Here ya go, session two.
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Paul patted Ann on the head as he pulled away, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Hey, Little Bit. Glad to know you're excited to see me."
"C'mon! Mom's got dinner ready." Ann grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house, and immediately he was assaulted by the smells of homecooked food. His stomach growled, reminding him that the only meal he had consummed that day was an overly-sweet piece of chocolate pie.
Ann tugged harder, dragging him into the kitchen. He went along with it, partly because he loved her more than life, and partly because this child had been wounded by her father's death, and he knew that he had to step in and fill the void left in her heart.
"Paul, I'm glad you made it alright." Paul turned and spotted Marsha standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking tired but beautiful. "Hope you're hungry. We've got a whole pot roast to get rid of." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, as she knew that that was his favorite.
"Sure."
"Well, go on and sit down. We were waiting to eat until you got here."
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The meal was one of the best Paul had had in a while, considering his new idea of haute cuisine was frozed tv dinners, and he only slowed on his third helping of everything. All the while, Ann had been chattering away about this or that, and he half listened most of the time.
"Uncle Paulie?" He glanced up at her over his glass, and she gave him the puppy-dog eyes. "Will you walk me to school in the morning?"
"Sure thing," he said, setting his glass back down. She smiled and jumped up to give him a tight hug, after which she rubbed her eyes sleepily.
"I'm gonna go to bed. See you in the morning, Uncle Paulie." With that, she skipped out of the kitchen, leaving Paul and her mother to really talk.
"You don't have to, you know. She's perfectly capable of walking by herself."
"I know," Paul said, a sad smile tugging his mouth, "but I want to. It's no trouble, really."
"You're such a good man, Paul. It's a shame Janna couldn't see that." She gave him a peck on the cheek. "Well, I'm tired, too, so do you want the couch or the bed?"
"I'll take the couch, there's no way I'm kicking you out of your own bed."
"Alright, then, tough guy. Sleep tight. I'll lay out all of stuff for you."
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Paul pulled off his boots, feeling achy in every muscle. Six hours was a long way to drive in one day. He sighed and stood, about to unbutton his fly, when it started again. This time, his head felt like it was impaled on a meat hook, and before he knew it, the floor was rising to greet him.
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4 AM. Jesus, still such a long time before he had to walk Ann to school. With a groan, he forced himself to his feet, realizing he had a dire urge to piss. He stumbled to the bathroom and undid his fly, breathing a sigh of relief as the thick stream of yellow liquid hit the porcelin bowl. He shook and zipped his pants, and his ears pricked at the sound of white noise coming from the living room. That damn radio. He should have just left it at home.
Then there was the noise outside of bathroom door. He turned and looked, but could see nothing through the crack, and for some, unexplainable reason, felt his heart speed up. He moved slowly and quietly to the door and then flung it open, attempting to surprise whoever was behind it. But, instead of Ann or Marsha, or even a would-be thief, what stood beyond the doorframe caused Paul to question his sanity.
It stood seven or eight inches taller than him, it's apparel a bloody, filthy butcher's apron. Three fingered latex gloves covered it's hands, and black boots it's feet. It carried, Jesus Christ, a spear. But that wasn't the disturbing part. No, it wasn't the blood smears that stained it's garment or skin. It wasn't it's archaic weaponry. It was it's mask. It was in the shape of a pyramid, and appeared to be covered with some kind of metal. But instead of paint, it was covered in what looked like layers of gooey and congealing blood.
For all practical purposes, it appeared as though this creature was looking at him, and for a moment, all Paul could do was stare back.
"What the fu-" Before he could get the sentence out of his mouth, the creature raised its spear and drove it home, and Paul felt and heard his own flesh tearing as the sharp point drove through soft tissue and separated hard bone. He found himself pinned by the spear, up on the wall, his body racked with pain as blood from numerous internal injuries gushed up and out of his mouth, dribbling in little rivers down his chin and chest, coming to pool beneath his dangling feet. Out of the haze of pain, Paul saw the creature reach up and touch it's mask, before pulling a gristly tool from it's waist band. A meat hook. How appropriate. All Paul could do was give a choked scream as the meat hook decended toward his head.
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Okay, that's all you get of session two for the moment. I'm gonna have to do it in parts, because it was about a three hour session.