Ok y'all so a few things before the story begins, this is my first draft of this story that I used for workshop at my college, so it's a little rough towards the end due to page and time limits. Next week I'll be posting the official edited first part of the story, and then I'll be updating as I get parts edited. After that I'll be editing some more and then will eventually self publish the story on Amazon and this website. This will pretty much be the structure for my short stories unless I end up wanting to change it later down the road. But anyways now that that is out of the way enjoy the story.
- Cameron
1
The rain assaulted the slowly deteriorating pavement before her, pounding it into a mess of disappointment and regret. As she listened to the rhythmic beating of furious droplets on the thin metal roof above her she questioned how her life got to this point. Her huddled figure sat there on the bus stop bench trying to stay dry and warm but to no avail. The ice inside her heart had already frozen every chamber and was quickly spreading throughout her veins.
Just a few hours ago the world was bright and happy. She was warm, and loved, and safe. But with the turn of a key and the creaking of a door the young woman’s old life was entirely obliterated. Much like the pounding of the rain around her now the tears that fell from her eyes blinded her to the harsh scene being played out in her studio apartment.
How could he? She knew the answer to this question that played over and over in her mind, but she refused to acknowledge it. It wasn’t like she didn’t see the red flags, she was just wearing rose-tinted glasses when she saw them. He worked late because he wanted to provide for them. Nevermind the fact that she was the one who paid their rent and for all of their dates.
The weekend was for the boys so he could miss her. A lie, he never did miss her.
She’s just his co-worker.
“I only have eyes for you.”
“I promise there’s nothing to hide.”
“Go ahead, check my phone, you won’t find anything.”
It was just dinner with a friend he hadn’t seen in a while.
His mom was only joking when she bad-mouthed her son.
He’s not just like dad, he’s different.
It was an accident, he was drunk.
It was only flirting; there's no need to be worried.
The waitress was objectively prettier, she had no right to be upset.
She deserved how he treated her.
No other man would want someone as ugly and stupid as her.
He’s right, she is just paranoid.
He wouldn’t do that, he loves her.
The thoughts swirled around and around in a never ending loop, growing louder and louder as the rain grew angrier and angrier. Where is that damn bus? She couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay, her tears blurring her vision as she stared into the distance.
There was no longer any point in trying to save the box beside her on the ground, the street had already flooded into the bus stop while she was distracted in feeling sorry for herself. She stared at it and began to scream. Picking up the contents and hearing each item splash as she hurled them at the street. There was no point in saving these useless trinkets, all they did was remind her of countless missed birthdays and anniversaries.
A thick, tense feeling set into the air. Choking her as she calmed down from her fit of rage. It grabbed her lungs, forcing the air out of her. Just barely leaving enough room for her to take quick shallow breaths that quickly transformed into hyperventilation. Is this a panic attack or am I dying? But just as quickly as it came it left. Whiplashing her senses.
“Are you alright?” A young girl, maybe 15 or 16 had appeared as if from nowhere, and was now sitting beside the young woman. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated, assessing the stranger beside her. A curious creature. A pink and white polkadot dress that was untouched by the weather around them, and yet there was no umbrella in sight. Warning bells went off in the young woman’s head. But the girl’s face was sincere and looked friendly, at least up until the girl’s eyes. Something was off, she could feel it. Nevertheless she knew she had to answer, it was just a child, there was no need to be afraid.
“Margaret,” she dried her eyes and face while answering. “What is your name?”
“Clarity.” The young girl’s lips stretched into a smile. “Why are you sad?”
With that question the spell was cast and Margaret could hardly resist the pull to answer which overpowered her original caution.
“I was betrayed.”
“By who?”
“Someone I loved very much.”
She paused, suddenly realising that this was a child who sat alone at a bus stop with a stranger. No caretakers or other adults around.
“Where are you parents? Why aren’t you at school? Do I need to call the police for you, or maybe your mom or dad?”
“Don’t worry.” The child’s voice was sweet and calming, erasing the concern Margaret had felt rising up again. “Are you angry at this person?”
