"This is the way the world ends: Not with a bang, but a whimper." — T.S. Eliot
2021 - Halloween
A preternatural fog choked the streets of Los Angeles, muffling sound and making it seem very otherworldly. Father Jeremiah escorted the two boys on their trick-or-treat mission but it was a frustrating experience. It was difficult to see in the fog. They couldn't tell which houses had porch lights on from the sidewalk. They had to walk almost all the way to the front porches and every house they'd visited was dark. Many seemed empty.
Father Jeremiah had suggested they walk for a bit before trying another house; try to get clear of the fog. The strange, perpetual mist had settled early last year and slowly spread over a large portion of the suburbs south of Hollywood. It didn't cover everything, though; it thinned more the further away from Murder House one traveled.
So they walked through the cold fog. Tate, masquerading as child Ethan dressed up as Anakin Skywalker, didn't mind the walk. They had started their candy haul at home, with Constance's fun size Reese's cups and Chad's individually wrapped bonbons from the fancy candy company downtown. That was enough for him to feel successful so far.
Michael, almost ten, was dressed as a scarecrow. It was an outfit he wasn't too keen on until he took a Sharpie from Ethan's room and drew the mask a scary new face. Mama Constance had scolded him but, in the end, he got to wear it. Father Jeremiah wasn't dressed up as anything other than himself that year.
They were nearly to the intersection where the stop sign was shrouded in the wall of mist but they could hear no traffic. Now and then a dog barked. Somewhere overhead, a plane flew by, but they couldn't see it.
Michael found the stop sign first and hooked a hand on the pole supporting it. "I don't think anybody's home," he said of the world in general as he spun himself around the pole, using it as a pivot.
"I think if we cross this street..." Father Jeremiah started. But he trailed off, cocking his head.
Tate was already starting off in the direction indicated but the priest grabbed his shoulder. "Wait. Listen."
They all stood very still, listening. And then they heard it, faint at first but growing unmistakably louder: A wet, squelching noise. A sloppy, flopping sound that brought no associated picture to mind for any of them. When he could get a fix on the direction the sound was coming from, Father Jeremiah gathered the kids behind him protectively.
Neither boy wanted to be sheltered, though, and peeked out from behind him curiously. What they saw come up out of the fog was quite a sight to behold. It put Tate instantly in mind of the centipede-woman Dr. Charles Montgomery made in the basement.
It was fleshy and not at all the right shape for a human or an animal, though of the two it resembled a person more in form. It was reddish pink and glistening wetly in the fog-smothered light from the nearby streetlamp. The humanoid thing was low to the ground, pulling itself along with fleshy protrusions that grew and shrank like snail's eye stalks. Each time it dragged itself a little closer to them, it made that slippery sucking sound.
What made the creeping mass truly horrifying was the fact that it had no discernible head. It was a blind, adult-sized lump of viscera with tubeworm like appendages in place of limbs—and it was heading right toward them at an alarming pace. The thing obviously knew where they were, despite having no apparent sensory organs apart from the gross skin covering it.
Tate was fascinated. "What is it?"
Father Jeremiah put his arms out because he could sense both boys trying to come out in the open. Until he knew what the thing's range was with those tubular tentacles, he didn't want either of them making himself an easy target.
"I don't know," he answered in a low voice. "Nothing natural."
Staring intently at the thing, Michael ducked under the priest's arm. Jeremiah tried to catch him but the boy was too quick. The young scarecrow stepped right into the path of the sickening mass and cocked his head, listening to something only he and it could hear.
It was a language similar to what he shared with Thaddeus that didn't require lips or throats or any human parts. The creature stopped where it was and for a moment, nothing happened.
"Michael—" Father Jeremiah started.
Suddenly the fleshy monster reared up to man height on its nubby hind stubs, exposing a pasty underbelly with a giant gaping slit for a mouth running nearly the full length of its underside. It looked like some bizarre type of ray, only when it opened its mouth, it showed shark-like teeth.
"Michael!" Jeremiah and Tate both shouted.
Michael didn't hear them. He was focused on the creature. To him, it was the angry goose situation all over again. He'd tried to be polite and the thing was being a jerk. It didn't have a neck like a goose though so he had to search for its weak spot. It didn't have a physical one that he could see but he could sense its brain-heart deep inside and that's what he grabbed.
To his companions, the boy seemed to reach out and squeeze the air. Then he twisted and yanked hard. Even though he didn't touch it, the creature stiffened and gave a horrid screech. Dark red blood gushed from the sinister mouth and it barfed up its own innards, splashing the nearby trio in gore. It fell over, twitched twice, then was still.
Michael's temper cooled as quickly as it flared and he realized he'd done that right in front of Father Jeremiah. There would be no hiding that, like he had the goose.
The priest blinked and wiped monster blood from his cheek with the back of his coat sleeve, stunned by the encounter. He had been trained to expect miracles as the child grew, but experiencing it was a lot different than it had been on paper.
"Holy shit!" Tate said with an awed grin, forgetting his little boy act in the moment. "You looked just like Darth Vader!"
Michael looked at him then at Father Jeremiah. It didn't seem like he was in trouble so he relaxed a little. Then he realized what Ethan had just said. He smiled a little but he felt funny inside.
"It was going to bite me," he said.
"Right," said Jeremiah, finally finding his voice. "We need to go home."
"What about trick-or-treat?" Tate objected in dismay.
Father Jeremiah shifted his attention to the other boy. "I don't think it's a good night for it."
Michael was torn. He still wanted to collect candy but he felt funny inside. He didn't like the fact that Ethan and Father Jeremiah saw him squish the monster. He didn't feel badly about doing it. He just didn't like the fact that they saw him do it.
