Note: The is my first attempt at a fanfic. I hope it isn't terrible. All reviews/constructive criticisms welcome. :)

Chapter 1

BRU-HAH-HAH

The miracle of child birth was growing thin for Carol McCormick. For what felt like the umpteenth time, she found herself wrapping her infant son in his oversized orange parka. Sometimes Stuart would wake up and help her with the mess, but that was only sometimes. Usually he was out cold from all the weed and the case of Pabst Blue Ribbon he had consumed. All courtesy of the money she made washing dishes at the Olive Garden, of course.

She closed her eyes and sighed, swaying on the spot. She had childbirth down to an art, but that didn't mean it wasn't exhausting. Not to mention excruciating.

She should have listened to her mom when she told her that Stuart would never amount to anything and would drag her down with him. But it had been hard to take her mother seriously from behind her handle of chardonnay, sporting her waitressing uniform. Besides, how was she supposed to know that he'd be incapable of holding down a job and would end up dragging her to a ritualistic cult ceremony that would result in her having to constantly rebirth her son? No one expects these things! They just happen.

Carol knew that in the morning everything would return to normal. Her infant child will have sprouted into a fourth grader and she will have forgotten all about late-night rebirths and cult meetings, but for now her brain seethed with the memory of it all.

Upon returning to her room, she flipped on the light. It flickered before turning on, and even then was quite dim. Nothing in the house worked right.

Her husband was a snoring mound of threadbare blankets. Carol could just make out his "SCOTCH" hat protruding from the folds. Carol had been prepared to let him sleep, but the sound of his snores awoke a cold fury in her, and so she picked up her old tennis shoe—grey and grimy from years of dish water she'd sloshed on it—and chucked it at him.

"WAKE UP, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

She saw him recoil under the covers. "For fuck's sake, woman! Are you crazy!?" he yelled, popping up and staring at her, startled.

"I just gave birth to your son, asshole! How the hell did you sleep through that? I'LL TELL YOU HOW! Because you drank a case of beer and smoked all my weed!"

Stuart gave her a what-else-is-new? look, and then reached over to the bedside table and retrieved his half-finished Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. It was room temperature and by now very flat, but he brought it to his lips anyways, relishing the way the liquid filled his dry mouth, washing out the taste of shit that had mysteriously filled it between his last sip of beer and now. His eyes were still crimson from the spliff he and his wife had shared.

"I'm sick of paying for your mistakes, Stuart. We shoulda never gone to that cult meetin."

"Well fuck!" he said, nettled. "You were the one who wanted to 'meet people.'"

"NOT THOSE PEOPLE, YOU STUPID ASSHOLE!"

"I am so fucking sick of hearing it! I don't fucking know what to do! It's your problem—fix it yourself!" He fell back onto the bed and pulled the covers up over his head.

Carol clinched her fists, dirty nails digging into the palms of her hands. There had been a time when Stuart had made decent money working construction. He lost that job due to a... personality conflict. He got unemployment, but by the time that ran out, he was used to getting paid for nothing and no reputable employer would hire him with his shady work history. Any mention of him taking on a low-wage job resulted in a rant about how he wasn't going to be a 'slave to the man.' She was certain that he was just bull-headed enough to let his laziness put them out on the streets, and so she was the one stuck slaving away. Granted, she was no angel. She was high all the time, and at least buzzed most of the time, and in all fairness none of the money she made really went to anything. They didn't maintain the house or car, and they had their EBT card for food. All the money really went to was supporting their bad habits.

"Fine, you piece of shit," Carol spat, done with all the circular arguments. "I will do something!"

Stuart sat up again, staring as she trudged off. He hastened to follow her, staggering. "What are you going to do, Carol?"

"I'm going to hire a Mexican."

Stuart followed her out to their old station wagon. She put the car in drive and moments later they arrived at the local Home Depot.

"This is stupid, Carol. How are a bunch of Mexicans going to fix your curse? Or does that somehow involve tarring a roof? Also, they're called day laborers. No one's going to be here in the dead of night."

Carol ignored him and pulled up beside a group of loitering Mexicans. She smiled triumphantly at Stuart, who frowned but said nothing.

She rolled down the window. "You boys lookin for a job?"

"Yes. We all can work. Si."

"Well I need some of your brujeria to break a curse that was put on me by the ancient cult of Cthulhu."

There was a long pause in which the day laborers just stared blankly at them. Then, "Okay."

"Yeah."

"Okay. No problem. That's no problem."

"Yeah. We can do that."

"Si."

Carol shot Stuart another triumphant smile, who just stared with his mouth hanging open.

"Well get on in boys," said Carol, gesturing at back seat. The day laborers clambered inside. "What do you need to get this job done?"

"A cross."

"Si."

"Yeah."

"Si. La cruz."

Carol and Stuart exchanged glances. "Okay... we can get you a cross."

"Si. And hemlock."

"Si."

"Uhh... okay," said Stuart.

"And the head of the goat."

"Sii.."

"Yeah."

"Si, claro. La cabeza de la cabra."

"You... need a goat head?"

"Yes, yes. The head of the goat."

"Si, claro."

"And the blood of the menstruating bear."

"Yes."

"Si."

"Claroo. La sangre de Osa. Sii..."

"What the fuck..." said Stuart.

After they got the necessary ingredients, they returned to their little rundown house. The five Mexicans were in tow, all wearing their Huichol masks. They asked Stuart to get a table upon which they could lay Mrs. McCormick. He of course returned dragging the table he used for beer pong behind him.

Carol got on top of it and laid down. She grimaced when they poured the menstrual bear blood all over her. After that was done, they spread the hemlock about her and placed the goat head at the top of the table.

"This spell will cause the curse to move on to another—a completely random person in the world. A Tibetan barley farmer maybe..."

"Yeah."

"Sure."

"Si."

"Someone random? That I don't know?" Carol glanced at Stuart. "Well I guess I can handle that."

"In the morning, all will be as before and you'll forget all about this. So we'll want payment tonight."

"Hey—this better not be a scam—"

"No, senora." He backed away from her, holding the cross Stuart had provided (two twigs bound together with old twine) out in front of him and began a prayer, his comrades humming ominously behind him.

"Ven! Espiritu santo, llena los corazones de los fieles! Y enciende en ellos!—"

On the table, Carol McCormick began to writhe, a faint light seeming to emit from her orifices...