Margaret knew she should press further to figure out why this strange child was at the bus stop all alone but she couldn’t fight the need to answer Clarity’s questions.
“No, I’m more angry at myself for not realizing sooner what was going on.”
“Are you sure you didn’t realise that Mason was cheating on you earlier?”
Again Margaret’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t remember if she had told Clarity any details about what happened or not. But just as quickly as it started the sense of dread was dashed as she felt herself answering Clarity.
“I didn’t want to. I knew, but I tried to stay ignorant. I had hoped he got it out of his system.”
“They almost never do. Why are you not angry?”
“I feel like I’m to blame for it. Maybe if I was prettier or smarter, or just better he would’ve stayed. Maybe I did something early on to make him angry and it was revenge.”
“Do you really believe that?”
After Clarity’s question a crack of lightning arced over the sky, followed by a deafening boom. Margaret felt years of pent up anger flood her system as her ears rang from the noise. She was angry at Mason for being a serial cheater, she was angry at her first boyfriend Mark for abusing her. She was angry at her one night stands that kicked her out before the night was even over. She was angry at her childhood bullies for making her feel ugly. She was angry at her sister for being prettier, smarter, better than her. She was angry at her mom for pointing it out. And she was angry at her dad for leaving them and starting another family two weeks after.
“No.”
“Are you angry now?”
Another crack of lightning and thunder, the downpour becoming even more furious than it had been before.
“Yes.”
“Is being angry your problem?”
Something flashed in Clarity’s eyes that Margaret almost missed. It made her pause a moment to think about Clarity’s question. What really is my problem? Is it me or is it how people treat me?
“No.” she decided. “Anger is not my problem.”
A smile once again stretched across Clarity’s face, “what is your problem?”
“It’s them. All of them. Every person that ever made me feel less.”
The words came rushing past Margaret’s lips without a single second to think them through. All she could feel was the anger and rage that blinded her to what was happening.
“If I told you I can take your problems away, would you want me to?”
Margaret wanted to scream yes. She wanted to shout it so loud that it would make her voice hoarse. But something pricked the back of her skull. Goosebumps began to rise on her skin while the hair stood up on her arms and a sense of danger hung in the air as Clarity stared at her expectantly, a sickly sweet smile playing upon her features. Did she always look this menacing?
“How…” She paused trying to find the right words. “How could you be able to take away my problems?”
“Is that really what’s important to you?”
“No, I guess not because it’s not possible.”
Clarity’s smile grew even more as she locked eyes with Margaret.
“Even so, if I could, would you want me to?”
“Yes.”
###
2
“Did you hear the news?”
“What news mom? I’m kinda busy at the moment.”
“Well I heard from Linda from the old neighborhood who heard from her niece— you know the one who’s kids are going to your rival school— who heard from her friend whose husband works at the school you used to go to…..”
Priscilla, Margaret’s mom, droned on. Margaret knew she should actually listen to her mother, but she did this all the time. Priscilla would spend hours talking on the phone to her daughter if she could. And most often she did. It was rarely ever about anything that Maragret truly believed was important.
One time her mother even talked for two whole hours about “the nice boy at the bakery” and how she thought that Margaret should come visit just to meet him. She also talked at length about the beautiful babies that the two would make and how they’d be such a cute couple. But at the time Margaret was with Mason and didn’t want to meet anyone else. Back then they truly were in love and were deep in the honeymoon phase. But now at 23 she was recalling that phone call and wondered how things would have gone differently had she taken her mother seriously that day.
“..... and then the worst part of it! Oh it’s too terrible to even have to repeat!”
“Wait! Mom, stop. What are you talking about?”
“What, you weren’t paying attention? Margaret Anne! How many times have I told you how much it breaks my heart to know that you don’t even listen to me! I should just stop talking to you altogether, seeing as even calling me seems to be such a chore!”
“Hang on a second mom! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve just been preoccupied at the moment, but can you please catch me up on what you were talking about? Pretty please mama. Pretty please with sprinkles.”
