Reveries and Remnants

by valiantxvillainous

 

Premise Tags: Curse,

Witches, Zombies, Trauma,

Denial/Self-Punishment, Haunting,

Comfort/Consolation, Guilt.

Content Warnings: Gore,

Bullying/Torment (mentions).

 

 

“Hey Ma’, I’m back.”

 

The woman raises her head, her wispy black locks sway from movement. Before she can twist her neck, the shotgun roars. Bang. 

 

She falls from the chair with a wet thud. The dirty circular rug paints with gore, rousing the flies that buzz loudly from excitement. They hover in swarms around the deceased woman, inspecting her thin gray arms that lie limply at her sides. Her ruptured skull and brain matter cover moldy vintage wallpaper and creaky wooden floors. The air, already rancid, fills with the scent of copper.

 

“Sorry I didn’t come home sooner,” Avery says with an even voice. “Can’t really say I missed this place but…guess I kind of miss this place.” He wastes no time to reload his shotgun because he can hear noise coming from the yard. 

 

Avery marches through the small dining room and steps over his mother’s corpse. The backyard door cracks open with a loud creak, the wood damp under his touch. 

 

The yard outside is nothing like Avery remembers. Gone are the gardens that his Ma’ tended to religiously; the neatly trimmed grass and the freshly painted patio. The grass is now tall, overgrown, and wild with weeds sprouting in abundance. 

 

There’s a sheen layer of fog that perpetuates, coupled with the dreary sky of gray. But what’s most notable is the tall figure that stands amid the field of wild grass. An older man waddles toward Avery, each thudding step parting the lawn. Though his face is gaunt, his belly is extended, making him look seven months pregnant. The rounded tummy hangs out his shirt, boils and fungus growing on the exposed skin. 

 

His bony jaw unhinges, a hoarse voice calls out, “Boy… my boy…”

 

Avery grimaces, disgusted by what he sees. He raises his shotgun and soon his father is put out of his misery as well.

 

It’s mid-afternoon. 

 

The heat is sweltering even with the clouds covering the sky. With humidity high, moisture clings to the skin. Avery huffs as he labors with a shovel, digging a grave big enough for two. The front lawn is a bit better kept than the back, the grass just barely taller than his ankle, so he chooses a spot next to the big oak tree where a tire swing still hangs and sways on a rotted rope.

 

“Don’t just watch,” Avery takes a break to hiss through his teeth. “Come over here and help me.” 

 

A young man appears from behind the giant oak. His dirty blond hair is swept to the side and he’s wearing a pair of chestnut-colored shorts with a plain white dress shirt tucked in at the waist. 

 

“I thought you wanted some quality family time,” the young man chirps, his head slightly tilted with a subtle smile on his rosy lips.

 

“Shut up, Oliver, and pick up the damn shovel.”

 

Compared to Avery, who is shorter but stockier, Oliver is lean and tall. His face is rounded, with features of youth still quite present. Next to him, Avery feels the full brunt of his age. His hair is peppered with silver, stray whiskers grow over his jaw and he doesn’t need a mirror to know that his eyes are sunken in, deep circles etched beneath the sockets. 

 

When Oliver picks up the shovel, the two work in tandem. While Avery sweats and labors, Oliver hums with a contemplative tone, “Been a while since you left, I’m honestly surprised that you returned.”

 

“Hm,” Avery grunts in response, pausing only to wipe the sweat off his brow.

 

“Are you going to be leaving again?”

 

“Not yet,” Avery hisses through his teeth. “Not yet. Still got a witch to kill.”

 

Oliver wears a quaint smile. The humid heat does little to dampen his demeanor, his porcelain complexion is one without flaws, and Avery privately thinks him beautiful.

 

In the wretched scene of Wolfpine’s ruin, Oliver is the only sight easy on the eyes.

 

The rest of the town lies in waste, a skeletal shadow of the bustling community that once called it home. The residential houses are gray with rust, paint peeling from splintered wood, vines crawling up brick walls. The little corner stores and gas stations fare no better; signs rusted and letters missing. There’s even a telephone pole that has somehow fallen into the main street, but no one has bothered to clean up the wreck.

 

And yet, it isn’t as though the residents have left either.

 

They remain in the town, just like Avery’s parents have. 

