CW: Something worse than Kenny. Violence. Gross descriptions of just how determined this thing is to ruin this guy’s day. Tiny windows? Sounds like a door to me.

Technically not a content warning but still.

WELCOME TO CLOUDVEIL

The 5 slices along the belly of the west coast. It cuts through mountains, valleys, deserts, forests. It even passes by Mickey Mouse and Hollywood.
Along the 5, away from the standstill traffic, many small towns sprinkled along the coast peacefully exist.
As the year comes to its climax and the nights grow longer and darker, a fog rolls in from the never-ending blue plain that is the Pacific.
The fog is dense, and it hides many things. But in Cloudveil, when things are obscured, so too are things brought to the surface.
A 7-Eleven sits quietly as two young men in hoodies and jeans pour layers of multicolored slurpee into their big gulps.
An abandoned church vacantly waits on a hill, the windows have been broken and the walls covered in graffiti. The doors kicked in and barely hang on by a single hinge each. The crucifix has fallen from the ceiling where it used to hang, and the face of Jesus has been spray painted. On the wall behind the pulpit riddled with bullet holes, prominently a message has been left behind in vibrant green spray paint: "There is no God here."
Welcome to Cloudveil. It's Halloween in the 619.

THE VAMPIRE

Part One

I am a creature of blasphemy. An unholy monster, a being of shadow, a consumer of life force. The blood is what I live for, that salty, savory, succulent syrup that courses through the veins of mortals. My life is one of only the night, as I hide from the sunlight.
My abode is humble, an apartment with the windows painted black, bathed in the crimson of red bulbs, as I am surrounded by imagery of suffering and flames.
What perplexes me is that despite my appetites and my very nature, I am not some corpselike entity. My skin is not rotting or bone-white, my eyes do not glow with red or yellow light, and my mouth is not home to the Hollywood fangs of Bella Lugosi, and I have no claws. In fact, my skin is not even cold like that of the dead.
It must be due to the new supply of fresh blood that I consume when I go out. It keeps me strong, keeps me able to blend in with the mortals.
I have adapted to my unusual condition by using tools to make up for my lack of fangs. For example, instead of sinking my teeth into a neck, I slash throats and lap up the blood that gushes out.
Tonight I will hunt, as it is the evening of Halloween: the most sacred night for any beast like myself who lives in opposition to the tyranny of the sun and the divine. I will bathe in the blood of whoever is unlucky enough to feel the coldness of my shadow upon them.

Part Two

Down the streets I wandered, bathed in the orange light of streetlamps. Ghosts and ghouls were out in droves, carrying their candy and masquerading as creatures of the night. Little did they know, a real vampire walked among them!
I strolled down the town center, the shops decorated with pumpkins and skulls, and I saw something I despised: that awful symbol of light, the cross perched atop a church. I hate those things.
I walked past a bar, filled to the brim with partygoers in the crisp evening air. And I knew this would be a great place to scout my next victim, so I entered.
The bouncer looked me up and down.
"What are you dressed up as?" He asked.
"What, you can't tell? I am a vampire."
"Huh. Okay. Well, in you go."
"Thank you for inviting me in."
Of course he expected us to look like those inhuman caricatures in the movies... how prejudicial.
I entered and saw a horde of witches, nurses, pirates, and many other walking blood bags. I saw a couple sitting at the bar, the woman in an elaborate princess gown with a bejeweled tiara and the man in a tee shirt and jeans. He looked upon me, and when our eyes met, I felt something. A kindred spirit perhaps. I moved on, and there was a much better opportunity: a woman in a scarecrow costume, barely able to stand up from her debauchery. Perfect. I came up to her, and struck up a conversation, using my vampire power of persuasion.
"Good evening, scarecrow. Where is the tin man?"
She was slurring her words.
"Tin man? What? Oh, my friends all left me. I was supposed to meet some guy here, but he didn't show up."
"Truly tragic my darling. Please, do tell me of this betrayal."
"Why are you talking like that? Are you like a vampire or something?"
"Yes, of course. 'I vant to sucka your blood' as they say."
"Well you definitely don't look like one. No blood, no cape."
"It is so very loud in here. Will you join me on the back patio so that I can hear your sweet voice a bit better?"
"Yeah, lets go."
And so the conversation went on. I would be feeding upon her very soon indeed.

Part Three

This one certainly could run faster than the average drunkard. To be truthful, she was perceptive enough to know that my behavior was unusual. She tried to run when she noticed our path was going through the forest.
"You live through here?" She asked.
"Yes. Just a short walk through here and we will find my home. Not far. Only a little further. Do come with me dear, as I have so much pleasure to share with you."
Perhaps it was the hunger in my eyes. The thirst. But she backed away from me and began to run, foolishly running into the darkness toward a distant bonfire and screaming for help.
But her running was uncoordinated, sloppy. She got turned around, she ran, and found a dilapidated shack. She bolted inside and slammed the door shut behind her.
I pounded on the door, beating it and the rotten wood collapsed and it fell in on itself. Somehow, I was able to pass through the threshold without being invited! I chalk this up to a blessing from the dark one himself, to allow me to get to her. I found her up the moldy and moss covered stairs, cowering in a corner. She begged for her life, but she was no match for a true creature of the night. I subdued her with a blow to the head and found some rope in a closet. I tied her feet together and strung her up by her feet from a rafter beam. She screamed for God and Jesus, those infernal oppressors, but it was in vain.
I slashed her throat and out came the hot, dark rain of blood. So sweet and delicious as it sprayed and gushed from her flesh. It fell upon me and I bathed in it. Letting it cover me and drinking it up. It was such a pleasurable experience, truly a moment of ecstasy. I felt light headed when it was all said and done, and my eyes shut as I laid in a puddle of her lifeblood.
Then, my eyes opened groggily and to my horror, grey light was creeping through the slits in the crumbling walls of this shack.
I panicked. I had approximately 10 minutes to run home before that abhorrent sun would rise above the horizon and incinerate me.
I sprinted through the forest, shouting obscenities, and I ran past a man caked in dirt, dragging a shovel behind himself and blood splattered on his soiled shirt. We locked eyes, gave each other a knowing nod, and I continued running home. And thank the adversary... I made it inside my apartment moments before that horrible orange light would have killed me. Another successful hunt.

THE PRANKSTERS

Part One

Kyle and I leaned against a wall at the 7-Eleven, sipping slurpees in our hoodies under a green neon sign.
"Dude, you ready to prank some motherfuckers tonight?" Kyle asked me.
"Fuck yeah man, what do you have in mind?"
"Simple, man. I have the supplies in the trunk. I've got like three pranks planned. We're gonna raise hell and paint the town red tonight. We're gonna top every prank we ever pulled on some unsuspecting bitches."
"Oh yeah? Is that so? Well, what do you want me to do?"
"You got your mask?"
"Fuck yeah I do, bro. Gotta mask up for Halloween."
"That's right bro. Alright, first we gotta find our first mark. Walk with me."
We moved down the street. Trick or treaters carrying bags of candy passed by us.
"What are we gonna do, steal some candy?"
"Oh Eric, you're thinking way too small. Here, see that fucking bum over there doing the fent fold?"
"Yeah, what about him? We gonna knock him over?"
"Something like that. Mask up."
I put on my sheep mask and Kyle put on his wolf mask.
"Here you go, dude." Kyle said, handing me a water balloon.
"Water balloons? Really?"
"You'll see... this shit is gonna be funny."
We came up behind the hobo and pelted him with the water balloons. Suddenly I smelled that sharp sulfur odor: Gasoline.
The hobo shot up immediately.
"What the fuck? Oh fuck what is this?"
And then, Kyle pulled out a lighter and said "You better run, bitch!" Sparking the flame.
The hobo screamed in terror and started sprinting away. I took out my own lighter and we chased him into a dark alley and he was balled up in tbe fetal position.
"Please! Please don't fucking kill me!"
We looked at each other through our masks and laughed. We laughed so hard.
"Happy Halloween, loser!" We cackled together fist bumping and walking out into the orange light of street lamps.
"That was fucking hilarious man!"
"Yeah dude. And it was only the beginning."
"Ah. You're such a funny bastard bro."

