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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/adorabletapeworm on 2024-11-07 17:46:37+00:00.

Previous case

Nessa here. To start, I’ll give yinz a brief update on our well-being after Samhain.

(If you’re not familiar with what Orion Pest Control’s services are, it may help to start here.)

On my end, I have some more scars to add to my collection, but otherwise, I’m no worse for wear. Though, I do still find myself occasionally having nightmares about beheading. Can only imagine why.

The Dead Duo are back to normal. Wes came back from his recovery with only faint, jagged marks around his throat. So faint that you can only see them if you look in the right lighting. The only sign that he came scarily close to having his head chewed off.

In other news, Cerri put in her two weeks’ notice. Can’t say I blame her. While she personally walked away from the incident unscathed, she had to witness what happened to the rest of us. She said it made her think long and hard about her future.

Ordinarily, leaving isn’t really an option for us, unless it’s in a coffin; I know that sounds morbid, but that’s just how it is. You all have seen how the Neighbors are when it comes to vendettas. You’ll see even more about that later on in this post. But with how Cerri kind of stayed in the background, she may have a chance to get back some semblance of a normal life.

I really do wish her luck.

After everything, office morale wasn’t great for a while. It tends to happen after a rough job like that. It took a few days, but we’re all back to joking with one another again. What can I say? We all love being idiots too much to let a little bit of maiming get in the way of that. (Exception: Victor is the holder of the only brain cell in Orion. He is more possessive over it than Iolo is over me.)

So there yinz have it. The world is still turning. The sun is still rising.

The rest of this post going forward will be an excerpt from Deirdre. Since she already had her thoughts conveniently written out, I figured it would be best to use that to update yinz on her situation. Straight from the horse’s mouth. With her permission, of course.

Her entry is as follows:

Writing appears to help Nessa get her thoughts in order, so I’m hoping it’ll do the same for me.

I suppose it would be best to begin by outlining the turmoil. Perhaps an answer will present itself there, hidden somewhere in the details. I suppose I could start with what I remember, which, admittedly, is not very much.

There isn’t a hard line in my memories that marks the end of my human life or the beginning of my servitude to the river. Between those two points in time, there is only a thick haze that I can’t see through, no matter how hard I try. Mortality seems more like a dream rather than something I’d truly had, at one point. Had I ever been married? What about children? Surely, I must have left someone behind.

Through my servitude, I have died more times than I can count. While it doesn’t happen to me in a literal sense, it is an experience I share with the doomed souls whose shirts I work tirelessly to scrub clean. I feel their last moments as if they were mine. Every suicide, every accident, every anatomical failure.

Yet, outside of the river and outside of my premonitions… nothing. Not the wind on my face, the warmth of the sun, or the touch of the woman I’m growing to love. Nothing.

As a Weeper, I’m secluded on the outside of both worlds. Only able to feel human for the brief moment where I live through their final tragedies. There isn’t much kinship with the ones from the Mounds, either. For the most part, Weepers are relegated to the background. Rocks on the edge of the road. Unable to harness any real power. Nothing worth paying any notice to. Though, I would say that their usual apathy is for the better.

For the longest time, I simply existed. Drifting through the decades. Grieving. Washing. Singing. Grieving. Washing. Singing.

I didn’t feel real anymore. There’s a part of me that still doesn’t.

But then the Lady of Orion told me that she liked my singing. She hadn’t looked at me with fear, contempt, or pity, as I’m often accustomed to. She saw me as something else. Something more.

And those eyes… so dark. Dark enough to lose oneself in, yet so gentle. The kind gaze of someone who truly wants to see the world around her better. I thought of them often, as well as the woman who saw the world through their soulful depths. Our first interaction had been brief. Far too brief.

When she promised to return, I smiled. When was the last time I’d smiled? I couldn’t recall.

For just a brief moment, I was real again. And in my selfishness, I couldn’t let it go. Let her go.

In that regard, I truly am no better than he is, am I?