 

The graves are dug and Avery removes two pieces of weathered wood from the shambled shack that rests in the yard. It’s not great but it’s the best that he can find. It’s the only grave marker that his parents get.

 

When they finally finish and the last bit of dirt is neatly placed and patted down, Avery sinks to his knees to offer his deceased parents a prayer, eyes closed.

 

Oliver does not give the same respect and opts to stand patiently at his side. “Are you sure that it’s safe to lower your guards in this place?” In fact, there are footsteps that seem to slowly approach, stumbling and waddling across paved roads.

 

“Quiet,” Avery chides and continues to pray. Only when he feels satisfied does he open his eyes and rise to his feet. By then, they’re surrounded.

 

About a dozen townsfolk saunter towards them from all angles of the road. They move slowly and some of them croak out with harrowing voices. Their clothes have been rendered to nothing more than dirty rags and faces distorted by malnourishment and odd growths. 

 

Avery can still recognize some of them, like Mrs. Simmons who lived down the road, and Rory Hawker who owned the corner store next to his old middle school. There’s even Macy Jones, a girl he told everyone that he crushed on, back when Avery was still a sophomore brat in high school. 

 

Times sure is cruel, he laments privately as he raises his shotgun.

 

There’s no hesitation. His finger presses down on the trigger and the barrel thunders. The smell of gunpowder wafts through the thick humid air. The people from Avery’s childhood drop like flies one after another, their skulls shattered by pellets. Shotgun shells tumble to the grass.

 

It takes only a few minutes.

 

The entire crowd is dispatched. Corpses decorate the lawn and street, making the shitty scenery even more unsightly. Avery scrunches his nose in distaste and lowers his shotgun.

 

“There’s one more.”

 

Alarmed, Avery flinches and he pivots on his heel, weapon raised. But his sights fall upon a little girl, around seven.

 

She stands still with a blank expression, her hair matted with layers of filth. The rag on her thin body can no longer be considered a dress, torn and covered with dirt and unknown stains. But aside from her pale complexion, she does not seem to have any of the odd physical deformities that the adults have. Her bony fingers clutch onto a dirty ball, almost as though she’s come to ask Avery to play.

 

Avery lowers his weapon and slowly approaches. 

 

“Avery!” Oliver cries after him, but he’s ignored. 

 

The hunter kneels down before the child and looks into her dark sorrowful eyes. She looks up a little to meet his gaze and his heart almost skips.

 

“I think her mind is still intact,” Avery mutters quickly before swinging his gun over his shoulder to free up his arms. He picks the girl up with ease; she weighs about nothing.

 

“Avery,” Oliver chides with a frown, following after the shorter man as he strolls back to the house in which he murdered his parents. “Are you sure? I don’t think that she can be saved. You’ll only end up disappointed.”

 

“She’s different,” Avery grumbles without even looking back at his companion. He crosses the lawn and kicks open the front door. It smells like shit inside but at least it’s shelter. “This girl didn’t do nothing wrong. I don’t see why she has to suffer. I’ll save her. Mark my words, I will.”

 

Oliver sighs, not totally convinced. But he does not argue and follows Avery back into the house.

 

Avery brings the girl upstairs to get her cleaned. Luckily, the water still runs, although the tub and showerhead are crusted over with rust and mold. He uses a bucket and cloth to wipe her down. Her dirty rags are discarded and Avery finds one of his Ma’s shirts inside her closet. It’s big, but it will work as a makeshift dress on the girl for now. He has nothing better to offer her. 

 

She stares at him with her vacant eyes but Avery knows that he can glimmer her soul through her pupils. The witch planted a parasitic curse inside the town folks' brains and over the years it would grow and fester until it ate away at one’s consciousness. But as long as there’s a fragment of self still inside the shell, and the human body hasn’t yet been deformed, there’s still a chance.

 

All Avery would have to do is kill the witch as soon as possible. 

 

After being cleaned, the girl’s dark brown hair is revealed to actually be dirty blond. Most of it is too matted to detangle so he’s forced to cut it off. 

 

She’s emaciated and pale, but she looks a bit more like a normal girl.

 

Avery brings her to his childhood bedroom. Old posters of comic book characters and celebrities that he can no longer name are still plastered on the walls. It’s cramped, much smaller than it was in his memories. But his bed still lies there, made and the mattress is still soft. He sits the girl down and decides he needs to get her some food.

