#HORRORANGELS.      multi      ft      characters      primarily      from      the      horror      genre      &      an      exploration      of      the      feminine      experience.      carrd.        aesthetic sideblog.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐎 ?    i don’t even bother trying to restrain myself from raising an eyebrow in surprise ;  sure ,  heather has been snapping a bit at heather’s heels lately ,  but i hadn’t thought it was enough for heather to step to a nuclear option to get her off her back .  i hesitate to admit it ,  now ,  but i’m a little more interested knowing that it’s one of our own receiving my weapons of mass destruction ;  duke can handle herself ,  if need be ,  and she’s not innocent herself  ( AU REVOIR ,  MY LAST REMAINING THREADS OF GUILT -  HUMANITY WAS NICE ,  FOR A WHILE ) .  i don’t want to sound as interested as i am ,  because that means SHE WINS -  but fuck it ,  she already did .  “ the hell did she do now ?  is she running for prom queen behind your back or something ?  i thought she’d learned her lesson at homecoming last year . ”

            and  you  had  totally  prepared  yourself  for  harder  pushback.  ❝  wait  a  minute  ...  there’s  that  excitement.  ❞  you’d  be  lying,  but  nothing  new  there,  if  you  said  you  didn’t  enjoy  seeing  that  mischievously  glinted  curiosity  in  veronica.  ❝  not  really  that  ...  i  mean,  not  explicitly.  i  wouldn’t  be  surprised  if  she  were  doing  that,  too,  the  little  tramp.  ❞  you  don’t  even  bother  trying  to  mask  just  how  much  this  really  does  bother  you  ...  this  secret.  you  second  guess  spilling  just  what  it  is,  wouldn’t  want  it  somehow  traveling  back  to  heather  that  you  already  know  and  haven’t  murdered  her  yet.  truly,  what  you’re  doing  right  now  is  some  of  the  most  merciful  shit  you  may  be  capable  of.  should  veronica,  too,  know  that  an  ounce  of  pity  or  god  forbid  forgiveness  exists  anywhere  in  your  bones?  fuck  it,  you  can’t  help  gossiping.  ❝  last  time  she  slept  over  she  left  her  bag  unzipped,  and  i  spotted  a  red  thong  in  there.  can  you  believe  it?  red.  ❞  the  fact  that  it  was  a  thong  rather  than  something  like  socks  or  pajamas  really  says  something.  the  fact  that  she  had  the  nerve  to  bring  them  over  to  your  house  says  something.  it  says  she  thinks  she’s  hot  shit.  she  thinks  she’s  got  a  chance  in  hell  at  being  you.  you’ll  be  god  damned  --  you’ll  damn  yourself  first.  

frankly,          considering          the          circumstances          and          his          bicker          and          bitch          with          atty          only          2          hours          prior—          the          fiend          should          have          been          in          a          far          worse          state          of          mind.          considering          his          track          record.          but,          perhaps,          he’s          learning          to          roll          with          the          punches.          or          …          he’s          attaining          loot          as          resources          for          bribery.          either          /          or.          ‘       i          know          where          he          is.          —he’s          in          the          town          hall.          he          always          hides          in          the          town          hall.          it’s          not          even          a          good          place          to          fucking          hide.          ’          hands          are          thrown          up          in          mild          exasperation.          he’s          bewildered          at          the          sheer          stupidity          of          his          cohort.          ‘          —fuck          off.          dr.          finklestein          ?          you          know          he          doesn’t          have          any          candy.          only          …          weird          bones          and          goop          n’          shit.          ’          with          that,          he’ll          obtain          the          lollipop          back          from          between          her          lips,          lick          it          again—          …          remind          himself          he          despises          the          flavour,          then          tosses          it          over          his          shoulder.          ‘      ooo—-          jack’s.          now          you’re          talkin’,          sport.          ’  huff          and        puff.          he’ll          exhale          smoke          into          her          face.          ‘      le’go.          ’  

            if  you’re  lucky,  sally’s  wandering  outside  jack’s  like  the  love-stricken  puppy  she  is.  still,  you’ll  argue  the  case,  ❝  not  sugar  candy,  dipshit,  ❞  but  don’t  elaborate.  if  he  can’t  deduce  drugs  on  his  own,  he’s  a  lost  cause.  you  seem  almost  genuinely  offended  as  he  discards  the  sucker,  but  you  just  elbow  him  in  the  ribs  and  carry  on.  ❝  should  we  grab  barrel  on  the  way,  or  are  you  set  on  spending  alone  time  with  me?  ❞  might  as  well  tease  him  somehow,  and  as  dangerous  a  game  it  is  with  things  going  as  well  as  they  are,  you  can’t  help  yourself.  he’s  being  too  ....  nice.  and  he’s  not  even  being  nice.  

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 !   it’s exhausting trying to get anything through to her that’s not centered completely around her own self-interests ,   but it’s something i’m mostly used to .  unstoppable force ,  immovable object .  i keep my real answer locked in my head  ( NOT EVERYONE’S AS HEARTLESS AS YOU ,  HEATHER !  SOME PEOPLE WANT TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD !  NOT THAT YOU’D WANT ANYTHING TO CHANGE ,  THEN YOU MIGHT HAVE TO WORK FOR ONCE ! )  and elect instead to compose myself with a grim sigh ,  avoiding eye contact with she-who-has-been-deified-in-her-own-mind .  i almost drop the pen and paper ,  but thank fuck i’m able to keep myself somewhat composed in this stand-off ,  EVEN IF I’VE LOST IT .  “ what’s it saying this time. ”  god, i can’t fucking wait for this year to be over -  i sound so DEFEATED.  

