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#horror fiction
mustangs-flames · 1 day
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Mimicry - Hail, True Body: Part 1
"Simple black frames and glass covers, smeared at the edges by old fingerprints and collecting a thin layer of dust. It knew these pictures and the memories that it- they- no, that Cesar had connected to them."
Or: Who is Cesar now?
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'Hail, True Body' is a religious horror series that focuses on what it means to be human in a world that God has abandoned. For Mark Owens, 1993 is shaping up to be the worst year of his young life - and that's saying a lot all things considered. When his best friend Cesar Hernández calls him one night in October, Mark ignores the broadcast warnings to help him out. But Cesar is acting... strange.
Though perhaps that's understandable. His mother did just die, after all.
New chapter is up!
Content Warnings included in beginning Author's Note.
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bl00dfroma-fairy · 1 day
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me & who
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espanolbot2 · 2 days
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gollancz · 1 month
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The synopsis says: “It’s the hottest summer on record and London is dying. Prices are high, pay is low, and stressed commuters are packed on to London Underground trains again like the pandemic never happened. To add to the misery, the temperatures underground just keep climbing and climbing, the heat trapped in the clay with nowhere to go. 
“Five travellers on an unlucky tube carriage find themselves bound together one morning as witnesses to a single horrific event – an event they can’t quite seem to remember. They make an unlikely team: weary tube driver, a disillusioned civil servant, an ambitious city trader, an overwhelmed hotel worker and an unhoused young man just trying to get by – but now they must come together to confront what they have seen and stop it in its tracks. Because there’s something lurking in the stifling darkness and labyrinthine tunnels that run below London… something old, something vicious, and something very, very hungry.” 
I couldn't be more excited to be working with @jonnywaistcoat on his next two novels! This is just more of what he does best - pulling apart the very seams of society and giving me very specific new sleep paralysis demons, and somehow getting me to say thank you afterwards.
And if you're near London next month, why not pop along to Gollanczfest to hear him chat all things horror with Joe Hill and V. V. James? Tickets are still available:
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imastoryteller · 21 days
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19 Most Common Character Flaws in Horror Fiction
Curiosity: Characters who are overly curious may investigate dangerous situations or places, leading to their downfall.
Arrogance: Arrogant characters may underestimate threats or refuse to heed warnings, putting themselves in danger.
Recklessness: Characters who act impulsively or without considering the consequences may find themselves in perilous situations.
Naivety: Naive characters may be easily deceived or manipulated by villains or supernatural forces.
Overconfidence: Overconfident characters may believe they can handle any situation, leading them to take unnecessary risks.
Stubbornness: Stubborn characters may refuse to listen to advice or change their course of action, even when it's clear they're in danger.
Greed: Greedy characters may prioritize personal gain over safety, leading them to make unethical or dangerous choices.
Distrust: Characters who are overly distrustful may alienate allies or miss crucial information, making them more vulnerable.
Cowardice: Cowardly characters may abandon others in dangerous situations or fail to confront threats when necessary.
Impulsiveness: Impulsive characters may act without thinking, leading to mistakes or putting themselves in harm's way.
Lack of Empathy: Characters who lack empathy may disregard the well-being of others, making them more susceptible to manipulation or isolation.
Overprotectiveness: Overprotective characters may prioritize the safety of loved ones to the detriment of their own safety or the safety of others.
Addiction: Characters who are addicted to substances or behaviors may make irrational decisions or be more easily controlled by external forces.
Obsession: Characters who are obsessed with a goal or idea may pursue it at any cost, even endangering themselves or others.
Paranoia: Paranoid characters may see threats where none exist, leading them to take extreme measures or isolate themselves unnecessarily.
Lack of Self-awareness: Characters who lack self-awareness may fail to recognize their own limitations or the impact of their actions on others.
Insecurity: Insecure characters may doubt their own abilities or judgment, making them more susceptible to manipulation or self-destructive behavior.
Ignorance: Characters who are ignorant of the true nature of the threats around them may underestimate their danger or fail to take necessary precautions.
Desperation: Characters who are desperate may make rash decisions or ally themselves with dangerous individuals or entities in hopes of achieving their goals.
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fluoresensitive · 5 months
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JUST A LITTLE SNACK: A SHORT STORY COLLECTION
A pregnant woman is devoured by an unsettling hunger. A man is buried alive, punished for a crime that is none. A boy goes missing, and he returns, changed.
In this collection of nine disturbing horror stories, the author of On Sundays, She Picked Flowers explores themes of disconcerting appetites of body and mind, of decay and the restless dead. Yah Yah Scholfield skillfully engages with Southern Gothic and Afro-Gothic traditions to create unsettling tales about nature, religion, and the body. Just a Little Snack is a perfect treat for fans of Her Body and Other Parties and What Moves the Dead.
Can everyone just like, scream with me and for me for a second? Because as of today, my short story collection is available for pre-order! Are y'all hungry for Just a Little Snack, or WHAT?
AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER ON NYX PUBLISHING
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thefugitivesaint · 6 months
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''The Second Bedside Book of Strange Stories'', 1976 Source 'Tis almost "spooky season" so let the early festivities begin.
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running-with-kn1ves · 2 months
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Can you do a yandere killer clown that has been following you all night on Halloween
A/N:I wrote this a long time ago and hated it at the time but it really wasn't as bad as I thought! Hope you all are having a wonderful 2024 :>
Synopsis: A suspicious "killer clown" has been stalking you on Halloween to your dismay. Is it really just a costume?
CW: murderous clown, clownery, slight in-depth stabbing(death), stalking, intimidation, general fear 
Word count: 2.7k
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“Nice costume, man!” The echoed memory rang hollow inside your bobbing head. “I bet the black helps hide all the blood, huh?” 
At the time you mischievously brought a hand to your mouth, shielding it from the eyes of curious and terrified children who mersmerisingly watched you joke to the killer clown. The masked figure hovered in front of you, staring blankly from behind the blur of white and red. The figure didn’t move, didn’t alter to his dominant hand with the bloody knife that rested in his palm. 
You were met with silence as your comment passed; dark, invisible eyes watched you through the small eye-slits of the clown’s mask. Its elaborate makeup donned diamonds under and above each eye hole, a spongy red nose covering the mask’s nostrils. Though, you could still hear whoever was underneath, breathing-- the air pushing against the silicone. Painted black lips covered the faint outline on the masks mouth, detailed to almost look feminine. However, the broad shoulders underneath the harlequin patterned suit made you think otherwise. 
You gave an amused smile, letting the figure keep in-character as he watched you slowly pass. A whiff of reeking gore and thick blood came across you as you walked away; a thought of ‘maybe you should have honked the clown’s nose for good measure’ crossed your mind, but the smell made you think otherwise. If he was dedicated enough to cover himself in pigs blood, who knew what else he’d do to you to stay in character.
Your mind ran in circles as the heels of your feet ached, your subconscious desperate to know what you said that made it all go wrong, or what made it go too right with this costumed killer clown. 
Because here you were, walking down your neighborhood’s sidewalk with flickering light posts barely brightening the road in front of you as you sped passed your front door for the third time. With a dirty hand mirror gripped in your sweaty palm, you faced it slightly below your shoulder, hoping it was low enough that the shadow behind you couldn’t see it. You caught a glimpse of the red-speckled plastic mask and dazzling crimson hair of the clown behind you. Shutting the pocket mirror immediately, you picked up your pace again for whatever time again that night-- you've lost count. But it didn’t matter, the masked freak always seemed to be just a lamp post away, gradually getting closer with a joyful pep in his step.
After your first interaction with him at a lame Halloween festival, you then saw him again at the gas station right across your friends’ street, and once more at that same friend's costume party. You thought it must've been a coincidence to see him inside the gas station, only witnessing the back of his crazy dyed hair that looked too attached to be a wig; talk about being dedicated to the bit. Maybe he gets paid for being a scare actor? You didn't know, you didn't get the chance to ask before he ran out at the sight of a police officer perusing the candy aisle. Too bad for him, it was only a prominent gay dressed up in a sexy uniform. 
But there he was again that night, peeking behind your friend's bedroom window that you sat across from. Seeing him there nearly made you shriek, jumping up enough to spill your drink all over the guy next to you. When you tried to explain, the clown had disappeared, only to show up mere minutes later from the bathroom window while you tried to rub beer out of your costume. 
Seeing him the second time was nearly as startling, but you managed to keep your reaction to a minimum, merely glaring at the bloodied clown from behind dark glass. You threw your cup at the window, hoping to scare him off or show that you weren’t worth fucking around with, but he… didn’t move. Through the tiny hole in the mouth of the mask, breath came through, just slightly fogging up the glass. How the hell did he get up here in the first place, weren’t you on the second floor?? 
You turned away, hoping to just turn the light off and that’d be the last you’d see of him; but a thump on the glass told you otherwise. Another thump, this time almost with a clinking crack. Your hand still resting on the lightswitch; you nonchalantly looked back to see a familiar knife jabbed against the window pane, small cracks growing as he twisted it further into the window. Your hope of giving an apathetic reaction to deter him did nothing, gloved hands coming up to squeakily draw a dark red line on the window. 
A threat? Maybe he's trying to apologize? What was he going to write-- you wondered if it was worth even sticking around for. But instead of words, the red line was finished with another, creating a small, dripping misshapen heart on the bathroom window. You slammed down on the lightswitch and shut the door quickly at the sight, making your way down the stairs. 
He had to be one of your friend’s frat-guy pals, someone who went out of their way to terrorize on the nights of halloween in unassuming grocery stores or parties like this one. Someone here at this party who was just fucking with you-- that’s just what it was. 
But now, hours later on the dark pavement of a street that looked so unfamiliar at night, you were starting to second guess yourself. The sweet whistling of what could only be from the clown behind you grew louder, squeaky shoes mimicking your steps and seeming to pick up in pace. You did the same, nearly jogging as you saw something moving in the distance. It was oddly pale and hunched over, going faster than you could run. 
It was a biker! Some random fucking guy on his bike at 2 in the morning! You assumed this was what people meant when miracles roamed the earth, waiting to be found. 
“Hey!” You shouted, running towards the speedy white demon as you blocked the middle of the sidewalk, hoping the guy would see you waving at him. But his stare was blank, not focusing on you nor the sidewalk in front of him. All he did, was bike. 
“HEY! Can you please help me--” a pair of white wireless earbuds were nestled deep in his ears, immune to your shouting. Once he came cycling up close, almost too close, you realized he wasn’t stopping. His eyes completely looked past you, swatting you away with a sweaty arm as you stumbled into the street after narrowly avoiding his bike.
“What the fuck!” You yelled, watching him ride away as you threw your hands in frustration. You stopped to watch as the clown stepped to the side to give the incoming biker a clear path. This guy was just going to go past like everything was fine, not paying attention to the person in distress right in front of him, OR the creepy ass harlequin clown he was approaching. You gave a heavy, exasperated sigh and turned around, beginning to walk again as you hoped maybe the new distraction would stop your bloody walking partner. 
But a sudden thud against the sidewalk caught you off guard. 
Did he really ride into the clown?
 No, from behind you, the man’s bike laid twisted with spinning wheels in front of your hunched clown stalker. The man was grasping his side with one arm, having fallen on top of his bike as his hand shielded from above. 
Well, that's kind of what he gets for biking at the witching hour. And for not helping someone in distress! Karma's a bitch. 
You hadn't noticed where the gore-striken clown's weapon had landed during the whole ordeal, not even thinking of it until a wet 'shlink!' and violent howl was released. The biker held his raised wrist with a shaking cradle, looking up at the knife that was just pulled out of him.
And just as the knife was removed, it was slammed back in with great inertia and skilled positioning on the clown's part. A wretched sound left the biker's throat, along with the odd crunching that came with him being pushed farther down onto his minimalistic bike. 
A great red gash split onto his forehead, leading to the knife's metal stem that seemed to make peace with its new home inside the biker's skull. One of his earbuds popped out, crashing onto the sidewalk as blood flecked into his left eye. He seemed to look at the fallen earpiece, no longer acknowledging the knife now pushed as far as it could stab.  
The clown seemed to stand back, watching the creation of his short few motions. He let out a whistle similar to an animated sigh. Comically, he wiped invisible sweat from his brow, looking over at you. 
Your feet began to shuffle backward, grating against the rubble on the road as your hands flew to your mouth with an intensity that made you lose breath. 
The mask seemed to look at you with no emotion, blankly watching with a sad smile as the clown stood simply. With the silence of the street, the stillness of the wind, you could hear faint breaths from across the street. They were soon replaced by a muffled whistle beneath the plastic, the clown's eyes dark and unseeable behind it. But the tiniest speck of light, a teensy reflection from the streetlight showed the human eyes of someone…unpredictable. 
He stopped, only to give a high-pitched whistle as he pulled his steel weapon out of its created hole and rammed the knife back into the cowering biker, this time his chest receiving the treatment. The clown pulled it out again, only to prepare in the same position, raking up the bikers chest with the blade once more. Each time, he whistled and heightened it to mimic the sound of the knife flying through the air, only to crash down into a body of meat. He stopped once the knife made a connection to the skin, only to begin again. 
You stood in grotesque awe, mouth ajar as you tripped over the sidewalk's curb. If it wasnt clear already to your record-broken mind, you needed to leave, now. You knew the guy was a creep, someone wayy to into the “murderous killer clown” trope but now, shit was a little too real. You began to run, making your way around the rest of the block without a care of whether or not he chased after you, finding your home. You needed to get inside, somewhere with locked doors that would be a barrier too thick for him to cut down. 
Sweat and tears blinded you as black road filled your vision, along with your dim phone screen. you pressed the all too familiar three numbers on your phone. A nine, and two ones. 
You waited for the shrill gurgles and distant whistling to stop from behind you, to hear a human voice pickup from the screen against your ear; which thankfully came after about two consecutive rings. 
“Hello!?” You unknowingly interrupted, hearing the end of an “your emergency?” 
“Hi-- uh, some freak has been following me and,” You were cut off by a grating voice, one slightly deadened and distant. 
"Now that's just being mean." 
Your heart jumped as you ran, dread settling inside you as the voice hummed in disappointment.
In the distance you could see the familiar front porch of your home, only about five houses down.
"You've got..to be…kidding," you huffed out of breath, elongating your stride to look like a wild runner as you sprinted to your driveway. 
"Clowns are universally beloved; maybe you're the freak; considering you picked me I'd say you already had questionable taste."
"How'd you-- but I called--" You huffed, yet the clown cut you off. 
