#🦇��White Wedding AU🤍🦇 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hypocriticaltypwriter · 1 month

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𝕷𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕳𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕯𝖔𝖓𝖊? 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑨𝑼

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔: 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑬𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏.

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒂'𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉... 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. 𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅, 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒔...

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑺!! 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒎 𝒑𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒐𝒖𝒕!

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: [𝑵𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒕! 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓!]

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒇𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕, 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒐

“Forgive me.”

He uttered the word with each weak breath that left his lips and into the chill air of the night. He whispered it with every foot forward into the large hole he dug, whenever his grandfathers rusted shovel gathered the moist dirt and damp grass which would be swiftly casted over his shoulder following the rest of the gathering earth.

“Forgive me.”

His sweaty hands gripped firmly onto the wood handle of the shovel, his hold so tight his knuckles grew white as the moon staring that stared down on him, judging him for his actions, weeping stars as if to ask what he has done, what has he done to do this, to violate such a peaceful ground, to step foot into this yard and prey on the vulnerable, who spent their lives fighting, only now to rest?

“Forgive me.”

Michael repeated, his body cold, and yet perspiration seeped from his skin, running down his sharp jaw as he relentlessly worked at digging up the freshly buried grave before him, his arms sore and aching, but he refused to stop, for he knew it was the least he could handle as a punishment for his actions. The end of the shovel halted, the sound of wood splintering at its jagged edge making his rapid movements stop, pulling it away to see the engraved edges of a coffin creeping through the dirt, the beautifully hand-crafted work now ruined by the edge of his shovel.

He fell to his knees, trembling, splintered hands clawing and digging at the thin layer of soil hiding the elegant casket holding it’s treasure inside. His hands matched his heart and soul, dirty. Filthy. Ridden in waste and muck. Digging into the creases and crevices of his purity like the soil that stains his fingertips and buries beneath his fingernails. His hands wiped away the mud from the engraved cross, stray gems planted into it, the moon striking it at a point they seemed to glow. It felt almost like it was stinging his eyes.

He quickly got to his feet again, looking around him to find a crowbar he had brought alongside his equipment. Grasping it with slippery hands as firm as he could, he readied to stab it into the golden hinges and lock keeping him from getting what he needed inside.

“Forgive me.”

He closed his eyes as he carried his strength into the swing of plunging the crowbar into the side of the casket, the sound of wood cracking and hinges weakening, trying desperately to keep it shut, crying out for him to stop. Michael was a very strong boy, and yet even now he found his strength failing to help him carry out his deeds. He gave a grunt as he ripped it out of it’s first location, carefully gliding its curved edge lover, aiming at another lock, and taking one final, and hopeful swing.

On nights like these, he would’ve requested his younger brother to follow and aid him, like the many other nights of carrying out their monthly duty. But tonight was different, just like the many nights he had told his brother that when he asked to help him. It was different. It was dangerous. They were dangerous.

They were growing restless. Impatient. Impatient for what? Michael did not know. He merely knew that the risks of taking his brother with him anymore was something he couldn’t bear to imagine. So, much like his heart and soul, he was alone tonight.

He pushed and pulled with his might, teeth gritted hard enough his jaw grew tense and formed and ached. The casket broke open, revealing the inside. He’d never grow use to the sickening feeling that pooled in his guts, seeing the peaceful, resting face of a human being, now fallen into eternal slumber.

Her name was Patience Willows. A poor, young creature, who had fallen into illness she fought so hard against, but ultimately failed. She was a sweet girl, with a loving family and good friends, and betrothed to a man who was just as hopeless for her as she was for him. Her fair skin, and pale hair stood out under the moon, her black gowns she was buried in contrasted to how lively she seemed to be, the bouquet of orchids and roses, wilting away in her clasped hands, tangled in the beads of rosaries and the small cross hanging from the end nestled atop her stomach.

Michael’s hands came up to her face. Cold to the touch. Like ice on his flesh her face unmoving like stone, as if sculptors carved her body, and she was merely made of the finest marble. But she was a girl. A human, and innocent young woman, taken too soon. Even graceful in death as she was living.

And he had to take that away from her. He had to take it away from her family.

“Sweet Patience. Sweet, sister Patience.” He spoke as if he’d expect a reply, as if her big dark eyes would open again to the sound of his voice. “Forgive me for what I must now do with your mortal body…” Michael’s voice was barely above a whisper, his trembling hands left her face, one moved beneath her back, and the other the back of her legs, ripping her body away from its casket and into the night air where he stood tall, holding her like a sleeping maiden. Her head fell back, her arm falling from its gently clasped pose, and limped at her side. Her gowns and hair blew in the chill breeze, the sight was almost haunting.

Michael’s heart ached, he could feel it pound in his chest and wished for him to end this. But he couldn’t. There was no other way. He was beginning to grow desperate, finding every fresh body he possibly could, anything that seemed tempting or tantalizing enough to catch their eye and keep their attention long enough before they grew restless again. But he was beginning to grasp the straws the longer time began to go on. This was his last hope to keep his family and the town of Santa Carla safe.