            ❝  gee,  don’t  sound  so  excited.  ❞  you  know  you  can’t  ask  for  a  loyal  subject  and  an  enthusiastic  one,  but  you  will  anyway.  ❝  nothing  society  shattering  this  time..  just  need  you  to  write  a  short  letter  to  heather  duke.  you  can  get  creative,  i  can’t  be  fucked  to  think  up  a  script  myself,  but  make  sure  you  sign  it  anonymous.  if  you  want,  you  can  try  and  get  kurt  or  ram’s  chicken  scratch  as  reference,  but  handwriting  doesn’t  matter  as  long  as  it’s  just  sloppy  enough  to  be  convincing.  main  subject:  you  know  her  dirty  secret,  and  if  she’s  not  careful,  you’ll  tell  me.  but,  like,  make  it  seem  like  you  think  it’s  for  her  own  good,  and  you  have  a  crush  on  her  or  something.  ❞  veronica’s  the  only  one  you’d  trust  with  something  so  scandalous  as  manipulation  of  your  own  minions,  so  it’s  a  good  thing  your  right  hand  is  your  write  hand.  vom,  what  a  shitty  pun.  

…        steven  does  not  know  how  to  hold  his  body  around  her        (      he  is  the  cloying  recoil  of  spring  shoulders,   the  awkward  twist  of  a  body  that  had  grown  against  the  sun        …        this  soil  is  unkempt  and  unready  for  both  of  them  to  grow,   so  steven  must  bow  his  flower  head        ).         ‘   i  didn’t  know  you’d  be  coming  here  today.   ’       a  clearing  of  the  throat,   a  question  where  there  isn’t  one   :      why  are  you  here?        his  politeness  has  always  been  manufactured,   a  tired  weight  against  his  body      (       do  not  snap,    steven       ).       ‘   i  should  get  us  something  to  drink         …         speaking  of,   you  haven’t  talked  to  luke  lately,   have  you?   ’        @horrorangels

            he  tries  to  play  it  cool,  but  god,  he’s  so  bad  at  it..  at  least,  to  you.  you’re  sure  he  fools  many  people  with  his  attempts  to  be  casual,  but  as  his  sister,  you  see  right  through  it.  you  hold  your  own  nerves,  you’ll  play  his  normal  person  game  for  now.  ❝  no,  i  haven’t.  that’s  part  of  why  i’m  here.  i  was  gonna  ask  you  the  same  thing.  ❞  the  fact  that  he’s  brought  it  up  first,  though,  has  your  blood  running  cold.  something’s  wrong,  you  know  it,  you  feel  it,  and  it  makes  it  much  harder  to  mirror  his  politeness.  ❝  i  thought  maybe  you  had.  when’s  the  last  time  you  saw  him?  ❞  already,  your  hands  shake.  you  don’t  ask  to  come  in,  or  make  any  move  to.  you’re  quite  comfortable  on  the  doorstep.  

sharp          lovebones          tug          upward          into          a          stultified          shrug.          ‘  mm–whatever.          ’         he’ll          hum,          flipping          up          the          newborn          brains          of          his          marlboro          reds.          cerulean          lips          enclose          around          the          mouth          of          his          cigarette;          he’ll          stand,          open          a          flame,          extend          a          helping          hand,          and          huff          and          puff         on          his          dart          all          in          one          swift          motion.          black          orbs          watch          patiently          as          he          awaits          her          next          move—          he’s          tapping          his          foot          in          anticipation,          eager          as          HELL          to          bloat          every          single          one          of          his          pockets          with          fresh          candy.          ‘          c’mon,          birdbrain.          maybe          we          can          seek          barrel          out          as          well.          —-he’s          actually          waiting          for          me          to          find          him          for          real.—-          it’s          been          over          an          hour          and          a          half          since          i          started          counting.         fucking          idiot.          ’          smoke          emits          from          between          the          cracks          of          an          evil          grin.         ‘          he          really          thinks          he’s          good          at          this          game.          ’

            lock  ...  helping  you  up?  peculiar.  you  have  your  own  ulterior  motives  today,  but  what  the  hell  are  his?  still,  you  take  his  hand,  dust  off  the  back  of  your  dress  as  you  reach  your  feet.  ❝  i’d  wager  that  since  you  don’t  know  where  he  is,  he  is  good  at  this  game.  ❞  he’s  certainly  the  most  patient  of  you  three.  you  start  on  your  way,  trusting  your  book  will  stay  where  you’ve  left  it.  

            ❝  we  should  stop  by  dr.  finklestein’s.  i  bet  he’s  got  some  good  shit  right  now.  --  or,  maybe  somethin’  that’ll  hype  us  up.  ❞  so,  a  different  kind  of  ‘candy’.  that’s  not  really  why  you  wanna  stop  by  the  doctor’s  lab,  of  course,  but  it’s  the  best  excuse  you  can  come  up  with  to  trick  or  treat  at  his  place.  ❝  or  jack’s  ...  ❞  sally  is  likely  to  be  at  one  or  the  other’s.

#HORRORANGELS.       an  exploration  of  the  feminine  experience.  featuring  60+  muses  from  fear  street,  until  dawn,  twilight,  american  horror  story,  euphoria,  resident  evil,  cyberpunk  2077,  and  more.  loved  by  v.

