writing_shadows

The metallic tang of silver in my mouth reminds me why i'm here and why i'm doing this.
My heart beating like a gorilla on a drumkit reminds me exactly why I shouldnt.

I'm sitting down on the floor with my mum's old shotgun cradled in my hands trying to regulate my breathing through my nose so i'm not announcing to the world where i'm hiding with panicked breath. In my mouth, out of nervous habit, i've got her holy symbol resting where it wont get snagged on something and ripped off from my neck. A wolf, howling against a moon - i can feel the familier grooves resting underneath my tongue, comforting yet uncomfortable.

This used to be her job. Hunt down the Reavers - the things that cross the wall of reality to prey on mortal men and women. They wear them like disguises, but their presence warps the flesh of men and turns them into demons. They become claimed, and they are one of the worst kinds of monster. Her holy warriors have much bigger problems to deal with then the smaller ones, the ones that are still part mortal... the ones who you can see in peoples eyes sometimes.

Thats why i'm here. Theres a thing living inside a man who used to be a construction worker. I got lucky this one time - I bounce between jobs a lot and recently, i've started working for a firm based in Bas-Vegas. I got the itch as soon as i saw his face, like the skin down my spine was being sliced slowly with something sharp but not-quite-sharp enough from top to bottom, like i was getting hollowed out to be worn. Happens every time, my mother got the same feeling and so did hers. Couldn't quite tell what it was that was inside him until i'd followed him to his little house and watched his hands grow chainsaw links along his fingers as he meticulously destroyed antique furnature. I hate the ones that can hide themselves, those are the worst. Smart enough to protend to be a real person. It should be opening its front door soon, any second now.

I grip the handle of mum's shotgun and try not the clench my teeth around the chain as i place my thumb against the open screaming mouth on its side, pressing my flesh into the sharp teeth and dragging my thumb across the old rowan stock, two lines of blood streaking across it like go faster stripes as i mutter a prayer to the Wolf and the Moon.

"In the name of the mother, In the name of the father and of my family. Grant me an indulgance as i work this sacred duty, grant me a measure of your loving light. For yours is the hunt that protects the walls and yours is the light that illuminates wickedness. Grant me this chance to prove my love and my worth, that i may serve you better." I spread the blood in all the cracks of the designs, just like my mother taught me, until i feel the bastard awaken in my palms and i hear the scream in his head as the Moon-Mothers dictum forces it to do as it was bound to, any traces i've left behind dissolving like ether in the air. Just to make sure, i pull out a hair and watch it dissolve. I give my thanks. "Amen".

Then i set about my holy work.