“Fine. But only because it is so important.”
“Thank you, I love you.”
“Anyways, I heard from Linda from the old neighborhood who heard from her niece— “
“Mom, I don't need the background details! Only the important stuff please!”
“Ugh I just can’t do anything right can I? Whatever. As I was saying, remember the boys who used to bully you from elementary school through high school before we finally decided to homeschool you?”
“Ugh, yes they were the worst!”
“Well I wouldn’t be too quick to disparage the dead if I were you. It really —”
“Wait! What do you mean dead?”
“Exactly what I mean, they’re dead. Last weekend they had all met up— you remember when we heard they had stayed friends all the way through the end of highschool and college right— well they ended up adding a young man to their friend group and—”
“Momma, is this important or just gossip?”
“It’s important I swear! How disrespectful! Stop interrupting me!”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Glad you can admit your wrong doing, for once. Anyways, it turns out this new friend was a bit older, like a year or so, and he was married!”
“Okay. Why is that important?”
Priscilla paused, trying to grow suspense for the big reveal of what happened to her daughter’s childhood tormentors. She took a deep breath ready to lower her voice for added dramatic effect.
“Well, it turns out that the wife was cheating on him with all three of them!”
“Oh no!”
“‘Oh no’ is right! I heard that it started with that little ringleader Dylan Choirbuckle who then convinced her to cheat with all of them.”
“That’s despicable!”
“Most definitely. But that’s not out of character for him.”
“That’s fair. But wait, you said they were dead? How did that actually happen?”
“Give me a minute I was just getting to that part! So impatient, I swear. The husband eventually found out after it had been going on for two whole years!”
Priscilla’s voice had risen as she emphasized how many years and Margaret let out an audible gasp! She knew those people were the worst, but she had hoped they changed for the better after they had lost their target. I guess that figures. People never truly do change. But even still Margaret felt a heaviness rest on her shoulders, but she didn’t know why.
“When the husband found out he was beyond regular anger. I heard that it was the kind of anger that makes you plot horrific things. Which is exactly what that poor man did.”
“What do you mean? What did he do?”
“He planned a vacation.”
“A vacation? I don’t see how that’s bad.”
“It was a vacation for all of them. They went up to his cabin upstate, you know where all those giant trees are. And it just so happened that the groundskeepers were clearing some of the area with a woodchipper.”
“He didn't!”
“He did, but not before torturing them all for a confession first. Apparently he only found out because of some little girl that came and told him about how she saw his wife kissing another man at the park.”
“Wait, what?”
A sinking feeling rested itself in the pit of Margaret’s stomach as she had flashbacks of the rainy day before. It couldn’t be… But deep down she couldn’t shake the suspicion that it had something to do with the curious girl at the bus stop.
“Momma, do you know any details about the little girl?”
“What? Why is that important?”
“It just is, trust me!”
“Ok, let me see if I can remember. Hold on a moment.”
Priscilla paused a moment going back through her memory of what her old neighbor, Linda, had said. Meanwhile Margaret waited, holding her breath that she didn’t dare to let out.
“Oh! I remember now! So the husband worked at a school in their town— he taught 2nd grade I think— and the little girl was just visiting his class that day. It’s weird Linda said that she had heard from the grape vine that no one had ever seen the little girl before or since. It’s strange isn’t it. I could hardly believe my ears when Linda was telling me what happened—”
“Momma, what was the little girl wearing?”
“Umm…. I think Linda said it was a frilly pink dress. She only told me because of how weird it was that a child would wear church clothes to school.”
Margaret’s blood ran cold, her suspicions reinforced. But that’s not possible! The girl at the bus stop was a teenager! Not a small child. She had hoped that her mother would have more information but was worried that Priscilla would pry and start asking questions.
“Mom. I need to go. I have something to take care of.”
“What? But we were in the middle of a conversation, it is incredibly rude to—”
“I know, I’m sorry but I really need to process this news. Please understand.”
