ONCE UPON A TIME A BOY WENT INTO THE WOODS HE BROUGHT WITH HIM HIS LOVE HIS FRIENDS AND HIS SISTER THEY WALKED THROUGH THE DARKNESS AND CAME TO THE HOUSE WHERE ONLY THE DEAD LIVED AND ONE BY ONE THEY WERE TAKEN
SCOTT SHELLY LINDA CHERYL
ALL EXCEPT ASHLEY
[ The text on that final line squirms. It rolls and glitches in a jerky rhythm, the pace of unsteady laughter. ]
BUT WHY? WHY DID HE SURVIVE? HOW COULD HE ALONE SEE PAST THE DARK?
[ Fine. He's up. In an instant he's up, scowling at the screen. Something's wrong with his eyes, because it's--something's wrong with his screen, because it's-- ]
Who the fuck is this?
Ash, if you want to talk, we can just talk, I want to talk to you.
[ He wants it to be Ash so that there's no one else who knows. He wants it to be someone else who knows, though, because his foundations are so shaken with Ash. ]
[ As Quentin watches the screen, it becomes clear these are no ordinary text messages. The words are being typed out in real time, uninterrupted, one letter at a time. ]
ASH DOESN'T WANT YOU ANYMORE UNCLEAN BOY WEAK BOY STUPID BOY EVEN NOW YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND US BUT YOU KNOW NOTHING, QUENTIN SMITH YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING
[ The seventh line glitches out again. This time, the words run together like a nest of wriggling black worms, incomprehensible as soon as the final letter appears. It's the closest the text comes to sneering at Quentin. ]
YOUR PRIDE STAINS YOUR FILTHY SOUL WE CAN SMELL IT ALL THE WAY DOWN IN THE CELLAR
[ And for that matter, Quentin wobbles to his feet and starts a march away from the fire. Someone's on the other end, so he calls the number. Hitting call makes him sick to his stomach. Nerves. Connection. His mouth feels grimy. ]
[ The dial tone pulses in Quentin's ear. After the fourth ring, somebody picks up.
"Hey Scott, what's this place like anyway?"
It's a young woman's voice, bright and curious. The wind rushes past her, moving at great speed, accompanied by the distant chirping of birds, the crunch of unpaved asphalt, the purr of an engine. The sound of the mountains on a crisp fall day.
One by one, several other voices chime in, engaged in conversation.
"Well, the guy that's renting it says it's an old place," a man smoothly replies. Cocky, headstrong. "Little run-down, but it's right up in the mountains. And the best part is we get it so cheap!"
"Yeah, why are we getting it cheap?"
"Dunno, might be in real bad shape."
"You mean nobody's seen it yet?" a familiar voice asks, skeptical. Compared to how she sounded when she was talking to Quentin from underneath the cellar hatch, this Cheryl Williams could be a different person. For that matter, so could her brother.
"Well, it might not be so bad," Ash gently cuts in. "Actually, it might be kinda nice!" he adds, emboldened when Linda murmurs her approval beside him. ]
[ He makes it out to the dark of the woods while he listens. Back home, it would annoy him to be hearing a scene over the phone, like someone crank-called and set the mic next to a television. But in the fog, there are no mundane movies, and those voices--
[ Out of reach of the light, he stops walking when that voice sounds off. His lungs ache listening to it. Oh no. Oh no. ]
[ The voices of the dead chatter in Quentin's ear. Scott says that whatever state the cabin's in, it can't be any worse than his and Ash's apartment. Shelly, the last passenger in the car and Scott's girlfriend, sullenly agrees with him; there's a container of chili buried in the very back of their fridge that's been there since December, and she should know because that's her container. Linda talks about her classes. She's pre-med and close to graduating, and once they get back to East Lansing she'll get a sample of the chili and take it to a lab to see what kind of bioweapon Ash and Scotty have on their hands.
