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Chapter Text

The last thing Richie remembered was his lungs being filled with water and his entire body maimed and bleeding as that man
—a man no longer. that thing— slowly tortured him in the men’s bathroom of hatchetfield high

But as he opened his eyes, hoping that it was all just a dream, he very quickly realized that that they weren’t his eyes, at least… not anymore. He seemed to be watching from behind his eyes, in the back of his mind. He could still semi-feel the world around him. he could tell that he was in a small person-sized freezer, he could tell he was dead.

But he was yet to acknowledge the being that pushed him to the edge of his own mind, carjacking his body, and It very clearly did not like being ignored.

Before his rigor mortis body could react, he felt the skin on his neck break open. he could barely notice the coldness of the freezer on his skin before but this he could fully feel. The searing pain within him was impossible to describe. He would’ve screamed in agony if it weren’t for the fact he couldn’t even begin to speak with the strange something destroying his airways.

What came into view seconds later was a horrible green tentacle, coated in blood and waving from side to side as if saying ‘hello’, taunting him from the front seat of his subconscious. The tentacle moved past Richie’s face and slammed into the door of the freezer, over, and over, and over again until it popped open and, finally in control of his arms and legs, stood him up and lumbered him out the door.
Richie saw something in the corner of what used to be his eyes. A familiar shape, Ruth Fleming, his lifelong friend. But from the split second he saw her she looked insane, glowing purple, mouth gone, eyes agape and everywhere. He chose not to look for his own non-existent sanity.

The commandeered body continued to roam through the morgue of St Damian’s hospital, quickly gaining its footing and walking with ease. it eventually found what it was looking for, a window. it backed up, far enough to get a running start, and Richie’s body leaped at the weak glass. It shattered on impact, allowing him to fall freely to the ground below, taking with him the heavy soul of the current driver.

Chapter Text

Solomon Lauter was seconds away from death. Fading in and out of consciousness as he bled onto the forest floor he thought about his life’s regrets, his relationship with his only daughter broken beyond repair, his wife taken from this world too soon, life was never fair to him.
God was never considerate. Not to him, not to anyone, especially in this hellish realm of a town he ruled over like his life depended upon it, Because it did, his and everyone else’s. But he had failed, fallen. It was all up to her.

As he drifted into nothingness with this terrifying thought, something strange happened, he didn’t fade away. His presence barely even changed. It was as if, instead of dissolving, he simply stepped back. And as he did he heard something. a high, powerful sound, coming from what seemed like himself.
The deep red blood all around him turned bright blue. it began to pour out from his open mouth, choking him. then his eyes. They went black, but he could still see out of them, which meant that the being he had let take the wheel, the being he without a doubt knew, also had no issue.
He levitated off the dirt and saw the puddle of blue… something or other he had been lying in.
He also saw his shadow on the ground. Arms extended, like he were crucified midair. He could see his eyes and mouth clearly in the dark reflection. They glowed the same bright blue color his blood had. God, the impact wound on the back of his head still hurt, but there was no time for worldly pain. there were much more pressing matters.
the first of them was, strangely, a sense of pride. Stephanie was on the right track at the very least.
Pokotho possessing his body and mind meant she and her… idiotic companions had done this part of the ritual correctly, and he was somewhat touched that he was the form Pokotho had taken to scare his daughter into psychological distress and not one of her air-headed cheerleader friends from school, that she was at least that fond of him made his heart warm, metaphorically, as he had been shrunk down to the recesses of his soul and wasn’t capable of feeling anything physically anymore. As he and his old, old foe wandered through the witchwood he thought humorously that, if that spankoffski boy hadn’t been in the ritual already, he would be the form chosen. Funny really how that works, that a high school crush is valued over one’s own father. Though he supposed with the father that he had been beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Chapter Text

Ruth opened her two eyes to find herself in a morgue, tucked away in a human sized drawer. She was dead. She knew only that she was dead. But she felt the cold metal on her skin, her itchy sweater. Then she felt something underneath her skin. Many somethings, blinking.

Hundreds of eyes popped out from her body all over, her flesh bleeding and burning like hell. The freezer glowed purple all around as the eyes spread up her body. Before she could scream her lips sealed and dissipated into the rest of her face skin, turning her mouth into simply a bag of useless teeth and flesh.
She felt the eyes watching her. Somehow, from inside her head, persuading her to the back of her mind. Where she kept her deepest fears, her biggest insecurities. She sat and watched, terrified, as her arms and legs flailed wildly against the walls of the freezer, cracking it open just enough for the creature controlling her to slink out onto the lab floor. It stood and observed the room around it. Forcing Ruth to do the same.

