Chapter Text
Grace Chasity was in the right.
She had come to learn that, despite what the unsaved may say, she was almost always in the right, and she wasn’t about to end that streak anytime soon. She’d been taught from before her memories began how to stand up for the morals of the lord, by her parents and pastors and every member of the church she once held dear as a family. Of course she’d learnt how to distinguish the false prophets from the true, the demons from the angels, the good from the bad. Yes, despite what the hallway whispers would have you believe, despite the traitorous tick in the back of her mind and testing few months behind her, Grace Chasity was nothing more than a good person shoved into a bad situation, a bad situation that she was sure as heck going to make the best out of. And sure, her method wasn’t ideal. She’d had to make sacrifices, and the work was bloody and taxing, but she had the world at her fingertips now, shimmering in yellows and purples and blues, in nauseating hunger and piecingly soft fur brushing up against her legs and sticking to her arms.
She’d been taught her entire life that God had a plan for her, that if she just followed the rules she’d be set, destined to float through a simple life then claim her place in heaven, an afterlife as fulfilling as the one she just lived.
But look where that philosophy got her.
Sobbing in her bathtub, trying desperately to scrub away her sin through the worn patches of her old, dull swimsuit.
Lifting an axe high, swinging it down as déjà vu struck her body and the harbinger of her pain was reduced to nothing but a bloody stain on the floor.
Watching, frozen, as the kids that were not-quite-her friends dropped like flies, fracturing the beliefs she’d dedicated her entire life to as they fell.
Chanting as a thousand horrors swirled in front of her, desperately grasping at the remaining strings of her faith. The creatures weren’t human, but were certainly not any creature aligned with Satan, either, for, fallen or not, these beings had never stepped a foot in heaven. We’ve been watching you Gracie.
Sobbing yet again on the Hatchetfield High bathroom floor, realising that she was nothing more than the sacrificial lamb, yet still holding out hope, in the walk back to the gym, that something would come down and save her, praying harder then she ever had to the father, the son, the Holy Spirit or anything that was listening. She realised, then, that those philosophies, that lifetime of prayer and dedication, were all for nothing. The people that raised her were fools; not entirely incorrect, of course, but fools nonetheless. Yes, the bible was largely based on a truth, but they had it wrong. God wasn’t one entity, no, ‘he’ was five, five larger than life spirits that bowed to no law and obeyed no master. This statement alone, she was sure, would be enough to put her god-fearing parents into cardiac arrest, but she knew it true.
She was their next great prophet, after all.
She took a deep breath as she gazed into the mirror, preforming the ritual she had since their first execution had taken place, exactly three weeks and five days ago at the night of the dreaded homecoming dance. She shook her head, remembering her nativity, the posters and fliers that hadn’t done a thing. It was a good thing really, that she’d opted for a more… direct approach. Tapping her ashen nails against the sink she began to count, watching the five coloured lights above her head dance in the mirror as they became brighter and brighter.
I invoke the names.
Pokotho…
She steeled herself as phlegm rose in the back of her throat and thousands of tiny screams filled her ears, getting louder and louder until they merged into one, a horrifyingly perfect harmony-
Bliklotep…
Somewhere in the distance, a yell, as a thousand eyes shuddered open, always watching, forever bearing witness to even the smallest of human sin-
T’noy karaxis…
She flinched with instant miagrain as a seething web of possibilities exploded in her minds eye, billions of what ifs and nevers, abandoned yesterdays and false tomorrows, all tangled together in a rotting eternal dance-
Nibblenephim…
She doubled over in pain as hunger spasmed in her gut, her nausea replaced by a foul, rabid hunger that would turn even the most docile of beasts into a monster-
Wiggog-
Wiggog Y’rath
She spat out the last name as the sensations doubled, tripled, filling her body with
unmatched pain and anguish, chewing her up and spitting her out, melting her mind and-
And then it stoped.
She slowly opened her eyes and glanced at the haunting beasts gathered around her bathroom, uncanny human figures radiating cruel glee. Bowing clumsily, she turned to face their leader, a menacing green power currently taking the form of a schoolboy, the same form as when Steph and Pete- she bit her lip as she halted that hazy strain of thought. Mingling with the unsaved was rightfully prohibited, even thinking about them was a crime worth thorough punishment by her Lords. Blinking at Wiggly she stammered out her welcomes, still dazed from the summoning, and his face contorted into a massive grin, amused and bloodthirsty and human in all the wrong ways.
