Author Note67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8XoUfX4w1v
67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡECn7VoTX5H
Hey so when you go through this chapter, I think it's important to remember the good times we've had together. You know? The hero is coming, I think. Everything will be fine... in the end. If anyone needs to complain, find me at the end of the chapter. I will get you in touch with the complaint's department.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp6YL6SP5Ll
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Dinner forks played their song against the plates.
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It wouldn’t have been any less quiet with Papa there. Not to say that his absence wasn't felt, but he normally liked a silence at all times of the day.
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It was Willy who broke this silence.
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“So Dylan, you aint from ‘round here?”
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“Where isth here?”
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Willy blinked. “You really don’t know where yer at?”
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Dylan only shook his head.
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“Nearest town’s Baker. Three miles that way.” He pointed through the wooden walls. “Where are you from.”
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“Pine Oakth.”
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“Pine a what now?” Willy looked for any sense in what came out of Dylan's mouth. But then he remembered how Papa would sometimes get after the bottle. He resisted touching his cheek, suddenly sore from the memory.“Were you… Were you safe there?”
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Dylan’s eyes welled and he slowly shook his head.
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“Now, don’t worry, Dylan. Eat yer food.” Willy hungrily filled his mouth. “There ain’t nuffin to fear out here ‘cept them coyotes.”
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He struggled to gulp down two cheeks-full of potato and pork. It hurt his throat and then his eyes watered too. “And they don’t come in the house. Yer safe here.”
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They spent the rest of dinner with minor exchanges while they chewed, not minding the food they spit as they talked. It was probably the most lively dinner they’d had since Mama went to see Heaven.
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Willy smiled to finally hear Walt laugh. He was really laughing and Dylan didn't get the joke. Classic Dylan. He’d just met the boy but he was convinced they would be best friends. Best friends for life.
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And so they ate and laughed.
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Dinner and the sentiment were only interrupted when a flash brightened the dusk from the window. A rectangle of purple light careened across the room as it's source descended to the earth, illuminating the boy’s faces. They all watched as another shooting star landed in the freshly tilled plot, no more than a stone’s throw from the house.
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It was louder, and heavier than when Dylan landed but still managed to only tear up a small patch of earth. Walter and Willy stood to peer out the window at the new crash site.
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As the dust settled, they could see Albert first to stand at the edge of the plume.
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He put an arm up in front of his face to shield his eyes from the dust. He walked closer when something stopped him in his tracks.
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Someone reached out from the gash in the dirt, digging long shadowing fingertips into the dirt. The sun set as a gray hand clambered out of the hole, dragging a tall figure to a stand in the field in front of the crash site.
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It stood at least a head taller than Albert, maybe two. It would look like a person, if not for its smooth, featureless face and body. Its appendages were lanky and spindly, with fingertips that came to a point like long thin knives.
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The two stood only a short span from each other.
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“Hey,” Papa cleared his throat as he stumbled a little closer. “This is private property.”
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The figure rolled its head back and straightened its back. It took a deep breath and looked around as if it was searching.
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“Hey!” Papa didn’t like being ignored. He took a couple steps forward. “Did you hear-!”
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The figure swung a flagrant hand that passed over the man’s throat, slashing her razorlike nails through his gullet.
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His final moments were quick, too instant. He didn’t know how much he wanted to live until it was taken away. Blood gargled halfway up his throat, escaping through the gaping gash in his neck. The words he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask drowned in crimson before they could be uttered. The weight of those words dragged him to the ground as his legs grew weak and his vision grew dark. His lungs filled and his last thoughts were of dread and fear.
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Then, she spoke. A slit where a mouth should be peeled back and mimicked human voice with distorted tones. It wasn’t as clear and sure as any normal speech. She couldn’t find her pitch or tone, testing the sound as if she was trying to find a sound that was most acceptable and disarming.
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“Hey!- Hey, hey.” The voice shifted from deep to high and back down again. “Did you hear? This is priva- private, private. PROPERTY!”
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Her shape adjusted from a 2 ½ meter, titanous creature into a smaller, more feminine form. She was still tall, just not the inhuman height she was before and adopted a more athletic build.
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Her skin crawled with pitch black slickness that sheened like oil. From the sliding tar poked out exaggerated, shifting features. Her muscles stretched and bunched beneath her pale skin before settling. A long nose sprung in the wrong place on her face, shifted and shorted before adjusting to the right spot.