He trudged through the forests of his family grounds, the settled grass and astray rotting logs pushed away from the path he had spend years creating took him deeper and deeper into the woods. The creeping vines and branches tugging and pried at his holy robes, like teasing fingers and wandering hands, the leaves and grass brushing around him sounding like hisses and whispers. The deep thickets pulled and tore at the gentle fabric of Patience gown, her beautiful resting garments now ruined and made imperfect. It only made Michael’s heart hurt further with sympathy.

The longer he walked, the more the space began to clear, the moon now crept through casting shadows across the trees, and the grass began to shorten. Thorned vines caught on his boots, always overgrowing the path he had created. No matter how many times he’d pull them out, it seemed they merely grew back every night.

Roses sprouted around them light weeds, deep blood reds, and the purest white buds all around, replacing the bushes and trees once hiding him from the moon and the stars shameful stare. The thorned vines and roses wrapped around everything like snakes, choking away like and growing over the ancient stone and ruins Michael was walking to. The closer he got, the more dreadful he felt. It was like the place carried the same evil of the ones who resided in it- yet it could have been the most holiest grounds decades ago, and now it was left to time and darkness to swallow it whole.

The ruins of this Chapel were very large, even if it hadn’t seemed that way from the outside or whatever angle you might have stumbled across it with fate in mind. So much so it was almost like once you walked in, you could never find you way out. Michael was walking toward the back of it, the caved in roofs and broken foundation greeting him routinely night after night. His chest heaved with exhaustion, his arms were throbbing, his legs were burning, the body in his arms felt too heavy to keep going, but he continued. The only thing keeping him going was the thought of his family, waiting for him at home. His mother sleeping soundly by now, and his Grandfather, if not doing the same, was awake busying himself with the strange taxidermy residing in their home and even the Church they ran. And Sam, his dearest brother Sam, he only hoped he wasn’t awake, waiting for him, worried about him. He hoped his brother was sleeping well, not wasting good hours on a brother who had trapped him in such a life he was to live now.

“Lord Jesus,” Michael’s voice trembled, taking each step up the ruined, cracked stares, the moon’s hateful light shining down atop the alter like a spotlight, reveled in display. “Son of God… Have mercy on me, a sinner.” He walked with slow, cautious steps, his footwork calculated, like a waltz, his boots echoing through the rubble stone.

“Wash me from my guilt with Your precious blood and cleanse me of my wrongdoings…” Patience heavy body left his arms, setting her atop the alter, his dirtied hands touching her fair face one final time, the cold feeling of her skin one he had felt many times before, and would forever feel as long as he breathed. “Create in me, a clean heart… Oh God,” He stepped away from her, backing away from the alter and down it’s steps, all the way till he couldn’t see her body put out on display under the moonlight, and even then, he couldn’t handle it, his eyes closing and turning his head away from a sight even imagining made him sick. “Forgive me from all my sins and take not Your Holy Spirit from me by Your mercies…”

The air grew cold, and he could feel the wind on the back of his neck. Wind blowing through the cracks of foundation sounded like whispers, he could hear voices in the trees, and laughs ring out in the halls. Shadows dance on the walls, tempting for him to open his eyes, but they remained shut, not daring to open and witness a sight that would claw through his eyes and carve it’s name on his mind to never forget.

“Forgive… And renew a right spirit within me. Amen.”

And just like that, it went silent. Too silent. The wind halted, and the forest and life within paused. The whispers ceased and it felt as if even Michael’s heart came to a stop for just a moment. His eyes fluttered open, slowly turning his head back up to the steps, only taking a few more just to peek up at the alter.

Patience’s body was gone.

Michael let out a breath he forgot he was even holding, a hand coming up to his head, wiping away the thick layer of sweat forming a residue on his forehead, his fingers tangling in his dark curls. His stomach turned, making him swallow thickly and audibly, shallow breathes leaving past his parted lips. It was done. It was over for those few, spare days. Those few spare, haunting days.

And then he heard it. Quiet at first, so much so he could have merely considered it his mind playing a trick on him and went his way, but Michael knew better. And it grew louder. It was laughter.

Not joyous, not happy or a warm laugh, it was cruel. It was mocking, taunting, and it slowly began to grow louder, and voices joined it, resonating along the walls and ringing through the ruins of the Chapel. Cackles and barking laughter that made Michael’s blood run cold as the sound fed through his ears and froze him from the inside. His hand left his side, reflexively coming to the cross that hung around his neck, nestled against his chest right where his heart was. He clutched the powerful silver in his hand, his fingers running slow circles into the vibrant colored stones embedded into it’s surface as if silently praying, but a prayer wasn’t on Michael’s mind the the moment.

The laughter ensued, louder and louder as though circling him, in the sky, beneath the cobblestone floors, behind him right in his ear or standing before him, yet there was no one to be seen- but he knew very well he wasn’t alone. Not here. And as if his thought were read, the laughter quickly began to silence, very, very slowly. Going silent for only a split second with a few chaste whispers exchanged, and the world slowly began to grow alive yet again in the dead of night.

Michael’s hand stayed firmly grasping his crucifix, feeling his fast heartbeat against his fingers as he took only a few more steps up the stares toward the alter, when he saw a body. The very same body that was lying there just minutes before. He just felt his fear rise the longer he stared at Patience body back on the surface where she was once an offering, now turned away.