As the days passed before I could see her again, I found myself thinking of her. Who was she? What was she like? Was she truly kind or had I been imagining all of it, merely forcing my preconceptions onto her? So many questions that needed answers.

All I knew was that I looked forward to seeing her again. It’s truly a shame that the circumstances of our next meeting had not been better.

Her breathing was so labored that I could hear her long before she reached the river bank. Meanwhile, her pursuer didn’t make a sound. Following her silently, patiently waiting for his prey to succumb to him.

My pulse had raced. I acted. Or, I tried to. I leapt out onto the riverbank to go to her.

Unseen hooks buried themselves into my intestines. Pulling. Stretching. Tears sprang to my eyes. Unable to breathe, I dragged myself back in. The sensation alleviated, though I still struggled to take in any air after the river’s punishment. My chest quaked as my lungs refused me.

Unable to leave or make a sound, I listened, helpless to aid the woman I’d been so curious about.

Her frantic footsteps drew nearer. She collapsed by the bank, arms trembling. Behind her was a shadow.

Before he could reach her, I managed to gather enough breath to yell, “Huntsman! I need her!”

The foul shadow passed her, the moonlight illuminating the captain of the Wild Hunt as he glowered at me.

I didn’t dare look into his eyes. Regardless, the sharpness of his stare pinned me in place. What cruelty is it that I can’t feel her touch, but the Huntsman’s gaze can penetrate through the numbness of the river? He skinned me with his eyes for daring to stop him from devouring her.

The more I argued for her life, the more the Huntsman’s stare promised.

He is far worse than his predecessor. The captain before him had been vile as well, but more content to have their underlings do their work for them. The Dragonfly usurped them not too long ago, though I must admit that my perception of time is rather warped. It could’ve been three decades ago or three years ago. They’ve all blurred together.

Despite my apprehension, I gathered the courage to fight for her despite barely knowing anything about the Lady of Orion. The river showed me what the Huntsman did to her father. I felt it. My skin peeled off until I was nothing but a miserable husk of screaming nerves. Limbs twisted, then amputated. He’d barely resembled anything more than meat by the time the Huntsman had grown bored of mutilating him.

While the river never gave me the Lady of Orion’s shirt, I didn’t doubt for a moment that he had something similar in mind for her if I failed to convince him. After much back and forth while the poor woman clung to consciousness, he’d realized that he couldn’t break her vow to me and eventually acquiesced.

I have many regrets, but saving her will never be one of them. Nor will be giving her his name. Even if his terrible promises come to fruition and he destroys me someday, it will have been worth it to know that I’d done what I could for her.

What I do regret, however, is trapping her. She’d confessed to me once before that she believed love to be a cage. Not unlike the one her mother had fallen into. Even though I hadn’t intended it at the time, I’d proven her right by trapping her in this bargain. I became her cage.

As such, it is my responsibility to break it.

I’d bargained with the Huntsman for her life using the rules of our world. Perhaps I can do the same for mine. And by extension, hers. At this point, we are tied together.

I waited until she went to work. She’d told me that she wanted to work to resolve our situation together and ordinarily, I would oblige that. However, she just survived a battle with the Dullahan. She’s having to accept that the Huntsman will be her curse until the day either one of them gives in or perishes. Unfortunately, this Huntsman is terribly patient when it comes to matters like this. Old things like him know how to wait. He will eventually find some other way to try to enthrall her.

Nobody deserves this curse. Nessa least of all.

Against my better judgment, I sought him out in the hopes of reasoning with him. Reasoning with a lunatic… What was I thinking? Perhaps I’m the real lunatic. However, I had bargained with him as well as those under his command successfully in the past. Moundfolk are covetous by nature, always seeking something. I am rue to admit that I am no exception to this.

The Huntsman can’t touch me with the hagstone. The river still has one thread left, tethering me to it. As long as that frail strand isn’t severed, at the very least, he cannot take my life.

W…

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