"Come on," the priest said and reached for Michael's hand. "Let's go home."
The boy yanked his hand away. He looked up at his guardian unhappily then he turned and bolted into the fog.
"Michael!" Father Jeremiah hollered after him.
There was no answer.
...
-= AMERiCAN HoRRoR SToRY =-
...
Father Jeremiah was torn. He needed to go after Michael but he didn't want to bring Ethan along. Unaware of the boy's true nature, he was concerned for his safety. Obviously something very strange was happening but taking him home would lose precious time.
"Let's go get him," Tate said.
That seemed to gel the man's indecision. "No. I need to take you home first. It's too dangerous."
Tate frowned, looking even more the part of his costume. "That'll take too much time. I'll be okay."
"I don't have time to argue!" Father Jeremiah snapped. He grabbed the boy's hand, fully intending to pull him along if he wouldn't go willingly.
Tate dug in his heels but his child form was no match for the priest, who was a lot stronger than a person should be. "Just— Would you just stop?" the boy grunted, trying to pull free. He didn't want to let go of his candy sack, which handicapped him further. "Just listen to me!"
His temper got the better of him: Tate ditched the kid guise entirely and assumed his normal form.
Having the young Anakin suddenly turn hostile teen on him was a surprise that stopped Father Jeremiah. He stared at Tate. "...you."
Tate made a sour smile. "Yeah. Me. Look. We don't have time for explanations or freaking out right now. Yell at me later or whatever but right now? We've got to find Michael. You don't need to worry about me. Okay?"
Strange sounds were growing louder, coming closer. "Okay," the man agreed a bit numbly. "Come on."
Together they headed off in the direction Michael went.
—
Michael ran quite a distance: He ran until the fog thinned and he could see signs of life—human life. A city bus was at the stop and he hurried over to it. He used the bus card he usually used when Mama Constance took them to the cemetery Halloween mornings. In fifteen minutes, he was on Sunset Boulevard.
The strip was alive with Halloween: Garish decorations adorned the squat shops and bars. Blinking lights in Halloween colors brought attention to palm readers and adult stores. The Stock Room was particularly festive, with a whole rack of themed rubber suits rolled out in front and marked down from shockingly expensive to something more approachable. All along the sidewalks, people in costume migrated from place to place, laughing and shouting and having the adult equivalent of a good time. Music blared from all directions.
Outside one bar, a man stood on the concrete base of a light pole, waving a poster board sign he'd written on with several colors of marker. He wasn't wearing a costume. He was just shouting about how God hated gay people and God hated illegal immigrants and God hated unwed mothers and God hated everyone, it seemed, according to the nappy-haired man.
Michael drifted closer, enthralled by his wild-eyed vitriol. The man kept spewing hatred in God's name, which the boy found both bizarre and fascinating. Eventually the street preacher noticed his young audience and jabbed a finger in his direction.
"Suffer the children to come unto me!" the man hollered. "Don't you see? Your wickedness and depravity is laid bare for all to see, corrupting the innocent youth! You are raping our future!"
The costumed crowd migrated around him, tuning him out. One Korean tourist took a quick selfie with him as the background.
Michael pushed his straw hat back so he could see the Bible thumper better. "God is love," he said. "Doesn't the Bible say that?"
The scruffy-haired man lowered his poster and squinted at the boy. "God loves the faithful. He doesn't love sinners! He hates the wicked!"
Michael scrunched his nose. He had no love for scripture; Father Jeremiah had made him spend half his short life cramming the holy texts of multiple religions into his head. It was the inaccuracy that bothered him. If the man was going to scream at people on the street about God, he should at least get it right.
"There are only six things God hates," Michael stated emphatically. He lifted his gloved hands to count them off. "Haughty eyes, a lying tongue, shedding innocent blood, a heart that devises evil schemes, feet that rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies... And those who stir up conflict in the community. You know. People like you."
A small crowd was beginning to form as people were taking notice of the crazy man getting calmly dressed down by a child. Some started recording with their smart phones. One guy even narrated a live stream for his mobile buddies.
The street preacher, incensed by the insult and the fact that the child was stealing his thunder in front of so many, shouted: "I will punish the world for its evil, the wicked for their sins. I will put an end to the arrogance of the haughty and will humble the pride of the ruthless!"
"Judge not lest ye be judged," Michael volleyed back, starting to enjoy himself. He rarely won an argument against an adult and never with people watching. "There is only one lawgiver and judge: He who is able to save and to destroy. Who are you to judge your neighbor?"
The man looked flustered and angry. But he also could see how many cameras were aimed at him and finally decided to beat a retreat. Taking his poster with him, he hopped down off the light pole. Seeing the show was over, the crowd began to disperse.
The crazy man wasn't quite done yet, though, pausing to prophesy: "The Lord is coming and all will be judged."
Michael smiled darkly at the challenge. "Tell your Lord I'm waiting."
...
Author's Note:
I was trying to wait till I'd finished my Asylum fic to publish this one but I just couldn't hold the story back any longer. It wants to be shared! So here it is. Thanks so much to everyone who's written reviews and messages asking for another fanfic Season. It's nice to know I'm not alone in wanting to know what happens next.
For the record: This fic will not follow events of Apocalypse, which I haven't watched. I did watch the Murder House episode after it was called to my attention by a couple of folks who noticed fun similarities to my fan series. I enjoyed the episode but it has no bearing on this story, which has its own twisted plan in mind.
Next chapter: Halloween shenanigans continue. It's almost Halloween RL so t'is the season.
