Something Divine

My Ao3 • 20

[clement1me]

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺ - - Dear, Only - - A fic for The Conjuring -

This fic is also on Ao3

Spotify Playlist for Dear, Only

⟡ !! Eventual Smut !! (We will get there) ⟡ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn) ⟡ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing ♡ (I plan on making this span all four movies) ⟡ If you have suggestions or feedback I would love to hear it.

Chapter One: - I See the Crystal Vision ۶ৎ -

Chapter Two: - I Look to You and I See Nothing 𓏲ּ𝄢- Chapter Three: -And All The Fears You Hold So Dear ᨳଓ-

Chapter Four: - And My Kingdom is as Great -

Chapter Five: - So Come and Get Me, Baby -

Chapter Six: – You Can Hide Inside My Locket –

Chapter Seven: – That Low, Lonely Dove –

Chapter Eight: - Love, It Was Enough to Recognize -

Chapter Nine: - Oh, My Good Looking Boy - Chapter Ten: -As You Watch Me Wander, Curse The Powers That Be-

Chapter Eleven: For Your Wounds, Babe

Chapter Twelve: I'm Alright, Only In Your Arms, Darlin' Chapter Thirteen: In The Room Where You Sleep

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Thirteen: In The Room Where You Sleep (Chapter title is from In The Room Where You Sleep by Dead Man's Bones-- The Perron song--)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Summary: While working on this chapter I've been calling it "The breakfast chapter." So that is what is had. Breakfast. Brad gives Clarice her pancakes and coffee that needs cream. April runs the kitchen like the Navy. Clarice and Lorraine pull close and talk about little things.

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Clarice sat at the kitchen table with Carolyn right beside her. Surrounding them was Carolyn's family, laughing and teasing over pancakes, sausage, and early morning sunlight.

As Roger cooked the pancakes, Ed and Lorraine stood over by the coffee counter. April was Roger’s helper, and in a too-large apron and pancake batter smeared on her face, she took the job very seriously.

April approached Ed, a plate of pancakes and bacon in her hands, “These are for you.”

Ed thanked her by brushing the tip of her nose with his thumb. Lorraine gave them both an incredibly adoring look.

“Gosh, Christine, please don’t run. You’re going to bump into someone.” Carolyn said as Christine dashed along the length of the kitchen.

As people buzzed around, coordinating pancakes and raspberries on their breakfast plates, Clarice twisted open the cap of a tube of ointment. She squeezed a pea sized amount on her fingertip and warmed it between her fingers.

“Let me see your wrist.”

Carolyn lifted her arm to Clarice. Clarice sucked in air at the large purple and brown bruise right below her hand.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Clarice said softly as she began to rub her fingertip along the length of the bruise.

“Thank you, Clarice.” Carolyn said, watching Clarice tend to her bruise, “Sorry. I’m normally not like this. I’m disheveled. I look horrible. It’s just most days I don’t feel well.”

Clarice’s eyes were lowered in complete focus. She blew lightly at the ointment on Carolyn’s arm and then said, “You don’t look horrible. At all. This is a horrible thing to go through, and you’re doing it very well. Now, um, where was the other one?”

Carolyn lifted up the sleeve of her shirt, and Clarice helped to hold it up. There was another deep bruise along her upper arm.

From the end of the table, the girls were focused on Drew.

“No, listen to me,” Nancy said to Drew, completely serious, “If you grew your hair out just a little more, you’d look just like Paul McCartney.”

“Paul McCartney?” Cindy asked, eating the end of a strawberry.

“The Beatles, Cindy. You should know that,” Nancy said.

Drew, mouth full of pancake, looked between them, “Is that a compliment?”

Roger, who was tending to sizzling bacon on the stove, glanced over his shoulder. “Trust me. It’s a compliment. Paul is the cutest one.”

Drew chuckled and looked up behind his shoulder, “Yeah? You listen to a lot of The Beatles?”

Roger laughed, realizing how that sounded, “No, not me. The girls.”

Meanwhile, Clarice felt a warm hand press against her shoulder. Brad leaned over her slightly and set a plate of pancakes next to her. He then set a cup of light brown coffee next to the plate.

“Here you go, Ms. Chenn. If you need more cream, let me know.”

Clarice glanced up at him and gave him a small smile. This version of Brad she found adorably charming.

“Thank you, Brad.”

“Brad Hamilton,” Lorraine said, leaning on the kitchen counter, “Look at you being all gentlemanly.”

Brad shrugged, “Eh, it’s not a big deal.”

“Sweetheart?” Clarice said from the table, holding her coffee cup aloft, her finger lifted so as not to get any ointment on it, “This does need a little more cream.”

“Yeah?” Brad said, looking down at her, “I’ll-yeah, I got it. Coming right up.”

Drew pointed a fork at Brad, “Goodness gracious, look at this goof–”

“I don’t think he’s a goof,” Christine said quickly, looking after the pancake on Drew’s fork and toward Brad.

“Well, yeah, Christine just thinks he is handsome,” Andrea said.

“Shut up!” Christine said, trying to put a syrupy hand over Andrea’s mouth, “I don’t. He’s actually incredibly un-handsome.”

"I'll say," Drew said, shoving pancake and strawberry into his mouth.

To this, Carolyn and Clarice exchanged amused smiles.

Meanwhile, Ed looked down at Brad’s very careful pouring hand, “You didn’t give my coffee that much attention, Jesus.”

“It’s because you're not his sweetheart, Clarice Chenn. You’ll need to get a little cuter first,” Lorraine said before sipping her coffee.

“I’m plenty cute,” Ed said, “right, Brad?”

When Brad didn’t immediately reply, Drew spoke up from the other side of the room, “I think you’re very cute, Mr. Warren.”

Lorraine rolled her eyes as Ed pointed a triumphant finger toward Drew, “See?”

Ignoring Ed, Brad continued splashing drops of creamer into the cup.

“You add any more cream, that coffee’ll start mooing, son,” Ed said.

Brad huffed, and Clarice laughed aloud from the table.

“Yeah, well,” Brad glanced at him, "your angel likes her coffee light.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Ed's mouth. He gave a little shrug.

Clarice's began putting ointment onto a new bruise, this one along Carolyn's other arm. From Clarice's peripheral vision, she saw a little hand appear, drop a small handful of blueberries onto her pancakes and then disappear again. Clarice blinked and looked up from Carolyn’s arm.

Across the kitchen, April stood by Drew, placing handfuls of various berries on the plates at the lower end of the table. Clarice caught her trying very hard to keep her attention on the plates, though her eyes kept drifting toward her. As soon as they made eye contact, Clarice blew her a little kiss.

Brad, who was finally satisfied with the amount of cream, set the coffee next to Clarice again.

Clarice actually paused to look up at him. Seriously, she said, “Thank you, honey. I mean it.” She waved a hand toward Ed. “Don’t listen to him at all. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about anyway.” Her seriousness began to falter, and she laughed again. “I like my coffee mooing.”

“Thank you.” Brad nodded once, then announced, “I’m gonna take off. I have a shift starting in an hour.”

“Now, you have a great shift, Officer Brad Hamilton,” Clarice said, nodding back.

Christine’s voice rose from the other end of the table: “Bye, Brad!”

Her voice was followed by a slew of kissing noises from Andrea, to which Christine swatted Andrea’s fork just as she lifted it to her mouth.

“Girls!” Carolyn said, “Will you behave? You are at the breakfast table. You’re getting blueberries on the floor.”

Brad grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair, and as he left, Clarice took a sip of her coffee.

She giggled, “Wait, this is actually too much cream.”

“Here I got it,” Ed said, leaning over and grabbing the coffee from her.

Clarice blew lightly on Carolyn’s last bruise. She fanned it a little with her hand and then handed the ointment tube to Carolyn. “Have Roger get the ones on your back later, okay?”

Carolyn nodded and gave Clarice an affectionate pat on the head before standing up. Lorraine sat in Carolyn’s previous spot with her plate of pancakes.

From the stove, Roger said, “You know, I’m thinking about taking the girls out for ice cream later. How does that sound?”

To this, the girls all chorused delighted enthusiasm.

Drew, who was a noticeable soprano in the choir, cleared his throat and in a lower voice, said, “Can I come?”

“Of course you are coming, Drew,” Cindy said.

“Honey,” Roger said, “Do you want to come?”

Carolyn looked at him, “No, I’m- I’m exhausted. I’ll probably stay here and take a nap.”

Roger nodded his head as he surveyed her face with worry.

“That’s a good idea,” Ed said, setting Clarice’s coffee near her once again, “Lorraine, Clarice and I, we’ll watch over things for you.”

“Really?” Carolyn asked.

Ed nodded, “Of course.”

As everyone began to finish with breakfast and disperse from the table, April had plopped herself on her Dad’s lap. While they both ate their breakfast, they privately conversed about a frog in the backyard and her proclivity for scribbling on things that ought not to be scribbled on. Ed was at the sink, sudsing the breakfast dishes in warm water.

Meanwhile, Lorraine pulled closer to Clarice. They ate their pancakes and fruit while speaking quietly of little things. Lorraine asked about a book and whether or not Clarice has heard of it. Something by an author whose last name was Highsmith. Something of salt. Clarice had not come across the book, so the conversation then turned to the struggle of seeding a particular strain of lily.

And the two women decide that after breakfast, as soon as the sun rises fully, they will together spill into the garden.

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Twelve: I'm Alright, Only In Your Arms, Darlin' (Chapter title is from Run Cried the Crawling by Agnes Obel)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Summary: Ed helps Clarice disinfect the wound she won't stop touching. He begins a too-curious conversation about Brad. Also, Clarice's cross necklace dangling slightly above Lorraine's forehead as she gives her a goodnight kiss on the head.

A/N: My vibe here is that one scene in Twilight: New Moon where Carlisle cleans Bella's arm after her birthday party. Also, hydrogen peroxide is not something I'd recommend on a split lip, if you should ever find yourself in a predicament like Clarice's. (ALSO!) Check the masterlist if you want the link to my Spotify playlist for this fic.

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The ajar bathroom door allowed orange light to seep into the hallway.

Glancing into the narrow opening, Ed saw Clarice.

She was standing on her tiptoes and leaning very close to the mirror. Her hair, normally pinned and precisely placed, fell freely down the length of her shoulders. Her light brown hair twisted sleepily at the ends.

Clarice had lived with them for about a month and a half. Normally, she dressed for bed in the en-suite bathroom of her guest bedroom and didn't leave her room after that. Of course, there had been the occasional time when Ed had bumped into her in the middle of the night while finding something to drink in the kitchen. But that was sleepy eyes and a glass of milk in her hands, a gentle goodnight granted through a milk mustache.

So Ed Warren couldn't explain why the sight of her in the Perron bathroom made him pause. Why he wanted to be invisible so he could curiously observe the way she moved when she thought no one was watching.

One hand was tugging her bottom lip down. The other one was working to prod the wound on her lip.

Her eyes were focused on her experimental poking, then flicked to his through the mirror.

He was caught. Quickly, he stepped back.

His being there had frightened her. She jumped back and momentarily disappeared from view as she caught her breath behind the bathroom door.

After a moment, her heart-shaped face appeared from behind the slit in the door.

"Ed Warren," she breathed out, "you scared me."

His apology was quick: "I'm sorry."

The sincerity of it almost made Clarice giggle.

"It's okay. I forgive you."

She pulled the bathroom door open a little wider and rested her cheek against the wooden edge of it.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Warren?"

The bronze-colored light haloed around her. It caught in her curls.

She blinked, her eyes full of sleep.

"Hm?"

"Oh."

Ed's hand dove into the pocket of his shirt. He rummaged for a moment before producing a little gold thing. It, too, like the woman before him, glinted in the bronze light.

Clarice smiled.

"My earring."

She carefully took the piece of jewelry from the palm of his hand.

Ed watched as she turned back to the bathroom mirror. She bent slightly against the counter and stood once again on her tiptoes. Both of her hands were by her left ear as she put the earring post into the hole in the lobe of her ear.

As she clasped the earring back, Ed pulled closer to the bathroom door. His hand met the door frame.

"How's the lip?"

In response, Clarice turned her face and pouted her bottom lip out at him. His eyes lowered as he examined the dark red split.

The blood had begun to darken and crust. It looked horrible against the pale pink of her lips.

She lifted one finger and gently began to touch the wound, her lip still puckered. Her fingertip felt the uneven texture of the scab.

"You need to stop touching it," Ed said, gently guiding her wrist away. "You'll make it worse."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just—"

Clarice stepped aside as Ed moved into the bathroom.

"Let me clean it for you."

Clarice leaned against the counter in the position she thought would give him the best access to her.

Ed stepped in front of her and reached for the cabinet mirror just behind her. As he leaned forward and rummaged through the cabinet, Clarice just watched him. It was curious and gentle. She watched the way his lips slightly pursed as he read the back of a bottle he pulled from the cabinet. The way his forehead slightly creased as he decided that no, this was not the right thing. She noticed too, the hair that after a day of wear, was disobeying the gel that held it.

He noticed her prolonged stare and gave her a small, amused wink.

Clarice smiled and busied herself with looking at the details of the light fixture. Thick frosted glass in the shape of a Lily of the Valley. The tiny light bulb cast a light so yellow it bordered on orange.

Ed pulled a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet. Aside Clarice he set a small container of petroleum jelly. Clarice watched as he took a piece of cotton in his fingers and poured a small amount of the peroxide onto it. The fluff of the cotton shrank against the wet of it.

"Oh goodness, will this hurt?"

"A little," Ed said, "Here, hold my arm and squeeze when it hurts."

He moved one hand to her wrist and guided her hand to rest on his forearm. Her fingers spread down the length of it.

Clarice lifted her chin up to him and again, pouted her lip out.

"Good, now just hold still—"

Clarice made a hissing noise as Ed made contact with her lip.

His voice was soothing, "I know it hurts. Just hold still for me. Don't jerk back."

Clarice stayed very still for him, even though tears brimmed her eyes because of the sting. He dabbed at the wound, very gently, taking care to handle the girl with the utmost tenderness.

Ed set the cotton aside and moved one hand to her face. He pulled her lip down himself to view the slight bubble at the edges of the wound.

"We ought to have had Brad brought up here. He would have loved to let you squeeze his hand during this part."

Clarice blinked up at Ed. She suddenly remembered that she was doing that very thing to his forearm and ceased her tight grip. Still, Ed playing around with Brad's behavior toward her was unexpected.

Even more unexpected was what he said next: "He seems to be sweet on you."

He let go of her lip after inspecting her bottom teeth, which he had also seen to be at the brunt of the fall.

Clarice recognized that his words did not act as a statement. As he looked down at her, she could tell that he was expecting her to elaborate further.

She looked down at the wall just behind Ed, then back at him, sort of caught off guard.

"I know he is."

He still looked down at her. Still gently expecting.

Clarice tried, "I am very sorry if it has become distracting. I know that in the cellar I indulged him a bit. I won't—"

With a small chuckle, Ed shook his head to signal that that was not what he meant. Clarice fell silent.

Ed shrugged, "It's not something to apologize for. He's a good kid, you're a lovely young woman. I'm not surprised you took a liking to each other. "

Clarice decided to focus her eyes on Ed's hands, which now began to open the petroleum jelly.

"Hm?" Ed gently pushed. His middle finger swiped the inner container.

Somewhat awkwardly, she said, "I'm not sure it's fully like that."

"Oh?"

His eyebrows went up, and Clarice watched him do a little thing with his lips. The expression itself was a gentle pressure, another expectation for further explanation.

"Ed Warren. You are being nosy," she scolded. "Not even Lorraine has asked me about Brad."

"She and I both wondered. We've talked about it. Now pout your lip out for me."

Clarice didn't pout for him. Instead, she adjusted straighter before him and raised her eyebrows.

"You and Lorraine have had conversations about whether or not I like Brad?"

Ed shrugged, "We need to know what's going on between our investigators during a case."

Clarice shook her head, "No. No, I think the two of you are just nosy."

Because Clarice did not stick her lip out for him, he reached up and pulled it down, amidst her playfully irritated huffs. She felt his finger dab some of the jelly on her wound.

Once Ed let go of her lip, she immediately said, "You go back and tell that wife of yours that my personal affairs are none, yes none, of your business."

Clarice gave him a playful pinch, to which Ed pretended to be horribly wounded. And just for that reaction, she pinched him again.

Clarice thought of Lorraine fully then. Thought of what she might be doing. She's probably asleep; it's so late. But the pictured idea of Lorraine sleeping alone in some dark room of this house made her stomach pull. Made her feel guilty for having Ed here instead of in bed with her.

"Where is she?" Clarice asked and then clarified, "That wife of yours?"

"She's downstairs with Carolyn and Roger."

"Ah."

Ed, now having patched her lip, took a step back from her.

"So where do they have you posted?"

While Ed and Lorraine had been given the guest room to share, Clarice had chosen to sleep in one of the girls' rooms. Because she and the Warrens were there, the family decided they felt safe enough to sleep separately in their own rooms, rather than together in the living room.

"Cindy is sharing Andrea's full bed with her, and I am in Cindy's bed. So I am 'posted' up with little April."

