Daisies
The year was 1933, and finding happiness felt like grasping at smoke. The lingering aftermath of the stock market crash weighed heavy on the city, and fear spread like wildfire as a new wave of brutal murders plagued New Orleans—killings attributed to a mysterious figure known only as The Axeman.
(The axeman wasn't around in 1933, but he seemed similar to alastor since the axeman was in new Orleans, I changed it up a bit)
Yet, in the midst of uncertainty, the people found solace in the warm, velvety voice of Alastor, the city’s beloved radio host. Every evening, his charismatic charm and breathtaking voice drifted through the static, bringing a brief reprieve from the darkness. With a signature grin in his tone, he filled the airwaves with lively jazz, lifting spirits and offering reassurances that justice would prevail.
But for one poor, unfortunate soul, hope would not be enough. Their final moments were approaching—ushered in by the very man New Orleans held so dear.
A young woman in her early twenties sat alone, weighed down by the crushing weight of her own despair. Life had offered her little more than hardship, and in that moment, she longed for an escape—an end to the pain that seemed unrelenting. But fate had a strange sense of humor.
The young woman sat hunched over at the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of her empty glass.Her thoughts were heavy, dragging her down like an anchor in deep water.
"Now, now, why the long face?"
The sudden voice made her flinch. It was smooth, rich, and laced with an almost playful lilt.
Turning, she found herself staring at a man dressed in a sharp, red pinstripe suit. His grin was wide—too wide—and his eyes gleamed like a predator sizing up prey. The man slid onto the stool beside her, resting his chin in his hand.
🎶 Hey pal, hey friend, hey buddy
Why so sad, so downright unhappy?
Oh, that's not my cup of tea... 🎶
The man—Alastor—tapped the counter, and as if by magic, a fresh drink appeared in front of them.
🎶 Did you know that this could be
Your last day here on Earth?
So buddy, please
Won't you smile just for me? 🎶
"It’s a shame, really," the stranger mused, his voice almost playful. "Someone so young, so full of potential… yet here you are, drowning in misery. But who says tonight has to end on such a sour note?"
A cold chill ran through her. Het heart pounded against her ribs, a voice in the back of her mind screaming at her to run. And yet, something about the man’s presence—his words, his melody—made it impossible to look away.
The stranger stood, offering a hand. "Come now, my friend. Let’s not waste a perfectly good evening."
The young woman hesitated. But deep down, a part of her knew—she had already made her choice the moment she looked into those burning red eyes.
As they stepped out into the sunset-lit streets of New Orleans, the jazz from the bar drifted behind them, fading into the night.
“Well now, why would a delightful little demon belle such as yourself be looking so dreadfully glum? Tsk, tsk! Such a waste of a perfectly radiant day!"
The young woman blushed slightly, a fleeting warmth against the cold dread settling in her stomach. But it did nothing to ease the weight pressing on her chest.
"I-It’s just… why would anyone be happy, especially right now?" Her voice wavered, the sorrow she had fought so hard to suppress creeping into every syllable. "People are dying—no food, no water... and the Axeman..." She swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "I lost everyone because of him."
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over like rain in a storm, her sobs shaking her frame as the years of loss and fear came crashing down.
Alastor watched her, his ever-present grin not fading but shifting—less amusement, more intrigue.
Then, with a voice smooth as silk and just as deceptive, he spoke.
🎶 My dear, my dear
No, you don’t have to cry… 🎶
His tone was light, teasing, yet carrying an eerie sincerity beneath it.
🎶 That ain’t a pretty legacy
To leave behind… 🎶
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his grin stretching ever so slightly.
"Now, now, what’s the point in mourning the past when the future is so much more… exciting?" He extended a hand, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
Somewhere in her heart, she knew better. Knew that this man, this thing, was not to be trusted. But grief makes fools of even the wise, and with nowhere else to turn, she let her shaking fingers slip into his palm.
The moment she did, the world around them shifted.
The scent of damp earth and old moss clung to the air, cicadas buzzing in the distance. They had walked beyond New Orleans, beyond its flickering lanterns and crumbling alleyways, into a place untouched by time.
A field of wild roses stretched before them, their petals illuminated under the pale glow of the moon.
Alastor hummed, plucking a single bloom and twirling it between his fingers.
🎶 Stop and smell the roses
While you've got the time… 🎶
He turned to her, holding the flower out as though offering a gift—yet his grin told another story.
🎶 Pretty soon you'll be pushing up daisies
Where the sun don't shine… 🎶
The petals brushed against her fingertips, soft as silk, yet the weight in his voice sent a chill down her spine.
🎶 Pretty soon I'll be pushing up daisies
Where the sun don't shine… 🎶
The weight of grief didn’t disappear, but in his presence, it no longer crushed her. There was something about his voice, the way it wove through the air like a spell, that made her feel… lighter.
She exhaled slowly, staring down at the rose in her hand.
"You know… I think I almost forgot what it’s like to breathe."
Alastor chuckled, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light. "Ah, see? That’s the spirit, my dear!" He gestured toward the path ahead, the edges of the forest stretching into shadow. "Stick with me, and I promise—life will be anything but boring!”
But as the wind whispered through the trees, carrying his melody into the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just made a deal without knowing the terms.
The walk stretched on, the stars and moon their only light through the dense woods. As she followed the infamous radio host, his voice filled the silence—cheerful compliments, smooth reassurances, promises that her life would never be the same.
At last, they reached a small cabin. With a grin, Alastor pushed the door open, stepping inside as he gestured for her to follow.
🎶 You know, I just gotta say
That you might not have a lot of time to waste
So lose that long face… 🎶
Alastor’s voice lilted playfully as he pushed open the door to a small, dimly lit cabin. With a grin, he stepped inside, motioning for her to follow.
But as she stepped over the threshold, the air shifted. The warmth in her chest turned to ice as her eyes landed on the walls.
Dozens of photographs lined the cabin—each one showing a smiling face, frozen in time. But it wasn’t the smiles that sent a shiver down her spine. It was the thick, dark smears of blood staining the edges of the photographs, the way some of the smiles seemed almost… forced.
Victims.
Victims of the Axeman.
Her stomach twisted as realization crashed down on her. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned to Alastor.
"Ah… you finally put it together!" he chuckled, tilting his head. "My dear, I do love a quick learner.”
🎶 None of us are here to stay
So treat every day like it's a holiday
Until the day you slip away… 🎶
Alastor hummed the words, his voice syrupy sweet as he turned toward the fireplace. His fingers curled around the handle of an axe, the firelight gleaming off its sharpened edge.
Her stomach dropped.
Run.
She didn’t think—she bolted. Barreling toward the door, heart pounding against her ribs, she felt his laughter chase after her, light and carefree, as if this were all just a game.
"Oh-ho! Now where’s the fun in that, dear?" he called, his voice dripping with amusement.
The cold night air burned in her lungs as she ran, her heartbeat a frantic drum against her ribs. Behind her, Alastor’s footsteps barely made a sound, his movements too casual, like he had all the time in the world.
She pushed forward, but the darkness worked against her—her foot caught on a rock, and she hit the ground hard. A sharp pain shot through her hands and knees as she scrambled back, desperate to get up, to move, but before she could—
Alastor was already there.
Towering. Smiling. Blocking her only escape.
🎶 My dear, my dear
No, you don’t have to cry
That ain’t a pretty legacy
To leave behind… 🎶
His voice curled around her like smoke, smooth and eerily soothing as he took another step closer.
