Threads: Hellmartyr 04 - Blog Posts

𝔻𝔼𝔸ℝ 𝔼𝔻𝔻𝕀𝔼 𝕄𝕌ℕ𝕊𝕆ℕ,                               (hellmartyr​)

𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃-𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘. three bodies fished from the east end of the bay were breaking news on every local station. each of the gruesome trio were in varying stages of decomposition, alluding to an unspeakable verdict that the beautiful berkeley-oakland shoreline had been a dumping ground for some time. images of police boats, thick-bodied men in wetsuits, and figures cocooned in white shrouds looped the screen as a done-up broadcaster delivered a sobering report in vivacious fuchsia lipstick. kgo’s on-site reporter was interviewing the most hang ten looking dude. he wore a white crop top with pismo beach airbrushed across a muted neon sunset, homebrew cut-offs, and imported havaianas. teal clubmasters pinned back his fluffy blond fringe. the carefree nature of his taste failed to belay the anxiety clearly etched on his tanned face. one of his arms was wrapped protectively around the shoulders of a distraught brunette fastened close to his side.

      ❝ we got another night stalker on our hands, ❝ an unvarnished mix of mission brogue and inland drawl crumbled into the mic, ❝ who’s protecting the girls in this town, you know? like, were they students? sucks, man. it really does. say bye to your mom and dad, come out here to the california dream, pay all this tuition, then get butchered and dumped like your dreams meant nothing. who thinks they got the right to do this, you know? it’s scary. who’s gonna protect these girls? ❞

      the reporter’s response was robustly flaccid. she was there for the ratings game. she lived somewhere safe like albany or palo alto, seemingly out of a killer’s reach.

      ❝ it’s just awful, ❞ the woman beside the surfer boy whimpered as the mic was unceremoniously dropped into her face. fingers painted tulip pink cupped around her mouth to hide her grisly expression of heartbreak. her voice, so lost in the croak of sobbing, nearly drowned in the howl of onshore wind.

      leaned over a counter not too far from where the interview took place was eddie, fingers intertwined in a pensive barrier as tragedy once again surrounded him. the interviewer, the interviewees, the human wall that collected around them protectively, the police, the bay area denizens — they’d all believe this was done by a man. a man with his wires crossed. one who only formed a connection with someone when he watched the light fade from their eyes.

      chances are they were right. the capacity for great evil rested with mankind. and the atrocities didn’t stop at the boundaries of reality. spring of last year proved there was more to human wickedness than loose screws scattered on the floor. the unfathomable was real, organic, breeding and feeding off happily boring lives. its intentions ran deeper than cruelty, illness, or a maddening cocktail of two.

      that night in wayne’s trailer was a floodgate. the laws of nature were placebo and the truth was far more frightening than anything fantasy could conjure. vecna was real. angry red reminders across his abdomen and jaw evoked how much closer humanity was to hell than heaven. he was no leviathan in the sea or ancient being tethered to a shell, but a mortal man who wanted the world to burn the inside out. and if that was truth, what other unspeakable things hungered for warm bodies?

      low-bearing shadows skittering across the road, dark shapes beneath the waves, glittering eyes watching from the corner of an empty room.

      the lich’s curse, had it followed them to california? — the beating of a thousand cold, black wings, the hot red sting of teeth a thousand more — had they brought him here?

      a quiet shuffle behind the bedroom door broke eddie free of his nightmarish daydream. the joyous sound of tom getting pulverized by jerry replaced the macabre as he quickly flipped the channel.

      news to be shared when the day wasn’t so fresh and cherry bright.

baby, it’s halloween ! — @greenscrunchy / phoebe bridgers

      foreboding so heady moments before vanished without a trace as chrissy exited their room. how was it that she outshined the autumnal sun sneaking in from the balcony and sent eddie’s heart skimming across his ribs like a skipping stone. a bear-like yawn, a siren song, messy hair holier than a halo.

      his own expression lit up as eddie unwittingly straightened his posture. ❝ ah, there she is. my favorite ghoul emerges from her crypt. just in time for a morning bite. ❞ he emphasized the last word with an exaggerated gnash of teeth. a playfully extravagant gesture indicated the souvenir plate on the table, its offerings awaiting her inspection.

      a medley of blackberries and grapes lined the one edge of the plate. cradled in its crescent, a flapjack fashioned from bisquick and pumpkin purée, carved to reflect a jack-o-lantern. triangle eyes. a serrated grin. it even had a stem with a mint leaf jabbed in its shoulder to give it a flair of color and authenticity. it was very — not convincing. the image in his metal head was much clearer on paper than on bread.

