-Hermit Creep-

***** 19 Days Later, 6 Sermons Conducted ***** "Vayikra..."

"Ha--ah...Nn...S-sacrifice...Hnn...Ha--ha. Offering...flesh. A-ah, uhhnn....ha."

A single light born from darkness, illuminating a podium on which sat a bible. A hand reached from pitch black, cracking open the dusty book with a deafening sound. A fingertip parted the pages, spreading open bible verses, tracing the slit of the binding--the book and fingers recognizable; familiar. Beneath the finger red would pool, dripping from it and into a silver cup, filling it. As the deep red met the surface tension caused by its circular rim, it would force over, spilling down the sides.

Gasping. Jerking. Pulsing. Awake. Damp.

Dreams had been plaguing the messy haired youth for nearly three weeks, causing him upset and unrest like he had never felt. He was reminded of a strain of marijuana that made him more fidgety and a bit paranoid, one he had long since stopped smoking, but this was like that on steroids. Eddie awoke nightly with a start, sweating, his underwear often dampened. What the hell did all of this mean? Memories of the dreams had also gotten to him, flashing across his mind's eye as he tried to go about his normal days. He had begun to feel hopeless. Usually he remembered little to nothing of his dreams, but these were vivid--and they effected him more than he cared to admit.

The eucharist, hands all over his flesh, intangible bodies entwining, the dripping of blood and a sacrament. Why?

That communion had done a number on him--one that could not easily be undone.

Getting out of bed in the mornings had proven more difficult as time went on, Eddie finding himself fatigued by the dreams that riddled his sleeping mind. But he had to get up--he had school. As much as he would like to ditch and spend the day smoking to rid himself of the incessant thoughts of bible verses and raven colored hats, Eddie had to go, already having been reprimanded for missing far too many days as it were. On the bright side, it was Friday and that meant the weekend would soothe him soon enough. Eddie needed peace-- honestly, he felt like he was slowly losing his mind.

Dressed and sifting through the dingy cabinets of the trailer's modest kitchen area, Eddie tapped his ringed fingers upon the paneled wood frantically. His sporadic thoughts and inability to sit still had been much worse since he attended that church service and he felt absurd attributing it to that--but what else could it be? He bit his lip as he snatched a granola bar from the back, assuming the thing was probably stale and had passed expiry. Forcing himself to eat it, having lost his appetite long ago, Eddie headed for the door grabbing his keys along the way.

The school day started like any other, Eddie taking to roughhousing playfully with Dustin in lieu of breakfast, picking the boy up and hugging him tight. Mike looked on, holding his books and grinning at how the two played around. Their collective laughter made others stare, but Eddie didn't mind, just happy to be so close to them. His fun was short lived though as the bell brought them to class, which meant several distracted moments of staring out the window while the teacher spewed useless knowledge at them. Normally, the male would find himself focused on a bird or the passing student, but this time he focused on a large-trunked tree. One he was sure he hadn't noticed before.

The tree reached its fingertips to the sky with not a leaf among the branches, its roots doing the same, breaking the ground around it. Eddie tipped his head, wide doe eyes staring, endlessly focused as he ignored the urge to imagine faces in the knots and veins of the bark. The great tree seemed to loom, something about it causing Eddie to feel rather troubled, though he couldn't manage to look away. His eyes then observed a hand manifest on the bark, the fingers longer than that of an average human. Eddie's brows wrinkled as those fingers touched along the shape of the bark, the appendage the only thing in view.

Just as the hand gave way to an arm, a loud thud would break Eddie's focus as a book was dropped onto his desk. Flinching hard and snapping his vision forward, he would find the object that caused the noise--that thick, dusty old bible. The same one from his dreams. The one from Pastor Creel's hand. Mouth opening wide, Eddie felt his bones shake. Looking up, he saw nothing but darkness.

"WHAT THE FUCK--"

Hands shoved the bible from his desk and Eddie nearly flung himself from it, the blackness of the room breaking into normalcy, a scene of classmates staring and a teacher in confusion and disbelief. He must have dozed off. "Edward. Are you alright? That was quite the outburst." The teacher's calm voice came, though the murmurings of "freak" and "what a fucking weirdo" danced around him, falling from the lips of his peers. Eddie cleared his throat, swallowing back his fear as he shakily settled in his seat. Class continued, but Eddie didn't dare look out the window again, feeling as if the pastor was right on the other side of that glass, staring right at him with a dripping grin.