“Greetings, Gracie! My brothers and I were greatly pleased with the latest extermination, we knew we chose our prophet wisely!” He slipped his hand under her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “You’ve been doing so well! Hatchetfield is almost cleansed of sin, thanks to you, doing the lords work!” Grace almost smiled, glowing with pride. This was her purpose, it always had been, serving her lords, saving the unsaved and righting what was wrong-
“However.” Graces heart dropped at his displeasured tone. How dare she displease her lords! She bowed her head, ready to accept the punishment for whatever she had done to wrong them
“Almost all of the dirty dudes in that unholy school of yours were disposed of without much of a second thought, Corinthians 6:9 and all that. But that Lauter girl and her good for nothing boyfriend….” he gave her a false pitying look, patting her arm and sending shocks of electricity up her shoulder. “You were with her and her horny bitch when we first found you, Gracie. We can tell you keep thinking about them. You better not have feelings for either of them, you know what happened last time you let your mind betray you.” Grace shuddered; in truth, she didn’t know what happened last time, couldn’t quite place her finger on it, couldn’t quite see through the haze that shrouded her memories before she started her new life, before she pledged to the lords.
“O-of course not, my lord. I barely know them, I just- they’re both such losers, I never even thought of wasting our time and power on them..” Wiggly drew bigger, hissing at grace through the taunts of his brothers.
“Then fucking kill them. Go on. They both live in the same house, share a bed… they’re dirty sinners, Gracie, dirty sinners taking up too much space in your sweet little stubborn head. Go fucking kill them, give them what’s coming, eat them burn them bury them alive and send them on their way, drag them down with us, bring the sinners all the way down to drowsy town.” The other brothers joined in on Wigglys chant, filling Graces mind with images and colours and-
And just like that, they were gone, leaving Grace Chasity shivering on her bathroom floor struck with rage, filled with plans and purpose and not much else.
*****
You’d think, after so many lifetimes, after so many fallen angels and kids that couldn’t be saved, that Miss Holloway would be stoic. You could assume that after all that time you would become a emotional void, that at the very least someone who could stare death in the eye would be uneffected when it took yet another she hardly knew. Unfortunately, if you happened to somehow get close enough to her to assume this, you’d be wrong. Yes, when Dan declared yet another student dead at the hands of the mysterious hatcherfield killer she felt as much grief and guilt as if it was one of her own. The town had been in mourning for weeks as the bodies stacked higher and higher, the school halls echoing and the football field abandoned. There had been talk, by a few smart cowards, of leaving the island, immigrating across the lake and becoming a chemist, but she knew that they wouldn’t be safe for long. Of course this had started in Hatchetfield, but it would surely spread.
Duke stared solemnly into his murky coffee, the upbeat music and colours floating through Ms Retros diner almost mocking as he poured over the latest victims files.
“The last victim… he wasn’t a bad kid. He had an attitude problem, a record, but- I knew the family! He had a job, helping his dad out in the garage, his girlfriend spoke about him with stars in her eyes, she trusted him, I-“ He pushed the papers towards Ms Holloway, trying and failing to maintain his calm front. “The cops are fucking useless here, and you know it. Theres no goddamn connection between any of these people anymore, no evidence on any of the death scenes. No one knows what’s going on, everyone’s terrified, and that includes me too! How am I meant to protect the kids when I don’t even know how to protect myself?”
Ms Holloway sighed wearily, dragging herself from the depths of her mind to try and comfort Duke. She was working on it, she promised, she just needed more information, more power, more time.
Time that the victims would never get to experience.
She lay in her bed that night, long after Duke had left, and slowly let down her guard. She visualised the black book, simmering with putrid strength and corrupt power, felt the grief it had brought, so many different versions of herself that crumbled or stayed strong, that died but never passed. She dug deep through her own mind, past the starlight theatre and Wilbur’s taunting gaze, deep into the heart of the woods where the flame that connected her to the curse burned brightest. It was a foolish girl who made the promise first, a foolish naive girl looking to be the hero, but that didn’t mean the decision didn’t haunt her still, even if she’d disposed of what she thought to be the root of her problems.
Years ago, in a fit of manic grief, she’d taken the book, the book she first made the deal with all those years ago, the book that she was meant to use to help people that had hurt so many more, and she buried it deep in the Witchwood. She’d done all that she could and still let another girl down, another girl dead when it should have been her that was rotting. She thought that, maybe, the world would be better if the power was hidden, unacsesable by both her and others.
She followed the path in her mind that called her towards the tome, praying to whatever could hear her that she was wrong but no—
There it was. The black book lying opened in a suburban bathroom, horrors swirling around a teen girl promising to help.
She sat up, ripping herself from the scene. She’d tried every other option, every other explanation for what was happening in her town, but her gut had been right.
The lords were back.
And they had a vessel.
