Special Interest Go Brrrrrr

Phil tossed the newspaper to Techno, closed to show the front page story. “Not a fan?”

“It’s alright,” Techno shrugged. “I prefer nature’s alarm clock.”

“What’s that, your awful circadian rhythm?”

Techno gave his older brother an off handed wave. “Stop over exaggerating, Phil. What have we got today?”

“Your favorite—murder!”

“Horray.”

Philza stood and walked over to the small table in the corner of their room, pocketing a pair of car keys. “Let’s go, you can read in the car.”

“You’re in a rush.” Techno commented.

“Mate, I’m hungry.”

“Chill out, Philza.” Techno elongated the phrase, giving an additional feeling of repose. “Nobody’s dyin’.”

“People are already dead.”

“Nobody else is dying.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Breakfast, Techno. C’mon,” He was already out the door, holding it open for Techno.

“Right, fine.” Techno stood with a sigh, rolling up the paper before throwing on a pair of jeans and his worn jacket, following Phil out the door and letting it slam shut behind them.

Philza looked at the laminated sheet of paper that was the local diner’s breakfast menu, seemingly deep in thought about his meal selection. “What’re you gonna get?”

“Stabbed through the heart?”

Phil looked up to see Techno pouring over the front cover of the newspaper, muttering to himself.

“Now why would someone do that?”

Phil turned his menu so it faced Techno and slid it between his brother’s line of sight and the newspaper. “Get something to eat, mate.”

“No, not now, I’m too busy reading about this dead person. And get this- they think there’s another victim, maybe two. She’s soaked in someone else’s blood that matches a missing person report from three months ago.”

“Techno-“

The waitress interjected. “Can I get you boys anything?”

Phil stopped his nagging to answer her question. “The special please, with coffee.”

She nodded and took down the order before turning to Techno. “And for you?”

A few seconds of awkward silence followed, with Techno having resumed his reading, the menu off to the side. Finally, Phil swatted his hand and Techno looked up, glancing at the waitress before requesting: “Coffee and …” He trailed off while looking back over the menu. “Pancakes. Thanks.”

She smiled and took the menu from Techno as he handed it to her. “Sure thing.”

“So what’s so special about this case?” Phil asked, idly playing with a sugar packet he had taken from the bowl at the end of the table.

Techno flipped the newspaper and set it in front of Phil. “Police found this girl absolutely drenched in blood with a stab wound through the heart. But there’s way too much blood to be just hers, like double, maybe even triple the amount of blood she would have. There is a lot of blood here, Phil.”

“Ok- yeah, I get that, but why are we investigating it? Gotta be a little more special than a normal murder for you to be so obsessed.”

Techno snorted. “Well there’s no need to flatter me, Phil.”

His comment was met with a sugar packet to the face. Techno started to give a retort but was cut off by Phil. “Anyways, what’s the deal?”

“You’re lucky I care more about the case than revenge.” Phil chuckled but let Techno continue. “Like always, there’s a pattern. There’s this one quote-“ Techno moved to point it out, tapping the paper with his finger. “A retired sheriff mentioned the murder being ‘too similar to something that happened early in his career.’”

“So we go talk to him?”

Techno nodded. “I’m thinking we split up on this one. You talk to the sheriff and I’ll hit the library? I wanna see if I can find out more victims.”

Philza shrugged. “Sure thing, mate. Have fun with your books.”

“I will, thank you very much.”

“That thing say where she died?” Phil asked, gesturing at the paper that Techno slid back across the table towards himself.

After a few seconds of scanning through the text, Techno responded. “Yep. Some old manor on the edge of town. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” Phil agreed.

After Techno and Phil finished their last sips of coffee, the two of them parted ways. Phil headed to the former sheriff’s house under the guise of a reporter and Techno found his way to the town’s library, specifically one of their computers.

He started with more vague search terms, things along the lines of “murder victim blood” and being met with pretty much every news article of a murder under the sun. He went back to the newspaper he read this morning, scanning the article for the names of the former Sheriff and the town itself.