The moment that the school day was over, Eddie ran from the building without so much as a word to anyone. He didn't even wait after to say bye to the boys, which was uncharacteristic for the metalhead as they were pretty much his only friends. Hopping in his van, the engine would rumble and he would take off, dust in his wake as he sped out of the parking lot. His hands gripped the wheel and he didn't so much as look to his radio, riding in silence, eyes direct and jaw tensed.

---

The van came to a stop and found its engine silenced, though it would not be at home. Eddie's grip on the wheel only tightened, making a soft sound as he moved his fists back and forth in contemplation. "What the hell am I doing?" He asked himself, kicking the floorboard as he raised his head and his eyes came to rest on the facade of the church, the beckoning of the porch-light sickening him. "What am I doing here, man?" Eddie couldn't believe he had come here and he was unsure of what he thought he could accomplish in this accursed place--all he knew is that the pastor had done something to him and now his dreams were fucked up and he barely got any actual rest from sleep anymore.

"Come on. Come on, man. Come on. You can do this. He's just a guy. Come on. Fuck. FUCK."

The walk to the arched doorway of the church was a blur and when Eddie rapped upon it he felt immediate dismay and regret. Only a moment passed before the doors were opened; and Eddie felt his heart drop into his stomach as his eyes met those of a wolf. There he was. Henry didn't immediately greet Eddie though, turning his back to the male to stride towards the podium, turning back as he came close to it.

"Edward. Hello. How can I be of service?" Henry's words were even toned and controlled. There was something abnormally soft about the way he spoke, the sound seeming to blanket the area, touching you gently with intent.

"Stop." Eddie put up his hands in protest, the stitching and metal hanging from his jacket's sleeves moving this way and that in the air. "Just stop it, man." Eddie breathed out slowly, looking from Henry's feet to his face, "What did you do to me, huh? I can't get you out of my head since the other day." Eddie said outright, not wanting to beat around the bush. Maybe if he talked fast, he could get out of there even faster.

Henry might have chuckled, though the sound got stuck in his throat. Rolling his lip into his teeth, he would let his eyes examine Eddie's face, "Perhaps that is a sign from the Lord that you need me to guide you back toward the path of light. The path of--"

Eddie's face contorted, "Don't give me that. No. That's not it. I...I am having these dreams, man. They're fuc--" He was in a church. Regardless of how he felt, he wasn't a savage and understood respecting a space, "Ugh--they're messed up, okay?"

"Dreams." Henry began, knowing full well what was going on with the youth. It was his hands that had put them into Eddie's mind, after all. "Do these dreams tempt you toward sin...or toward the light?" Henry asked, moving from his spot towards the middle of the few stairs to the baptismal, standing where he had the Sunday Eddie had attended. Where he gave communion.

"Wha--" Eddie was confused as he watched Henry traverse the area, unsure of the man's motive or next move.

"Come, Edward. Kneel before me again. Allow my communion to fill you once more." He gestured at the stool, which had materialized before him from seemingly nowhere, "Come." Henry smiled, but it looked to Eddie to be the dripping maw of a hungry predator, beckoning prey to lay upon his tongue. It felt sick and made Eddie's skin crawl.

There was no way he was giving in to this. Slowly, Eddie would back out of the space, his eyes fixated on Henry. The man's expression didn't change, though he knew that Eddie was slipping out once again. His hands remained in a gesture towards the stool even as Eddie closed the doors to the place and bolted for his van, gone from the place once more.

What the actual fuck.

---

"Absolutely not, man." Eddie shook his head in disbelief, disturbing curled locks.

"Eddie, come on--" Wayne seemed slightly annoyed by the resistance that Eddie was giving him, his head tipped to the side and arms crossed. He couldn't understand why asking the boy to sacrifice a Sunday or two to attend church with him was such a big deal.

"No, I don't like that place." Eddie couldn't figure out why his uncle was so set on getting him back to that place. "I told you. One time and that's it." Eddie leaned against the counter in the kitchen, having put some distance between them when the man started talking about the church. "Why do you want me to go back?" Eddie asked. He knew Wayne didn't usually have this much conviction--had he been brainwashed?

It was true that Wayne wasn't one for religion, or believing in anything you couldn't see or touch for yourself; but something about Henry's sermons had really moved him. "Pastor Creel stopped me after the service today and asked me to bring you back. He thinks that God could do you a lot of good." Wayne nodded, putting himself between Eddie and the living area, a hand stabilizing itself on the dividing wall.

"I'm telling you I can't do it. I've got some shit going on and I--" Eddie shrugged, not really sure of how to explain what he felt. He couldn't just tell his uncle that he had been having nightmares about things related to the church and the pastor. That sounded insane.