 

“Oliver!” Avery calls.

 

But no one responds.

 

“Oliver!”

 

Again, nothing. With a scoff, Avery rises, annoyed. He assumes that Oliver has probably run off somewhere random again and forgot to let Avery know. Seems like he’ll just have to do things himself.

 

So the big hunter thunders down the creaking wooden stairs and braves the stench of drying blood and gore in the kitchen as he searches the cupboards for canned foods.

 

He doesn’t recall what happens next.

 

Avery wakes up in a daze, confusion ripe as he blinks away the darkness. “What…?” his hoarse voice croaks.

 

Slowly, he lifts his head from the thighs on which he rests. Avery realizes absently that he’s in a bed. His bed, the one from his childhood. When he looks up, he’s greeted with Oliver’s angelic visage.

 

The younger man smiles. “Did you have a good sleep?”

 

Avery blinks heavily, not remembering falling asleep at all. He forces himself into a seated position and vigorously shakes his head. “Fuck. How long was I out?”

 

“Not long,” Oliver chirps, putting his thin hand on his back and rubbing comfortable circles between his shoulder blades. “You’re very exhausted, Avery.”

 

“Mm…” That’s when Avery suddenly perks up. “Where’s the girl?”

 

Oliver looks as calm as always. He smiles and looks over Avery’s shoulder. “She’s right there. Hasn’t moved an inch.”

 

Avery follows Oliver’s gaze and in fact, the girl stands at the foot of the bed. She stares out, expression as blank as stone and that ball still clasped in her hands. Not a single word has yet been uttered from her cracked lips. 

 

A sigh of relief leaps up to his feet. He’s about to leave the room without a second look but Oliver’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Where are you going?”

 

Avery scoffs, they’ve been over this a thousand times. “I got a witch to—“

 

“Are you just going to leave her here?”

 

Avery pauses. He looks over his shoulder to catch sight of the girl who stands there motionless with her ball in hand. She’s as still as a mannequin. 

 

“For now,” the hunter bites out. “Plus you said that she hasn’t moved an inch, right? She’ll stay.”

 

“…” Oliver has no more questions for him, at least not now. Avery is free to prepare in silence. First, he cleans the barrel of his shotgun and checks to see how many shells he has left. It’s not a lot, but it should be enough.

 

Next, he gets a canister of oil from the garage and straps it to his back with an old leather belt that he finds lying around, likely his father’s.

 

Prepared, Avery sets out. The sky is as gray as stone and imparts no clue on the hour. The hunter spots Oliver waiting for him at the crossroad. The young man smiles brightly, “Took you long enough, big guy.”

 

Avery humors him with a grunt and continues to stroll. They walk to the town's outskirts, where a dense line of trees lie in wait. 

 

The woods welcome their arrival with dark canopies and damp leaf-littered paths. Only then does the sky begin to darken. The DIY flashlight mount he has tied to his shotgun gets put to use. With a shining ray to guide his path, Avery marches forward undaunted by the odd shadows and eerie whispers of the night. Oliver remains behind him and dogs his trail. The shrubs are dense and the woodland roads are ill-maintained, branches scrape their heels, roots impede their steps.

 

“Are you sure she’s here?” Oliver asks. He’s referring to the witch.

 

“He,” Avery corrects, “the witch is male.”

 

“…” Oliver quiets. 

 

A shadow flits by Avery’s peripherals and he jerks his gun to the left. A deer is caught in the flashlight’s line of sight. It startles and makes a break for it, rustling branches and leaves. But once it disappears into the night, the woods are silent once more.

 

“Avery,” Oliver begins with a hushed tone. His breath brushes against the shell of Avery’s ear, making him shudder, “Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you—“

 

“Not now, Oliver.”

 

Another shadow darts in the corner of Avery’s vision. He flinches to the right this time but he’s not fast enough to catch the culprit of the noise. Something darts off, leaves rustling. Slowly, Avery approaches, slow and steady, slow and steady. He pushes a wayward branch aside and marches across dead leaves that crinkle under his step. 

 

Beyond a thick line of trees, there’s a small opening that looks fit for a campsite. There’s a howling noise; likely just the wind. Avery swoops his scope across the clearing and—

 

At first, it blends with the shadows; long and tall with billowy strands of fabric that resembled the sweeping branches of a willow tree. But wait. Avery sweeps his light back and lands on the shadow once more; tall, humanoid, cloaked. 