****
That night felt different, somehow. It shouldn’t have, Grace knew that, she carried out her duties with a merticuously placed hand that she prided on keeping steady. Every sacrifice was more or less the same, reading out her victims sins, making them pray, for repentance and forgiveness and maybe even mercy, and then invoking the names and ending their lives, cleansing the world of another stain on the good name of man. She disliked variation, and other than the verses she read— 1 Corinthians 6:9-10, 1 Corinthians 6:18 or even Leviticus 20:13, if it seemed nessasary, she preferred to keep her interactions with the unsaved at a minimum, lest they rub of on her holy spirit. She shivered against the biting wind, pulling her pink sweater closer around her as she readied her bike, ignoring the pulsing in her back from the tome. Tonight, the lords had said, no matter her spinning head and the restless unease that was crawling its way through her gut.
She had a job to do, and with luck it would be a quick, simple one that would give her time for a brief rest before her parents forced her to join them for breakfast.
With a glance into the reaching shadows she pedalled down the street, murmuring a soft lullaby that had never been hers.
***
It was not a good time to be a Lauter.
Carrying the name had, in Stephane’s opinion at least, never been particularly pleasant, but right now it was absolutely fucking horrific.
Her fathers shadow had always followed her, but now she was haunted, haunted by strangers stopping her in the street to offer their half-baked sympathies, as if he was the only bastard that had really fucking mattered.
With Miss Tessburger gone and the rest of the town having bigger things to worry about, Steph was stuck with the only person who wanted her.
The Spankoffski household was modest, plagued by parents that were too polite to ask and the occasional shadow of a man too drunk to care. Despite the initial mutterings of ‘stay as long as you like’ and ‘what’s ours is yours’ Steph never got around to feeling welcome, so really the place came with all the old comforts she was long used to living in.
Pete’s room was small and nerdy, with magazine cutouts and periodic tables lining the walls and chemistry sets and text books lining the floors, cluttering the place in a way that was nothing short of comforting, a stark contrast to the meticulously arranged shelves of her own room. She’d promised his parents that she’s stick to sleeping on the couch and, technically, since she hadn’t really slept in weeks, she wasn’t breaking any promises.
Politics, Stephanie, is all about loopholes.
She pushed the thoughts of her father away, intent on thinking of something else, anything else. There was so many people to mourn, so many better people than her father, so many tragedies that she doubted she’d ever forget. This wasn’t how it should have gone. They did it, they defeated the bad guy, it should have stopped there. They should have gotten their happy ending, they deserved their happy ending.
She buried her face in Pete’s sleeping neck, counting his sharp breaths as her thoughts spiralled. They were shaky, not exactly the calmest thing in the word, but they meant he was alive, and as long as she could hear them she would keep going.
She wasn’t exactly sure how long it had taken for her to fall into a fitful sleep, but she was yanked back into consciousness by Pete’s shaky yell, a panic different from the one she was used to being jolted awake by. The silhouette in the doorway wasn’t Pete’s concerned parents or the slouching figure of Ted, but was familiar all the same. She swore as she stood up, pushing Pete behind her as she eyed the glowing pages flicking through the shadows hands.
Grace.
***
Ms Holloway tore down the street, failing to multitask as she tried to keep an eye on the road while she followed the stench of the tome through the darkened suburbs.
Something was happening, tonight, another killing, and she wasn’t going to let another kid die, wasn’t going to let her ignorance murder another innocent. Her head throbbed as she pulled up to a regular, older home. This was it.
She tore through the living room as a scream filled the house, the stale air echoing with deep, manic laughter, pulsing in harmony with the yells of a girl, reciting ancient texts.
She burst through the door, staggering slightly as the power of the lords washed over her, making her skin bristle and stomach drop. She wasn’t too late, she couldn’t be-
Standing in the center of the room was the girl, stony face alit with the blinding colours of the Lords In Black. They were gathered around her, shaking with cruel glee and patting her on the back, congratulating her on the the show.
Fuck.
Steeling herself, Ms Holloway took a step forward, addressing the leader.
‘Wiggly! Did Cross go and get himself put on the naughty list, did he? Decided to upgrade to manipulating teenage girls instead?’
The god swung around, letting a hiss.
‘Holloway! Come to offer yourself as another sacrifice? We had a deal, y’know, but my paly-wal here doesn’t believe in witches’
The girl looked up through glassy eyes, mumbling ‘Thou shalt not suffer a sorceress to live. I would be happy to take care of another sinner, my lord.’
Turning up the collar of her jean jacket, Ms Holloway scoffed.
‘Fortunately for me you’re a couple decades too late for the witch-hunts, Wiggly.’ Keeping one eye on the girl, she walked further into the room.
‘And you’re right. We did have a deal. Your little toy can’t hurt me in any way that matters, and if you had the power you would have finished me off long ago. She can try to drag me down all you want, but i know the book, and I know your powers.’
Wiggly simply laughed, turning towards his brothers. ‘God, she’s awfully full of herself, isn’t she? Gracie.’