Her dress ripped up, legs and arms full of cuts and claw marks. Her blouse was ripped open and her peeled away flesh on display. Her ribs cracked open, like it was a cage, revealing her now hollowed chest where a heart would be, now gone from her bosom with only the bloody remnants of her lungs as the crimson liquid wept from her body and down the pure white marble and stone of the alter, staining the steps, and the petals of roses and orchids stuck to her skin where blood had crept into every curve and crevice along her baren flesh creeped out.

A beautiful woman, a sweet creature, who’s looks reflected the beauty and pureness of her soul… Now mangled and violated in a gruesome slaughter, just for Michael’s eyes to see. He all but stumbled toward her, falling to his knees as he threw his arms over her body, his mind riddled with confusion and utter distraught, blue eyes wandering her face and finding himself unable to understand. Why?

The laughter quickly came back, but it wasn’t all around him now. Instead, it echoed from the seemingly large opening into the ground behind the alter, a cave. Going deep, deep, and down, down into darkness, you couldn’t even see your footing as you would descend into its cavern. The laughter, the voices called out to him, calling his name, and mocking him with snickers and cackles.

“I don’t understand…” He spoke genuinely, eyes dancing between Patience and the cavern below. “I don’t understand.” He asked once more, his voice raising. “What do you want from me?” His guilt, his fear, his confusion all of it was fogging his mind, making him frustrated. It made him angry. It made him enraged.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” He shouted, finding himself unable to handle any more of this cruel madness he was going out through, his voice ringing through the Chapel, echoing back to him and the fluttering sound of bats and disturbed birds followed. The laughter died down as well, but it wasn’t to put his mind at peace. It was to leave him yet again, another night with no answers to his plea.

“I’ve done everything you wanted… I’ve committed atrocities for you. I’ve hurt people, I’ve betrayed my family, my covenants… What more could you want of me?” He cried out, awaiting an answer. And with little hope left, it died out following the silence. He looked to his hands in defeat, now riddled in dirt and innocent blood. “What have I done..”

Silence. Only the quiet comforted him, succumbing him to accepting that he would spend the next month restless, with no answers, with more people getting hurt, with more families coming to his church pleading for prayers and blessings of safety from the beasts of Santa Carla. More missing posters around any wall surface in the town, more questions from his mother. He could barely handle it anymore. How, he was willing to do anything to get this madness to stop.

His heart felt heavy, and as body numb as he got to his feet, wiping the dirt and blood off his Holy robes as best he could, looking toward the disgusting sight of the body splayed out atop the alter, just like the many other past offerings these last few weeks. And like the many weeks before,

He began his walk back home. Dawn approaching, the sun creeping over the view of the boardwalk far, far into the distance...

#🦇🤍White Wedding AU🤍🦇#fruitbats🦇🍒#🍒daily dose of cherry🍒#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys fanfiction #tlb david #tlb paul #tlb dwayne #tlb marko #tlb michael #michael emerson

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hypocriticaltypwriter · 21 days

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𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔: 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑬𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑺𝒂𝒎 𝑬𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒚 𝑬𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒑𝒂 𝑬𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏.

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍'𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘...

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑰 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 2! 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓! 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚! 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏𝒆! 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 10 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆!

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: @ria-coolgirl @misslavenderlady @mjtheartist04 @hagelliot @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic. @mizgames [𝑴𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓!]

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒇𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕, 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒎, 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 18.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆

“Michael?”

His mother’s delicate voice made Michael jump, the clattering sound of the hammer in his hand resonated through the Churches quiet halls, the peace disturbed by his mishap. He slowly turned around just enough to see his mother’s grimace, unsure if it was due to the harsh noise or the guilt of frightening her eldest son.

“Sorry.” Ah, so it was for startling him. “Michael, I called your name at least three times already. You’ve nearly punctured through the board and straight into the stone wall.” She stepped over to his side, bringing an aged hand up to the nail Michael had been hammering at to keep the missing poster on the board secure.

Lucy looked between the board full of missing posters, and back toward her son, seeing his eyes still trained upon the many sheets of paper, now overflooding and burying weeks old ones merely to be replaced by new face, now lost, and gone from the city of Santa Carla. His blue eyes darted from one to the other. So many faces, so many lives. Real people, gone. Taken. Never to be seen in the light of day nor life, again.

Lucy brought her hand up to the side of his face, a soft caress which she was not expecting her son to shy away from almost fearfully. “Michael, you’re scaring me.” She spoke up once again, her eyes holding nothing but worry, it was all he seemed to see in them anymore. He hated it. Michael merely watched her from the corner of his eye with a shake of his head, slowly dipping down to the ground to pick up the hammer he had dropped so carelessly, using his other hand to pluck the spare nail from his lips, the cold bitter metal leaving a harsh tainted taste on his tongue.

“You’re not scared of me,” He spoke, his voice hoarse and tired. “You’re scared for me. And you shouldn’t be.” He corrected her, like he was supposed to be- in other terms, a smartass, but there was an underlying softness to his words as he stood back up, straightening out his cleaned robes.

