21. Monster

This place looks familiar, Meg thought as she slowly regained consciousness. Clambering to her feet and trying to ignore the ache in her bones, she gathered her wits about her and examined her surroundings.

Breath left her lungs. She was in the MacMillan Estate - but she could easily tell this wasn't the Entity's cheap imitation; no, this was the real thing. The glow of the sunset peaked through the dense trees, illuminating sections of the estate in warmth while leaving other parts dark and cold. Why am I here? Meg wondered.

Finally, she repeated her query out loud. "Why did you take me here?" she demanded loudly.

Watch.

The command was spoken directly into her mind; it did not contain a voice, but she knew what it was telling her to do. With a frustrated growl, she moved forward and began heading further into the estate, waiting for something to happen.

She heard the voices before she rounded the corner of the main building. Peeking around, she spotted a tall boy looking eye to eye with a man about the same height - until the man smacked him hard enough to send him to the ground. Meg's hands tightened into fists and she immediately stepped forward to intervene, opening her mouth to fire a string of expletives at the piece of shit who dared to hurt a boy - but she found that she couldn't move. Her legs and even her arms were stuck, and her voice caught in her throat anytime she tried to yell or scream. The Entity wanted her to witness this. And she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

The boy didn't flinch, didn't make a single sound as he stood back up, only for the grown man to hit him again. And again. And again. Finally, the man said, "what lesson have we learned, Evan?"

Meg's blood froze in her veins. Evan…?

"The men in the mines are pathetic maggots," the boy answered quietly. He sounded… tired. Broken. "And to be their friend is to be a pathetic maggot with them. True strength comes in showing them their place."

"So when one of them gets the black lung?"

"It's his fault for not wearing the proper gear."

"When one of them faints from exhaustion?"

"It's because he was weak."

"Fortune is awarded to the strong. What happens to the weak, Evan?"

"They are punished."

"Are you weak?"

"No, father."

Meg couldn't believe her ears. She couldn't stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks and the sobs that choked her throat. "Is this real?" she cried, looking up at the darkening sky. She didn't need a direct answer to know the truth: yes… it was.

Suddenly the wind whipped Meg's hair, stirring her braids and clothing, and in mere moments she was standing in front of a large mine, the familiar towers of the MacMillan Estate in the distance. She saw a familiar face leading a group of workers toward her; it was Evan, she just knew it, though he looked much younger than when she'd met him in the Fog. And he had… hair. It was incredibly strange to see him with hair, but she was too worried about what was going to happen next to dwell on it. Lead settled in her chest when she realized what was about to happen next…

She had to stop it.

This time Meg was free to move, she found out as she took a tentative step forward - slamming right into Evan's chest as he approached the tunnel. He stopped and looked down at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes…

Eyes that were a lovely dark green, Meg found as she met his gaze. As their eyes met, she could see him flinch slightly, as if there was some emotion he couldn't recognize that hit him. Meg felt that same thing, though she couldn't seem to describe it. It was just… there. Between them.

"Evan, please," she finally managed, bringing both hands up to put them on his chest.

He smacked them away viciously, his expression immediately hardening. The sting in her hands couldn't compare to the sting in her heart. "I don't know who you are. Leave."

"I know what you're going to do…" Meg began, trying to swallow down the fear coursing through her body. This was just a dream. He couldn't kill her. Right? "Please. You can turn around… it's not too late. Don't do this."

Though the miners in front were close enough to hear their conversation, they made no response. Asked no questions. Their faces were blank and they stared ahead, as if they were merely puppets awaiting orders. Meg spared them only a glance before returning her attention to Evan, who was looking down at her with absolute hate in his eyes. The coldness on his visage was enough to make her take a step back, then another. These were the eyes of a killer. These were the eyes of the man she'd met in the Fog.

These were the eyes of the Trapper.

"You help the maggots… you become a maggot," the Trapper said darkly, lifting a hand to strike her down.

This was going to hurt. But Meg couldn't seem to make herself cower or step away. Instead, she blurted, "you'll never be like your father. No matter how much you try. And that's a good thing, Evan MacMillan."

His hand lowered. And everything went black.

"Is the Pig here? PLEASE tell me the Pig lady is here."

