#horrorfic

Despite the warnings of the Shaman, it looked like ENA was going to be taking a shortcut to get to the Bathroom. “Now, listen well… The route that you wish to take is a fool’s errand. Not even a seasoned omnimancer could make it through as you are now. Banish the thought, ENA!” “All due respect sir, I’m not an omnimancer. I’m employed, and this route will help me get my job done faster.” “Oh! My mistake. Very well, continue on. Simply beware!” What an odd fellow that Shaman was. She’d already had to deal with all manner of strange characters throughout the Uncanny Streets; how hard could Dreary Leery Avenue be?

The route was much more ominous than anticipated. If dirt roads, dark valleys and silence were the warning’s set up, the scattered remains and broken limbs of mannequins spread throughout the path were the punchline. ENA continued on, undeterred—if she kept this pace up, she’d finish with half of the estimated time. Maybe she’d even get a raise (if she got paid, that was). It was about a few minutes in—or hours, it was hard to tell—when ENA found a broken down, rustic shack with garish wallpaper covering the outside. The windows were covered in iron bars and there was no door to speak of, just a yawning gateway into the darkness which lay within. A dark deja-vu was emitting from the shack. She knew that she should just continue on with her job… but what if there was another puppy in here? She really had no choice but to check…

She really wished she hadn’t. Past the cabin’s doorway and around a corner is where she found it: a rusty metal crate. It took her a moment to recognize what was inside, and when she realized, she couldn’t tell if salesman or meanie or some other third party could switch in for her and begin having agency again. She felt rooted to that spot. Inside were dozens of faces of… well, her. Some were purple and gray and cyan and orange and lime. A whole spectrum of her. A headless mannequin lay slouched against the wall, tumbling over once ENA got the hint and bolted out of there. But someone was already waiting outside.

You knew that the ENA of a new story had entered your little valley, and you had been following her for an indeterminate amount of time. She walked a lot faster than the last one, and you lost track of which way she went pretty quickly. Dammit. And here you were hoping that the vermin would slow down and take a rest somewhere. This one had persistence. Stalking along ledges overlooking the shadowy valley, you gripped your face-splitting blade. It was always good to keep it close to you for when you wanted an apple without the skin, wanted to open a can or wanted to keep a trophy in honor of a chronicle you’d ended. You were surprised another was back so soon, if you were being honest—another anthology anomaly. This one looked like a girl scout or something, too. Fuck’s sake… Suddenly, an idea came to mind! If she was so far ahead of you, what if she was already at your cabin? You doubted an ENA would pass up the opportunity to inspect a new location, so you headed there with the only lead you had on her.

You were right. Call it hunter’s intuition. Small footprints, one jagged and one soft, lead into the darkness of your cabin. This was always the fun part. Skulking down the cliff face and silently creeping towards the cabin, you waited for your new visitor to emerge, and she took the bait. She came out, and running, before skidding to a stop not too far from you. She looked shell-shocked. When the blade extended, all she could get out was an “O-oh dear.”

ENA’s sides were in conflict for a moment, waves crashing together until a victor emerged dominant. You waited, looming over her and tilting your head. Finally, Meanie arrived to throw out an accusation with less confidence than she would’ve liked. “You… you killed them! Killed MEs!” You felt a frown begin to etch into your face. You gestured wildly, explaining that ENAs such as herself were vermin who degraded realms and caused chaos. You took on the job out of necessity. Nobody else seemed to care as much. Who was she to judge you if you happened to like it? ENA was silent, before Salesperson attempted to extend one last olive branch. A droning tension grew between you both. “You’ve already made dividends of plenty of MEs. S-so… Maybe we can work out a deal. You should take it. I am being serious, sir or madam… Because, if you don’t, I-I’m going to have to... let you go. So please…” Meanie was already itching for a fight, and truth be told, you were going to do the same thing regardless of what she said. What came next was inevitable. And so the chaos began.