Priscilla started to raise her voice at Margaret and indignantly prattle on about how disrespectful and horrible of a daughter Margaret is but she just hung up the phone, cutting her mother off mid-sentence. I’ll deal with mom after I figure this out.
She looked down at the laptop that sat on her kitchen counter. At first she had thought to search to see if there were any missing teens in the area. She had thought that maybe Clarity was a run away. But this news made her worried that Clarity might not just be a runaway human teen.
But this is crazy. She argued with herself about what exactly it was that she was actually thinking. Surely whatever it was that Margaret was worried about was only an urban legend. Demons, monsters, and whatever aren’t real. They’re fiction made to scare people. Nevertheless she typed into the search bar. She wasn’t exactly sure what to search up. She had never gone through the creepy pastas and urban legends phase that the other kids at her school did.
*Girl named Clarity asked if I wanted her to take away my problems.*
Margaret thought that might be a good start but the results page ended up with nothing even remotely related to her search. It was all ads for clarifying shampoos, glasses, contacts, glass cleaner, etc. She heaved a huge sigh and racked her brain for how else she could word it.
*Clarity urban legend*
Nothing.
*Girl at bus stop urban legend*
Still nothing.
*Taken away problems urban legend*
Still nothing.
At this point she was getting desperate and decided to do a general search of urban legends from her area. There were hundreds of articles each with a more terrifying title than the last. She scrolled and scrolled until one caught her eye.
“Demon Approached Me at a Bus Stop and Asked to Take Away My Problems! My Life is Now Ruined!”
Could this be it? The feeling that something was severely wrong and she was treading dangerously started to creep up. As her mouse hovered over the link to the article a thick, tense feeling set into the air just like the previous day when she was at the bus stop. It choked her as she mustered up the resolve to click the link. As the new page loaded the feeling grabbed her lungs and made Margaret feel like she was drowning. She just barely had enough room in her lungs to take quick shallow breaths that quickly transformed into hyperventilation once again.
It has me. She panicked thinking that this was punishment for not being grateful to Clarity for taking away one of her problems from childhood. And just as she felt she was going to pass out her phone chimed beside her. Indicating a new text message. It was from her sister Kieran.
“Dad killed himself. Funeral today at 12. Mom and I are not going, but thought you should know.” The message punched Margaret in the gut, knocking the wind out of her once again. At least I stopped hyperventilating. But the bastard is dead now. Huh. She didn’t care to hear the details, or why. She only needed to know if it was Clarity that caused it, or if it was some weird coincidence.
No. It’s most likely a coincidence, freak accidents happen all the time and when it rains it pours and whatever else bullshit sayings I can tell myself to stay calm. She knew she didn’t want to attend the funeral of the man who first ruined her life and set her up for all her future bad decisions and consequential heartbreaks. But Margaret’s curiosity, and fears, begged her to.
“I’m so sorry for your loss Sierra.”
“My loss? Don’t you mean our loss? He was your father too…”
“Hardly. But still, I know your family was close.”
“You could’ve been close too, you know.”
“Whatever could have been is not what it was. There’s no use in arguing now that he’s dead. But if it is okay, I do have some questions…”
“No, I at least owe you that much, although I’m not sure how much help I’ll really be.”
“That’s ok, I don’t need a whole lot of details, I just need to know if…. Anything weird happened before he...”
“You sound like an investigator.”
“Please, I know it sounds strange and I’m being cryptic but I really can’t divulge any more reasoning than this.”
“Well, maybe it might help to bring some sort of weird healing to you or whatever. Just give me a moment to think about it.”
“Thank you.”
Margaret knew it was a long shot but she couldn’t pass up this opportunity to find the truth about what had been lurking in the back of her mind. What if it was Clarity? What next? She felt the weight of what might be the truth settle on her shoulders. If it was then that means all of this is my fault.
“Oh! I remember now!” Sierra exclaimed, pulling Margaret from her thoughts.
“Well, tell me then!”