‘          doin’          shit          like          what          ?          —-fuck          all.          that’s          what.          they          don’t          call          me          HALLOWEEN’S          FINEST         for          no          reason.          it’s          cus          i’m—          oop—          can          you          guess          it          ?          the          finest.          the          best.          oogie          knows          that          i          know          my          shit.          i’m          reliable.          cunning.          —-not          to          mention,          HANDSOME.          don’t          you          think          ?    ’          conceited,          egotistical,          narcissistic          as          ever.          try          and          shut          him          up.          you          can’t.          he’ll          extend          his          half-loved          lollipop          toward          her          …          could          be          perceived          as          a          kind          gesture.          considering          …           the          fiend          never          really          was          the          type          to          share.          truth          be          told,          he          didn’t          really          fancy          the          flavour.          lemon.          whatever.         

brows          draw          together          to          sketch          a          scowl          upon          sharp          features.          she          emitted          an          air          of—-          disinterest          toward          him.          of          course,          seldom          was          she          genuinely          absorbed          in          his          continuous,          constant          orbit          around          her—          his          poking,          prying          and          preying  …          but          her          mind          resided          elsewhere.          another          realm.          come          back.          pay          attention          to          me.                          —–his          arm          drops          as          her          hasty,          frantic          movement          ensues.          cue          the          huff.          ‘          where’s          the          fire          ?          …          so          fast.          for          what          ?          ’          again          do          bony          fingers          fumble          in          the          pockets          of          his          jacket.          no          more          candy.          shit.          ‘          i’m          outta          loot.          wanna—-          go          trick          or          treatin’          ?          ’

            you’re  glad  the  subject  shifts  away  from  his  question,  don’t  you  think  i’m  handsome?  you’d  much  rather  avoid  answering  that  if  you  can.  ❝  just  realized  somethin’.  botany  stuff  ;  too  boring  for  the  likes  of  you.  ❞  you  bookmark    juniper,  cypress,  rosemary,  arborvitae,  and  eucalyptus.  unfortunately,  rosemary  is  the  only  one  you’re  aware  of  that  grows  in  the  cemetery.  the  rest  ...  you’ll  have  to  ask  someone  else.  and  what  a  perfect  time  for  your  companion  to  bring  up  trick  or  treating.  a  perfect  excuse  to  visit  who  would  know  where  to  find  any  herbs.  you  turn  to  him,  wrap  your  lips  around  the  sucker  he  still  holds  out,  and  nod.    ❝  im  out,  too.  and  for  the  record  ...  they  call  all  three  of  us  the  finest,  not  just  you.  ❞  for  once,  you  regard  barrel  in  the  same  ranks  as  lock  and  yourself  ..  only  because  he’s  not  around,  of  course.

‘          don’t          matter          if          you          were          here          first,          were          born          here,          or          the          last          to          show          your          face          in          this          town—-          nobody          gives          a          fuck     ?          don’t          change          the          fact          that          you’re          a          homebody        n’          don’t          explore          the          town          like          me.           i’m          on          these          streets          daily.         who          you          kiddin’          ?          ’          there’s          a          scoff.           a          boyish          scoff—-          one          that          was          dripping          wet          with         a          child-like          maliciousness          …          light          bullying.          still          is          he          grinning          as         he          casts          his          eyes          over          her          features.          collected          does          her          demeanour          remain          and          the          cool          façade          she          blankets          her          genuine          sentiments          with         is          rather          endearing.           the          relationship          which          the          two          henchmen          shared          was———–           a          complicated          one.          

he          feigns          a          yawn—-          arms          extend          high          above          his          head,          eyes          loll          into          the          back          of          his          skull.          ‘          fuck—–          boring.          ’          skeletal          limbs          sling          over          the          witch’s          shoulders.          perhaps          the          manoeuvre          had          been          purposeful;          any          excuse          to          touch          skin.          perhaps          it          was          simply          a          mindless          motion.          ‘          i          know          i          asked          you          what          you          was          readin’.          don’t          mean          i          give          a          shit.  ’

            ❝  i  wasn’t  always  a  ...  homebody.  ❞  certainly  not  the  word  you  would’ve  chosen  for  yourself.  ❝  before  you  showed  up,  oogie  had  me  doing  everything.  i’ve  been  around,  trust  me.  had  the  time  to.  --  and  while  you’re  out  ‘exploring’,  i’m  actually  doing  shit.  ❞  shit  he  wouldn’t  approve  of,  but  not  shit  you’ve  never  mentioned  before.  you’ve  tried  time  and  time  again  to  recruit  him  for  your  cause.  and  sure,  he  called  you  the  boss  once,  but  it  was  a  sack  of  rat  shit,  just  like  most  of  everything  that  comes  out  of  his  mouth.  love  him  or  hate  him,  you  two  will  always  do  the  dominance  dance.  who  can  manipulate  who  more?  who  cares  for  who  more?  who  cares  for  themselves  more?  it’s  hard  to  tell.  and  so  the  cycle  keeps  going,  wooden  wheel  keeps  turning.  

            jesus,  that’s  the  oldest  trick  in  the  book,  lock.  you  roll  your  eyes,  consider  pushing  him  as  hard  as  you  can  or  pinching  the  shit  out  of  the  hand  that  rests  against  your  upper  arm  ..  but  instead,  you  let  him.  just  like  you  let  him  do  most  things.  ❝  then  don’t  ask,  idiot.  not  like  you  could  comprehend  it  anyway  ;  doesn’t  have  that  many  pictures.  ❞  but  it  does  have  some.  you  glance  to  his  face,  how  close  it  is  to  your  own,  and  then  back  down  to  the  book.  he  doesn’t  care,  supposedly,  but  you  crack  it  open,  rest  it  atop  both  of  your  thighs,  and  scan  the  page.  herbs  and  potions  are  unlikely  to  do  enough  damage,  anyway,  so  ..  you’ve  earned  a  little  bit  of  leisure  reading,  surely.  