"Eddie. I've never really had anything to believe in...and ever since you were young I felt guilty that I didn't do more for you. I could have really stood up for you, been like..." Wayne let out a breath, seeming very sincere and genuine in his words--Eddie could feel that. "Well, shit. I could have made sure you had something to give you faith in yourself, in life..."

"Uncle Wayne--" Eddie deflated, "Man, this isn't about that. Or you. It's just--"

"Just what? Just you're not Christian and going to church isn't 'cool'?" Wayne lifted both of his hands and stepped toward Eddie, gently touching his chest. "Come on. I need you to go back with me. It would...well, it would mean a lot." He patted the boy and Eddie broke.

"Fuck. Sorry. F--" How could he argue when the man may as well have literally been his father. He was so good to him when Eddie was nothing more than a nuisance. "Fine." Eddie had to face his fears for once. He breathed out through his nose and lifted his shoulders, hands in the air. "Fine, I'll go."

Wayne patted Eddie on the shoulder and nodded to him, giving a genuine smile, though it felt odd for Eddie to see. Nodding as well, Eddie pushed past Wayne with respect and headed for his room. He needed a smoke after that--it was going to be a long restless night.

---

The closing of that bible could have been heard across the quarry, awakening the banshee. Its pages met in whispers and Henry picked it up from its stand, holding it over his heart, heading toward the back of the church, to a red door just to the left of the baptismal. That door opened to a small hall with a second locked door at the end of it. A skeleton key, kept on a string around Henry's wrist, would be used to open it, the door allowing entrance to Henry's quarters. Entering, Henry would sit the bible upon a pedestal near the chair in which he sat in contemplation most evenings. Hat and sports coat pulled from him and placed in their appropriate hangings, Henry would move back toward the bible, opening it slowly. His eyes nearly glowed as they looked upon it, the verses revealed to him as they had been all those years ago.

"--Then He asked him, “What is your name?” And he answered, saying, “My name is Legion; for we are many.".”

The congregation were but pigs in the eyes of Henry--this had been the information given to him. They were but a means to an end. They must drown themselves in the absolving waters of time. Henry would shepherd them to their deaths, a slaughter that would bring about power to Legion once more, an undoing of expulsion. A damning of souls to bring rise to a true god--one that would need a vessel; one with the eyes of a newborn fawn and a smile that could damn the masses.

"--and the herd ran violently down the steep place into the sea, and drowned in the sea."

Henry sensed that Eddie would return to him at the time of the next service and he was pleased. The mind of the disciple but an extension of the master, Henry could see all that Eddie did and understood it well. Moving to the side, away from the podium, Henry would pour himself a glass of whiskey, the crystal glass welcoming the slosh of liquid. Fingers running over the bottle, where the words "Black Velvet" were transcribed, he would return the cap and move the bottle back to its rightful place. Stepping toward his chair, Henry would sit, his legs spreading--one hand resting on his knee, the other holding the crystal glass opposingly.

Henry sipped the whiskey, running his empty hand up the shape of his thigh, fingertips grazing damnable places--Eddie felt his head spin.

---

Arms crossed and fidgeting, Eddie found himself sitting upon the same pew he had a few weeks prior, his toe tapping as he chewed on the interior of his cheek. The place was full, more so than it had been the last time Eddie attended, and the swell of the space had him feeling claustrophobic for the first time in his life. "I can't believe I'm back here." He said in a loud whisper, though Dustin seemed to be the only person that heard.

"Chill out, man. It's fine. It's just church." He offered and it didn't comfort Eddie in the slightest--he may have even felt more bothered by the coddling.

Henry stood before the people once again and Eddie felt like he could throw up. Every encounter he had with the man left him with a bad taste in his mouth. It was as if he saw things that the other people in the congregation didn't. They kissed the ground he walked upon and Eddie just didn't get it. There was something about the man, something he was hiding, and it made Eddie feel like he was covered in spiders, their thin legs upsetting every follicle of his skin.

"You are of your father the devil, and the desires of your father you want to do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaks a lie, he speaks from his own resources, for he is a liar and the father of it. John 8:44."

The message nearly made Eddie laugh with how ridiculous it was. The man may as well have been talking about himself, because if there was anyone in that building that resembled the devil himself--it was Henry. Eddie was sure of that. He wasn't even sure he believed in the Christian devil, but by every definition of the word, Henry was it. The Devil.