“Elmwick murder blood Sheriff Gabriel Beckham” he typed, then hit enter. What a pleasant sentence. It got him much farther, though, bringing up the article on the murder he presumed the Sheriff was referring to. Twenty-two year-old Matthew Jameson found dead … stabbed through the chest … abnormal amount of blood, blah blah blah.

“Abnormal amount of blood,” Techno scoffed, quoting the article as he appended the phrase to his original search, turning it into “murder victim abnormal amount of blood”—even more appealing. This got him even further in terms of knowledge, bringing up another article, this time from a town in the Midwest. Once again, victim stabbed through the heart and soaked in other people’s blood. This time it was a 32 year-old waitress named Christy Carson.

Techno clicked through a couple more articles his search brought up for him, each one continuing the pattern of cause of death, as well as the lack of pattern that was the main victim. There seemed to be no correlation between any of the main victims or the people whose blood was found at the scene. Probably a serial killer, Techno figured. Although …

He scanned the list of dates and locations of all the murders fitting the pattern so far, looking for the earliest one. John Coleman, killed fifty-one years ago. That made it a little unlikely to be the same killer, but it was still possible.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Techno sent copies of all the newspaper articles to the library’s printer, then shut off the computer. He stood and grabbed his written list, pushing in his chair before leaving.

-

Techno looked up from one of the articles he had printed out as he heard Philza close their hotel room’s door behind him. “Hey, Phil.”

“Sup, Techno.” Phil tossed his jacket onto his bed and sat down across from his brother at the tiny table. “So? How’d it go?”

“Not too bad.” Techno nodded, casually approving of himself. “I found a handful of other cases that matched this one, oldest one was fifty-one years ago, a guy named John Coleman.” He slid the corresponding piece of paper to Phil who picked it up and started scanning through the text. “Eight victims total. I can’t really tell if this is something, y’know, up our alley.”

“Wait until you hear about this,” Philza countered.

Techno raised an eyebrow but let his brother continue.

“It took a lot of coaxing but I got the Sheriff to tell me about the old case. Basically the same thing, except for some pretty clear fingerprints left in the blood. Used those to track the guy down.”

“Man, that guy’s an idiot.”

Phil nodded in agreement. “And according to the sheriff, that guy was weird. Wouldn’t talk at all but he sure didn’t go quietly. Said they had to have three of their guys pin him down to get a pair of handcuffs on.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“Tell me about it.” Phil sighed, leaning back in his chair. “So what now?”

The Mosscroft brothers’ 1967 Chevrolet Impala pulled into the driveway of the manor on the edge of town, the emerald pendant suspended from the rear view mirror swinging as Philza shifted the car into park. They grabbed what they needed from the trunk: flashlights, an EMF reader and a shotgun for each of them, loaded with rock salt bullets. Techno and Philza both checked the bullets in their pistols before Phil closed the trunk. Techno slung the shotgun’s strap over his shoulder, letting the gun rest against his back, then followed Phil up the path to the manor. Phil tried the knob on the front door, making a face when it rattled instead of opening nicely.

“There’s no way someone locked this,” he complained.

“Well, it was the scene of a recent murder. I’m surprised there’s no caution tape covering the door,” Techno joked.

“Whatever, mate.”

Techno waited for Phil to step aside, pulling a couple sharp metal tools from his pocket and kneeling down to pick the lock. It clicked open after a few seconds of work and Techno stood, opening the door and ushering Phil inside. “All yours.”

“Thanks.” Phil turned his flashlight on with a flick of its power switch, bringing it up to eye level and shining it around the interior of the building. Techno followed Phil inside, pulling the door closed behind them.

It looked like what one would expect a house built half a century before present day to look like. Warm brown hardwood everything, old-fashioned looking appliances and furniture, accompanied by a fitting layer of dust. There were tracks left in the dust, presumably by the town’s investigation team. A collection of footprints trailing through different areas of the house, imprints left by bags and other equipment. Other than that, the area looked relatively normal.

Techno followed Philza as he made his way further into the house, sweeping each of the walls with his flashlight and eventually finding a spot where the tracks through the dust seemed to multiply in quantity: right in front of a door. Phil stepped forward and turned the handle. The door swung open with a quiet squeak, revealing an unlit staircase descending into the basement.