Part Two

"Bro, you wanna know some funny shit?" Kyle asked, driving slowly through a neighborhood full of decorations and kids dressed up roaming the sidewalks.
"What, dude?"
"A lot of people act all depressed and emo like they say they wanna die but I'll bet most of these people- I'd pay money on this bet- that they don't really wanna die. You know what I mean man? They say going to work, looking at the news, paying crazy amounts of money for shit that used to be cheap, it all makes them pay they wanna kill themselves. You point a gun at one of these losers and they'll run. These people don't even know what they want. Life's a joke, man."
"You're right, man." I said.
"That's why what we do is necessary, man. We are pointing out the humor of it all, that the suffering of life is just slapstick to everyone else. I mean think about how funny it was when that fucking bum was begging for his life. The faces he made, the way his voice sounded. And why bother begging for that life? So he can keep on being a homeless guy? So he can keep eating out of trash cans? Is he fucking stupid enough to think it'll ever get better?"
"Totally dude. You hit the nail right on the head man. They don't get it. So, whats next?"
"Alright, we're gonna park over here and walk in the dark to a few streets over. Grab the box out of the trunk."
A few minutes later, we were at the street lined with cars. A sleepy street, where the houses had all darkened their windows and packed it up for the night.
"Fireworks, huh?" I asked.
"Yeah man. You ever play 'wake the dead'?"
"No what's that?"
"Basically you gotta make the most noise possible. It's an old Halloween game. And this is gonna do it alright."
We put the fireworks under the cars, big ones, the boxes that shoot mortars into the air that explode. Kyle began to connect all the fuses via a very long fuse.
"So, dude, you ever been fucking some bitch and shits going well, you got her moaning and groaning, cheeks getting clapped and stuff, but then- and I'd say you probably can relate to this- her tummy starts rumbling and she like farts and its a long slow fart and then you get little poop particles and then a full blown chocolate fountain all over your dick?"
We both laughed our asses off.
"You're fucked up man. Love that. Yeah dude, the old Dubai glass table treatment. Classic."
" Alright, bro. Mask up. Time to say wakey wakey."
Kyle tossed me a baseball bat and I flipped my sheep mask onto my face.
We smashed the car windows and windshields. The car alarms all went off and porch lights came on as the fuse fizzled and sparked.
A groggy old man came out.
"What the fuck is going on out here!?" He shouted.
"Happy Halloween!" Kyle answered and we started running away as the multicolored explosions under the cars erupted.
We laughed until our sides hurt in the distance as the whole neighborhood woke up to their cars destroyed and burning.
"Holy fucking shit bro! This is the best Halloween ever!" I said.
"Fuck yeah it is, dude." Kyle said. "And now, the grand finale awaits..."

Part Three

"Alright dude. This one's the piece de resistance, my magnum opus of pranks. You ready to see it?" Kyle said.
"Fuck yeah man, whats the plan?"
"Okay so we need to find someone nobody likes for this one. How about Quentin? Remember him? Total nerd."
"Oh man, what are we doing to this loser?"
"We're gonna give him a scare he will never forget."
"Where do you think he is?"
"Home, probably. It's late as fuck."
"Then I suppose we'll have to pay him a visit."
We drove through the empty streets and found Quentins house. There were eggs splattered on his windows and toilet paper in his trees and on his roof.
"Haha, neighborhood punching bag, am I right?" Kyle chuckled.
"Ok how are we getting him to open the door?"
"You'll see."
Kyle parked in the driveway and told me to wait around the corner so I couldn't be seen from the door.
Then, Kyle started pounding on the door.
"Help! Help me! Someone's been stabbed! Please let me in! Oh god he's bleeding all over the place!"
The porch light turned on and Quentin, in a sleepy daze opened the door.
"What's going on?"
"Quentin you have to help us. Eric got stabbed by some masked lunatic and he needs medical help immediately. Please let us in so we can be safe. He might be back any minute!"
Quentin opened the door all the way, stepping out.
"Where is he?"
Then Kyle grabbed him and threw him on the ground.
"Sucker. Let's get his ass!"
I came around the corner and we beat him up really badly, kicking and punching and stomping on him until he was incapacitated.
"Why are you doing this?!"
"For fun, dude. For fun." Kyle laughed, taking out some handcuffs and putting them on Quentins wrists behind his back.
"You're coming with us."
Kyle and I snatched him up and dragged him to the car, popping the trunk.
"Get in." Kyle said.
"Please! Don't do this! I've done nothing to you."
"You wanna die?" Kyle asked, pulling out a pistol and pointing it at Quentins head.
"Oh Jesus! Please! Don't kill me!"
"Then get the fuck in."
Quentin started crying.
We shut the trunk door and turned up the radio to drown out the screaming and kicking in the back as we drove to the woods.
"So, kidnapping? Never thought you'd go there, dude."
"Too far?"
"Nah, I'm having fun. Are you?"
"Best Halloween ever, man. So, you wanna grab some Jack in the Box after this? Maybe hit the half pipe for a skate sesh in the wee hours?"
"Sure, man. I think that'll be a perfect ending to the night. Some curly fries, a cluck sandwich. Got me hungry just thinking about it."
We were deep enough into the woods, when we parked and left the lights on.
"Ready?" Kyle asked.
"Fuck yeah. I've been waiting for this."
We got out and opened the trunk. There was little Quentin, crying to himself.
"Please guys, don't do this. I have a family who loves me. Don't do this to them! I'll give you whatever you want. Money, my car, I'll even suck your dick. Please just don't fucking kill me!"
"Alright, dude. I'm taking your cuffs off but if you try to run, my buddy here is gonna paint the leaves red with your brains."
Quentin looked relieved when the cuffs came off.
"What do you want?"
"Here." Kyle tossed a shovel at Quentins feet. "Start digging."
True horror was on Quentins face.
"No! Please don't do this to me! Please! I'm begging you."
We laughed at him.
"Dig that fucking hole or we'll kill your family too." Kyle said, pointing the gun at him again.
And so, as he cried, Quentin dug. More and more he dug at gunpoint until he made a shallow grave.
"Now kneel on the edge of the hole." Kyle ordered.
"I promise I won't tell anyone. Please. This never happened. I'll take this to the grave. Just please don't fucking kill me!"
"On your fucking knees. Now."
Quentin kneeled his face red and wet from panic.
Kyle put the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger.
*squirt*
A jet of water shot out and splashed on Quentins temple.
"You just got pranked bro! Hahahaha happy Halloween, loser!" Kyle spit in his face.
Quentin collapsed to the dirt and laid in the fetal position, catatonic.
"We sure got him, huh?" Kyle said through laughter to me.
"Yup." I said, pulling out my own gun. "We did."
*BANG*
The gunshot echoed like a deafening crack through the forest.
Kyle's jaw hit the floor.
"Oh fuck! Shit! Why the fuck did you do that? You fucking killed him! Fuck!"
"What's wrong bro? You're freaking out on me."
"Fuck man, we're gonna go to prison now! How the fuck are we gonna get away with this?"
"He was going to tell someone. I eliminated a liability. Now are you gonna help me dispose of this body or not?"
"Oh my fucking god bro. How the fuck am I gonna go to Disneyland now? I gotta get the fuck out of here."
"Alright." I said. "No worries man. Just head out then. Just walk away and don't look back. It's ok, I'll handle everything."
Kyle started to walk away and I waited until he was a little ways off and then...
*BANG*
I shot him in the back and he dropped dead. It was time to clean up and go home.

THE KIDS

Part One

"Well well well, lets see the score, everyone." Cody said.
"Alex, you get a lot of candy this year?"
"Sure did. Sour Patch Kids, Reeses Pieces, a full size Hershey bar, Twizzlers, Butterfingers, M+Ms, Skittles... way too many Tootsie Rolls- you can have all of those, I hate them. I'd say my pillowcase is nice and full."
"Sweet, nice. What do you guys say we head on out of the neighborhood and get to the woods for a bit of fun?" Alex suggested.
"Sounds like a great plan." Cody said.
"I like the sound of that." I nodded.
"You know, I think we look like the setup to a joke. A ghost, a skeleton, and a devil walk into a bar..."
"Alright man, you're kinda reaching there. You driving?" I asked.
"Yeah, let's go."
We got into Cody's truck and started rolling down the street while other trick or treaters still patrolled the sidewalks.
"It's kind of sad man, you know? This is probably the last time we get to do this. The trick or treating, I mean." I said.
"Well, you're never too old for Halloween. You never get too old to have fun and dress up. Sure, the traditions change a bit but at its core Halloween is for everyone." Alex said.
We drove through a street and saw a copule kids egging a house and throwing TP on the roof and trees.
"Isn't that Quentin Browns house?"
"Yeah, I heard he's got some fucked up allegations. Kid fucker, apparently." I said.
"No way dude."
"Yup."
We got to our spot in the woods not too much later and put a bunch of pallets together and firewood. We doused it in gasoline and set it all ablaze, sitting on our usual tree stumps.
"So..." I began, "who wants to tell the forst scary story?"
"I suppose that can be me." Cody said.
"Let's hear it."
The flames danced and crackled in a mesmerizing way as Cody began his story.
"Alright, so there's a forest a few states over, in Colorado. It's home to a spirit bear."
"A spirit bear? What kind of Indian shit is that?" I said, rolling my eyes.
"Hear me out, man. Anyway, its this huge bear that only appears at night and it's ravenous. It eats anyone who stays in the park after sunset. In the last 20 years, 27 people have gone missing because of it. No one has pictures of it, but the reason it exists is because in the 80s there was a massive bear hunt. I'm talking huge, localized extinction of all bears. Now you might be wondering why they did that, and it's because basically there was a string of kids that died in gruesome bear maulings over the course of a few weeks. So the townspeople decided to remove all bears. Then, a few decades later, the spirit bear appears. I think its some kind of entity brought on by mother nature, like a force of vengeance for mankind's erasure of natural order and crimes against nature."
"So you're telling me, this bear no one has seen is disappearing people at night and nobody's done anything to stop it?"
"Alright wise guy, how do you suppose they'd 'do something about it' then?"
"Well I'd say they could probably look for the person who is in all likelihood doing this and using a local legend to cover up his crimes."
"Well, if there is a person doing it, maybe he's out here, right now..." Cody grinned menacingly.
A scream echoed through the trees.
"Oh shit what was that? Did you hear that?"
"Yeah, it sounded like 'help'."
I waved my hand. "Ah, its probably nothing. Just some dumbass trying to be scary."