“Ok, this is going to sound weird but just remember you asked for it. Dad had called a week before… and he sounded really freaked out. He said there was a menacing girl scout trying to sell cookies in the neighborhood but this one wasn’t wearing the uniform and she didn’t have any cookies or order forms or anything with her.”
“Did he happen to have a security camera on his door or anything?”
“I’m not sure. But aren’t you weirded out by what I just said?”
“I mean yeah that is weird but is there any evidence of this actually happening?”
Margaret’s words were rushed and erratic, but she had one sliver of hope that her fears were unfounded and she clung to it desperately.
“Ok, now you really sound like the investigator. What’s going on Margaret! Did you have something to do with this because if you did—”
“Wait!” Margaret cut off her half sister’s accusations, “what do you mean by the investigator? Earlier you said an investigator.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes! Yes it matters!”
At this point Margaret’s shouting started to scare Sierra and she started to completely shut down. Some of the men who attended the funeral had heard the commotion and ushered Margaret outside. The sides of her hands began to bleed as she pounded the door begging for answers. Her throat was as dry as her cheeks were wet from her frantic crying. She knew the truth but she wasn’t quite ready to face it yet.
I have to find the investigator, maybe they— no it’s not possible. That website only had the one page and there was no author listed. And I’m not even nearly smart enough to try to learn how to track IP addresses or whatever it is they do to find people. Fuck! I didn’t even name my bullies or my dad to Clarity. How am I supposed to know who’s next, the only one I said for sure was Mason. Oh shit! Mason!
Suddenly someone grabbed Margaret’s shoulder, turning her from the bloodied door. She let out a fearful shriek before the mystery man before her covered her mouth with his other hand.
“Stop! I don’t have time to explain! Are you the girl who was at the route 6 bus stop number 66 yesterday?”
The man let go of Margaret, allowing her to answer him.
“What? I was at a bus stop but I didn't know about the route or stop number. Wait a minute, it’s 666?”
“Yes. But that’s not important. You are the woman in this video, yes?”
The man pulled out his phone and gave it to Margaret. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the video. It was angled down on her from the front, like a surveillance camera in a store. It was fuzzy but it was definitely her. Wait a minute, why does it look like I’m talking to myself? She watched the scene from the day before playing out in front of her but Clarity was missing.
“What is this? Is this some sort of sick joke?” She felt anger and fear welling up inside of her.
“I swear on my life that this video is unedited. Please I just need to know, were you talking to a little girl named Clarity yesterday?
Just then the once clear sky began to darken as a crack of lightning arced through the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. The two strangers ran for cover across the street, trying to avoid the sudden heavy rain. Before they could continue their conversations their phone began to ring with a warning alarm. There was a plane in the air that was struck by lightning and everyone in the area needed to be careful to not be struck by the debris.
“Did you know anyone on that plane? I know it’s strange but I swear it’s important to know.”
Margaret stared at him in silent horror. Is he implying that one of my “problems” was on that plane?
“Not….. Not that I know of. You don’t think—”
“I don’t think, I know. Aren’t you to the point where you can feel it yet? At this point I know when she kills, I can feel it in my soul.”
“Are you the one who wrote the blog post about Clarity?”
“I am. Did you read it?”
“No, I was going to but then I found out about my dad’s death and had to see for myself if it was Clarity.”
“It was, no need to bother the grieving family. I need you to check on people who Clarity might have sensed were your problems and see if anyone was planning on taking a plane trip today.”
“Ok.”
Margaret pulled out her phone, ready to make some calls when a notification flashed across the top of her screen.
*New Facebook Posts From Marissa Hummle and Casey Choirbuckle for you*
Margaret’s heart dropped. The posts were from the moms’ of both her worst ex-boyfriends. It can’t be, can it?
“What happened? Why are you crying?”
“Look.”
Margaret showed the man the two posts from the desperate mothers begging for any information anyone could have about whether or not there were any survivors of the unfortunate plane accident. The local police department had commented on both saying to wait for investigators while people at the scene were telling her it didn’t look hopeful. A sob escaped Margaret’s lips and the man pulled her into a comforting hug.