            your  eyes  land  on  the  word  ashes  again,  and  you  pause  for  a  moment.  suddenly,  you’re  scrambling  to  sit  up,  hastily  turning  pages  without  mind  of  possible  paper  cuts.  you  pluck  a  few  dead  rose  stems  from  beside  you,  stick  the  thorns  into  the  pages.  bookmarking.  clearly,  you’ve  just  had  an  idea.  but  he  doesn’t  care,  right?  

the          devil          casts          a          knowing          glance.          twinkle          do          charcoal          hues          as          he          watches          her—-          observing,          preying.          it’s          a          possessive          watchfulness.          didn’t          enjoy          the          idea          that          shock          did          things          without          his          knowledge.          akin          to          lying.          akin          to          a          betrayal.          ‘          even          if          i          counted          to          a          thousand,          you          still          couldn’t          hide          from          me.          you          don’t          know          this          town          like          i          do.          ’          without          an          invitation,          ghoul          sets          himself          beside          her—-          even          nestles.          he’ll          remove          the          lemon          lollipop          from          its          home          on          a          sour          tongue—          teeth          are          bared          in          a          devilish          grin.          almost          mocking.          ‘          how          could          i          torment          anyone          else          ?          i          already          harassed          the          ghosts          in          this          cemetery          this          morning—–          they          rolled          when          they          heard          me          coming          …          ’          his          grin          only          grows.          ‘          what’cha          readin’          ?  something          shit          probably,          huh?          ’

            the  hairs  on  your  neck  stand  up,  but  on  the  surface  you’re  cool  as  a  tombstone.  it’s  not  from  fear,  but  rather,  intensity.  like  or  not,  you’ve  got  a  connection  with  your  fellow  boogie  boy.  know  that  glint  in  his  eye  from  miles  away,  and  exactly  what  it  means.  lock  himself  is  an  adrenaline  rush  sometimes.  enough  to  smooth  over  the  rougher  edges  of  your  sour  mood  and  soften  your  brow.  you  won’t  smile,  though  ..  not  yet.  ❝  bullshit.  i  was  here  first  ;  everything  you  learned,  you  learned  from  me.  ❞  and  boogie,  but  boss-man  gets  enough  credit.  sometimes  it’s  your  turn.  ❝  but  you’re  right  that  i  can’t  hide,  only  because  i  didn’t  realize  how  just  how  irritating  you’d  turn  out  to  be,  and  that  i’d  need  a  place  of  solitude  from  your  loud  mouth.  ❞  

            you  don’t  shy  from  his  shoulder  against  yours,  only  pick  up  the  heavy  volume  and  set  it  in  his  lap.  ❝  herbs  and  their  properties.  ❞  you’ve  read  it  a  million  times  already,  should  have  it  memorized  by  now  ..  and  for  the  most  part,  you  do,  but  it  doesn’t  hurt  to  make  sure  ;  it’s  why  you  didn’t  even  need  a  bookmark.  ❝  i  was  looking  for  a  specific  poison  combination,  but  ...  i  ended  up  lingering  on  witch  hazel.  ❞  the  seeds  are  said  to  be  ashes  of  a  witch.  the  plant  grows  in  this  very  graveyard,  over  a  very  particular  grave.  if  you  didn’t  know  any  better,  you’d  speculate  that  it  could  be  yours.  ❝  so,  yeah.  shit.  ❞  

                                                 it’s        silent.        the        cemetery,        aside        from        its        residents        who        shift        idly        in        their        slumber,        lay        silent.        a        ghoulish        entity,           a        fiend        of        only        mischievous        intent,        slinks        past        gravestones        and        skulks        around        angel        faced        tombstones        in        a        quiet        pursuit.        between        skeletal        fingers,        an        ember,        lemon-drop        candy-pop        is        twirled—        he’ll        shimmy        it        between        sharp,        ivory        canines.            and…        suddenly…        the        silence        which        lulled        the        dead        to        sleep        was        broken        by        a        shrill        cackle.        ebony        orbs        fix        themselves        upon        a        figure        whose        silhouette        could        be        identified        behind        a        pudgy,        bloated        tree        trunk…        its        belly        was        swollen        with        the        souls        of        the        recently        deceased.                ‘christ.        surely        you’re        not        that        stupid.        only        amateurs        hide        in        places        like        this.        i        didn’t        even        need        to        look        for        that        long.        this        is        called        HIDE        AND        SEEK.        you        didn’t        even        hide.        boo.        you        suck.        ’

            a  perfect  place  to  read  ...  or  so  you  thought.  ❝  i  guess  i  must  be  that  stupid,  to  think  i  could  go  anywhere  to  get  away  from  you.  ❞  surprise  is  the  farthest  from  what  you  are  at  this  bombardment.  the  hardcover  is  slammed  shut  and  set  aside  ;  long  ago  you  learned  it’s  much  easier  to  give  lock  that  attention  he  so  desires  ...  sometimes,  you  don’t  want  easy.  sometimes  you  want  the  chaos.  right  now  is  not  particularly  one  of  those  times.  ❝  did  you  even  count?  ❞  he  certainly  didn’t  inform  you  that  you  were  participating  in  hide  and  seek,  but  clearly  in  his  mind,  he  doesn’t  need  to.  ❝  since  i  suck  so  bad,  why  don’t  you  find  someone  else  to  torment?  ❞  

