Chapter Text
Electricity runs through the air as foreboding clouds blot out the light of the moon, and the sky opens up over the suburbs of Hatchetfield. Not crowded enough to be downtown, but not too spacious to be Pinebrook. The weather recently has been… strange, to say the least, a seemingly ceaseless torrent sweeping over the town, refusing to leave. Some people swear that there’s some kind of cloud formation chained over the town, keeping the island entrenched in fog. Rumors have spread about it being some kind of psyop, or something from the Witchwood, or just plain unusual weather. However, as the storm continues to fire down upon the moderately sized town, there’s one thing that’s certain; trouble’s on the way.
Sure, disappearances in Hatchetfield are far from unusual, but this specific string of missing people has been odd. Bodies found days later varying in the type of death, but there seems to be some semblance of a throughline. Despite the locations they appear in change frequently, blue, purple, yellow, pink, and green are often found near the throat, eye, ear, mouth, and hand regions respectively. It could be a disease, it could be a serial killer’s calling card, or something else entirely, but one thing’s for certain… It’s not exactly a normal open-and-shut case of “this person was never found”.
-
Sam Sweetly begins to walk down the street towards the driveway to his house. Zoey, one of his multiple flings, had dropped him off around the corner after she concluded he was too inebriated to drive back home. He knows about the theories of the disappearances, but he calls bullshit. Until he personally gets his hands on one of the autopsies for those bodies (which seem to be held under lock and key, for some reason or another), he’s not gonna start panicking. Besides, even if there was some creepy ass serial killer, they’ll talk to his fucking gun.
… Shit, wait, where’s his gun? Frantically looking through his pockets, he doesn’t notice someone’s staring at him until they speak.
“Officer Sweetly?” A young woman dressed in a denim jacket, cream-colored sweater, and a knee-length skirt looks at him from the other end of the street.
“You… Chasity.” His speech is slurred, vision blurry. He knows her voice, though, he’s heard her at church with Charlotte. … Right. Charlotte.
“Could you help me with something, please?” She smiles at him and readjusts herself, one hand onto a light pink umbrella and the other tightly holding onto what he’s pretty sure is a dark blue journal.
Sam scratches his head, readjusting his sunglasses. He’s drunk and cold, but he might be able to score something off of this kid if he plays his cards right. “Fuck, ehhh…. sure, whatcha need?” Shambling over to her, he can swear her eyes are reflecting the light weird. Probably just the drink, though.
“Could you come with me? I want to show you something.” She beckons, and against the small bit of better judgment left in his inebriated state, Sam follows the girl.
They move past rows of well-conditioned houses towards the sidewalk near Oakley Park. Sam yawns, confused. “Right, what’d’ya want to…” He freezes as she points his own gun at him. “The fuck!?”
“But thou shalt utterly destroy them; as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee!” There’s a glint in her eyes in the moonlight, and Grace fires a warning shot… directly into Sam’s chest, straight into the heart. The thunder gets closer.
-
Sam crumples onto the floor, prepared to call for backup, when something strange happens. It starts with the blood dripping down from his lips being a navy blue in place of the usual red. He tries to get a good look at her, but his eyes begin to roll back into his head, sclera yellowed and irises purple. He tries to move around, but time itself has slowed in Grace’s favor. He opens his mouth to scream, but all he can do is gnash his stained pink teeth in desperation. His body undergoes rapid discoloration, hands becoming a sickly green.
“I invoke the names!” She chants as lightning strikes, and she can taste the essence of the man’s soul as she screeches into the dark; notes of alcohol, cigarettes, cold coffee, and infidelity. After Sweetly goes still, she fires another shot into his chest, and then hurls the empty gun into the hole she made earlier.
Poor Jerry. He was kind enough to give her his shovel, but he was too tame with his punishment of this town of sinners, simply leaving his son to do his dirty work at the edge of town.
Muttering another incantation, a purple hatchet with yellow accents appears, and she begins to get to work carving into that dirty, dirty dude. He is dismembered, the limbs thrown into the hole with the gun, and the hole is covered in dirt once more. Grace considers herself very lucky that she’s been given the opportunity to enact divine justice upon this damned pit while major construction is being held in the park.
-
Another court has been adjourned. Grace hums as she washes the blood and dirt off her face with the rain, and walks into her church. She passes the altar to move towards the back, where candles can be lit. She slips a dollar bill in, and lights a candle for Mr. Sweetly. What a shame. He was nice, but he was a sinner. He was in an affair with his wife! He was a bad cop! He had to die! And she gained power from his death so that she could further cleanse this town!
She muttered to herself as she got her things and began walking towards Waylon Hall, not registering the woman standing behind the confession booth.
-
Ms. Hollow… Holiday… felt a lump in her throat, her worst fears being confirmed at the sight of Grace. She wasn’t expecting to have to get acclimated to a new identity so quickly, and she wasn’t expecting that girl to be so good with a hatchet. A little concerning, but there are more pressing matters at the moment.
One, Grace Chasity is the current owner of the Black Book and the current Prophet for all five Lords.
Two, Grace Chasity has stolen her jacket. Holiday’s used to that bastard Cross taking it, sure, but this is a new one.
Three, Grace Chasity has just murdered a cop and swallowed his soul for his power. Fun. Great. Awesome. So that’s where all those missing people have ended up.
There’s a lot she wants to do, but she can’t just ask her for the book back. Not like she’d know her, nobody would, but Webby only knows what’d happen if Grace were to find out somebody knew what she was up to.
She walked behind her with a suitable amount of leeway, but froze as Grace turned around, squinting in her direction.
Of course. Can’t do anything without those idiots making a fuss over it. Due to the fact that she doesn’t have the book at the moment, Holiday’s a little underprepared to fight, so she’ll have to do what she can. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and calls out into the void. Hey! I need help!
Chasity gets closer, allowing the hatchet to dissipate into smoke, then scowls. “You said someone was here.” Annoyed that time spent on preparing had been wasted, she walks away.
After making sure that Grace is out of sight and out of earshot, Holiday exhales, thanking her lucky stars that she’s got a friend on her side. It’s hard work protecting this town. But now comes the important question; how is she supposed to deal with this? She knows who’s doing it, sure, but nobody’ll believe her! She needs a few things, and she starts to make a list.
- Talk to Hannah
- Contact the neighborhood watch
- Find Duke
With her priorities set, Ms. Holiday walks into the fog of the night, prepared to get her book back, no matter the cost. She’s lost everything already, what’s one more burden to bear?