Hearing the roar of a chainsaw on the floor above them, Quentin Smith looked over at the person he'd been dropped into Midwich with. He'd never really interacted too much with Ace Visconti, and for some reason the older man seemed to have a problem with him - presumably because they both shared a connection with Kate - but he knew they were both on the same team here. Ace wouldn't betray him or any of the other survivors. He may have been a snake when it came to poker, but he wanted to get out of here as much as everyone else… and they both wanted Kate to be safe. That was a common goal that brought them together as allies… and potentially even friends. "That may be Max," Quentin responded thoughtfully as they crept down the hall and toward the stairs.

"I know the difference in the chainsaw sounds," Ace replied confidently. "We've definitely got ourselves a Bubba."

"Then let's hope Amanda shows up." As the pair ascended the stairs, they saw an abandoned hospital bed and a few monitors from Léry's staring at them, as well as a furnace from Springwood.

"Three maps in one? The Entity really is losing its shit," Ace whispered. Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, they spotted none other than the Cannibal wandering down the hallway, looking like a lost child. "Swear that guy reminds me of a five year old that just lost his toy truck and can't find it anywhere," Ace muttered, causing Quentin to smile ruefully.

"Well, from what I've heard, he has the mentality of a child… so maybe he really is just lost. This isn't his home any more than it is ours. Maybe the aggression is just the only way he knows how to cope with being here."

"Why couldn't he have tried gamblin' or hookers first?"

Quentin snorted and shook his head. "Well if Amanda isn't here… what're we gonna do about him?"

Ace shrugged. "Pat his back with a really long broom?"

A familiar head of blonde hair poked through the doorway of a nearby classroom. Ace and Quentin quickly joined Cheryl Mason in utterly destroying the place, ignoring the generator completely. As they toppled over lockers and kicked and shoved at the desks, Ace said, "you like that, Entity? You like the way I manhandle your goods?! I've got more where that came from - normally I'm a gentleman, but when I see a real piece of shit, I tend to get a little aggressive!"

The other two giggled quietly as they all rampaged throughout the room. "I heard the chainsaw," Cheryl said as they worked their way into the next classroom. "Hillbilly?"

"Why does everyone get them confused?" Ace threw his hands up. "Am I the only one able to tell the difference between their chainsaws?"

Quentin merely shrugged. "That's a weirdly specific skill to have, Ace," Cheryl muttered, grinning tiredly at him. "So I'm guessing it's the Cannibal…?"

"Yep, it's the big guy. The big baby five year old."

"Well, better that guy than my guy," Cheryl muttered again, her expression grim. A collective shudder seemed to somber the three survivors. They'd all had the misfortune to go up against the creature that had joined Cheryl Mason in the Fog; and though they never sensed any direct malice from the creature, it - he - was no less terrifying. Perhaps one of the most terrifying beings he'd ever come face to face with, Quentin had to admit.

The further along they all went, the more they realized that the Cannibal probably had no interest in them. If he'd been looking for them, he could have just followed the massive amounts of noise they'd been making the entire time. Stepping out into the hallway to proceed downstairs, Quentin felt warm liquid coat his foot and he looked down to see… red.

"The forbidden tomato soup," Ace whispered grimly.

Lifting his shoe out of the long trail of red liquid bubbling in the middle of the hallway, being careful not to disturb the barbed wire, Quentin looked back at the other two, his face pale. "Cheryl… remember how you said, 'better that guy than your guy?'"

Cheryl swallowed, chewing on her lower lip. "I thought I felt him," she whispered. "But I ignored it… stupid, stupid, stupid." Gently nudging past Quentin to stand in the front of the group, the blonde adjusted her wrist bands and clenched her hands into fists. "Well boys… I think it's time for me to take the lead."

Quentin opened his mouth to argue, laying a hand on her shoulder, but Cheryl met his gaze and the intensity in her hazel-brown eyes was enough to quell his protests. "You don't think I can handle this?" she demanded, her temper flaring. Quentin knew how short Cheryl's temper could be at times, and he didn't want to make their situation any worse.

"I love it when the lady takes the lead," Ace reassured, lowering his sunglasses and giving her a wink.

Cheryl's lips quirked mischievously. She held out a hand to Ace, palm-up. "How about I take those sunglasses too?"

Ace only hesitated for a moment before handing them over, grinning wolfishly. As she put them on, his grin widened. "Best decision I ever made."

"You're flirting with a teenager," Quentin admonished quietly.

"Flirting? I'm just talkin', son. Not my fault everything I say comes out smoother than melted butter."