WAS THERE AN OLD WOMAN INVOLVED ?  and instantly, you straighten up; you’re sure a look of shock and awe crosses your features, coloured by no small amount of abject horror- because  FUCK YEAH, THERE WAS,  there definitely fucking was, and by the way susan’s speaking of her, you’re pretty damn sure there would be no confusing the fact that it’s the same hag.  “ yeah- yeah, there was. in this fucking house, with candles- bitch put me in a coffin. ”  there’s more on your tongue, but as she speaks, she mentions KILLING PARASITES ;  and god forbid you accidentally let it slip that the bitch had called you THE SIXTH PARASITE .  all this work for nothing, just to be slaughtered again. 

but now, it’s YOUR TURN TO LISTEN .  it’s bizarre, really, how hearing this story of horror and tragedy from her is more comforting than concerning- of course, with a …  strange flavour, that makes it all almost impossible to swallow, but at least it’s familiar. at least you know YOU’RE NOT ENTIRELY FUCKING INSANE .  at least you know not all of it was in your head, but also that you were right to think it partially a dream  ( OF COURSE ,  IT WASN’T -  BUT WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DESCRIBE SOMETHING REAL AND NOT REAL AS ? ) .  you’re not sure how to tackle her confessions, but you’re not even sure you HAVE to; just take it all in, listen, understand, believe. you wring your hands again, firm around the wrists, and nod as you absorb all of this-  “ i had to kill people, too- honestly, even now, i’m not even sure why. i can guess, but it all feels so …  above me. like they were trying to teach me something, and all i learned was what i wanted to take out of it. ”

and MAYBE …  you aren’t TOO FAR OFF with that. at the very least, you’d learned you were fucking wrong, had some goddamn sense kicked into you. ripped love out of the jaws of death because if nobody else was going to give you a second chance, you would-  YOU LEARNED YOU’D DO ANYTHING FOR HER .  not too bad a lesson, really; something you thought you’d known already, but not to that extent.  would you kill for her again? clear of mind and free of horrors?  PROBABLY .  or,  MAYBE . 

“ well …  not to make a, uh, probably a shitty joke, but if she got you in the back for me, i think that means she forgives me. ”  it’s told as a joke, with a half lift to your lips, but the sentiment is true; it’s what’s gotten you through the quieter moments with your guilt. “ but we’re trying. if she’s doing better or not is probably a little more important to me, i can keep above water well enough. i think. just …  won’t lie to you, i’m surprised you believe me. a good surprise, don’t get me wrong. ”

            the  house  with  candles.  ❝  yep.  that’s  her.  ❞  of  course.  how  many  people’s  lives  has  she  meddled  in  without  them  even  knowing  it?  perhaps  everyone’s  life,  one  way  or  another.  she  called  you  special.  said  you  were  one  of  her  favorites.  that  changed  the  second  you  defied  her  in  any  fashion,  probably,  but  ...  she  doesn’t  seem  to  like  joe  very  much.  perhaps  he  is  a  parasite,  but  ...  maybe  not  intentionally.  certainly  not  in  the  ways  that  doctor  x  and  that  cat-killing-couple  were.  and  maybe  he’s  not  one  anymore.  

           ❝  well,  if  i’m  being  honest,  i  enjoyed  killing  the  people  i  did  kill.  and  i  can’t  say  i  won’t  ever  do  it  again..  ❞  so  parasite  or  not,  the  two  of  you  are  one  and  the  same  in  a  fucked  up  way.  and  his  ‘joke’  makes  you  smile  at  least  a  little,  which  even  shocks  you.    ❝  and  i  don’t  blame  her  in  the  least.  ❞  you  tried  to  murder  her  husband,  so  she  was  justified.  you  have  almost  endless  slack  to  give  to  women,  though.  it’s  much  easier  for  you  to  understand  where  they’re  coming  from,  and  it’s  much  less  often  that  they’re  pure  fucking  evil  without  valid  cause.  while  there  are  some  fucked  up  bitches  out  there,  no  denying  that,  ivy  is  not  one  of  them.  in  no  scenario  do  you  see  ivy  being  a  parasite.  and  that’s  certainly  not  to  say  boys  will  be  boys  either.  in  fact,  the  opposite.  you’re  much  harder  on  men  than  women.  

           every  time  you  think  about  that  fucking  phone  call,  begging  the  police  for  help  while  they  couldn't  give  you  a  second  to  listen...  well,  the  kettle  starts  squealing  just  in  time.  you  stand,  ❝  of  course  i  believe  you.  i  know  what  it  is  to  not  be  believed.  ❞  and  with  that,  you’re  off  to  the  kitchen.  there’s  also  the  candle  detail,  something  he  would  have  no  way  of  just  guessing  about,  so  you  don’t  have  a  choice  in  believing  him.  and  in  that,  a  peace  treaty  is  metaphorically  signed.  you  fetch  a  bag  of  english  breakfast  from  the  cupboard  and  set  it  in  his  cup,  pour  the  hot  water  into  each  of  your  mugs,  and  return  to  him  with  them.  

           ❝  has  anything  else  happened  since  that  night,  or  do  you  think  she’s  let  you  off  the  hook?  ❞

it’s a very CAREFUL EYE you keep on her -  not SUSPICOUS ,  or at least you try not to be. of course you’re fucking suspicious of her motives here, but you don’t really have much of a choice, otherwise; are you gonna act jumpy and shady when you’re sue she’s got something near her that can really deal some damage? YOU’RE NOT A COMPLETE MORON .  you made mistakes, but they were …  UNDERSTANDABLE under the circumstances. you justify yourself, as you’re sure she’ll do for herself. you can’t BLAME her, but it doesn’t mean you have to LIKE IT.  so you take a deep breath. 