Henry called for communion once more and there was absolutely no way that Eddie was going anywhere near it, though the congregation seemed to line up like little hungry birds, each with their mouths open to receive that nasty, metallic wine. Maybe it was the silver goblet, but the whole of the liquid tasted like iron. Eddie remained in his seat, thinking on this and the events of recent past, resigned to stay there until the close of the service. A yawn passed from him and he realized he needed sleep--a thought that was drowned out by the calamity of devotional whispering. It seemed to stretch on for hours.

When communion ended Eddie left the church without a word.

---

The Earth cracked open beneath the church, coal embers and smoke blooming amidst the thick smell of ash and sulphur. The squealing of pigs danced through the air, the scent of burning flesh an undertone to the very whipping of air as it surrounded Eddie. Staring at the church, he found himself wondering how he had not fallen into the fiery pit beneath him--how was he still standing on a pathless terrain?

Beckoned, the metalhead denounced reason and headed toward the church, finding comfort in the cool surface of the steps once his feet found them, guiding him through the doors at the front; upon which held the depiction of seals in what looked like blackened blood--their origin unknown to Eddie.

Inside, the church was cold and damp like a cellar, the sound of whispering filling the space, echoing as it bounced off of the walls. The pews were gone, the place nothing more than an endless black room with no furnishings and no congregation. The only thing being Henry in the center, that same accursed stool at his feet. He wore the same sickening smile, his hands gesturing as they had the day Eddie had confronted him.

Eddie couldn't stop his feet from moving. It was as if he had no control over his own body, which was forcing itself forward. He screamed behind the wall of his own mind, thrashed to stop what he knew was inevitable in that moment. Outwardly, there would be no sound. He was going to kneel. He was always going to kneel.

The moment Eddie's knees hit the floor, the room fell silent, no whispers to be heard. Looking up at Henry, the man's eyes were bright and his teeth sharp as they bore themselves at Eddie through a disgusting grin. Hands found Eddie's chin and lifted his head up, guiding his lips and mouth to open. Eyes slowly closing, Eddie would feel the liquid hit his tongue and he would swallow it with fervor, as if it were the only sustenance he could ever need.

A heat filled him and Eddie cried in shame behind closed lids as he found himself unable to stop the hungry suckling of that cup's rim. As it was taken from him, he licked his lips and opened his eyes, his bleary vision coming to focus on open palms, which held white cloth. As he reached for it, he heard the bone-chilling screams of the herd. They cried for help, begged to be saved from damnation. They could not breathe. They were drowning. His fingertips touched the fabric and he felt every emotion of the dying congregation, his eyes welling with tears. Upon the white fabric, the seal appeared again, this time surfacing in bloodstains which grew as if they were supplied from the wound itself.

"What is your name?"

Soiled fabric. Sobbing mother. Hanged father.

"Eddie Munson."

Tormented youth. Pained eyes of the fallen. Adversary.

"No longer."

Bleating. Squealing. Begging.

Come. Come.

--- ***** 14 Days Later, 8 Sermons Conducted *****

The dreams were getting worse. So much worse. Eddie had made himself stay up most nights, hoping that the less sleep he got, the less he would dream--but that tended to backfire. The lack of sleep made him irritable and caused his focus issues to magnify, making school that much more infuriating--but he had to go just to get out of the house. He needed something to keep him occupied.

Part of him wanted to go back to the church and confront Henry again--but the larger part of him wanted to run away.

It was Friday again, and this time he made sure to talk to Dustin and Mike at lunch. Maybe he needed advice or perhaps he thought that talking it out might shed some light on what was going on. It didn't matter--what mattered was that he had to figure something out or he was going to end up in a padded cell.

"Nightmares?" Dustin asked between bites of food, "That's why you're acting so weird?" He nodded, thinking on how the male had acted the last few weeks and the times he had seen him at church. Eddie was an oddball for sure, but lately more so.

"Yeah, you look like shit, dude. You should get some sleep." Mike added in, eyes on a small mountain of potatoes he had been crafting into a lopsided castle.

"Don't you think I would if I could?" Eddie said, tapping his hands on the table. He had barely touched his food and found it nauseating to think of eating in the first place, "I can't sleep because I'm afraid to dream...and then when I do dream, it's all fucked up, man, it's--" He ran a hand through the front of his hair, grazing his temples, at his wit's end, "It's just...messed up."

"I know you said they're bad, but like...are they scary?" Dustin asked, tipping his head in the older male's direction, imagining demons and ghouls.

"That's not it. They're..." Eddie gestured wildly, "Ugh. They're like religious, right?" He said, shifting a bit in his seat, moving his fingers around on the table, "And they have scary shit that happens in them, but its like...hidden in mystery. You know?"

"Yeah, that sounds really weird." Dustin and Mike said in tandem.