“Not it,” Philza muttered.

“What, you don’t want to go into the dark, scary basement?” Techno laughed.

Phil turned to him, one hand balled into a fist and the other flat, hovering below it. Techno did the same. One, two, three. Phil frowned at the result of their rock-paper-scissors game and Techno tapped his rock-shaped hand onto Phil’s scissor-shaped one with a slight smile.

“Have fun, Philza.”

“I won’t,” Phil deadpanned, starting down the first steps of the staircase.

Techno started to look around the common area of the house, eyes scanning rows of books on shelves for anything that seemed odd. All of the volumes looked relatively untouched, which fit with what he had learned about the house. It used to belong to some minor author, Carver Edlund, explaining the sheer volume of reading material. A full two rows of shelves were occupied by books with his name on the cover. Evidently he had a lot of free time on his hands.

The house’s occupant disappeared sometime a few decades ago, no body or trace of any kind. He was a missing person case in the town for a long while until the investigation eventually stopped. No word about him since.

The house fit its story exceptionally well—seemingly lived in but not as of recently. It seemed to have no inherent connection to the murder, at least that Techno could tell. Maybe Philza was having better luck in the creepy basement.

“Techno!”

Techno turned towards the stairwell when he heard his name, reshelving one of the many Supernatural series books belonging to the former resident. “Yeah?”

There was a pause. “Techno!”

“Phil?” Techno rushed towards the stairs, unholstering his pistol and turning on his flashlight as he went. He supported his shooting hand with his other wrist and pointed his flashlight ahead of him as he descended the stairs, tensing up in preparation for what might be at the bottom of them.

The stairwell opened up into an empty room as large as the first floor, pitch black except for his own flashlight beam and another one shining in the back of the room. Techno ran over to it, splashing through a puddle of something on the way there. His gaze slid from where the beam of light met the discarded flashlight to the hand on the ground a few inches away, then up the arm connected to it, finally resting on the person’s face.

Philza’s eyes were stuck open wide, filled with darkness instead of their usual blue irises. Rivulets of blood streaked his face in red.

“Phil! No!”

Techno dropped to his knees, flashlight discarded to the side, its light casting an eerie shadow on his brother.

“No, no, no, Phil, what did-“

His voice broke as he gasped for air, his eyes desperately flicking between the spots of red on his brother and the unmovingness of chest. He grabbed his brother’s shoulders like he was planning to shake him back to consciousness, resting his ear on the other’s chest and trying to calm his breathing as best as he could.

“Phil,” He whispered, like the name was a secret between the two of them. There was no response.

He sat back up and coughed out a sob.

-

“-wish there was another way o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-out for you, I wish there was another way-“

Techno’s eyes shot open. He blinked a couple times, still laying there as Phil looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Morning, Techno,” Philza said with a slight smile.

“Phil?” Techno asked.

“What’s up, mate?”

Techno tapped the snooze button on the clock and pushed himself upright, swinging his legs out of bed to sit across from Phil.

Phil tossed the newspaper to Techno, closed to show the front page story. “Not a fan?”

“Yeah,” Techno responded absentmindedly.

“Something up?”

Techno hesitated. “I just had a really weird dream, man.”

Phil laughed and stood. “Alright.” He walked over to the small table in the corner of their room, pocketing a pair of car keys. “Let’s go. You can read that,” He gestured to the paper, “in the car.”

“Why such a hurry?”

“Mate, I’m hungry.”

“You’ll be alright. Nobody’s-” Techno cut himself off.

“Hm?”

Techno shook his head slightly. “Nevermind.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Whatever, mate. Breakfast time. C’mon,” He was already out the door, holding it open for Techno.

“Okay.” Techno stood, rolling up the paper before throwing on a pair of jeans and his worn jacket, following Phil out the door and letting it slam shut behind them.

Philza was looking at the laminated sheet of paper that was the local diner’s breakfast menu, seemingly deep in thought about his meal selection. “What’re you gonna get?”

After a few second’s pause, he looked up to see Techno staring right through him. “Techno, mate,” he waved a hand in front of his brother’s face. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Phil, don’t worry about it.”