"Well, little April is probably missing you. Want me to walk you to her room?"

The uneasy pull toward Lorraine was still a prominent feeling. It wasn't that Lorraine was in danger or anything; it was that she suddenly just wanted to see her. Tell her goodnight. Let her know that she will be in April's room should Lorraine need anything from her.

"Actually, is it okay if I say goodnight to Lorraine first?"

Ed gave her an immediate head nod, "Of course."

He pulled the bathroom door open and allowed her to walk through first. Both of them walked quietly through the dark upper landing and down the steps. The house, Clarice realized, felt a little more manageable when Ed was right behind her.

When they reached the landing, Clarice used the newel post as a pivot, and spun around it once before moving toward the voices carrying from the living room. Ed, who followed behind her, gave the movement a small smile.

Lorraine was sitting in an armchair. One elbow was on the arm of the chair, and her head rested on her hand as she listened to Carolyn speak.

Clarice stood at the doorframe, one hip and one cheek resting against it, as she waited for a break in the conversation. Clarice watched Lorraine's subtle facial reactions, the slight bounce of her leg, and the way she began raking her fingers through her hair. She smiled at the sight of her. The simple, small, glorious sight of her.

Lorraine noticed Clarice all tucked against the doorframe. She lowered her eyes and gave her a small smile back before turning to Carolyn.

"Ah..uhm. Carolyn, hold on for just one moment."

All eyes then followed Lorraine's, who was looking at Clarice. Clarice looked only at Lorraine.

She stepped into the room, Ed behind her, "I'm very sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to say goodnight to you."

Clarice began walking the length of the living room toward Lorraine in her armchair. Lorraine watched her carefully as she approached. She could tell that being the center of attention made her a little nervous. She had a self-conscious smile on her lips and played with the ruffle of fabric on her arm sleeve with her fingers.

When she reached her destination, Lorraine felt Clarice's knee rest between her thighs as she put one of her legs between both of Lorraine's legs.

It was unthinking, natural. Especially when it was coupled with Clarice placing a hand on Lorraine's shoulder and swooping down to press her lips to her hair. Clarice's golden cross necklace swung from her neck, hovering slightly over Lorraine's forehead.

As she kissed her, Clarice caught the scent of her. The smell of shampoo. Calla Lily.

Roger and Carolyn had begun a small conversation between themselves, so as not to make the moment feel observed. But Ed, standing at the doorframe, watched, finding himself overcome by that same feeling of pause. The same feeling of wanting to turn invisible so he could watch curiously at how the women acted together. How they played and gently pawed at one another.

Clarice straightened up after the kiss. The goodnight kiss was quick. Too quick but appropriately so, in Lorraine's opinion.

Clarice's voice was soft.

"Goodnight, Lorraine."

Lorraine inclined her head up at Clarice. From this angle, she was all kisses and plaid, ruffled pajamas, her curls casting shadows on her face.

Lorraine's voice was purposefully clear. Because if she had spoken a moment ago, her words would have come out ridiculous and tumbled.

"Sleep well, love."

Clarice turned around happily and gave Ed an accomplished smile. His hand met her lower back as he guided her from the living room.

"Such a sweet woman," Carolyn said, "I hope she'll be comfortable in that room with April."

Lorraine watched Ed and Clarice retreat, her mouth parted in awe at the idea of the girl crossing the entire house just to kiss her goodnight.

"She is a sweet woman," Lorraine agreed immediately, and then, "Oh and um… I'm sure she'll be very comfortable"

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Eleven: For Your Wounds, Babe (Chapter title is from Horizon, by Aldous Harding)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: minor injury, blood, supernatural violence

A/N: I posted a chapter before this but tumblr did not circulate it normally. Here it is: Chapter Ten

-

"Jack, who were you touching earlier? What was her name?"

"Your mom."

"Is this spirit being a smart ass by saying that it was touching my mom?"

— Ghost Adventures

-

"Are you rolling?" Ed asked.

"Oh yeah," Brad answered, the large camera in front of his face, "I'm rolling."

A moment ago, just as Lorraine and Clarice had begun to refill their coffee, the bell to the cellar door had rung.

Brad sat at the kitchen table, and all eyes had fallen on him. He had pressed his lips together under the accusatory stares.

"Well, um," he said, looking to each face, "it wasn't me. Clearly."

The group stood in the doorway before the cellar. In the camera frame were Ed, Lorraine, and Clarice. Ed stood with his tape recorder slung over his shoulder. He put the connected headphones over his ears and clicked the button to start the recording.

"Ed?" Clarice said, "Can I ask you a question before we begin?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Um, what, just what, is this thing?"

Despite herself, Clarice giggled while asking the question. In one of Ed's hands was something long, black, and cylindrical.

"It's for probin' the ghosts," Brad said from behind the camera.

Ed dropped his shoulders and gave the cameraman an exasperated look.

"Seriously? It's a microphone. Attached to a handle. Good lord."

Ed gestured toward the camera.

"You realize this footage is going to a priest?"

"Sorry, boss."

Clarice had to step out of the frame so as not to get caught laughing by the camera.

"Okay, can we all focus?" Ed said, looking between Clarice and Brad.

Clarice pressed her lips together, "Yes. Sorry."

"Alright," Ed said, looking into the camera, "It's 9:18, and we are headed into the cellar where the door has just opened on its own. With me, I have Lorraine, Clarice, and Officer Brad Hamilton."

Ed turned to the cellar door, and his group followed him into the cold of the cellar stairs. Lorraine gently held onto the wooden structure of the staircase as they descended.

"We are gonna leave the light off. The paranormal tends to show up better on the camera when it's dark," Ed explained.

As they all carefully descended the very steep stairs, the extreme cold of the cellar fell over the group. Accompanied by that strange hush. The hush that made all words fall.

Clarice hadn't been very nervous before walking into the cellar. But now, as the strange atmosphere settled over them, she remembered just how much she hated being down here.

The first sound besides their footsteps that broke the silence was Brad's overly loud voice: "I'll admit to you guys, this cellar is giving me the heebie-jeebies."

Brad had said it with such a nonchalant tone, you would have thought the man had burped aloud before saying it.

Clarice was focused on steadying Lorraine as she walked in front of her but momentarily glanced over her shoulder toward Brad.

"Oh, honey," she said pitifully, "if you get too scared, you can hold my hand."

"Ms. Chenn? I'm terrified."

Clarice smiled. "Just hold the camera."

"Brad, if you need any protecting tonight, I'll be the one to do it. Stop distracting Ms. Chenn." Ed said, meeting the bottom of the stairs.

"Ah, right, if any ghosts come near us, you'll protect us with that 'microphone' of yours."

Lorraine was the one to give Brad the exasperated look this time. Meanwhile, Ed turned to the surrounding cellar and ignored the comment entirely.

"Give us a sign that you want to communicate with us," Ed said.

Lorraine was next to him, her eyes closed and her hand lifted.

Ed adjusted something on the tape recorder.

"Just any sign."

Ed walked around the cramped space. He held the microphone aloft, moving it around different pieces of dust-filled furniture.

Brad followed the pair at a distance, whispering so as not to be heard by Ed, "There he goes with his probe. Any ghosts in here should watch out. He's a-comin'."

Clarice popped her face into the frame of the camera, squinting her eyes against the harsh flash.

She whispered, "I am deeply sorry, Father Gordon. Brad has absolutely no manners and can't take a thing seriously."

The next thing that could be seen was Clarice reaching forward quickly, and then the camera jumping back with a whispered yelp.

Ed turned to the pair, and Lorraine opened her eyes.

"Are you kidding me?"

"She pinched me!" Brad whispered shrilly, rubbing a spot on his upper bicep.

"Do you two need to go upstairs? I mean, seriously."

Clarice silently cursed Brad. She did not come down here to be unprofessional. It was very important to her that the Warrens knew she was serious about this.

"No, Ed, I'm-"

Her voice suddenly failed her. The group watched as the girl went rigid.

Her brown eyes were horribly wide as she looked back at them.

"Clarice?" Ed said, suddenly as still as she was.

Clarice just stood, her hands in claws by her sides.

Brad zoomed the camera in on her terrified face. In frame was Clarice's vividly white skin, overexposed against the flash. Dust motes floated lazily in and out of the camera's view.

Nobody moved. For a moment, the tape just rolled and rolled.

There was a quick and terrified intake of air. Clarice squeezed her eyes shut and let out a terrified whimper.

Meanwhile, everybody watched as a light brown curl shifted against her cheek. The way the piece of hair moved was like it had just been breathed on.

"Did you get that, Brad?" Ed asked quietly, his microphone aloft next to her.

Brad swallowed. "Yeah. I got it."

Clarice breathed out and looked cautiously to her side.

After a moment, she breathed out and said, "Oh my, I'm sorry for scaring everyone."

"Are you okay?" Ed asked.

Clarice looked again to her side. "I heard something breathe by my ear."

Before Clarice could continue speaking, Lorraine quickly crossed the distance between them.

"What?" Clarice asked, panicked, "Lorraine, honey, what is it?"

Lorraine moved some hair from Clarice's left ear and looked at Ed.

"Her earring is missing."

Clarice immediately felt both of her earlobes with her fingertips and then looked at Ed and Lorraine.

"Did it say anything to you?" Ed asked.

"I—no, it just breathed. It was hot. I don't—"

All eyes then fell on Lorraine, who had just bent over. She carefully held a wooden beam in front of her for support. The other hand was on her stomach as she inhaled a few deep breaths.

"Lorraine, you okay, hon?" Ed asked, moving toward her.

"Whatever is messing with her is—" Lorraine paused momentarily and pressed her fingers against her mouth. "I just— I feel sick all of a sudden."

Clarice, who was closest to her, put a hand on her back. "Do you need to go upstairs?"

Lorraine shook her head and straightened her back, though the expression she wore was still pained. She stretched her neck and shook out her hands.

"My hands are so cold," she whispered.

She flexed her fingers to get the blood flowing back into them.

Ed, seemingly agitated that whatever was in here had targeted both women, turned back to the surrounding cellar. He poked his microphone in the air.

"Come on," Ed provoked, "Say something. Don't be shy."

He poked the air again, as if prodding the microphone into the spirit itself.

"I want to hear you. Use your voice."

Lorraine shook her head, her eyes closed. She still flexed her fingers. Open and closed.

"Ed. It's gone, hon."

"It's gone?" Ed said, looking back at Lorraine.

Lorraine nodded.

"Alright," Ed sighed.

With one hand on his hip, his eyes swept the cellar once more.

"Let's go back upstairs. Watch your step."

Lorraine led the group up the stairs this time. Ed took his headphones off and followed her closely.

As Clarice began to climb the stairs, she suddenly glimpsed a piece of shining gold in the flash of the camera. Brad paused behind her as she bent to pick it up.

"What is it?" Brad asked.

Clarice inspected the thing. Gold framing a small teardrop pearl. The little pearl swung in a circular motion despite Clarice's wrist being still.

"It's my earring."

She held it between her forefinger and thumb to show Ed, who was before her on the stairs.

Ed leaned down and took the earring from her.

"Are you sure it didn't fall out when we were coming down the stairs?"

"It could have," Clarice said, "but I don't recall hearing it fall against the steps."

"Where exactly did you find it?" Ed asked.

Clarice bent to point to where she found the earring.

"It was right—"

Suddenly, Clarice's body lurched forward. The motion was as if someone had pressed a boot to her lower back and violently drove her into the steps.

A surprised yelp tore through her throat as her body collided with the stairs.

She felt a horrid bloom of pain explode in her lower jaw. Her mouth had struck against the stair edge. Immediately, her tongue swept along her bottom teeth as the pain radiated through her lower gums.

Lorraine's urgent voice immediately carried from the top of the stairs.

"Clarice? Oh god. Ed, help her up, won't you?"

Ed was already leaning down. One leg was on the stair closest to her, and one was just above.

His voice was gentle and low. "You okay, sweetheart?"

For a moment, Clarice just looked up at the man, seemingly too startled to answer.

Brad quickly dipped the camera away from Clarice as her hand reached behind and loosely grasped at the fabric of her dress. With a shaking hand, she pulled the cotton down, as it had ridden up during the fall.

Ed leaned forward and carefully moved some hair from her mouth. The curl had stuck to the blood beginning to expel from a wound on her lip. The hair, dipped in her blood, left a small, thin line against her cheek where Ed had pulled it away.

She lifted a hand to her mouth and felt the warmth that was dripping down her bottom lip.

Ed gently moved her hand away. "No, no. Don't touch."

But Clarice had already felt the blood. She looked at her fingers. The tips of her middle and forefinger were covered in a deep red.

"Oh, my."

"You're okay," Ed said softly. "Come here."

Clarice gripped his shirt sleeves loosely as he very gently worked to guide her into a standing position. She was sure to grip his shirt with only three fingers on one hand, holding her two first fingers away so she didn't stain his shirt with her blood.

"That's it, sweetheart. You got it?"

"Yes, I'm alright," Clarice said.

She was immensely grateful for the steady support of Ed's forearm behind her back as the pair carefully walked up the last few stairs.

Brad, with the camera in one hand, held both hands aloft, ready to catch her should something shove her again.

"I felt— did you see? I felt something push me."

"I saw it," Ed said.

Lorraine was standing at the cellar door and waiting impatiently for Clarice to make the last few steps.

Truthfully, Clarice had the urge to reach out to her like a child and point to where it hurts. Lorraine, however, was already in the process of pulling her into her arms.

She put a thumb on Clarice's chin and dipped her head to look at the small wound while Ed and Brad queued at the top of the cellar stairs.

After momentarily surveying the damage, she pulled Clarice into the white chiffon of her blouse and breathed into her hair.

"Oh, my girl."

—

"What happened down there?" Rodger asked as they all poured into the kitchen.

Ed sighed and, with a clatter, set the recording device onto the table.

"Something was messing with the girls. It made Lorraine nauseous and then pushed Clarice as we were all coming up the stairs. Split her lip right open. The camera might have caught something surrounding them. We won't know for sure until we get the tapes developed."

"Jeez," Rodger said, looking at Lorraine and Clarice, "You two okay?"

Carolyn was quick to bustle around the kitchen, quickly grabbing a kitchen rag and plunging it under the faucet. She then placed the rag onto Clarice's face and instructed her to hold it there.

"You need something for the nausea, hon?" Carolyn asked, leaning back from the kitchen sink to speak to Lorraine.

"No, thank you. It passed fairly quickly when we left the cellar."

Ed, Roger, and Carolyn all seated themselves at the table, and Ed began going over what happened in the cellar in more detail.

Meanwhile, Clarice approached Lorraine.

"Lorraine, I'm very sorry."

She held the kitchen rag against her lip, which was now slightly swollen and had a small pulse of its own.

Lorraine, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, immediately began to shake her head.

"Whatever for?"

"When you hugged me a minute ago, I bled onto your top."

Clarice stepped closer to Lorraine and pointed to the spot of blood. She did so with the cadence of a child pointing to a glass vase they had just broken.

The blood stood vividly dark against the white fabric. This fact made a surge of guilt run throughout Clarice's body.

Lorraine looked down at her blouse. She pulled the fabric from herself to view the stain.

Clarice bit the skin of her inner cheek before saying, "I didn't mean to."

Lorraine almost laughed.

"Well, of course you didn't, silly girl."

Clarice paused for a moment more. Her eyes seemed to have a hard time leaving the blood stain on Lorraine's top.

"We can go run it under cold water in the washroom. My pajama tops used to be covered in blood after a dream because of the nosebleeds. I know how to get it out."

"Clarice," Lorraine said, her face lowering kindly to Clarice's height, "I am not thinking about that. At all. In fact, I am only worried about that poor lip of yours. Come here."

Clarice closed the gap between them. She stood in front of Lorraine and stood still as Lorraine's hand gently pulled the rag from her face.

Lorraine sucked in a breath at the sight of the wound. An orange-slice-shaped split fractioned her bottom lip. The skin was raw and exposed.

The light touch of Lorraine's fingertips against her skin reminded her that Lorraine had complained of cold hands in the cellar. The skin of her hands felt freezing as they gently grazed Clarice's face.

"Goodness, Lorraine."

Lorraine immediately pulled away from the gentle fussing she was doing to Clarice's lip in fear that she had just hurt her. Her tone, Clarice realized, had sounded as if Lorraine had done something wrong.

"Your hands," she gently clarified, and then a soft plea, "Let me warm them."

"Shall I put them in your pockets?" Lorraine said, tilting her head at the girl with a playful smile.

"My dress has no pockets," Clarice said, and to Lorraine's disappointed tut, she responded, "Isn't it such a tragedy?"

Lorraine hummed a small mhm.

Clarice smiled, "Don’t worry, I'll just warm you myself."

Clarice then lifted Lorraine's hands to her mouth and breathed her warm air against them. It was such a strange sensation, Lorraine's reaction to it. Her hands, which had been unwaveringly cold since the cellar, seemed to thaw under Clarice's warm little exhales of breath.

Also, a very strange sensation was the fluttering pull of her lower stomach at the simple sight of Clarice doing it. Her hair was slightly mussed. Blood still threatened to form at the edges of the wound. It had begun to dry in smears along her bottom lip and chin, marking her face in a dark crimson.