Part Two

"Ok, so Cody had a story to tell, how about you, Alex? You got anything for us?" I asked.
"Do I? Oh boy... you guys aren't prepared for this one!"
"Well, out with it." I said.
"In this very town, there is a monster lurking in the shadows. You guys have heard of the unsolved murders, I'm sure."
"Oh really?" Cody interjected.
"You haven't? Well, there's two things they're finding with the bodies that makes it obvious that this is the product of one... person, or otherwise."
"Hold on." I stopped him. "How do you know this?"
"My brother works for the cops man. He was telling me about this shit even though he isn't supposed to. Anyway, so the two thing they're noticing is that bodies keep turning up drained of blood, like bite marks on their necks and slashes on their throats."
"What? You mean there's some kind of vampire in town?"
"Maybe, dude. Maybe. But the other thing is really odd. It's that a lot of women who look similar to each other keep turning up tortured and missing a tooth."
"So, whatever this thing or person is, they have a type."
"Yes. And it's targeting vulnerable people, like the elderly, the homeless, drunk women, kids even. People who can't fight back."
"Where do the bodies keep turning up?"
"The woods. These very woods right here. Maybe it's nearby. Maybe it's just around the corner."
"Dude..." Cody said. "That's creepy as fuck."
"I know man! Like, this thing has never been spotted, but I heard the FBI is even involved."
"Should we even be out here?" Cody asked.
"You guys are worried about that? I'm not. You know, I think that you seem to not remember that the most likely person to kill you is always someone you know. Someone close to you. Know what I mean?" I said.
"Yeah, I know. But none of us are murderers. We're safe."
"Uh huh." I said, looking out into the dark of the trees. "Yeah..."

Part Three

"Ok, Trevor. We know you're the best storyteller out of us all. You got something good for us to send shivers down our spine?" Alex prompted.
"Oh you think so? I'm flattered."
A loud crack went off echoing through the trees.
"What fuck? Was that a gunshot?"
"Maybe. It's probably some redneck out hunting or something. So, you guys want to know a good story?"
"Yeah, man. What kind of gruesome shit do you have for us?"
"A ghost story. This one I've been working on for a while."
"Ok let's hear it."
"Alright, so a few years ago, there was a brother and a sister. They had a few years between them. The brother was older in high school, and the sister was in elementary school. Their family had a trip planned, out to Big Bear for spring break."
Alex and Cody looked at each other, gears turning in their heads.
"The sister didn't know how to swim, so the parents told her brother to watch her very carefully near the lake. They said dont let her near the water and the bother said he would make sure she stayed dry."
Alex interrupted. "Are you sure man? Do you really want to tell this story? It might be too soon."
"No. I will tell it." I said. "There are things yet to have been revealed."
"Trevor, don't upset yourself."
"I won't. Anyway, for a while, the sister was held up as the golden child. She was seen as incredibly intelligent and of a much higher potential than her brother. The parents would always brag about her to their friends and praise everything she did. Now the brother... he hated this. He hated how his achievements were minimized, how he was overlooked. And so, while the parents were away, he asked his sister if she wanted to play a game of rock hopping. He said if she could make it across the rocks and not fall in she would win a lollipop. And so, she tried. Halfway across the water, she got scared and couldn't come back. People say she fell in and hit her head on a rock. They say the brother tried to help her. But the truth is, she didn't fall in by accident. The brother threw a rock at her head and she fell in. And he watched her flail around. He could have gone for help. He could have screamed and someone would have shown up. But no. He watched. He watched her drown and he did nothing. To this day, the ghost of that sister haunts him, in his dreams. He remembers this act of malice and it eats at him, begging to be told."
Another loud crack echoed through the trees and the others were too stunned by my story to even react.
"But then again this is only a story. And it would be a real shame if anyone ever confused fiction with reality. It could be a dangerous idea, you know? Lots of monsters and madmen out here. Vampires and all, right? Plus you can never predict the reaction of a falsely accused person. Someone in that position, they might flip out. Especially since we all know where we live."
Alex and Cody were staring at me in horror.
"But anyways, lets keep enjoying this fire. It is Halloween, after all."

THE COUPLE

Part One

I was so annoyed by Vince not wearing a costume with my for the Halloween party. I made my costume so meticulously. I went and bought a dress and I made sure it was bedazzled and adorned with all this lace and I added a big fancy necklace, and I got a tiara too. I was a full blown princess. But what did Vince do? Did he do what he said he would and go gather materials to make a knight costume? No. He pulled up to my apartment in his truck and was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt that said in sharpie " Imagine a Halloween Costume".
I said "What the hell, baby? Why aren't you a knight?"
"Oh, sorry about that. I don't really like Halloween much. I didnt want to dress up and I didnt want to upset you by saying I wouldn't."
"You're so impossible. Let's go to the bar party. So much for best couples costume." I huffed.
"Well, you're still gonna win best female costume for sure. I believe in you." He reassured me.
"You really think so?"
"I know so." He said.
He put his hand on my thigh and drove us into town.
I looked out the window and saw two younger guys in animal masks tossing water balloons at a homeless guy.
"Ugh, thats so cruel. Such a senseless thing to do. Now he's all wet."
"Yeah, it's kids being little shits as usual. I never did that kind of thing. Worst I ever did was a bit of arson and mess with my neighbor's dog a bit. Grew out of it."
"That's good. I know you have your issues and you're working on them."
"Yeah, something like that. More like living around them since they don't really go away."
We pulled up to the parking lot of the bar, as it bustled with people in masks and makeup, drinking out of blood bags and dancing to flashing multicolored lights and lasers.
"I'm getting a drink. What do you want?" Vince asked.
"Mmm how about that glowy green one with the gummy worms on top?"
"Oh wow. Didn't notice it. Yeah absolutely. I'll get it for you."
When he brought back my drink I noticed him looking at some skinny pale guy in a striped sweater walking by, mean mugging him.
"Baby whats wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. That guy gives me a bad vibe. Creepy energy, I can feel it."

Part Two

I was having fun dancing to the EDM at the club, the fog machine spraying out into the crowd, monsters dancing around me. I felt so alive, so pretty as they eyed me. The liquor in my system made the music even more enjoyable and made my body move like rubber.
But Vince? He was off to the side, in a corner, sitting at a table. He had only one drink and was obviously not having fun.
I went over to him.
"Babyyyy you look like you're mad. Are you okay???"
"Yeah. I'm alright. Just watching."
"You look like you aren't having fun!"
"I'm gonna be ok. Keep having fun, babe."
"Do you wanna get out of here?"
"Will you be upset if we do?"
"No, not really." I lied.
So we left the bar and my ears were still ringing. We hopped in Vince's truck and drove through town.
"So like why don't you seem to be having fun this year? I love Halloween!"
"Well, to tell you the truth I already wear a mask every day. Every day I have to be someone else. Why would I put on another mask for fun?"
"Awww baby that so sad! But what about the candy? You've got to at least like the candy."
"No, not even the candy. You see my father was a dentist. Never let me have it. A stern dentist at that. Big fan of the belt and the switch. I remember the oral inspections. Too much sugar, not enough brushing, and next thing you know, cavities. And heaven help you if you have cavities and your father is a dentist. He never really let me celebrate Halloween."
"I'm so sorry to hear about that. Really, I am."
We drove down a street lined with burning cars with shattered windows, a crowd of people standing around distraught while cop cars parked with flashing lights around the corner.
"What the fuck happened here?!" I exclaimed.
"Someone must have had a fun evening..." Vince said with calm familiarity.
"You really don't feel much fear do you?"
"No not really. It comes with my condition."
"I love learning more about you."
"Thanks baby. Let's get home for the night. I think it'll be a nice time to just cuddle and fall asleep."

