Blood Was Its Avatar

I saw something last night while Eric and I were looking for shelter.

I don't know how long ago it had noticed us. For all I know, it could've been watching us for minutes before I saw it there, standing by the door of a nearby building whose lights had long since gone out.

It was tall and gaunt, its rotting skin pressed tight against its bones. It was wearing hiking clothes, and looked to me like it had once been male.

 

It was a fragment of the fear of death- a shard of the Dying Man- and it was staring at me.

My eyes met the shard's, and its decaying, bloodied lips parted to reveal sharp yellow teeth. I couldn't tell whether it was a growl or a smile.

"Eric," I whispered to him, tapping him on the shoulder.

He glanced upwards, and I pointed to the shard.

His eyes widened, but he said nothing.

 

It brandished its nails. The flesh of its fingertips had rotted away, exposing far more of its fingernails than normal. Like its teeth, they were sharp, yellow, and caked in dried blood.

I took out my knife. Eric was still staring at the Dying Man shard, frozen in place. I shook him, but it only seemed to make him more panicked. He clearly wasn't in a state to fight. I motioned for him to step back, which he did, albeit in a daze.

The shard ran towards me. Its speed caught me off-guard, and it slashed at my chest with its nails, tearing open my shirt and leaving cuts in my chest. I slammed the hilt of my knife into its head- I had no interest in killing it, knowing full well that it would just possess me instead.

 

The shard bit into my arm. There was inhuman strength in its jaws, and its teeth were razor-sharp. It hurt like hell. I think I actually blacked out for a second. After a second, I regained my composure and kneed the shard between its legs.

 

It stumbled a few steps back, but it was a spirit, even if it was possessing a human host. It only took a second or two for the shard to lunge at me. It knocked the wind out of me, and knocked my knife to the ground.

 

The shard easily wrestled me to the ground. By chance, I managed to find my knife. I grabbed it and hit the shard with the hilt, aiming for the nose. As the shard was disoriented, I kicked upwards, knocking it back, and scrambled to my feet before it could get me back onto the ground. 

I didn't belabor things after that. I ran, and I pulled Eric after me.

I don't like having to run from all my problems, but it's better than letting them win.

- Henry

King Pest

Okay, this is going to sound really petty and ungrateful, and it probably is, but...

 

I don't really get Eric.

 

He's clearly not malicious, but I don't really understand the way his brain works most of the time. He doesn't seem to have any problem with the idea of talking to strangers (you may recall that I only talked to him after he rescued me because he started a conversation), and in fact, he actually seems to like talking to people, which I know full well is possible, it just... I don't get it. Maybe that says more about me than about him, though.

 

I don't know. I just don't get him.

 

- Henry

Habiliments of the Grave

I saw it wearing his face. The Archangel wore my brother's face.

That's why the Timberwolves killed him, I suppose. So it could wear him.

You see, that's what the Archangel does. It takes the shapes of the dead, trapping them inside itself as it uses their bodies to grim ends.

It tried to kill me. That's how I knew it wasn't him. The thing about loss is that your mind's first instinct is denial, to continue seeing the person who left your life in the places where they used to be. Seeing someone you watched die seeming to be alive allows your mind to fill in the gaps. It's just that sometimes it fills them in wrong, and it needs to be reminded of the truth.

Mason is dead. I let him die.

When I reminded myself of that fact, I did the same thing I'd done when it happened. I ran.

But it chased me. It hunted me down just like the Black Dog hunted Oliver, just like the tattooed man hunted Mason.

As I glanced back at it, I felt myself bump into someone. I looked up. I didn't recognize him, but he seemed to be able to tell how scared I was, and he told me to come with him.

I didn't have a choice. When he started running, I followed him.

 

We ended up at a fast food place. It was two in the morning.

It was silent for a few moments as we sat across the table from one another.

"So," he finally asked, "who did you see?"

"What?"

"The person chasing you. Who did you see?"

"I- I don't-" I began to say.

He shook his head. "Never mind. That wasn't... uh... wasn't very sensitive. I'm sorry." He paused. "So, you hungry?"

I blinked. "Uh, yeah. Yes."

"Alright. On me."

So we ordered some food.

"So, what's your name?" he asked, dipping a fry in some ranch.

"Henry."

"Well, Henry, my name's Eric Zane." He took a bite. "Mm. You know, I didn't used to like ranch for some reason. Looking back, I really don't get it."

I shrugged and ate one or two of my own fries. "So, about what you said earlier..."

He looked up at me.

"The thing that was coming after me, it was pretending to be my brother."

He sighed. "I'm sorry. It's... it's a lot. Running from the Archangel. Running from any of them, really."

"It is. It really is." I cleared my throat. "What do you think about Running together?"

He smiled. "I think I'd like that."

So now Eric and I are Running from the Archangel.

 

God only knows where we're running to.

- Henry