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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/HughEhhoule on 2024-11-18 18:49:20+00:00.

For anyone that was busy yesterday

In case anyone is wondering I’m typing this from the security of the attic with my very first smartphone. Well, it’s not mine per sae but it’s mine now is what’s important.

Maybe being a bit more relaxed will let me relate myself better. I’d be a fan of that. The past few days, even by my standards have just been odd and violent, but that part goes without saying.

Looks like more and more people are trying to help me out, much appreciated, as always. Here is a little feedback for you. And a couple questions.

First off, why does everyone seem to know more about this flea market than I do? I’d have thought getting things first hand from something that looked like Pumpkinhead’s church going cousin would have put me at an advantage but you guys seem to know what’s up better than I do.

I’m going to hazard a guess it has something to do with the fact that there’s certain information I just can’t see. That same vantablack that blocks my travels censors out all kinds of things, I’d tell you what, but you know the worst part of censorship is…

Doesn’t seem to work with second hand info though (not yet anyway ) I’m chalking that up to my creator’s community college level sorcery skills. So please, if you know something I don’t, pass it on.

Second, you guys seem to have some pretty high hopes for my morals. I expected a group of random folks to be telling me to slaughter the neighbourhood with the hero’s skull for shits and giggles, but it seems things have gotten a little less edgy since the 90s. Probably not a bad thing.

Lastly, you guys seem to think Kaz can help me out quite a bit, got to say, he did seem like fear incarnate. I’ll keep that in mind.

If I missed you, it’s probably because i took your advice and I’ll be getting to it in a minute.

The headline of the past couple weeks is the entire goon squad piling into their literal hearse and taking off. The bishop seemed to have packed a couple suitcases so I assumed I was going to have a few days at least.

But to play it safe I spent the first day in the attic. I’m still nervous about the glance the twin and I exchanged and not about to get caught in a trap invented by paranoid parents .

A little after one on the second night I hear what I initially think is the bishop and the 3 pawns ( better name? Worse?) . But as I focus , I hear 5 voices whispering, and most certainly sounding like nothing that stalks the night with any degree of real skill.

A window breaks, and I smell it.

I know most of you guys think of me as a good guy, I mean, I’m pretty sure someone is working on making a plush or a body pillow of me as we speak (I have so many questions about fads in 2024) . But there are going to be times you get a deep , uncomfortable look into the vile crap hastily sewn together that is me.

This is one of those times.

What I smelled was innocence. And with it, I gained an understanding. A look into what my base drive is, I’d love to say I didn’t like it, to say I felt it was a vile compulsion, but the truth is, that’s not how it feels. It’s exciting, it’s primal, and on a very real level it feeds me.

With that first whiff , I understood innocence. It’s not being perfect, or young, chaste or naive. It’s complicated of course, but at its core it’s doing things for the right reasons . Having that spark of human kindness, loyalty and selflessness even among flaws that may appear irredeemable to some.

2 of those men had it. 3 of those men were acceptable collateral damage. Nothing in me, meat, cloth, or magic feels any differently. I respect you all too much to lie.

I start to salivate, the fluid pooling and dripping out of the bottom of my ceramic head. I feel power, I feel confidence. It’s dark, it’s my house, they’re not demons or heroes, just meat. I can feel my body twitch and thrum like a guitar string as they come into the house one by one. They split up, trying to ransack the place as quickly as they can.

I laugh. A clicking phlegmatic sound I find myself hoping they can hear as I run toward a vent, jumping down into it with no regard for the minor noise I make. In fact , I extend one blade and drag it along the duct. As they hear the sound I can feel their fear , I can feel where they are like a hellish radar.

The closest to me has no innocence to him. I smell crimes committed for pure greed and rage, that doesn’t matter though, I need to warm up. I’ve spent so much time sneaking and cowering, I need to see what I can do.

I settle myself enough to open the vent without attracting attention. The large, mask wearing man rifles through drawers, looking frustrated as he finds nothing better than 25 year old computer errata.