She just had a bad fall and had been injured, but she stood directly and intently in front of Lorraine, worrying about her cold hands. Her leg was firmly pressed right against Lorraine's thigh, and her mouth was formed into an O as she breathed.

Lorraine suppressed the urge to lean forward and kiss the girl.

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Ten: As You Watch Me Wander, Curse The Powers That Be (This lengthy chapter title comes from Full Moon by The Black Ghosts. The song reminds me of the first Conjuring and The Perrons.)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: No warnings :) It's just sweet. Very Perron family focused.

A/N: Okay so guys maybe I have a tiny crush on Lili Taylor as Carolyn Perron.

-

-

"I just don't get it. How could a mother kill her own child?" Carolyn asked incredulously.

"It was never a child to her," Lorraine explained. "She just used her god-given gift as the ultimate offense against Him."

Clarice's hand rested on the wooden doorframe as she peeked her head into Carolyn and Roger's bedroom.

"Hello, you," Lorraine said, leaning back slightly to look at Clarice. "Come in here. Join us."

Clarice smiled and approached the two at their spot by the fireplace.

Carolyn was working to place some pictures on the mantel. Clarice and Lorraine observed quietly, looking across the photographed family history.

The picture closest to Clarice was a wedding photo of Roger and Carolyn. Carolyn had been around Clarice's age in the photo. She was adorned in silks and intricate beading, and Roger had two white roses in his suit pocket.

"Lorraine, look at her," Clarice said, pulling Lorraine's focus from a different frame.

Lorraine smiled as she looked at the photo.

"She is just so pretty," Clarice said. "Don't you think so?"

"Yes," Lorraine said adoringly, "she is."

"Oh, you two," Carolyn said, waving a hand, "those were the old days."

"When did you get married?" Lorraine asked.

"1957. Right here in Rhode Island, actually," Carolyn said.

She pointed to the next frame.

"And this was when Andrea was born—look at her there, my little cherub child, she and April both."

"Oh my, is that April?" Clarice asked, looking at a picture on the end of the mantel.

"Yes," Carolyn said, smiling. "Could you tell by the curls?"

Clarice nodded, looking to the pink-cheeked infant in the picture. On top of her baby face were tufts and wisps of pale blond curls.

"I really have no clue where the curls came from," Carolyn said. "None of our other children had them. I mean, you've seen them; they all have my hair. And then April came into our lives with those Shirley Temple curls of hers."

Carolyn turned to the box of pictures that sat on a nearby ottoman. She pulled out a large frame that depicted the whole family. They stood close against a pale sky.

Just as Carolyn began to explain the photo and set it on the fireplace, Lorraine gently caught her hand.

Clarice recognized the look that fell Lorraine's features. The slight pupil dilation that signaled Lorraine was somewhere else altogether. Normally, her body language was still. Stiff. But here her lips were turned into a pretty smile. She looked up and made a soft, delighted noise.

"Wow," Lorraine breathed, looking back at Carolyn, "that's a nice day at the beach, huh?"

Carolyn looked at Lorraine in wondrous awe. "How did you know that?"

"It's an insight," Lorraine explained, "It's sort of like a peek through the curtain into somebody else's life."

Carolyn hummed and then, "That day really meant so much to me."

"Tell us about it," Lorraine said.

She tilted her face as she watched Carolyn speak.

"We were driving along the coast, and Nancy pointed out how pretty the view was. I thought it was the perfect opportunity for a photo. So, I parked the car in the sand, and we all got out."

Carolyn turned to set the frame in the middle of all the other photos.

"Roger and the girls were so happy. I could barely get them to stand still long enough to capture the photo. But after we took it and I looked at the picture, I just—the ocean has always been one of my favorite places. It's one of Earth's biggest beauties. So to see my family, the greatest beauty of my life, standing before it… Gosh, it just took my breath away."

Carolyn paused. Her face was fading from the beauty of the memory.

"That was supposed to be our fresh start, you know? We were on our way to this house. And look what has come of it."

For a moment, Carolyn just looked down at the photo, the corners of her mouth turned down in a slight frown.

"You know, Carolyn," Lorraine said softly, "as Clarice said during our last visit, God wanted us all together. We won't leave you until we know your family is safe."

Carolyn smiled. The way her smile adorned her face reminded Clarice of the woman's beauty. She took a moment to watch Carolyn as she grabbed Lorraine's hand. She set her other hand atop Lorraine's ringed fingers.

Amid the beauty was a very obvious exhaustion. Dark circles were blooming under the green of her eyes. Bruises lined the skin of her forearm, purpling the skin like a peach that had been dropped.

She was so pretty as she thanked Lorraine but, as well, so very tired.

Almost abnormally so.

Clarice's face, worried and too focused on Carolyn, blended into a warm smile as Carolyn's attention turned to her.

"And goodness, the girls don't stop talking about you. Especially April."

"Your girls are so very special, Carolyn," Clarice said. "It's been a great—"

Just then, one of the well-beloved girls made herself known from down the hallway.

It was Nancy, irritated and shouting, "Mom!"

Carolyn closed her eyes and breathed out.

Nancy persisted, "Mother!"

Carolyn looked to the hallway where the voice had come from, a sweet smile already planted on her face.

"Yes, my darling, gentle daughter?"

"April colored all over my poster!"

There was a pause, and they could tell she had just taken a closer look.

"Oh my God!" Nancy groaned.

She hollered, "There is a green mustache on John Lennon!"

And then, even louder, "Mom! Come here!"

Carolyn looked to Clarice and Lorraine.

"I have to go deal with this. Excuse me."

As Carolyn hurried down the hallway toward Nancy's room, Lorraine stepped out of the bedroom after her.

"Wait, Lorraine," Clarice said, hesitantly grabbing at the chiffon of her sleeve.

Lorraine slowed and turned.

"Hm?"

Clarice gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. She twirled her amber ring.

"Have you ever had an insight about me?'

Lorraine's expression was suddenly soft.

"Why do you ask, honey?"

"When you touched Carolyn's hand, it's silly, but it reminded me of when you and I first met."

Lorraine's face tilted. "It reminded you of the lecture?"

Clarice nodded.

"You held my hand during our conversation… because I was upset. Do you remember?"

Lorraine smiled fondly and looked to the side for a small moment.

"I absolutely do. But, you know, sweetie, the insight, it—"

Suddenly, a small bell sounded from downstairs, and both Lorraine and Clarice looked toward the staircase.

Carolyn walked from Nancy's room. In one hand was a green Sharpie with the tip completely pressed in. She looked to Lorraine and Clarice as the little bell sounded again.

"Is that?"

Lorraine nodded and began to lead Carolyn and Clarice downstairs.

As they descended the staircase, Ed and Drew emerged from a nearby room.

They reached the bottom steps, and immediately all eyes were fixed on the ajar bathroom door.

Ed and Drew had rigged a small bell system to the door. The bell would ring when something paranormal was turning the knob.

Clarice stood between Lorraine and Carolyn, who both very cautiously inched toward the bathroom.

The bell sounded again, and Clarice held her breath.

The silence was suddenly viciously interrupted by the ripping and forceful sound of a toilet flushing.

The bell sounded once more, and a moment later they saw Brad wiping his hands on a hand towel and tossing it randomly back into the bathroom.

Everyone’s shoulders dropped. Clarice breathed out, the frantic beating of her heart settling.

Meanwhile, Brad looked surprised to see everyone staring at him.

“Goodness, Brad. You scared me.” Clarice said, her hand outstretched against her chest.

“Sorry, Ms. Chenn." He shrugged. “I had to go.”

-

-

[clement1me]

eeeeee hi babies <33 Here is Clarice Chenn and Lorraine Warren in my fic Dear, Only.

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Nine: Oh, My Good Looking Boy (Title is from the song Good Looking by Suki Waterhouse)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: None! Have this sweet chapter, babies.

A/N: I love watching The Conjuring and anytime I see Ed or Lorraine in the face of danger going, "Get behind me babygirl. I'll protect you."

-

-

"Oh, there’s Brad,” Lorraine said, watching a dark red Ford Mustang approach the Perron driveway.

It had been a full month since their last visit to the Perron house. Although the world around them had begun to shift toward what was sure to be a vivid spring, the Perrons' land stood ever still. Ever winter. Ever stagnant.

A bitter breeze bit at Clarice's soft spots. It made her nose and cheeks an irritated red. The knuckles and webs of her hands were dry and cracked.

Clarice pulled toward Lorraine. She put one of her freezing hands in the pocket of Lorraine's white peacoat. As soon as her hand met Lorraine's, the reaction was instinctive. Lorraine immediately laced her fingers through the young woman's.

Lorraine smiled down at her, her pretty face framed by light brown hair and a patterned headscarf. The look Lorraine gave Clarice was enough to make her press her lips together into a shy smile.

"Hi there," Lorraine said.

She squeezed Clarice's hand in her pocket.

"Goodness, hon, your hand is freezing."

"Warm it for me," Clarice said, looking up at Lorraine.

She wore a ruffled neckline the same cream color as Lorraine's coat.

She hadn’t even realized the similarity until that morning when Lorraine took a look at Clarice’s dress and said, “Oh look, honey. We match.”

Ed was halfway in the bright blue Volkswagen bus next to them, sorting through equipment. Drew Thomas, the sweet-faced technical assistant of the Warrens, was helping Ed with the equipment.

As Brad parked the car, the engine rumbled slowly until falling silent. Clarice watched as he stepped out of the car and made his way over to them.

“Drew, this is Officer Brad,” Lorraine said, motioning the men to each other.

Brad slipped off his sunglasses with a sort of boyish confidence as he neared Drew.

“Officer Brad Hamilton, Harrisville, Rhode Island, PD.”

Drew, biting a cookie and not taking Brad halfway as seriously as he took himself, clapped his hand in a handshake and said, “Hm. Nice to meet you, man.”

“Brad, this is Clarice Chenn.” Lorraine said, presenting Clarice with one hand, “She is assisting us on this case.”

Brad looked from Drew to Clarice.

Clarice’s red lips drew into an entertained smile as Brad sort of sauntered over. She thought he resembled a bird. One with lots of feather and color.

“Well, hello there, Miss Clarice Chenn,” Brad said, giving her a goofy, charming smile.

Lorraine raised her eyebrows at his overwhelmingly suave tone.

“Hello," Clarice said, nodding her head once. Clarice removed her hand from Lorraine's pocket and lifted it up to him with the expectation that he was going to shake it. Instead, he turned her hand and leaned down slightly to kiss her knuckles.

“No one told me there would be an angel assisting us on this case,” Brad said, straightening his back. Drew snorted behind him.

Ed glanced over his shoulder and looked at Lorraine. Lorraine gave him a smile that implied that she would absolutely not save Clarice from Brad's theatrical charm.

Clarice almost giggled at the absurdity of it all. She composed herself and raised a -very serious- eyebrow.

“Pardon me?”

“Tell me,” Brad continued, undeterred, “did you fall from heaven?”

To this, Clarice did laugh out loud. Then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

“Careful, Brad,” Ed called from inside the van. “You’re laying it on a little thick there, son.”

Lorraine leaned into Clarice’s side and looped their arms together.

“She’s working with us, Brad,” Lorraine said playfully.

She put her chin on Clarice’s shoulder before adding, “She’s our angel.”

- -

As Ed directed Drew and Brad to set up the equipment, Clarice and Lorraine found themselves drifting about the house in search of the Perron girls.

When they heard the sweet stir of giggling voices coming from one of the girls’ bedrooms, the two of them quietly approached before Clarice peeked her head in.

All five of Carolyn’s daughters were gathered in one room talking amongst themselves. Andrea was painting her toenails, Christine was teasing her about something, and April was playing dollhouse with Nancy. The one to catch Clarice and Lorraine peeking in was Cindy.

Clarice stepped into the doorway, Lorraine behind her.

Softly, Clarice asked, “Can we join you?”

At the sound of Clarice’s voice, April quickly looked toward the door.

“Miss Clarice! Yes, you can come in. But wait, Miss Clarice, sit on my bed.”

April jumped up and rushed over to Clarice. She grabbed her hand and led her over to one of the twin beds, which was dressed in a floral duvet and a soft knit blanket. As soon as Clarice sat, April shoved a few of her stuffed animals onto Clarice’s lap.

“Mrs. Warren, you can sit on mine,” Cindy offered, moving some of her bears aside.

“Oh, thank you, honey.” Lorraine smiled, smoothing her coat before sitting on the edge of the other twin bed.

The two ladies settled for a moment into this little girl world. Hung along the walls were April's crayon drawings. Clarice noticed how the crayon seemed to have missed the paper entirely at certain spots; there were enthusiastic circular scribbles along the patterned wallpaper.

“So, ladies, what’s the gossip?” Clarice asked after a second.

To this, Christine was quick to answer in a sing-song voice, “Andrea has a boyfriend.”

Andrea, slightly embarrassed, focused in on painting her pinky toe.

“I do not.”

“Mom saw him walking you home from school,” Christine persisted, a teasing tone to her voice. “You two were holding hands.”

“Yeah, we held hands. That doesn’t mean that we are dating,” Andrea said, dipping the wand back into the nail polish bottle.

“Yeah, actually, it pretty much does,” Christine said as she looked to her second-oldest sister. “Right, Nancy?”

Nancy shrugged, looking at Andrea. "Well, you don’t hold hands with a boy that’s just your friend.”

Lorraine looked at Clarice with an entertained smile before asking Andrea, “Will you tell us about him?”

Andrea gave a small smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“He is a junior," Christine answered. “Andrea is a freshman."

Clarice gave Andrea a playful dip of her head. “Oh? An older boy?”

“Yeah, I mean, he is a little older,” Andrea said. “Mom doesn’t really like that, but he’s so nice.”

“How did you two meet?” Lorraine asked.

“Book club,” Andrea said. “He came up to my locker afterward to discuss Abelard and Héloïse. He is originally from Brighton, England.”

“He says tomato all funny. He says it like "toe–mahh–toe," Cindy said.

April, who situated herself right into the crook of Clarice’s side, looked up to her, her voice playfully accusatory. “Have you ever held hands with a boy, Miss Clarice?”

Clarice chuckled nervously, “Oh…um.”

Lorraine’s smile turned teasing and immediately interested. “Yeah, Miss Clarice, have you?”

“I told you about the boy I held hands with,” Andrea said. “It’s only fair you tell us about yours.”

Lorraine shrugged. “She’s right. It is only fair.”

Clarice pressed her lips together into a reluctant smile. She looked at the girls. Nancy and Christine sat on the floor below her. Cindy, who situated herself on the upper part of her bed so Andrea could begin painting her toenails, gave Clarice her full attention. She sighed and relented.

“I was nineteen when I had my very first love.”

Clarice noticed that no one paid closer attention to her than Lorraine, who had every part of herself turned toward Clarice. Her face was playfully tilted as Clarice looked at her.

“His name was Julien Légère,” Clarice said. “He visited my church through an exchange program. He was a French boy.”

“Was he cute?” Christine asked.

Clarice nodded. “Oh, yes. His hair was very dark brown and curly. I used to love to play with it. And my goodness, his eyes were such a pretty shade of green.”

“How did you know he first liked you?” Andrea asked, stilling her sister’s toe and painting it a bright yellow.

Clarice’s eyes looked up as she remembered, “He used to always sneak peeks at me during sermons. That’s how I initially noticed him—because he would always quickly look away when I caught him. Soon it became that we snuck peeks at each other. And when he finally approached me, he did so with a pastry.”

“What kind?” April asked very seriously, as if her opinion on this boy would be defined by what Clarice said next.

“It tasted like lemon and was dusted with powdered sugar. And he had garnished it with a buttercup,” Clarice said.

April hummed at the word powdered sugar. She seemed satisfied with this response.

"He also handed me a drawing he had done. It was me praying during one of the sermons. He had scribbled it on a page from a hymnal and tore it out.”

“When did he first hold your hand?” Christine asked.

“The first time we ever held hands was on our first date. It was mid-December. Almost Christmas. It was so cold, and my hands were freezing, so he held my hand inside his coat pocket.”

Clarice then thought of Lorraine's white peacoat and the warmth she found from its pocket only this morning. The parallel was one that she could tell was not lost on Lorraine. A small smile played at the corners of her downturned lips.

That single sight made Clarice's heart pluck.

“Where did you go for your date?” Cindy asked. Clarice looked from Lorraine to the child.

“I—um, we went to the same cafe he got the pastry from. We both had cocoa. I remember afterward, when we were walking back to my church, he stopped me right under a lamppost. It was snowing so hard around us. The snowflakes were catching in his hair, in his eyelashes.”

“Did he kiss you?” Christine asked, sitting now on her knees.

“He did kiss me.” Clarice nodded, and to this Christine squealed.

“Were you nervous?” Nancy asked.

“I was so nervous,” Clarice said. “I had never been kissed before. I didn’t at all know how to do it. My heart was beating so fast as I saw his face near mine. I knew I should close my eyes, so I did, but now I wish I had kept them open. I would love to have the memory of what he looked like while kissing me.”

“Was it a good kiss?” Christine asked, playfully eyeing her.