"--and they're also--" Eddie started, then stopped, shaking his head.

"Also what, dude?" Mike said, Dustin looking on curiously.

Eddie leaned forward slightly, whispering, "They're also wet dreams." He said, not wanting the entire cafeteria to hear what he was saying, though the other boys leaning in to listen did draw a bit of attention from the other tables--the bulk of them chocking it up to the boys just being weirdos.

Mike nearly choked, Dustin laughed. Mike gave a wiggle of his finger, "Wait. You mean you--"

"Yeah. Hard. Every time. It's like nothing I've ever experienced before." Eddie inhaled through his nose and leaned back, "And that makes it almost worse, you know?" He let his head fall slightly toward his right shoulder, "Like...why does it happen?"

"I don't know, man...that's kind of--" Mike shook his head and paused.

"Fucked up? Yeah." Eddie added, chewing his cheek a bit in contemplation. What the fuck was he going to do?

Classes after lunch drug on and after a while, Eddie began to feel as if he was currently in a dream state, walking about in a blurred haze. The talking of other students seemed to drown itself out into a dense hum, breaking into the tolling of a grandfather clock. He heard it in the hallway before first bell, and again between his last two classes. There weren't any clocks in the school that he knew of.

During his last class he nearly fell asleep, but kicked himself awake at the last moment. Every meeting of his lashes had him afraid that he was going to drift away--that he would find himself in that same hell-scape, running from himself and the inevitable entwining with Pastor Creel as he had so many nights previous. When the bell tolled, he was thankful, and headed toward the exterior of the school and to his van.

"Eddie, wait up." Dustin called from a ways away, waving the older male down before rushing over to him.

Eddie gestured to his van, "Oh, hey man. I gotta go, I--"

"Yeah, whatever, man." Dustin removed a hand from the strap of his backpack to wave off whatever Eddie was about to say, "I was thinking you should go talk to Pastor Creel again."

Eddie was shocked and he wrinkled his brows, shaking his head, "No. I don't think that's the ri--"

"Listen. He's a man of god or whatever, so maybe if you tell him what's going on with you, he will have an answer." Dustin said as if it should have been the most obvious answer. He didn't understand that Eddie had already tried that and it had failed miserably.

The older male reeled, unsure, "I don't know if--"

"Hey." Dustin started, leaning over to touch Eddie's arm, "Just give it a shot." It was obvious that Dustin thought that Eddie was overreacting, and there was something in the touch of his arm that made Eddie feel like maybe the younger boy was right. This was all so ridiculous. After all, what had Pastor Creel done to personally cause Eddie distress? --Other than insisting he take communion.

Maybe he wanted to save Eddie's soul.

Right? Right. Riiiiiiiiight.

---

It was not until the squeak of his brakes and shift into park signaled his arrival that Eddie even realized he had driven to the church. Punching the steering wheel, he cursed himself for being here again, sure it would just end as it had the other times he had come into contact with the pastor and this place--Eddie would just run away. "Fuck."

Kicking up dirt as he walked to the stairs of the church's front before taking them in stride, he would find the doors open, welcoming him into the sanctuary. The sunset caused an orange and pink light to be cast upon the place, the color bleeding up the step and across the first few pews, covering them. Eddie pushed his fists into his jacket pockets as he entered, eyes falling upon Henry after a moment--the man leaning down to test the water of the baptismal, just having finished dusting.

"Hey!" Eddie shouted at Henry, breaking the silence. It was not that he sounded particularly annoyed or angry, but that his fear and insecurity pushed him to overact.

"Yes. Hello again, Edward." Henry moved to stand, stepping down the few stairs, closing the space between them a bit, "Come to accuse me of getting inside your head again?" His hand rested atop his chest, the white of his top stretching over that lithe form, eyes direct.

"Shutup." Eddie waved a hand, "Look, I'm having nightmares. Is there anything in your book there about why--or how I can get rid of them?" He pointed at the bible and Henry smirked.

"Nightmares? Hm. Sounds like a guilty conscience." Henry moved his tongue along his teeth and Eddie shivered.

Clearing his throat, Eddie shifted on his heels, "No, I--"

"You know, dreams come to us as metaphors...or things with a deeper meaning." Henry began, taking a few steps closer to Eddie. His head tipped, blonde locks shifting against high cheekbones.

"What deeper meaning could there be to communion and squealing pigs?" He asked, not feeling confident enough to look Henry in the eyes, so he settled for the bridge of the man's nose.

"All that acts as a pig should be slaughtered as one." Henry whispered.

Eddie wrinkled his brows, "What?"