You lunged at ENA, grabbing for just about anything you could sink a blade into. She bolted in the opposite direction, securing her hat to her head, and you gave chase. Your hatred for this blight of a creature gave you the speed to round the next corner with incredible speed, but ENA was waiting just beyond it and you were greeted with a handfan on a set course with your face. You skidded on your knees to avoid the incoming decapitation and whirled on her, knocking the fan out of her hand. Fucking die already. You attempted to follow through with your slash, which was a clumsier attempt than you intended. ENA’s clawed hand caught the blade and her pale, blocky knee winded you with an impact to the gut. You attempted to punch and kick at ENA, who was now on top of you with her claws a whirlwind, driving cuts into your arms and face and rending you. Meanie was crying. “You made me! You made me do this! I wasn’t doing anything and you made me!” Before long you had been reduced a smear of color on the ground and ENA had settled down, still shaking from the rush of combat. She had a job to do. Turning to exit the valley, she muttered one last thing: “Should have taken the deal.” Her phone rang, probably Froggy. So much for an easy shortcut. How was she going to wash this stuff out of her clothes?

But, also, the angels don’t have free will— not how humans do. Chuck can pop open their collective celestial cans, spit an idea in and by the end, it’s like they came up with it all on their own.

It got boring eons ago. All his previous drafts, Michael and Lucifer fighting to the death, Raphael and Gabriel choosing sides, both betraying and assisting…. It wore thin without any real surprises before Chuck gave up and admitted they were absolutely worthless for writing any stories with lasting drama. They’re the rough drafts of an amateur that Chuck doesn’t dare re-read nowadays. Total cringe.

But it’s useful now, he has to admit.

Chuck plants one simple seed about retrieving the Righteous Man from the Pit, mounting an epic offscreen attack on the Infernal Gates. It's easy, right? Angels: warriors of God. Demons: sinful cowards. Heck, he even rewrites the narrative to give them a deadline, gifting Dean the burden of being the very first of the Sixty-Six Seals.

And the angels, busy bees that they are, get right to brass tacks planning their siege.

(And oh but Chuck loves this part: when the pieces start to fall together and it all feels so natural, like conducting a live-wire orchestra, pulling strings from one plot thread to the next as the ripple effects play out—)

It’s not like any other version of season four he’s written. He’s flying blind. Normally, some angel would simply come visit Dean by this point— shift the world bigger than the demon-centric small-fry stuff that Sam-and-Dean have been getting all too competent with. Like any biblical story, true harbingers of exposition they are, that angel appears in Dean’s dreams. But usually, it’s just that: they patiently fill him in on the whole Righteous Man deal, and kick season four off the starting blocks.

But kicking off the season by going full Lazarus with Dean? Besieging Hell itself to punt Dean back onto the playing field?

Goldmine.

The glow of the TV flickers across the dimly lit living room as you stretch out on the couch, absently flipping through channels. The quiet hum of late-night programming fills the space, lulling you into a comfortable daze—until your phone buzzes against the coffee table.

Unknown number.

With an exaggerated sigh, you pick up. "Hello?" you answer, voice dripping with false innocence just in case it's someone calling for your parents.

A familiar, distorted voice purrs, "What's your favorite scary mo—"

"Billy, I swear to God, if you call me with that voice modulator one more time—" You sigh, flicking through channels on the TV with nothing good to watch.

There's a beat of silence, then an audible exhale on the other end. "How do you always know?"

A second voice, more excitable, crackles through the speaker. "Maybe 'cause you're obsessed, dude."

"Says the guy who made me call her," Billy mutters, annoyed, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice for his best friend.

You roll your eyes at your boyfriends; this wasn't the first nor last time they'd try this. "What do you two idiots want?"

There's some shuffling on the line before Stu takes over. "Oh, not much. Just thought we'd check in." the tone of his voice wasn't nonchalant. It was lingering — they were up to something.

You frown, shifting upright as you place the remote on the coffee table, now on high alert and already having a feeling about where this is going. "Check in from where?"

Billy's voice drops, amusement and a hint of dark excitement laced through every word. "Outside." he purrs, and you can hear the subtle sounds of their breaths and footsteps over the phone.

Your stomach tightens at the simplicity of his answer. "Outside where?"

"Your house."

You lurch forward, pulling the curtain aside slightly as you look outside, checking the area. The yard is dark, the street silent, but that doesn't mean anything—not with them.

"You were gonna break in, weren't you?" you accuse, already knowing the answer. They knew you were alone tonight, your parents were at some get-together with their friends.

"Technically, it's not breaking in if we have a key," Stu sing-songs almost mockingly.

Your breath catches both confusion and disbelief. "You do not have a—"

The soft click of your front door unlocking echoes through the quiet house as your pulse stutters.