"You really shouldn't leave your phone unattended in a room full of people…who knows when a devious comic of a murderer might strike! Especially one so handy in manipulating technology." You could practically hear the animated pose he struck along with the words. "So, having fun yet?"
You didn't answer, or rather couldn't from the lack of oxygen in your throat. All you could do was focus on running; but that's alright, because the freakshow on the other side talked enough for the both of you. 
"We'll I hope so; in fact, you know I've chosen you to be my last man standing. My final girl," He paused for dramatic effect "My, surviving victim of tonight's excursion… you'll be a grand commemorating prize to bring back home, to be sure. You're just lucky that buddy boy back here took your place-- if he hadn't, I can't say I'd have been able to restrain myself enough to keep you alive until we got back home."
What the fuck was he going on about? What did it matter anyway, your sides were cramping so twistedly that it and your upcoming mailbox were all you could manage to concentrate on.
An infectious laugh cracked over the line, running from one ear through the other as you ran with your phone gripped tight. Looking down at your smudged screen, the caller ID read a simple “Unknown number.” You tried pressing the end call button, only for your screen to remain frozen. The caller screen almost looked like a screenshot, holding your phone captive as none of the buttons managed to work. The on/off button clicked and clicked, not altering the white screen. 
“Ahh I can still see you running down there… trying to hang up on me while sprinting is hard, huh? Just make this easier and stop where you are, save me the trouble of having to play this hide and seek game for tonight. I promise if you make me play, I'll win."
You stop for a moment to catch your breath, turning around to see neon red hair in the distance and a black outline, the red diamonds on the clown's suit blending in.  He still stood next to the fallen biker, holding something to his ear. 
You wheezed out a laugh, throat beginning to close up.
"Oh yeah?... I'm halfway down the road, bitch! Once I get inside it's.. gonna be over for you. I don't, I don't know what the fuck this is-- but you're not gettin away with--with anything!" You held onto your knees, heaving into the phone as your chest burned. The silence on the other line was hardly noticeable as the sound of blood rushing through your ears and your heartbeat drowned everything else out. 
"...Don't say I didn't warn you, doll."
The phone without warning went dark, line cutting off as the caller screen went missing.
Through blurry eyes you saw the clown lower his hand that was once at his ear. With a short moment of stillness, he stared at you. That stillness, morphed almost automatically into a full-on run. The pitter patter of squeaky rubber shoes on the gravel was adrenaline-inducing, filling the silence of the dark street besides the heaving of yours and the clown's breath. 
"Oh fuck…" you murmured, turning around to begin your sprint once more. 
As long as you could reach the house first, open the door with your keys in time, lock the door-- you'd be fine. You didn't have another phone in the house, but you'd be fine-- you'd just, at least be safe. From him.
 But speaking of keys, where were yours?
You ran your hands over and over the pockets in your clothes, feeling nothing but the scraps of empty candy wrappers in your pockets. Where the fuck were your keys?!?
Finally, the grace of your front door made its way directly in front of you, your exhausted legs running up the short porch steps. You hadn't given even one second to looking back at your fellow runner, panic of losing your keys and the upcoming door occupying your mind. You jiggled the door handle, banging against the door with your shoulder as you let out a panicked exhale. 
You could hear him getting closer, hear the labored breathing and chaotic deep giggling muffled by silicone. 
The sound of heavy shrill footsteps stopped-- but beside your rapid heaving, hot breath covered the side of your shoulder. Wet red locks touched your ear, a deep inhale came to grace the top of your matted hair.
Four fingers covered in a frilly, harlequin-patterned glove were thrusted in front of your face, jingling your precious keys in their grip. 
"Looking for these?"
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krirebr · 5 months
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We Are Vain & We Are Blind
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Pairing: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x f!Reader
Word Count: ~9.7k
Summary: When you move back in with your parents after a broken engagement, a drunken dare to visit the scary house on the edge of town changes everything for you. Forever.
Warnings: Please note, these warnings are broad to avoid spoilers. Proceed with caution. Horror, psychological horror (including but not limited to: general mind fuckery, memory loss, nightmares) noncon/dubcon, gore, death (see prompt), violence (mostly offscreen), explicit language, oral sex (f!receiving), me wildly picking and choosing from hundreds of years of {redacted} mythology, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by @saradika
Masterlist
A/N: This is my entry for @the-slumberparty All Hallow’s Tropes challenge. My tropes were The house from all the scary stories; Caught trespassing on private property; and A string of unexplained deaths. I had so much fun writing this one. Thanks so much for hosting Navy and Roo!
I tried out a lot of new things here. Horror! Smut! A ridiculous length! I’d really appreciate hearing what you think, so please drop a comment or reblog if you read it. Or come screech at me about this or anything else in my asks! Thank you for reading lovelies!
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Driving through your hometown, you were surrounded by fall colors. It was comforting, in its own way. Just as the seasons changed, so could you. You liked the sound of that, of this being a good change. You needed it. You were ready for it.
You pulled off of the main street and drove the few short blocks to your parents' house, parking on the side of the road. The house was something that hadn’t changed, everything exactly as it always had been. Your eyes drifted to the neighbor’s house, a piece of police tape hanging off the front door. Your brow furrowed in concern. You hoped everything was alright.
You grabbed your duffle from the backseat, deciding that you could wait to bring in everything else. Your entire life fit into your small sedan. You tried not to let that make you sad. This was good. Change was good.
You let yourself in with the key you'd had since you were a child. “Mom? Dad? I’m here,” you called into the house. 
Your mom met you in the entryway with a big hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey.” She took a step back to look at you, concern all over your face. “I could kill Andy for what he did to you.”
You sighed, “I’m fine, Mom, really.”
“You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”
“I know, Mom,” you said, softly, both touched by her concern and a little annoyed that she was making you talk about it. You shrugged, “It’s over now.” Trying to change the subject, you asked, “What happened next door?”
Her face fell, “Oh, our poor neighbor died. They found him in the alley behind the American Legion. There was a whole investigation, but the coroner finally concluded that it was anemia.”
“I didn’t know you could die of that,” you said. Wasn’t it fairly controllable?
“I guess you can,” she shrugged, “if it’s bad enough and goes untreated.”
“Oh. Well, he must have been really sick then.”
She shrugged again, “Not that I ever saw, but how much can you ever know about someone you just say hello to at the mailbox? He was a nice young man, though.” She gave you another scrutinizing look, then gently patted your cheek. “Andy never deserved you,” she said and then made her way back down the hall towards the kitchen. “Your dad’s in his den,” she called over her shoulder.
You put your duffle down next to the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and moved through the house to find your dad. You found him in his den, sitting on the worn leather couch they’d had your entire life, baseball on the TV. You sat down next to him and he put his arm around you in a half hug. “It’s nice to have you home, sweetheart,” he said, not taking his eyes off the game.
“Thanks, Dad,” you said, appreciating the distance he was allowing you. The past month had been so hard. All the concern in everyone’s eyes, since it had all blown up with Andy, had become really difficult to take. You were happy to just sit here and watch baseball with your dad in silence.
At the next commercial break, he asked, “We have you for the whole night, or are you already making plans?”
You smiled. “I’m getting drinks with Tineka and David after dinner.”
“That’ll be nice,” he said. “Make sure you say hi for us.”
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You got to the bar a little late. Your mom hadn’t wanted to give you up so easily, even though you’d be living with them and working from their house for the foreseeable future. You’d been to this bar a few times before, the nights before Thanksgiving when you were home from college, and drinking legally was still so novel. But not in ages, maybe a decade. You made your way through the Saturday night crowd, searching for Tineka before you found her set up in a booth in the back with her husband David, and someone you hadn’t seen in a very long time.
Tineka climbed over David to tackle you with a hug. “Oh my god! It’s been so long. I can’t believe you’re here!”
You returned the hug a little harder than she probably expected. Longer, too. She pulled back and examined you carefully, concern in her eyes. You just shook your head and smiled. “I’m really happy to see you,” you said.
She beamed back at you and then gestured to the last person at the table. “Look who we ran into!”
“Robbie, hey,” you said with a little wave. Gosh, you hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d been decent friends your senior year and had even gone to Prom together when neither of you had been able to get another date. You’d lost touch when you’d gone away to school, and he’d stayed home to learn the family business.
“We mentioned that we were on our way to see you, and he wanted to tag along!” Tineka enthused, raising her eyebrows at you significantly. You struggled not to roll your eyes at her; it had been the tiniest crush, and that was so many years ago.
“Welcome home,” he said, sliding over to let you onto the bench seat.
You poured yourself a beer from the pitcher on the table, and you all quickly got into all the customary ‘nice to see you again’ questions. Was it weird to be back in town? Did you miss Boston? Did you know this teacher had retired? Or that that store had closed?
The pitchers multiplied, and when you’d lost track of whose turn it was to cover the next one, Tineka leaned forward excitedly, “Oh, here’s some good town gossip! Someone’s moved into the old Thrombey house!”
“What??” you yelled, louder than you meant to. “No way! I don’t believe it.”
“Wait, what’s the Thrombey House?” David asked. He didn’t grow up here with you, only moving here after he and Tineka got engaged, and she decided this was where she wanted to raise a family.
“It’s this old, abandoned house on the edge of town,” she told him. “There used to be this big, rich family that lived there. This was back in, like, the 70s. It was this old, super-rich guy and all his kids and in-laws and everybody. One night, one of his kids–”
“Grandkid,” you interrupted. 
“Yeah, one of his grandkids, he just loses it and sets fire to the house, with everyone inside. They all die, and Hugh Drysdale, the grandkid, just disappears. No one ever sees him again.”
You nod seriously across from her. “And weird shit starts happening on the property. Like animal carcasses thrown onto what’s left of the porch. Or that psychic that went there when we were kids. She said all she felt was pain, and whatever spirits were there had a desperate warning, but she couldn’t get anything beyond that. And then our senior year, that freshman that disappeared around there. And no one’s ever been able to do anything with it. It just stands there, a burnt-out husk. There’s absolutely no way someone’s moved into it.”
Tineka was nodding furiously, but Robbie leaned forward and butted in. “Here’s what actually happened,” he told David. “There was an electrical fire. Everyone died, probably including Hugh.” Tineka took a breath, and Robbie put up his finger to stop her. “They never found his remains because he was burned to a crisp, and there wasn’t enough to identify.” He raised another finger, “It was abandoned long enough that animals moved in and left their prey lying around.” A third finger went up, “All these stupid stories and rumors have made it a beacon for the unwell and scam artists.” Another finger, “That kid disappeared because it’s where all you dumbasses would go to party, and he was drunk and wandered into the woods and got lost or fell or something.” He raised the last finger on his hand, “And whoever’s owned the property over the years probably doesn’t want to be responsible for the cost of demolition, so they’ve just done the bare minimum to keep the city off their backs.”
You turned to look at him, mildly annoyed, “I don’t remember you being this boring in high school.” He just rolled his eyes at you. “Whatever,” you said and turned back toward Tineka. “I still can’t believe someone’s moved in there. They’d have to gut the whole building!”
“All I know,” she said, slurring a bit, “is that someone’s been coming and going, and sometimes there’s a car parked there.”
“What? Have you been staking it out? Says who?”
“People!” she shouted, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Then her face lit up dangerously. “I know! We should go out there right now so I can prove it to you!”
You shook your head. “I walked here from my parents’ house, and I,” you placed both hands on the table to steady yourself, “definitely can’t drive.”
“Robbie can!” You could tell, now that Tineka had the idea in her head, she wasn’t going to let it go. “Right? Please, Robbie!” she whined. 
Robbie, who’d switched to water after his second beer, who knows how long ago, looked to David, who shrugged, and then to you. All you could do was grin at him and nod. You hadn’t done something stupid like this in such a long time. The feeling was a little thrilling.
“This is such a bad idea,” Robbie said. “It’s so dark out. You won’t be able to see anything anyway.” He looked around the table again and then slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he gritted. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be out there too long.”
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Robbie pulled up to the entrance of the lane leading up to the old Thrombey house and parked the car. Tineka leaned forward from her place in the back seat and lightly slapped your arm. “Alright!” she said, “this is where you get out! Good luck.”
“Wait,” you turned to face her, “I’m going on my own?”
“Yup! That’s how dares work.”
“When did this become a dare?” you asked, starting to get an uneasy feeling in your gut. “What if I get shot for trespassing?!”
“I thought no one could possibly live there,” she taunted. 
You tried to look to David for help, but he’d fallen asleep next to his wife. Robbie just gave you a shrug. “Fine,” you said, somewhat angrily. “But if I’m not back in 10 minutes, you better come find my body.” You got out of the car, slammed the door closed, and started your walk down the path.
The lane was surrounded by dense trees, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t see the car behind you. The wind had picked up, blowing leaves in front of you, and you wrapped your cardigan around you as tightly as you could. A few minutes later, the house appeared before you. 
The outside had remained mostly intact, but you knew that it was basically a husk now. Still, it was large and foreboding. Most of the glass in the windows was cracked, and ivy had overtaken much of the siding. As you got closer, you could see that there was, in fact, a vintage beamer tucked against the side of the house. Damn it, Tineka was right. You were about to admit your defeat and go back to your friends when the front door opened. You froze as a man carefully walked out onto the decaying porch.
You could have sworn that a moonbeam suddenly appeared where there wasn’t one before to light him directly. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks underneath a long camel overcoat with a colorful scarf. He looked right at you even though you were sure that the area you were in was too dark to be spotted. “This is private property. You’re trespassing,” he said. Something about his deep voice and insistent stare had you pinned to your spot.
“Um,” you said, trying to look away, but there was something about him that had you transfixed. “Uh, sorry, I just– um, I didn’t think anyone lived here. How– how do you live here?”
He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at you. Everything had gone completely quiet. In the moonlight, his skin glowed, looked so pale it was almost translucent, and you felt completely hypnotized. He might have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.
“Sorry,” you said again, or maybe just breathed it. “We were just– we were drunk and–” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Why were you here?
He looked you up and down. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Not tonight then.”
“What?” you asked, even though you were pretty sure he was talking to himself more than to you.
“Not tonight,” he repeated, grinning a little meanly. “I don’t have much of a taste for cheap booze.”
What a strange thing to say. It’s not like you were inviting him for a drink. What did he mean?
His focus shifted to somewhere behind you, and it was like you suddenly found yourself back on earth. The sounds of the forest filtered back in, and you didn’t feel held in place anymore. As you tried to adjust to the sudden onslaught of your senses, you slowly processed that you could hear Tineka calling for you, and the sounds of Robbie’s car quickly approaching.