Ash sheepishly agrees to help her. It would give him an excuse to clean. And, he adds in a quieter voice with the sense of a smile, it could be fun. Who knows what they'll find?
It could be fun. Ash's voice seamlessly melts into a long, drilling scream. A sudden flare of white light flickers against Quentin's cheek as the call screen changes. Now it's a video.
Ash is on his hands and knees in the living room of the cabin, beating the floor with his fists. Screaming through the pain. Screaming himself hoarse. His clothes are still bloody in the places where where Quentin dismembered him. His voice rackets through the phone's tiny speakers, maddened with grief and fury.
Even when one of his hands finally gives out, he continues to pummel the ground with the other, slamming it into the floorboards, up and down like the stroke of a bloody hammer, over and over until he's left shivering and huddled on the floor. Ash curls into himself, panting, and utters a cracked, choked giggle that turns into a long, broken sob. ]
[ It's a video, probably, a memory. His strong sense of dream logic tells him that much, but it reminds him too: it's a phone call. Someone is there. That feels better. If it's a call he could actually do something about it instead of watching, churning-- ]
Okay. Okay enough. [ Which way is the cabin anyway? Could he make it out there tonight? His ribs still ache but he spins slowly, trying to pick out the right direction. ] I see him, I get it, just stop. Ash?
[ The video continues. There's no progress bar, no option to skip or pause the feed. Even as the phone vibrates with a new text notification and the screen whites out as the message pops up, Ash's voice can still be heard, even if not fully understood. Some of the words he brokenly hiccups sound like names.
Cheryl, Scott, Shelly. Linda — Oh, Linda. ]
STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP
[ The word mockingly cycles down the screen. ]
IT NEVER STOPS EVEN IF HE LEAVES THIS HOUSE HE WILL NEVER LEAVE THIS HOUSE
[ Above Quentin's head, the trees groan. The branches move like claws rubbing together in the wind. ]
[ Never leave the house, but he's supposed to be the one that left, the lucky one that slips away--Maybe with a little help from a friend. It has to stop, if it followed Ash here and Quentin cut the damn thing out of him, it has to stop. ] Why?
[ Fun, as fun as flayed knuckles smashed into the floorboards. As fun as pulling off skin with your teeth. Anger comes hot and comforting compared to the nauseous fear; he leans into that. ]
Fuck you. Fuck all of you, I did the ritual, you have to leave him the fuck alone!
[ Again, that endless scrolling. Each line quavers more uncontrollably than the last. Quentin has said a lot of things since that first message, maybe more than what should be advisable given the circumstances, but this. This.
This is by far the funniest. ]
THERE WAS NO RITUAL THERE WAS NO MAGIC NO MIRACLES ALL YOU DID WAS SPILL INNOCENT BLOOD
[ Breathed, shaking his head. He spent months. He did the research. He made deals, shaking in Lisa Sherwood's hovel and wringing his fingers out of their joints as she took a hot knife into his mouth. He trapped and drugged and ripped apart his friend, his friend, his own friend, it can't have been for nothing.
[ He moves deeper into the woods, scouring for the path to the cabin, leaking (praying): ] no no no no no no...
THERE WAS NO RITUAL HOW COULD THERE BE IF WE HAD NEVER TAKEN HIM?
[ In the video, Ash has stopped sobbing. Tap out of the message, and Quentin will see that he's begun to stir from his place on the floor. He wipes his tears. He has the same look in his eyes as he did when Quentin had him on his back in the basement in Backwater. Desperate, determined, agonized — and now, pissed.
He picks himself up and starts staggering to the front of the cabin. The messages continue in the background. ]
THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ASHLEY WILLIAMS HIS DESTINY WAS INKED IN BLOOD AND BOUND IN FLESH MILLENNIA AGO WE ARE ENTWINED FOREVER
BUT YOU, QUENTIN SMITH
[ The video flickers to black. ]
YOU'RE JUST A LITTLE BOY WITH A DIRTY SOUL NOT EVEN THE MAGGOTS WANT YOU AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE
[ It wiggles, worms somewhere deep. He'd shove it off as lies, as manipulations, just something he needs to clarify with Ash, his Ash, not the mad person these videos keep showing him. But the last wobbling words grinds against something so deep, so sore, so true that it rings through his body like a twinged nerve.