"Are you three going to get a move on? Because this bantering is fucking pathetic."

The three survivors whipped around to see a petite woman in a red cloak leaning against the wall behind them, her arms folded over her chest. "Oh, Piggy! Miss Piggy. I can't believe our luck. You think ya can take on both the man-child and the Pyramid Head for us? Help us get the hell outta here? Cause a little chaos? Do a little dance, make a little love?" Ace asked hopefully.

Amanda Young narrowed her eyes on the group and her lips curled into a scowl. "I don't see how doing anything for YOU is going to help ME."

"You're connected to the Cannibal, aren't you?" Cheryl said, lifting Ace's sunglasses to the top of her head so they nestled in her blonde hair. "When you're around, he seems to be more calm."

"That brainless oaf doesn't mean anything to me," Amanda snapped, leaning off the wall. "Get moving before I change my mind and dice you all up."

The group inched backwards into the doorway, but Quentin remained focused on her. He knew she was bullshitting. He'd seen her interact with the Cannibal before. She'd grown fond of him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. "He was looking for you, Amanda," Quentin said quietly, giving her a small smile. "If you convinced him to try and take on Pyramid Head… stop him from sacrificing us… we all could get out of here a little sooner."

Amanda squinted angrily at him, but remained silent. So Quentin pressed forward. "He trusts you. Probably more than he trusts anyone else here."

"I don't give a damn who that fat idiot trusts."

Quentin shrugged. "Well, if you change your mind, that's the game plan."

"We're gonna go wreak a little more havoc, ma'am," Ace continued, tipping his trucker hat as the three slipped out of the room.

And ran right into the towering figure of none other than the Executioner himself.

Quentin Smith had never been more grateful for all the swimming lessons he'd had in school. Because like a dolphin in water, he lithely slipped out of the Executioner's grasp before he could catch hold of his jacket. The trio turned tail and headed the other way, Ace stumbling through the red stream and trying to avoid the barbed wire. Quentin couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd seen the Pig slip into the shadows quietly. He couldn't blame her. The stories Cheryl had told of the Pyramid Head had been horrifying. He was the judge, jury and executioner of their world. Both jailer and prisoner. But she had told the group that he was a punisher, only tormenting the guilty. Not the innocent. She had always pondered aloud the fact that the Executioner was here in the Fog - and why he played along with the Entity and attempted to sacrifice the survivors. They'd all just assumed that none of them were innocent. That even the smallest crime must be punished.

Quentin wondered if that was true. Cheryl said the Pyramid Head was invincible, that he was an unstoppable force. How could he have ended up here? Could they have all been wrong? Could the Entity possibly be controlling the Executioner against his will? And if there was even a small possibility that was true, shouldn't they try to free him? "Hey Cheryl, hear me out," he panted as they ran up the stairs as fast as their legs would take them. "What if 'your guy' was being controlled by the Entity? What if he wouldn't serve willingly, so the Entity had to force him to?"

"Well, that would explain why he's hunting us instead of other killers…" Cheryl mused. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Snap him out of it," Ace chipped in with a nod. "But how? I'm not thinkin' he's just gonna let us give him a big ol' hug."

"Can either of you get a good look?" Quentin suggested, rounding the corner and going down a hallway. "Maybe there's something on him. Some way the Entity is controlling him."

"I've got real sharp eyes, I'll hide and follow 'im," Ace replied, splitting off from the other two and branching off into the bathrooms. Cheryl and Quentin hurried into another room nearby, hearing the low scraping of the Pyramid Head's great knife on the ground not too far behind them. He was still following them. Both good and bad. Cheryl glanced back before trying to find a pallet to hide behind; when she crouched next to Quentin, her eyes were huge.

"The vines!" she whispered. "On his helmet. I can't believe I didn't notice it before. They're almost… glowing. I think it's…"

"... the Entity," Quentin finished grimly. "Are you telling me we're going to have to pry the vines off of his head…?"

Cheryl's silence was telling. Clenching his hands into fists and wiping away the sweat pasting his brown hair to his forehead, he looked around for some sort of makeshift tool he could use to remove the Entity from the creature. A knife… a sharp edge… anything. The Executioner entered the room, and before Quentin had the opportunity to grab anything sharp, Cheryl jumped out from her spot beside him and…

Leaped onto his back.