"Nothing." Henry shrugged it off. "Perhaps the things you speak of are...representative of yourself in that...you have something to confess. To give witness."

"I don't know what that means." Eddie said, a hand rubbing at his neck. Suddenly he felt very hot.

"It means you need to give up your sins and suffering. Confess them and be absolved in the eyes of the lord." Henry explained, gesturing behind him.

"Yeah, I'm not really--" Eddie said, stepping back.

"Come." Henry said, closing the gap further, walking Eddie back toward a pew.

"No, really." Eddie protested, feeling a sudden tightness in his abdomen, a chattering of damnation in his groin. Why?

"Come." Henry repeated, now fully close to Eddie, the young male having bumped into the pew.

"Okay. Okay." Eddie said with a shaky breath. It couldn't be worse than this.

Henry seemed endlessly pleased and turned on his heel, leading Eddie back toward the baptismal. Eddie felt the same tenseness in his skull as he had in the last dream he'd had, as if he was screaming behind his eyes to stop, to leave. He felt though, in that moment, if he had rushed out, Henry might have chased him down; something so much more predatory in the man during this meeting. Circumventing the baptismal, he took Eddie through the door on the right of it; Henry having used the same skeleton key at his wrist to unlock it.

Inside, the room was dark, the only light centered on a large confessional box in the center of the room. It was a dark wood, with two doors on the front, the one on the right for the priest and the left for the sinner. Eddie immediately recognized what the box was, but he thought it out of place. Weren't those boxes inherently catholic? Shaking his head, he felt a sudden fear like that of stage-fright. Surely Henry didn't expect him to confess or something.

The two sides of the box were presumably identical, though Henry approached the sinner's side and opened it for Eddie. Therein there was a small bench topped with a velvet cushion, a light bulb in the ceiling of it that illuminated the small space, and not much else, save the partition with the metal mesh door through which the priest could see, hear and absolve the sinner. Eddie approached and took a step in curiously, entering the space fully after a moment. The closing click of the door had Eddie turn and he would find himself face to face with Henry who had entered after him.

Why hadn't he gotten in the other side? He was so close to him. Not a breath had room to pass between them.

"Pastor Creel, I--"

The crashing of their lips silenced Eddie and he struggled against the man who put his weight against him. Eddie put his hands up against Henry, who drug his lips from Eddie's to the male's jaw and neck, the whole of it causing Eddie to tip his head back and moan raggedly. What the fuck was happening? Eddie was sure he was more confused now than he had ever been.

Stone. Pulsing.

Henry's hands explored Eddie's front and stole the very breath from his lips, finding the object of their desire already needy and aching. Sneering, Henry pulled slightly back, admiring the shape with long, dexterous digits. Eddie's head fell to the side as he breathed hot and ragged. His eyes focused on the partition and he swore he saw a silhouette, though it must have been his restless mind playing tricks on him.

Sharp claws at the opposite side of the partition. An almost skeletal face. Undulating veins and tendrils.

A low hiss. The toll of a grandfather clock.

Leaning forward once more, Henry would kiss down Eddie's front, paying attention to the way that the male arched and shifted under him. Eddie was no longer struggling, the pleasure in his mind ebbing away the fear, covering it over. Working the handcuff buckle of that belt open, Henry made fast work of a zipper, pushing down blue patterned boxers to bring forth the heated, curved girth that pulsed proudly against the open air.

Each of Eddie's heartbeats struck the center of that cock, causing it to bob feverously, engorged and alluring. This is what nations fell for--what they killed their kin and raped their lands for. Henry salivated at the sight and reached into his pocket, bringing forth a small bottle with a cross etched into the side. Eddie watched as Henry opened the spouted bottle and drenched that cock in holy water, whispering all the while.

Cock bathed in absolution, it gave hefty, thick twitches, and found home in the palm of the pastor's hand. Henry stroked that aching spire, lips touching the tip softly, whispering verse after verse against the weeping cockhead. Eddie arched over Henry, his hand gripping blonde hair, ringed fingers tight, the light catching the pig's head on his knuckle. His head tipped back and he fought the urge to thrust into that hand.

The sounds that drew from Eddie were not an angel's chorus, but a demon's symphony. Henry stroked faster and Eddie's head tipped further. His eyes tightly shut as he felt himself climbing the mounting pleasure, his cup filling to the brim. Unseen to Eddie, steam surfaced from the flesh that worked over that cock, causing a heated friction that only spurred the younger male further.