“Better run, little rabbit,” the man said. “You don’t want to keep them waiting.”   
You turned around to see the car pull up, and Tineka hopped out without waiting for it to stop fully. “Holy shit, you scared the shit out of us! You didn’t come back! This was so dumb, I’m so sorry.”
You turned back to the house, to say what, you weren’t sure. But the man was gone. Maybe he’d never even been there? Maybe you were even drunker than you thought. “I’m not sure what happened,” you said, in a daze, as you let Tineka and Robbie herd you back into the car.
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You were awoken the next morning by a knock on your bedroom door. Your mom let herself in without waiting for a response. She was carrying a large vase filled with roses so deep red, they were practically black. 
“What are those?” you mumbled, barely awake.
“How am I supposed to know?” she asked as she placed them on your dresser. “Someone left them for you.”
“Wha?” It was too early for this. You rolled over to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Oh. It was 11 AM. Fuck. You didn’t think you’d had that much to drink the night before, but you felt incredibly hungover. This was drinking in your thirties, you guessed. “Is there a card?” You finally mustered the awareness to say. 
“Not that I saw.”
“Then how do you know they’re for me?”
She looked around theatrically. “Who else could they be for? Your father?”
You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for bringing them in, Mom. I’ll be down in a bit.”
She nodded and left. 
You got up and examined the bouquet. They were beautiful, but… dark. There was something about them that made you feel a little unsettled. The vase looked old. Vintage. Expensive. No card. No sign of where they came from. 
You opened your phone and pulled up the contact you’d made for Robbie the night before. You wrote out the text and hit send before you could think better of it.
Hey, weird question. And please know that I’m embarrassed to even ask it, especially if you say no, but. Did you send me flowers?
His response was immediate.
Nope, not me. Aren’t you popular
You cringed and tossed the phone on the bed to create some distance. You hadn’t even been back 24 hours yet. Who could they possibly be from?
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Late that night, you were wandering through the grocery store aisles, making your way towards the freezer section. Your mom didn’t keep snacks in the house, and you’d had a sudden craving for ice cream. Just as you were coming up on your prey, someone stepped right in front of you and turned around to face you.
“Well, if it isn’t the little trespasser,” the man from the Thrombey house said. It was startling to see him in the middle of the grocery store. He seemed so out of place, wearing his same overcoat and scarf, which from this distance you could now see was silk. Everything about him seemed expensive, even his smirk, and here you were in yoga pants and a too-large sweatshirt. How did he even recognize you? It’d been so dark that night.
“Uh, yeah,” you said, somewhat bashfully, “sorry again.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, with a cold smirk that you were starting to think was just the permanent state of his face. “I kind of liked the novelty of it. It’s not very often that your kind comes right to me, instead of the other way around.”
What the fuck did that mean? Did he mean not wealthy people? Well, you weren’t the one living in a house that was about to fall down. This man was so strange. “Well, anyway,” you said, “I’ll let you get back to your evening.” You tried to step around him to get to the ice cream case, but he followed you there. 
“What’s your poison?” he asked. You grabbed a carton of Moose Tracks and showed him, before trying to walk away again. 
He kept pace with you. “What’s your name?” he asked.  He stepped in front of you again and looked you right in the eye. “C’mon, tell me your name.”
It fell past your lips without you ever making the conscious decision to tell him. He smiled. All of his smiles were a little mean. “You can call me Ransom,” he said. 
You’d arrived at the self-checkout. You were so ready to get out of there. “Well, okay, Ransom. It was nice meeting you, but I’m gonna check out now. And let you get back to your shopping.” You noticed for the first time that he didn’t have a cart or basket with him. And he wasn’t holding any items in his hands. He could have just gotten there, not started shopping yet, but something in your gut told you it wasn’t right. 
He paused at the opening of the aisle opposite you. “Yeah, I think I’ve found what I was looking for,” he winked, and then turned around and finally walked away.
You tried to suppress the shiver that coursed through you. There was something not right about him. It didn’t matter. He was gone. You paid for your ice cream and walked out the automatic doors–
You were sitting in your car. Something niggled at your brain. You couldn’t remember the walk through the parking lot. That was strange, but you were probably just on autopilot. Plus, you were tired. Exhausted, really. You hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were. There was a twinge in your neck. You tried to stretch it out but the skin pulled a little painfully. You looked at the clock. It was later than you realized. You needed to get home, eat this ice cream, and go to bed.
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That night, you dreamt of a river of blood and you were drowning in it. You woke up choking on nothing.
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In the morning, you still felt tired, but you could hear your parents moving around downstairs, so you got up and got dressed. You put on a T-shirt and jeans, a cardigan, and then found an old scarf that you looped around your neck a few times. 
When you got downstairs, your mom was scrambling eggs at the stove, while your dad read the paper at the kitchen table. He smiled and wished you a good morning, then nodded at your chest. “Is that your passive-aggressive way of telling me to turn the heat up?” He laughed at himself.
“Huh?” you asked and looked down. Oh. The scarf. Was it odd? Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure why you’d put it on. It had just felt… important. You didn’t know why. But you also couldn’t take it off. You curled in on yourself, a bit defensively. “I just liked it with this outfit.” 
Your mom came over to the table. “Leave her alone, you,” she said to your dad as she set a plate of breakfast in front of each of you. “I think it looks nice, honey,” she said to you as she sat down with her own plate. “Although, maybe a little warm. It’s cooling down, but it’s not winter yet.”
You fingered the fringe of the scarf self-consciously. “I just like it,” you said, quietly. It was just a scarf. You didn’t know why everyone cared so much.
Your dad was the one to finally change the subject. He shook out his paper as he asked you, “Didn't you go to school with Shannon McCready?”
“Uh, yeah,” you said around a bite of eggs, “She was a real bitch. What? She get arrested or something?” 
Your mom grumbled unhappily next to you about your language, but you barely even noticed because the next thing your dad said was “No, she died a few days ago.”
You couldn’t say what or why, but something inside of you reacted to that. A frisson of fear crawled up your spine. "What?"
"Mhmm, the obituary doesn't say exactly, but it seems like it was sudden."
"Does it say how?"
He shrugs, "Just says natural causes."
"Natural causes? She was thirty-two!" 
He shrugged again and went back to his paper. Your mom blithely ate her breakfast beside you. You couldn't explain why you were so unnerved by this, but something deep inside of you was screaming that it wasn't right. You took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. You barely even knew her. You needed to get logged into work. Focus on something else.
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The workday was long and hard. Your exhaustion only built as the day went on and your mind was all over the place. But you finally made it to the end and triumphantly logged off.
You met Tineka for dinner, just the two of you, at a little place right off Main Street. After you’d gotten settled and your drinks had arrived, she’d looked at you carefully. “I didn’t want to bring it up the other night with David and Robbie there, but how are you doing with everything? Really?”
You sighed. “Uh,” you said, “better than I thought I’d be? I mean, everything feels kind of strange, because I was living this whole life, and I just don’t really have any of it anymore? I mean, I was living in Boston with Andy. We had an apartment, a community. We were gonna get married. And now none of those things are true anymore. None of that is mine. That’s strange. But, maybe not bad. I’m realizing that I was kind of unhappy there. More than kind of. But I couldn’t see it until I was outside of it. And, like, moving back in with my parents, it isn’t ideal, but it doesn’t feel bad right now. If feels OK. If that makes sense.”
Tineka nodded. “I think that makes a lot of sense. And for what it’s worth, Andy was a piece of shit and I’m glad you’re rid of him.” She reached forward, cocktail in hand, to clink your glasses together. All you could do was smile. You really had missed her.
Your seat faced the window, and as you chatted, you watched the sun set over the colorful trees outside. It really was pretty here. This wasn’t a bad place to spend the season. 
As you were finishing your entrees, you frowned when you saw Ransom walk in. He noticed you too, and, waving the hostess away, made a beeline for your table. 
“We just keep running into each other,” he said, once he got to you, that perma-smirk firmly in place. 
"It's a small town," you said, nervously. You couldn't explain why this man triggered your fight-or-flight instincts so terribly. You were being ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ransom, this is my friend Tineka. Tineka, Ransom.” 
Tineka looked between the two of you, open curiosity on her face. “How do you know each other?” she asked.
 “New friends,” Ransom supplied. “We just can’t help bumping into each other.”
He didn’t seem to want to talk about where you’d met. That was his business, so you just nodded along.
He stood there for a moment, in a way that was too confident to be awkward, but still had you feeling a little uncomfortable. Tineka, bless her, had the social skills you just couldn’t pull together at that moment. “It’s packed tonight,” she said. “You’re welcome to sit down with us, although we’re probably leaving soon,” she gestured to your nearly empty plates.  
“Thank you,” he said, “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He winked at you as he took the empty chair next to you. Something about it, about him, made you have to look away, focusing on your plate.
“So,” Tineka started, and oh no, that was her casual interrogation tone, “are you from around here? This town is small enough that I’m always surprised when I don’t already know someone.”
Ransom chuckled. “Sort of. I used to have family here, but I haven’t been back in ages. Just in town to collect some things and then I’ll probably be on my way again.”
You could feel him looking at you. His attention was always so much.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Tineka said, giving you a sideways glance you knew meant trouble. “We’re only just getting to know you.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ll admit, I’ve found more here than I expected.” He stretched his arm out and briefly rested it against your chair back. His fingers brushed you between your shoulder blades and you couldn’t help the way you shivered. He dropped his arm back into his lap. When you turned to him, he was looking at Tineka, but you could feel his attention still on you. 
“You said your family’s no longer in the area?” Tineka kept probing.
“No, they all passed a while ago.”
“I’m sorry,” you said softly. 
“Don’t be,” he said. “It was no great loss, trust me.” There was a darkness in his eyes when he said that that had you swallowing nervously.
“I guess it’s the season for homecomings,” Tineka said, then pointed at you, “she just moved back too.”
He grinned knowingly at you. “Is that so?”
“Mhmm,” she said, pointedly. “Recovering from a shitty ex.”
“Tineka!” you hissed, but all she did was laugh. 
“Well,” he said, working his jaw, and you would swear it almost came out as a growl, “I bet he’ll live to regret that.” You couldn’t explain it, but at that moment, it felt like a threat. Which didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know Andy. He barely knew you. But the most disturbing thing was the little thrill that rushed through you at the thought. 
While you were having your mini-crisis, he stood up abruptly. “You know,” he said, “it really is busy in here. I’m probably better off getting dinner somewhere else. And I’ve intruded on girls’ night enough.” He then looked right at you and said, “I’ll be seeing you.” That, too, felt like a threat.
As he left, Tineka looked at you excitedly. “He’s hot!” she said, too loudly considering he hadn’t actually exited the restaurant yet. You hissed at her, but she batted it away. “And he’s clearly into you. Seems like the perfect opportunity to fuck Andy out of your system.”
“Oh my god!” you exclaimed and looked to the front to make sure he’d left. “You don’t think there’s something kind of unsettling about him?” 
“What do you mean?”
You paused to figure out how to put it into words. “I don’t know, sometimes, just the way he looks at me, I get this chill down my spine.”
She laughed, delightedly. “Yeah, that’s called ‘he wants to fuck you!’ Seriously, this is good. Great, even!”
“I don’t know,” you said. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on that you just didn’t understand. 
She sobered and looked at you seriously. “Listen, you deserve this. After all that shit Andy put you through – the women. It’s time for you to get yours. I don’t care if it’s Ransom, or Robbie, or whoever, but you deserve this.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s definitely not going to be Robbie.” You couldn’t even imagine that.
“Ok, fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Then it should be Ransom!”
You laughed. “Ok, Tineka. Sure.”
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A little while later, you left the restaurant together. On the sidewalk, Tineka asked, “Did you walk here?” You nodded. “Do you want a ride home?”
You shook your head. “No, it’s not far. I’m good.”
“Are you sure? It’s just so dark.”
“Unless this town really changed while I was gone, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Thanks, but I want to walk.”
“Ok,” she said, but she seemed hesitant. 
You rolled your eyes and she backed down. “Hey,” you said, pulling her into a hug. “This was really fun. I love you.”
“Love you too,” she said and pulled away, starting to head back to her car. “Think about what I said about Ransom!” she threw over her shoulder.
You laughed and started walking in the opposite direction, back to your parents' house. 
A few blocks later, when you were off the main street, you stopped when you heard a noise behind you–
You were half a block further down now. You looked around, confused. What just happened? How– The pain in your neck was back. It was on the other side now, and worse. You were so tired. A little dizzy. You walked as quickly as you could the rest of the way home.
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You dreamt again that night. In this one, you sat in the middle of a large field. The sun shone down on you but you were sobbing uncontrollably. Your tears were made of blood.
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You slept through your alarm the next morning, only waking when your mom came in and shook you. You were exhausted still, even though you’d slept a solid nine hours. Maybe you were coming down with something. Even though you had no other symptoms.
You went through your dresser three times until you found your one turtleneck. It seemed important.
Work felt impossible. Your focus was non-existent. You just wanted to lie down. 
Late that afternoon, when Robbie texted to see if you wanted to grab a coffee, you logged out early. You weren’t going to get anything else done anyway. Caffeine sounded helpful.
When you met outside the coffee shop, he asked, “Is coffee still ok? I know it’s getting kind of late in the day. We could do beer instead.”
You shook your head. “No, coffee’s good. I’m trying to cut down on how much I drink.” You stopped. You were? When did you decide that? Why? You shoved down the not-right feeling that was crawling up your throat. It was fine. It was good. Healthy. It was fine.
Robbie raised his eyebrows when you ordered a triple espresso, but didn’t say anything. It helped some, but you still felt sluggish. And you struggled to focus on the conversation. 
“Are you doing okay?” he asked after about half an hour.
“Yeah, sorry,” you said, trying to shake your head clear. “I’ve just been a little off the past few days. Probably just everything that’s happened catching up with me.”
He nodded. “I heard about all that. I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever need it.”
You gave him a genuine smile. “I’m fine, really,” you said, “but I appreciate it.”
A few minutes later, as you were trying to decide if you’d been there long enough to politely make your excuses and go home, he said, “Oh, do you remember Alex Higgins?”
“Uh, I don’t think so?” The name didn’t ring a bell, but you weren’t sure if that was because you didn’t know them or whatever was going on with you.
“He was a few years ahead of us? Friends with my brother?” 
You shrugged and shook your head.
“Well, this won’t mean much to you, then,” he said, “but he died a few days ago.”