Clarice giggled and nodded. “His lips were so soft, and both our mouths tasted like cocoa and cream. And afterward, because my nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, he kissed them too."

"Did he ask you to be his girlfriend after that?" Nancy asked her.

"A few dates later, he did. I said yes and dated him for the five months he was visiting America."

“What happened after that?”

“He went back to France, sweetheart,” Clarice said.

“How did you ever say goodbye?” Andrea asked, “I can’t imagine having to do that.”

“It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I was so sad for the two weeks leading up to his departure. He borrowed the church's Polaroid camera, and we took pictures of each other so we’d always have something. The night before he left, we—um—and this is a horrible thing. I’m being such a bad influence, but we um, borrowed some of the communion wine from the wine cellar—"

“Clarice Chenn!” Lorraine said, falsely aghast, “You naughty girl.”

“I know,” Clarice said. “I’m not extremely proud of that, but we did have a wonderful night.”

“What did you two do?” Christine asked.

“We drank the wine in my room. We danced to my other love, Elvis Presley. We cried. And then—" Clarice stumbled over what she was going to say next. Her eyes then looked to each face that made up her audience. Each girl, besides Lorraine, was entirely too young for the next part of the story.

“You what?” Christine asked, “What did you do?’

She opened her mouth for a moment and then closed it. Clarice looked to Lorraine, whose expression was slowly shifting to one of understanding. Suddenly, she became far too interested in Clarice’s response.

Lorraine’s voice was laced with false innocence. “What happens next, honey?”

“We…” Clarice looked to the side in thought, “...had… cake.”

“Yum,” was April's immediate response.

“Cake?” Christine asked. She sank from her knees to the floor.

"Mhm."

Lorraine’s head tilted. Clarice’s eyes widened in warning.

“What kind of cake did you have, Miss Clarice?”

Clarice immediately answered, defaulting to her favorite, “It was yellow cake, Mrs. Warren. With chocolate frosting.”

–

“I really panicked up there,” Clarice said as she and Lorraine descended the staircase. “And you, madam, did not a thing to help me.”

“Oh, but honey, I think the cake was a touching detail,” Lorraine said, a step above Clarice.

Ed, who was setting up a camera near the railing, looked up. “Cake? What did I miss?”

Lorraine opened her mouth to answer, but Clarice quickly said, “Nothing. Nothing whatsoever.”

She shot a glance at Lorraine, who was smiling from behind her.

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Eight: Love, It Was Enough to Recognize (Chapter title is from the song Fall In Love by Phantogram)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: supernatural horror, references to infant death + sacrifice, suicide, haunting imagery, scary moment with a tape recorder

Disclaimers: A lot of the original lore from The Conjuring film has been added onto with real facts. The idea that the real Bathsheeba Shermon killed an infant, practiced witchcraft, or even lived on the property is untrue. This idea was built by the real Lorraine Warren, who insisted Bathsheeba was the sole reason for the evil in the house and was later further dramatized by The Conjuring. The real Carolyn Perron gave her journal to Lorraine Warren for information on the many apparitions and upon asking for it back, Lorraine Warren did not give it to her.

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“We bought the house from a man called Earl Kenyon,”  Carolyn explained. “I visited the property with the girls lots of  times before we bought it.”

Clarice sat  between Ed and Lorraine at the kitchen table. In front of them sat Carolyn and Rodger. A few moments ago, after Lorraine told them what she witnessed, Ed had sat them back at the table.

“Did anything happen when you visited the home?” Lorraine asked.

“No,” Carolyn said, “We fell in love with it. And Earl insisted that we buy the house. He said he raised his son here, that it was a good place to raise a family. It seemed perfect.”

“Did Mr. Kenyon disclose that the house was haunted before he sold it to you?” Ed asked.

Roger shook his head, “No. We had no clue. Well, I mean, the first night we stayed here, he said, ‘For the sake of your girls, keep the lights on at night.’ But, you know, I just took that to mean it gets real dark at night. We have narrow stairs– lots of places to trip.”

“I did ask him about the strange noises,” Carolyn said, “And he dismissed it by saying, ‘Swallows in the chimney, my dear.’”’

Clarice drew her eyebrows together and asked, “What did he mean by it?”

“Chimney Swifts are a type of bird,” Lorraine explained. “They roost in masonry chimneys and are a symbol of good luck. Protection.”

“Was he trying to tell you that the noises were caused by birds?” Clarice wondered.

“I don’t know.” Carolyn said, “But in my opinion, I think he knew the house was haunted. I mean, he lived here before us. There is no way he couldn’t have known.”

“I think he was trying to maintain his reputation. Didn’t want to tell us about the haunting because then people would think he was some crazy old man. And he needed the property off his hands.” Roger said bitterly.

“Well,” Ed began, “what we feel your house needs is a cleansing. An exorcism.”

Roger looked between all three of them, “An exorcism? I thought that was something you only do to people.”

“No,” Lorraine said. “Not necessarily, no.”

Carolyn quickly faced her husband. She grabbed his forearm and said, “We need to get the girls out of here. We need to leave.”

Ed interjected, “I am afraid that isn’t going to help. Lorraine, hon, why don’t you explain what you’ve been seeing?”  

“I’ve been seeing the dark entity that haunts your house and your land,” she explained, “I first saw it when we came through the door. It presented itself to me as a formless, rolling shadow. And it was clung to your back, Roger.”

Roger looked to his wife, his mouth open in a slight terror.

“I then saw it with the girls as you introduced them, Carolyn. It stood next to Andrea, and it…almost seemed like it was standing to be introduced with them. It knows we are here and wants to be seen.”

“W-why?” Carolyn asked, “Why would it want that?”

“It’s mocking us.” Lorraine explained, “We are here in the name of the lord. It knows we are here to fight against it, and it believes itself to be a stronger power. Um…Clarice, honey, tell them what you saw in your dream.”

Clarice folded her hands on top of the table. She decided, as she looked into Carolyn’s terrified eyes, that she would only tell what was completely necessary.

“I felt this house latch onto your family. This entity, the same entity that Lorraine saw, presents itself to me as a heartbeat. And somehow, because of that, I can feel pieces of what it wants. I watched your family walk into this house the day you moved in, and as you did so, I felt the heartbeat of this entity quicken. It’s excited  to do this to you.”

“Did you hear it when you came in the door? Was it, um, excited?” Roger asked, swallowing.

Clarice shook her head, “I didn’t feel the heartbeat at that moment reacting to you. I also don’t feel the entity at the same time Lorriane sees it. Whatever this thing is, it reaches Lorraine and I in a different way, “ Clarice looked down briefly, “ I don’t fully understand it, but being here has made me think that I hear the heart loudest when I am closest to a spot in the house that holds significance to the entity.”

“Although our abilities are different, Clarice and I have both sensed that this entity is attached to you.” Lorraine said, “It is feeding off of you.”

Carolyn covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes were closed, and her eyebrows were furrowed, “And even if we leave… it will follow us?”

Ed nodded, his tone was empathetic, “Sometimes a haunting can be like gum. It’s just stuck to the bottom of your shoe. You know, you carry it with you.”

“You have a lot of spirits in here.” Lorraine said, “But this one is the one we are most worried about because it is just so hateful.”

“Should we, um, I don’t know– call a priest?” Roger asked.

“I wish it were that simple,” Ed said. “Performing an exorcism…it’s an archaic procedure. It’s a sacred rite. It requires many years of training,” Ed said with a breath, “...and even then, I’ve seen it go terribly wrong.”

“Wrong how?” Carolyn asked, “What could be worse than this? What could be worse than what it’s planning to do?”

Carolyn looked to Clarice as she answered, “An exorcism that is done incorrectly creates a vulnerability when it’s being performed. This vulnerability enables the entity to exploit the rite. A priest at my church was underqualified and performed several exorcisms. During which each person was killed by the demon possessing them. One woman burst into flames from the inside out.”  

“Oh, my god,” Carolyn said, pushing her palms into her eyes.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Clarice said, “That isn’t to say there aren’t qualified priests.”

“But to even get that far, we will need the church to authorize it first.” Ed said, “That means we need to do a thorough investigation, gather as much evidence as we can. We need to prove to the church that this is a legitimate haunting.”

Ed leaned back in his chair.

“That is the hard part.”​

–

As the group walked out of the front door, Ed asked, “Roger, have your children been baptized?”

“No, we never really got around to that. I mean, as Carolyn said earlier, we aren’t really a religious family. ” Roger answered, shoving his fists into his pockets.

“That is something you might want to look into,” Ed nodded. “Our presence could make things worse.”

“Why?” Carolyn asked.

“Like Lorraine said before,” Ed replied, “we bring God with us.”

Carolyn shifted a stack of documents in her hands before offering them to Lorraine.

“Um, here is all of the research I’ve done on this place– The history of the land, town records, blueprints. All of it,” she tipped the documents into Lorraine’s hands, “And uh… my journal. I’ve been keeping a record of everything that’s been happening here in that book. It should be useful.”

“Thank you, Carolyn.”

Before they all turned to leave, Clarice caught a look in Carolyn’s eyes. Her green eyes were wide. Worried.

Clarice hesitated briefly before stepping forward. She then extended her hand and softly squeezed Carolyn’s.

“God showed me this vision for a reason, Carolyn. He wanted me to first find the Warrens, and then He wanted us to find you.”​

–

“Head on in.”

Ed’s hand was flat against his front door.

Lorraine gently guided Clarice through the doorway and into the dark entryway of their home.

For a moment, Clarice stood still, blinking in the dark a few times, trying to make out the unfamiliar shapes of the house.

The scent inside was familiar. Specifically, Clarice recognized it from standing next to Ed in the cellar. The house smelled of his suit coat and the soft perfume of Lorraine. Something with the notes of day lily, sugar, and tones of powder.

“Judy must be asleep,” Ed said quietly.

“Well, we did get home late,” Lorraine answered.

Lorraine’s hands met the collar of Clarice’s coat from behind, and together they worked to take it off.

Clarice turned her head to the side and made out the faint shape of Lorraine handing her coat to Ed, who set it on a coat stand.

“Come on, honey. I’ll guide you.” Lorraine whispered. Clarice felt Lorraine’s  hands move to cup her waist from behind before Lorraine began to navigate her through the sleepy house.

All three of them were careful to step very quietly. Through the darkness, somewhere distantly, was the soft ticking of a clock.

Then, suddenly piercing the dark, was a loud THUD. Clarice felt an extremely sharp pain radiate from her hip and, with a small gasp, inhaled a large intake of air.

The blunt force was caused by Lorraine just having accidentally crashed Clarice into something that had a very sharp corner.

Lorraine quickly steadied her hold on Clarice’s waist, pulling her in toward herself as if that would undo the collision.

“Oh my, I am so sorry, dear.” Lorraine breathed, “Are you okay?”

When Clarice didn’t immediately respond, Ed whispered, “Lorraine, did you just drive the poor girl into a piece of furniture?”

“Oh, I did.”

“I think I’m alright,” Clarice whispered, somewhat dramatically. She was playing in Lorraine’s guilt.

“Gosh, where did I hurt you?”

“My hip. But, honey, I'm fine.”

“We’re going to check that. I’ll find some ointment for it or something.”

Clarice noticed that until they reached her room, Lorraine’s guidance had become extra careful. Ed had moved to the other side of her and as Lorraine cautiously turned her around the corner, she slightly bumped into him.

“The grand tour can take place tomorrow,” Ed said as he moved forward to open the door.

Just as he reached in and turned on the light, another light from a bedroom down the hall cast a sliver of orange onto the wall.  A small girl with chocolate brown hair stood in the bedroom’s doorframe.

“Oh, we’ve been caught,” Lorraine said playfully.

Clarice did not need an introduction to know that this was Judy Warren. Along with the sleepy, just-having-been-awoken expression, her face was a pretty and unmistakable blend of Ed and Lorraine.

“Hi, honey,” Ed said. “Did we wake you?”

“Hi, Daddy,” Judy said, her voice full of sleep. “What was that noise?”

“Your mother accidentally drove our guest into the table.”

Lorraine huffed softly.

“That’s her?” Judy asked.

Lorraine looked at Clarice, her words sounded almost as if she were excited to show her off, “Yes, honey. This is Clarice.”

Clarice smiled at Judy. She cleared her throat and perhaps too formally said, “Um…Hello.”

They watched as Judy padded down the hall, her shadow dwindling as she neared. She rummaged in the pocket of her pajama pants for a moment. When she pulled her hand from her pocket, she held it in offering to Clarice.

A butterscotch lay in her palm.

“I saved this for you.” Judy said, “It was the last one.”

Ed huffed out a small laugh from beside them.

“Oh, sweetie,” Clarice took the sweet from the little girl's hand. “Thank you.”

“They are my favorite. Do you like them?” Judy asked.

“I love butterscotch,” Clarice replied. “Very much.”

“Do you like your room?” Judy asked, motioning to the open door.

“I haven't been inside. Will you show me?” Clarice asked.

In reply, Judy nodded her head and took Clarice by the hand.

The room was extremely charming. The air felt readied. Inhabited. It was like there had been such an anticipation for Clarice’s arrival.

The walls had lilies lined and patterned up and down, the petals were colored, accenting the walls with a light yellow.

“I’ll go get your things from the car, Clarice,” Ed said, smiling before bending down and kissing  Judy on the top of her head.

“Thank you,” Clarice said, before looking toward the rest of the room.

There were things, like a bouquet on the nightstand, lace cloth on the surface of the dark dresser, a Tiffany lamp that painted the walls with a warm array of colored light, but there was also room. Room that allowed Clarice to set down her things. There was an empty shelf on the wall, empty drawers in the dresser, and a porcelain jewelry tray sitting on top of it.

Lorraine noticed Clarice looking at the tray, so she picked it up and carefully held it in her palm. There were flowers painted with loopy stems on its border.

“This one was mine,” Lorraine said, “But I noticed that you were wearing jewelry the first time we met, so I put it in here for you.”  

“Oh, honey,” Clarice said, touching a hand to her chest. Her shoulder then raised in a coy shrug,  “You spoil me.”

Her focus then fell to the quilt that was draped atop the bed. It was a pretty fusion of orange, yellow, cream, and fruit. Patches of fabric were stitched to form the clementines, some whole and some sliced. Green fragments of fabric were quilted behind the fruit pieces, framing them in leaves. The quilt was such a small beauty. Such that she leaned down slightly and felt the beauty with her fingertips.

Clarice looked to Judy and Lorraine, who stood next to her and watched her with quiet anticipation, “Oh, it’s gorgeous, you two. Just gorgeous.”

“Mommy told you I helped her pick the blanket out?” Judy asked, her small forefinger moving along the stitching. She looked from the quilt to Clarice.

“Yes, she did. And it’s perfect,” Clarice raised an eyebrow and looked between them, “Now, how did you two ladies know that clementines were my very favorite fruit?”

Lorraine only gave Clarice a small teasing smile and raised one shoulder in a shrug.

“I just had a feeling.”

Clarice turned and sat at the edge of her bed.

As soon as Ed returned to the room, straining against the weight of having brought all of Clarice’s luggage in one trip, he set the cases next to Clarice’s folded legs. Then, immediately, and with great importance, he picked up the poster of Elvis.

“Where do you want this, darlin’?”

Clarice’s lips twisted into a coy smile. She then, with an amused seriousness, inclined her head toward a vacant piece of wall.

“Over there, doll.”

The three ladies watched as Ed worked to hang the poster up, smoothing the paper against the wall.

“Elvis Presley," Judy said with a fond recognition.

Clarice nodded her head, adoration lacing her voice. She sighed,  “Elvis Presley.”

As Ed was sticking the corners to the wall with tack, he became aware of something crimson and the unmistakable print of Clarice’s heart-shaped lips on Elvis’s cheek; he leaned back and observed it for a moment.

“Well now,” he said, “he’s a lucky fella.”

Clarice looked at what Ed was referring to, and her seriousness was replaced with a playful embarrassment. Lorraine giggled as Clarice’s hands flew once again to her face.

“Goodness, I hoped you wouldn’t notice that.”

“Of course we'd notice.” Ed said, “I wonder how we missed it before.”

“It’s a kiss?” Judy asked, tilting her head up at the poster.

Clarice peeked through her hands to look at Judy.

Lorraine answered her daughter, “It is a kiss.”

She leaned forward to observe the lipstick love on Elvis’s cheek, “It’s a pretty kiss too. What shade is that, Clarice?”

Clarice smiled, then paused, “It’s um-”  

Lorraine looked down at her, “Hm?”

“Sin in Satin.”

“Hm.” Lorraine hummed again, “Sin. In. Satin.”

–

The warm light of the dining room chandelier poured over Lorraine and Clarice. Carolyn Perron’s research was scattered on the table before them: rolled blueprints, old town records, yellow newspaper clippings, and every documented history of the land. It must have taken her months to gather all of this information.

The two women sat on one side of the table and had their chairs drawn close together. They were close enough that Clarice often had to apologize for nudging Lorraine’s foot with her own.

Pouring over case files was something Clarice felt she could do very well. Years of being a librarian at Veravetil had taught Clarice how to efficiently move through documents. She knew how to scan each one and how to decipher the oldest ones. At the present moment, Clarice was holding Carolyn’s journal in both hands and reading her loopy scrawl.