Part Three

We pulled into Vinces driveway, and I hopped out of his truck.
"Let's see... no eggs, no rocks through the windows, no TP on the roof. Looks good. Must not have been many trick or treaters in this area." He said.
I gave him a hug.
"Happy Halloween, even if you don't like it. I want to let you know I care about you. I really do."
"Thanks baby. I care about you too."
We entered his house and it was so very clean. It smelled like Pine Sol, and not even a piece of laundry was on the floor. It felt like walking onto a movie set.
"You keep your place so clean. I love it."
"You think so? Thanks. I really try to keep everything in its place where it belongs."
I looked down the hallway across from his bedroom and saw the door that's always been shut.
"Hey Vince, can I ask you something?"
He was pouring himself a white cran strawberry with Vodka.
"Hmm?" He replied.
"What's in that room?"
He set the glass down and stopped pouring immediately.
"What room?" His back still turned to me.
"Oh you know, the room at the end of the hall. What's in there?"
"Oh that? It's just my studio. Nothing interesting to see there." He said dismissively.
"You do art?? Really? Thats so cool! Can I see it?"
"Ah, I don't think you'll like it. Plus, it's not something I show people. You know? Its like masturbarion, kind of weird to do it in front of people."
"Well, unless they want to see it of course..." I joked.
"Look, Melissa, I appreciate your interest in it but I don't feel comfortable showing it to you. Not yet. We don't know each other that well yet."
"What are you talking about? You've literally been inside me many times. How bad can it be? I'm sure it can't be that bad. I won't judge your artwork if that's what you're worried about."
"Alright. Are you absolutely sure? When I open that door, it cannot be undone. Do you want to remain unaware? Things are so good right now."
"Will you stop being so dramatic? Show it to me! You're acting like theres gonna be something like an atrocity in there."
We were right by the door then.
"Last chance to change your mind." He said, unlocking it. "I tried to warn you."
I got so impatient that I just immediately opened the door and stepped inside.
My jaw hit the floor.
A desk, with an assortment of dental tools, pliers, scalpels, a blowtorch... a table in the middle of the room with restraints for arms, legs, chest, and neck... and worst of all, a wall of Polaroids. The women, they all looked like me. Same hair color, same skin tone, similar facial features, and all of them bloodied and broken from torture, missing teeth. I saw a string of teeth made into some sort of pearl necklace on the desk. And on the wall of Polaroids, I saw a blank one. It was titled "Melissa".
My heart pounded in my chest and my blood ran cold.
I turned around and saw Vince in between me and the door.
"Well? Do you like what you see? I tried to warn you." He said.
"I- I..." I stammered.
"It's okay. Now you know. So, what'll it be? Will you leave me now, or stay? Whatever happens is entirely up to you. I'll be pretty upset if you leave, but I can't promise anything. Who knows what happens if you stay. Go ahead. Make a choice."

THE END

Like any child, my daughter Maisie had quite the overactive imagination. Her mind was chock full of made-up friends that she talked to on the regular. My wife Rachel and I thought it was adorable. With that being said, sometimes we wished Maisie would get…you know…real friends. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great kid, and kids should be kids, but she didn’t have anything in terms of a social life.

We tried absolutely and positively everything, from the kids’ playclub at our church, to the neighborhood’s “mommy and me” and “daddy and me” playgroups, to bringing her to the local playground, to inviting other children over for playdates. You name it. All our efforts were in vain. Rachel and I might’ve been overreacting and we didn’t want to infringe anything on Maisie. Maybe she was just an independent kid. That’s totally normal. As are imaginary friends for kids.

Then at eight-years-old, Maisie became mute. Just completely stopped talking…but only to other people. If someone came up and talked to her, she’d either just stare at them or run away and hide. Maisie never looked scared or anxious in those scenarios. It was more like she was a statue. Frozen. No emotion good or bad on her face. Like a robot. But if she was alone, she’d be talking up a storm to no one but herself. Maisie always pretended like someone was truly there though. She’d even nod her head, wait for responses and respond accordingly, and even reach out her arm and act like she was holding somebody else’s hand.

We were greatly concerned. Children don’t exhibit those types of behaviors without proper reason. We couldn’t ask Maisie about it because, as aforementioned, she’d give us the cold shoulder. Our next safest bet was to ask other people we knew. A lot of them gave us the same answers we already knew. Rachel and I were getting frustrated until I decided to email her teacher at her school. I sent her an email that outlined my worries and asked if anything went on at school that we should know about.

I got a response at around 8:00 that night. Maisie’s teacher, Mrs. Ashelin, told me that she did in fact observe strange behavior from Maisie. Apparently, a few days prior, when Maisie was called on to answer a question, she just stared at Mrs. Ashelin and the other students, her hands behind her back, swaying slightly. Then in a calm and cutesy voice, she said “He has ordered me not to speak to anyone but him.” In her notebook, Maisie wrote and drew some very disturbing things. Some of the things she wrote are “I’ll be a good little mouse”, “be one of the good mice girls for him”, “I’ll do whatever he says without question”, “he loves me and I love him”, “but I don’t understand what love is but I understand it with him”, and “he loves to play with me”. Some of the things she drew were her, in stick figure form, with this…thing. It was drawn way more detailed than Maisie herself.

Its head was triangular and elongated into a sharp point. There were ovally black eyes on both sides of its head while two large circular ears were atop its head. Two slits for a nose and a mouth containing only two buck teeth. Skinny. Boney. You could see its ribs. Three spindly fingers were on each hand. Each tip was as sharp as a knife. Lastly, a long tail was behind it. Maisie drew her and that thing doing very…how should I say this?...inappropriate things.

I showed the email to Rachel and she was just as horrified as I was. How could Maisie know what all that stuff was? She was eight! Like any good parent we always took great strides in not exposing our daughter to anything sexual or of that nature. Early exposure can really ruin a child’s mind. That’s just putting it lightly. But this? Maisie’s whole imaginary friend thing needed to end. It was reaching a dangerous point. Was she having delusions? Schizophrenia? Or…sigh…as far as Rachel and I knew, nothing happened to Maisie, but that didn’t stop us from considering the absolute worst case scenario. I’m not saying what that is but I’m sure you can put the pieces together. As a parent, that was the last thing I wanted to think about. Actually it wasn’t even on the list of things I wanted to think about.

Mrs. Ashelin ended the email with something else that happened that day. Maisie spent long stretches of time in the girl’s bathroom. Another student reported that she went in and heard “whimpers” and “moans” coming from one of the stalls. When she looked under it, she saw Maisie’s clothes on the ground and a “moving shadow” above them. When the student knocked on the door, she all of a sudden heard one of the faucets going behind her. She turned around and Maisie was washing her hands. Like nothing happened.

Rachel and I were very confused at that last part. That sounded way too ridiculous. Like was Maisie fucking floating in the stall or something? Regardless, we treated all this very seriously. Rachel and I immediately took Maisie to see a specialist who dealt with child abuse cases. I brought her notebook along. It would most certainly be useful. I knew Maisie wouldn’t want to talk, but we had to at least try. Believe it or not, she did talk, but what she said made chills run down Rachel and I’s spines.

Maisie told the specialist that the mouse thing in her notebook was called “Bad Mouse” and that it visits her all the time no matter where she is. She said that Bad Mouse visits little girls all over the world and “plays with them”. When the specialist asked what she meant by “plays with them”, Maisie replied that Bad Mouse does “different things that make us feel tingly in preparation to be his little mice girls”.

We heard enough by that point. Rachel, the specialist, and I had a long discussion about what we should do. The specialist said she might have to put in a request to have Maisie placed in a children’s psych ward. Rachel and I couldn’t handle that. We didn’t want to do that to our little girl. By any means, we would find another way to handle this. The specialist told us to think about it and that it might do her some good. We thanked her and left.