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Finally, her face solidified into the familiar shape it once was in a different time. A face this place had never seen, but she wore many times before. She licked her teeth and remembered her purpose.
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Her hunt.
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She was Vermille.
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She sniffed the air to catch the scent of her prey.
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Her eyes locked on the house.
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Walter ducked below the window sill.
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“Go!” He yelled a whisper over his shoulder before turning wet eyes to Willy. “Take Dylan. Hide.”
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“Papa?” Willy stood dumbly. Walter grabbed him by the shirt and slapped him, not lightly. The sting still didn't seem to truly register to the boy.
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“Hey! It’s time to go, William! Take Dylan. Hide!” He pushed him away and sprinted to his father’s shotgun hung by an iron hook on the wall. It was old but it had claimed more than one coyote by Walter’s hands alone. He knew it was loaded but for some reason, he felt he should grab a few more shells anyway.
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For Willy’s part, he cleared his teary eyes with a blink. There would be time to cry for Papa later. He had his task. He turned to the table behind him where Dylan was cowering covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.
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He didn’t hesitate, he grabbed Dylan by the wrist, dragging the boy behind him like a hay bail. They reached the door to the back room in only a few strides and closed the flimsy wooden door behind them in the same motion.
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The wardrobe wasn’t big enough for them both so he pushed Dylan inside. His new friend was safe. Hidden. He took a breath, spared a moment to look to the door. He knew Walter would be okay. He was a deadshot.
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Still, he couldn’t shake a feeling from the back of his neck, so he swallowed it, huffed another breath and dove under the bed. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need it but he pulled out a small folding knife, determined to do what had to be done.
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He laid still and listened.
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Beyond the bedroom door, a creak ached from the kitchen. A too heavy thump at the door step to the house. Then another, and the complaint of old wood undertoe as some leaned a little closer into the house.
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BANG!
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A slight stumble against the wood and splinters rain to the ground.
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BANG!
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More splinters and metal balls clattered against the floor and droplets of someone liquid splashed at the front door.
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Willy jumped at the sound of two shotgun blasts. He never heard the shots inside the house before, it sounded like her was standing next the blast. He could hear Dylan whimpering from the wardrobe afterward.
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Darn kid couldn’t keep quiet.
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Then heard the shotgun reloading and steps approaching the bedroom door.
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“Hey! I’m not done with you, bitch!”
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Another shotgun blast came but it sounded like it hit only wood and spraying splinters to the floor. Then a loud crash sounded from the other side of the door like something heavy hit the wall, then the ground. Or someone.
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Walter? He thought, biting his finger.
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Willy eyes welled and the bedroom door creaked open. The bloody and bare feet of a woman bent the tire floorboards. Behind her, he could see Walter, collapsed against the wall seemingly knocked out.
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He didn’t know what to do. This monster cut through Papa like paper, walked off shotgun shrapnel like it was nothing and tossed Walter like a sack of corn. She dripped with blood but she kept walking as if those shotgun shells were mere suggestions.
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He was helpless again, just like when Mama died. Just like when he used to knock at the barn door, trying trying to get his old Papa back. So damn close to the problem yet too weak and helpless to change it. He couldn’t do a damn thing.
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But he couldn’t do nothing.
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He slid from under the bed to stand between Vermille and Dylan’s wardrobe, wielding his blade in front of her.
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“I’m warning you!” Willy wouldn’t let her pass. For that moment, he faced evil. She could’ve been pretty, he could tell that much, if it weren’t for the torn flesh and mangled bone dangling from her otherwise perfect skin. He wouldn’t let the monster get anywhere near Dylan.
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She smiled.
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She didn’t look scared. That was her first mistake. She reached out to the boy as if toying with him.
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He closed his eyes and slashed her hand, removing her index finger. She recoiled and when he heard the finger hit the floor. It sounded like dropped sausage. He grinned to himself and crouched to pick it up.
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“See?!” He held up the finger. “Want some more?”
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She looked back at him with pure disdain. This time she wasn’t playing. She grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
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Willy couldn’t breathe. Her grip tighten, squeezing the blood to his face and eyes.
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He dropped his tiny pocket knife the to the floor.
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With a flick of her wrist, she snapped his neck.
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It was over instantly.
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She dropped his lifeless corpse to the ground, then opened the wardrobe. Inside, Dylan silently sobbed, staring down the unstoppable force that followed him across dimensions and killed frivolously just to find him.
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Vermille looked down at Dylan and spoke in the voice of battery acid.
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“Come.”67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIy3fqmNEQ4
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