As well as an extremely talented chronicler, Clarice was realizing that this woman was also an artist. Many pages contained detailed pencil drawings of the apparitions Carolyn and her children had seen in  the house.  In bullet points next to them was what they did when they appeared.

“Look,” Lorraine said softly, bringing Clarice’s focus from Carolyn’s journal. She was holding a silver locket in her hand.

“Hm?”

Lorraine leaned close to Clarice, and together they looked at the picture. It was Judy, her dolly face framed in oval- shaped silver.

“Judy gave this to me. Just now, as I was putting her back to bed.”

Clarice took the locket in her fingertips. Lorraine, who wore the chain around her neck, pulled closer to Clarice.

“Pretty girl,” Clarice said softly as she looked at the picture, “Much like her mommy.”

Lorraine gave Clarice a soft, sideways smile.

“She has one too. It has a picture of Ed and me.”

Clarice watched as Lorraine’s forefinger rimmed the pendant.

“You know, honey, I think she likes you,” Lorraine said, looking from the picture to Clarice.

“Really?” Clarice asked.

It was extremely important to Clarice that Judy felt comfortable around her. As well as that, she had the slightly girlish desire to be liked by her.

Lorraine nodded and closed the locket, “Yes, I mean, come on, the butterscotch?”

“I’m keeping that forever,” Clarice informed,“It’s going in my jewelry box.”

Lorraine smiled softly at that before her  focus drifted back to the table. To the piles and scatter of histories. Their goal was to take this and their experience at the house and, from that, make some sort of sense. So far, in the extreme morning hours, they had finally begun to make sense of it.

Ed came into the room. He was wearing his comfortable grey jacket over a white T-shirt.

“Hey, ladies?” Ed said. He pulled some   headphones from his ears and held the tape recorder in his arms. “You two are not going to believe this. Carolyn’s voice did not record. At all.”

“What do you mean?” Lorraine asked as Ed pulled up a chair close to them. Ed quickly readied the tape recorder. He pushed play, and Clarice and Lorraine leaned closer instinctively.

The dull sound of the tape spinning filled the room until Ed’s voice accompanied the noise, “My name is Ed Warren. The date is January 1st 1971. I am sitting here with Rodger and Carolyn Perron, who, with their family, have been experiencing supernatural occurrences. Alright, go ahead.”

There was silence where Carolyn’s voice should be. Clarice felt an uncomfortable pop in her ears as if she were suddenly moving to a high altitude.  The three of them looked at each other as the tape recorder continued to spin.

After a few more moments, Ed’s voice answered the silence, “Just begin from the first occurrence.”

Clarice looked to Ed, who watched the tape recorder spin in silence.

“I don’t know,” Ed sighed, “I mean, the whole thing is like that. How have you guys been doing? Find anything?”

Lorraine looked to Clarice and then back at Ed, “Yes. We’ve found lots. It is really no wonder this family is going through what they are.”

“Show me what you got,” Ed said, looking at all of the papers.

“The history of the house is very rich,” Clarice began, her hand hovering over the table as she looked for a specific paper. Once she found it, she handed it to Ed, “The original farmhouse was deeded in 1680, though the current structure was built in 1736. Which, by the way,  predates the Declaration of Independence.”

“Wow,” Ed said, nodding his head.

Clarice continued, handing him another paper, “It was built by the Richardson family and was inhabited through centuries by different people. None of these families seemed to have any relevance to the haunting until the Sherman family.”

“In 1863, a man named Jedson Sherman moved in with his wife, Bathsheba.” Lorraine said, “Ed, Bathsheba is related to a woman named Mary Towne Estye. She was one of the women who were accused of witchcraft in Salem. She was hanged during the trials.”

“Wow,” Ed said, again, looking down at a picture Lorraine was showing him.

When Lorraine began speaking again, her voice was suddenly careful. She breathed out, “Jedson and Bathsheba had a baby. When that baby was 7 days old, Jedson caught her sacrificing it in front of the fireplace.”

Ed’s eyes flicked to Clarice.

“Wait,” Ed said, pointing to her, “You… Didn’t you say?”

Clarice nodded, and Lorraine answered for her, “During the first conversation we had with Clarice, she told us that she had felt a younger energy being burned alive.”

“And when I was in the house, I felt the baby again when I neared the fireplace .” Clarice’s thumb went to her mouth before she bit into the flesh, “I saw it.”  

Lorraine reached over and gently lowered Clarice’s hand from her mouth. Her hand lingered on her wrist for a moment more before carefully continuing.

“After Bathsheba sacrificed her child, she ran out to that tree by the dock, climbed up the branch, and proclaimed her love to Satan. She then cursed anybody who tried to take her land and hung herself.” Lorraine said. “And the time of death? 3:07 in the morning.”

Clarice shifted in her spot, “The fireplace. The tree. Those places are where I hear the heartbeat the loudest.”

Lorraine reached across the table and picked up a picture. She then pointed out a woman to Ed. “This woman's last name is Walker. She lived there in the 1930s  with her son, Rory. Rory disappeared in the woods and now, as Clarice and I found out, shows himself to the littlest Perron girl, April. He told April that he had been killed. And after his mysterious disappearance, his mother killed herself in the cellar.”

Ed leaned back in his chair, “Jesus Christ.”

“But that isn’t all. That was only the first of many deaths on this land.” Lorraine pulled out a large roll of paper, and as she spoke, pointed out different pieces of the land, “The original two-hundred-acre farm was subdivided and sold off. One boy, who lived right about over here, drowned in a nearby pond. A maid who worked for the  neighboring home over here also committed suicide.”

“Every single person who lived there, besides the man who sold the house to the Perrons, died,” Clarice said.

“Why didn’t he also… well, you know?” Ed asked, “I mean, they said he raised his family there.”

Clarice shrugged and shook her head, “Lorraine and I think that he might have just gotten out just in time. But to then sell it to Carolyn, knowing that she has young children. To sell it to anyone after what he must have experienced in that house… I mean, it’s just awful.”

“Well, what about the other people who lived there?” Ed asked, “The ones who lived there decades before?”

“Carolyn has answered that too,” Clarice said, flipping to a page in Carolyn’s journal, “They are there, but in a way that is very unlike the rest.”

“What do you mean?” Ed asked.

“Ed, I’ve never seen anything like this,” Lorraine forewarned.

“Carolyn wrote that one afternoon while sitting in the parlor, she saw a mother laughing with her children as they prepared a meal. Alongside them were two men who were sitting at the table. At first, she thought that they were just apparitions,” Clarice followed the words on the paper with her finger as she spoke, “That is, until one of the men turned his head and looked directly at her. He smiled and pointed her out to his friend. Carolyn then writes that in that moment she realized that she was the ghost to them.”

Ed sat slightly taller in his seat. “Wait, what?”

Clarice read the pencil lines directly from the page, “Carolyn theorizes that, ‘This land is a portal cleverly disguised as a farmhouse, where timelines can coincide.’”

Ed looked at the women, and they looked back.

Clarice then jolted, as suddenly the tape recorder began playing unprompted. Immediately, all of their attention turned to the noise.

“My name is Ed Warren. The date is January 1st 1971. I am sitting here with Rodger and Carolyn Perron, who, with their family, have been experiencing supernatural occurrences. Alright, go ahead.”

Through the static of the recorder, a deep moan erupted. Clarice felt like something had run a finger along her vertebral column.

“From the first occurrence.”

The moaning continued, this time swelling into a symphony of screams and howls. Clarice heard from somewhere within the mess of noise the screeching she heard by the fireplace. She heard the flicker of flame.

Clarice had the urge to cover her ears and apply deep pressure to block the noise. To hum something to focus on that instead of the torture of the baby.

Just as the noise began to become unbearable, Ed lunged over and turned the tape recorder off.

Silence filled the dining room as they all sat staring at the tape recorder.

Clarice slowly became aware of the  warmth of Lorraine’s hand on her wrist, although she could not recall when she had placed it there.

Meanwhile, Ed’s hand still hovered over the recorder, just in case it began playing again.

-

​“If you need anything at all, our bedroom is right down the hall,” Ed said, pointing, “It’s the furthest one on the right.”

The Warrens stood in front of Clarice’s door, which she was standing in the doorway of.

She nodded, “Okay.”

“And honey, if you have any more dreams, come wake us up right away,” Lorraine said.

Clarice nodded softly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Lorraine said, leaning down just slightly.

She held one of Clarice’s cheeks in the crook of her palm and then pressed her lips to the middle of her forehead.

“Goodnight, Lorraine,” Clarice smiled, suddenly just a little shy.

“Sweet dreams,” Ed said, as the couple turned to leave.

Before fully leaving, he reached toward Clarice and brushed the tip of her nose with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Ed.”

“Goodnight, honey.”

​-

-

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Seven: That Low, Lonely Dove (Chapter Title is from Sea, Swallow Me by Cocteau Twins and Harold Budd) This song is my flowering and blooming and completely other thing.

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: paranormal themes, grief, references to death, unsettling supernatural imagery, discussion of animal death, emotional intensity

A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters I've written.

Clarice leaned against the kitchen counter in the Perron house. In her hands was a cup of hot coffee. She admired the cup as Ed prepared to record his conversation with the Perrons. The translucent white mug was painted with a small scene. The illustration was one of greenery and birds.

​“Those bruises,” Ed said from the table, “are they from something that happened here?”

​Carolyn responded, pouring Ed some coffee,  “Oh, it’s just some iron deficiency thing that I have.”

​Ed poked at his recording device, making sure that it was working properly.  She took a sip of coffee as Ed asked the couple if they had thought of moving.

​“I mean, we have thought about it.” Rodger said,  “We really don’t have anywhere we can move with all of our money tied up in this place. And I don’t know anyone who would want to take on a family of seven  indefinitely.”

​“That is why we called you,” Carolyn said.

​“We are glad you found us.”

​Ed clicked one last button.  “Alright, let’s get started.”

​Just as Ed started the recording, Clarice noticed light blond curls peeking through the kitchen door. Little April stood there, her fingers against the door frame. She looked from one end of the kitchen to the other. Once her eyes found Clarice, she quietly tiptoed her way over to her.

​Ed continued asking his question to the Perrons as April lifted her hand to Clarice. Clarice set her coffee cup on the counter and then slipped her hand into the little girl’s. The group at the table didn’t seem to notice as April and Clarice slipped away together.

​She carefully opened the door, and they moved into the world outside. It was light and overwhelmingly grey. The moon hid, almost translucent-looking, in the clouds and sky above them. April’s hand was still clasped in Clarice’s as the two traversed the wet stretch of grass that sided the house.

​Clarice noticed how the breeze pulled at the curls of April’s hair. Looking down at this little girl so openly crossing land that Clarice felt held a malicious intent made her want to scoop her up in her arms.

​As they walked along the front lawn, Clarice felt the ever-present heartbeat gradually fade into a dull rhythm. Its absence allowed her a normal breath.

​Even so, she still felt an unsettling tie to the moment in her dream where she watched from afar as whatever malevolence inhabited the house latched its jaw onto the family.  She squeezed April's hand.

​April’s first words that broke the silence were, “Are you alright, Miss Clarice?”

​Clarice looked down at April. She found the formality quite adorable. Clarice gave her a small smile, “I’m alright, Miss April.”

​April led them to two boards that were placed together to form a cross. Burnt into the wood was the name Sadie, and a dog collar was draped over it.

​April sighed as she looked down at the cross. “This is my dog. Something here killed her.”

​Clarice squeezed her hand again.  “My goodness, darling.”

​“I came out to wake her up in the morning because she slept outside. She didn’t want to come inside the house the night before. And when I saw her, she, um… she was dead.”

​Clarice looked at the makeshift gravestone. A small, weathered teddy bear sat against the base of it. The bear wore a pale blue ribbon around its neck. Surrounding the bear were dandelions that had been picked and placed on the grave. Pictures that the children had drawn were propped next to the bear.

​“I sit out here with her mostly all the time.” April said, “And I put Pip out here to keep her company when I am at school.”

​April’s hand slipped out of Clarice’s as she crouched down and picked up the bear. She held it up to show Clarice. Clarice gently took the bear before taking a seat next to April, smoothing her dress before settling Pip in her lap.

​“Can I tell you something, Miss April?”

​April nodded and began twirling a dandelion between her forefinger and thumb.

​“Once, when I was a little girl, I was in my church's garden making daisy chains with my two best friends, Tommy and Beatrice, when all of a sudden we heard this tiny meow coming from underneath a bench.”

​April gave a small smile as Clarice had really meowed.

​“So we went over to the bench and saw that underneath it was this adorable grey kitten. She had the most beautiful amber colored eyes. Do you know what amber is?”

​April shook her head. Clarice reached over and showed April her hand. She pointed to the amber ring on her finger.

​“That’s amber. Her eyes looked just like it. And the moment I saw her, I knew she was mine. I couldn’t take her home; my dad just wouldn’t allow it. So I named her Dinah, after the kitten from Alice in Wonderland, and she lived in the garden.”

​Clarice tilted her head, looking down at the bear in her lap as she played with the silk of its ribbon.

​“I went and saw her every time I visited the garden, and she purred every time she saw me. She followed me every time I had to leave her. I could tell she wanted to come home with me. But um– one day, something cruel passed through the church– something very like what is in your house. When I went to the gardens the next morning, I noticed all of the plants had died. And so had every little living thing on the grounds. I…um, I looked for my kitten but…sweet Dinah was…”  

​Clarice circled the silk ribbon between her forefinger and thumb.  

​“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” April said.

​Clarice reached forward and held April’s small face in one hand. She brushed her thumb against her cheek, finding the tenderness of this child almost heartbreaking.

​“What did you do? When you um…?” April began.

​“I cried, darling.” Clarice said, “I just cried.”

​April looked to the grave, “Me too.”

​The two sat there for a moment. As April knelt on the ground, the dirt seeped into the cotton of her tights.  Clarice had extended her knees so they were crossed in front of her, and she cradled Pip in her lap like he was a little baby.

​“Miss Clarice? Where are Sadie and Dinah now?”

​Clarice paused, her eyes lifting to the transparent moon.

​“Oh, somewhere gorgeous, honey.”

​“Heaven?” April asked, her head tilted to the side. There was a light inclination to the end of the word.

​Clarice hesitated. She looked from April to the drawings at the base of the grave. She picked one up.  It was a pretty array of scribble and wax color. A sunset, colored robin egg blue, dandelion, red velvet, and heart.

​“You see this?” Clarice pointed to the thick Crayola horizon that bordered the earth and sky. April scooted closer into Clarice’s side and rested her cheek against Clarice’s upper arm. She looked at the drawing and nodded.

​“There they are. In the exact moment that heaven’s horizons meet Earth's. They are there waiting for us.”

​Clarice looked down at April, whose head still rested on her arm.

​“Do you think Sadie and Dinah are waiting for us together?” Clarice asked her.

​April nodded as she touched the horizon with her index finger, “They are best friends because we are. I just know it.”

​April’s hand drifted from the drawing to Clarice’s arm. She traced the paths of freckles there, connecting them like constellations.

​“Did you draw this?” Clarice asked, and when April enthusiastically nodded, she added, “What a great artist you are!”

​“I’ll draw you one.”

​“Oh my! I get a Miss April original?”  Clarice said, excitedly. To this, April nodded again.

​Clarice gently placed the drawing and Pip back in their places. She hesitated, then looked to April, who was now sitting up and organizing the dandelions.

​“Can I ask you a question?”

​April looked up at her, “Sure.”

​“Who is Rory, darling?”

​April paused, her hands still focused on the dandelions.

​“I don’t want you to tell your friends.” April said, referring to the Warrens, “If they know, they’ll make him go away. He isn’t bad.”

​“I heard you talking to him in the chimney closet. Is he a friend?”

​“Uh-huh. He plays with me in there all the time. He likes my toys.”

​“Oh?”

​“He died a long time ago. He told me he was killed.”

​Clarice looked at the child, “Killed?”

​April did not elaborate, “Yes. But guess what? He told me his toys were made out of wood and metal.  He says he likes how different mine are. Most of all, he likes my Fisher-Price toys. You would like him. ”

​“I would love to meet him,” Clarice said. “Do you think you could introduce us?”

​“I can’t. I need my music box, and that’s in the house,” April explained, “To see him, I have to open it and look into the swirly mirror. Then he appears behind me.”

​“Oh, okay,” Clarice nodded. “And um, you wouldn’t feel comfortable if I mentioned him to my friends?”

​“I want them to get rid of what killed Sadie. And whoever locked Cindy in the toy box. But not Rory. There are nice ghosts in this house. They aren’t all bad. ”

​“Cindy was locked in the toy box?” Clarice asked her, her eyebrows drawn together.

​April’s eyes suddenly got wide. “Uh-huh. She said she couldn’t get out. It was really hot in there, and she was screaming and yelling. When Nancy let her out, Cindy thought that it was her.”

​“Oh my,” Clarice said, shaking her head.

​She watched as April set a flower in Pip’s lap and posed his stuffed arms to hold it. Clarice noticed April’s nose was starting to run from the cold.