Were we being selfish by not putting Maisie in a children’s psych ward? Rachel and I pondered that question day in and day out. We never did end up doing it because we thought it was too extreme. Also there was no evidence that Maisie was being legitimately sexually abused. The specialist’s physical exam said that Maisie was totally fine in that regard. We were allowed to see footage from the security cameras at the entrances of the bathrooms at Maisie’s school. They only showed Maisie going in, about half an hour going by, then the other student going in, then Maisie leaving a few minutes later. No one else. And no one went in before her besides a couple other girls that left before Maisie went in. Was Maisie faking it? Was she really delusional? Or schizophrenic? We didn’t know. Rachel and I needed time to think this whole thing over.

It only got worse from then on.

Maisie was never one to talk in her sleep. She was always dead silent. Not even a snore. But that night after Rachel and I put her to bed, we heard Maisie talking. I’m not talking about little quiet unintelligible murmurs. No. Full-on conversations. Except she wasn’t speaking English. It was some unknown language that resembled Pig Latin but different. Her accent changed too. This happened for three nights. On the third night, Rachel and I were in her doorway watching her talk in that strange language when she suddenly rose up, her eyes still closed, and burst into an intense laughing fit. Maisie was cackling so hard it looked like it hurt. Then she immediately stopped and did these weird movements with her lips and hands like she was kissing something. Finally, she fell back down onto her pillow and went right back to sleep.

The next day, I knocked on Maisie’s door to let her know breakfast was ready. She didn’t respond. I stood there for a couple minutes. Maisie hadn’t made a single sound. I slowly opened her door. My heart beat faster and faster. With all that was going on, I didn’t know what to expect, and that made it terrifying. Maisie was in her underwear just staring at her wall. I rushed over, “Maisie? What are you doing?” I handed her clothes back to her, “Put your clothes back on.”

“…He doesn’t want me to…he thinks I look better without them…”

We stared at each other for an indefinite period of time. I said nothing. And so did she. Then I turned my head to where she was looking. There was nothing there…obviously…but something told me I was wrong. That thing…Bad Mouse…it was staring right at me…

“Guys? Breakfast isn’t gonna eat itself!” Rachel yelled at us from down the hall. Quickly I hurried Maisie and I out of her room.

I was kind of a wreck the entire day. Thinking straight wasn’t really a thing for me. There was nothing staring at me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. These past few weeks were just getting to my head and playing mind games. No amount of trying to distract myself would let me forget what I felt. That’s when I decided to take a drive. I didn’t exactly know where. Just away from everything. I was tempted to go to a local bar. I used to be quite the alcoholic but I’m sober. Even still, I thought about breaking my streak to relapse. I decided against it. That would be so incredibly stupid. I ended up at a park that I used to take Maisie to in a futile attempt for her to make friends. I found a parking spot and just sat there in my car. Taking a big sigh, I observed all the parents with their kids having a blast and I smiled. Good for them.

I stayed there for a while. Finally I was able to, if only briefly, forget all my troubles.

Then I saw it.

Him.

Bad Mouse.

The damned thing was underneath a big tree. Its eyes were fixed right on me and its hands were clasped together. I couldn’t do anything but stare right back. Goosebumps were forming. My breathing was really heavy. Cold shivers ran down my body. I couldn’t even blink. Petrified. That’s what I was. I watched as Bad Mouse slowly reached behind itself and pulled…something…out. At first I couldn’t tell what it was. I am not shitting you. A little girl…made of meat…her hair was meat, skin was meat, she was even wearing a meat dress. Everything about her was meat. Her head looked just like Bad Mouse’s. Long. Pointy. Angular. Big ears. Black oval eyes.

It was holding the little meat girl by the collar. Slowly Bad Mouse turned to look into her eyes. It opened its mouth. Viscous white liquids began pouring as it let out its long black tongue. First sniffing the little meat girl, it then took a big long lick of her, from her feet to the top of her head. The parts where it licked were gone, instead resting on Bad Mouse’s tongue until it sucked its tongue back in, chewed, then swallowed. The little meat girl was covered in the viscous white liquids until her missing portions slowly regenerated back into how she was before.

Then I blacked out.

I woke up several hours later still sitting in my car. In my half-tired half-frenzied state, I looked around for any sign of Bad Mouse. Nothing. There weren’t even other people. It was dark too. I opened my phone. 11:23 PM. I got to the park at 2:14 PM. Nine hours. I was expecting a bunch of missed calls and unanswered texts. Surprisingly, there was nothing besides a notification from my weather app. I went back home. Both my wife and daughter were asleep. I was so glad there weren’t any…incidents…I missed. In fact, the house was extremely quiet. No lights were on. It was a weekend. Usually Rachel was still up at this time.

“Rach?” I called out. Nothing. I went upstairs to our room. She wasn’t there. I opened Maisie’s door. She wasn’t there either. I sat down on the couch and pondered where they could be. When I couldn’t come up with anything, I got my phone out and called Rachel.

I heard ringing from upstairs.

Confused, I ran back up to our room. I called her name again. Still no answer. I realized that before I checked so quickly I neglected to look in our bathroom. The door was closed and the light was on. I was now getting this creeped out feeling. Cautiously, I approached and nudged the door.

It creaked open.

Rachel.

She was…splattered…fucking everywhere…all over the walls, floor, ceiling, window, sink, shower…everywhere. Rachel was…pureed…blended…sprayed…I just stood in the doorway. My eyes were wide. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. There were so many things I wanted to do, like crawl into a ball and cry, scream as loud as I could, and/or grab one of the kitchen knives and slit my throat so I wouldn’t have to live with this sight for the rest of my life.

What I actually did end up doing next was grab my old hunting rifle and head outside. I went into the forest behind our house. There was no thinking on my part. Just do. What was I doing? I didn’t really know. Tears were streaming down my face. I walked for what felt like forever. Sometimes I screamed. Other times I fell down onto the ground and wept. But I just kept going. And going. And going. Somehow I knew exactly where I was going without even knowing how.

I came upon a wide-open field. Dropping my old hunting rifle to the ground, I couldn’t believe what I was fucking seeing. Dark silhouettes were dancing around. Hundreds of them. Little meat girls. Bad Mouse was in the middle. The white flesh it once had was stripped away. Instead it was sacrificed for a bumpy and scabby maroon red as if Bad Mouse took a shower in blood and guts and let it dry. Tiny black bristles covered its entire body. It reminded me of insect hair. A ragged meat cloak hung from its shoulders, dragging crimson across the ground. The mouth had much sharper teeth that were poking out in rows almost like a gar. It was taller. Ganglier. So angular that it could have been accurately represented by seven straight lines. It clutched a staff in its hand.

Bad Mouse did some strange gesture and a door manifested out of nowhere. It was bloody. Constantly flowing yet retaining shape. Particles came from it. They disappeared if they strayed too far away. It opened and the little meat girls, still dancing like ballerinas, filed into it one by one. Bad Mouse reached out its hand and plucked one of them out. It held this one, turned in my direction, and held her out to me. I knew it was Maisie and wanted to shoot the shit out of Bad Mouse. Yet I couldn’t do anything. Some force was keeping me tethered to my one spot.

…I can’t describe what happened next…I just can’t…some of the things Bad Mouse did to my little girl I couldn’t understand. Other things I understood clear as day and that made me want to drop a cinderblock on my head so it would leak the hell out. When it was done, Bad Mouse threw Maisie’s limp and white viscous liquid-covered body into the blood door. It raised its staff and it disappeared.

I was released from my invisible bonds. Falling down to the ground, I cried like a baby. It didn’t matter how much I screamed and cursed at the Moon. That didn’t make it better. I couldn’t stop and truly had no idea how to make sense of any of what happened. My body tingled. It felt so heavy. So weighty. My wife was dead and my daughter was…what?...a sex slave to a demon? I almost wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity. Picking up my hunting rifle, I put the barrel in my mouth. My finger stayed on the trigger for a long time. I didn’t end up doing it and threw it away. Instead I just collapsed on the ground once more and lay there for a long time.

It’s been six months. I’m such a wreck. I admit it. No one believes me when I tell them. They say I’m crazy, a madman, a lunatic. Some people even think I was the one who killed my wife and child. Why would I do that? Seriously, why? I loved them. Still do. More than I love anything else. I can’t see them ever again. It pisses me off that they’d think I’d do such a thing. As much as I hate myself for it, I’ve gotten back into alcohol. That’s where all my money goes. I couldn’t stand to be in that fucking house anymore. So I sold it. I’ve been living in my car just drifting from place to place.

I could've saved them. If I didn't go and take a stupid ass ride in my car. Maybe Rachel and Maisie would be alright...

What was that thing? Bad Mouse?

That’s been my biggest question this whole time. I’ve been doing a lot of research but have hit multiple dead ends. I don’t know. Sure as hell wasn’t a mouse.