Sure survivors had been brave enough to do such a thing before, but Quentin could count the number of times that happened on one hand, and no one had ever been brave enough to jump the Pyramid Head. Quentin gaped as he watched Cheryl claw her way up onto his shoulders, all while the beast began struggling, attempting to grab her with one hand while the other swung his great knife with reckless abandon. "Cheryl!" Quentin cried out, unable to stop himself despite knowing that would draw attention to him. The Executioner swung the sword in a wide circle and Quentin once again thanked God or whatever deity was out there for his life of swimming lessons, because he was able to maneuver out of the way. Clutching at the cross around his neck anxiously, he tried to take the creature's attention off Cheryl as she worked on the vines clinging to his metal dome.

Quentin was fast and lithe, but even his evasive tactics would only last so long against the Executioner. "Come on, Cheryl!" He urged as he slammed down a pallet, effectively relinquishing the creature's grip on his weapon.

He immediately realized that hadn't been a good idea.

"I'm trying!" The blonde growled from her spot on the writhing killer's shoulders - but now both hands were free to grab at her. "Agh!" She cried out as his rough hands grabbed her, throwing her clean over his head and to the ground.

But as she went, she took the last of the vines with her.

The Executioner roared and clutched at his head for a moment, body moving violently toward her. "Cheryl!" Quentin cried out, trying to get around the killer to save his friend - but Cheryl put up a hand to stop him. Her eyes turned to the creature before her, still writhing as if suffering immeasurable torment. Clambering to her feet and holding her side gingerly, she limped closer to the creature and simply watched. And waited.

Quentin released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when the thrashing finally stopped and they were met face to face with the Pyramid Head in his full glory, standing perfectly still and seeming to watch them despite having no eyes. Cheryl never took her eyes off the killer between them. The Executioner's hands opened and closed, as if debating on whether he needed to make use of his weapon or not.

Then Pyramid Head rumbled, took a step back, and Quentin watched in awe as a bright red string stretched from the monster's chest, right to Cheryl's.

And then Quentin's, too.

All three of them were interconnected. How many strings had yet to be created? How many more would Quentin himself be attached to? His gaze moved from the creature to his survivor friend, but she only seemed focused on their former enemy, determination on her visage rather than confusion. Not much seemed to faze Cheryl, and Quentin had no doubt why - the place she told them about, Silent Hill, sounded like a living nightmare. If that was where she'd come from, then he doubted anything that had happened in the Fog had surprised her. Even now, she didn't seem shocked or befuddled - only resolute. As if she was concentrating on Pyramid Head and trying to figure out his new intentions. Slowly she reached out, setting the palm of her hand tentatively against his bicep. The contact seemed to electrify them both and the creature shuffled back from her.

Finally her eyes moved to Quentin. "Innocence," Cheryl murmured. "We are innocent. And brave. He only punishes the guilty. But even among those who aren't guilty, we're - different. You and I. Something sets us apart."

Quentin's brow lifted. "He… uhm, told you all that?"

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "It's more like a feeling. You're missing the important part: he won't hurt us."

"Well… that's, uh, good to know." Quentin hesitantly shuffled around the hulking figure and toward one of the doors. "Shouldn't we... find Ace?"

"Coward's probably waiting us out," Cheryl grumbled, finally backing away from the silent killer and leaving him to his own devices. Quentin couldn't believe it. They had freed him. He was still reeling over the fact that not only did the Pyramid Head not kill him, he was actually connected to the creature by one of those red strings of fate.

But Cheryl merely looked concerned. Like she was working out some puzzle in her mind. At Quentin's nudge, she bit her lip and shook her head. "Sorry." A pause. "I just… something weird happened when I was ripping the Entity's vines off of the big guy. It was almost like… almost like I was connected to the Entity for a second. I thought… I thought I could hear Meg crying."

Quentin's blood ran cold. He'd heard the tale from Yui. They all had. How she'd become connected to the Oni, how the shrine had collapsed, how the Entity had taken Meg. How, strangely enough, the Oni had saved Yui from the Clown. The survivors were all livid at Meg's disappearance and constantly mulled over ways to save her, Quentin even moreso. The gears began turning in his head and he nearly shook Cheryl out of her skin with his sudden idea. "Cheryl - know that weird thing you can do where you can make the Entity grab a generator?"

Cheryl was a smart girl. The pieces clicked into place before Quentin could even finish his thought. "I think… maybe if I really tried… I could… summon the Entity."