Not right not right not right, your gut said. “How… how did he die?” you asked, terrified of the answer without knowing why.
“They don’t know yet. They haven’t been able to find anything wrong with him. They just found him collapsed outside, I guess.”
You white-knuckled it through the rest of your coffee.
Afterward, you lost over half of your walk home. When you arrived, there was another bouquet of almost black roses on your front porch.
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Things began to disintegrate quickly from there.
Over the next week, you kept losing time. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, sometimes even more. Once you started paying attention, you realized it was only after the sun went down. But knowing that didn’t seem to help.
There were more nightmares too. There was the one where you were being chased through the woods by something unseen, under a blood-red moon and the trees came alive to trap you. Or the one where you were back at the Thrombey house and it was on fire. The skies opened up, but instead of rain, the clouds poured down blood. The strangest one had Ransom in it. Blood flowed from his mouth as he choked you with his scarf. They all started to blend together after that. Blood. Pain. Terror. 
Even with the nightmares, you slept like the dead. But that didn’t stop you from waking up exhausted every morning. You called in sick to work multiple days. You stopped seeing Tineka or Robbie. What would have been the point? You couldn’t concentrate on anything. You could barely stay awake. And every time you went for a walk in the evening, to try to get some exercise and clear your head, you lost time. Something was very wrong and you didn’t know what to do.
The one person you did see was Ransom. He often seemed to be out and about at the same time you were. The fear you felt for him was still there, but you couldn’t deny that you were drawn to him, too. When he was near. you could feel the chaos that had taken you over the last week finally quiet down. You still lost time with him, but it didn't seem to matter as much. Nothing seemed to matter as much when you were with him. Even if you still felt the instinctual urge to turn around and run away whenever you saw him.
Compounding your troubles, the roses just kept coming. Every few days, another bouquet appeared on your porch. You still had no idea who was sending them. It had occurred to you that maybe it was Andy, trying to fuck with you. As much as you hated him now, that just didn’t seem like him. But you couldn’t think of anyone else who would do it either. You barely even knew anyone in town anymore.
For a reason you couldn’t articulate, you didn’t say anything about any of this to your parents. You couldn’t hide it from them though. They may not have known exactly what was going on, but they knew there was something. You overheard them one night as you came down the stairs to get a glass of water, their low tones coming from the living room.
“She is not okay,” your dad was saying, “and we need to stop acting like she is.”
“She’s been through a lot,” your mom said. “If she wants space–”
“Look at her!” your dad said, trying to keep his voice quiet, but the emotion still came through. “The time for space is over. I think we need to start talking about professional help.”
As quietly as you could, you ran back up the stairs. You weren’t that thirsty.
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You spent the next two days in bed. When your mom came in to check on you, you told her you had the flu.
On the third day, you woke up feeling clear-headed for the first time in ages. You were rested. You hadn’t had any nightmares. The fog seemed to have cleared from your brain. When you bounced downstairs and greeted your parents, the relief on their faces made you want to cry. Your work day was the most productive you’d had since you’d arrived at your parents’ house. You finally felt like things were going to be ok.
That night after dinner, you decided to celebrate your good mood with snacks. You got in your car and started driving to the grocery store.
When you parked, you looked up. You weren’t at the grocery store. You were in front of the Thrombey house. You burst into tears. No no no. How had you gotten here? Why was this happening to you? As you were about to put the car in reverse and go back home, the front door opened and Ransom came out. So instead, you got out of the car.
“Trespassing again?” he asked, that smirk always on his lips. Like there was a joke that only he knew about.
   “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know what’s happening!”
He came down off the porch and walked over to you. He gently brushed a tear off your cheek and looked you in the eye. “Poor little rabb–
You were sitting in your car, parked in front of your parents’ house. The sun was coming up. How? The last thing you remembered, it was evening. It’d been hours. So many hours. The entire night. You let out a frustrated, guttural cry. You checked your phone, certain there must be so many panicked calls and texts from your parents, but there was nothing. Looking further, you found a text from yourself to your mom, telling her that you were spending the night with Tineka. Had you? Was that where you’d been? You thought about calling Tineka to check but one of two things would happen. She’d be confused as to why you couldn’t remember that you’d just left her house. Or, she’d tell you that she hadn’t seen you in days. Both options seemed equally awful and impossible to deal with. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, and looked up at the front door. In front of it, was an ornate, vintage vase, filled with roses, so deep red they were practically black. No. Absolutely not. You started your car again and pulled back out onto the road in a flurry. This was one mystery you might actually be able to solve and you were going to do it.
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The only dedicated floral shop in town didn’t open for another two hours. That was fine. You could wait. You sat in your car as long as you could stand it, and then when you grew too antsy to bear, you got out and paced in front of the storefront.
As soon as the door was unlocked, you were inside the shop, frantically looking through all of the roses.
“Can I help you?” an employee cautiously asked from behind you. 
You spun around. “I’m looking for black roses.”
“Oh, uh, so, roses don’t actually come in true black. The closest is a really dark red that looks almo–”
“Yes, I know that!” You interrupted. “That’s what I’m looking for!”
“Well,” they said, a professional curtness in their tone now, “we don’t carry them. You’d have to do a special order.”
That was actually good news. It’d narrow down possibilities considerably. “Can you tell me who’s been ordering them?”
They looked confused. “Like, ever?”
“No! Just in the past two weeks!”
They took a step back. “We haven’t had anyone order them recently.”
You shook your head wildly, desperation taking over. “No, that’s not true! You’ve been delivering them to my house! I just want to know who’s sending them.”
Another employee came out from the back and eyed you carefully.
“Please,�� you said, sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “You have to tell me who it is. I have to know.”
“We haven’t had any orders like that,” the first employee said firmly.
“No!” you shouted. “Please just tell me. You have to tell me!”
“Ma’am,” the second employee finally spoke up. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
You stopped and looked around yourself. Another customer had come in. They stood by the door and stared at you. Everyone stared at you.
“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The first employee looked deeply uncomfortable, but the second just folded their arms and gave you a hard look.
“You’re sure?” you asked. “You really haven’t had any special orders?” You felt a few tears fall down your cheeks.
“Ma’am, if you don’t leave, we’ll have to call the cops.”
You took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You left as quickly as you could, trying not to look anyone in the eye.
Once outside and away from the floral shop, you found a bench and sunk down on it, trying to pull yourself together. What was happening? What was wrong with you? 
You heard someone across the street call your name and you looked up to see Robbie rushing toward you. He dodged a few cars and then stepped up onto the sidewalk. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” You started sobbing at that, unable to hold anything in any longer. He sat down on the bench next to you and tentatively put his hand on your back. He said your name again, softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
You shook your head. “I think I’m losing my mind,” you choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He was rubbing gentle circles now. “Tell me what’s happening. Maybe I can help.”
So you did. You told him about losing time and saying things you didn’t understand, being so tired all the time you could barely get out of bed, the nightmares. He listened quietly to everything and when you were done he just nodded for a moment, then said, “First thing, I think, is that you need to see a doctor.”
You shook your head. “No, I can’t.”
“Listen, I know it’s scary, but I don’t think this is going to go away on its own. This could be a brain tumor or something. You really need to get it checked out.”
“You’re not listening to me,” you growled out, surprised by how upset you were, and how quickly your mood had changed. “I can’t.”
“Ok,” he said, putting his hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry. I’m listening. Why can’t you?”
“I just can’t!” you said, standing up. You were jittery. You needed to move.
Robbie reached out a hand, and quietly said your name again, clearly trying to calm you down.
You couldn’t stop shaking your head. “I just can’t, okay? I just can’t. I can’t. I’m not allowed!”
You both froze. “What–” Robbie stopped then tried again, shock clear on his face. “What do you mean you’re not allowed?”
You didn’t know, exactly. You just knew it was true. No doctors. Absolutely not. “I have to go,” you said and turned abruptly to race back to where you’d parked your car. Robbie called after you the whole way.
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Your phone buzzed at you the whole drive home. Robbie. He wouldn’t stop. It continued all day. He was worried about you, his texts and voicemails told you. What you said had really freaked him out. Was someone hurting you? He just wanted to help. You hid in your bedroom and buried your phone in your laundry hamper. You could still hear it buzzing away, but it made it easier to pretend that you couldn’t. Finally, sometime after dark, it stopped.
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It started ringing again in the morning, just as insistent as before. You dug it out of your dirty clothes, ready to tell Robbie to just forget what happened and leave you alone when you saw that it was Tineka, and she was calling for the third time.
When you answered, at first you just heard her crying. “Tineka?” you asked. “Are you there? What’s going on?”
“Robbie,” she sobbed, and for a moment you thought maybe he’d talked to her, told her who knows what, but then she continued. “Oh god, Robbie. Robbie’s dead.”
A chill whipped through your entire body. “What?” you breathed. Just yesterday– No. Your mind went to all the people you’d heard about since you’d gotten here. The vague reasons, the shrugs given as cause of death. A pattern you’d refused to see until this moment. You had to know if he was part of it. “Tineka, how did he die?”
“Oh god,” she sobbed, “It’s so awful. I can’t– His throat. It was ripped out.”
You felt time stop. Distantly, you could hear Tineka still talking. Going on about animal attacks, coyotes and bobcats, maybe something escaped from a sanctuary or private owner. You couldn’t explain it, you didn’t know why – you obviously didn’t know anything – but you knew deep down in your being that this was because of you. Something was happening.
Without saying anything, you ended the call and left your phone on your bed. You didn’t get dressed, still in the leggings and oversized t-shirt you always slept in. You moved through the house as quickly and quietly as you could, not bothering to stop to look for your parents. The only things you grabbed on your way out were your coat and your car keys. 
As you started driving away, you didn't really have a destination in mind, but once you were about halfway there, you realized that you did in fact know where you were going now. Of course, you did. There was only one place to go. One person to see.
As you pulled up in front of the Thrombey house, it struck you that you’d never seen it in daylight before. The way the sun shone down on it almost made it more eerie. It should not be here, in this daylight world. It was a relic of the night. You shook your head at yourself. Your thoughts had become so strange lately.
You waited in your car. He always heard you and came out, but this time, nothing. You looked to the little driveway at the side. The beamer was there. So where was Ransom? After several minutes of waiting, you got out. You went up to the house, ready to pound on the door until he came out, but stopped at the porch. You could clearly see now how the wood was rotting, the holes that were already there. You couldn’t risk taking a single step onto it. You didn’t know how he came in and out this way.
You looked around, there must be another way in, maybe on the side of the house. As you walked around the corner, you came up short. Lining this side of the house, hidden from the front, was a beautiful, neat row of rose bushes, in such a deep red they were practically black. No. No no no. It couldn’t be. But of course, it was. You were so stupid. So blind. You fell to your knees beside them. It had all started here, at this house. You could clearly see that now, finally. Whatever end came, that would be here too, so you laid down, and you waited. There was nothing else to do.
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You didn’t know how much time had passed. You were pretty sure you’d dozed in and out. But at some point, the sun had gone down. Once it was fully hidden beneath the horizon, you heard the front door open and footsteps come around the side of the house.
Ransom crouched down next to your head, his hand gently brushing the hair out of your face. “So you know now,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, but you still shook your head. “No,” you said. “I don’t know anything. I don’t understand.”
He nodded and stood up. You sat up, almost like there was a string in your chest, connected to his. “You know,” he said, looking up at the house. “Ransom is my middle name. I’ve always gone by it, but when they reported on everything that happened here, they used my first name, so that’s the one everyone remembers.”
Of course. “Hugh,” you breathed. “You’re Hugh Drysdale.” You were as sure of it as you’d ever been of anything. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. He nodded, pleased. “How?” you asked. Hugh had been roughly your age when the fire had happened and he’d disappeared. Almost 50 years ago. The man standing in front of you didn’t look a day over 35.
He crouched down again, so that he was level with you, so that you could clearly see his face in the moonlight. So that you had a perfect view of the fangs that dropped down.
You gasped, wanting to scoot away on your hands, but you stayed pinned in your spot. “No, that’s not– You can’t–” You took a deep breath and gave yourself the courage to say the word. “Vampires aren’t real.”
He threw his head back and laughed. It was wild and loud and cruel. “Come on now,” he said, “I know you aren’t that stupid, sweetheart.”
As you tried to process this, you realized it didn’t actually matter how any of this could be real. There was only one question you actually needed an answer to. “Why did you do this to me?” 
He grinned at you, mean as ever. “Because you came right to me, little rabbit. How could I resist an offering like that?” Tears started to run down your face, and he cooed at you, collecting a few with his finger. “I’ll admit, at first, I’d just planned to drain you, leave your body beside the grocery store for some teenage employee to find the next day.” He smiled at the thought. “But that first taste. You have no idea how good you taste, baby. It couldn’t just be a one-and-done. It was as easy as anything to put you under a little thrall. Compel you to forget when I fed on you, make sure you didn’t let anyone else know. The plan was to snack on you while I was here, and once I had everything I needed, I’d bring you with me, keep you as a little pet blood bag until I was bored and done with you. And torturing you was so fun. It made having to be here so much more bearable. But as I broke you down, brought you to your weakest, it made me realize that I’m desperate to see you at your strongest. See you surging with power.”
There was something in his words, in his eyes, that filled you with panic. But also something else. Want, you were terrified to admit. “What does that mean?” you whispered.
“It means you’re mine, baby, and I’m going to keep you. Claim you. Forever.”
It was the last word you fixated on. That was the word that meant everything. That really said what he meant. You took a deep breath, trying to get the crying under control. “And if I let you do that, this will all stop? I’ll be ok again?”
He chuckled. “Sure, honey. If you ‘let’ me do it, it’ll all stop. You’ll get your mind back. The thrall will lift.”
“And if I don’t?”
He tilted his head to the side. “If you don’t, you’ll still be mine. I’ll just make it hurt. Your friend Tineka sure has a pretty neck. Maybe I’ll rip it out, just like I did to your other little friend. Or your parents. Blood is kind of like wine, you know, gets better with age.”
“No, no, please,” you begged.
“Then give yourself to me, right now.” He leaned forward into your space and you fought the dual urges to pull away and to close the distance completely.
You took a deep breath and blinked the tears away. Your torment would stop. Things would be better. Your family would be safe. “Okay,” you whispered, “please. Please, Ransom.”
Without further ado, he pulled you into a bruising kiss, both hands tightly gripping your face, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He gave you no choice but to sink into it, his fangs still dropped, occasionally nipping into your lips. When he pulled away, you were left gasping for breath. 
