MOVED TO FANTASMAZ.

“       was i   ...   was i not clear   ?       ”   a genuine question, though the answer is incredibly clear. it’s very characteristic : going on a wild tangent, adding in useless details, going back and forth in a timeline, and getting distracted by explaining some other lore that may or may not help the main narrative. there’s only so many times he can bring up the ‘ hotel room butter fiasco ’ or ‘ that one time in 1987 with the guy from hanoi rocks ’ or ‘ when someone somehow set the pool on fire ’ before it all becomes nonsense. he’s lived to tell each tale, but he doesn’t tell them very eloquently.       “       the rainbow room   ?   ever been   ?   sunset strip   ?       ”   no, josey. probably not. no one has unironically gone there in half a century, if it’s even a thing anymore. anyone who made that their haunt is dead. dead, and most likely holed up in the second ring of hell, snorting mountains of neon cocaine and having endless luck at the casino.   “       yeah, that whole thing happened there. and ozzy was there too   !!!   he’s such a cool dude. but i wish the thing with the spaghetti and blowtorch didn’t ruin the whole vibe.       ”

a sigh.   it’s been there for so long   :  that sinking feeling in her stomach, knowing something isn’t right. an intuition that everyone ignores. it hurts enough that it could be tangible. an attempt to let go of that pressure, exhaled through the smoke of a cigarette she fished out of a makeshift ashtray. already half smoked, stale, found in a tin can behind one of hawkins’ only dives, but it’s enough.              “       yeah   ...   me too,       ”   and it hangs over them like a dark cloud. the curse is so real, so evil, so heavy, but it feels like no one else in this town has half the brain to recognize it. discomfort. it needs to be released.   expelled.   hands fidget with the fabric of her flannel, dropping ash onto her clothes.   “       shit. i wanna say things will be alright but, if i’m being honest, dude   ?   i don’t think anything’s alright. i’m not gonna lie to you or myself.       ”

“       no ... not quite,       ”   a voice marred by cigarettes and alcohol, deep and scratchy around the edges. faint jersey accent, with a hint of a sneer. even though monotonous and just a bit cold, there’s no malice behind the vampire’s eyes                   darcy just cocks an eyebrow, while scanning the other momentarily. a shame. she would like to know him.   ‘ motherfucker is beautiful, ’   she muses.   “       am i supposed to know you   ?       ”