With a flourish of his hand the kid stepped forward, expression serious as she began reciting lines.
“As stated in Deuteronomy 17:12, Anyone who shows contempt for the judge or for the priest who stands ministering there to the Lord your God is to be put to death. Ma’am, on behalf of the only true gods, the holy Lords of the black and white, I have sentenced you to death. May your passing help free our world of sin, and may you flourish amount the souls in drowsy town.’
She moved to open the book, flicking to a bookmarked page and beginning to read the chant.
Taking the opportunity Ms Holloway lunged forward, ignoring the outraged screams of the lords as she grabbed the girl, placing her hands on her temples and whispering, urging her into a long awaited sleep.
***
Grace had everything- she’d pushed through her mortal emotions, truly pleased the lords, she was saving the hecking world—
And then she had nothing. Suddenly she was floating in the darkness, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite put a finger on. She was definitely tired, she decided, and she could get used to the sensation of floating. Shutting her eyes she sighed, slipping into a deep sleep.
Some time later, when she finally awoke, she found herself standing in a familiar wooden church. It so similar to the one she grew up in, so alike the sanctuary that used to be a second home. She hadn’t been in a church in so long, she suddenly realised, though she couldn’t remember why not. This was her life, as vital to her as the blood pumping through her heart. This was where she belonged.
The walls seemed to reach to the heavens, filled with stained glass filtering in weak sunlight, sending colours and shapes dancing along the floor, worn by so many years of devote feet, dutifully taking part in a sacred tradition.
The pews were the same as always, jostling with people, a community, though for some reason she couldn’t make out their hazy figures, couldn’t quite form shapes into a coherent face.
There was a book on the alter, a bible bound in thick black leather that seemed to be calling out to her. She stood, steeling herself, hastily ascending the stairs. As she reached out to touch it a smile crossed her face. She felt a pull from the bible. She was a true Christian. All those years of devotion and study, of ostracisation and suppression, they were worth it, they would always be-
The second her fingers brushed the old, darkened page, the floor shifted. The stained glass began to warp, bending and twisting, changing colour and shifting shape.
She wanted to look away, had to, but her eyes were fixed, watching the horrors unfold, watching as the hallway stretched. In place of Joseph and mary, crosses and all things holy, the windows began to tell a story.
A young girl being scolded by a pastor, reprimanded for her helpless curiosity.
A lesson from her parents, chewed gum and tape and roses, an understanding and a duty.
The same lesson from different adults, repeated at camp until it was drilled into their heads, tattooed onto their bones.
A promise to be better, to be the best, to destroy any feelings on the contrary, to quell her traitorous thoughts and become a true, good Christian.
Kids, pointing and laughing, mocking her frustration. She’d only been trying to help, to let them know they could be saved from themselves. She’d only ever wanted to help.
The windows mocked not just her past, but a thousand others, showing her in terrible, familiar situations she knew she’d never experienced. In some images she stood tall over others, welding a pink shirt and bloodied axe. In others she displayed a blue gunshot wound tearing through her skull, or prayed on her knees for a familiar green toy.
The windows warped again, instead showing her crying in a bathtub, dismembering one body, then dozens of others, degraded yet again to a puppet, a hollow husk of a girl.
She was only doing what was right, she could swear that it had all been for a good cause, a holy cause, but—
The shapes shifted yet again, taking the final form of monsters, of gods that love nothing more than dispear, that would kill thousands out of boredom. They were horrifying, they were terrible, and they were so, so familiar as they called out, whispering songs and deals and taunts that echoed through the walls.
Grace screamed, covering her head with her hands and glancing down at the pews. The community had settled, and the haze around them had cleared. Staring up at her was the undead, zombies whose gaze pierced through her core, each with unique injuries, bloodied bodies and gashes, each scar as familiar as her own.
This was all her fault.
From the closest seats, eyes boring into her with a vague distrust, was the mangled bodies of Stephanie Lauter and Peter Spankoffski. She let out a cry as she tore down the stairs towards them, the memories of the night coming back to her. Steph and Pete, the only people at Hatchetfield High she would even remotely consider her friends, who had stood by her through hell, who never stopped reaching out, who now flinched away from her as she tried to do the same. She was sorry, she was so sorry, she hadn’t meant to, the book in her pocket and the stones in her hands weren’t her, they were never her.
Her knees connected with the hard, wooden floor as the disfigured corpses of her friends moved closer together, further away from her, holding each others broken bodies while sneering down at her shaking on the floor.
Tears streaming down her face, grace silently sobbed. “Anyone who shows contempt for the judge or for the priest who stands ministering there to the Lord your God is to be put to death,” and then, quieter still— “thou- thou shalt not kill.”