You had no time to recover before he was pushing back on your shoulders and then slipping his hands under your knees to tip you onto your back. You held yourself up, as much as you could, on your forearms, unable to look away from him. Mesmerized by him, as always. He pulled on your leggings until they ripped in two and tossed them away. He crawled between your knees and then did the same to your panties. You cried out at the sting of the elastic breaking. He smoothed a hand over you, fingers moving through the thatch of soft curls, and growled “Just perfect.” Then he lowered his face to your cunt and slowly dragged his tongue along the length of it. You finally gave in and let your upper body fall back, tossing your head to the side, your hands grasping for purchase in the dry grass beneath you, as he worked you over with his mouth. Little mewls escaped you, beyond your control. You wanted to deny how good it felt; he was a literal monster. He had killed countless people. His own family, in this exact spot where he now defiled you. But you couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about anything other than his mouth on you, the rising heat in your core, the grass under your hands, the twigs poking into your back. The one thing outside of this exact moment that your brain briefly flashed to was Andy. How he had never felt like this. Never given you this. In his own way, he too, had wanted to drain you dry and then he’d left you with nothing to show for it. His promise of forever had turned out to be empty. With Ransom, you knew that word meant something different. Meant something more. Something real.
Your mewls had turned into soft little chants of “Please,” and “Ransom,” over and over. As you reached your peak and were just about to go over it, he removed his mouth from you. You cried out in frustration and lifted your head just in time to see him turn his and sink his teeth into your thigh. You screamed at the pain. The way it mingled with the intense pleasure you were already experiencing, along with the constant fear you’d been in for the past weeks had you hurtling over the edge. You came harder than you ever had before, your body spasming through it, tears rushing down your face, wetness pooling between your legs. Ransom drank from you all through your orgasm and the aftershocks. As you were finally coming down, he released your thigh, quickly licking up the blood that had dripped down your leg. He reached up to your face and grabbed your chin, forcing eye contact as he viciously bit into his own wrist. He brought his other hand to the back of your head, grasping it firmly, and then pushed his bloody wrist into your mouth. You flailed, instinctively trying to get away, but his hard grip wouldn’t let you move. You choked as his blood filled your mouth. Your eyes were wide, hands wildly trying to release his hold on you.
“Just drink,” his voice filled your consciousness. “Drink. Take it all, sweetheart.” At some point, your body gave in, no longer struggling, trying to dislodge him. You took what he gave you and swallowed. “Good girl,” he cooed as you continued to drink. “Good girl.” You grasped his wrist, latching on with your mouth, suddenly desperate for more. Blackness was gathering at the edges of your vision. It started gradually and then quickly overtook you. The last thing you heard before you slipped into the darkness was Ransom’s chuckle.
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You gasped for breath as you rocketed up to a sitting position. You could hear everything. The birds on the roof of the house. The wind moving in the trees. The ants in the ground beneath you. You could feel everything. The hair on your arms, standing straight up. The grass growing in the ground. The electricity in the air. The one thing you couldn’t feel was your blood flowing through your veins. It was still. You knew it was. But something was pumping through you. Power. You gasped again to feel it. You could do anything now. You were sure of it. You’d been so weak before. But now. Now nothing could beat you. With that power was also the most intense hunger you’d ever felt. You needed something, right now. You needed everything. You needed to feed, you needed to fuck, you needed to drink.
A familiar chuckle interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to see Ransom standing above you. That mean smirk that was always on his face. “Oh little rabbit,” he said, “we are going to have so much fun.”
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Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, there's a follow-up! 💜
Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire
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mendingbone · 9 months
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i keep seeing people in their late teens/early twenties having a "[X] content intended for younger audiences does not feel satisfying to me anymore but i don't know where to start to branch out into adult fiction" moment and i thought i would give some recommendations for adult fiction for my fellow creepy crawly queer people. all or at least a LOT of it will be on the darker and more fucked up side bc i primarily engage with horror and thriller media personally but feel free to add on with more or recommendations from other genres :)
edit: i am continuing to add to this list so there might be new recs (highlighted in pink) in here every once in a while! also want to add that there's a variety of POC, queer, and disabled authors in here as well, i am also all of the above (asian, bi/aro, poly, disabled) and tried to incorporate as many of their wickedly talented, compelling narratives as possible. that's all, happy reading!
A Certain Hunger, Chelsea G. Summers
A Darker Shade of Magic, V. E Schwab*
A Dowry of Blood, S.G Gibson
Animal, Lisa Taddeo*
A Ripple of Power and Promise, Jordan A. Day*
Bunny, Mona Awad*
Children of Blood and Bone, Tomi Adeyemi*
Cursed Bread, Sophie Mackintosh*
Dark Places, Gillian Flynn
Dead Girls Don't Say Sorry, Alex Ritany*
Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, Olga Tokarczuk*
Eileen, Ottessa Moshfegh*
Fruiting Bodies, Kathryn Harlan*
Goddess of Filth, V. Castro*
Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn
House of Leaves, Mark Danielewski
If I Had Your Face, Frances Cha*
Iron Widow, Xiran Jay Zhao
Jackal, Erin E. Adams*
Juniper and Thorn, Ava Reid*
Kindred, Octavia Butler*
Manhunt, Gretchen Felker-Martin*
Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia
Ninefox Gambit, Yoon Ha Lee*
Rabbits, Terry Miles*
Scorched Grace, Margot Douaihy*
Sharp Objects, Gillian Flynn
She is a Haunting, Trang Thahn Tran
Slewfoot, Brom*
Sorrowland, Rivers Soloman
Summer Sons, Lee Mandelo
Supper Club, Lara Williams*
The Centre, Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi*
The Change, Kirsten Miller
The Death of Jane Lawrence, Caitlin Starling*
The Dreamer Trilogy, Maggie Stiefvater
The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson
The Hollow Places, T. Kingfisher*
The Human Origins of Beatrice Porter, Soraya Palmer*
The Jasmine Throne, Tasha Suri
The Locked Tomb, Tamsyn Muir
The Luminous Dead, Caitlin Starling*
The Red Tree, Caitlin Kiernan*
The Unfamiliar Garden, Benjamin Percy*
Vicious, V. E Shwab
Wake, Siren, Nina MacLaughlin*
We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson
What Moves the Dead, T. Kingfisher*
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gravemud · 1 year
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surprise !
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pandorascripts · 1 year
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unknowingly yours
warnings: dark themes, stalking, possessiveness, obsession, gore, murder, biting, jealousy, and im probably forgetting something too. (you’re responsible for ur own media consumption buddy)
pairing: dark!wednesday addams x vampire!fem!reader
(all characters aged up to 18)
notes: this was written on a whim at like 1am, and I’ve just now completed it. it’s kinda rushed and half-assed. enjoy :)
————
Gomez had tried to warn his daughter what it meant to be an Addams. What it meant to be so deeply in love with someone, that’d you do anything for them. You’d murder, abandon your morales, just to get one more taste of them. Wednesday had repeatedly shoved him off, claiming it would never happen, but it did. The moment Wednesday laid eyes on you, she could feel the obsession turning dark, horrific. She reveled in it. 
Wednesday loved the thrill of sneaking into your dorm, watching you whilst slept. She loved sitting in the back of her class, watching you do anything and everything. Every time your shoulders raised, taking a breath, Wednesday could praise you for it. She never understood what her father meant, until people got too touchy. After countless victims, it Yoko became the newest.
Wednesday sat in the back of the cafeteria, watching you chat with your friends. Yoko slung her arm over you shoulder, and Wednesday felt the can in her hand crack. She tried calming breaths, something her father taught her. They didn’t work. She shook with rage, the can splitting in half with her might and slicing her palm clean. She didn’t care though, all that mattered now was Yoko, who was now leaning into your ear, whispering something.
 Wednesday took in another shaky breath, how dare she touch what was hers. Wednesday decided she would show that vampire not to mess with her territory, and you, you were in trouble. You were hers, and it’s just about time you started acting like it. 
She watched with rapt attention as you leaned back, giggling. You lightly slapped Yoko on the shoulder, blushing deeply and scolding her. Wednesday stood up, food untouched, and walked over to your table. 
She bumped into the wood, her tray flying upwards and landing in Yoko’s lap. 
“The hell, dude?” Yoko yelled, her hands in the air, away from the mess. 
You rushed into action, picking up bits of food with a napkin. 
“I’m sure she didn’t mean it, Yoko. Calm down.”
Wednesday stared at you. Oh, you were so kind, beautifully unaware, and completely vulnerable. Wednesday filled with glee at the mere thought of ruining you. 
“Yes, precisely.” Wednesday nodded to you, her eyes never leaving yours. 
You smiled at her. “See you in botany, Wednesday?”
She nodded stiffly once again, her insides doing summersaults. You were so sweet, deliciously so. Wednesday walked away, her tray still on Yoko’s lap. That bloodsucker could deal with it, after all, it was only part of Wednesday’s much needed apology. She’d get the rest tonight, when Yoko was begging her for mercy. Her lips nearly twitched at the thought. 
Wednesday walked back up to her dorm, still having fifteen minutes until botany with you. She set her bag down on her dark bed, the empty side of the room creaking. She was so pleased she didn’t have a roommate, that’d make this next part harder. Wednesday leaned under her bed, pulling out a huge poster board. She raced back to the door, double checking its lock, and set it up. 
Her fingers traced over the red strings and pins delicately, stopping at a photo of you. You were laying down, enjoying the sun, your eyes closed and wearing your uniform. She remembered that day like yesterday, it was the first time you’d two had spoken. She only fell deeper. 
Wednesday strolled down to the lake, watching as the lily pads drifted slowly. Canoes splashed across the water, people yelling and cheering. 
“Hey! You mind if I sit here?”
Wednesday looked up, ready to dismember who ever decided to ruin her quiet. Her eyes laid on yours and, oh, Wednesday could’ve fainted. You were beautiful, an ethereal smile plastered on your face, eyes deep and true. It only solidified Wednesday’s desire for you. 
“No, not at all.”
Wednesday scooted to the left, offering you more room against the tree. 
You muttered a thank you. 
“So, why are you all out here alone?”
Wednesday sighed, your voice was so pleasing, and it was bending her to your will even more so. 
“I’ve decided to observe the Poe Cup. Thought it’d be amusing when they sink and fall. What about you, bellissima?
The Italian caught you by surprise, you were rusty, not really remembering most of it, so you shoved the nickname aside. 
“Figured I’d get away from all the yelling. It’s more peaceful down here. I’m glad you’ve found my spot though.”
“Your spot?” Wednesday questioned, her hands itching to hold yours and never let it go. 
“Yes, it’s been mine for a bit. Glad to share it though, been getting a bit lonely.”
Wednesday felt the Italian bubbling up, her father warned her about this too. She’d want to call you names, anything to give you a temporary mark as hers. She swallowed it though, choosing to instead ask you question with no flirtation. 
“Lonely? You don’t have someone?”
You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Wednesday wished she could’ve done it for you, she truly believed it was a crime that you’d do it yourself. A goddess like you shouldn’t waste precious time. 
“No— I— No, I don’t. You?”
Wednesday shook her head. “I’ll have them soon.” 
You smiled. “Do I know them?”
“You’re very familiar.”
You chuckled again. “What are they like?”
“They’re beautiful, out of the world so, and they make me crazy.”
You cracked a huge smile. “That’s cute. Sounds like you adore them.”
“Più di quanto tu possa sapere, mia amata.”
“I’m afraid my Italians a bit rusty. What’d you say?”
“Nothing of importance. No need to fret.”
Wednesday sighed. She traced her board again, documents and other people plastered up on there. Gently, she flipped it over, the backside littered with more photos. Everyone who was a threat. 
She traced the X’s over their eyes, a wicked smile covering her face. Wednesday uncapped a red sharpie, drawing slow, deep X’s over Yoko’s eyes.
“Non ci disturberà più, amore mio,” she sighed. 
Wednesday ordered Thing to put the board back under again. She marched off to her drawer, unlocking a secret section. Carefully, she pulled it out. 
“Which one, Thing? The mace, my machete? Or should we do it in style? After all, we are aiming to impress her.”
Her fingers grazed over her arsenal of weapons. 
“Let’s go old fashioned, hm?” She asked, pulling out a wooden stake. “Yoko’s barely even a threat.”
Wednesday set the oak down on her bed, taking out garlic spray before locking it back up. She slipped on a black pair of medical gloves, releasing them so they smacked painfully against her skin. Wednesday sighed in contempt. 
“Thing, put on a glove. Nevermore’s already worried about their students. They keep disappearing don’t they?”
He tapped in agreement. 
“What. A. Pity.”
She waited until dark, skipping her class, deciding to get more items like flashlights and garlic bombs to neutralize Yoko. Wednesday knew you wouldn’t be there, she always knew what you were doing. The psychic flipped open her pocket watch. 
Two A.M, perfect time to strike. 
Wednesday crept out of Ophelia Hall, traveling in the shadows until she reached Persephone’s Wing. Crouching down under room two-hundred and forty-three, Wednesday pulled the pin on the garlic grenade and rolled it under the door. It exploded silently, a jagged choking noise filling the room. Wednesday tossed another one, slipping out her crowbar and cracking the door open. 
The anger from earlier surged through her as Wednesday marched inwards, she closed the door behind her. Knowing the lock was broken, she slid Yoko’s desk against the wooden frame. 
Yoko choked out pleas, desperate to justify herself for an unknown crime. Wednesday looked up, inhaling deeply as she soaked in Yoko’s cries. The vampire continued crying, bloody tears streaking down her face as she choked. 
Wednesday looked to her. Oh, it was exquisite. Yoko’s skin was burned and sores opened up, her neck straining for air, only to be poisoned a second later. 
“Useless, bloodsucker,” Wednesday spat, stomping on Yoko’s stomach. A sharp crack echoed and Wednesday was delighted to hear a rib brake. 
She crouched drown, driving the stake a mere inch from Yoko’s heart. 
“You do not touch what is mine,” she spat again, her stake driving into her repeatedly, missing by an inch. 
“I don’t—“ Yoko gasped, hoping to save herself. 
“LIAR!” Wednesday shouted, diving the stake into her stomach and twisting it. 
Blood gurgled out of Yoko’s mouth, her back arching upwards. 
Wednesday leaned down into Yoko’s ear, stabbing her once again near her heart. 
“She is mine. You are beneath her.” Pure venom erupted from Wednesday. 
