Dead Man's Past.       The city lights dwindle in contrast of the black that surrounds them. The frigid air fills with sounds of music, stirring in the mix of other sounds of life. Death is there as well, you could hear it right before a scream is hushed by the thunderous clap of a gun shot. Maybe, there's no explanation as to why I know what I do. I had the normal childhood, abusive father, slut mother, both drunks and drug addicts. I had all the issues that a growing boy came with in the city. Yet, how was it that I came to know what I did?       It wasn't that long ago when everything started to change. Dear old dad came home with an eerie look on his face and a stench that I became all too familiar with. Mom didn't suspect much of it, that and she was too drunk off her ass to even care. Once she noticed he was there, she went on to her usual routine; Grabbing a TV dinner and popping it into the Microwave. She told me to wash up and then set herself to continue nursing the Peppermint Schnapps that was halfway empty. I knew better than to go against her, especially when she had something in her hand. I was by the stairs, when I began to hear clatter and came quickly back down. Dad was grabbing his wife by the head and trying to bite at her. She struggled to fend him off screaming and crying now. Her voice filled with fear, slurred out, "Ryan, help momma!" Dad growling like a beast, clutched to her arms tightly. His fingernails sank nto her flesh tearing her skin. Fear took hold of me and I froze, watching as mom grabbed a knife and stabbed Dad. Blood splatted on the floor and snarls were heard. Dad's body thudded to the floor, groaning and becoming still. Mom was out of breath, knife in hand, and blood dripping from her arms. The knife clattered to the floor as she leant against the counter, sobbing and nursing the bottle once again. I looked over to my father's body, the stomach rechting stench invading my nostrils.       A sudden growl was heard, he stood up and grabbed my mother by her head. A loud snap was heard as bone was twisted. Her body collapsed moments after, lifeless. I saw that empty look on her eyes which shot my nerves to hell. My fear intensified as dear dad turned to me. His ragged features weren't the same, since mom had given him a face lift. He stepped closer and closer, guttural sounds eminated from his throat. I saw the blank look on his face, and stepped back like prey to its hunter. He wasn't the same abusive father, he turned to something far worse and if he caught me, I knew I wouldn't come out of this alive. I ran, I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. He quickly followed me up, step by step, grabbing at my ankles. Luckily, I made it to their room and shut the door on his face. I could hear the clawing and growls from the other side of the door. I didn't know what to do. I trembled and stepped back, looking around. I had seen a gun that dad had in here. Opening his drawers, I searched frantically for the weapon. Silence fell by the door and I took a glance and then continued my search. That silence was disturbed by wood splintering which made my skin jump. I looked back to the door and saw a knife sticking through it. He stabbed at the door repeatedly and I took haste to find the gun. Finding it, I held it as still as I could. My hand shaking, I aimed it to the door and pulled the trigger, once, twice, thrice. Three holes were made into the door, and the stabbing ceased.       Opening the door, I saw my father's body at the bottom of the stairs. It twitched oddly and when I looked closer, I could see the holes in his body closing. Tears ran down my cheeks as I made my way down the stairs and point blank, shot at his head then his body. Click, click went the hammer. I realized the clip was empty and I looked upon his body. It was regenerating once again, body parts pulling themselves together. I quickly went to mom's purse and pulled out her lighter. Grabbing the cooking oil, I spread it over his body. Drenching his tattered clothes in the flammable liquid. I then lit the oil and watched his body burn and decompose.       The cops surrounded the house within a few minutes and found me sitting in front of the ashes of what use to be my father. He was abusive, a drunk asshole, but he was my dad, you know. The cops took the report and filed it as unsolved. It seems they have this sort of thing happen once in a while, but this is the first time anyone's survived. They buried my mother and I was sent off child services.       I wasn't what you would say a perfect kid. After a while, my foster parents got tired and sent me elsewhere. I spent the rest of my teen years being switched from foster home to foster home, till I was old enough to leave and fend off for myself. I returned to the city I was born in and found a job as a simple private eye. I saw things that were as common as daylight. Spouses cheating on one another, political scandals, and on a good night, a political spouse that's cheating. It wasn't a gratifying job, it was money plain and simple.       It all was about to change again and on a cold night, I could smell that familiar stench once again. Could it be my father didn't die when I burned him to nothing more than ashes? With my gun in hand, I went around the alleyway and found myself standing in front of three of those things. At the far end, stood a lone women in pure horror. Well it wasn't my father, but that didn't say they weren't any dangerous.       It grew to be a routine, more of them kept appearing night after night. It was like a 2 for one sale at JCpenny's and it was getting to be annoying. I grew bored of it and decided to make it more fun. I began to find pleasure in torturing them. Watching them yearn to kill me and not be able to. I tortured their undead bodies without guilt. After all, they had no more life in them and thus, they were no longer persons. I became more curious of the night life of the city. I became more of a hunter and setting aside more contracts of P.I. It wasn't until I came across a certain creature, that I wised up on the realism of this fantasy. This creature was much stronger, and wished only one thing, a bite of my neck. Fending it off was much harder than the other creatures and that's when I decided to broaden my horizons. I took on the challenge of learning various fighting techniques and learned the ability of brawling parry. I can fight with my gun, a dagger or even a piece of wood. I prefer to keep it simple though, with my gun and specialized bullets.       It was easier to deal with the undead, the brainless cretins of the God awful stench and just as quick that it became easy, so did it grew dull once again. I began to find even more intriguing ways of torture. Like watching them bleed away or hanging them from the very top of the building and waiting for dawn to watch them burn away. The building would fill with such a delightful scream that made my spine tingle. At times, I would cut their hands and their feet, just to watch them struggle in running away. I found out that they were much smarter than I gave them credit for. They had a way to communicate and each time I made myself known, they began to run. They wouldn't get away though and one time, I thought I had them cornered and ended up finding they had set a trap. 20 of them had formed a pack and thought they'd take me down. Each lunging at me to scratch and bite at anything they could. I wasn't prepared for that, but with what ammo I could, I finished each one of them. Burning their bodies into dust.       I suppose you could call me sadistic. Taking prey of those that usually take prey on us mortals and giving them in my own way payback. My only answer to you is, it's a dirty job and someone's gotta do it. Now let me ask you a question, would you do it if I gave you the chance?       Here, I'll even give you a gun.       What's your answer?       'No?'       That's too bad...