[ Maybe the rest is true, too.
[ He stills where he stands, face contorting at the phone, at the overcast sky. He twists the device in his hands so that the screen hides in his palm. What has he done? ]
[ The phone rumbles gleefully in his hand, spitting truths Quentin might not want to see. But eventually he will. He will. When he pulls his palm away from the screen, he has one final message waiting for him: ]
THE CHOSEN ONE MIGHT NOT LOVE YOU ANYMORE BUT WE DO WE'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU QUENTIN SMITH
YOU'LL ALWAYS HAVE A PLACE DOWN IN THE CELLAR WITH US ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS UNLOCK THE DOOR AND LOOK INSIDE
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
HE BROUGHT WITH HIM HIS LOVE
HIS FRIENDS
AND HIS SISTER
THEY WALKED THROUGH THE DARKNESS AND CAME TO THE HOUSE WHERE ONLY THE DEAD LIVED
AND ONE BY ONE
THEY WERE TAKEN
SCOTT
SHELLY
LINDA
CHERYL
ALL EXCEPT ASHLEY
[ The text on that final line squirms. It rolls and glitches in a jerky rhythm, the pace of unsteady laughter. ]
BUT WHY? WHY DID HE SURVIVE? HOW COULD HE ALONE SEE PAST THE DARK?
THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW ISN'T IT?
no subject
Who the fuck is this?
Ash, if you want to talk, we can just talk, I want to talk to you.
[ He wants it to be Ash so that there's no one else who knows. He wants it to be someone else who knows, though, because his foundations are so shaken with Ash. ]
no subject
ASH DOESN'T WANT YOU ANYMORE
UNCLEAN BOY
WEAK BOY
STUPID BOY
EVEN NOW YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND US
BUT YOU KNOW NOTHING, QUENTIN SMITH
YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING
[ The seventh line glitches out again. This time, the words run together like a nest of wriggling black worms, incomprehensible as soon as the final letter appears. It's the closest the text comes to sneering at Quentin. ]
YOUR PRIDE STAINS YOUR FILTHY SOUL
WE CAN SMELL IT ALL THE WAY DOWN IN THE CELLAR
no subject
[ And for that matter, Quentin wobbles to his feet and starts a march away from the fire. Someone's on the other end, so he calls the number. Hitting call makes him sick to his stomach. Nerves. Connection. His mouth feels grimy. ]
no subject
"Hey Scott, what's this place like anyway?"
It's a young woman's voice, bright and curious. The wind rushes past her, moving at great speed, accompanied by the distant chirping of birds, the crunch of unpaved asphalt, the purr of an engine. The sound of the mountains on a crisp fall day.
One by one, several other voices chime in, engaged in conversation.
"Well, the guy that's renting it says it's an old place," a man smoothly replies. Cocky, headstrong. "Little run-down, but it's right up in the mountains. And the best part is we get it so cheap!"
"Yeah, why are we getting it cheap?"
"Dunno, might be in real bad shape."
"You mean nobody's seen it yet?" a familiar voice asks, skeptical. Compared to how she sounded when she was talking to Quentin from underneath the cellar hatch, this Cheryl Williams could be a different person. For that matter, so could her brother.
"Well, it might not be so bad," Ash gently cuts in. "Actually, it might be kinda nice!" he adds, emboldened when Linda murmurs her approval beside him. ]
no subject
[ Out of reach of the light, he stops walking when that voice sounds off. His lungs ache listening to it. Oh no. Oh no. ]
no subject
Ash sheepishly agrees to help her. It would give him an excuse to clean. And, he adds in a quieter voice with the sense of a smile, it could be fun. Who knows what they'll find?