She cracked the stake up, driving it into Yoko’s heart. Wednesday panted, leaning back on her knees. She watched with glee as Yoko’s body disintegrated, burning into ash. At least vampires were easy to kill. 
Wednesday picked up her stake. Tilting her neck to the left, she heard it pop and repeated the action. 
“Thing, get the broom.”
Thing shuffled forward, the tall broom too much for him. Wednesday took it, sweeping the vampire remains.
“Nothing like a good murder, hm, Thing?”
He tapped, some ash flying up. 
“Get out of her, I don’t wish for you to smell like garlic and cheap perfume.”
She tossed the bloody gloves into the trash bag, and replaced them with a new set. Wednesday set the broom down, pulling a record player out of her bag. She gently set it aside, shuffling through her travel collection until she reached Debussy: Cello Sonata in D Minor. She put the record on, breathing in heavily as it rang through her ears. 
Wednesday held the garbage bag, filling it with Yoko’s ashes. She wiped her sweaty forehead, dust sticking to it. 
“Thing, clean up the rest.”
She walked away, browsing the vampire’s trinkets. Wednesday paced to her jewelry box, flicking through the accessories. She gasped, a beautiful black skull ring, sat buried under hideous silver and gold necklaces. Wednesday gently pulled it out, holding it in her fingers. 
Now this would make a lovely gift for you. See, Wednesday had a ritual, she’d kill your suitors, fake their leave and give you a gift from their collections. You’d yet to notice, considering all the beautiful gifts she gave were deemed ugly by the owner. For Rowan, she gave you a blood red ring, he probably received it from a family member, for Davina, it was a simple black hair clip. The others were less important, but she remembered them nonetheless. Whether it was a pining fool from across the room, or someone that had written you a love letter, only to scrap it moments later, Wednesday wouldn’t stand for that. The only person you should be with, is her, she was the only one who could treat you right. No one else understood you the way she did. Wednesday wasn’t going to let people stop her from achieving you. 
Her next plan was set in action when you knocked on the door.
“Yoko, I thought we talked about this. I don’t gotta key, you cant lock the door,” you whined. “I’m so tired, please let me in.”
Wednesday frowned. Were there nights she didn’t let you in? She stood behind the door, opening it. 
You walked through, glancing at Yoko’s bed. 
“Yoko?” You called out, shuffling forward. You took note of the odd cello music. Classical was definitely not one of Yoko’s genres. 
You closed the door, and Wednesday smashed a grenade in your face. Unfortunately, you weren’t like other vampires. Garlic wouldn’t affect you, but she knew vervain would.
You hissed, eyes burning. “Who’s there?” You cried out, the pain only getting worse. You tumbled down to the floor. 
Wednesday crouched down to your level, cupping your jaw. You breathed heavily, still not understanding what was happening. 
“Non mi diverto nel tuo dolore. Mi dispiace molto, ma deve essere fatto, amore mio,” Wednesday whispered. 
You whimpered, only one person spoke to you in Italian. 
“What did you do with Yoko?” You cried, rejecting her hand. 
Wednesday seethed. She knew you’d be upset, but couldn’t you see? This was for you. All of it. 
“I killed that useless bimbo. I had to.”
A sob racked through you, your eyes still clamped shut. You scrambled back again, hitting Yoko’s bed.
“You didn’t have to,” you cried, hugging your knees. 
Wednesday walked over to you. She lifted your head up, wincing at the damage. Your eyes were bright red, bubbling and oozing. 
“Mio cuore,” Wednesday whispered. She straightened your legs, sitting down on your thighs. Gently, she brushed back your hair, trying to remove it from your tear-soaked cheeks. 
You continued crying, wishing she’d just go away, but she wouldn’t. You hated yourself because in some twisted, screwed up way, Wednesdays sweet nothings calmed you down. She was a murderer, she killed Yoko ruthlessly, and vervained you, so why did you feel for her? 
“La mia amata, this is going to cause you pain, okay? It’s going to be alright though.”
Wednesday kissed your forehead, raking her hand through your hair. Then, her hand pulled back and tied something around your wrist. 
You screamed out in pain, only to be muffled. She had restrained your hands with vervain-soaked cloth, and tied another one around your mouth.
Your eyes darted open and you lurched forward. The restraints burned your mouth and wrists. Wednesday cupped your face again, placing delicate kisses on your head. 
She shushed you softly, one of her hands supporting your neck as you sobbed. Your breathing became labored and you could only focus on the pain. Your hands felt numb, wrists burning and screaming for release.
Every breath you took scorched your nose and seared your tongue. Your eyes clamped shut, the tears only increasing.
Wednesday hushed you once again, asking you questions. They all just faded away, the pain drowning them out. She leaned in close to your ear. 
“It’s okay. Breathe.” 
You followed her instructions, her words grounding you. The pain trickled into the background, and you let her voice guide you. 
“Good girl,” she husked out. 
You took in another breath with her, shaking. 
“That’s it.” 
Your eyes flickered open, meeting her dark face. You wondered how she could see when the lights were off, but you shoved that aside. You focused on her touch, her breaths, her weight on your thighs. You breathed in deeply again.
“I don’t want to tie up your legs.”
You stiffened, the last thing you wanted right now was more vervain coursing through your veins. Wednesday quickly hushed you. 
“I’m not going to, but you must promise me something.”
You nodded.
“Do not, under any circumstance, run away from me. I’ve waited too long for this moment.” Her voice faded into a whisper as her sentence closed, and you shivered. 
“Do you agree to my terms?”
You nodded your head. 
“Good,” she whispered. 
Slowly Wednesday got off you. The cold enveloped you, and you greedily missed her warmth. You were sick, you thought. This psycho murdered your friend, and here you were, pining. Disgusting. 
You breathed in again, the vervain killing you every time. 
You were too wrapped up in your head, that you hadn’t even notice Wednesday packing up some of your belongings. 
Your eyes darted around the room, her dark figuring jumping all over the place. You wanted to ask her what she was doing, but the sizzling in your mouth wasn’t worth it. 
You breathed in shakily, gaining courage. You chomped downwards, your hands spreading apart, and an involuntary scream racked through you. Wednesday rushed over to you, trying to figure out what you were doing. You clamped your mouth down again, and tried to pull the restraints off. 
“Hey! No, no, no,” she yelled. 
There wasn’t anything Wednesday could do though, she watched as you dropped down. You made yourself pass out from the pain, all so you wouldn’t experience this. Wednesday sighed in annoyance.
She cracked the door open, checking the halls. After seeing no one, she walked back over to you. Wednesday grunted as she picked you up, slinging you over her shoulder. She hated doing this, bodies were so heavy and always a pain to carry. Wednesday decided that she’d get the rest of her stuff later, you were more important. 
Wednesday walked back to her dorm, ducking behind pillars and walls when voices were near. She sighed in relief, placing you on her bed. Wednesday carefully undid your binds, tying them to her bedpost so you couldn’t run. She flinched as the sizzle from your skin filled the silent room. 
Wednesday walked back to Yoko’s room, picking up your stash of belongings that she’d packed for you, returning the room as it was. She packed up her other duffel bag, making sure not forget her record player, and walked out. Thing trailed after her. 
“Lurch has been notified to pick us up?”
Thing tapped. 
“He needs to get her before five. No exceptions.”
He tapped again.
“I don’t care about weather, Thing. He will get here, or he’ll go back in the grave where we discovered him.”
Thing scampered off, racing in front of her. 
She reached her dorm once again and let out a breath of relief. Her bags were all packed, no sign of her existence anywhere. Thing did a good job for once. 
Wednesday flicked out her pocket watch, checking the time. 
3:16, the whole ordeal had lasted roughly an hour. Wednesday frowned, her new lowest not at all pleasing. She walked over to you, kissing you on the forehead softly. Wednesday untied your mouth piece and hoisted you against the head board. 
She unsheathed her pocket knife from her boot and flicked it open. Wednesday shrugged off her plastic gloves, drawing blood over the wound she’d gotten previously. It opened easily, barely even closed, and rubbed it against your lips. The scent of blood had you drooling, waking you up instantly. You growled, looking possessed, and took her hand into your mouth. You fought against your restraints, trying to grab her hand for more. You removed your fangs out of her for a moment, trying to lick them off, and Wednesday retracted her hand. She waived it around, watching as you desperately nipped at it. The veins under your eyes turned a deep purple, blood smeared over your mouth. Your shoulders shook as you pulled at the restraints, trying to get free. The headboard would’ve been completely shattered by now if not for the dose of vervain you’d been hit with. As Wednesday observed your behavior, she realized something, you were a ripper. She moved her hand closer, watching as you shot forward and chomped down. Oh, this was glorious. 
The perfect, sweet, charming goodie-two-shoes, was a killer beast. Wednesday knew she had to be careful with you, but an apart of her desperately wanted to ripped to shreds by your pointy fangs.
Wednesday got off the bed and walked into the bathroom. Your groans and snarls were music to her ears as she poked her skin, drawing more blood to taunt you. She cleaned up her hand, wrapping it in bandage. Wednesday took out a small vial and downed it, grimacing at the taste afterwards. That was for the compulsion. She shook, the taste alone not pleasing. Wednesday would usually hide it in her coffee, the flavor weighing it out, but she was running out of time. 
Thing scampered into the bathroom. 
“He’s here? See, it wasn’t too difficult was it?”
Thing tapped. 
“Keep your distance, she’s hungry. Unfortunately for you, you can’t afford to have a chunk missing.” 
He shivered, scampering off to meet Lurch. 
Wednesday walked back up to you. You were crying once again, whimpering against the headboard. Wednesday went to wipe your tears, her red bandage nearing you. Your expression flipped like a dime, immediately going to ripper mode with the drug-like scent overwhelming you. Wednesday whipped her hand back. 
She was quite curious. You’d been around blood before, whether it was other vampires drinking it, or some kid piercing his skin, you’d never had a problem. So why was it one with her? 
“You need to behave,” Wednesday sighed out. 
You snarled, bloody fangs flashing out at her. 
“I will vervain you. This is your only warning,” she sneered. 
You hissed once again, slumping backwards in defeat. 
Wednesday slowly raised her hand, watching as you shivered with restraint. Your jaw clamped, eyes stuck on red. Your fangs pierced through your gums, and you bit into your own mouth to prevent yourself. Wednesday slowly untied your restrains, quickly tying them behind your back, and shoved you off the bed. She leaned into your ear. 
“I stole your daylight ring whilst you slept. Thing has it now. Your only chance is to come with me, willingly, without causing problems. Do you understand? I willfry you.”
You shuddered, nodding hastily. Wednesday kissed the side of your neck and pushed you forward. The vervain burned your skin, but you trudged through it. You didn’t dare make a sound as you walked, the occasional wince was muffled by biting into your tongue. 
Wednesday whispered praises into your ear as you walked down, your bags already taken care of. 
Wednesday knew this facade had to look real, her parents were under the impression that you’d been dating for awhile. She informed you of this, walking down a flight of stairs. 
“Do not say one word to them, Lurch, or any authorities, understood? Don’t worry about your daylight ring, we only do activities during the night. You’ll fit right in.”
Wednesday undid your restraints, and you gingerly rubbed at them. She raised her hand up to your face, and you looked in surprise at her. 
“My bloods laced with vervain, so you’ll be unable to compel, and vulnerable. It’ll keep you in control, and your ripper side should despise it,” she explained.
You nodded, holding her arm. Shakily, you raised it against your mouth. You fangs ripped through her flesh, and you sighed in relief. Her blood was intoxicating if you ignored the sting of vervain, and your ripper side was going feral. The thought of you biting her neck, her shoulders, anywhere on her had you biting harder. You shook the thoughts from your mind, abruptly tearing her wrist away. You turned your back to her, blinking rapidly and heaving.
“Let me see you,” she whispered. 
You shook your head. Getting wrapped up in your thoughts, you began to spiral, your victims faces flashing in your memories. You curled your hand into a fist, hitting the side of you head hard, trying to get them out. Wednesday’s hands shot up, stopping your hand from striking once again.
You clenched your eyes shut, panicking. Wednesday’s cold hands wrapped around your face, squeezing slightly as she wiped some fallen tears. The pressure lassoed you back to reality, your thoughts swimming into the dark basement of your mind. 
Wednesday lowered your head, choosing to place it on her chest. Her loud heartbeat filled your ears, and your breathing settled. You inhaled deeply, shakily releasing it. 
Her hands slowly started scratching the base of your neck, and she hummed quietly.
You focused on her heart again, hearing it pump steadily. Your ears picked up other noises too, her digestive system slowly working, the acid in her stomach bubbling slightly, and the blood coursing through her veins. The blood moving slowly drowned out her heartbeat, the image of you biting into her jugular filled your thoughts. Your fangs pierced out again, your eyes going darker. Clearing your throat hastily, you blinked rapidly. The whiff of lavender reeled you back to her, Wednesday’s presence returning. You sighed out heavily, leaning most of your weight on Wednesday. 
God, you were so tired. Sometimes the thought of staking yourself seemed better than this, but you knew you couldn’t. You wouldn’t give up. Not until you’d served your sentence. 
“Are you ready to go out to the car?” Wednesday quietly asked. You wouldn’t have picked it up if your senses weren’t heightened.
You nodded slowly, raising your head away from her. You gulped, not meeting her eyes. Wednesday may have been a murderous psycho, but you were a cold hearted ripper. It was hypocritical of you to judge her, especially since Wednesday’s never ripped off a head before. Wallowing in self-loathing, you walked of Nevermore’s doors hand in hand with Wednesday.
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the-irreverend · 1 year
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If I had a nickel for every time I came across a work of horror fiction where a fungus turns a human corpse into an art project...
...I'd have two nickels. Which isn't much, but it's weird it's happened twice.
P.S. The one on the bottom is from Annihilation.
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espanolbot2 · 11 months
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I mean, there’s no question that Mary wouldn’t win, right? Even without getting into the supplementary stuff by other writers, she’s an apparently immortal magician who is easily able to enter fictional/pocket worlds (see: jumping into a chalk drawing).
#As Mary’s job is kind of about creating a cushion of fantasy to ease troubled families through hard times to help the kids grow up to be somewhat decent people, if she were to somehow end up in Elm Street on one of her wanderings, I could see her easily turning Freddy into a Teachable Moment about how nightmares can’t hurt you or how evil monsters appear in stories to show that they can be defeated (as Neil Gaiman or GK Chesterton apparently once said).
Heck in the original books she’s apparently older than mountain ranges, is on first name terms with the primal forces of the universes, and is implied to be God’s nanny. The question isn’t so much who would win, so much as what would Mary do to Freddy to make an example out of someone who intentionally hurts children?