​“I think, darling, if you told Lorraine about Rory, she’ll understand you. “

​April wiped her nose with her sleeve and continued organizing the items on the grave.  

“My friends and I are focused on getting rid of the bad ghosts in the house.” Clarice continued, “And from what you have told me, Rory doesn't sound like he wants to hurt you. Lorraine will listen to you if you tell her what you’ve told me.”

​“Are you sure?” April asked.

​Clarice nodded. “Lorraine is a very understanding woman.”

​“Will you um…”

​“Would you like me to take you to her?” Clarice smiled. April smiled back and nodded.

​Clarice rose from the ground and brushed the dirt from her clothes before extending a hand to April.  April slipped her hand into hers and allowed Clarice to pull her up.

​“Let's get you out of this cold, doll,” Clarice said. As they walked back up the grassy path, April leaned her cheek against Clarice’s hand. When they arrived at the back door, they quietly slipped back inside. Because Ed was still interviewing April’s parents, they were extra careful to stay quiet as they left the kitchen.

Once they reached the hall, Clarice leaned down to April, “Go fetch your music box. Then you can introduce Rory to Lorraine.”

April nodded and then bounced upstairs. Clarice waited for her in the hallway.

The strange hush Clarice felt in the cellar lingered in the hallway. The  wrong stillness made her breath catch. She hoped April would return soon.

Lorraine quietly appeared beside Clarice after a moment.

“There you are, hon. I’ve been looking for you.”

Clarice turned her head to look at her. Relief softened her features.

“Where have you been?” Lorraine asked, surveying Clarice’s face.  

“I’ve been outside with April.”

“Oh.” Lorraine nodded.

“April has been speaking to this little boy, Rory.” Clarice began, “She says he shows himself to her through the mirror of her music box. She was scared to tell us about him, but I reassured her that you would hear her out.”

“Where is she?” Lorraine asked and looked around as if April could be hiding behind Clarice’s legs.

Clarice pointed upstairs, “She is getting her music box to show you. She’ll-”

April then appeared behind the railing of the stairway. She slowed slightly as she saw Lorraine.  “I’m back, Miss Clarice.”

“Come here, honey,” Clarice said, motioning her down the steps. Clarice met her at the bottom of the stairs and helped her down the last few steps.

April gave a shy wave as she neared Lorraine.

“Hello, April,” Lorraine said, smiling. “Clarice told me about your friend. I’d very much like to meet him, if that’s okay with you.”

April looked up at Lorriane and nodded.

Lorraine extended her hand, and once April took it, she gently led her to one of the quieter rooms.

​

–

​

As Lorraine spoke to April, Clarice found her way to the back of the house. Clarice’s heartbeat immediately began to quicken as soon as she saw the tree from her dream. It stood a few feet in front of her, vivid against the grey of the sky.

She took a deep breath, trying to mirror the control she saw Lorraine exhibit in the cellar. She breathed in the cold air and slowly exhaled until she found some sort of calm. The result was nowhere near the practiced tranquility Lorraine had, but it steadied her enough to truly look at what was before her.

The branches twisted and intertwined, creating an invitation to the pale sky. The water almost looked silver as it rippled in the wind. She watched for several minutes as the water lapped at the old wooden support beams under the dock. A moss-covered boat bobbed in the water next to it.

The slow heartbeat was prominent here. It felt like it emanated from somewhere beneath her. It seemed to travel through the roots of the tree itself. Up through the trunk. Through the branches. Inside the earth and then into the air that surrounds.

She shifted on her heels trying to rid the feeling, but the pulse continued.

There was peace to be found here, to be sure. A beauty. However, her soul screamed that something murderous lingered here.

Beyond the dread, she sensed another feeling. A violent pain. An accepting last breath. The blur and light of death. And then dust. Infinity.

Clarice breathed out. It was an uncomfortable exhale of air.

She remained there, feeling the heartbeat in the soles of her heels. Eventually, she began to count the beats.

She whispered, white pearls of slow and uneven breath releasing into the air, “One. Two. Three. Four.”

Her own heartbeat stuttered, and then began to try to beat in unison.

“Five. Six. Seven. Eight.”

The pulse emanating from the earth was steady. Too easy. Was it inviting her?

She inhaled the cold air.

“Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.”

A streak of hot panic. Which heartbeat was hers?

Something stirred from behind her.

“Thirteen. Fourteen-”

She felt a touch on her arm and the gentle voice of Lorraine.

“Hello, dear.”

Clarice moved her head toward her.

“Can I join you?” Lorraine asked.

Clarice exhaled softly, “Please do.”

The two women stood together at the base of the tree. Lorraine looked in front of her. She felt the cold that arises from a body of water. Her attention then turned to the woman beside her.

As Clarice stared ahead, Lorraine took a moment to study her face.

Clarice stood perfectly still beside her, her eyes looking to something beyond the water.  Her eyebrows were laced into a slightly puzzled expression, as though she was trying to define something that was  beyond her understanding.

The slightly far-off and worried look gave Lorraine the strangest –and strongest– urge to stand in front of her. To hold her face and close Clarice’s eyes with her thumbs. To then kiss her eyelids. Her cheekbones. The direct point where her jawline meets her ear.

From the moment she knew they would be taking Clarice to their home, she began to feel this warmth. It could be likened to the moment that honey is heated by tea. The moment the crystals melt and turn into something thick and goopy.

Lorraine had an overwhelming urge to gather this slightly younger woman. To scoop her up in her hands like she was Thumbelina. To feed her tiny jewels of honey from the tip of her finger.

At first, she tried to rationalize this feeling as something maternal. Yet, looking at Clarice ignited a feeling entirely different. It was something that flowered, petals blooming into something that was dangerous and completely other.

The natural continuation of her urge would then be to press her lips against Clarice’s.  

She wondered what Ed would say if she confided this to him.

“It’s sort of overwhelming.” Clarice then said, quietly breaking the silence.

“Hm?” Lorraine said, her head inclining curiously. She blinked the honey thoughts away.

“Being here, I mean. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve felt worse when my dreams have begun to prophesize, but sometimes being able to feel death… so intimately… It’s like, how am I supposed to hold this?”

“What are you feeling? Tell me.” Lorraine said, her eyes squinted slightly as she focused on Clarice speaking.

“It’s like–  The direct moment of life giving away and the peace of death taking your hand. This whole time, I’ve felt evil all around. I came out here expecting to feel the same thing, but Lorraine. I feel them. The lives that fell to the evil. But in a way I never have before.”

Clarice turned her head to look at Lorraine, and her face was sad, so sad. Lorraine simply couldn’t help but lift her hand to Clarice’s face, moving some of her hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered there, focusing on smoothing a few strands of stray hair back into place. The cross of her rosary glinted in the dull light.

Decidedly, Clarice said, “We have to help them, Lorraine.”

“We will, honey,” Lorraine nodded. “We will.”

“April is so special. Isn’t she? All of these girls are. I grieved a baby that I’ve never known. I don’t think I would survive grieving them… feeling their deaths.”

For a moment, Clarice leaned into the warmth of Lorraine’s palm, the beads of her rosary gently pressing into the skin of her cheek.

Lorraine imagined what the curve beneath Clarice’s Cupid’s bow would feel like beneath her thumb.

Clarice pulled away softly and looked back at the water.

“April promised me a drawing,” Clarice said, a small smile on her face. “How did your conversation go with her? Was she okay?”

Lorraine nodded, “She warmed up to me quickly. Probably because of that glowing review you gave me.”

Clarice gave Lorraine a sideways smile.

“I saw Rory," Lorraine added. “April told me that he is sad because something bad happened to him.”

“She told me Rory was killed.” Clarice said, “Is he– do you think he is safe?”

“I don’t feel any evil from him. I feel an overwhelming sadness when he is near. And there is such a confusion about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s confused as to why whoever hurt him would do such a thing. I sense a feeling of betrayal.”

Clarice then glanced over her shoulder, and Lorraine followed her gaze. Ed was moving across the stretch of grass toward them.

As he approached, Lorraine suddenly went abnormally still. The immediate change in Loraine’s behavior made Clarice move her head to try to meet Lorraine’s eyes.

“Hey…” Ed said carefully, looking from between the two women.

Lorraine hunched her shoulders, flinching against a noise that was unheard by Clarice and Ed. She then, very slowly, lifted her head skyward. Her lovely eyes were absolutely filled with terror as she cringed away from whatever horror she was viewing.

Clarice glanced at Ed, startled, and then looked back at Lorraine.  Ed  braced his hands to steady her.

“You okay, lovely?” Clarice asked her, her voice a stabilizing coo.  

Lorraine still looked above her, her pupils following some moving thing. Her chest rose and fell in an erratic motion as she inhaled sharp and quick intakes of air.

“Sweetheart?” Ed said, his voice gravely concerned. “Clarice. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” was Clarice’s hurried reply. “I… Lorraine?...Doll?”

Clarice reached both of her hands to Lorraine’s cheeks. Under normal circumstances, she would have paused, worried that the touch was too intimate.  Here, she didn’t hesitate as she gently guided her face to look back at her. She lightly shushed as Lorraine’s eyes met hers.

Lorraine shuddered. Her eyelids flickered. Clarice steadied Lorraine’s face between her hands.

“Lorraine?” Clarice’s voice was urgent, “Ed, she-”

Lorraine’s shoulders swayed as she staggered. Ed  immediately lurched forward to catch her. One hand pulled her in by her upper arm, and the other wrapped around her waist. Lorraine loosely gripped the fabric at the back of Ed’s suit.

Clarice’s hands still gently framed Lorraine’s face.

“Honey?” Ed said, his voice gentle. “Are you okay?”

“I-” Lorraine looked from Ed to Clarice. “Yes, um, I’m alright.”

Lorraine blinked a few times and almost hesitantly glanced up at the tree branch again. Her fingers loosened their grip on Ed’s suit.

“My goodness,” she then breathed an airy laugh and laid her hand against her ruffled collar.

She reached for Clarice first, cupping her cheek in quiet gratitude, before turning to Ed to kiss him on the cheek.

For a brief moment, the three of them remained together in the cold, close enough to feel Lorraine's heartbeat settle to its normal rhythm.

​

–

–

–

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Six: You Can Hide Inside My Locket (Chapter title is from Char by Crystal Castles)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: supernatural horror, demonic themes, religious imagery, disturbing imagery, mentions of child death

A/N:  If this seems slightly different than what you’ve seen on screen that is because I’ve changed a bit of  the dialogue so you aren’t reading an exact replica of what happens on screen with Clarice randomly there. If details do not seem familiar it is because I have incorporated happenings from the real Perron haunting, such as PIRO. Enjoy :)

-

Clarice spun the gold band of her amber ring around her forefinger. She stood in the direct middle of Ed and Lorraine. Subconsciously, the delicate point of her heel stepped just a bit closer to the leather toe of Ed’s shoe. For a fraction of a moment, she had a girlish urge to slip her hands within the safety of one of their pockets. To there find the touch of their hands. To be met with a candy wrapper and warmth.

Together, they stood close on the doorstep of the Perron family home. The melody of a windchime sounded, its song strange and hollow.  Clarice’s head flicked toward the sound as a viciously cold breeze breathed against her cheek. Lorraine lifted her ringed hand to knock on the door again.

Ed had opened the car door for her upon their arrival. The immediately terrifying atmosphere had almost likened Clarice to a cornered feline, her fur vertical and vivid at every angle. With a small pop, it felt as if her ears suddenly opened, making her hyperaware of every noise.

Clarice’s wide eyes were fixed on the center of the seat in front of her. Emanating from the house was a sickeningly familiar rhythm. It became clear to her, as she felt her pulse in the base of her throat, that beating close was the pulsating heart from her dream.

Ed had leaned down to check on her when she didn’t get out of the car.

His voice was low as he asked her if she was okay. He then asked her if she needed help getting out of the car, and when he offered his hand, the cold metal of her ring met the base of his palm.

With every step Clarice had taken to the front door, the noise became more distinct and visceral. It felt as if she stood in a bell tower, the piece within the bell swinging against the shell and spewing overwhelming vibrations and noise.

“You okay?” Ed asked her again as they waited for someone to answer the door. They could hear the distant slur of voices from the television from within the house.

Lorraine tilted her head toward Clarice, and her eyebrows drew together in worry.

Clarice looked between the two of them. “I’m fine. I’m just very nervous.”

Lorraine’s hand, dripping with her rosary, lifted to hold Clarice’s chin. She brushed the tip of Clarice’s nose with her thumb. She did this twice, very softly.  The movement alone was enough to still Clarice’s head and heart.

The door then swung open. Carolyn Perron’s face appeared from behind it. She was a vividly gorgeous woman, Clarice noticed. She hadn’t had time to notice the beauty of this woman's face when she had been dreaming of it. Along with beauty, her face was filled with immense relief at the sight of all of them standing on her stoop.

Her whole body seemed to untense, just slightly, before she breathed , “Hi. Please, come in.”

Carolyn held the door open as the group crossed the threshold.

Roger Perron immediately reached forward and introduced himself to Lorraine. He shook her hand and began to thank her for coming, for taking them seriously.

From slightly behind the Warrens, Clarice watched the interaction. Her eyes drifted to Ed. She focused on how he took Carolyn’s hand in a very firm grasp; how he reassured her that no, the drive was no trouble.

When Clarice’s eyes fell to Lorraine, they stilled. Lorraine’s features were unmoving, and her blue eyes were so entirely focused on something just behind Roger Perron's head.

Clarice felt the urge to grab her hand. To ground her, just as Lorraine had done a moment ago for her. To make Lorraine’s eyes meet hers instead.

As Ed and Roger introduced themselves, Clarice focused on how, after a small blink, Lorraine’s eyes seemed to once again focus.

Clarice felt Lorraine’s hand settle on her lower back, guiding her gently forward.

Lorraine cleared her throat before saying, “Roger, Carolyn, this is Clarice Chenn.”

“Clarice,” Carolyn repeated gently, reaching forward to shake her hand. “We are very glad you came.”

“Thank you,” Clarice said, dipping her head gently,  “I truly hope I can help you.”

Lorraine’s attention was then pulled toward the living room, where all five of the Perron daughters were.

“Oh my god, look at you all.” She said, her voice excited, “Who are these beautiful young women?”

Carolyn introduced each of her daughters, “My eldest is Andrea. Then there is Nancy, Cindy, and Christine. And my youngest is April."

Clarice smiled at all of the girls as they stood side by side. The littlest girl, April, who Clarice recognized from her dream as the child with curly hair, gave her a small wave. She gave a small wave back.

“We all have been sleeping down here.” Carolyn explained, “The girls are too scared to sleep anywhere else, and it’s the only room with a fireplace. It keeps us warm. ”

Clarice watched how the Warrens began to observe things around the house. Clarice didn’t know how to fit into their routine so immediately. So she chose to follow Lorriane, who had her hand slightly aloft, feeling the energy of the objects with her palms. The cross of her rosary dangled.

As Ed spoke with Carolyn and Rodger, Lorraine leaned in closer to Clarice, her voice low, “What do you feel?”

“I feel the heartbeat I mentioned in my dream.” A slight discomfort befell Clarice’s face. “It’s slightly dizzying, the feel of it. It’s somewhere close.”

“Follow it,” Lorraine said to her.

Clarice looked from Lorraine to the rest of the room. Her eyes closed, and she focused on only the noise.

Clarcie felt it then, almost physical waves of energy palpitating from somewhere eastward. It was so vivid she was almost convinced it was inside the wall. She turned her head and opened her eyes. The fireplace was its origin. Carefully, she made her way over to it.

She, mirroring Lorriane, put her hands slightly in front of her. She felt a horrific thudding from the inside of her skull. She reached out to touch the rough brick.

Clarice’s hand then immediately flew to her stomach. Her face crumpled with discomfort.

It  felt like fire flared up her chest and throat. Mixing with the sounds of conversation behind her was the high-pitched screeching of a baby. The flickering of fire. Clarice squeezed her eyelids shut to try to block the onslaught of noise.

Beneath her clenched eyelids, a final image swirled. Lingering smoke furling up the chimney. Bright orange jewels of the smoldering embers. Ash. Something impossibly little lying amongst it.

She hadn’t realized Lorraine had walked over until she felt a touch from behind her; one hand placed on her waist and the other placed on her upper arm.

“Are you alright, hon? You’re swaying a bit.”

“Lorraine,” Clarice whispered, turning slightly to look at her. “The baby I told you about…it um..”

Lorraine immediately understood. She moved a strand of Clarice’s hair behind her ear and gently nodded.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay.”

Lorraine looped an arm through Clarice’s and led her back toward Ed and Carolyn, who were conversing by the stairs.

“It’s gotten really bad the past few nights.” Carolyn explained, “And there is this terrible odor. It’s almost as if something is rotting.”

Ed and Lorraine shared a look.

“What? Does that mean something?”

“Well,” Ed began, “rancid smells could be an indication of demonic activity.”

Carolyn looked at Roger, her mouth slightly open in horror. He returned an equally terrified look, although Clarice noticed something guilt-stricken within his expression.

Ed’s attention shifted to the brass doorknobs of the double doors the group stood in front of. The knobs were bound together with some sort of twine, preventing the doors from being able to open at all. He rattled them.