Philza scoffed. “That’s B-S.” He turned his menu so it faced Techno and slid it between his brother’s line of sight and the newspaper. “Get something to eat, mate.”

“I’m fine, Phil,” Techno insisted.

“Techno-“

The waitress interjected. “Can I get you boys anything?”

Phil stopped his nagging to answer her question. “The special please, with coffee.”

She nodded and took down the order before turning to Techno. “And for you?”

A few seconds of awkward silence followed, with Techno staring into space once again. Finally, Phil swatted his hand and Techno looked up, glancing at the waitress before requesting: “Coffee and …” He trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. “Pancakes. Thanks.”

She smiled and took the menu from Techno as he handed it to her. “Sure thing.”

Phil met Techno’s eyes again, looking concerned. “Seriously, mate, what’s up?”

Techno waved him off. “I’m alright, Philza. Focus on the case.”

“You haven’t even read the article,” Phil protested, gesturing at the paper.

He was right, Techno spent the drive to the diner staring out the window, taking a glance at the paper at most. He quickly skimmed the front page, its words seeming familiar. “I got all that I need to know, Phil. Weird murder, creepy house, nothing we haven’t seen.”

Phil looked skeptical. “Whatever, mate.” He took the paper from Techno and scanned the text, stopping when he found the Sheriff's name. “We should go talk to this guy, yeah?”

“Actually, I say we check out the house first.”

“Really? I thought you’d jump at the chance to do some research,” Phil joked.

Techno shrugged. “What can I say, I love a good haunted house.”

Phil chuckled. “After breakfast, mate.”

The Mosscroft brothers’ 1967 Chevrolet Impala pulled into the driveway of the manor on the edge of town, the emerald pendant suspended from the rear view mirror swinging as Philza shifted the car into park. They grabbed what they needed from the trunk and checked the bullets in their pistols before heading up the path to the manor. Phil tried the knob on the front door, making a face when it rattled instead of opening nicely.

“There’s no way someone locked this,” he complained.

“Well, someone died here.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Whatever, mate.”

Techno made quick work of the lock, something like unease on his face. He turned the knob and stepped inside, holding the door open for Phil.

Both brothers turned on their flashlights and started to sweep the interior of the building. Phil took a meandering course through the house, getting a lay of the area as he walked. Techno, on the other hand, seemed to navigate the place like he had been there before, stopping in front of a closed door, which he pushed open to reveal an unlit staircase descending into the basement.

“I’ll be downstairs,” Techno shouted to his brother.

“Alright.”

Techno set his face and started down the stairs, keeping the flashlight pointed in front of him. He kept a steady pace as he walked towards the back of the room, closer to where his nightmare had ended. The basement had a smooth concrete floor, no puddle in the middle this time.

He pointed the beam of light at the back wall. It was made of concrete, just like the floor, with something drawn on it in jet black ink: a skeletal creature with three heads and hollow eyes. Techno furrowed his brow and stepped closer, reaching out to touch it. A spark of static electricity shot through his hand when he got close, like the drawing had sprouted invisible thorns. His palm drew closer to the ink, curiosity overcoming caution.

“Techno! Hey!” Philza’s voice was muffled by the space between the two, but his call was still enough to draw his brother’s attention.

Techno’s eyes darted towards the light shining into the basement from the upper floor, his legs tensing. “What’s wrong, Phil?” A beat passed with no response. “Phil?”

Techno’s arm dropped and he ran to the stairs, sprinting up into the blinding golden light of the sun. “Philza! Where-”

A thud echoed through the house and Techno darted in its direction, rounding a corner to see Phil collapsed on the floor. One of his hands grasped at his chest and the other had a weak hold on a cabinet’s handle as if trying to pull himself up.

Techno fell to his knees beside him and grabbed Phil’s hand with his own, eyes flickering between his brother’s unfocused eyes and the pair of hands over his heart.

“Phil-”

He moved to hold his brother’s face instead, brushing his bangs out of his eyes and tilting his head to face Techno. A rivulet of blood dropped from his nose and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Phil!”

He grabbed Phil by the shoulders and shook once, then twice, a hesitant pause between the instances. The familiar rise and fall of his chest was gone, along with the drum beat from inside his ribcage.

