#evilstalks

on the surface, hawkins seems different from derry. but once it worms its way through the fissuring cracks, hole punched between worlds that allow it...a leniency to slip out of the place it has been trapped for centuries- it sees they are exactly the same.

small towns with secrets. full of traumas. full of fear.

it settles itself below, in the damp dark that it has come to love so much.

but it won't rest. not for its 27 years. it needs to consume first. to fill its belly till it is a swollen tick on the ear of an infected mutt.

and it targets him first.

it can taste the mental scars on its tongue like cotton candy. light and sweet and airy. it probes deep, deep, deep and yessssss...this one is of older flesh. the meat wouldn't be as delicate, but it will make do for its long slumber.

it manifests itself before him, stepping out from behind a hedge. judith looks just as she did all those years ago on that halloween night. exactly as he left her, the slits in her delicate flesh oozing crimson. her face mangles with an attempt to smile, more of that gushing red tickling from her teeth, down her lips, her chin.

"your potential is wasted here. the possibilities are endless out there. in the waking world." though no sound actually leaves michael's masked mouth, the corinthian will be able to hear his voice clear as day in his mind. the taller monster tilts his head down at the other, ice cold fingers briefly touching cori's cheek. even the boogeyman becomes bored of a solitary life sometimes.

The Corinthian bristles with distaste when the being that had manifested itself in the Dreaming reaches out to touch his cheek. The sensation of his skin feels entirely foreign to him. Something otherworldly. It is bizarre and somewhat enthralling.

But the Corinthian is a creature of the Dreaming. Designed to protect and remain within its borders. This entity that had manifested itself through mortals' dreams was not welcome.

And yet, rather than attack the entity like a good little guard dog, the Corinthian is daring to humour him. Perhaps because the Boogeyman has experienced a world the Corinthian has only dreamed of.

Perhaps because a part of him wants to take him up on the offer.

Carlos' room, stacked with totes, various firearms, and magazines aplenty, hardly fit the mattress and the man in it.

Stress settled his bones lead-like into bed. After a time of naive rest, Carlos senses more than hears another presence, an intuition made savvy by the art of the stalk in deep, humid rainforests.

Carlos' head jolts from the pillow in a flurry of dark hair. A moment's uncertainty, with fluttering eyes still finding the smudgeshape of @evilstalks, has him squeezing the grip of a pistol stuffed behind the headboard. Then, going still, he deflates into the sheets.

'vandalizing school property again?' / stranger things mikey <3

The dent in the locker was impressive—deep enough to suggest something had set Michael off again. God only knew what. One thing was certain, though: it wasn’t Billy. No way in hell. He wasn’t about to mess with that walking landmine, not after the last time. He was still nursing the dull ache of a bruise: well-earned, maybe, but entirely avoidable. Lesson learned.

danny takes long strides, a certain pride. he'd done perfectly, as She seems to enjoy. tens across the board, meat cut and split open, hooked and given freely. it was then, at his doorstep danny had found a gift. a reward.

the shape's mask. they had recently been playing a game of their own. and She had just handed danny the winning card. it was then that he could finally take a peak behind the curtain. the mere thought made him smile. this only further confirms to danny, just how well this partnership is working out for him.

his steps are careful quiet when he enters the realm where the shape resides, he doesn't want to ruin the surprise. danny had to play this right, to him this was more than simply besting each other at what they excel at. this slowly but surely was turning more and more personal.

the shape had made him bleed, gut him open. danny after simmering with rage found himself constantly thinking about the sensation, how bold the other had been. what a flirt. rarely could danny find himself face to face with someone else who was worthy of his time. danny remains to be the best of the best, but credit was due where credit was due.

the exact reason why the mask was in his possession was unclear, yet. it did not deter danny. "hello, big guy? are you around? the spider upstairs left me a little surprise, i believe it's yours." danny yells, the voice modulator attached to his mask doing it's job. the voice still echoes in the emptiness of the place. bouncing off the four walls. "play nice, and i'll give it back. scout's honor."

[continued from here]

He's half joking. Some little part of him, though, was already thinking about how cool it would be if he was the first person Michael fucking Myers opened up to. “Yeah, okay, didn't think that was gonna work. Worth a shot, though, right?”

A bigger part of him was pretty sure he'd be stabbed for the audacity, so, all in all, this is going better than expected.

“You should write a book. Like, a memoir. Autobiography. Is it a ‘no talking, verbally’ thing, or a mystery thing?” Danny's probably talking enough for the both of them.