“It’s what mothers do best.” She replied, taking the nail and hammer from his large hands in contrast to her own. “We’re supposed to be scared for our children when they can’t seem to do it for themselves.” She lowers her voice slightly to something fragile, her hand now coming up to the side of his face now making him aware of her touch. “Especially when we notice the bags under there eyes, and how they always seem so distant with their family anymore… And when they miss early dawns confessions.”

Michael looked away full of guilt, his brows knitting together as he bit his tongue behind his tightly pursed lips. “Ma..” He wrapped his fingers carefully to her wrist, gently pulling her hand away from his face.

“If something is happening, if-if something is wrong with you… You know you can tell me.” She now spoke with urgency, as if pleading for her son to actually take her words to heart, knowing very well that that’s all he would ever see them as. Words. “Michael, you can tell me.”

His mother was an Angel walking among demons in a place like Santa Carla. He wished he could open up to her, he would rather confess any and all sin at the feet of his mother, his head in her lap as he wept for forgiveness like he would as a child in her arms. Because he knew if no God could forgive him now, his mother always could. But he couldn’t tell her, she didn’t deserve the burdens of his own mistakes. He could never live with himself getting his mother involved- he already had his brother, and that alone was enough to have him driven to madness already.

“Mom, I promise you, I’m fine.” He assured, bringing his eyes back to hers. If there’s one thing he knew about Lucy Emerson, it’s that if you want her to believe you, you have to look her in the eye and tell her so. “I’ve just… Found my heart and spirit troubled with… Everything.” He motioned to the wall of missing posters. “I’ve just found myself lost in through and prayer for the lost souls… It’s only fair to be restless.” He tried to convince her, finally realizing the hold he had on her wrist still, pulling it away to take her hand into both of his own, giving it a soft, but determined squeeze. “And I don’t need you restless either. All you should be worried about is making sure you don’t catch Mrs. Chambers and Golden gossiping in the corner pews during the choirs again.”

The statement made his mother smile, one that sparked his own as she laughed lightly. She gave a small playful nod of agreement and a quiet ‘that’s true’ using her other hand to give his own a small pat. “Oh, my Michael, you’re a very caring boy. It’s one of the things I’m so proud of you for.” Lucy’s smile broadened, a warmth in her features that could melt anyone’s heart. But not Michaels. If anything, it made his heart sting, and follow with an ache he could only know as guilt. His smile faltered, only for a second before he quickly hid it behind a smile to match his mothers.

“I’ve learned from the best.” He replied with a light chuckle, letting go of her hands. “I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.”

“You know what is a curse? All this rain.” Michael and Lucy seemed to look over the line of pews in sync. His younger brother, Sam, walking down the middle of them looked nearly soaked to the bone, his only decent church clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin now drenched in freezing rainwater. He held a mop that almost matched him in appearance, the rags all soggy and drooping imitating his sandy blonde hair that he had to wipe away to clear his vision, blinking rapidly to focus his eyes onto his mother. “Mom, come on, do I have to mop the entire narthex? I’ve been mopping up muddy footprints for an hour now!” He complained, putting an emphasis on his words.

“Only the narthex?” Michael scoffed playfully giving a very dramatic eyeroll as taken back his hammer and final nail back over to the board, using his large hand to hold out another missing person flier to the unstable surface of many other wrinkled papers. “I would finish mopping the halls by now and sweet-talking sister Cathy Greens too.” Michael cheekily looked over to his brother with a smirk that he knew Sam wanted to smack off with the soggy end of his mop at that moment.

Sam probably would have given his brother a very ‘sinful gesture’ with his finger if not in the presence of his mother or the Christs crucifixion statue just above his head in that moment, so he resorted to a more childish action and stuck his tongue out at his eldest, to which Michael returned the favor, making Lucy sigh, her lips pulling into a straight line whilst she shook her head.

“Yes, Sam, we talked about this!” She said while walking toward him, cutting between any squabbling her kids were about to get into and shutting it down swiftly. Her shoes clicked against the floor with her hurried pace. “We need the Church to be in the best shape, which includes the spaces people enter. We want it to it be just as cleaned and pristine as the very spirits who walk in and walk out.” Lucy brought her hands up to his damp face, looking him over and examining his overall appearance with a rather disappointed and confused look on her face.

“What are you doing even outside to begin with? I said to clean the narthex, not the sidewalk!” Lucy tsked her son as he reeled away and squirmed in her motherly touch. “You’re completely drenched, Samuel.”

“It’s not my fault!” Sam protested, trying to defend himself as he pulled away from his moms hands, placing one of his own on his chest and using his mop to motion back and forth between himself and the halls beyond him. “Gramps wasn’t watching the gate, and someone came by. I had to run all the way across the field back home in the rain, unlock it, and run all the way back here to tell you that Chrysta’s at the house.”

“Chrysta’s here?” Michael perked up, pulling away from the board and looking toward his sibling with interest. His eyes flicker over to the large grandfather clock, squinting a bit to see the small hands from their far distance, pursing his lips slightly. “She’s earlier than usual. Way early.”

“Whatever, gramps just told me to tell you guys.” Sam shrugged, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt uncomfortably.