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...
That said, as much as I kinda lost patience with the League of Extraordinary Gentleman books years ago, Alan Moore’s dialogue for Mary is excellent.
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gollancz · 5 months
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Happy Paperback Publication Day to @jonnywaistcoat and FAMILY BUSINESS!
DEATH. IT’S A DIRTY BUSINESS. When Diya Burman’s best friend Angie dies, it feels like her own life is falling apart. Wanting a fresh start, she joins Slough & Sons – a family firm that cleans up after the recently deceased. Old love letters. Porcelain dolls. Broken trinkets. Clearing away the remnants of other people’s lives, Diya begins to see things. Horrible things. Things that get harder and harder to write off as merely her grieving imagination. All is not as it seems with the Slough family. Why won’t they speak about their own recent loss? And who is the strange man that keeps turning up at their jobs? If Diya’s not careful, she might just end up getting buried under the family tree. . .
'A triumph, thriving on relatable fears, hyper-realistic dirty homes, and understandable grief' - Fantasy Hive
'It completely blew me away' - FanFi Addict
'Don't read by yourself in a strange hotel room if you want to come out psychologically unscathed' - Me, specifically, learning lessons the hard way so that other people don't have to.
If you want a book that will:
Make you twitch at strange shapes outside the windows as the nights get darker
Break you in the smallest ways with the simplest observations of the meaning of humanity and love
Give you new and exciting things to be scared of that actually, on reflection, had probably always been lurking in the depths of your psyche just waiting to be called up
FAMILY BUSINESS is the book you want to grab.
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thegainingdesk · 3 months
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The Spider to the Fly
Statement of Oliver Barrett, dated 22/05/2023
The rent should have been the first red flag, I know that, but fuck me, have you seen the rents in Dublin these days? Worst than fucking London, if you can believe it. And there's this guy, right, four-story townhouse, twenty minute walk from my new job, says he just wants a tenant to make this place feel less empty, all for a grand a month, bills included. In this market! Too fucking right I didn't question it.
Well, I say a grand a month. One thousand euro and one cent, to be exact. The cent didn't bother me at the time, why the fuck would it? The man wants to add a cent to the rent, I'll give him a cent. Maybe it was to get over some threshold for something, or some tax dodge, or whatever, I didn't know and I didn't care. It was still €999.99 less than I'd be paying anywhere else in Dublin for some damn sight nicer digs. Now though, knowing what I know, after everything that… well, anyway, it bothers me more now. It feels significant. Like those old penny rents you hear about, or something. Something symbolic, and old.
But anyway, there was a cheap room going, in a good location, a good house, it was bloody better than anywhere else I've come across, and I was only in Dublin for a weekend before I properly moved to get everything sorted, so I didn't ask too many questions. So I go to this house, and it was gorgeous. We're talking Edwardian or Georgian or, I don't know, fancy. Some Upstairs Downstairs shit, like there were servants quarters and a coal cellar and whatever a scullery is. I didn't really think about it at the time - again, I'm not really in a position to ask questions - but you usually see houses like that in a row, right? Like terraced? This one was just there. On its own. On a nice street, don't get me wrong, but it was taller than any of the other houses, set back a little, and the style's all wrong. Maybe I thought the rest of the street had gotten destroyed in the Blitz or whatever they had in Dublin, it's not like I know anything about history outside of naming a couple of Henry the eighth's wives.
So I walked up to this great big, not quite right house, and I pulled this rope by the door and it fucking clanged. This wasn't some little ding dong electric doorbell, this was some fucking machinery. It felt like the house was vibrating from it. And while I'm reeling, this Victorian era sonic torture device still going off in my ears, the door swung open, too fast really, faster than you'd expect someone to get to the door, even if they were by it.
I don't know who I was expecting but this guy was hot. Like, something else. I'm talking movie star hot. Fuck, maybe he was a movie star, there's so many movies these days, right? He could have an Oscar for all I know, maybe that's how he could afford the house. I'm looking up at him, checking him out, and I don't have to look up at many people but this guy is real fucking tall, six-six maybe? And rail thin, but in a way that he makes work, he wasn't gaunt or anything just… angular. He had this jet black hair and his eyes were somehow even darker - at the time I probably would have said they were like ink or the night sky or something sappy, but looking back all I can think of is how shark's eyes look. I don't know, maybe that's just me projecting stuff after… well you know, after what happened. And he's just stood there, completely still, but, fuck, I really don't know if I can explain how fucking still this guy was. And that's not me looking back after the fact, at the time I was a bit creeped out. It was like looking at an optical illusion or something, like my eyes couldn't put together this guy that I'd just seen open a door in double-speed with how fucking still he was now. It was like someone had pasted a photo into the middle of my vision. And even though he was so fucking still, there was this, I don't know, this tension to him, like I could just see some energy there, ready to… fuck, I don't know, pounce. Like a tiger or… well, like a… but that's for later I guess.
Anyway, I'm checking this guy out, because he was sort of giving me the creeps, sure, but he was also fucking hot, and suddenly he wasn't so still anymore, and he’s looking me up and down and he's smiling and I'm starting to feel like this guy's checking me out right back. I don't know if you're gay, but there's this look, right, every gay guy knows it, this discrete little up and down, maybe with a little smirk and it just says, you know, "I'm gay, you're gay, let's fuck sometime". Now, I've had my share of guys in the past, I'm not about to be humble about it, I know that I'm hot myself, or, well I guess, you know, back then… but you know, I really was a great looking guy. Square fucking jaw, little dimple right in the middle of my chin, real broad shoulders, you know, I've always played rugby, and you could tell, because I had some decent fucking muscle on me, still do, probably, somewhere under all this fucking… whatever. The point is that I've had guys lining up for a chance to bounce on my dick, so I wasn't exactly shocked when guys checked me out but this guy, I mean, he was out of my league, you know? Out of everyone's league. It's insane to think guys that look like that would check anyone out.
So I was feeling sort of cocky, like maybe I could get more than a room out of this deal. And I know, don't shit where you eat, and definitely don't fuck your landlord, but fuck me this guy was hot, right? I couldn't pass up on this. And everyone in the fucking city's probably going for the room, it's not like I was likely to get it anyway, not with an advert that attractive. Sorry, what's that? Where did I see the advert? No, sorry, I can't quite… No, no, I don't think it was on a website, maybe a… Listen, I don't fucking remember, okay?
Anyway, so this guy smiled and he stepped back, and with his long legs he was all of a sudden right back in the shadows, and he let me in and the door closed behind me and all of a sudden it's just so dark. And I sort of stumbled around and I hear his voice, somewhere off down the corridor, and he said, and I remember this, because it's the first time I heard his voice, all soft and whispery, like I'm imagining it more than I'm hearing it, and there's this light, coming down the corridor from some door, but it's not like the hallway gets any brighter, it's just this beam of light for me to walk to. And he said, right, he says "Why don't you come into the parlour?" I remember that, exactly, because who the fuck says parlour, but it's in my head too, like it echoes in there. Anyway, so I walk towards this light, but it feels, I don't know, like I'm pushing through something, like- fuck, sorry, can we stop for a minute, I just need-
[Archivist's note: the recording was paused here at the subject's request. The subject was provided with a cup of tea and a member of the museum staff brought some food. After around five minutes, the subject was happy to continue the interview.]
Sorry, it's just, that's sort of where it feels like it all started. Walking through that hallway towards that voice and that light and that… that parlour. I'm not sure I really even remember what happened next. We spoke, for a while, the house rules and stuff I guess, when rent was due. I don't even remember agreeing to taking the room, it was just assumed. He certainly didn't give me a tour. He didn't even tell me his name, I don't think, not then anyway.
The next thing I knew I was back blinking in bright daylight, disorientated to be out of the dark and out of the warm, heady air of my new home. I flew back to London the next day, and spent the next few weeks preparing for my move. I received a contract in the post and found out my landlord's name - Damhán Alla. The contract was short, and was lacking a lot of the details I was expecting - nothing about a deposit, no bank details to transfer money to, none of the usual stuff. And what was there was odd - the contract was for one year and one day, no naked flames, the basement was out of bounds, I wasn't allowed to use certain spices or cleaning products, and I specifically wasn't allowed to do the hoovering myself. But like I said, if he wanted to run a tax dodge or whatever it was by renting me a cheap room, and if he was a little particular about his cleaning, or he's got some allergies, I was happy to help him out.
I turned up with all my worldly possessions in a few bulky bags - I'd either sold a lot of my stuff or sent it to my parents for storage, there was no realistic way I could haul much of anything to Ireland. My new landlord opened the door and was once again eye-achingly still for a moment or two, and then suddenly he's all charm, welcoming me in, taking my bags from me once I'm over the threshold, asking me how the journey was, if I wanted something to eat or drink.
I stuck my hand out. "It's Damhán, right?" I said. "I don't think we actually exchanged names last time." Thinking back, I don't even know how he knew my name and address to send me the contract.
His laugh was soft, but with a cruelty hiding somewhere deep in it. There was another sound there too, coming from his throat; a clicking maybe, or bubbling, and a hissing behind that. "Damhán," he corrected my pronunciation. "Not 'Damn-ham'."
"Down," I tried again. He shook his head and repeated it, slowly. "Dow-un," I said, doing my best to replicate him. He shrugged and gave a small nod - it would do, obviously.
I had the attic room - a whole floor really. In contrast to the rest of the house it was light and airy, with large windows and modern furniture. It had an en suite, a little kitchenette, even my own sitting area. I never needed to use the rest of the house if I didn't want to, but Damhán assured me from the shadows of the stairwell that I had the run of it, reminding me once again about the contract's stipulation not to go into the basement.
I got the full tour. The house was huge - I mean huge, you know. Bigger than it looked from the street, it must have just gone back and back. Loads of empty rooms, which makes sense, I guess; what are you supposed to fill that much space with? I remember at the time asking where his bedroom was, you know, just so I'm not stepping on his toes, and him avoiding the question. Thinking back I don't think I ever did figure that out. And the whole house was dark, curtains drawn in every room, hardly any lights. And cobwebs absolutely everywhere. And these cobwebs weren't dainty little strands, you know, they were thick. I'd occasionally walk through one and actually get stuck for a second or two. I remember thinking that if I had enough money to afford a house like that I'd hire a cleaner to come in a couple of times a week, but rich people are weird, right?
We made our way through the dark to the kitchen - me stumbling, my new landlord silent - where he started pulling out pots and pans to cook me lunch. I can't remember if I'd mentioned being hungry, but I suppose I must have been, anyway, after so long traveling.
Once he was set up, he led me through to the parlour where we spoke that first time, and told me to sit down. He left and I could hear him cooking in the kitchen.
He came back in after a while and placed a plate filled with bacon sandwiches in front of me. The bread was thickly sliced and freshly baked, the fat on the bacon was still sizzling slightly, and I could smell the butter before it was even close. There must have been three or four of them on the plate, each one piled with bacon and far too much for me to eat in one sitting usually. I remember salivating and licking my lips. Damhán licked his lips as well, and watched me tuck in.
Damhán wasn't much of a talker, I quickly learned, but he liked my company at meal times. Whenever I did try talking to him, he'd always end up laughing - with that hissing, bubbling, clicking sound beneath it. I learnt after a while to not make him laugh. He'd not eat with me, he'd just… watch me. Each breakfast and dinner time, and lunch on weekends, he'd call me into the parlour, place a pile of food in front of me and watch me eat it all. Always huge portions, always rich and fatty, always fucking incredible. Some of the best food I'd ever eaten, honestly. Every time I'd think, I'm never finishing that, y’know, always a proper pile of food, and then I'd take that first bite and… Look, it did taste amazing, it did, and I'm sure that was a part of it, but really… I don't know. I just ate. Like I entered a trance, or I was sleepwalking, or… I don't know, okay? All I know is he'd put food in front of me and watch me eat and then it was like, I don't know, like I knew I was eating but I didn't feel it. Like someone else was eating and I was watching them as well.
I started snacking at work as well. I've never been much of a snacker, got to watch my figure you know. Ha! And you can see for yourself how that turned out. But all of a sudden I'm just hungry all the time, I'm stashing chocolate and biscuits in my desk and in my coat, and all day I'm just mindlessly eating and- no, no, not like when he was watching, not that kind of mindless, just, you know, I didn’t ever think about it, it was just, I don't know, habit or instinct or automatic or whatever.
I didn't notice at first. The weight gain, I mean. God, I mean I must have noticed it, but I didn't notice it, you know? Like I could see it happening, I could see myself getting doughy and could see my gut puffing up and how my clothes weren't fitting right, but it's not like. I don't know. I thought with the move and the new job and living in a new country, it was just stress. Like, my weight goes up and down sometimes, this was just an up, there was nothing to notice.
But it kept on going up. And up. And at some point I'm bigger than I've ever been and my clothes aren't just fitting weird or too small, they're tight. Like, couple of sizes, bursting out, buttons not closing tight. I don't know what everyone at work thought. God, I must have been obscene. Actually, I think I, yeah, give me a moment, I've got a picture from around then, some work drinks thing… ah, yeah, here you go.
[Archivist’s note: the subject here showed a picture of himself in a small crowd, at a bar or similar. The subject looks to be around 250 lbs and wearing clothes several sizes too small, with skin showing where his shirt has ridden up, and shirt and trousers showing clear signs of the fabric straining. This picture, along with several others the subject has provided of themselves during their time in Ireland, can be found in the supplemental materials attached to this statement.]
I still didn't see it though. Like, you can see what I looked like, and, I mean, god those trousers! They must have killed, you know? And I can remember how painful they were to wear, remember noticing my body getting bigger, but my brain, I don’t know, just didn’t make the connection that I was actually getting fatter.
It was fast. Really fast. There was this woman in the office, Sarah, right, and she was maybe six months pregnant when I started. Well, obviously, couple of months later she's going on maternity and I looked over at her and I think its the first time I clocked how big I was getting because I realised my belly was bigger than hers. Even accounting for, you know, different heights and builds and stuff, my gut still looked bigger on my frame. One day just before she was due, she mentioned she's put on over two stone, and I remember people saying how much that is. I get home and I weighed myself for the first time since London. I was eighteen and a half stone. I'd put on about five stone since moving. I literally put on more than twice as much as a pregnant woman, and I did it in only a few months. That's mad, right? After that I tried to pay a bit more attention to my weight, step on some scales occasionally, but like I say, it was difficult. My brain just couldn't focus on the idea.