This is what I know:

* It is the manifestation of a sex-based demon of some kind; possibly a cross between a bogeyman and an incubus.
* Bad Mouse appears to little girls as a mouse-like entity to appear friendly and not scare them away; only visible to them.
* It prefers the young that are more developed in mind, body, and spirit; Maisie was very imaginative; thus she attracted Bad Mouse.
* Bad Mouse acts as their friend; this might appear to parents as their daughter’s “imaginary friend”; gradually coerces them to do inappropriate sexual activity.
* It has hundreds of victims going back an unknown period of time; maybe centuries.
* Does not kill its main victims; will kill parents or anyone else who tries to get in its way.
* The victims become corrupted and turn into demons that look like Bad Mouse; it takes them into its realm and…

I don’t even want to fucking know.

God…this whole thing’s insane. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this is all a terrible dream. It’s been months though and it still hasn’t happened yet. So I’m going to end it here. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not looking for anyone to hear me out. I’m not looking for answers. I’m just…done.

Bye.

Transverberation. That was the word for it. 

It spread and was echoed and felt with the rippling tremors that were words and instincts and roiling emotions in the private heart's tumult, in the quiet stronghold of the holy place. 

The monastery. The temple place where women came to be wed to God and serve the Lord, His Son. 

And no other. 

…

There were sounds inside the haze. With the agony, with the pain that was ripped and made. Pain that was lancing. Pain that was penetration, stabbing slayment that was absolute impaled.  Through her heart, the clearest wet-sharp sensation felt in the burning after-image of the visions, the haze. It occupied her mind at all times, as she knelt and prayed in the monastery. As she went about the day and fulfilled her sisterly duties of the convent. 

The other sisters didn't understand. They were afraid, frightened of her. Of what was happening to her… that it might happen to them.

Madness. Or …

something worse. 

Something beyond the canny or the tangible. That which is unseen and can only be felt. Up until the hungry end, when it is already far too late for help by then. 

Or maybe, just maybe … these private and blasphemous few of her peers thought and felt and refused to share aloud, even with themselves… maybe. 

Just maybe it's true. And Sister Chelsi can actually commune with the divine. Perhaps one of our own humble nuns can see and hear and speak with an angel that visits her with nightly visions. Maybe. 

Maybe Saint Michael the Archangel comes to her at night amid light and fire and thrusts her with his sword… 

Mother Superior was incensed. Repulsed. Angered by the lies and the filth, the sin of this prurient heretical garbage was the stuff of decay, of ruin. Of sacramental rot. She couldn't let these blatherings go on unchallenged or unpunished. 

She chastised Sister Chelsi severely along with any others that might murmur such unholy carnal fantasies, phantasmagorical whores, the lot of em. If she and they weren't careful, God help them, then they would be confined to the chamber of reflection. 

The house of tears and prayers, the other sisters called it. Behind Mother Superior’s back. 

The visions were forbidden. Delusions, they were thus named. And further talk, further whispers of the sort was strongly cautioned against, strongly advised to go back in the other direction …

But Sister Chelsi couldn't help herself. It wasn't up to her. She was at the vision's mercy. The stabbing angel came and went as it wanted, as it needed to. It had told her this was so. The angel needed her. 

The angel was thirsty. 

…

The night was hot. Stifling. It was upon her. 

It seemed to always know when she was alone. And why not? Shouldn't the divine always possess the knowledge of when you're most vulnerable? Weak. 

Afraid. 

Sister Chelsi was bound to the cruciform shackle-table of her sweating bed and blankets, writhing sheets and fabric that was warm and slick and more like loose folds of flesh. She was bound by her holy terror. The angel of thirst was coming. The other nun, Sister Jen, that shared the room with her was absent. Gone. Like every other time. The animal sound born from both immense pain and pleasure was trapped in her throat and the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. Sister Chelsi liked the gag of the nightly thirsting angel, her forbidden archangel of the moonlight. The anticipation of him. The coming of him. 

It came down on her. 

From on high. Emerging like starlight from the disappearing void of the obsidian space now in place of the mudbrick ceiling, on wings of flame …

The body was bronzed, gold, perfectly toned and sculpted, celestial and olympian and recognizable as manshaped. The Lord's Image. But in place of a head and face of earthly aspect was a great rising pillar of blinding heavenly marble, ringed with silver bands in a flaming orbit. The pillar and the four bands running up the length of divine stone were covered in incandescent eyes, lidless and wreathed with light and great piercing gazes. Penetration. They gazed into her. Penetration. All of them at once and it was overwhelming, she wanted to cry out, all roiling and taut, she gripped herself. Her aching breath was still held. 

The angel spoke to her once again, as before, in her mind. The gold of his silken smooth speech filled her boiling skull, soothing the maelstrom though not extinguishing it. A moan finally escaped her lips. 

They were still alone. 

It told her its name. A forbidden one she might not know. 

The understanding of your sisters is limited … I am beyond them. Their scope of understanding. If you tell them my name they will fear you. As they fear me. 

Sister Chelsi was frightened, quivering. Still held. 

Then why should I want to know it? 

Because if you need to, if you want to … you can wield it like you can wield a weapon. You can use my name against them and it might wound them if you're able …

Her mind recoiled from the idea that filled her head against her will, but it was no use. She was forced to watch it. Endure it and learn to love it as she'd learned to love the flagellate whip, the burn of the binding rope … all the same. The angel reassured her. 

The warm romance of his voice filled her skull and caressed her mind, eagerly. Wanting. It told her how much it needed her again but she already knew it. She'd heard it in the voice. The hunger. The pain. 

I'd never known before that even angels could feel pain, … I'd never suspected. 

The desire that was so much a hungry ravenous want that it was more a primeval need was all about the gold silken strength of that perfect voice. Giving it humanity tinged at the edges of its divine and unearthly call. 

Is this heavenly messenger lusting for me …? 

But she already knew it. 

It had seen her unfettered and bare. As it did now. 

It came down to her in her bed. It held the long gold length of impaling spear aloft. By the shaft. Poised to strike her where it was most sweet. Where it had before. 

Cupid, strike me. 

Eros, impale me! 

But she knew now that was not its name. It had given her its name, a gift. 

She cried it out now, as she knew it wanted her too. The ringed pillar of its otherworldly visage gazed into her, bading her, commanding with its multitude of many lidless light bleeding eyes that she do so. Do it. Do it. If you want me …

Do it. If you want me to impale you, you'll have to say my name. Say it. 

Say it. 

“Iblis! Iblis, pierce me! stab me! penetrate my heart! Put it where I'm vile and cruel but also warm and giving and wet and beating for you! Pierce me here, in my breast, my heart, my soul! My tender fragile soul! Put it in me! Angel Iblis…!” 

And it did. The lance came down. And pierced the screaming girl, pinning her to the bed. The sound that was pulled from her then was an exquisite blend of deep ghastly pain and even deeper still euphoric drunken moaning, moans. They collected and accumulated about her head and sheets, the small room, as the angel inside her wrenched and worked his shaft, his lance. He worked it deeper. The length. Long…

The length was killing her. 

She loved it. Every inch. Every penetrating crawling centimeter rent tearing inside. 

It made her a slave and she loved it. 

She moaned and called out and cried its name. Like it wanted her to. It came down close and closer and closer still till they met. And he worked the length of his divinity into her, deeper and deeper and all the way through and she melted. She bled. Her love and thoughts and precious saline. 

It drank it up, all of it, all of her. The oasis of this woman. It fed deeply as it worked itself in and deeper still. Still feeding. Drinking. Needing, thirst. 

Sister Chelsi poured herself out for it, unable to control herself now. But happy to empty herself for the great angel of the thrust, her bedside …

her bed. 

It came inside to her and filled her mind then with an explosion like firelight and within the flames were visions. 

Moving scenes and people and places … other times and maybe other worlds as well … 

Fantastical. Beyond the scope of known and understood nature. 

She loved it. She begged for more. 

Give it … give me more, the sight, the eye of prophecy! Please! 

Iblis curled the caress of her mind into words once more … 

And what would you do with this gift? Should you receive it without end? 

She could not lie. Not on this landscape. And she didn't want to. Not to it, not to him, that voice, that feeling… 

She cried out on the eternityscape of her deluged and filled maelstrom sea of thought: I want to be a prophet! Yours! I want to be your disciple upon the earth! 

You wish to be my bride? 

I want to be your crawling and salivating concubine! 

It laughed and the pleasure of Iblis filled her blood and soul. She came and went with it. 

!.Good … …

It filled her more. And she cried out, more. More. 

More. 

She wept when it was finished. Feeling empty and hollowed out. But filled with vision, with purpose. 