Lucy just nodded with her sons words, walking over to one of the pews where her and Michael’s coats were laid across the back of, grabbing both of them. “Well, let’s not waste time and leave the poor girl waiting,” She gave Michael his large black coat whilst tugging hers loosely to and over her shoulders. “We don’t need your Grandpa going on about his taxidermy injuries or his tall tales about Santa Carla monsters to scare her off.” She humored to try and cheer her gloomy sons spirits while beginning her walk out of the Church and back home.

“I think she’s already far gone if she’s still been coming back for this long.” Sam mumbled under his breath as he went to follow after his mom, only to be halted by his brothers arm, causing him to snap his head over to look at him confusedly.

“Hold on now, you aren’t going anywhere.” Michael stated sternly, but the sparkle in his blue eyes gave way easily to the fact that he was being playful. “You still have a narthex to clean, Sammy..” He commented with a grin slowly forming on his face whilst tugging his coat on and following swiftly behind his mother.

It wasn’t until Sam had quickly lifted his mop and up pressed it’s sopping end harshly into his brothers back, jabbing him hard enough he let out a noise of exclamation and stumbled a bit- only to then turn around halfway and snatch the wooden neck of it and use his strength to harshly yank his brother forward, Sam scrambling as the mop clattered to the ground and Michael locked his poor younger sibling underneath his arm, his knuckles making contact with his scalp and beginning to shake out his hair furiously. Sam, who protested and struggled the whole way as his relentless brother gave him a noogie that would surely have him growing a bald spot eventually. At least he was nice enough to keep his already wet brother underneath the spare tails of his coat as the traveled through the rainy field.

“Speak of the Devil.” Michael muttered as he and his family stepped up to the front steps of there house- to which his mother smacked his chest lightly with a faint comment of ‘Don’t say such things in vain’ Like she always did. He smiled as he looked over to his brother, motioning with his head to the window where he peered inside to see their Grandfather, shuffling around the room whilst seeming to be in deep conversation with something they only knew as telling another one of his so-called true stories. Sam exchanged a matching smile with his brother as he shook out his damp hair.

Lucy carefully opened the door, the aged wood faintly creaking, and the voice of the elderly groundskeeper filled the air inside, the three silently making there way in as to not disrupt is storytelling.

“And with only my fathers shotgun, and one silver bullet in my shaking hand… I ventured into those very woods.” The elderly bishop known as Mister (or formally Brother) Emerson made a motion with his hands as if imitating a gun in his arms, aiming it around the woods and toward the many taxidermy animal in every corner and crevice of the spacious living room.

“How thrilling.” The familiar sound of sweet giggling coming from the living room connected to the kitchen, the three of the four Emersons turning to see the new face as they spread out through the home finally making it through the doorway. Michael couldn’t help a small eyeroll, but nothing harmful with it, he merely knew that his dear friend had already heard this story countless times in her visits to the Emerson’s residence every Sunday.

“Dad, you’ve gotta stop with all these stories! One day you’re gonna scare Sam into sleeping on my bedroom floor with the hallway light on for months again.” Lucy commented rather casually as she took her wet coat off her shoulders, shaking off the rain droplets gathering on it’s shoulders and hanging it atop the antlers of a mule deer head working as a sort of coatrack.

“Hey!” Sam spoke up in protest, his eyes going wide and face getting red, humiliation and anger making his face flush. He quickly looked over to where Chrysta stood at the kitchen island, his mouth going agape as he tried to speak, shaking his head. “I-I never did that by the way.” He quickly managed out some final way to keep his ego from shattering right there before her very eyes.

“Hi Sammy.” Chrysta replied with a small laugh in her voice, folding her arms atop the counter and leaning against it, Sam’s dog Nanook quickly hurried from beneath her legs and trotted over to his owner, barking as some sort of greeting as Sam ran off to the couch to listen to the end of his grandfather’s story. Even if it’s one he’d heard for days on end, it was his personal favorite, and there were a few moments Chrysta could see his lips move to recite the scene in sync with his grandpa.

“Chrysta, It’s so nice of you to stop by!” Lucy greeted sweetly, walking over to the young woman, and giving her a soft embrace, hugging her gently as she recuperated the contact gladly, enjoying the faint smell of the older woman’s sweet perfume, the motherly scent always had given her a sense of calm when she set foot into the home.

“I apologize for being so early. I just to stop by and drop off these flowers I found on my way here as I was leaving my Aunties gazebo.” The brunette pulled away just slightly to look at Lucy, her arms still loosely locked with hers. She only pulled away just to gather her basket off the kitchen counter and search through the bushels and bouquets of blossoming buds carefully and delicately placed inside, the pure silk clothe beneath them flowing over the sides of the wicker basket like soft streams of water, with vibrant colored petals and fluorescent green leaves and vines creeping across its edges. Her delicate hands carefully threaded through a few of the damp flowers, there petals gathered small droplets of water that soaked into the white cuff of her sleeve.

Chrysta pulled four flowers from the basket, the pure white blooming buds shown to Lucy as she marveled at them, clasping her hands together. “Oh these are beautiful!” Lucy exclaimed, bringing her hand to one of the soft petals, running her thumb across it’s gentle surface. “I’ve never seen such full wild lilies before… Your aunt must work some magic in how well she grows her gardens.” Lucy commented as she looked back up at Chrysta, her eyes sparkling over the bridge of her glasses.