At some point in all of this, some point before I realised I put on more than Sarah I mean, Damhán one day just appeared in the parlour while I was eating some, I don't know, mound of potatoes and meat, and he just put this pile of clothes next to me. Didn't say a word, no mention of how it's because I'm bursting out of my own clothes or where they've come from, just puts them next to me then stands back to watch me eat.
I tried them on later and they fit perfectly. Well, I mean. They fit, anyway. I think I was so used to my clothes cutting in everywhere by that point that anything that was actually reasonably my size felt like it was tailor-made. They must have been expensive though. Real wool suits, tweed trousers. Not really my style, you know, bit old fashioned, but I couldn't deny they looked good, and by that point I was just happy I had something where I could get all the buttons to close.
I remember one time, not too long after, I think I was a bit over twenty stone at that point. I’d come back from the pub - I started drinking a lot, during it all. I think on some level I recognised how fucked up it all was and was just trying to… I dont know. Numb myself. Get out of the house. Whatever. I came back, took off my coat and shoes and whatever, get upstairs and collapsed. The next morning I had this hangover from hell, but at least I knew Damhán’s going to have sorted a slap up breakfast to help me through it. So I went downstairs and… god, sorry, it's just… right, no, I'm fine, I'm fine, I just need…
[Archivist's note: The recording was once again paused here, and the subject was given some cake and biscuits while he became settled.]
Sorry, where was I? Right. I went downstairs and he’s standing in the hallway with his palm outstretched. Completely still, like he's been there hours, just waiting for me to come down. He had a lighter in his hand - I must have nabbed it off someone in the smoking area, you know how it is on a night out, you just sort of pick these things up, don’t you? Anyway he’s stood there with this fucking lighter in his hand, just staring and staring at me as I come down the stairs, and he said “Your contract said no lighters”. That's it. No “good morning” or “how's the head” or whatever. “Your contract said no lighters.”
And I said, you know, sorry, won't happen again, few too many last night, as you do. And he doesn't move. Just stood there with his lighter and he just repeated himself, louder: “No lighters, no naked flames.” And I realise, this guy’s angry. Really, properly, fucking livid. He was almost shaking with it, you could hear it in his voice. His face wasn't really showing it, not really, a little bit around his mouth maybe, but his eyes were… fuck they were blank. This guy was furious about this lighter, probably waited for hours for me to wake up, and his eyes were just blank.
So I'm there realising just how badly I've fucked up, that he must have some phobia or something. I’d seen all the hobs and whatever were induction whatsits, but I'd not really thought about it until then, just thought, I don't know, fuck, that they were just induction hobs, didn't think to care. I started to apologise again, told him I understood. I don't know if he heard me. He just went on and on about lighters and fire, getting louder and louder all the time, until suddenly he just stops and turns around and walks away down the hall.
For a second he stopped outside the door to the basement and put his hand on the knob and turned to look at me. It was like he was sizing me up, looking me up and down. Clearly he decided against whatever he was planning because he carried on to the kitchen and just snapped at me to go sit in the parlour. I remember that moment really clearly. And to say it now, it's nothing, right? He went to open a door. Decided against it. But… fuck me, it felt important at the time. Like my whole life depended on whether or not he opened that door. Maybe it did.
Fifteen minutes later he walked in and just put two big frying pans down in front of me, one piled up with bacon, one filled with eggs and sausages. He walks away and comes back with a loaf of bread and a couple of packs of butter and throws those at me and says “eat”.
And there was a part of me that, you know, obviously wanted to ask about the deconstructed breakfast sandwich I've just been served, and a part of me that was just absolutely boggling at how much food there was, but then there was… I mean the biggest part of me, the bit that wins out, just says to eat.
So I ate. I reached out and I grabbed some bacon with my bare hands out of the frying pan and I just shoveled it in my mouth, and just carried on until it was all gone, all the while with Damhán stood watching. Then the eggs and sausages, just with my hands, you know, with the yolk just, fuck, just dribbling down my arms. When that was all gone I started taking bites out of the bread. Didn't slice it, didn't butter it, just ate until it was gone. Then Damhán just carried on watching me and I… I got that feeling. Like I was in a trance and the only thing I knew is that I had to eat. So I bit into the butter. Just took a great big bite out of it. And another, and another. Fuck me, I ate it like it was chocolate. And I was screaming at myself to stop, right? Obviously I didn't want to be eating butter by the block. But he didn't force me, or threaten me, or whatever, didn't even tell me to. I ate it. I did that. Me. And he just watched.
Once I was done he walked out and left me alone. I won't lie, I cried. Pretty fucking hard. My stomach hurt, I was covered in butter and grease and egg. I felt huge - I was huge. And I just felt so ashamed.
After that it all picked up pace. He never mentioned that day again, but meals got bigger. A lot bigger. Each one could have fed a rugby team. Occasionally he'd just put a block of butter on the side, like it was a fucking dessert or something. I always ate it. He never told me to. I just knew what I was supposed to do.
And I started swelling up. I was gaining fast beforehand, but this was, fuck me, I reckon it must have been over a pound a day, maybe two. Must have been, honestly, considering how fast it all was and how big I am now. Clothes just seemed constantly uncomfortable; even straight after he'd given me bigger ones, they'd not quite fit right. My back hurt all the time from hefting around this gut, my feet hurt, I got these stretch marks fucking everywhere. It was just a lot, all the time, and my body never got a chance to adjust.
It was around Christmas, I must have been, maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven stone - who knows honestly, it all went by so fast. I went to my work’s Christmas do. Fuck knows what they must have all thought of me - can you imagine? They hire me at thirteen, fourteen stone, and not even a year later I'm pushing double that and not showing any signs of stopping?
Anyway, the Christmas do. I'm wearing the biggest Christmas jumper that I could find in M&S, and even that's, you know, riding up on me, fits me like a sausage casing. People are being friendly, nicer than I'd be if I was watching someone inflate in front of me in real time, if I'm being honest. No jokes or anything; not to my face anyway. And someone asks if I'm going home for Christmas, and I say no, I'm staying in Dublin. They ask, you know, very reasonable questions; am I not seeing family, my friends back in London? And I couldn't answer them. I had no clue why I wasn't going back home.
Eventually someone asks will I be doing anything with my housemates. I said it's just me and the landlord, so they get to asking about him, you know, what's he like, is he alright, do I get on with him. And at some point I mention his name and a couple of people give me funny looks, one woman laughs at me. I assume I've just said it funny, you know how Irish names are. And someone tells me that Damhán Alla means spider in Irish. I sort of laugh and say I must be saying it wrong, I spell it out on a napkin and someone says, no, that’s definitely just ‘spider’. And they keep on asking questions; is it his first name, full name, do I know if it's a nickname, just finding it absolutely mad that the new fat English bloke at work is claiming his landlord’s full name is Spider.
It makes me feel weird. I think they eventually just accept it as a weird name, like celebrity parents calling their kids Apple or Moonbase, but it really stuck with me. And I didn't really talk the rest of the evening, I just sat thinking about the cobwebs, and how dark the house is, and how dark and empty his eyes were.
At some point I followed someone to the smoking area and made a point of nicking a lighter. I didn't know what it was supposed to do, what I'd use it for, but fuck it, if Damhán didn't want me to have a lighter then I'd make sure to have a lighter. I tucked it into my pocket, and from that point on I always had it hidden somewhere, slept with it under my pillow, even kept it in sight when I was having a shower.
Nothing changed for a while, not really. I had my lighter, and I was thinking about Damhán differently, but honestly, it's not like I'd trusted him for a good while anyway. I was still eating the insane piles of food he put in front of me, still getting fatter and fatter. This goes on for a few months, and remember, I reckon I'm putting on over a pound a day at this point - a few months is a good long time to be putting on that much weight. But, as I got bigger, I felt like Damhán started to act differently towards me. I could see him eyeing me up sometimes, like, I was some fruit he was waiting on to get ripe enough. He even asked me, a couple of times, how much I weighed. I'd always tell him, between my bites of butter. One time I said I wasn't sure and he followed me up to the bathroom and watched me weigh myself. I remember him laughing when I read off the weight - bubbling and clicking and hissing again, making my stomach turn - and telling me I was doing a good job.
One Sunday in March, breakfast was huge. I mean, I was pretty used to eating a lot of food by that point, but this was just a crazy amount of food. He just kept bringing out plates and plates of it, didn't even watch me like he usually did, just kept on going back into the kitchen to whip up more. Eventually the sausages and eggs turn into roast vegetables and chicken and gravy, and there's some steaks in there, a load of it was just ready meals still in the plastic, and it all just keeps coming and coming and I just keep eating and eating. Eventually it got dark and the food stopped coming. He never says what the fuck just happened or that it was over, he just stops coming in with trays of food. Anyway, at some point a bit after that I heard him go through the basement door, which, I mean, I should have realised then that something was about to happen. Because I've never been down there, obviously, but I also don't think I've ever seen him go down there either.
Anyway, I sit there burping and farting and digesting until I feel human enough to pull myself up, and fuck me I was used to putting on weight by that point, but I could literally feel all that sudden extra weight. And I stagger up the stairs, probably travelling about a foot a minute, really fucking sluggish, until I collapse into bed, in the same too small pyjamas I had on that morning, my gut fucking looming over me, not even enough strength to pull the covers over me, fuck knows if I’d even be able to reach over my gut to grab them in the first place, and I’m asleep within a few minutes.
At some point I woke up. I didn't think too much about it at first, because I'd started snoring pretty bad somewhere in the first hundred pounds or so, bad enough that I woke myself up with it sometimes. But eventually, I started to see a shape somewhere above me. Like, the room was pitch black, but there was a section above me that was even darker. And I felt something drop onto my face, like something wet and slimy. I reach over to turn my light on and there's Damhán leaning over me, with his mouth wide open, long lines of saliva falling down onto me.
And his teeth were, fuck, I don't know if I'd ever seen his teeth before. Like, maybe he never opened his mouth when he spoke? Or maybe it was the same as how I didn't think about how much I ate or how big I was getting and he just made me not notice them, but they were… fuck me. His mouth was full of these huge, sharp, black fangs.
And even though he had his mouth wide open, wider than I've ever seen any human ever open their mouth, it sort of felt like he was smiling. Like this sadistic, shit-eating smile.
I backed away, as best as I could, what with my being the size of a small hatchback and the fact that he was close enough that even a normal sized person wouldn't be able to really put that much space between him and them, never mind me with my gut almost touching him. I realised that I was covered in cobwebs, thick ones, so that I had to pull them off as I went. And he laughed. His mouth didn't move, but he laughed, and it was so much worse than any other time I'd heard. It was that same gurgling, hissing, clicking sound, but it was like he wasn't bothering to cover it up anymore. I felt like throwing up.
I reached under my pillow and I grabbed my lighter and held it up to him, lit. It seems mad really, how he reacted to it. A tiny little flame like that, and that fucking monster cowered from it like I was holding a gun up to his head. I’m not particularly maneuverable, these days, so it was a struggle, but I made sure as fuck to keep that little flame between him and me at all times as I heaved myself out of bed.
I backed towards the door, and I think he panicked that I was going to get away because he lunged at me and… fuck. He went up like he was covered in petrol. The flame barely touched him. And he started going around the room, bumping into things, and they went up as well.
I couldn't exactly run, but I turned around and I lumbered out of there as quickly as I could. At one point I turned round and the whole landing had gone up behind me. I couldn't believe how fast it was all burning. I think it was all the cobwebs.
I got downstairs, with my heart pounding, and I turned around one last time to see the basement door open. I heard this clicking and gurgling, like when Damhán laughed, and these legs came out round the door, like spiders’ legs but huge. Six, eight feet long maybe. I didn't wait to see whatever they were attached to. I barrelled the door down, and I think it came off its hinges - this much weight will do that.
A neighbour must have rung 999, because the emergency services got there pretty sharpish. The paramedics put one of those foil blanket things awkwardly over my shoulders, like it was supposed to cover me up, and I got given a cup of tea and sat in an ambulance for a bit, then got taken to the police station for some questioning. I lied, obviously. Just told them I woke up when I heard the fire alarm and that's all I knew. I mean, what was I supposed to tell them? I set fire to my surprisingly flammable landlord because he was fattening me up to feed to a spider god he kept in the basement? Is that… I mean, do you think that's what it was? No, no, I suppose you don't know any more than me.
Someone at the station must have picked something up about why I wasn't giving any details, or they had additional information about the house or something, because someone mentioned I should give you guys a call. That you've smoothed over cases before where some of the details have been, I don't know, weird.
And I guess I thought you might be able to give me some answers. If you've seen anything similar, I mean. Like why did he have to make me so fat? Okay, you've got a spider-thing in your basement and you want to make sure its meals are nice and big and nutritious, but then why take so long? Just feed it a normal-sized person a week, not, fuck, not the fattest person you’ve ever seen after a year.
No. No, I suppose you haven't. Sorry, I just. Yeah.
I've been to a doctor about the weight. They didn't even have any scales that could weigh me, they had to refer me to a specialist who had some bariatric scale things. Fucking four-hundred and eighty something pounds. Thirty-five stone, or near enough. Have you ever even seen someone that big? Ha, I suppose you have now, yeah. Anyway, yeah, they've got me on some special weight loss regime, you know, restricted calories, physical therapy which is basically just walking for ten minutes until I'm knackered. I need to lose a load of weight before they can even talk about surgery.
That's it, I guess. Will you- yeah, no sorry, you've got your own procedures and stuff. Yeah, I can see myself back to reception. I don't suppose you have any more of those biscuits, do you?
[Statement ends.
Final archivist's notes, dated 05/11/23: The details of Mr Barrett’s statement have been verified as far as possible. There is a record of his move to and employment in Dublin, and while there is not a record of his renting with Mr Alla, there is a record of the existence of a building matching Mr Barrett’s description at the address provided and of the fire Mr Barrett described [see supplemental materials].
There are 17 reports of missing persons logged in Dublin where the missing person had gained a significant amount of weight prior to their disappearance, going back to 1909.
The name Damhán Alla appears in four previous statements, dating back to 1907. We have added the name as a searchable tag to these statements, although none seem to deal directly with him.
In recent follow up interviews with Mr Barrett's family, friends and doctors, it would seem that his weight loss plan has been unsuccessful, and he has gained somewhat more weight since moving back to London. His family and friends have noted that he seems in good spirits, despite his rather unique trauma and ongoing circumstances. His father made a mention of a new hobby - a newfound interest in spiders.]
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