Ch. 3 Poetic Justice
"So…was it good for you?"
Mr. Scr*tch hovered over Serena as she slept on the couch. He sat beside her on the coffee table, head in hands, propped up on his elbows.
In his…overenthusiasm, he'd almost killed her. Oopsie…that would never do. The night was young, and he hadn't even begun to do half of the things he wanted to with this one. She was quite delightful…for a nerd. Quite musical too, if you counted screaming, which he did. Oh, he would tire of her eventually. It always happened; a real shame…but for now, he was content to hold her under his dark influence.
He leaned over. "Are you dreaming, honey?" he whispered. "I hope so. I hope it's about me."
He gazed at her with no more affection than one would have for a pet, and probably less. However, he wasn't lying earlier. He did want her, but then Mr. Scr*tch was very possessive when it came to his playthings. Anything Taken was his, and if keeping them meant killing them, so be it. Then they could never escape, nor could anyone help them. He smiled as he thought of what Wake had to do. It had to be killing him to kill them, right? He almost laughed at the turn of phrase. Maybe he could be a poet!
He gazed at Serena, and thought for a moment.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Sugar –no.
Blood is sweet, and I am too!
Er, no…no. Tom was the poet. Bastard.
Love is dead, and so are you.
He snickered and continued to watch her. He reached out and smoothed back her hair, even going as far as buttoning up her shirt.
"All in good time, my dear," he whispered, letting his fingers trail down her arm. He lifted her hand and rubbed his face in it.
So warm, he sighed. I've gotta make you last.
Just try to run, I will pursue? Nah, lame.
He kissed her fingertips a few times. He then suckled on each one, biting lightly, stopping only when he bit too hard on her little finger and she moaned, stirring.
Your fingers I will bite and chew? He snorted, giving up, and leaned over farther.
Isn't there a story like this? he thought. Oh yeah, and a prince kisses her awake. Who the hell wants to be just a prince anyway? I'm…well, more like a king! Yeah, a king of the night!
He bent over, intending to kiss her awake, when he suddenly sat up and growled. Something didn't feel right. The night had changed. He sensed it. He didn't want to stop, but something was calling to him.
He looked back down. "I will see you later, my sweet Serena," he said. "Until we meet again, which will be very soon, I think, dream of me doing this."
He leaned over and whispered in her ear for several long minutes, making sure she heard every last filthy detail, nibbling on her earlobe when he finally finished. Serena moaned again, turning over, but whether it was from desire or disgust, he couldn't say. No matter. He stood and left the office.
Once he was outside again he felt stronger than ever. He grinned and almost screamed like a madman.
Wake will never stop me! He can't! He-
He gasped, and suddenly doubled over in pain. In his mind's eye he could see the satellite strike the oil derrick. It exploded, creating an almost Biblical pillar of fire. The light from the fire incinerated some of the bigger things in the dark rift Mr. Scr*tch had planned to use.
Mr. Scr*tch screamed, but not with his physical voice.
NO! He changed it! He figured it out and changed it! But how did he...EMMA?! Emma, you slut! You helped him, didn't you?! You gave him that page, didn't you?! You fucking bitch, you'll pay for that! You'll pay! This is my story! My world!
He quickly dispatched reinforcements and prepared to check his traps again. Wake would go to the observatory next. Satisfied, he slicked his hair back, shaken, but only momentarily.
It's all right, he thought. It's fine. After all, if he makes it here, I still have an ace up my sleeve. I can just send him back to the beginning!
Mr. Scr*tch suddenly realized the implications of that, and grinned as wide as he could. He turned around and looked back at the darkened office.
That means…he thought, I get to mindfuck you all over again, doesn't it, Serena? And if he just so happens to return again…and he won't, but if he does…I can just send him back and fuck you some more. What fun! I can seduce you again and again, make you want me, and of course you'll love me for it every single time!
He beamed with almost childlike excitement.
"In fact," he said aloud, "I might just fuck you now."
He started to go back when the wind kicked up. He felt something wrap around his foot. He looked down and glared at the vile object. It was a page. He picked it up and saw it was actually two pages stuck together. He saw Wake's name for him and began to read. At first he was pleased but as he read on grew angrier and angrier.
THE GENESIS OF MR. SCRATCH
I've seen the enemy, and it's me. I've faced dark horrors before, things that live in the unimaginable pressures of the world beyond our own. Sometimes they masquerade as humans.
That's what ultimately lurks inside Mr. Scratch. He's every mean-spirited tabloid story about me, an evil caricature, a creature formed in that vague territory of misconception, half-truths and the dark imagination of people who "heard a story about me". An urban legend made flesh. A serial killer.
My dark half, brought to life by the power of Cauldron Lake.
THE DOPPELGANGER
It's obvious that for all his power, Mr. Scratch is an agent of another, greater being. The Dark Place he came from is full of terrible alien intelligences, dark presences, and none of them should be let loose in our world. He serves one of them. He'll open the way for them if I don't stop him.
But he'll do-more: he'll take over my life. He already has my face; he already uses my name. He'll become Alan Wake in every way imaginable and corrupt everything...
Unless I can stop him.
Mr. Scr*tch exploded. He screamed into the night.
"Y-Your dark half?" he spluttered. "An evil caricature?! Is that all I am to you, Wake?! I-I serve no one! I'll show you! I'll show Emma too, and I'll make damned sure you watch! You can't stop me! You'll never stop me! I'll take everything away from you! It's all going to be mine!"
With a shriek of rage, Mr. Scr*tch dissolved into an inky, black shape and vanished into the night, heading straight for the motel to teach Emma Sloan a lesson.
Inside the office, Serena sat up and yawned, a single spider falling out of her mouth. She reached for her glasses, which were left on the coffee table. She put them on and stood, swaying a little, her mind full of his every last word. She smiled and walked to the back room where it was much darker.
She immediately felt more at home here. She sat and waited for his return.
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
(Verse from The Spider and the Fly, by Mary Howitt)