Meg awoke to the smell of burning toast. Getting out of an unfamiliar bed, she made her way through an unfamiliar hallway and down an unfamiliar set of stairs. A small boy stood on a chair, trying to pull slices of bread out of the toaster.

She assumed this was another one of the Entity's dreamscapes. Another memory of Evan's fucked up life that it wanted to show her. To make her hate him? To sever that red string?

"Evan?" She murmured, stepping into the kitchen.

The boy turned to look at her - with eyes so blue it was jarring. Evan was clearly his name, but he wasn't her Evan. Her Evan had milky white eyes that, she had learned recently, used to be the color of the forest. Before she could question the child, he was ditching the toast with a happy smile and running to give her a tight hug. His next words made her heart sink into her stomach.

"Mommy!"

Meg froze. This was not a memory, not even close. Was it… a potential future? If she had a child in the future, did that mean she really would get out of the Fog? Who was the father?

One glance out the window told her everything she needed to know. She didn't recognize the inside of this house - but she knew those grounds and that coal mine when she saw them. This was the MacMillan Estate. That could only mean…

A strange mixture of emotions hit her. Shock that she would have a child with Evan… but also… a hint of excitement. She and Evan were… together? But why here? And why did this place still look so eerie? Unwelcoming? If the MacMillan Estate ever was a home, it certainly didn't look like one now.

Footsteps echoed outside the kitchen and a tall figure filled the doorway, blocking out the light from the hall. Meg felt the boy cling to her tighter. Tense. Afraid?

Meg looked back to see Evan staring at her. But instead of milky white eyes and a slightly tired posture, he stood straight, watching them closely with piercing dark green eyes.

And a twisted, angry curl to his lip.

In that moment he looked like his father, who Meg had seen beating Evan when he was a boy. And Meg realized what the Entity was trying to show her.

You can't outlive your past and the trauma you've endured. People never change, and cruelty isa vicious cycle that never ends.

Meg suddenly remembered a guy from high school. He was made fun of by others for having dirty clothes and being skinny and shy, but Meg saw potential. She hadn't had the money to get him any new clothes, considering she and her mother were in serious debt due to hospital bills for her mother's illness… but she managed to get him an opportunity.

She invited him to the track field with her after school one day and gave him some boy's gym clothes she'd stolen from the basketball team's locker room. When he was dressed, she told him to run. And by god he did. The boy was fast and Meg knew immediately he needed to be on the track team. Because of one person's intervention that guy, Rodney, was able to make some friends and even get a scholarship - who knew where he might've ended up if no one had cared enough to try? If everyone just settled into their roles and became complacent?

Meg never suffered abuse but life with her mother made her crazy. Perhaps if she hadn't been tossed into the Fog, she would've gone crazy. Hell, maybe she was crazy now.

But Meg lived for breaking the rules and thinking outside the box.

"You don't fucking scare me," she said to the apparition of Evan - and to the Entity. "I got your message loud and clear. And I reject it."

Evan had all but gone on autopilot. With Meg gone and no way to get her back, he didn't know his purpose here anymore. The only reason he'd agreed to try and keep the Fog operational, to help the Entity, was under the threat of Meg's demise. And if he had no control over that anymore, if she was already gone, then why bother?

"Why the long face, MacMillan?"

Evan had landed on the grounds of Springwood Elementary and this was the nuisance he was stuck with. He'd always known this place was punishment for his sins and this proved it. "Shut up, Jed." Brandishing his machete to show he meant business, he moved forward in the hopes the other killer would just go do his own thing; that he would leave Evan alone to…

… to do what? What was his purpose here? To kill? To protect? Without Meg, what was the point of all this?

'Yeah, that's how love usually is.' Jake's words rang through his head, stopping Evan in his tracks. Did he love her? Was he even capable of love? He'd tried so hard to deny it, but perhaps it was true.

Perhaps he really did love Meg. Some way, somehow.

Why?

His thoughts were interrupted by the Ghostface's presence - even worse, his grating voice. "Is it because good ol' Oni made fun of you? Is that why you look so… morose?"

Evan's grip on his cleaver tightened. "You're pushing it," he growled. "Don't you have a job to do?"

"Well sure," Jed replied with a light-hearted shrug. "I'm just… makin' sure you do yours, pal.~ Remember? What we all agreed on?"

Evan's eyes narrowed. "Do I look or sound like I've gone back on my word?"