He looked like how she thought a father was supposed to look. He was taller than her but not necessarily tall in an objective sense, obviously in his 40s although his face was much more wrinkled around the eyebrows than her own father was. His dark hair and rounded features contrasted that of her father’s too, who had blond hair and a sharp, almost cartoonish face. His eyes were sad but also comforting. If only he was my father instead, maybe I wouldn’t be going through all this right now.
She shook her sadness and chastised herself for the selfish thought and started to speak when another flash of lightning and clap of thunder went off across the street. It was so close the two phenomena were almost at the same exact moment, Margaret had never been this close to a lightning strike and it frightened her. It only took a few seconds for the house to burst into flames despite the heavy rain. The smell of a house fire permeated the air and assaulted the two’s nostrils and lungs.
“We have to help them!” Margaret shrieked as she rushed towards the house.
“It’s Clarity! We won’t be able to stop it!” He held her back and started calling 911 to get a firetruck and ambulance to come to the house.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” She cried, mourning what she knew would be the death of her father’s second family.
As the emergency responders arrived at the house the man helped Margaret into his car, driving away from the tragic scene. He knew what happened all too well, he had lived it with his own family ten years prior. He shook the painful thoughts of his old life from his mind and parked in a side street waiting for the young woman beside him to calm down enough to answer more questions.
Her temperament reminded him of his eldest daughter, although they looked nothing alike. This woman’s hair was much shorter, cropped at the shoulders, and bright, dyed, red with dirty blond roots. Her facial features were sharp but not off putting. Her green eyes were puffy from crying and what looked to be day old mascara streaked her cheeks. She looked slightly sickly to him, as if she wasn’t eating right. Bruises littered her arms, he didn’t want to pry but he knew it was most likely from someone else’s hand. She was shivering slightly so he turned on the heater while her breaths became regulated and the sobbing stopped.
“What do we do now?” Her voice was broken and defeated.
“We figure out if there is anyone else Clarity might go after and try to save them. Do you know who else might be affected?”
Margaret thought back to the bus stop trying to recall everyone she thought of when she told Clarity about her problems.
“My mom and sister! We have to go save them!” She shouted in sudden remembrance.
“We will! Where are they?”
“They live in Woodhurst! We have to go now!”
“Ok, that’s only an hour away, we can make it!”
Margaret plugged the address into his GPS and the man peeled off the side street and sped down the road to their destination. He turned on his flashers so cops would think it’s an emergency and not pull him over before getting to the highway.
“Before we get to their house there are some things I should tell you. First, my name is John. I had encountered Clarity on that bus about ten years ago. I escaped with my life but I wasn’t able to save my family.”
“I’m Margaret. Is that why you are helping me?”
“Yes. Normally I would have been at the bus stop to try to keep Clarity away from people. I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday.”
“It was my fault for even talking to Clarity. What problems did she offer to take from you?”
“At the time I was having marital problems with my wife and my children were all fighting a lot. One day it was too much and I left the house trying to clear my head. The more I walked the angrier at life I got. I eventually came to the bus stop. I think it feeds on negative emotions.”
“It? What exactly do you mean?”
“Well, after a few years of research I found out Clarity is a demon. Sort of like a crossroads demon but worse and tied to only that one bus stop, as far as I know. At least, I only hope it is this bus stop only.”
“I see.”
As they continued to learn more about each others’ situations one question had been gnawing at Margaret. She felt it might be rude to ask but she had to know. The only problem was, would John actually tell her the truth. What if this is another trick of Clarity’s? There’s really only one way to know.
“John, how have you survived for so long?”
“Right after my family was taken from me I sought a church that had some advertisements in the paper about exorcisms. It was all bullshit when I went, but there was a man waiting outside of the door when the consultation was over. He told me he saw a dark entity attached to me and wouldn’t stop until it had my soul too.”
“Your soul? Does that mean it’s after me too?”
“Yes, but it won’t try to take you until after it forces you to watch everyone else die first. When I had asked this of the man he said it was because Clarity wants it’s victims to be so defeated and broken that they willingly give up their souls.”
