3
3I guess I’m what you’d call an addict. Junkie, even. Alcohol? No, I don’t touch the stuff. I drink it, hahaha. Don’t need hands to do that, hence the punchline. Drugs? I mean, I dabble. Recreationally. Whatever you got, if it’s free, I’ll shoot it up, lick it, smoke it, stick under my eyelid, snort it right into my aorta. And I’m not particularly picky either. Captain Cody, Skag, Mud, Fidgeridoo, Herbal Speedball, Organ Oil, Demmies, Miss Emma, Kickers, Mrs. O, Yog-Sothamines, XTC, Sneeze, R-Balls; if you have them, I’ll take them. Still not addicted to the stuff though.
No, my one and only addiction is exceedingly simple, yet intolerably hard to satisfy; FUCKED UP SHIT. I’m not talking about your everyday dark web snuff mind you. I need the real deal. Something about my brain's incapability to shoot me up with dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins (the D.O.S.E), according to several online doctors. So it’s a medical thing. Still haven’t scored a prescription for it though.
In any case, my medical condition forces me to deep dive into the fuckiest corners of society. You have your dark underground clubs, murder parties, subteranean sickofests, torture theatres, decapitation diners, and the odd organ orgies, but what I really enjoy, what makes my D.O.S.E overflow, is the ones you never hear about. The ones you have to find. No invitations, no RSVPs. One day they just pop up like a popcorn baby, and before you know it, they’re gone.
I’ve been to a few of these over the years, and they never disappoint. I already told you about the Baby Killer Incident, yeah? Then you know what I’m talking about. Fucked up shit!
I happened upon this particular one by Chance. Chance being this stripper I know that’s into some ritualistic cannibalism or other (I don’t ask), and long story short she knew the sicko who was hosting the event. I was hesitant at first, this particular sicko placing fairly high on my shitlist of sickos, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers and all. Not to mention that my D.O.S.E-withdrawals were flaring up, making me in essence nothing more than a shivering sack of suicidal human tissue on the best of days.
So there I was in an abandoned mall, shivering sack of suicidal human tissue, idly accepting assorted drugs from random passer-by deviants taking a pity on me, when this guy comes up to me, all dressed up in a pink hazmat suit with a freaky unicorn horn (which, when I look back on it, was probably a massive drill-shaped dildo) stuck to his helmet, and he goes Hey Tilly (that’s my name, Tilly), Hey Tilly, he says. I hear you like fucked up shit.
Man, word gets around, I think to myself, but at the same time these loud fucking alarm bells starts going off in my head, accompanied by Soviet Union-amounts of red flags. How the fuck do you know my name? I ask.
Your ears, he answers. The guy told me to look for a man with fucked up ears.
Well, you found’em, I say, making sure to twirl around all ballerina-like, highlighting my ugly-ass ear-stumps. And what fucking guy gave you my name?
That guy, he mumbles idly, not actually pointing to anyone. Say, what happened to them?
10
10
13
5
I run a private campground. It’s been in my family for generations. For those of you with a rich family history, I’m sure you know how stories tend to accumulate. They get passed along haphazardly from one generation to the next, distorting as they do, and the truth grows muddy along the way. Land is like that too, except instead of gathering stories about Aunt Jodi’s scandalous first husband, it gathers monsters.
If you’re new here, you should really start at the beginning and if you’re totally lost, this might help.
There’s a lot to do to maintain a campground and I’ve been having to do a lot of the work myself around here. I don’t want my winter staff going into the deep woods without a good reason right now. Normally I’d send Bryan, as he has the dogs to protect him, but those are on loan. Also, I haven’t seen a lot of Bryan. He shows up, he gets the work done that he needs to, and then he just… vanishes for a while. I don’t know if he’s visiting his dogs or the fairy or both. And now that I think about it, Bryan tends to make himself scarce throughout the year. I guess I haven’t paid that close of attention before. He still gets the job done just fine so does it really matter if he’s off visiting his fairy bff in his downtime?
Unfortunately, even with the spiders’ help, I’m still battling the thorns in my chest. It’s taking a lot of my strength away and I’m getting winded easier. It’s made getting rid of these accursed things a priority. I know the fairy said they’d go away when they killed the fomorian, but as many of you have pointed out, they’re taking their sweet time going about that.
I do have a theory about the current stalemate, though. The fomorian probably wants the thorns to cover more of the campground. The fairy probably wants the sun to return, being of the company of Lugh and all. And both of them probably want less treacherous footing for their steeds.
I see the dapple gray stallion’s hoofprints in the snow sometimes. It makes it easy to avoid. I just turn around and immediately go in the opposite direction.