It could be fun. Ash's voice seamlessly melts into a long, drilling scream. A sudden flare of white light flickers against Quentin's cheek as the call screen changes. Now it's a video.
Ash is on his hands and knees in the living room of the cabin, beating the floor with his fists. Screaming through the pain. Screaming himself hoarse. His clothes are still bloody in the places where where Quentin dismembered him. His voice rackets through the phone's tiny speakers, maddened with grief and fury.
Even when one of his hands finally gives out, he continues to pummel the ground with the other, slamming it into the floorboards, up and down like the stroke of a bloody hammer, over and over until he's left shivering and huddled on the floor. Ash curls into himself, panting, and utters a cracked, choked giggle that turns into a long, broken sob. ]
no subject
Okay. Okay enough. [ Which way is the cabin anyway? Could he make it out there tonight? His ribs still ache but he spins slowly, trying to pick out the right direction. ] I see him, I get it, just stop. Ash?
no subject
Cheryl, Scott, Shelly. Linda — Oh, Linda. ]
STOP
STOP
STOP
STOP STOP STOP STOP
[ The word mockingly cycles down the screen. ]
IT NEVER STOPS
EVEN IF HE LEAVES THIS HOUSE HE WILL NEVER LEAVE THIS HOUSE
[ Above Quentin's head, the trees groan. The branches move like claws rubbing together in the wind. ]
ASK US
no subject
Why can't he leave the house?
no subject
THE SAVIOR IS SO MUCH FUN TO PLAY WITH
[ Savior. The word jitters on the screen. ]
no subject
Fuck you. Fuck all of you, I did the ritual, you have to leave him the fuck alone!
no subject
RITUAL
RITUAL
RITUAL
RITUAL
RITUAL
[ Again, that endless scrolling. Each line quavers more uncontrollably than the last. Quentin has said a lot of things since that first message, maybe more than what should be advisable given the circumstances, but this. This.
This is by far the funniest. ]
THERE WAS NO RITUAL
THERE WAS NO MAGIC
NO MIRACLES
ALL YOU DID WAS SPILL INNOCENT BLOOD
no subject
[ Breathed, shaking his head. He spent months. He did the research. He made deals, shaking in Lisa Sherwood's hovel and wringing his fingers out of their joints as she took a hot knife into his mouth. He trapped and drugged and ripped apart his friend, his friend, his own friend, it can't have been for nothing.
[ He moves deeper into the woods, scouring for the path to the cabin, leaking (praying): ] no no no no no no...
no subject
HOW COULD THERE BE IF WE HAD NEVER TAKEN HIM?
[ In the video, Ash has stopped sobbing. Tap out of the message, and Quentin will see that he's begun to stir from his place on the floor. He wipes his tears. He has the same look in his eyes as he did when Quentin had him on his back in the basement in Backwater. Desperate, determined, agonized — and now, pissed.
He picks himself up and starts staggering to the front of the cabin. The messages continue in the background. ]
THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ASHLEY WILLIAMS
HIS DESTINY WAS INKED IN BLOOD AND BOUND IN FLESH MILLENNIA AGO
WE ARE ENTWINED FOREVER
BUT YOU, QUENTIN SMITH
[ The video flickers to black. ]
YOU'RE JUST A LITTLE BOY WITH A DIRTY SOUL
NOT EVEN THE MAGGOTS WANT YOU AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE
no subject
[ Maybe the rest is true, too.
[ He stills where he stands, face contorting at the phone, at the overcast sky. He twists the device in his hands so that the screen hides in his palm. What has he done? ]
no subject
THE CHOSEN ONE MIGHT NOT LOVE YOU ANYMORE BUT WE DO
WE'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
QUENTIN SMITH
YOU'LL ALWAYS HAVE A PLACE DOWN IN THE CELLAR WITH US
ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS UNLOCK THE DOOR AND
LOOK
INSIDE