“ i didn’t know what to do, when she stopped eating. she kept asking me if i thought she was pretty, at first, and of course i kept saying yes. obviously i did. but after so many years …  you know. i guess it started to feel stale. ”  you aren’t sure if you should say so much, especially about problems that AREN’T YOURS, but …  if it’ll clear your name, you hope ivy won’t mind too much. she would understand, right?  “ it just kept getting worse, and i- i don’t know how much of what happened next was …  REAL ,  or not, if it was just all that stress and fear of her- starving herself to death that sent me- ”  you point to your temple and spiral it out, whistling low, self aware in the fact that you’ve really lost it, this time.  “ but she- regardless of everything else, she …  in her sleep, i guess, after a fight …  just didn’t wake up, or something. she was …  and i couldn’t do nothing. ”

IT BARELY EXPLAINS ANYTHING !  how do you explain the chair, the power, the blood, the rot? you wring your hands in your lap, eyes not so much flickering as taking careful inventory of her reaction before lowering in SHAME -  because you feel ashamed, that you couldn’t stop it before it’d gotten this far. that somehow it’d been your fault in the first place, putting too much in front of her to burn down quicker.  “ i guess i should be wondering how you got up after that, but to be honest …  i’ve been seeing crazier things. that …  barely phases me. i think that’s the part that bugs me the most- i can’t really defend myself if i don’t know what the hell was even real, right? ”

            you  do  listen,  eyes  trailing  over  his  body  language,  taking  in  the  slight  shake  of  his  voice.  and  you  nod,  slowly.  you  certainly  understand.  ❝  when  you  ..  ❞  your  finger  twirls  as  he  does,  followed  by  the  whistle,  ❝  was  there  ever  an  old  woman  involved?  ❞  not  at  all  a  long  shot.  she  could’ve  offered  him  a  way  to  save  ivy...  or  could’ve  just  been  pulling  the  strings.  either  way,  you  know  it  has  to  be  her.

            you’ve  been  dealing  with  this  sort  of  thing  for  so  long,  that  you  take  a  more  direct  approach.  joe  of  all  people  will  understand,  then,  if  it  takes  more  to  phase  him  anymore.  ❝  last  year  i  tried  to  kill  myself.  before  i  woke  up  in  the  real  world,  i  guess  ...  ❞  who’s  to  say  which  world  is  the  real  world  anymore?  you  prefer  to  label  this  one  as  the  real  one,  but  who  the  fuck  knows.  ❝  i  woke  up  somewhere  else.  long  story  short,  this  old  hag  gave  me  another  chance.  one  i  didn’t  want,  but  ...  she  chose  me  to  do  her  bidding.  she’d  give  me  immortality  and....  ❞  you  bitterly  chuckle,  shaking  your  head,  ❝  happiness.  and  i  would  kill  parasites  for  her.  ❞  of  course,  you  learned  not  long  after  most  of  that  ordeal  that  happiness,  like  you’d  always  suspected  anyway,  comes  and  goes  in  waves.  you  found  some  sort  of  peace,  at  least,  without  that  stupid  woman’s  help...  but  your  punishment  for  that  was  ..  as  the  remaining  parasites  live  and  breathe,  you  do,  too.  and  you’re  almost  certain  that’ll  continue  even  after  they  die  out  naturally.  

            that  mean  streak  in  you  took  pleasure  in  the  murder  of  the  ones  you  did  get  rid  of,  and  the  itch  to  use  your  eternal  punishment  for  what  it  was  supposedly  meant  for  comes  in  just  as  many  waves  as  happiness  does...  more,  actually.  ❝  all  of  it  was  too  insane  to  be  real,  but  it  was  real.  just  in  a  different  way  than  real  usually  is,  if  that  makes  sense.  ❞  it  doesn’t,  but  neither  does  any  of  this.  so...  at  the  same  time,  it  does.  it  makes  as  much  sense  as  it’s  going  to.  ❝  so,  basically,  whatever  it  was  that  you’re  unsure  of,  it  did  happen.  ❞  and  whatever  he  thought  he  was  doing,  was  probably  for  the  best.  

            ❝  look...  ❞  you  shift  uncomfortably,  in  preparation  for  the  vulnerability  that  comes  with  giving  people  slack,  ❝  if  ivy  doesn’t  blame  you,  then  you  shouldn’t  blame  yourself.  you  said  she’s  doing  better,  so  i  assume  you’re  doing  better..  so  that’s  what  matters.  ❞  mitzy’s  cancer  seemed  to  ease  at  the  same  time  as  your  depression.  you’re  both  still  sick,  but  you’re  better.  there  is  no  cure  for  any  of  this.  there’s  only  ...  fighting  until  you  can’t  anymore.  and  just  as  uncomfortable  to  admit,  the  queen  of  maggots  was  right  about  one  thing.  you  can  keep  going  long  after  you  can’t.  

YOUR SHOULDERS ARE TOO TENSE .  would rolling them back seem like an act of aggression? despite everything you’d had to do, you’re not a violent man; maybe that disconnect between what you’ve done and who you think you are is the only thing holding you together nowadays. YOU’RE NOT A MURDERER, YOU’RE THE LOVING HUSBAND ,  at the bedside, not whoever you turned into after picking up that syringe sawblade cigarette axe .  you’ll suffer through the pain, take it on the chin, and take your seat quietly on the couch she’s gestured to. granted, you’re entirely too uncomfortable with all of this, but hey -  it’d be a worse idea to not obey her instructions if you’re trying to look  TRUSTWORTHY . 