With this surefire way of avoiding my nemesis, I figured it was time to try a gamble. The fairy initially told me that I could try finding a way to banish the thorns by seeking out another entity of disease. I’ve taken that to mean the gummy bears. Their presence has brought sickness and rot before. The only problem was I really wasn’t sure how to find anything out from them. Did I use their bodies in an elixir? Did they have the answers themselves? There was a human shaped gummy bear, at least until one of Byran’s dogs splattered it. Perhaps there’s more intelligence among them than I thought.
I decided to try out one of Mattias’s strategies. He learned a lot about these creatures simply by being close to them. Following their paths through the woods.
I figured the worst that would happen is I’d wander around the forest for a bit and maybe feel a little stupid.
...okay, that’s really not the worst that could happen, considering the upheaval my land is experiencing, but barring any other catastrophe it wasn’t that dangerous of a plan.
23“I don’t care how you do it, Mr. Klein. You can shoot him in the dick for all I care, just as long as you get the kill. Both of them,” I explained evenly.
He cried from the other end of the phone. I hate it when that happens.
I sighed. “Their names are Carl and Lucy, and they live at 1913 – are you listening to me, Mr. Klein?”
“I can’t do it, Invictus,” he sobbed. “I can’t murder random people just because you tell me to.”
I let the silence linger before I spoke again. “You and I both know that’s not true, Mr. Klein. You’ve been doing it for five years, and you’ve had this same little emotional meltdown for each of those five years. Just skip the fucking crying for once and go straight to the part where you shoot the people I tell you to.”
He whimpered from the other end of the line like a pathetic little puppy. “Why?” He asked meekly.
“What did you say?” I whispered back.
“Why? Of everyone on earth, why are you forcing me to murder innocent prisoners? Why do you keep threatening to kill me if I don’t play out this sick fantasy for you?”
I was ten years old, hiding in the closet so that my dads wouldn’t know I was listening.
My Mommy used to tell me stories about the Long-Haired Woman. She finds out when bad kids misbehave and she eats them. Eats them! Munches on their bones, slurps their blood, and tears off their skin with her teeth. Mommy says her mouth is too wide for her face and filled with too many teeth. She says her skin is so sunken in you can see her bones poking through. Her nails are long and sharp and even though her eyes bulge out of her skull, they’re so dark you can’t see the whites. But the reason why she’s called the Long-Haired Woman is because of the long patches of black hair that cling to her scalp like bunches of stringy, oily weeds.
The Long-Haired Woman is very scary to me. I don’t want to get eaten by her, so I always make sure to do my chores. I’m a very good girl, all the time. I’m nice to Mommy and I never forget my homework or raise my voice. I’m very scared of being eaten. It’s the scariest thing in the world, so I act like a good girl, always. That way, I won’t be eaten.
One time I went with Mommy to get me a haircut. Then, since it was such a nice day, we went to the park and saw a fluffy little doggy. I asked if I could pet it and I put my hand on his head. He sniffed me and licked me and it made me giggle. But then I realized something was wrong. He wasn’t being nice to me, he was trying to test if I was tasty! The doggy was going to eat me! I pulled my hand away and cried until Mommy took me home.
When I got home, I worked super extra hard on my chores so Mommy wouldn’t get mad and call me a bad girl. After that, I didn’t wanna go to the park anymore. What if another dog tried to eat me? No thank you, I’ll stick to my room and my house and the garden outside. And if I need a haircut, I can always ask Mommy.
Sometimes when I watch the other kids play outside, I feel jealous. It’s okay, though, because they’ll probably get eaten-- but I know I won’t! Besides, there’s a nice boy I know who visits me in the garden. His name is Auggy and he’s very fun to play with.
But then one day we were playing and he asked me if he could try something he saw his mommy and daddy do at breakfast. I was confused, but I said ok! Then he started leaning in real close. He puckered his mouth out and moved it towards mine. At first, I was confused. But then I realized something was wrong. Why was he moving his mouth so close? He was trying to eat me! I screamed, hit him and ran away. How did I not realize before? If doggies can eat people, and the Long-Haired Woman eats people too, then of course other people want to eat people! They want to eat me!
After that I didn't go outside. Outside is where people are, and they might eat me, and I don’t want to get eaten. More than anything else. It’s the worst thing that could happen. So I stayed inside my room all day, except for when I went into the living room to do my chores and into the kitchen to eat food with Mommy and Daddy.
But then one day I was eating stew for dinner with Mommy and Daddy. It was really good, but it was a lot of food! Afterwards I felt really full and really tired. But then I realized something was wrong. Why were they giving me so much food? They were fattening me up! They must be planning to eat me!
Afterwards, I was very scared. I spent all night thinking about what to do. If I didn’t figure out how to stop it from happening, my parents were gonna eat me! I was scared, so scared, but then I thought up a plan. I thought of something that I never thought about before.
If I ate Mommy and Daddy, wouldn’t that mean that they couldn’t eat me?
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