Above Eddie, the light begins to brighten, pulsing in tandem. Henry breathed damnation onto the tip of that cock, causing Eddie to groan louder, his pleasure twisting tightly until it would break, a storm of sound signaling his arrival. He came undone with vicious force, his eyes snapping open, their color gone, nothing but a white void in their place--connected with the light above him. Blackened veins briefly danced over his tensed jaw before disappearing back beneath his flesh. The guttural noise that left Eddie only culminated in the splatter of sinful cum that coated Henry's lips and hand.

He has come.

"Legion, for we are many." Henry whispered against that waning girth as he licked the fluid from it.

Several blinks brought the color back to Eddie's eyes and he suddenly felt ill. This was worse than any dream he'd had and he felt as if his heart might burst. Filthy. Vile. What was happening to him? Struggling to get free from Henry, he managed to shove past him, nearly tripping on his pants as he stumbled out of the confessional. He pulled his pants up along the way, though his belt was still undone even as he left the room.

Gasping for air, Eddie burst into the night, breaking free of the place. Henry wouldn't hear the van from where he was, but he would sense that Eddie had gone.

Having moved to the seat of the confessional, Henry leaned back against the wall of it, wiping his lips idly. Inhaling, he would revel in his own aching, dragging his eyes to the light above him. Lips spreading into a devious grin, the light would vibrate with energy--growing brighter and brighter until it was snubbed, as if it was blown.

The room was black now--the tolling of a clock filling the pregnant darkness with dense sound.

Something about the way Stu ate oranges always made Billy feel feral. The way his fingers held sections of four speared pieces and how his lips wrapped around them, tearing them across the middle--it made Billy feel a spectrum of emotions that nothing else did, the sudden urge to practice stabbing filling him like an addict's need for a fix. That wet sound. The juice dripping off of his chin. Predatory.

"Do you have to eat like that?" Billy asked aloud after a moment. The snarl of his lip feigned disgust, but there was a deeper part of him that felt a twinge that was not unfamiliar to him. The feeling made him irritable, his haunches tightening as he shifted his weight on the bar he sat upon. Legs spread, the brooding youth found himself clad in black cargo pants and combat boots that knocked against the sides of the island idly. Biceps flexing beneath the white fabric of his t-shirt, Billy held fast to the hunting knife with his right hand, precariously placed over his lap, his left thumb testing the sharpness of the blade--suggestive.

"Why? It's good." "Come on, Billy. I'm almost done with it." Stu said, his eyes nearly crossing as he focused on the fruit, bringing it to his mouth again, teeth hungrily ripping through its meat. Billy felt every bite in his naval.

"Fine, but when you're done we are going to practice stabbing on that watermelon I bought today." Billy said without looking up from his spot. The pad of his thumb was turning white from superficial cuts, but the texture amused him, so he didn't stop, "I can't have you going shallow again. Neither of us can afford it." With his head tipped down, his damp-looking hair fell about his brows, veiling him, "I'm trying to be fatal...not see how many times we can stab someone without actually killing them."

Billy slowly lifted his gaze then, just in time to see Stu finish with the fruit, the male licking at his fingers to free the tips of a bit of sugary stickiness. Satisfied with cleaning as much citrus from the digits as he could, the taller male took to traversing the area, opening the refrigerator to procure the melon. Turning on heel, Stu's coordination began to slip and he nearly dropped the melon from his grip, his still sticky, slightly damp hands not offering the best of grips.

"Idiot, just sit it down." Billy's words broke the tension between them, the silence having become pregnant with the possibility of the watermelon shattering against the tile floor of the kitchen. Seemingly unbothered by the ridiculing, Stu sat the melon upright and Billy licked his lips at the prospect of sinking the blade into that flesh. There was something cathartic about the act of stabbing, the plunging of that blade being the only thing that made Billy feel truly alive--the resistance of the skin as it sunk being the second.

Billy slipped off the counter in a fluid motion, hitting the ground with the heavy thud of his boots. Hips swaying ever so slightly, he moved toward the melon, wrapping a hand around the green flesh of it before he would lean down, lips against it, "Shhhh..."The sound was nauseatingly quiet and when his free hand forced the hunting knife into the melon, its skin wept in resistance, pink water rushing to the countertop. Billy tipped his head back, sinking the knife to the hilt, and for a split second, that melon was a woman under his palm.

Watching, Stu felt that stab in his groin. His eyes lit up and focused, a direct gesture that was not often a characteristic of the chaotic, flamboyant male. Jaw going slack and ears lifting with the tenseness of his neck and shoulders, Stu felt his mouth become dry. He was transfixed--he wanted to see the man blood-splattered in the pitch of the night, watch him laugh as others took their last breath. That was when he was most beautiful.