Techno clenched his fists, his fingernails carving dents into his palm, before letting out an exhale and slumping over his brother.

-

“-wish there was another way o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-out for you-”

Techno’s eyes opened slowly. Still laying in bed, he reached over and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock, shutting off the music.

“Morning, Techno," Philza said with a smile.

Techno tried to regulate his breathing, hoping he wasn’t actually gasping for air as much as it felt like he was.

Phil looked up from the newspaper he was reading. “How’s it going, mate?”

“Doin’ fine, Philza.”

“Fantastic. Here, take a look at this,” He handed the paper to Techno, who set it aside without looking.

“Let’s get breakfast, Phil,” Techno suggested instead.

“Sure thing, mate.” He stood, grabbing his jacket from where it was laid over the back of a chair. “Bring the paper, you’ll want to read it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Techno casually disregarded the statement as he got dressed. He watched as Phil grabbed the Impala’s keys and started out the door, but waved him back inside. “Let’s walk. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Phil gave him a weird look before agreeing. “Sure.”

Techno shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, making sure he kept pace with Philza as his mind wandered.

“Are you alright, mate?” Phil’s voice cut through the thoughts in Techno’s head.

“What? Yeah, ‘course I am.” He kept his tone as flat as he could.

Phil looked at him. “You sure?”

A dog barked from somewhere behind them, adding to the noise in Techno’s mind. “Yes, Philza.”

The barking got closer. Both brothers turned to see what was wrong and were met with the sight of a German shepherd sprinting towards them and a woman several feet behind yelling “Stop him!”

As the dog ran past, Phil lunged for its collar, managing to get a firm grip that stopped the dog in its tracks. The barking continued, however, more vicious than before. The German shepherd twisted in its collar, contorting its neck for a chance at Phil’s. It was snarling now, thrashing against Phil’s hold.

Techno reached for the collar to pull the dog off his brother but before he could do so, the force of the dog’s protesting knocked Phil down. The shepherd freed itself and lunged towards Philza, sinking its teeth into his throat.

“Phil, no!”

Techno grappled with the dog in an effort to pull it off, grabbing each of its jaws and prying them apart. The shepherd’s teeth sliced into his palms as he wrenched the dog’s mouth open, freeing Philza from its bite.

As soon as its teeth unlatched, blood poured from the puncture wounds onto the concrete sidewalk, staining the beige with red. Techno pushed the dog aside and pressed his hand over Phil’s neck, trying to staunch the blood. He watched as his brother coughed, red liquid sputtering from his lips and gushing from his veins.

“Philza,” Techno said, his breath heavy. His hands were sticky and his brother was looking up at him, fear flooding his eyes, before the last of it drained out onto the pavement.

-

“-wish there was another way o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-out for you, I wish there was another way-”

Techno kept his eyes closed after he woke, rolling away from the alarm clock instead of snoozing it.

“Morning, Techno,” He heard Philza say.

“Morning, Philza.”

Techno kept concentrating on his breathing as Philza read his newspaper and the song played in the background.

“Dead wrong I guess you'll be, these voices won't let you leave-”

“How’s today’s crossword?” Techno asked, still facing away from Phil.

He heard the sound of pages flipping. “Looks horrible,” Philza answered. “You’ll really want to hear about this though, the front page article-”

“You better run, better run, better run-”

“Nah,” Techno interjected. “I’ll read it later.”

He could hear the skepticism in Phil’s voice. “You sure, mate? Sounds right up your alley.”

Techno scoffed. “Trust me, Philza, I think I can wait.”

“Sure thing, Techno,” Phil said, followed by the sound of the motel bed’s springs creaking as he stood.

“I’ll break you down, now put it back together again-”

Techno gave a heavy sigh as he rolled onto his back and folded his arms up, resting his head on his hands. He stared at the popcorn ceiling above him.

“I wish there was another way out!”

Techno leaned against the countertop of the bar and waited for the bartender to finish serving her other customers. His fingers drummed against the wood as Phil hummed a familiar tune—the song that woke him each morning. Techno let out a quiet scoff when he recognized the melody.