 

His finger is on the trigger but Oliver’s hand quickly presses the gun barrel down. “What are you doing!?” Avery hisses.

 

There’s a small frown on the boy’s lips. “What if it’s a person?”

 

Avery feels his gut twist. “Ain’t no man going to come down around these parts,” he hisses back. But Oliver does have a point, it might have been a person—

 

The shadow darts like a black blur. It lunges at them before they can even react. Avery gets knocked off his feet, his shotgun falls nearby on the foliage and he has to fight disorientation.

 

“Oliver!”

 

“Avery!” Oliver, thankfully, responds. But his voice is shrill, panicked, and unlike the calm mirthful chirp that Avery is used to hearing. The hunter hisses and struggles his feet, groping grass twigs and fallen leaves to find his damned shotgun. The mounted flashlight had gone out, everything is now dark.

 

His nerves have his skin tingling and he smacks the barrel of the gun a few times. The flashlight flickers back on and he’s quick to shoot the bright beam around.

 

Everything is quiet, haunting. He spots nothing but the stalks of trees that surround him, their wired branches fanning out the shadow of any moon or starlight, and his heart drums in his ears.

 

“Oliver! Dammit! Where are you!? Fuck!” he shouts. Nothing replies, not even the wind.

 

That is, until, a cold gust rises the skin on his nape. Avery quickly veers his shotgun around and it falls on—

 

Oliver. His hands are up, his clothes dirty. There’s a glint of rusted metal against his throat. The dark thing is behind him, a hood obscuring features. Even the hand that holds the knife is clothed with black fabric. Nothing can be discerned about the witch’s appearance.

 

Avery has the barrel of a shotgun pointed forward. When Oliver gulps, his Adam’s Apple scrapes against the blade. 

 

“Let go of him,” Avery takes his time to punctuate each word. The sweat on his palms grows and adrenaline has his mind sharp and body light. His finger twitches against the trigger but one wrong move and he would blow Oliver to pieces too. “He has nothing to do with this,” he reminds the witch. “He’s innocent.”

 

A gasping sound trails with the wind, hollow and aged. The words are hard to make out at first but surely, Avery hears, “But. You. Aren’t.”

 

He sucks in a breath. The memories over two decades old crash into him and his heart palpitates, threatening to break his focus. 

 

A boy, he remembers, barely out of his teenage years. A bit older than he, blond hair, side-swept. Beige shorts, white shirt. Avery liked him but never dared to talk to him. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

 

“Avery,” Oliver hisses, despite the blade over his throat. His voice is enough to snap the hunter out of his thoughts. “Don’t worry about me, please. Just get out of here. Just go.”

 

But Avery doesn’t relent, keeping his stance steady. He wets his lips and says, “You don’t want him. You want me, don’t you?” 

 

The wind howls and whispers secrets to him. Resentment aged and festering still lingers and doesn’t dissipate. Only the happy memories leave, the bad ones always stay.

 

Cautiously, Avery lowers his gun.

 

“Don’t!” Oliver sure is cute when he wears an emotion so clearly on his pretty face. Avery is used to him looking all perfect and doll-like. “You don’t have to do this, Avery. You can still walk away, get out of here, never come back and just—“

 

“Take me,” Avery says. 

 

The knife leaves Oliver’s throat. Avery lifts his shotgun. “Oliver, duck!” Shots echo and the wind hums, undaunted by the violence that unfolds. 

 

The flashlight goes out but he reloads and shoots. And shoots, and—

 

“It’s over now.”

 

Birdsong pulls him out of sleep, a pale hand brushes the greasy locks of his hair. “Wake up, idiot.” Oliver’s smile is brighter than the sun itself. Avery squints, the morning rays sting his eyes, and his bones creak with ache. Oliver’s thighs are heavenly things but Avery cannot sleep outside like this forever. With a groan, he sits himself up. “Fuck me.”

 

Oliver only chuckles. “Maybe after you’ve had a bath.”

 

Avery swats at him as though he would a fly but his face is red and embarrassment ripe. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, “Where’s the witch?”

 

Oliver points to a heap on the floor. 