“We had to do that,” Rodger explained, motioning to the door. “Otherwise, it would just bang all night.”

He demonstrated the banging on the wall next to him. Thump Thump Thump.

“All night long. Just like that.” Thump Thump Thump.

“Does it come in threes?” Ed asked. Rodger nodded.

Clarice recognized this. Growing up in a catholic church had instilled within her the importance of a series of three.  

“It’s the trinity,” Clarice interjected. “The father, son, and holy spirit.”

"The thumping can be an insult to the trinity.” Ed nodded, further explaining.

Clarice felt there was a strange stir of unrest in the house. It was like dust particles being blown from a surface that had been previously undisturbed.

“I wonder, um, did you consult anybody else before you reached out to the Warrens?” Clarice inquired.

“Yes, actually,” Rodger said. “We saw an ad in the paper for an organization called PIRO. Stands for parapsy— something— investigation and… something,” he waved a hand. “They were a group of college students, and Carolyn answered the ad. I thought it was a bunch of mumbo jumbo.”

“It didn’t end up being mumbo jumbo, I take it,” Clarice said, looking to Carolyn, who wore a slightly exasperated look.  

“We have a beautiful chalkboard up in one of the bedrooms,” Carolyn explained, motioning with her hands. “When they went upstairs, they asked if we had any crosses… and well, I mean, we are not a religious family. We don’t really keep crosses, and I told them that. One of them drew a cross on the chalkboard for protection, and something got really mad.”

“How do you mean?” Ed asked.

“There was a stick in the window to prop it open. The second that cross was drawn in chalk, the stick whipped across the room and hit one of the investigators right in the face…Poor girl.”  

Clarice shared a look with the Warrens.

“An angry reaction to holy symbols can be another sign of a demonic presence,” Ed said, looking between the group. “Um, will you show us upstairs?”

“Sure. Yes, of course.” Rodger said as he began to lead the group up the staircase that was beside them. “ You know, it's the damndest thing, we get all kinds of birds that will just fly into the side of the house and break their necks.”

“Birds have long been associated with spiritual warnings,” Clarice said, reciting something she read at her church library. Ed hummed in agreement.

“And the clocks stop at 3:07 every morning,” Carolyn added.

“All of them?” Lorraine asked.

“Yeah. Every single one. We always have to reset them.”

As soon as they reached the upper floor, Clarice looked across the landing.

The windows cast dull January light throughout the landing. The air here was colder. Thinner. Clarice noticed pieces of broken glass scattered sporadically along the wooden flooring.

Carolyn began to lead the group to one of the bedroom doors, but Clarice stilled herself. From somewhere to the right of her she heard the faintest murmur of a voice. It carried the soft cadence of a child. Strangely, the walls of the house seemed to have muffled the voice.

She squinted slightly as she looked across the oppressively still landing. Her eyes scanned one bedroom door after the next, trying to decipher where the sound came from. Trying to decide whether she had heard it all.

Clarice glanced back toward the group, looking at their reactions. They were still engrossed in their conversation, Carolyn showing the Warrens an old wardrobe in one of the girls' rooms.

Clarice quietly drifted from the group. Slowly, she began to make her way toward the opposite side of the landing, her eyes still searching for the origin.

She startled as a floorboard creaked from underneath her foot. She breathed out, slightly embarrassed by her reaction.

Clarice just made out Carolyn’s voice explaining the broken glass; at night, her picture frames are thrown from the wall.

The murmur again; it giggled.

Clarice’s head snapped toward the sound. Her eyes widened as she looked at the tall door to the chimney closet.

She approached the very narrow door carefully.

Tucking some of her hair behind her ear, she leaned in. Her face hovered an inch or two from the wood. The landing was cold enough that she felt the heat from behind this door radiating against her cheek.

Clarice braced against whatever noise sounded next. The soft clatter of plastic toy blocks. Clarice’s eyebrows drew together in confusion as she fully pressed the side of her face to the door.

“Rory!” April laughed. It was a genuine bubbling laughter, “You’re silly.”

Clarice closed her eyes and breathed out against the door. It was just April, sweet April.

Ed's voice carried from the other side of the landing, “Clarice?”

Clarice looked over toward the group. Everyone was looking at her.

“Come on, “Ed motioned, “We are going down to the cellar."

-

Clarice and Ed stood huddled behind Lorraine. The monotonous white light shadowed the angles of her face as she stood extremely still. Her eyes were gently pressed together, and her ringed hands were intertwined at her waist. Ed and Clarice watched her shoulders slowly rise and fall with slow and grounding breaths.

​

The surrounding cellar was extremely cold. It was considerably colder than the rest of the house. This drew Clarice closer to Ed, trying to siphon any body heat he radiated. She had crossed her arms tightly over her chest and shivered each time she felt the chill exhale against her neck.

​

As well as the distractingly cold air, the atmosphere was filled with a strange silence. Every word was swallowed as soon as it was spoken. No echo or air to accompany the words, just dull vowels and hush.

​

Lorraine was experiencing something altogether different. Surrounding her was a malicious vortex. It swirled and pressed in on her. She remained perfectly tranquil  in the center of the chaos. She held a steady rhythm of breath, though her eyelids twitched as she viewed the invisible horrors.

​

Ed stepped closer to Lorraine and said, “Are you picking up anything in here, hon?”

Lorraine breathed in sharply, her shoulders and eyelids rising. She then turned her head just slightly toward them, her delicate eyebrows drawn together.

​

“Oh, something awful happened here, Ed.”

-

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Five: So Come and Get Me, Baby (Chapter title is a lyric from Kind Of A Woman by Nancy Sinatra. One of my favorite songs. <3)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: This chapter is slightly unsettling near the end but nothing violent or graphic. It's mostly incredibly sweet because you all deserve it after last chapter.

A/N: Slightly random but when writing the physicality of Clarice, my biggest inspiration for her movements is Francesca Bridgerton.

-

Clarice stood at the front entrance of Veravetill Chapel. She bounced on the balls of her feet as she awaited the Warrens' arrival. Her hands repeatedly moved up to her bun as she fussed over the loops and loops of honey brown hair pinned to the back of her head. Her hands dropped to smooth the fabric at her waist, and then she quickly brushed the skirt of her dress.  

She had left this dress out when packing because it was the one that felt most sophisticated and appropriate for the walkthrough at the Perron house. It was one of her favorite dresses, a light grey pinafore dress with a checkered plaid pattern. She wore a crisp white blouse underneath, which here she smoothed the collar of. Today she even wore her T-strap Mary Janes, the ones she’s only worn one other time at a church event. 

The outfit, she realized now, fit the Warrens. She hadn’t planned it this way, but now as she fussed over the dress, she realized how well it matched what she had already seen the two of them wearing. It wasn’t that she matched either one of them specifically, but almost both of them at the same time. It was like she would fit charmingly in between the two. 

The hum of an approaching engine pulled her focus from her clothes. Clarice leaned over slightly to peer down the driveway, her hands intertwined lightly at her chest. She felt a nervous fluttering in her stomach as she saw a car approach the steps to her church. She caught sight of Ed Warren in the driver's seat and Lorraine Warren beside him. Here, Clarice appreciated that even though the feeling in her stomach was nervous, there was such an excitement intertwined through it at the sight of them. 

Quickly, she stepped down the last few steps and excitedly waved at the pair as they parked the car. Lorraine stepped out of the car first. Her hand was resting on the edge of the door as she watched Clarice with a delighted glow adorning her face.  

“Oh my! What a pretty girl!” She playfully called to Clarice. To Clarice, the compliment felt like a brush of summer wind. 

Clarice smiled, tilting her head to the side and moving her shoulders up, almost sheepish under the attention. She giggled and then lightly curtsied, “Why, thank you.” 

Lorraine was already walking up the stairs as Ed stepped out of the car. He shut the door with a quiet thud and then glanced up at the two women. A small smile settled on his face as he watched them. 

“You do look lovely… Very sophisticated,” Lorraine said, more gently now. Her gaze lowered to take in the dress. Though it seemed the way Clarice wore it was what held Lorraine’s attention for a moment.  

Then, as if she just noticed, Lorraine's hands instinctively lifted to Clarice’s necklace. She gently worked the chain until the clasp rested at the back of her neck instead of the front. Clarice couldn’t believe she had missed it a moment ago, but any quiet scolding she might have directed at herself dissolved as Lorraine’s hands brushed her collarbones.

A flowery, blossoming haze spread throughout her mind. For a moment, she was completely distracted.

“She cleans up nice, huh?” Ed said, stepping up behind Lorraine. Clarice blinked and then looked to Ed.

“Well, um, I wanted to look presentable,” she cleared her throat. “This whole thing is very important to me.” 

“And it’s important to the both of us that you are coming with.” Ed nodded.  Clarcie noticed that something in his tone felt extremely resolute. “Are you all set?” 

Clarice nodded and motioned to the church behind her, “Yes. Everything is packed. It’s all in my room upstairs. You can follow me.” 

They followed Clarice closely as she walked to her room. As she led them to the bedrooms she pointed out little spots and told them the silly story from childhood associated with them. She stopped by her very favorite painting on the wall and told them the biblical history that accompanied it.

The Warrens both enjoyed watching her move around Veravetill. She was happy, floating and alight. There was a fluidity even as she pointed to things, and when she turned a corner, there was almost a twirl in the motion. 

When they reached the white wood of her bedroom door, she opened it and allowed the Warrens to walk in first. The temperature changed as they walked through the doorway.

Before their arrival, Clarice had opened her window. She allowed the thick atmosphere of her bedroom to be filtered by the color and chill of January. The air was the sort that, once breathed in, you feel your head and soul clear. And when the sun wasn’t hiding behind the clouds, it created patterns on the floor of her bedroom through her lace curtains. 

The only thing that wasn’t white light and serene was the deep wood of the many crosses scattered above her headboard. And of course, they were the first thing to draw the Warren’s eye.  

“Oh wow,”  Ed said, eyebrows raised, eyes looking from one cross to the next. Lorraine looked lightly horrified for Clarice as her eyes scanned the wall. 

The overall aesthetic of her room was built upon cotton, an iron wrought bed, and white floral wallpaper. This was something the dark color of the crosses stood out horribly against.  It was vivid and stark. Something about the vision was unsettling. 

“Isn’t it just the ugliest thing?” Clarice said. She looked up at the wall with them, her hands crossed over her chest. There was something lazy in the way she stood; every position of her body exuded the energy that she found the crosses to be exceptionally ridiculous. “I tried to take them down. I really did,” Clarice said, shrugging, “but I’m not strong enough to take out the nails.”

“Take the nails out? You can’t just lift the crosses from the wall?” Ed asked, looking at her.

“Father Mercier nailed them to the wall when he put them up. It took a nail about this thick to get through the cross.” She showed the length of the nail with her forefinger and thumb. “I mean, it really is just the silliest thing, seeing as they didn’t need to be there at all.” 

“Well, you know what, hon?”  Lorraine said, looking from the wall to Clarice, “We have our guest bedroom all made up for you. Judy helped me. She and I picked out a quilt together for you.” She laughed, almost sheepishly, “It has clementines on it.” 

“Oh, my goodness. How sweet." Clarice said, with a breathy laugh.  She was deeply flattered at the thought of them taking the special effort for her. She felt too, a soft swirl of the universe’s script; clementines were her favorite fruit. 

“Who’s Judy?” She then asked, turning to look at Lorraine.

“Judy is our daughter,”  Lorraine said, smiling up at Ed. 

“Yeah, Judy is our little girl,” Ed said, putting a loving arm over Lorraine’s shoulders. 

“Oh, you have a daughter?” Clarice cooed, placing her hands over her heart. “And she is okay with me staying with you? How old is she?” 

“She’s eight.” Ed nodded. “And she is actually quite excited. Lorraine has told her about you.”

“Good, I hope?” Clarice said, joking lightly.

“Well, I told her that you have abilities similar to mine,” Lorraine smiled, “and I told her you are quite pretty.” 

“My goodness.” Clarice said, her hand flat against her chest, “Well, I hope I live up to the expectation.”

“Oh, she’ll adore you.” Lorraine said, “You’ll get to meet her after our visit to the Perron home.” 

“I can’t wait.” Clarice smiled, “And that does remind me– my things are under the bed. I don’t have too many things, so there isn’t all that much.” 

Clarice walked over to the edge of her bed and knelt. Then she began pulling her luggage from underneath it. She grabbed a long roll of paper and set it on top of her bed, and then began to grab her round yellow suitcase. But just as she reached for the handle, she heard Lorraine’s voice-

“Well, well, well.” 

She looked up from her position by the bed and saw Lorraine standing behind Ed; the both of them were looking at the roll of paper, which, now unraveled, was revealed to be a poster of the singer Elvis Presley. He was looking dramatically off in the distance and holding a shiny guitar in his lap. And he was, quite unfortunately, adored by Clarice.  She hoped they wouldn't notice the kiss mark on his cheek, left there on a night where she’d been a little too wine drunk.

Lorraine had one eyebrow arched and a smile playing on her lips, “What do we have here, madam?” 

“Just nosy, the both of you…” Clarice laughed before covering the pink on her cheeks with her hands. “My goodness gracious.” 

Ed then suddenly adopted a warm southern drawl to which Clarice laughed aloud, “Well now, darlin’, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I’d say you’ve got yourself some mighty fine taste.”

“Hey, you’re very good at that," Clarice said.

Ed flicked his head and gave a dramatic look to the distance,  “Why, thank you very much.”  

Clarice looked up at him and tipped her head to the side. Her voice carried a playful hum, "You know, I'd say you and Mr. Presley have quite the resemblance."

Lorraine rolled her eyes playfully, "Please, don't get him started."

Clarice mused, "I think it's the sideburns. Wait, turn your head," she ordered. "Hm, it's the facial structure too."

Lorraine gave Clarice a sideways smile, "I unfortunately do see the resemblance," she admitted. To their words, Ed looked delighted.

Lorraine then looked to her husband and smiled, "Oh don't look so pleased. I'd simply never told you that because then you'd let that go straight to your head. At least now, Clarice, I'll have you to deal with all of this alongside me," she then looked back to the Elvis poster, "Well, judging by this, you'll most likely encourage it."

Ed's Elvis drawl softened back to his normal tone as he looked to Clarice, "You oughta hear me when Lorraine lets me around a guitar. What’s your favorite Elvis song? I'll learn it for you."

"Oh my goodness! You can play Elvis?" Clarice chirped, "I can sing Elvis! We'd be such a duo."

"I would actually love to see that," Lorraine smiled, and then, as if she just remembered, "However, let's discuss this, perhaps, after we meet with the Perrons?"

"My goodness, yes." Clarice said, shaking off her silly demeanor. "They are waiting for us."

Lorraine then stepped forward and gathered a few of Clarice’s things from the bed. “Come along, you two.” She said as she turned toward the door. 

“I’ll carry this,” Ed said importantly, re-rolling the poster and placing it under his arm. As soon as Clarice stood from the floor with the rest of her luggage, Ed moved to grab them for her.   

As Lorraine began to descend the stairs, Clarice heard a motion from the end of the hallway. She and Ed both paused, looking to their right.

The hallway was incredibly light. The slight crystalline detailing cut into the edge of the windows cast a gentle rainbow across the walls. Beautiful. As Veravetill always was. Then just as predictably was Father Mericer’s blocky, looming form standing there. His black cassock absorbed the light of the hallway, and beads of sweat slid down his face. 

Clarice then reached for Ed’s forearm, her fingers gently gripping the fabric of his sleeve. The reach was instinctive. Immediate.  She hadn’t even realized she was doing it until Mercier’s eyes snapped to the touch. 

He hated that Clarice was reaching for him. He hated how Ed stood behind her and how he carried her belongings in one hand. Her belongings that would not inhabit her bedroom for however long. He especially hated how Ed’s other hand hovered over her waist, like he was ready to grab her away should Mercier decide to pounce. 

“You two coming?” Lorraine’s voice carried from the bottom of the stairs. Ed looked down at his wife, who looked quizzically up at the pair. 

“Come on, Clarice,” Ed said softly, gently closing the distance from his hand and her waist. 

Clarice broke their eye contact, her face turning from Mercier to Lorraine. She blinked.

Together, they carefully descended the stairs, Ed’s hand warm against her waist. It steadied her. Clarice’s free hand held the railing as they went step by step. Her eyes followed both of their feet as she exhaled a slow breath out.

After a moment, Mercier hobbled toward the staircase and peered downward; it was vacant. He then, with such a ferocious haste that he nearly stumbled against the doorframe, moved toward her open door. He looked across the room to the open window. The thousands of particles that were her would surely be completely lost if he didn’t shut it. The dust that formed from her skin, the clusters of atoms that formed the molecules of her perfume. He saw a piece of her floating hair, coiled and precious, in the light shining from the window.  He then decided this would absolutely not do. 

He rushed to the window and, with a haggard and strained breath, slammed it down. 

