability.

 Her hopes were in vain. She searched as far as she could but all that spoke to her were bones. As she walked down the steps she mentally begged for a wild dog, a swarm of bees that had perished, anything.

The killer forced her to sit at the table. She watched in silence as he prepared a meal. The killer was tall and strong. He had long black hair and thin lips with hundreds of tiny scars.

She focused again, reaching hopelessly through the void. After all of the lives he'd taken there had to have been a body near but all she could feel were the bones of his parents outside. They stood skewered on pikes. Sacks and clothes padded with hay covered them to make them resemble scarecrows.

As he placed meat on her sandwich she changed her strategy. Instead of turning to the void she turned to his past. She watched the abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his parents, the loves he'd lost to his own hands, the bottles that clattered from the chains that held them to him.

"Glad to die by strong man."

He turned, plate in hand, to stare at her. He set the plate down before her and sat in the nearby chair. His eyes softened like butter against her skin. His gaze fell to the food. She could see the war behind his eyes.

"Mom said I'd die as nothing. Hurt. What do with body?"

 He paused. His face resembled that of a little boy.

"I'll use you," He promised as though he was giving her the world as he squeezed her knee, "You won't be nothing."

"Thank you."

 He moved the chair to sit closer to her. His warm hand stroked her face. It brought forth the image of Constance. She leaned into his hand, forcing him to take the shape of the older woman in her mind.

 "Why did your mom say you'd be nothing?"

 She dug again through his memories before she murmured, "Stupid."

 He pulled away and brought the sandwich to her mouth. She tried hard not to grimace. She took a bite of what once would have been a treat and as she chewed he put the sandwich on the plate. Counting to three she swallowed, the bread clawing lesions into her throat.

 "How hear heart?" She asked. She hadn't seen him meeting the deity in his memories.

 "What?"

 "You hear my heart."

 "And you heard mine."

 "I do."

 "What does it sound like?"

 "Beautiful."

 He looked away from her, forlorn, lost in his thoughts. They were silent for a long time. She didn't take her eyes off him, she wouldn't even blink. She watched as he walked back to the kitchen and retrieved a knife. Drawing in a deep breath she braced herself for impact. The popping sound of splitting skin was jarring. She felt her blood rush from her throat and her head go cold. The last thing she saw was the killer before her eyes rolled back into her head.

 She awoke to her joints groaning as she wriggled her fingers. Rain fell hard against her cool flesh that had regained its stiffness after her failure. Part of her begged to lay there and let the soil embrace her weak body and weaker mind but her heart screamed for her to act.

 She listened to the hum. The killer was only feet away from her, wailing like a child. She almost felt the room shake from the sobs. Suddenly the cacophony of agony was paired with a soaking head against her stomach and her dress being balled into fists. She retreated into herself, willing her body to remain that of a corpse.

 He freed her from his grasp and left her to guess his position. She was lost for now in nothingness, the rain the only sound. She tried again to grasp something, anything, within the void. A dead bug, a dead cat, something to distract him. It was then she felt her horse. The killer had slit the animal's throat and laid it laying in the field. She pulled the animal to its feet and forced it to rear up on its hind legs, throwing its head back before it ran forward. The killer turned to the animal. He screamed before being knocked onto his back.

 The Dead Girl leapt to her feet and ran to him. He wailed, choking on the rain and his tears as the horse crushed his wrist. The Dead Girl climbed onto him and plunged her arm into his chest. She pulled out his heart and sunk her teeth into the organ, devouring it hungrily.

 When she had her fill she stood and turned to the horse. She raised her hand to pet its snout. The coarse fur soothed her.

 "Beautiful."

 She let the horse lay down before she turned and walked to the scarecrows standing at the edge of the corn fields. She stared up at them. The bodies within were nothing but bone. They were as ugly as they'd been in life and had they been alive their hearts would have screamed to her like thunderstorms.

 She spit into the grass before turning and walking to the horse. She climbed onto its back and it started for the cave. She closed her eyes, allowing most of her mind to be occupied by controlling the horse.

 When she arrived at the cave she let the horse collapse and she walked to the corpses. She knelt before a large man. She placed her hand on his chest. He had been a guard. She closed her eyes and pulled his soul to her, forcing his essence to thrive within his vessel. They both stood to face each other.

 "Guard cave."

 "Yes, ma'am," He bowed.

 Absently The Dead Girl retreated into the cave. She found that the hole that lead deeper into the cave was cut off by a divider that matched the one to the right of the mouth of the cave. The main area had three couches where the thief and the servant laid. The Dead Girl passed the divider that lead to what was made to be her bedroom. She was met with a mattress between two nightstands. Near the foot of the mattress was a chair that housed Constance that read a novel under the light of an oil lamp.

 Quickly she peeked her head out to say, "Thank you," To the thief.

 She laid under the blankets and closed her eyes. She bundled up the soft fabric to wrap her arms around the mass. In the silence she became aware of the emptiness within her. The sounds of the killer's wailing still echoed within her mind.

 Suddenly air shifted as Constance's arm snaked under the blankets to crawl up The Dead Girl's dress and rub her back.

 "Why?"

 "Shh."

 Tingles ran through her body and a smile made its way onto her face. Her stomach was still knotted with nerves and her mind still replayed the sounds of anguish but she held onto the loving touch that soothed her.