 

It’s but a pile of bones, bits splintered from shotgun pellets. The black robe that drapes over them around is worn and tattered as well. “Fuck,” Avery hisses, his voice trembling at the sight. 

 

Oliver’s smile turns wry as he slowly rises to his feet and dusts off his shorts. “Should we go back?”

 

“No,” Avery grunts, untying the canister of oil and setting it down on the ground. “We need to get some firewood.”

 

The task doesn’t take them long and soon Avery gathers all the fragments of bone and tosses them on the pile of wood. Before he doses it with oil he cradles the old skull in his palms. 

 

Should he laugh or should he smile?

 

In the end, he only wears a straight face, awkwardly bringing his lips up to the skull’s brow and planting a kiss. “Rest in peace now, brother.”

 

A thick trail of smoke rises and draws a gray smear in the clear blue sky. “Did you know him?” Oliver asks with a gentle whisper. Their eyes are trained on the billowing fire. Avery does not care if it dries and stings his pupils. He stands vigil.

 

“Yeah. But maybe not. Don’t really know,” Avery mutters.

 

Oliver’s face scrunches with annoyance. “Which is it?”

 

The hunter grunts, he feels too tired for chitchat, but he also appreciates Oliver’s comforting presence. They hadn’t seen each other in more than two decades, after all. 

 

“I kind of knew him, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knew everyone,” he finally explains. “We just didn’t really talk. He was older than me.”

 

A boy, he remembers, barely out of his teenage years. A bit older than he, blond hair, side-swept. Beige shorts, white shirt. Avery liked him very much and thought him very pretty. But the other boys didn’t. They thought he was filthy, called him names, beat him up. Took him to the woods and slaughtered him as though he were a pig. And Avery had watched from the trees. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t do a thing. He was just like the rest of the town that remained silent.

 

Since then, the parasitic curse festered and grew within the townsfolk, turning them into mindless, unthinking ghouls.

 

“Then why do you care so much?” Oliver asks, his head tilting with curiosity, his blond hair bouncing as he moves. Very pretty indeed, Avery thinks.

 

“Even if I didn’t know him that well,” Avery swallows around his words, his voice sounds a bit scratchy, “we weren’t that different on the inside. Felt sorry for the guy. No one else did.”

 

They must have stood there for hours because the sun crawls across the sky. 

 

Avery would have stood there longer if it wasn’t for the hand that tugs at his sleeve.

 

“C’mon, we should head back. That girl’s probably waiting for us, remember?”

 

“Oh,” Avery blinks, “right.”

 

When they return to Wolfpine, a single little girl wanders the streets, helpless and lost. Surrounding her are remnants of the town that she had once known. Nothing remains but shadows: empty houses, distorted corpses. Her face is wrought with fright, streaked with tears. 

 

When Avery notices her, he quickens his pace into a jog and yells, “Hey! Hey! Are you okay?”

 

The girl yelps, frightened at first at the booming voice and the large man that runs toward her. She stiffens up and freezes on her tiny trembling legs. But he’s the first normal person she’s seen thus far. His face, though rough, is pulled with concern. He looks a bit like her dad. Same age, same height but a different nose, perhaps.

 

“Are you okay?” Avery repeats, slowing down so that he wouldn’t frighten her. He kneels down and says, “Sorry I scared you. The name’s Avery. I’m a hunter.”

 

The girl hiccups once, twice but she swallows her sobs and nods. 

 

His shoulders heave from a deep sigh. Relief courses through his chest. Avery tries a smile, even though he knows that he’s not very good at them. Carefully, he reaches for the girl’s hands. She doesn’t pull away. “I’m…sorry that I couldn’t get here earlier. But we’ll get you out of here and bring you somewhere safe. Isn’t that right, Oliver?”

 

The girl blinks. Her voice is small and scratchy, barely a whisper. “Who’s Oliver?”

 

“He’s my partner,” Avery shrugs nonchalantly, but the red on his cheeks is rather telling. 

 

Still, the girl looks at him, confused.

 

Avery scratches the back of his neck. “This guy right here,” he points to his side.

 

Oliver tilts his head a little and smiles. He gives the girl a dainty wave.

 

She looks to the side but sees no one. There’s only Avery.

 

☠️💔☠️

 

 

Author's Account:

valiantxvillainous (SH).