The weight of John’s words hung in the air. An uncomfortable silence sweeping through the car, even the sounds of the road and air heater appeared to be silenced.
“But how did you survive?” Margaret’s voice was barely above a whisper, worried about what the answer might be.
“The man trained me to follow a rigorous regimen that has protected me from the demon. I have to bathe in holy water everyday and keep an old, blessed, pistol by my side filled with holy salted bullets. I also have a rosary that the man gave me that was supposedly drenched in John the Baptist's tears, that one I’ve been a bit skeptical about though.”
John let out a slight chuckle at the last part and pulled the rosary out of his shirt to show Margaret. So he is legit. But that sounds like a lot to have to do. Can I really follow it too? Will I even survive long enough to learn? Before Margaret asked any more questions they arrived at the house. The sun was beginning to set and her childhood home had a dark aura coming from it. Oh no, am I too late?
“Mom! Mom, Kieran, where are you?” She shouted while walking through the front door.
“You probably shouldn’t shout, we may not be the only beings here right now.” John whispered to her.
John handed Margaret a vial of holy water and a shotgun. She looked at the gun and then back to John quisically.
“It’s not blessed but it does contain holy salt bullets.”
She nodded and motioned for John to follow her. They crept through the house, all of the lights were turned off and the darkness inside grew as the sun outside set. As they walked, checking every room, the heaviness in the air grew thicker until they reached her mother’s bedroom at the back of the one story home.
The grisly scene before them sent a shock through Margaret. Her mother’s body hung on the wall, pierced through the torso with what looked to be chair legs. The broken furniture laid at Priscilla’s feet. The stench of blood enveloped the room and Margaret began to wretch at the sight and smell. Margaret cried and moved to take her mother’s body down but John suddenly reached out his arm, stopping Margaret in her tracks.
On the other side of the room near her mother’s bathroom there was a mass of flesh and blood soaked pink tulle that smelled like a rotting corpse huddled over the crumpled, bloodied body of Kieran. Margaret let out a sob which she stifled with her free hand. John shot at the demon before them but it moved too quickly.
In a flash the demon hurled itself at the two, cackling as it killed John before he could shout at Margaret to run. The demon turned back into the form it had taken at the bus stop and slowly stalked towards Margaret. This time though, it didn’t look as friendly as it had before. Clarity’s once sleek blond hair had become a tangled mess of blood and black rats nests, different types of bugs crawling in and out of each tangle. Her face was now more matured and elongated, like someone had a distorted memory of what people are supposed to look like. It’s nails were more like claws and had blood dripping from the tips. The once pretty pink and white polka dotted dress was tattered and old, stains and moth holes mixed with blood and dirt.
Margaret screamed as she shot at the demon while running away but it stretched it’s inhuman arm and slashed her achilles tendons. Margaret fell to the floor shrieking in pain. Clarity cackled as it loomed over Margaret.
“How does it feel to no longer have problems?” It sneered at the helpless victim before it.
“Go to hell!” Margaret shouted back.
“Gladly, I’ll even escort you there myself.”
Margaret’s eyes widened as she desperately tried to uncap the holy water to throw on the demon. But she was too late. In the blink of an eye Margaret’s soul was separated from her body and dragged to the pits of hell by the bus stop demon.
The sirens blared outside of the house and neighbors came out to look at the spectacle before them. The lead investigator sighed as he looked at the scene before him. It was a gruesome mess and there seemed to be no real suspect, they all had looked like the victims of a heinous occult crime. He sighed as he got back into his car and drove to the location written on a piece of paper in the dead man’s pockets. He thought that maybe it was a clue.
As he pulled up to bus stop number 66 on route 6 the rain began to fall. He got out and looked around before sitting on the bench trying to figure out why this was in the man’s pockets. He thought about the choices in life that had led him to the horrifying crime scene from earlier. The rain began to assault the slowly deteriorating pavement before him, pounding it into a mess of disappointment and regret.
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