CRASH

The sound of broken glass shrieked down the hallway and into Ruth’s mind. The creature turned in surprise and Ruth caught a glimpse of something recognizable. Richie, not the Richie she knew, not her friend anymore, but controlled, jumped from the ground floor window and fell to the dirt.
From the split second glance she got, he looked quite different. Tentacles sprang from his neck and his skin was green. She looked away for her own barely-there sanity.

This creature made noises surprisingly. It waltzed around the laboratory cooing at scalpels and blood stains, opening drawers and poking at other bodies. Eventually finding none other than Max Jägerman. His limbs in plastic bags and brains practically soup. Ruth relived that horrible night in the Waylon place. She had tried to ignore it from the moment it happened, shoving it down to the corners of her conscious mind. But now, that was her hiding place, shrouded by guilt obscuring her from whatever unwelcome guest roamed her brain searching for her. And she hid there with the memories of that night. The moment she watched a boy’s soul leave his body, or so she thought.

The creature eventually seemed to get bored of gawking at cadavers and headed for the window the not-Richie-anymore had jumped from. Ruth sat watching, waiting for it to end.

Chapter Text

Mark Chasity sat on the couch, his wife knitting on the other side of the room. The walls drenched in crosses and pictures of their lives and their lovely daughter, grace. She was the spitting image of her mother, she wore her hair with the same butterfly clips and carried herself with the same sweetness as his beloved wife. He read from his favourite self help book, the bible

“For this is the will of God, even your sanctification, that ye should abstain from fornication”

Mark sipped his coffee and smiled contentedly to himself. He noticed a strange sensation in his scalp, a headache coming on of course, he stood up to grab the aspirin from the bathroom cabinet.

The headache worsened, a splitting pain hit him from inside. Then worse still, his head felt like it just might break in two… and with horror he realized it was.
He screamed as his skull cracked open and out burst the sharp tips of goat horns. His wife stared on in shock, frozen. She started gagging.
The aching continued as mark fell to the ground with his head in his… he had no hands. Instead he was met with cloven hooves at the end of his arms. This was the devil’s work. He was surely being dragged to hell. But for what? He did everything right, he followed every rule. Why would God allow this? Maybe he wasn’t thorough enough, he had gotten too comfortable in his life. As the demon worked its way into his mind he felt his body slipping out of his control.
He looked to his wife for help but she lay on the floor surrounded by blood and teeth, her hair covered her face as she cried. He wanted to swear that he would protect her, that it was all okay. But It wasn’t. He would die here with her. in the home they raised their daughter in, he hoped.

But he wasn’t that lucky.

His limbs moved of their own accord, standing him on goat hooves and strangely bent legs. He couldn’t stop it. His body wasn’t his anymore. The Satanic creature moved his body away from his crying wife and straight into the door. It seemed to take it a while to figure out how to open the door. Once it did it walked him into his front yard and down the stone steps to the road. All the while he could hear Karen’s sobbing turn to snarling as she continued to gag. It pained him to leave her like that. But his demonic inhabitant had other plans.

Chapter Text

Karen knit in her pink velvet chair. Her husband sat on the couch reading his bible. She was working on another sweater vest for her daughter grace, this one was a lovely pastel purple. As she worked she gazed around the room at the wonderful life she built for herself. She and mark were perfect for each other. They didn’t need so much physical affection like other couples their age. She was content to sit across the living room from her husband and just enjoy the quiet comfort of someone who cared for her.

she suddenly felt ill, like she might vomit. She was going to get some medicine when she saw mark get up from the couch and walk two steps before clutching his head in pain.

“mark, dear, are you alright?” She asked, concerned.

He began to scream, he didn’t seem to hear her. She would’ve ran to his side if not for the fact she started to gag. She had been sick before of course, but this was an ache unbearable. She felt something sharp in her throat. she dropped to the floor sobbing from the pain, her hair covered her face as it fell. She just wanted whatever was lodged in there to get out. She gagged with laboured breath until she saw it on the floor, three teeth. for a moment she thought they were her own but upon further examination they weren’t even human. They were pig teeth, and a lot of them at that. A small pile of regurgitated pig teeth soon lay before her. It was terrible. Her throat started bleeding from the sharp canines and incisors. Blood began flowing from her mouth. Again, not just her blood, but pigs blood along with it. The new blood tasted slightly different, less salty than her own. She had no idea how she knew so much about blood tastes but she couldn’t dwell on that for too long as more crap -she hated that it caused her to swear- made its way through her esophagus. Pink fur came out next. A disgusting texture, it stuck to the skin of her mouth like mold. Mark continued to scream near her, she thought she even heard him start to cry. She heard him get up and run into the door for a solid few seconds before opening it. She used her last full breath to call out to him.

“mark! Please! Don’t leave me!!” Her voice was hoarse, her throat ached and her mouth was full of fur but she prayed that he heard her.

then the gagging stopped. For a brief moment she saw peace, like she had stepped back from the world. she could hear her breathing slow and her body straighten. She could no longer see, as if her eyes no longer existed. She felt her feet plant themselves on the ground of their own accord and walk after what was once her beloved.