"If ya say so. Tootles then, big guy," the lithe killer said with a little wave and snuck off around a corner. Evan watched him go, trying to release the sudden tension in his shoulders. Being checked on was annoying, but being reminded of the Oni's words grated him even more. "You have no honor."

How did that beast of a man even know the deal Evan had made? He supposed they all knew, but still, being called out by Kazan Yamaoka, the man who'd slaughtered hundreds of innocent people for being 'samurai impostors,' the man who was called the Oni for a reason… well, it stung.

Then again, he deserved it. He'd killed over a hundred men himself. In one blow, no less - so he supposed he had it coming. He was a monster.

But he didn't have the same bloodlust he used to have. Did he really want to stay here? In the Fog? Killing and trapping… for an eternity? Or did he want to get out… find his way around the new world… with Meg for company?

Lost and confused, the hulking killer made his way around aimlessly. It was by chance that he happened upon a trio of survivors who had knocked down a hook and were using group strength to crush a generator with said hook. He recognized all the faces he saw - Yui, the girl the Oni had saved at the Yamaoka estate, Nea, the girl who had a connection to the Wraith, and… the boy he'd so brutally murdered. Quentin was his name, and Evan felt a strange tug in his chest upon seeing the boy's face once more. This wasn't their first reunion since that bloody day at Léry's, but it was the first one where Evan felt a pang of… well, guilt. That had to be the ache in his chest. Right?

They all stopped and stared, distrust and perhaps even hatred etched across their faces - though Quentin looked like he might vomit rather than yell. Letting the hook fall on top of the generator, crushing it from above, they put themselves behind the toppled hook to put distance between them and himself. He couldn't blame them. He'd promised to serve the Entity. To continue sacrificing them all until the end of time.

Could he do that? Could he bear it?

Before he could even register what he was doing, he dropped his cleaver and tossed his bear trap to the side. The trio didn't move, barely breathed, watching him like a hawk. Evan slowly approached the generator, not thinking, just moving; and raising a foot, he smashed the sole of his boot down on the hook's body, driving it down even more. Metal twisted and crunched until the generator was barely even recognizable.

And as soon as he completed his task, Evan felt a sense of belonging. Of purpose.

He knew what he had to do.

The survivors still said nothing. But he had no words to exchange with them. He had business elsewhere. So, merely giving them a simple nod, he turned and walked away, leaving the cleaver behind. He wouldn't be needing it. Only his brutal strength.

Finding Jed would have been extraordinarily difficult if they had been on opposing sides. As it was, all he had to do was lurk menacingly and call out for the other killer. "Jed. Get out here. I've found the maggots. We'll be most efficient if we work together."

The Ghostface barely had time to come traipsing over to him. "The great and terrible Trapper finally wants to work with little old me?" he put a hand over his heart then pointed a finger at the gaping face on his mask.

"Funny."

"So what's the game plan, captain? Tell me I'll at least get to have a little fun with 'em before we sacrifice them."

"Why don't we have a little fun now?" Before the smaller killer could react, Evan reached forward and grabbed him by the face, one massive hand covering his entire mask. Immediately Jed began swiping his knife and writhing, but Evan lifted him off the ground, tightening his fingers until he heard Jed's jaw crack under the pressure.

Then Jed's knife moved swiftly upwards, lodging itself in Evan's forearm. With a grunt he relinquished his grip, but moved to stomp down on the smaller man before he could pick himself up off the ground. His boot met Ghostface's back and he heard a satisfying crunch. "Can killers die?" Evan was only mildly surprised at the animosity he felt. A hint of his former self peeking through the curtains. But this felt different. It was different.

Because this one deserved suffering.

Jed did not yell, he did not scream; he squawked. Like a fragile little bird choking on its own blood. Evan stared down at him as his writhing faded into mild squirming as he lost control of his limbs.

"Pathetic," Evan growled. "I hoped you would put up more of a fight, big guy."

The foot on Jed's back lifted, shifted upwards to his head. And came crashing down. A crack. Again. Another crack. Again. Again. And again.

Finally, a squelch, and Jed's body went still.

Evan stared at his work for another moment or two, then turned away. Ghostface: check. There were four more items on his to-do list, and he couldn't think about anything else until they were checked off. He didn't notice the spidery claws of the Entity coming from the ground to wrap around Jed's body and take him under.

He walked away, fists clenched. He had to become a monster once more - if only for a little while - and he had to admit…

... it felt good.