Chrysta gave a small nod of thanks, smiling brightly as she rested the flowers in the crook of her arm. “I thought they’d look just lovely with the new Mother Mary display down at the church. I know there aren’t many, but that’s why I’ve brought some roses and lilacs just to help make them pop.” She explains whilst settling the lilies back into her basket among the many other flowers she had just mentioned.

Lucy can’t help a friendly chuckle. “It’s such a blessing you’ve been graced, Chrysta.”

“And what’s that, Sister Emerson?” The young woman asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

“A good sense in style.” She winked, causing Chrysta to giggle lightly, a small shake of her head following. Lucy just left the girl to her business as she went to make a warm beverage for their house guest and to possibly stop her father from giving her son night terrors.

Chrysta simply went back to looking through her basket of flowers when she heard slow steps from behind her, but she paid little mind to the noise, already aware of the beings presence and the familiarity it brought, feeling as their chest made contact snugly against her back.

“Hello Michael.” She replied warmly, still focusing on mapping out her little display of flowers in her head once she’d be allowed to decorate for the Emersons church.

“You’re early.” He replied softly, his voice resonated deeply in his chest, the sound reverberating against her back.

“Do you want me gone that bad?” She quipped with humor, raising a brow. But she felt Michael’s breathing pause for a split second, before her silence was met with a “No.”

She only hummed, a faint smile pressed on her lips while she continued to to carefully dig through her basket, allowing the comforting silence to prolong… At least as silent as it could be with Elder Emerson continuing to go on about his alleged werewolf encounter when he was a young boy.

Michael’s chin rested snugly atop her head full of dark curls peering into the bundle of flowers with an invisible sense of curiosity, his cobalt iris’s watching the trail her fingers went over each bud or thorned stem. It was usual that she brought over vibrant red roses, and a few tufts of white heliotropes, and the now infamous white lilies gathered and set off to the side with some pink lilacs and purple lavender. A few flowers he had yet to see her bring over with her many travels, the deep vibrant purple clashing with the many reds and whites.

“What are these?” He brought his hands to her shoulders for a moment, before slowly sliding them down the length of her outstretched arms and ghosting over her fingers as they reached out for the hidden away herb. Chrysta’s eyes quickly flickered over to his wandering hands, and she used the back of hers to push one hand away whilst she brought her other one up to lightly smack his chest playfully.

“Quit snooping!” She whispered harshly, but he could hear the smile in her voice as he reeled his hands away in mock defeat, grinning into her hair as she felt him let out a huff of amusement into her curls. She seemed to answer his burning question though as she reached in and pulled out the small bouquet of lavender, tied together by a simple string of tule holding it carefully in her hands as she turned around to face him.

“Lavender. For you.” She explained simply, holding it out for him to take. “Spoiled my gift.”

He raised a brow with a mixture of amusement and intrigue, letting out a light scoff with a lopsided grin on his facial features as he gently took it from her, admiring it for a moment. “Pretty.” He commented, glancing toward her for a split second through his eyelashes.

“Put it in your tea.” She explained, turning over to look at Lucy still over at the kitchen counter setting up a tray of her nicest porcelain to serve drinks, the kettle on the stove beginning to whistle. “It should help with your headaches and to sleep at night.”

Michael’s grin slowly started to fall, a displeasure forming on his features as his brows slowly knitted together. He looked down at the lavender again. “I’m not having any nightly troubles, Chrysta.” He spoke up, setting the lavender onto the countertop at her side as he stepped away from her. She frowned.

“You don’t have to lie.” She urged gently, watching as he stepped over to the other side of the kitchen island, running a hand through his curls. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about, I’m only giving it to you to at least try. You’re mother just thought it could help.”

Michael let out a heavy sigh as the hand in his hair traveled to his face, dragging it down his features before it dropped back to the countertop. “So it was her that told you.” He said, finally looking back up at Chrysta where she stood on the opposite side of the island.

“I told who what?” Lucy had entered both into the space and conversation, holding a tray of teacups, the faintest trails of steam leaving them along with a calming aroma of tea inside. Michael’s mouth closed for a second, forming a straight line as if to think for a moment, but he merely shook it off, grabbing at the newspapers and books scattered among the middle of the island so his mother could set the tray down. “Nothing, nothing.” Michael replied under his breath as he set the items off to the side.

Chrysta bit the inside of her cheek watching the young Priest, walking back over to where he stood not too far and giving a small sigh. “I think I would’ve figured it out myself eventually.” She stated softly. Her hand carefully crept up to his face, her fingers lightly brushing over the darkness gathering underneath his eyes, slowly drawing back down his jaw. His jaw fell slack for a moment, his lips parting slightly as if thinking of some way to explain himself, but he was unable to do so. He averted his eyes to the floor.

“Here,” She took a few of the stems and buds from the bushel of lavender on the counter, holding it in her palm as she used her other hand to carefully grab one of the teacups, setting it in front of him. “If you won’t drink it for me… At least give it a try for your mother. She’s worried to death for you.” Chrysta delicately sprinkled in the dry crumbled up petals, the stems floating atop the dark earthy colored surface of the tea as she takes it and holds it up for him to take, wiping off the remnants of the herb on her skirts.