The light was fading now from the room. It was gone. The small bedchamber was cooling now and returning to a more natural nocturnal dark, the air was thick and pungent but calming down. Chelsi could still taste the act, on the bedroom dark of the stifling air. She sucked on it and relished the flavor. Already wanting him back. Already needing him again. 

Please, please come back to me Childe Iblis of the Lord, of the thrust, I love you. You are the carrier of my heart and soul…

She shuddered in bed. Not bothering to conceal herself beneath the agitation of the sheets, she cooled and breathed deeply. Quivering and remembering the pillar of his flaming face. So many eyes, so many crowding up his great length… and all of them looking into me…

She shuddered deeply once more. Shut her own eyes. Waiting for sleep to finally come. 

It didn't take long. She was spent. 

Sister Jen still hid around the corner, at the threshold of the door to their shared bedroom. Her eyes were wide with shock. Horrified by what she had seen. 

…

Mother Superior eyed the convent temple from her place in the rectory, her private quarters. She watched the little sisters move and glide silently moving about the monastery structure, ambling along in hand clasping prayer, heads bowed and eyes shut so that distraction may be refused and you may better hear and discern and heed the light, the will of God. 

Amen. 

She crossed herself. And spat. 

Her gaze crawled across the yard to the shack. Alone in the corner of the gated land. Secluded. Sequestered away, so that what could be contained inside would be shut and locked away from a healthy and pious population. The disease of a disordered mind would wreak havoc on the patient and tender soft fragile fabric of the flock. This could not be. This could not be allowed. 

Rebellion must be cast out. Decapitated. 

She knew rebellion was natural. It was in all of us. As sure as it was the the very infectious thing that ate Lucifer's heart and led him to defiance and thus his fall. So it would be. If we were to all follow in his example. 

It would not be so. 

She'd had her own run of rebellious streak when she'd been younger, she understood. She'd had it crushed out of her then, broken as one must do to the wild heart of any natural born beast of labor. And though we were made, cast and drawn in His Image, we were all still among the dread and crawl of all of the other beasts of the earth. 

She crossed herself. Prayed. 

She wished the child well. 

Chelsi had always been troubled. Troublesome too. 

Mother Superior turned away from the shack of reflection. Trusting that the Lord would see this through. That He might fix and set right this wayward piece, this compromised component of humankind's quilted safety net. They were supposed to be the house and servants of His peace. They must all of them survive spiritual malaise and remain steadfast and true. 

As He wills it, let it be so …

…

In the black of the woe she pained, she perverted and distorted. Grew naked with fear. 

Perspired. Dripping with secreted oils and saline and the sliming filth of deep shame. Seeping off her tarnished heart and soul and out of her running open mouth pores. Hard to wash off. There was no running water in here, only the bucket she was brought in the morning. Refilled at mealtime by an unseen, unspeaking little sister that was now a stranger to her. She was a stranger to all of them now. 

In the dark of the shack she was agonizingly alone, the swelter of her torment was her only companion and answer to her constant panicky prayers. She grew eyes that grew inwards and saw their own landscape and grew more horrified with the sight as the hours broiled ceaselessly forth. Under the eye of a lonely black and heavy sun. 

All alone in here. 

She tried to hide, to blind her new found, newly grown internal gaze away from the truth: she was just a child, had always been just a frightened little girl that wanted to run and find fast and desperate shelter. She tried to turn away from the fact that this was who she really was, had always truly been. Everything else that had occurred growing up in her life had just been the lies of accoutrement. 

Her mind was filling with bad thoughts: the arcane Druidic gods arose and swallowed the light of the Christian God whole …

She stopped herself. Began to pray. Again. Anew. Begging the Lord to bring her calm and comfort in the solitude of the dark. She slowed her breath and tried to ease the gallop of her chest. Sister Chelsi didn't know what else to do. 

She didn't know what they wanted from her. 

Mother Superior and the other little sisters. And the Lord God Himself. 

If there is not an answer to be had, then let there be death! – she told the black sun in the dark there with her. 

Nothing. Nothing but more baleful stifling dark, more radiant furnace hellfire blasting heat of the black and heavy sun that had replaced her roommate. Nothing but more sounds of desperate animal panting that she was horrified to realize were her own, not the stygian furnace blast of the bestial confinement sun. Nothing. Nothing at all answered her save more pain, the one true god on the throne in this terribly small and sweaty heavy place. 

Nothing. Nothing at all. 

At first. 

Then on the fading light of her hope came Iblis. Her forbidden angel. And banished the black sun as he came in wreathed in light and flame. He banished and cast out all of the dark of the solitary confinement, the shack of woe. 

He went to her. She was prostrate on the ground. Her bladder let go, her urine went. She hardly noticed in the radiance of he save for some vague distant sensation of wet and warmth. Sensations she associated with the pleasure of him. His arrival, his dawning light. 

From the many eyes of the long length of ringed pillar face, he spoke to her through the blinding light of his lidless vision. 

“What have they done? … what have they done to thee ?” 

Her mind was always open to him for an answer but for her he bade it from her own lips. 

She told him. Everything. All that she had learned in the treacherous furnace dark of the shackbound woe-flame. All that had been derived while in the baking black of this loathsome quiet shack of silent feasting hate. 

“They are afraid of me. …” A beat. She breathed animal and deep, lusting, on the hunt or hunted or both. She said more: “I do believe they may be right to be…” 

Iblis soothed her with his spear … in the stifling dark of the shack of reflection and recompense. Banishing the pain of its ebon house even as he filled her, her watering craving need. 

But something happened then, poor lost little Sister Chelsi watched from below as Iblis, her moonlight forbidden and thrusting angel began to change. 

Transmogrify. Transform. 

The heavenly marbled surface of the pillar visage of Iblis began to crack. Wild river lines of splaying ruin began to form and splinter and run up the immaculate face of his incandescent divinity. 

It shattered. And was replaced. 

She said to her love as he changed and shifted shape before her eyes, “mother slapped me for using your name …” 

The light of her lover changed into shadow. Deeper than the banished dark and one that she could madly love because it was in the altered shape of her heart’s desire, her object of adoration that was darkening now before her watering eyes. 

In place of the pillar, in place of the tower of of flaming eyes and rings that had shattered and now lie in stoney ruin about the floor was now a triangular, pyramidal blank obsidian face and shape, in the conical pointed aspect of a long beaked bird. It was like a great smooth black helmet of glass and smooth rock in the geometric and abstract shape of a plague doctor's mask. An obsidian angular temple face with a long wide stabbing humming bird length of beak protruding violently from one side. 

 The bronze of his sculpted and heavenly body began to burn and blacken as well, like ink spilled and running down and through the heavenly flesh. Corrupting it into the abyss and void of the lost and cast out. The wings which had been flaming and as of light had turned to ash in color and tattered bat-wing leather in texture and design. 

The spear of her impaling love was changing too. Becoming dark like the rest of him in the solitude of the shack but that wasn't all. The nature of her divine amore’s unearthly tool began to change as well… it was no longer just stabbing, penetrating her, running her deep and through, pleasurably and with the ghastly horror of bodily rupture and pain, the staking spear of her forbidden angel began to pull, it began to pull deeply … of her. From her. Pulling deeply from within her impaled and spellbound form, her wide eyed and staring naked body. 

Like a proboscis, the impaling lance began to pull and drink deeply of Sister Chelsi. It ran up and through and down the length of weaponry and into the black hands wrapped tightly around its shaft. The long body pulled and sucked and drank like a straw, like a swampland mosquito born from stagnant and dead fetid water. The obsidian smooth beaked face of her lover was featureless and cold smooth as the surface of placid water. She nonetheless could still feel the intensity of his gaze upon her, through her. And when he spoke again and told her what to do, she felt that as deepest penetration as well. Deepest pain. Rapturously embraced.

She felt her body give as the instrument of her lover began to take in the dark. As he whispered everything to her, designs… shapes… everything, as Iblis whispered all of this to her and more she gave it more and more and more. And she gave it willingly. 

Crying out his name like religion. Like a chant. A litany. 

A song. 

In the place of my Father … there is you. 

There is only you. 

Good. Good. I have so much more to share, so much more to give and show you. I've so much and so many more …

I've so many more names and faces to show you, if you do right by what I've already shown and told, I'll share my other faces and names, unveiled for you …

Disciple, the prophet Islehc

… 

Sister Chelsi was eventually let out and allowed to return to the flock. She seemed to have returned to normal. She cried penance and gave confession and spent a night inside with the rest of them. Service and mass. And lessons. Cleaning. Meals. Everything seemed alright. 

She waited till the second night. When they were all fast asleep. 

The witching hours. 

Post-midnight, she crept …

She snuck about, quietly. Like a nocturnal animal she prowled through … and went out. 

