Chapter Text
The young blond's footsteps against the wood of the house he would eventually inherit seemed to break the suffocating silence of his home. Golden sunlight shined in through a window to his right as he turned a corner and descended a staircase, his head down and his heart slamming against his chest. Shaking hands clenched at the collar of his shirt, pulling at it as he watched his shoes travel the dusty hardwood of his family's ancient, silent house.
Travis always hated that house. Just being within the vicinity of it almost at all times made his skin crawl. Almost like the dark, wicked, murderous people that were his ancestors were attached to it. And it was likely they were.
And he would be, too. When the time came.
Travis would never be able to leave that fucking town even after death, but he had accepted that fact long ago. For he was scared to. Scared to break the ending cycle of abuse, murder, and lies that was the Phelps family.
But he couldn't complain. For in other people's minds, he was seen as spoiled. Loved, even, by his father. But that was all part of the plan. His father's plan.
Speaking of which, the young blond's eyes scanned the vicinity of his house as he searched for the older Phelps. It was likely he was still in the ministry, after all, Kenneth almost seemed to live in the catacombs ever since a certain blue-haired kid moved to town. Planning, meeting with his co-workers, killing, watching, researching. You know, normal activities for a small town priest.
The fact that the blond's father was a cult leader was nothing new to Travis. He had known ever since a fateful fall in the ministry led him straight down into his father's temple; in the middle of a meeting, no less. The flash of anger in Kenneth's face would forever be burned into Travis's memory, as well as the look of panic on a few other people around the room. All wearing cloaks. His father had never slapped him until that afternoon, and things seemed like they couldn't get any worse.
Well, until his mother vanished.
And a few years later; his childhood friend was strangled to death by her own father. Who happened to be another one of Kenneth's experiments; a test to see how a human body would react to being the vessel to a paranormal being.
It goes without saying the project failed. Considering the subject, Luke Holmes, hung himself in his bedroom not twenty minutes after slaughtering his family as well as a man named Gregory Montague. It all started with some sort of complicated love affair, though Travis didn't dare to eavesdrop long enough to hear all the details.
At one point the fact that the same thing could happen to his own father worried Travis, but now it was the least of his problems. The blond was expected to not only participate in his father's rituals, but to also keep up their family's reputation as a normal, extremely catholic church.
Which was harder than it seemed, with all of his father's plans and a new abundance of strict rules to follow. Rules like not leaving the house after seven, no inviting friends over, no parties of any sort, no dating, and absolutely no going to Addison Apartments for any reason.
And the last, most-important rule; bully the shit out of Sal Fisher and his freakshow of friends.
It was essential to his father's plan to make that kid's life a living hell. Though Travis never really knew why, he never questioned his father's motives.
After all; questions meant answers. And answers usually meant more nightmare fuel for the young teen. And he didn't want that.
But right now he did want an answer.
For a question that would go against all of his father's rules in one go.
The blond scanned the downstairs area before his gaze landed in the dining room, where the elder Phelps sat. The disgusting smell of cigarettes lingered in the air as a trail of grey smoke danced around Kenneth's blond head in the dark room. He faced away from Sal, shifting through some papers while bouncing his knee. The Dogma mask sat beside him; the man seemed to never be too far away from the heavy piece of stone carved to resemble the head of a wolf. A mocking resemblance of how the cult was born to begin with.
The young blond held a shocking resemblance to his father; one that he had come to hate after the many years of slowly uncovering his father's secrets. Though Kenneth's skin was lighter than Travis's, the trademark bright blond hair of the Phelps family still resembled in both of them. As well as the above-average height and the slender build.
Travis approached his father, anxiety growing deep in his stomach with each step he took. But a pause in the elder Phelps' work signaled that he felt the younger blond's presence.
"Home already?" Kenneth spoke, in his usual bored, flat tone that made his deep voice all the more terrifying.
Travis had rushed home in order to ask his father this question, wanting to get it out and over with. "I know." He answered.
Kenneth turned his head, a single red eye made contact with Travis's, "what do you want?"
Travis swallowed heavily, "Sally Fisher invited me to spend the night."
"...and?"
"Well," the younger Phelps stood a little straighter. "I figured maybe getting close to them could have some benefits. To figure out what their planning and all, especially since Packerton...y'know."
Sal Fisher was a shorter male, known for his quiet nature around school and being notoriously bullied by his classmates, Travis included. Mostly due to his tenancy to dress more feminine than most boys their age dared too, and---most importantly---the heavy prosthetic bound to his face by several straps at all costs. Travis was drawn to him, originally due to curiousity, but now because he had to be.
Earlier that week Sal had caught Travis having one of his breakdowns in the school bathrooms. The day of Mrs. Packerton's murder. Ever since then, Sal had been trying to gain Travis's trust. And, much to the blond's dismay, the blunet seemed to be winning.
Kenneth narrowed his eyes, and for a second Travis thought he was in for it. But the elder blond took another long drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled the smoke into the air once again before standing up and putting it out. The cult leader's exhausted, emotionless eyes drifted towards Travis again.
Kenneth's face, however, shared little to nothing in common with Travis's. Covered in angular edges and perpetual eye bags as well as a small beard starting to form. But other than graying hair, the Phelps showed little to no sign of getting older. Travis wouldn't be surprised if he used his power to stop his aging, too. The man looked to be in his thirties despite nearing sixty.
"I guess you can go." Kenneth responded, "but expect some questions when you get back, and stay out of that temple." He rested an usually cold hand on Travis's shoulder. "I mean it, Travis."
The younger blond nodded, "I know, sir."
"Good," Kenneth seemed to return to his stern-but-caring demeanor; one he often assumed during his time at church and in public. Travis still couldn't tell which of his two personalities were fake; the one who threw glass bottles at his head or the one that could resemble a strict, uncaring father. He turned Travis towards the dog mask, "And remember we--"
"Have a reputation to uphold. I know." Travis shrugged his father's hands off his shoulders, "you don't have to tell me again."
"Correct." Kenneth stated, scooping the mask into his hands. "So no more fuck-ups, got it? I have enough to work out already with Packerton gone. The whole organization from here to the other end of the state is in a panic to cover it up."
Travis nodded, a small shiver crawling up his spine at the thought of the death of Mrs. Packerton, which happened a few days prior.
"When are you staying the night?"
"This Friday." Travis answered. "Sal wants to become friends to stop the bullying."
Kenneth mumbled something under his breath, something Travis couldn't quite make-out. "Right then." He said, aloud, before exiting the room. "I'll be at the ministry, stay out of trouble."
"Yes...sir."
And with that, Travis was alone in the dreaded house, a new found relief in his step as he quickly ran back up to his room.
Friday. Four days.