Michael had only known Chrysta for what? Two years now? Yet it was almost embarrassing how easily she could read him. She was just a young lady new to Santa Carla then, having moved in with her hyper religious Aunt and attending the Church to sing with the choir, take sacraments, and then be on her way. She didn’t even meet Michael until she came over one day with the very basket of flowers she had with her in that moment, discussing something with his mother about flowers and the Church whilst her mother listened fully invested in whatever proposal this girl had. She was so shy back then too, very quiet and kept to herself when she wasn’t spoken to. She’d always call him ‘Brother Emerson’ and speak to him so formally when she wasn’t avoiding him like the plague. Sometimes he wonders how he got on her good side and was able to see her as the woman she is now, very outgoing and friendly. Surely the sweetest thing to walk the earth.

Sometimes, he didn’t know if he hated meeting her, or spent every waking moment thanking God for a friend like her. In that moment, he was unsure as she held that cup of tea to him. On one hand, he had more people that wasted their time worrying about him, and on one hand…

Was that such a bad thing?

He reluctantly took the teacup from her hands, it’s small frame in contrast to being held carefully in his large hand. “…Thanks.” He muttered, but there wasn’t any bitterness in it, at least not toward her. Her shoulders visibly went lax, and she gave him a closed mouth smile and quick firm nod.

“And then!” Chrysta visibly jumped at Elder Emerson speaking up, now much closer to the three adults on the kitchen island than he was moments before. Michael reflexively grabbed onto Chrysta’s arm, rolling his eyes at his grandfather, even making Lucy yelp and spit some of her tea while muttering ‘Dad!’ As she used her hand to wipe away the tea now staining her Sunday best blouse, causing her to frown.

“There I laid, my foot caught in the bear trap, cornered against the big oak… It stared at me, huntin’ me down just waitin’ to strike.” The old man continued. “Starin’ at me in the darkness, with it’s big, yellow eyes.” He emphasized his words whilst snatching one of the lamps near the couch Sam was laid out on, holding it up to his face to cast overly dramatic shadows on his aged features.

“And then you took up your dads musket with one hand cause your other arm was broken, and you shot the werewolf with only one silver bullet and an arm.” Michael finished off the story quickly as he let go of Chrysta. “We’ve heard this story already, Grandpa.”

“It isn’t just a story,” Elder Emerson shook his head, setting the lamp back down rather half hazardly as Sam and to quickly catch it before it fell off the edge of the coffee table. “Its truth! It happened out there in those very woods…” He hurried over to the window in the kitchen just above the sink, pointing through the blurry glass ridden in trickles of water and rain droplets.

His aged finger pressed firmly against the cold glass, straight out into the woods just behind the Church and graveyard, the many tall pines and dark leaves that gave it such a dark and intimidating aura, shrouding away secrets within, and keeping more out.

The far of steeple in the distance of a once beautiful and elegant Chapel, now fallen to ruin, yet is spire still held high, high enough not even the oaks and pines could hide it. It was one secret the forest couldn’t hide.

Chrysta took a sip of her tea as she walked over to where Elder Emerson stood, her interest peaked and that dreaded curiosity of hers had her look out thoughtfully toward it all. “Wow, Father Emerson you must’ve never been the same since… I heard the woods are dangerous.” She looked over to him, and it seemed she was genuine with her words. “Not many go in and come back out… At least not the same.”

“And I never did.” Elder Emerson replied, his words grave, but he had a crooked smile on his face was he watched her with twinkling eyes.

She only made a small ‘oh’ with her mouth as she tried to hide her concerns behind her teacup as she took another slow sip. “Is it true then? That monsters hide in the woods. Is that why they’re gated off for the night?” Seeming that she found the perfect time to spill all her questions, Chrysta took it, never able to talk about such things with her Aunty unless she wanted to be spending the next hour on her knees praying for bringing up such terrible omens in their home.

“Oh Chrysta don’t get him started now.” Lucy spoke up as she handed her father the cup of tea meant for him, which he merely took a smell of and set down with disinterest.

“It’s good for a girl like her to be asking such questions, especially with all these people goin’ missin’ in Santa Carla…” Elder Emerson said with a solemn shake of his head as he shuffled away from the window. “This happened before, you know. Back in 1906, after that awful earthquake… Girls were goin’ missing left and right, young men were disappearing after late night hours at the factories… History is repeating itself like clockwork. It’s only obvious that they’ve returned to Santa Carla. It’s the mother nest.”

Sam perked up from the couch, folding his arms over the back of it as he looked at his grandfather with wide eyes. “What’s come back, Grandpa?” He asked as the old man moved to the fridge, looking through as the contents inside stirred. He pulled out a root beer from inside, cracking it open with a handy bottle opener and taking a quick swig of the sugary contents. He then looked straight at Sam, something sinister about the grin forming on his wrinkled face.

“Vampires.”

Chrysta almost gasped enthusiastically, clutching her cup to her chest. “Heart larceners.” She whispered softly, looking down into her cup as her nails tapped against the porcelain anxiously.