Chapter Text

A television blinked to life in the lobby of the hatchetfield police station 

“This is Hatchetfield Action News with Dan. And. Donna!”

“Solomon lauter was found dead this morning along with married couple Mark and Karen Chasity, another grisly murder committed by the mysterious ‘raging hatchetman’ as many are calling him. The bodies were found mutilated on the grounds of hatchetfield high and police are yet to release further details. There will be a public memorial service held in town hall this evening at 6 to pay respects to our beloved mayor.”

Detective Shapiro paced the concrete floor of her office. In her hands was a file with every piece of evidence pertaining to what was a closed case less than 24 hours ago. A trio of teens in over their heads ended three innocent lives for who knows why, it was nothing she hadn’t seen in Chicago. But it just had to be more complicated didn’t it? She was ripped from her thoughts when she heard the door open.

”Hey Shapiro! I brought donuts, how the hell are ya?” 

”I’m doing as well as you can in this line of work, officer bailey.” She said, taking a sip of her coffee.

”great, great. Heard you hit your head pretty hard last night. You okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

The Midwest sure is a crazy place.

“yeah I’m fine just… bumped it on the uh steering wheel… or something” that was a terrible lie, but she couldn’t let him know about the hallucination —that’s what it was. that’s what it had to be— that she saw driving through the woods.

“Alright, cool. So what’s this you were saying this morning? Grace ain’t our guy?” He said before taking a comically large bite of a jelly filled donut.

”not for all the murders. We know for sure she dismembered max, WWJD bracelet and everything. But Richie’s autopsy report got back to me today and they found fingerprints. Max’s fingerprints.”

“But, how is that possible? We saw both of his hands underneath the floorboards.” He puzzled with his mouth full.

”I don’t know, but I know something fucked up s’going on. Especially with how we found the new victims.”

He swallowed. ”yeah. Poor Mark and Karen, I went to one of their potlucks once, they were… sweet.” He sort of cringed at the last part.

“Exactly. two of the victims were her own parents. Now, that alone doesn’t rule her out, I’m sure we both know that. However,—” She laid out pictures of the crime scene on her desk. “—The bodies were found in a pentagram formation, which isn’t really what you’d expect from a girl who called a murder ‘god’s plan’ and said she was going to ‘claim sanctuary’ at the nearest church.”

Officer Bailey nodded in agreement and took a closer look at the pictures. He winced. “God, that’s worse than the swirly.”

The photographs showed the mangled bodies of the victims. Three were close ups of Mark Chasity’s head, arms, and legs. There were two holes on the top of his skull that saw right into his brain, with blood flowing out of them and onto the gym floor, his leg bent in such a way that it jutted out at the back of his knee, resembling a goat. His fingers had been grafted together into a half-fist half-hoof like shape.

Another showed the body of Ruth Fleming. Her skin was covered in small holes and her mouth was unable to be opened. Next to her lay Richard Lipschitz, with greenish skin and a bloody neck, both still with their existing injuries. Poor kids.

Bailey looked back up at detective Shapiro.

“Who’re you thinking did this then?”

She looked at him with doubt on her face. “That’s the thing, I don’t know…”

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A trio of teens in over their heads sat on beanbags eating breadsticks. 

Pete’s bedroom seemed like the only safe place right now. Even if they all knew that they could never truly feel safe anymore.

That morning, actually 4 AM, as none of them even thought to sleep, Grace called her parents. She left voicemail after voicemail with tears in her eyes but they never answered. When she saw the news she was inconsolable, her eyes were still bloodshot from crying. 

Steph’s eyes were just as red but she tried her best to hide it, Pete had also tried his best to comfort her but she refused to even acknowledge it.

Pete’s dad called up from the living room. “Peter! I’m home! Sorry I’m late I had to drive all the way across town!”

That was all it took. Steph collapsed on the floor in sobs, her breathing ragged and heavy and her makeup streaming down her face. She curled herself into a little ball as the terror of the past three weeks hit her all at once. Her dad was dead. He was actually dead and the last time she saw him he was possessed by an evil god. This was really happening. 

It hit Pete then too, what he saw in her eyes. He still felt like he shouldn’t be feeling it, after all, he was the lucky one. His parents were alive, they cared for him. But his lifelong friends had died, and that hit him even harder than he thought it would. 

Grace rocked back and forth in her beanbag. The sinking feeling had passed. She only felt rage. Either at the lords for doing that to her parents, or max for starting the whole spiral, or maybe, her mom and dad. For disobeying the lords, for struggling against their higher wills. She felt a tingling sensation in the back of her mind. It was speaking to her. Whispering.

“We can give you power.”