The lack of reaction from the taller male signalled to Billy that Stu was probably distracted. He turned his head slowly and shifted to right his posture. Billy lifted his brows, the skin puffing around the gunshot scar in the center of his forehead, "What?" He asked as he pulled the knife slowly from the watermelon, the fluid rushing out around and after it obscenely.

"Nothing. It's just...I mean--" Stu chuckled, the sound catching in his throat behind a hesitant lump. He fidgeted and gestured to the melon, then to the knife, "--that'll do it."

"Yeah? You want to make sure?" Billy turned his torso and his hips slowly followed, "I could try it on you." Those words struck Stu and he felt fear and excitement lock themselves together in his gut, turning it. Billy took several steps towards the male, walking him into the counter, Stu's backside hitting it densely. Billt's hand lifted and he shooed the male's robe open and pushed up Stu's white tank-top with a smooth gesture, the knife brandished to push against the supple flesh of a hip, "Make sure I'm deadly." Billy leaned in, a breath between them, that knife grazing the tender flesh near a very nerve damaged scar.

"You're so deadly." Stu croaked, his hip twitching under the sharp blade. Billy let a smile pass over him, one that would quickly change as he dropped his gaze between them, settling to look upon the raging hard-on Stu was sporting--the dense shape having lewdly tented the thin fabric of his pants between them.

Billy scoffed, "Really, man?" He asked, glancing from that predicament to Stu's face, brows lifting.

Stu could have flailed if Billy weren't so close. He inhaled audibly and tensed, "What man?! You know how this shit gets to me. How it gets me going! And you're just---" He looked between them as well, though he was far more focused on the knife and the hand that pressed it.

"Oh yeah?" The moment afforded Billy the opportunity to play a bit, "How about this?" He asked, slowly moving the knife along the hem of those pants, a hairline cut appearing on white skin, the blood pooling ever so slightly. Dragging it gently toward the center, Billy would tip it up, showing his intent to enter them and touch far more sensitive flesh.

"That's not funny, dude. I..." Stu's lips asked Billy to stop, but that cock begged him to continue.

"I never said it was funny." Billy said, fully focused on the way the hunting knife moved, "You survived it once." He said nonchalantly, tipping his head back up to Stu, fully making eye contact with him. There was always something off about the look in those eyes. It was like a shark that smelled blood--or perhaps a demon drunk on the scent of a virgin--and that always fucked with Stu's head in the most intoxicating way.

"Yeah, man, but I almost died. I bled a lot." He swallowed what saliva he could muster, "I think you hit something vital."

"Damn right I did." Billy said, pushing the blade a bit more before removing it entirely. Putting distance between them, he would slowly walk backward toward the bar once more, which was only a few feet in front of Stu, behind Billy himself. When the backs of his hips struck the island, his hands would drop to the hem of his t-shirt, one still brandishing the knife. Lifting the white fabric slowly, he would show the flat of his abdomen, the pretty trail of black hair and scattered little scars abound.

Stu licked his lips, transfixed. He fumbled forward and immediately pushed Billy harder against the bar, putting the full weight of himself on the smaller male. It hurt Billy's lungs, made them burn, but he rather liked it. Stu kissed at Billy's neck, his hands roaming, pulling at the seams and hems of the black cargo pants. It was awkward in the best way, fatally romantic in its chaos. Billy could smell oranges and musk on the taller male and it sent him spiraling, hips only giving the softest of resistance, though they pressed right back. Billy let his eyes roll to the side, his gaze landing on the Ghostface mask nearby, its siren song seducing him immediately.

Flashes of soft flesh under his hands, the tear of the knife and the gnashing of teeth. He could hear a door's lock and the ringing of a telephone, the click of the voice changer and the start of a VHS tape. Stu's hands became more rough and a rutting test gave way to a dense grind--and Billy felt the tight snap of bloodlust take him.

"After." Billy said, voice thicker, deeper.

"Mmf...What?" Stu spoke against Billy's neck, the column hot and Billy's pulse a needy thrumming.

"I said after." Billy reiterated sternly.

Stu leaned back, their noses touching, "Come on, man." He chuckled, "You've already got me--"

"I said after!" Billy said loudly, shoving Stu back. The second slid on socked feet, but managed to right himself in two steps. Billy moved from the spot, grabbing the mask and knife before walking out of the room, intent and the prospect of murder on his heels.

Stu stood alone then, glancing down the line of his own body, vision stopping at the aching need that remained neglected. He dropped his shoulders and sighed, dropping his head back dramatically, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."