“ uh -  i don’t usually have a preference, but i mostly drink that, uh, english breakfast, black. ”  that’s easy, right?  YOU WOULDN’T KNOW -   in all reality, you drink green tea; not of your own accord, but because ivy likes it, and it seems to help if you do things with her.  YOU DON’T MIND ,  but you’re also trying not to make any problems for your unwilling host. there’s more than enough time to break the careful tension -  AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY . 

but when she asks about IVY ,  well …  IT’S HARD FOR YOU TO BITE YOUR TONGUE .  your leg bounces as you think, carefully, on what to say-  “ better, now. we’ve got her talking to a therapist, on the phone. took ages to convince her, but it’s helping. hopefully. ”  she’s still not eating much, and she’s still in her own head, but at least focusing on her helps you from thinking about your own …  issues.  YOU’RE NOT SURE HOW MUCH OF IT WAS REAL .  it felt real, you can smell the rot of fat and flesh and alcohol even now. your hands feel more calloused than before. there’s blood on your clothes that you don’t remember. BUT YOU DON’T GIVE YOURSELF TIME TO THINK ABOUT THAT ;  ivy needs you. better to turn your attention to her than retreat into yourself again.  “ lucy’s good, too. don’t usually love cats, but that one …  he’s alright. smart. ”

            english  breakfast.  tsk.  ❝  i  could  also  make  coffee,  if  you’re  not  much  of  a  tea  drinker.  just  let  me  know  before  the  water’s  boiled.  ❞  you  scoop  some  instant  coffee  into  your  own  mug,  the  one  from  before  with  some  drink  still  in  it.  you  don’t  care  enough  to  get  a  new  one,  there’s  nothing  wrong  with  mixing  new  and  old.  you  suppose  that’s  what  you’re  doing  now,  too.  joe’s  been  your  neighbor  for  years,  but  he’s  never  stepped  foot  into  your  flat.  you’ve  exchanged  hellos,  and  he’s  never  been  a  bad  neighbor  ...  but  really,  you’d  always  suspected  he  was  hitting  ivy  or  something.  some  kind  of  domestic  dispute  was  going  on,  you  were  sure  of,  and  you  were  at  least  right  about  that,  vague  as  it  may  be.  

            you  take  a  seat  in  the  armchair  nearby,  tucking  your  feet  underneath  you.  getting  comfortable.  he’s  nervous,  which  amuses  you  more  than  it  should,  but  you  hope  that  if  you  relax,  he’ll  relax.  an  apology  sits  at  the  back  of  your  tongue,  but  you  swallow  it.  you  did  what  you  thought  was  right.  wrong  or  not,  seeing  a  woman  who  you  presumed  to  be  murdered  by  her  husband  does  not  leave  one  much  room  for  discussion.  there’s  no  need  to  apologize  for  murdering  a  piece  of  shit.  --  with  each  day,  you  can  feel  maggots  growing  on  your  psyche.  you  pour  pesticide  overtop  them  and  toss  a  lit  match  in  there  every  so  often,  but  that  old  hag  continues  to  feed  off  of  your  need  for  justice.  apologizing  would  be  a  little  act  of  rebellion  against  her,  but  you  just  can’t  bring  yourself  to  do  it.  

            instead,  you  admit,  ❝  i  may  have  been  wrong  about  you.  --  the  fact  that  you  usually  don’t  like  cats  begs  to  differ,  but...  ❞  yes,  lighten  that  admission  to  guilt  with  a  joke.  ❝  i’m  willing  to  listen,  if  you’re  willing  to  explain  what  the  fuck  went  on.  and  i’m  willing  to  believe  you.  ❞  whatever  it  was,  you  have  a  feeling  it’s  not  far  off  from  what  keeps  bringing  you  back  from  the  dead.  and  you’re  familiar  with  how  batshit  it  sounds,  so  you’ll  add,  ❝  trust  me,  i’m  quite  open  minded.  i’m  sure  you’re  wondering  how  i  got  out  of  an  axe  in  my  back  without  so  much  as  a  scratch.  ❞  you  wonder  if  he  has  a  scar  from  your  swing.  or  if  he’s  been  blessed  with  the  same  affliction.  if  the  queen  of  maggots  was  playing  her  own  pawns  against  each  other  just  for  a  laugh.  

           you’d been peering out of your flat to do THE SAME THING -  you’ve been hovering over your wife, frail, fragile; hate to leave her alone, not because you don’t TRUST her, but …  seeing her corpse, however unreal the visions had been, makes you a little anxious to have her out of your sight. the darkness had caught you by surprise, but it hadn’t startled ivy  ( SHE’D LAUGHED, REALLY, HOWEVER WEAKLY, AND IT SOOTHED YOUR SHATTERED NERVES ) ;  you have to stop putting everything off ‘till the last possible minute or further just because you’re prone to separation anxiety if you have to be away for too long. 