The bartender made her way over to the pair. “What can I get for you two?”

“Another of these,” Philza requested, raising the empty beer bottle he was holding.

“Same for me.” Techno slid his empty shot glass across the bar.

“Jesus, Techno, that’s like your fifth one,” Phil said with disbelief.

“Fourth, actually,” Techno corrected. “I’m fine, Philza, don’t worry about me.”

He nodded at the bartender, who set both of their drinks down in front of them. Instead of picking up his beer, Phil took Techno’s shot instead, throwing it back before Techno could protest.

“Can't let you have all the fun,” Phil laughed.

Techno sighed, turning around to rest his elbow on the bar. “Yeah, we’ll see if you’ll be having fun after that one.”

Phil picked up his beer and raised it to take a sip when someone else collided with him, shattering the bottle and spilling its contents on the two of them. The other person recovered and ran back into the crowd taking up the bar, leaving Philza soaked in beer.

“Oh, you little shit!” Phil brushed shards of broken glass off himself and followed the man into the mass of people, pushing through the crowds with semi-drunken abandon.

“Phil! Wait!”

-

“-wish there was another way o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-out for you-”

Techno rolled onto his stomach and hit the snooze button with a heavy hand, letting his arm fall after.

“Morning, Techno,” Philza said.

“Morning,” Techno mumbled.

“How are you feeling, mate?”

“Amazing, Philza. I’m doing amazing.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Techno stepped out of the motel room, the keys to the Impala in hand. Once inside, he started to back the car out of the parking lot, heading for the town’s library, which Phil decided not to accompany him to. As he shifted the car into first gear and started to pull away from the motel, he spotted a small flash in the corner of his eye.

There were sparks coming from an electrical box next to the brothers’ room, growing in number until the box caught ablaze, flames quickly spreading to the rest of the building around it.

Techno slammed the car into park and threw the door open, sprinting towards the door to the room Philza was still in. He was just a few feet away when an explosion blew the glass from the windows, throwing Techno back along with the shards.

Techno blinked the smoke from his eyes and tried to push himself up-

-

“I wish there was another way-”

Techno promptly smacked the snooze button on the clock, hitting the button on his first try despite not looking. He pushed himself up and turned to face Phil.

“What’re you reading, Philza?”

Wordlessly, Phil looked up and handed Techno the paper. “You’ll like this one,” he joked.

Techno read through the lines of the front page for probably the twentieth time. “Mhm,” he replied absentmindedly. A few seconds passed with him deep in thought. “I’m going to go to the library, Phil. Gonna try and read up on this,” he waved the newspaper as he stood up.

“What about breakfast?”

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Techno said, finishing getting ready.

Phil shrugged. “Alright, mate, suit yourself.”

Techno was already out the door, shutting it between them.

Book after book piled up on the library table he claimed as his workspace, most of which had been discarded after a couple minutes of reading. Years of research on worldwide mythologies, cults and death rituals, most of which focused on blood.

He started with cases similar to the one in the newspaper, except searching worldwide rather than solely in the states, falling further and further into the rabbit hole as he went. Textbooks on blood oaths in the Philippines got buried under research on human sacrifice in ancient Tenochtitlan, followed by the history of blood in pagan rituals. There, buried in an account of Ancient Greek cults, was the symbol drawn on the wall in the basement’s manor, the one burned into his mind.

The creature itself was called the Wither, the symbol of the Blood God. And all you had to do to break its spell was to break the symbol. Easy.

Techno barged into the motel room he had left Phiza in earlier in the morning, stacks of paper in hand.

Startled, Phil looked up from the pistol that he was cleaning. “What’s all that?”

Techno dumped the pages onto the bed next to Phil, picking one off the top of the pile. “Look at this.” He handed it to Phil: a copied version of a newspaper’s front page story, just like the one they picked up initially. “It’s not just this town. This one’s up north, here’s one even further north, one in Asia, a couple in Europe, even one in northern Africa.” He kept handing pieces of paper to Phil, each one respective to the murder he was mentioning.

“Jesus Christ,” Phil looked at each news article with an expression that was almost disbelief.