The door swings open slowly, revealing Stu's ever-present grin as he steps inside like he owns the place. Billy follows right behind, closing the door with a deliberate slowness. Their eyes gleam with mischief as they take in your reaction.

"Surprise!" Stu announces, arms spread wide as he rushes to you and you run much like the victim in every horror movie. Leaving the taller boy to chance and tackle you to the couch, pinning you under his weight.

"Are you two serious?" You groan as Stu's hands are tight around your wrists holding them above your head on the couch, leaving you squirming and glaring. "I could have called the cops!"

Billy tilts his head, smirk widening as he takes his time to get to the couch, leaving your 'capture' up to Stu. "What's wrong? Didn't expect company?"

"Not uninvited company who thinks home invasion is flirting!" you snap, annoyed at being manhandled, though the stirring in your stomach disagrees with that sentiment.

Stu lets an exaggerated sigh into your neck, biting the skin there. Stretching himself over your body like he belongs there. "Aw, c'mon, babe. You love us."

Billy leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable. "And you wouldn't call the cops on us."

You try to free your arms from Stu's bruising grip, meeting Billy's gaze with a challenge. "And why not?"

He doesn't blink as he smirks, his dark gaze roaming your body under Stu, his inner thoughts and desires clear. "Because then we'd have to teach you a lesson."

Stu grins, tossing a look at his best friend before they both glance back at you with matching grins of amusement. "A really fun lesson."

Your heart pounds—not entirely from fear.

The air in the room thickens a cocktail of tension and something dangerously enticing. Stu's weight presses you deeper into the couch, his teeth grazing your neck again—harder this time, just enough to make you gasp.

Billy pushes off the wall, his slow, deliberate steps closing the distance until he looms over you both, his shadow stretching across the flickering TV screen.

"Lesson, huh?" you manage, voice sharp despite how your body betrays you, squirming less out of resistance now and more out of instinct. "What's that gonna look like, Billy? You gonna bore me to death with another movie rant?"

Billy's smirk twists into something darker, his eyes glinting with that unhinged edge you've learned to both dread and crave. He crouches beside the couch, close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

"Oh, I've got better ideas than that," he murmurs, voice low and syrupy with menace. "But you keep running that mouth, and I might let Stu gag you instead."

Stu snickers, shifting so his knee nudges between your thighs, his grip on your wrists tightening as he leans in to whisper against your ear. "I vote gag. Bet you'd look real pretty with something stuffed in there." His breath is hot, his tone teasing, but there's a gleam in his eyes that says he's only half-joking.

You roll your eyes huffing, fighting the flush creeping up your neck. "You two are psychopaths. You know that, right?"

"Only for you," Stu chirps, nipping at your earlobe before glancing at Billy for approval—like a kid showing off a new trick.

Billy's gaze doesn't waver, locked on yours as his fingers trail down your jaw, lingering at your throat. "Psychopaths who know exactly what you like," he says, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point, feeling it jump.

The words hang there, heavy and loaded, and for a moment, the room feels like it's holding its breath. The TV drones on in the background—some cheesy slasher flick, the kind they'd mock relentlessly, but it's drowned out by the thudding in your chest.

You could fight harder, scream, kick, call their bluff. But you don't. And they know you won't. "Fine," you say at last, voice steady despite the chaos they've sparked in you. "Now what?"

Stu's grin widens, victorious, and he releases your wrists only to slide his hands down your arms, settling them on your hips. "Now," he says, voice dripping with glee, "we have some fun. House is ours tonight, right?"

Billy straightens up, his expression unreadable but his intent clear as he tilts his head toward the stairs. "Upstairs," he commands, already moving like he owns the place. "Unless you'd rather we drag you."

You scoff, shoving Stu off you with a mix of annoyance and adrenaline-fueled excitement. "You wish," you mutter, brushing past them both as you head for the stairs, their eyes burning into your back.

Halfway up, you pause, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk of your own. "But don't think I'm making this easy for you."

Stu laughs, bounding up after you like an eager puppy. At the same time, Billy follows at a slower pace, his stare predatory and patient. "Oh, babe," Stu calls, voice laced with dark promise, "we wouldn't have it any other way."

The door to your room creaks open, and as the three of you step inside, the night stretches out before you—equal parts game, nightmare, and something neither of them will let you forget come morning.