My limbs move almost of their own accord , I climb with a spider’s grace directly above the man. There would have been a million ways to drop on him and kill him in an instant. But my mind went to none of those.

Instead, I let the ceramic headpiece unfold, thick red-grey saliva hits his the top of his mask. He jumps and turns toward the ceiling shining a high powered flashlight in my face. It doesn’t matter, I know exactly where he is, and I get a giddy charge from the burst of fear that runs through his body as he sees my face.

I let go and extend both of my blades. Nothing to hack down a demon, but stout and sharp enough to slide easily through the man’s eyes, the sockets behind them, and, propelled by my momentum, the brain behind that.

He makes no noise, but both of our bodies hitting the floor most certainly does. I rip my arms, shoulder deep in gore, out of his head and take a moment to admire the spewing cavern of his face.

I hear another man come running, another empty snack but I’m more than eager to whet my appetite.

I run to the door and place my back to the wall beside it. The second man, a wiry guy in his 40s, wearing no mask but a moustache that would have been at home back in 93 walks by me and screams as he sees his compatriot.

I walk behind him and drive both blades tip down into his Achilles tendons. Putting all my weight and strength into it, I tear upward, the blades catching flesh , tendon and fat and tearing them out as a formless lump. He hits the ground, wailing in terror and pain.

I can hear one of the group immediately leave his compatriots. I’m angered as I feel it was one of the innocent. I take this out on the thief screaming on the ground.

I climb his body facing the door , I’m stunned at how easy these instincts come to me, and at how much I’m loving this.

It’s like a hard drug, it scares the hell out of me, but I need it.

He tries to see what’s on his back, but he has no leverage to throw me off. I vent my rage by stabbing, randomly, almost playfully up and down his torso.

By the time the last two enter, he isn’t dead but he isn’t coming back. I stare at the two men as I petulantly stab a last 3 times, shut the headpiece with a snap and leap with greased eel speed into a floor vent.

They scream, at the situation, at each other, at their dying friend. And I hear the telltale noise of a gun cocking. I’m not scared, it makes me laugh, I let the sound echo through the vents as I move randomly, stoking their fear, their paranoia.

I stop and watch them back down the hallway from a ceiling vent. I pant with anticipation, as I confirm the innocent has the gun. I scrape the knife , herding them to the top of the stairs. The gun toting buffet fires randomly, coming no where close to hitting me.

I move to a vent between the two, letting silence ring. Letting them ramble possible plans and explanations to each other.

I drop ,putting them between myself and the stairs. With no room to aim, and nerves frayed thin, the innocent man, a 23 year old single father, working 2 jobs and doing this under duress, fires rapidly and poorly.

Soup can sized chunks blow out of his friends back as the bullets exit. I do nothing to speed the man’s fate, I stand in the hallway letting the young man’s shock and fear marinate his coming pain.

He sees me and fires his 2 remaining shots ,doing nothing more than sending harmless sprays of hardwood into my mask.

He’s stunned, but not enough to avoid making a break for it when I start a slow walk toward him, scraping one blade along my ceramic head, making a hellish screech.

He stumbles down the stairs and I leap. I overestimate my ability and land grabbing his waist from behind as opposed to his head.

I jam a blade into the side of his leg with the rapidity of a sowing machine, and as that steel buries itself into his flesh, I feel it, the pain of the innocent.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to explain this in any way that makes sense, but I’ll try.

You know that false rush of strength and bravado you hear cocaine users rant about? That high that makes you feel you could fight and fuck all night , likely both at the same time?

Think of that, but instead of false promises you are actually stronger, faster and smarter, not just a twitchy loser who isn’t making sense and can’t get it up.

I roar , a sound like a rock tumbler with strep throat. He tries to grab me and throw me off, but I retract a blade and grab his hand, easily twisting the wrist to such a degree the man falls to the floor. Nothing I could do before the kickstart.

He tries to slam me into the ground, but I drive my legs into his back, briefly lifting him…

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