“Yeah. Each one the same thing, one person stabbed through the heart and drenched in the blood of 1-2 other people.” Techno’s words were very matter-of-fact but his tone seemed almost obsessive. “Get this Phil, the oldest one was more than two centuries ago.”

“Huh?”

“I found this research article written a few years ago. It’s about cult activity in Europe, specifically Ancient Greece.”

“Lovely,” Phil interjected.

Techno continued without acknowledging him. “Mentions the same kind of murder and draws a possible connection to this local superstition about a “God of Blood.”

“Even better!”

Techno looked up at his brother. “I think this is it, Philza.”

Phil looked slightly taken aback by Techno’s seriousness, but he recovered quickly. “What do we have to do?”

Techno smiled for the first time in several dozen Tuesdays. “Go back to the manor.”

The Mosscroft brothers’ 1967 Chevrolet Impala pulled into the driveway of the manor on the edge of town, the emerald pendant suspended from the rear view mirror swinging as Philza shifted the car into park. Neglecting to bring any supplies, Techno slammed the Impala’s door shut and started up the path, a protesting Philza in tow.

“Are you sure we don’t need anything?” He questioned.

“Yes, I’m sure, Philza. Trust me.” Techno kept his pace as he reached the front door, which he opened with a strong kick instead of his usual lockpicks.

“Techno.” Phil grabbed his brother by the arm, preventing him from continuing into the house.

Techno gave a sharp exhale and turned to face his brother. “Yes, Philza?”

“Something seems really wrong, mate, I just want to make sure you’re alright.” There was a mixture of confusion and sympathy in his eyes.

Techno paused, taking a breath. “I’m alright, Philza. Now let’s go. We’re so close.”

Phil let his grip relax and Techno stepped into the manor, finding his way to the stairs and descending them hurriedly. Phil caught up to see Techno shining his light at the picture inked onto the back wall.

“What’s that?” Phil asked quietly.

“It’s for a ritual,” Techno said. “And I need to break it.” He turned to Phil, one hand outstretched. “Your kn-”

Phil had already started to retrieve the item his brother requested when Techno stopped himself, exhaling loudly instead of finishing his sentence.

“No, I can’t touch it,” Techno muttered under his breath.

Phil furrowed his brow. “You said break it, right?”

“Yes, but-”

Phil looked down at the knife in his hand, then stepped toward the drawing. He raised the blade and before Techno could stop him, cut a clean scratch through the ink.

“No!”

Philza’s eyes flooded jet black, just like the ink, and he collapsed, rivers of red flowing from his nostrils and eye sockets.

-

“I wish there was another way-”

Techno’s eyes shot open. He sat up, stopped the alarm clock and looked straight at Phil. “Come with me.”

The Mosscroft brothers’ 1967 Chevrolet Impala pulled into the driveway of the manor on the edge of town, the emerald pendant suspended from the rear view mirror swinging as Techno slammed on the brakes and parked the car. He didn’t bother shutting the car’s door behind him before striding up the path to the front door and giving it a swift kick, opening the path into the manor.

“Techno!” Phil called after him, to no response.

Techno checked the bullets in his pistol, cocking it as he descended the stairs. He came to face the Wither inked on the wall and lifted his gun, aiming for the inked lines.

“What are you-”

Techno cut him off with a gunshot, filling the air with bang after bang as he emptied his magazine into the wall. Finally, after his pistol made an empty click when he pulled the trigger, Techno let his arm fall, stepping towards the cratered Wither. He reached out towards it.

“Techno!”

Techno’s vision went black as he collapsed, falling as if he were underwater until his skull connected with concrete.

-

“And they could never, ever tear us apart-”

Techno’s lungs flooded with air as he jolted awake, forcing his eyes open as he took heavy breaths. He took a pause, listening to the song playing from the alarm clock. “The music,” He said to himself.

“What, are you not a fan?” Philza asked.

Techno made eye contact with his brother, then pushed himself up, walked over and enveloped his brother in a hug.

“What day is it, Philza?” Techno asked, arms still wrapped around his brother.

“Wednesday? Why-”

Techno gave a sigh of relief.

“How many Tuesdays did you have?” A note of concern sparked in Phil’s voice.