It never bothered him that his pack didn’t like to regular partake in his— “hobby.”

Dont get mountain wrong—sometimes the ghouls would pop in (heavy emphasis on dew), but not often. It was a treat he liked to enjoy alone the most, though.

The way they would gurgle and squirm, fight and bite. None yet knew they were doomed from the start, fighting against the very element of the woods surrounding them itself.

They would beg and scream and cry, call him horrendous things. But he would never hurt the innocent. The babes or mothers. The pure hearted.

The vile things he would hunt for sport weren’t good, they were the previous preyers being preyed upon—it made things so much sweeter for him. But not always did he cater to his mortal “morals.”

Mountain would really make them struggle. Sometimes he would hand them a little extra leeway to give them some hope; he’d tease them by leaving a key out or door unlocked. But truly, when they escaped: that’s when the fun REALLY began.

He liked using a butcher knife to harvest the meat. He had his own meat cooler he built near his cabin where he kept venison and other meats in their “off” season. Classical music was his favorite to play while he skinned them, though.

The ghouls thought it was pretty attractive too, they never tattled. When papa asked why the siblings spoke of mountain’s

And if they so happened to stop by and notice a distinctly human-fleshed torso on his hook, they couldn’t help but be distracted by the way he blinked his eyes dreamily and offered them a bowl of hid tantalizing freshly procured stew.

Frater couldn’t help but cater to his whims either, as he kept the ministry particularly safe aside from the few stragglers. But even though he loved his ghoul, it didn’t help that he had to explain to his colleagues and mother why they all came into the office to a human finger with a rat-gemed ring on it on the pope’s desk.

But even after all of this, even after it being one of the most well kept secrets among the pack, none could deny how sultry a good hunt made the earth ghoul.

inspired by an american werewolf in london (1981)

warnings (dead dove: do not eat):

blood/gore: pretty par for the course. it's horror, it's werewolf, it's going to have blood and gore.

death: again, it's horror. opening chapter has a major character death. deaths scattered throughout.

body grotesqueness: for transformation/body horror, this is pretty common. part of horror is making the familiar horrific, and what is more familiar than the human body. anyway, this is a werewolf story, so if you think transformation sequences might be gross, don't read.

angst: there's a lot of it. it should be the least of your worries.

suicidal thoughts/ideation/actions: it's a pretty major plot point in the original movie, so i'm making sure to handle it in a way that is meaningful and respectful.

if any of those irk you, don't worry! i have plenty of "normal" stuff here on the blog.

if you read this, with full knowledge of the warnings, and choose to harass me or speak unkindly, i will block you. i have spelled very clearly what to expect, and if you're uncomfortable, don't read it.

summary: After a freak accident during a late-night hike in the mountains outside Vancouver, Quinn Hughes wakes up in the hospital with no memory of what attacked him—only that Petey didn’t survive. As he tries to return to normal life and dwindling hope for the Canucks' playoff push, Quinn begins to suffer terrifying nightmares, blackouts, and a creeping hunger he can’t explain. As the full moon approaches, he starts to realize the truth: he’s not entirely human anymore. Haunted by the ghost of his fallen friend and hunted by something darker, Quinn must confront the beast within before it destroys everything he loves—including the only person who can save him from himself.

quinn hughes x lydia mckenzie

🏔️ moodboards

general ☾ lydia ☾ quinn

📿 chapters

1 ☾ 2 ☾ 3 ☾ 4 ☾ 5 ☾ 6 ☾ 7 ☾ 8 ☾ 9 ☾ 10 ☾ 11 ☾ epilogue

tags: @verycoolusername1 @luvoblivixus @tomskookie @nic0-hischier @skepvids @how-what-why-huh @devilinpradaheels @r0wdymaize86 @summert158 @lolatokki @captainhuggys @camiesully @sarcasm-and-stiles @kkmstblog @alex-wotton @f1dump23 @joesnumerouno @beenucks @heartsforjh @silverxxs-world @macklin-celebrini-71 @sacredtheslay @kei943 @emsdevs @quillycrow @greensnakegoblep @glitteryturtledeer @smiley-roos @panandhockeyobsessed @falsegod-03 @huggy43bear @rainyvalentines @persephonesportal @smutwzrd @hwalllllllelujah