          BUT YOU STOP IN YOUR DOORWAY ,  when you see her out at the same time -  something in your head calls out  FAIR’S FAIR, BITCH!  to help you stomach the fact that the both of you ended up with a blade in your back down in that basement, but it’s not really enough to make you stand any taller in her presence. you’re reasonably surprised at your shared  I WON’T TELL IF YOU DON’T  frame of mind- but then again …  she’s not exactly a reliable source, either. 

          her INVITATION, however, is a MASSIVE SHOCK .  you stay quiet as you furrow your brow, tighten your lips to think it through  ( SHOOT A GLANCE OVER YOUR SHOULDER ,  TO IVY ,  AND SEE LUCIFER PADDING OVER TO YOUR ROOM TO TAKE YOUR PLACE BY HER SIDE ) .  and maybe …  alright, maybe it’s not the worst idea to accept whatever olive branch this happens to be. you can understand her reaction, in a way, kind of -  BUT SHE WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE THERE! -  and maybe it’s your shot to clear your name. you can’t blame her for being concerned for ivy, seeing her tied up in wires like that, ‘cause you’re concerned for her, too. 

          AND SO ,  slowly as to not appear as a threat ,  YOU NOD AND FOLLOW HER IN ,  popping the coins you’d come out to top up your meter with on the way -  you won’t leave ivy in the dark, at least not physically. “ wasn’t… trying to be a creep. sorry. guess we all forgot the power tonight. ”  that’s …  neighborly enough, right? 

            once  all  the  coins  are  in,  it  should  buy  you  ...  perhaps  the  rest  of  the  night,  if  you’re  lucky.  at  least  long  enough  to  have  a  conversation  with  joe  davis..  something  you’d  never  thought  you’d  have.  you  shut  the  door  behind  you,  gesture  to  the  couch.  ❝  clearly,  i  wasn’t  expecting  visitors.  i’ll  put  on  the  kettle,  though.  have  you  got  a  tea  preference?  ❞  mitzy  would  certainly  be  proud.  offering  tea  to  ...  a  person  of  his  caliber.  or  whatever.    you  really  haven’t  the  slightest  fucking  clue  what  his  deal  is  at  this  point.  you  originally  were  sure  he  was  a  parasite.  the  final  one.  the  one  to  set  you  free  from  ...  her.  you  could  poison  his  tea  and  find  out.  but,  as  fun  as  that  thought  seems,  you  know  that  even  if  that  were  true  ...  she’s  never  letting  you  go.  you  can  try  to  live  a  normal  life,  but  the  queen  of  maggots  will  always  find  another  reason  to  require  your  services.  another  way  to  make  you  dependent  upon  her.  so,  no  reason  to  go  spoiling  your  hospitality.

            from  the  kitchen  you  call,  ❝  how’s  ivy?  ❞  and  do  your  damnest  to  not  sound  petulant.  you  are  actually  concerned  about  her,  of  course,  but  it’s  hard  to  believe  that  he  is.  it’s  hard  to  believe  that  he’s  not  the  cause,  or  at  least  making  it  worse.  it’s  hard  to  keep  an  open  mind.  but  that’s  the  point  of  letting  him  in  here.  finally  hearing  his  side.  you  can’t  imagine  why  ivy  would  try  and  avenge  him  if  he  were  really  just  hurting  her.  but,  it’s  not  like  the  police  would  listen  to  you  no  matter  what  you’d  said.  you’ve  tried  more  than  once  to  enlist  their  help,  but  each  time  just  made  you  feel  like  a  fool.  you’ve  got  to  do  things  on  your  own,  take  matters  into  your  own  hands.  that’s  why  you  haven’t  snitched.  sure,  you  said  a  couple  attacked  you,  but  without  any  injuries,  they’d  almost  pinned  the  arson  on  you.  ultimately,  they  dropped  the  case  altogether.  ❝  and  lucifer?  ❞ 

            the  power’s  out  again.  you’re  sat  in  the  kitchen,  hands  wrapped  around  your  warm  mug,  sweater  pulled  over  your  chin.  thought  maybe  keeping  the  heat  off  for  today  would  help  out  with  the  gas  bill,  but  it’s  just  as  your  realize  that  you’ve  forgotten  about  the  meter  that  everything  powers  down  with  a  low  hum.  a  few  months  back,  perhaps  even  a  year,  and  you’d  have  just  left  it.  curled  up  in  bed  and  had  yourself  a  good  cry.  but  today,  or  tonight  rather,  you  sigh  softly  and  rise  to  your  feet.  mitzy’s  out,  so  you  figure  she  won’t  mind  if  you  sneak  into  her  room  and  swipe  some  pocket  change.  it’s  her  responsibility,  too.  

            a  chill  runs  through  you  as  your  hand  wraps  around  the  front  door  knob,  and  it’s  not  just  from  the  cold.  but,  you  shrug  it  off  and  pull  it  open,  stepping  out  into  the  hall  to  quickly  feed  the  coins  into  the  slot.  

            and  then  you  spot  him  across  the  way.  standing  in  front  of  his  old  door,  hands  in  his  pockets.  maybe  you  should  be  afraid,  but  you’re  not.  instead,  you  just  stare  at  him  with  a  look  of  disdain.  there’s  at  least  twenty  seconds  of  pure,  ear-ringing  silence  before  you  shatter  it.  ❝...  well?  don’t  just  stand  there  like  a  creep.  ❞  against  better  judgment,  you  step  to  the  side.  you  doubt  he’d  show  up  back  here  to  finish  the  job.  maybe  he  didn’t  expect  to  see  you  alive,  maybe  he’s  just  here  to  reminisce.  or,  to  haunt  the  place  like  a  fucking  ghost.  ❝  i’ll  just  be  a  minute.  come  in.  ❞  you’ve  got  no  reason  to  be  scared.  mitzy  may  not  even  be  home  until  morning,  and  if  he  tries  anything,  you’ll  rise  back  up  again  long  before  then.