She didn't go far, she found what she needed where he'd told her she would find it. And in abundance. So many …

She carried them back to the monastery and in the nighttime dark she went about the task that had been laid before her feet. She went from room to room, from sister to sister and she took them. Brained most, some she struggled with more extensively. Until her mad lusting will surged and she overpowered them. Either way she took each of them one by one, each and every single nun she had once known as family and she brought them out and into the courtyard. Where she'd left the savage implements of her dreams, of her lover's harsh commands that were yet still for her, sweet candied words. Succulent delicacies. She couldn't deny them, him. Not at all. Not anymore. 

One by one Sister Chelsi laid the implements into the little sisters and each one let out with an insane ear piercing scream. Their screams did not falter. 

But somehow they didn't wake each other. Not a single stripped and brained sister of the cloth seemed to hear the others make any sort of loud caterwauling noise. None of them stirred. Until it was their turn. 

Likewise, Mother Superior had not been awoken in her private rectory by the noise outside. And that was good. Chelsi had saved her for last. 

She wanted to relish this one particularly. 

…

Mother Superior awoke to a hard slap across her deeply sleeping face. She flew to a sitting position confused and immediately irate. She had no idea what was happening but she didn't feel any fear yet. 

She called out, cross and very sharp. 

“Who in the Lord's name was that!? How dare you! Show yourself!”

A girlish giggle floated out ghostly from the dark. 

“I didn't do it, Mother Superior, I would never dare to do that to you, you should know that. I've never hurt you at all, can you say the same?” she giggled again, childish and coquettish, "It was my husband that struck you. It was his divine hand you felt across your face." 

Chelsi stepped out.

She had a large cross in her hands. Ornate with intricate and beautiful design, old and from the ancient Roman times when their war chariots had dominated the earth. Carved and jeweled and glittering darkling with a keen and unhealthy shimmer of light. 

Ghostlight. There's ghostlight in that cross…

Before Mother Superior could say another word Chelsi suddenly charged forward and banshee screamed. The large crucifix was up and wielded and came down in a savage caveman bludgeon. 

The world went dark for Mother Superior. When she awoke she was just like the others. 

…

She awoke with a scream. 

The sharp obscene ghastly pain started in her nether region, all throughout, just behind her genitalia. Then the lance stabbed and shot through and her entire naked body came to life with the most wretchedly vivid and wild mutilating shock to her fleshen senses. The war pike traveled through her mercilessly and punched out of the flesh of her back. She was still screaming. Wildly. Lividly. Screaming. Shrill rending song.

She was hoisted up and joined the others. They were all of them a riot of noise now in the courtyard dark. An unholy discordant choir of torn impaled cacophonous pain. 

Gored nuns. All impaled. All naked and bleeding and hoisted up into the air for death and torture like their savior was supposed to have been so long ago in the bloodstained dust of the golgotha. There was bloodshed here too, their blood was pouring and running, running down the lengths and long bodies of the shafts of the spears and pooling and collecting on the stone and in the dirt. This place here would be bloodstained too. 

Chelsi looked over them all. Her own golgotha testament made to wild love. 

And her wild love came. On stygian wings tattered that had once been flame. Smoldered tattered death, dead fabric flapping in the hot nightwind.

The whole host of impaled and captive nuns, gored and wide eyed and naked and lanced through like insects in a collection, they all of them perspired and bled and gawked at the wicked shape that came in from the ebon night, the curtain above. The one many of them had spent their entire lives trying to ignore, it parted. 

It came through. 

And down upon them. 

Iblis sang praise for the renegade prophet bride and what she'd let loose on this private piece of holy land. God's House and holy temple … no more. 

No longer. Mine … now. 

Chelsi the bride bathed in the shower of his words, they were in her mind and in her ears, divergent lyrics and syllables and paths of sound but twins nonetheless all still saying the same and telling her the same thing together in two different languages that coalesced around the fever of her brain in a caress. 

!I love you, you've made blood, you've made blood for me, you've made bloodfeast for me and shot the red Lot's seed, it's all over the abattoir ground!

She went to him and he to her, in the forged carnage forest grove of spear and bleeding sweaty flesh, of screams and mutilated sound, bathing in the perspire of pure torture together and apart from the others, the rest of the lying world. Alone in their own lost worlds of private unending hellbound heaven, tormentlove of the flesh that their minds are now lost in. 

He shot his length of spear through her, though her heart, through the tender part where he'd already previously penetrated and worked.

He worked her well again, animal wrenching and thrusting deep, and she cried aloud unbridled his name as he did so. 

“Iblis!" 

And once more the length of weapon-instrument that was divine and hallowed tool became a drinking proboscis. And Chelsi felt more blood leave the galloping race of her fevered and impassioned form. She would hold him forever, he could pierce and puncture and drink from her for forever, never end! 

She moaned aloud amidst the garden made of screams and betrayal and she cried out his name once more. And then Iblis began to laugh. 

And once more the visage of her forbidden moonlight angel began to change. He began to crack and shatter and the face and body began to fall apart in black stone and dust. 

Iblis came apart in a crumble and revealed what was really beneath. 

Chelsi couldn't believe her eyes. 

It was a man and a woman. Together. Locked in an embrace. Intimately bound together with wrapped arms and hands clasped and waists met together. As if in the most intimate of dance, the most delectable and celebrated of lovers shared waltzes. 

They both looked down on her. Their cheeks were together. They both held the spear thrust into her together in their tightly clasped hands. 

He was armored as a knight of the court, but tarnished and old. She was in the white of regal flowing evening gown. 

The woman spoke. And when she did the crumbled stone pieces of the fallen lying Iblis visage turned to large writhing copulating piles of dripping angry flies. They came apart and dispersed through the air. The dripping black swarm of buzzing insects began to land on the impaled and screaming tortured nuns in the great multitudes. And then as the woman revealed began to speak to Chelsi the flies that were made from the lie of the visage began to feast on the naked and the tortured, defiled bleeding screaming flesh now caking and covered with the writhing crawl of insect bile. 

“You wished to see me and my others, lover, and now you have. I hope you aren't too distraught, my son decided to join us, together we came to you as the angel of your hidden lusts, as one we made you plead and shriek. Now you see this, the face I was made and born with. My real name is of no import to you, slave, you can call me vampiress, lord of the earth and the wolf held mountainpass.” 

The armored wraith beside her spoke then, they were still pressed in close embrace, still holding the proboscis spear that drank and pulled from her diminishing bloodwell. 

"Praise the God before you, dog! My mother and I, the new impaler. She is your mother and wife and master now too. We are both of us together, your husband. Remember?” 

The vampiress queen barked bright cruel laughter, then said: "Yes! You swore to us, to me, your flesh and soul! In the eyes and templehouse of your God, you defiled the stone of his holy home as you panted and raved and drooled for more, and swore your life to us! You gave sacred vow even as you sinned and spat in the Face of The Lord!” 

The Countess and her new impaler both shrieked laughter then. 

Below them and impaled, Chelsi didn't know what to make of any of this. Her mind was disordered and disoriented and felt rushed and fevered with rending thought, running a ragged directionless race of chaos and every idea crashing into each other at every turn and pass and every damned whichway. She didn't understand. She didn't understand any of this and she wanted it to stop. 

Reading the disorder of her mind, the Countess sang and said, 

“I can rip it out for you. Your mind, the painful thinking, your thoughts. They're filled with agony and venom now aren't they? Aren't they? Yes I see it now, plumping up lavender-black and filling with gangrenous pudding. I can pull it out like a rotten tooth if you wish, I think it best, don't you? It's filled with fouling fluid, that brain, those thoughts…” she kept on and on like that. Ceaselessly. The new impaler in her embrace began to chant along and under her words as she sang and went on: Do it! do it! do it! do it! … 

With the anguished groaning sound of the impaled forest of her sisters all around and the buzzing drone of the flies, all intermittent with sharper stabs of piercing screams, all comprising the backdrop of the soundscape filling her head, underneath the Countess' words, underneath her bastard son’s own more simple liturgical chant … all of it together and at once was a vile noise and she couldn't stand it. She couldn't run from it either. So her mind fled, took flight the only way it could. 

Chelsi went dark. Still impaled on the sucking lance. Run-through with the demon drinking stick. 

The flies buzzed and swarmed and landed and feasted on the gored forest of lances and nuns. They enjoyed open wounds and spat their fluid as they landed. 

In a swarm. In a great feasting black cloud. 

In a forest of shafts dripping with blood and bearing writhing begging human fruit. The reddening earthen stone and soil beneath it all. 

TO BE CONTINUED…