Sam almost audibly gulped, picking at the fabric of the couch as he went extremely silent, exchanging glances from his grandfather toward his older brother, even the mention of the word made Nanook growl protectively from where he laid near the fireplace, the flames inside flickering against the shadow of his fur.

“Dad, that’s enough.” Lucy now spoke firmly, shooting a look toward her father. “You shouldn’t talk about those things; it invites bad omens and evil.” She stated as she walked passed him and toward Sam, running her hand through his slowly drying hair gently before taking a seat next to him, her handle absentmindedly played with the small cross pendant around her neck.

“So then it’s true?” Chrysta continued to ask, looking over to Elder Emerson as he continued to sip at his root beer. “Vampires really live in Santa Carla? In the woods?” She asked as she set her cup down onto the island again. “Is that what’s been happening to everyone? Is that why everyone is going missing?”

“Chrysta, please don’t trouble your mind with such gruesome thoughts.” Lucy spoke up, looking at the girl almost tiredly, hoping she wouldn’t keep encouraging her father’s outlandish tales. “A girl like you shouldn’t be troubling yourself with evil things like Vampires.”

“Oh but it’s just so frightening and interesting.” Chrysta spoke up as she walked back over to the island. “It’s like a book you just can’t bring yourself to put down.” She explained, tracing the handle of her cup as she chewed at her bottom lip for a moment, tasting the cherry lip-gloss stained on them as she ran her tongue across her rip.

“I read that they steal and eat the hearts of virgins… They just, come in the night and steal you away from the world, never to be seen again.” She spoke up softly, letting out a shaky sigh and shivering slightly before she gave a small smile. “It gives me chills to think about. I swear sometimes it keeps me up at night.” She giggled a bit as she looked up at Michael.

He was pale. He looked as thought he was about to be sick as he kept his eyes forward and away from Chrysta’s. She faltered, her smile fading and immediately replaced with alarm. His jaw was tense as he tapped his finger anxiously against the kitchen counter. She would have thought he was lost in thought if he hadn’t muttered something she could have sworn was a curse if he’d had spoken up. “You shouldn’t be tainting your soul reading those things, Chrysta.” He muttered, his tone was dry and cold. Her brows knitted together, lips parting slightly as she sucked in a breath.

“What was that, Michael?” She asked softly, bringing a hand up to his shoulder. She flinched away as he quickly set his cup down onto the countertop, harsh enough she almost expected it to shatter in his hands.

“Find something else to waste your time on.” Michael harshly pulled away, stepping from the island, and urgently stepping to the coat rack, snatching his jacket from the antler it hung from. “Same with your… Your- lavender.” He half hazardly motioned to the herbs on the counter as he then rushed toward the front door.

“Michael?” Lucy called, obviously just as surprised at his reaction as she watched Michael with worry, making a move to stand up. “Where are you going?” Sam looked at his brother with a matching expression, except for that underlying hint of guilt that seemed to sparkle in his blue eyes contrast to the flickering fireplace.

“I just remembered I forgot to replace the hymnbooks in the primary. I’ll be back later.” He stated bluntly and swiftly, almost stumbling over his hurried words as he pulled his coat on whilst opening the door. Nothing but the harsh slam of the door echoing back to worried protests of his family inside, the picture frames and hung taxidermy shaking and clattering faintly with the strong blow to the front door.

Chrysta brought a hand to her face, biting the edge of her finger anxiously as a heavy silence filled the room, even the rain seemed to pause for a split moment to take in the tense moment. If it weren’t for the distant thunder roaring outside. “I didn’t mean to upset him.” She spoke up, bringing her hand back down to her chest as she fiddled with the buttons of her blouse, her eyes falling away with shame. “I shouldn’t have droned on like that.”

“Oh, don’t beat yourself up Chrysta.” Lucy spoke up as she stood from her seat, taking Sams now empty teacup along with her own. “Michael’s been very… Touchy about those things lately. You had no clue.” Lucy reassured the poor girl, her voice soft and confirming, but Chrysta knew she was just saying it mostly to have her feel better. They both knew very well that something was wrong with Michael.

“He just needs time to collect himself… Times like these are stressful for a Priest- for a boy who’s been called back and forth for blessings and prayers of frightened families.” Lucy called from the kitchen as she set the cups into the sink, walking back over to Chrysta as she wiped her wet hands off her emerald-green skirt. Her eyes lit up slightly as she placed her hands on Chrysta’s shoulders, giving them a small squeeze.

“Say, why don’t you head down to the Church and help him? I’m sure he’d appreciate to finish up before dark. He needs a girl like you and your company now more than ever.” She spoke pulling away and giving her a smile. Chrysta wanted to say something, but found no sound unable to come out. Instead, all she managed was aa small nod, but it felt like a distant gesture as her mind was running off in different places as Lucy plucked the cup from her hands and wandered back the sink.

As Chrysta gently grabbed her basket, she took one small glance toward the bundle of lavender set atop the table, Michael’s abandoned cup of tea at it’s side, the petals still floating atop it’s untouched surface…

#🍒daily dose of cherry🍒#🦇🤍White Wedding AU🤍🦇#fruitbats🦇🍒#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys michael #tlb michael

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