      ❝ happy halloween, scream queen, hopefully breakfast is, uh, less trick and more treat. ❞ teased the smarmy hinge of his grin, ❝ no promises. ❞

Saturday, October 31, 1987

Halloween today.

I actually woke up slowly. That’s kind of a feat, I think, since the bed’s cold. And it must be a little later because the sun is in my eyes again, but I’m not sure I mind, even if I did leave the blinds open overnight. 

chrissy blinked through the last dozy fog of her half-asleep thoughts, unorganized mumbles eventually fading in favor of whatever daring breakfast preparations distant dings of silverware and thunks of bowls seemed to hint at. with remarkable ease, she found herself relaxing into the soundtrack of existence in the tiny, two room apartment. 

There’s so much noise coming from the kitchen. Eddie must be up and letting his mad scientist side take over. Him and the TV aren’t exactly working together but something about it sounds nice. Homey. I love that. 

chrissy sighed toward the ceiling, but it was a whoosh of happy effort against a fluttering of autumn sunbeams. light funneled through her tiny bedroom window, its makeshift curtain rod festooned with a gamely attempt at bloody handprints on ripped white undershirts masquerading as curtains. honestly, it was a little silly; from across the room the handprints looked more like balding chrysanthemums, their optimistic magenta shade not quite so sanguine up close or far away. no passersby taking more than a split second to look at the boo-on-a-budget would catch a lasting fright. which, as far as chrissy was concerned, was perfectly acceptable.

the hiss of something hot swapping surfaces and the surge of a breaking news jingle on their pocket-square sized television brought the threads of her wakefulness together. mental diary abandoned, bare feet hit the chilly floor in determined finality. days began with or without her, no matter what season, so it was best to break out ahead before it got the best of her. or before eddie munson got the best of the galley. 

eddie’s would-be culinary exploits were often more mis than adventure despite all the attentive enthusiasm befitting a michelin star chef. sure, he was giving their now shared kitchen a run for its money in terms of resilience (and their budget, watched over faithfully by herself, a run for its money in terms of cleaning product costs). yet the strawberry blonde couldn’t find much will to play stingy with her space when her effusive metalhead derived such joy from a task so mundane. 

yes, it was going to be a good day when the tricks befitting a halloween weekend were far more frightful than the thought of breakfast treats. that was to say, not at all. 

chrissy really hadn’t expected such a bold greeting to slip from her mouth on the tail end of a yawn. a year ago, she might not even have been capable. but away the pet name flew and her excitement with it, making a mad dash for the spark in eddie’s eyes. embarrassment folded under contentment at the vision of a cloud of frizzy brown hair leaning over the counter, snapping his jaws like a creature of the night. nothing had ever been sweeter. in the spirit of impulsivity chrissy pranced across their sliver of living room and past the counter to wind tight arms around his middle. ❝ g'morning. ❞  the air seemed to soften around them even further, melting all the essence of living down to the warmth she clung to. eddie’s shirt was soft when she pressed her forehead into it — soft and warm and smelling like pancakes. like home.

                        ❝ let’s see. ❞  hope rose with her spirits and she burrowed her way under his arm to peek at the masterpiece beyond. comfy as eddie was, his torso was in the way.

                         ❝ aww, he’s got big teeth! and a stem! i love him. thank you.... ❞  an arm snuck forward to snag three grapes, all of which chrissy popped into her mouth at once. she allowed herself the time it took to finish chewing slowly before letting the resident artist go with a squeeze in favor of admiring his presentation.  ❝ the pumpkin was a good idea, too - i can smell it. did you make yourself one or are you going to help me with this one? ❞