-

Clarice and Ed steadily stepped down the stairs to the Chapel entrance. Ed's hand was now on the small of Clarice's back, gently ushering her to the car. Having seen Mercier, Ed felt incredibly uncomfortable. He felt he needed to quickly help this woman into the car and drive her away from that man. Just as they reached the last step, Clarice paused. Her hand returned to his forearm. Ed immediately stilled and looked down at her. "What? You alright?" She looked puzzled. Her eyebrows drew together in thought as her red fingernails drummed against Ed's sleeve. Her mouth formed a small O before she spoke. "Honey… you asked me what my favorite Elvis song was. I don't think I answered you." Ed breathed out and glanced up to her bedroom window, and immediately his eyes fixed. Mercier stood. His light blue eyes caught an incredible amount of sun; from here, they looked like he had no pupil, and resembled white marbles. Although he couldn’t see a specific viewpath, Ed could see how Mercier's body was leaning to view what was below him. Clarice. 

“It’s Love Me, honey,” Clarice said softly, drawing his attention back to her. “My favorite Elvis song is Love Me.” 

-

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Four: And My Kingdom is as Great (Title comes from The Labyrinth. It's Sarah's line to Jareth right before she says, "You have no power over me." )

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorriane warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: Religious trauma, boundary violations, emotional confrontation, manipulation/grooming, mentions of very graphic depictions of death, discussion and depictions of demonic possession

-

- For My Will is as Strong as Yours

And My Kingdom is as Great -

-

Clarice Chenn knocked on the door to Father Thomas Mericer’s bedchambers as the moonlight pooled around her.

There was an echoey silence where the only sound heard was her knocks reverberating down the long hallway. Then, so slowly, the door opened. It was like he knew Clarice was behind it and that he was savoring the fact that she was here. When he opened it enough to see her there, staring up at him, he breathed out. It was a quavering exhale. He was excited and alive at the sight of her. 

In this light Clarice thought he looked ugly. The dim light emitting from the room behind him shadowed his face in a very unflattering way. It made the hundreds of creases on his face and skin look gaunt and dramatic. His white tufts of hair were slick to his face, and so too was the cotton of his nightclothes. Clarice knew this was because he sweats in his sleep. She felt a hideous squirming in her stomach at the thought of knowing such a personal thing about him. 

To him, Clarice looked beautiful. Her skin had always been his favorite thing about her. It was soft, and tonight it was lightly illuminated by the moon. As he looked down at her, he allowed himself to imagine that it was warm and flushed. 

She whispered his name. Her voice was a soft and wispy thing. His lower stomach lurched at the sound of it. 

His hands reached to touch her cheeks, cradling her face in his hands. He lightly shushed her as she almost flinched back. He immensely enjoyed the feeling of her here again. The feeling of her lovely skin in his palm and her needing his guidance. 

“Did you have another dream, Clarice?” 

“Let me inside, Father.” she said, her eyebrows drawn together in a false helplessness. 

She took his hands slowly from her face as he moved aside, allowing her entry to his chambers. 

He moved behind her, shutting the door and then sitting on his bed. They followed the usual routine of these nights of retelling. Clarice knelt on the floor in front of him, in the position of vulnerability and confession. 

“What did you dream of? You are doing well in not letting it affect you tonight. I see no tears." He motioned to her face.

There was an awkward pause. There was a part of him that was still infuriated with her. She cried to two other people about her secret and now they have come to save her from him. He was sure she told the Warrens all about him. Now they must think he is some sinister overbearing old man who kept her all to himself. To look down at her face and remember this made him have a furious urge to strike her. 

His fingers twitched but his hand didn’t raise. Hitting her would cause her to leave. To cry. He hated her rebellion, but he’d hate even worse to see tears on her face knowing he was the cause. Also, beyond any feeling of hate, he missed her. His next words edged towards a whine. 

"You never needed them, Clarice. You and I fit together. Look, you’re doing better tonight. My guidance is working.” 

Clarice felt a strange twinge at him acting as if the conversation in the confessional didn’t occur. He was pretending as if she hadn’t told him that she did not hold anything sinister. It was almost as if he were returning to the routine of their days before the confessional. Like he was willing to forget all sense to relive the connection they once held. 

“Father, I did not have another dream.” Clarice said. She looked up at him, her brown eyes watching and controlled. His eyes slightly flickered. Never before had he seen something so direct in her. 

“I was prepping the library for my absence—for when I leave with the Warrens,” she clarified, adding a slight emphasis on their name, "—and in doing that I decided to organize our files for the various cases our church has worked. And I came across three cases that I paused on. Do you know why I might have done that?” There was a slight inclination of her tone, making the end of the question sound open and easy. 

He didn’t say anything but shook his head, his jowls wobbling. His eyes were lowered and focused on her face intently, trying to figure out what she was talking about. 

“No? Okay, well, its case numbers are 42393, 60744, and 43227." The numbers sounded almost robotic as she recited them. She nodded at the dawning look of realization on his ugly face. 

“Ohhh. Yes.” She lightly mocked, her voice still soft, “Do you remember now, Father? All three cases of exorcisms you performed. At first nothing about them seemed at all familiar to me until I had a strange urge to read through them.” 

She stood from her spot and began to pace slowly in the small space, making him feel as cornered as he has made her feel these past few weeks. She began reciting from memory what she had read, “Case 42393. Leading priest, Father Thomas Mercier. Assisted by two. Permission granted by Bishop Stanley Arden. Patient, Male, Oliver Richardson, age 12. Patients' parents sought out the church after child had killed and disemboweled a horse in their stable, and upon parents finding him, he had begun consuming it.”

Clarice paused, looking at Mercier. “And two weeks before that I was on my knees in this room confessing that exact dream to you. I told you how I had felt my intestines being clawed out of my body.” 

"Clarice—" he began. She cut him off and focused again on reciting from memory. 

“Case 60744. Leading priest, Father Thomas Mercier. Assisted by four. Permission granted by Bishop Stanley Arden. Female patient, Susanna Moore, age 38. Patient was previously admitted into Raiden Manor, an institution for the criminally insane, for the torture and murder of her three children. Veravetill Chapel received her after the staff of Raiden Manor found her contorting and twitching in the air. Father Mercier?” She asked, pretending she couldn’t remember, "What was I doing seven days before we received her?” 

Mercier looked up at her. “I… You were—" 

She cut him off again very quickly. “I was in this room, telling you in vivid detail how I felt murdering children that my dream convinced me were mine. How I heard them plead for their young lives. Then, my dream showed me how Susanna felt when her body was being twisted and manipulated. I felt every single limb twist back and break.” 

She didn’t allow him to speak before she began talking again. 

“Case 43227. Now, this case was actually the first of these three cases to occur, but I left it for last. Leading priest, Father Thomas Mercier. Assisted by one. Interestingly, there were some special words left by Bishop Stanley Arden on this case file, mentioning that he gave you special permission to head this case because you provided specific information that… hm—" she hummed like this was the most interesting thing in the whole world, “—came to you in a dream.” 

She stopped in front of him and looked down. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face. She could smell the odor emanating from his body. Vinegar and something metallic. 

"Clarice Chenn. Listen to me—” 

“Where was I thirteen days before a Johnathan Abigail, aged 24, came into our church and spontaneously combusted into flames during his exorcism? I was in a fetal position on this floor sobbing as you made me retell my dream four different times. Each time I felt as if I were vividly reliving it over and over again. I was telling you how I dreamt I was in my church and how I suddenly felt a fire consume my whole body. You know how bad my dreams affected me. You knew how I felt the pain. But you made me retell it so you could write every detail down and tell our bishop that you dreamt it all. So that they would think that you’re oh—such a prophet.”

“Clarice,” he breathed, "I–I really tried to help you.”

Clarice breathed out. A slow, uneven breath. Her eyebrows laced together. “You told me I couldn’t tell anyone about my dreams because then they’d start to piece together that I was actually the one that had them.”

She looked down at him, and she looked so incredibly sad. Her voice deepened with emotion, “You told me my dreams were a danger to the church, and you isolated me from the people I love most in this world. Father Mercier, you put up crosses in my room to repel a demon that you’ve always known doesn’t exist." Her voice bordered on a sob. “How did any of that possibly help me?” 

He just looked up at her. Clarice’s face was a mess of moonlight and tears. Somewhere in the melancholy of this woman he found something that made him slightly afraid. 

“I came in here every time I had a dream. You prayed over me all night long. You—" she gasped, like her lungs refused her breath. “You used prayer as an excuse to get close to my body. The most sacred form of communication, and you used it. You used me.”

Still, he just looked up at her. Clarice hated the look of him. Just hunched awkwardly on his too-low twin bed. His hands were folded in the middle of his open knees. She almost couldn’t believe that she had ever believed he was an example of power. Now, framed in the dim candlelight, he looked like she had just cracked the outer shell of him, and she was now left with the oozing center made of melting flesh and veins. Ugly and rotting. She just couldn’t handle it anymore. 

"JUST SAY SOMETHING!” She screamed. It was a guttural and painful scream. He flinched away from her, and she recoiled into herself, holding herself and covering her mouth. She let out a small sob as she looked at him. 

His body tensed. He was suddenly aware of her in a different way. Clarcie noticed he almost readied himself against her, like she was about to attack him. 

There was a cautious moment before he whispered, "Darling, I…” 

Clarice cringed away from the word. Her bodily reaction was as if someone had hit her. She felt pulsing waves of disgust in her stomach. Acid rose in her throat.

“My sweet darling,” he breathed, “I'm very sorry.” 

Clarice’s breathing quickened. She was beginning to sweat in this enclosed room. His words were beginning to spread shame and filth up her chest like some vile rash. What she needed was to vomit and then run outside to let the moonlight kiss her skin. 

“I have no love in my heart for you, Thomas Mericer. You are a disgusting man," Clarice said. She knew, standing over him with a face full of tears, that she did not look as determined as she assured herself she would be coming here tonight. She inhaled a quick and unnatural breath before continuing. 

 "I hate you for what you did. However, I will not carry that hate my whole life. I will not allow you to be carried with me for so long. “

“Clarice please-”

“One day I will forgive you. But you will not know that day. In fact, you will not know me a day beyond this.” 

His hands formed in the middle of his chest; a pleading prayer. 

Clarice ignored Mercier saying her name as she pulled open his bedroom door. Again, she ignored his hoarse calling as she hurried down the hallway. She saw the light pouring from his room and his shadow looking after her figure. She ran. 

She burst through the doors that led to the church garden. She pushed out harsh breaths. She cried. She hiccuped. She watched the moon. 

Clarice Chenn was a woman who was prone to dreams. Dreams, which were a divine gift that belonged to her. Only her. 

And now as she cried into the lush earth of this garden, another truth beat in unison with her heart: that also hers, was her mind, her body. Her heart and soul. And oh my, what a gorgeous truth that was. 

-

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Three: And All The Fears You Hold So Dear ᨳଓ (Chapter title is from the song Duvet by Bôa)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorriane warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: religious manipulation, phycological manipulation/grooming

A/N: The day I wrote this I went to Daiso to buy an orange pen to write notes for this fic in my notebook (a glittery Strawberry Shortcake diary btw) and while in the store I made a point to tell my friend that I was buying "an orange pen for my Clarice Chenn" and I thought I was just being so clever.

Clarice stood on the wooden ladder attached to one of the large bookcases in her library. She developed a rhythm of leaning over to get a book from the cart next to her, skimming the authors on the bookshelf, and then slotting the book in her hand into the correct place. 

She knew it was not technically her library, but she liked to call it hers. Veravetill had its beauties, but the library was one of the church's largest jewels. It was structured by tall, dark green bookcases made of cherry wood and glinting gold accents. It was all very pretty and old. Pages of holy history lined every shelf, and golden dust motes floated in slivers of sun. The whole library felt so her. It was a physical piece of earth that she felt stood as a personification of herself. It was her haven. The small piece of church was not inhabited by him. 

Until recently. To her immense frustration, she noticed Father Mercier frequented her library more often than ever. Not to directly engage, just to hover and watch her. He would pace outside the library entrance when she was sitting at the greeting desk. She hated this specifically because the view from her spot at the greeting desk was one of her favorite sights in the church. 

The doors to the library were grand. Some holy scene was colored red, dark blue, and green on the stained glass window of the door. The candle sconces on the sides of the door flickered perfectly symmetrically to the architecture. Beyond that, she could see the glass light fixture just outside of the library dangling and gently clinking. And oh my, do not get Clarice started on this scene in the setting sun. The golden light would shine through the stained glass and paint a beautiful mirage of deep color and God onto the old wooden floor. 

But then, the scene would be interrupted by a deep shadow. Mercier’s thick form disrupted the light rays. He left an ugly moving black mass across the painting of light. 

She wanted to get up and rush to the door. She wanted to quickly close the doors and tell him he was not welcome in her library. She wanted to tell him to please grant her the safety of this space because he has already taken every inch of her church. He has even taken her room, where his crosses are scattered across the wall. His prayers and instructions were so present everywhere that it feels as if you breathe them in every time you gasp for breath. 

Today, thankfully, she hadn’t seen him at all on her way to the library.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, which was not a very busy time for this library. Father Mericer did not usually come until the later afternoon after his duties were completed. Still, very often she would look toward the library entrance as a reflex. Each time bracing to see his eyes wide and staring.

She stepped down from the ladder to put a book on a lower shelf and then began to push the cart toward the authors whose last names started with R. The cart wheels gave an uneven creak as she slowly pushed it to the opposite side of the library. Instinctually, her head lifted to the library entrance. Empty, as they were the last few times she checked. Still, she felt a small release.

A friend who worked in the library with her approached Clarice with an armful of books and asked what section a specific book went in. Clarice pointed toward the section and told her friend to look for the gold lettering that said Histories. Again, very quickly her eyes flicked to the entryway. She was safe. 

She slotted a book into a section they had for an author whose last name was Romanio. Then Reyes. She glanced at the door. Raines. Raalands. Reed. Rice. She glanced again and her stomach dropped. She saw the forms of people entering the doors. A stinging fear flooded her body. Not because he was one of those figures, but because she was so expectant that he was going to be. 

But her heart jumped as she recognized the faces. She felt an immediate and satisfying release. 

She gasped an excited, “Oh!” as she saw Ed and Lorraine Warren paused at the entrance, looking around. Here, Clarice appreciated how correct their presence felt in the library. It felt like they belonged exactly as they stood. Something within her swirled. 

She paused before rushing at them like she wanted to. After all, they might not be here for her specifically. She gently slotted the book in her hand in its place and then slowly made her way over to the pair. 

When the couple saw her, Ed smiled and waved her toward them. 

“Clarice!” Lorraine said and pulled her in for a gentle hug. She hugged her like she had missed her the whole time they had been apart. Ed patted her back as Lorraine embraced her. 

“Hi, you two.” Clarice said, smiling into Lorraine’s hair. She enjoyed the smell of it, a pretty blend of shampoo and calla lily. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Clarice.” Ed said warmly. 

“What a lovely surpri–” Clarice began, but her words were immediately cut off. 

The voice was not of Ed or Lorraine.

"Clarice." 

Immediately Clarice ripped herself out of Lorraine's arms and almost stumbled back. Lorraine steadied her, keeping a hand onto her lower forearm as Clarice quickly said, “Father Mercier.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Warren.” Father Mercier nodded, acknowledging the two. “I didn’t know that you would have visitors today, Clarice.” 

Mercier looked to Clarice, but Ed answered before his gaze could affect her. 

“She wasn’t expecting us," Ed said, looking at Father Mercier. His eyes lowered and stern, squinting slightly. 

“What do you need with her?” Father Mercier asked, looking at Ed, trying to match his gaze. Something about the fact that Father Mericer had to extend his neck to look up at Ed felt satisfying to Clarice. 

“There is a family who has asked for our help.” Ed explained, nodding toward Clarice, "We are here to ask Clarice to join us on this case.”

“Really?” Clarice piqued, her hands clasping to her chest excitedly. Lorraine smiled at her. 

“Some of the insight you shared during our last conversation matches up with what the mother of this family has told us,” Ed said, looking at her. 

“Her name is Carolyn Perron, Clarice," Lorraine said, looking down at her. “That was the name you told me you heard in your dream. She also has five daughters. As soon as she introduced herself and told us about her family, Ed and I thought only of you.”

“The insight she provided, it was a dream?” Mercier interjected, amused. His tone implied that he did not take the dream seriously and he clearly didn’t think they should either. 

Clarice found the way he was handling her dreams in this conversation very strange. He acted oh so amused now, but he’d mutter and furiously write as she retold the dreams to him. They didn’t seem very silly and ridiculous to him then. 

She unconsciously leaned closer to Lorraine. While she found his performance odd, she also felt uncomfortable about him openly talking of her dream after immense pressure to keep it quiet. 

“Yes.” Ed said, clearly catching Father Mercier’s attempt to diminish Clarice, “And we both think her assistance on this case will be invaluable. There is more to discuss, Clarice, but since the Perrons are technically our clients now, the details need to be talked about privately.” 

“She is under my authority.” Mercier said, all amusement gone, “If she is to be leaving, that is something I need to know about. Where is this case? And for how long will she be gone?” 

“The case is in Long Island.” Lorraine said, more to Clarice than Mercier. 

"Oh…" Clarice said, slightly unsure. Never before had she gone to a different state. The thought made her nervous. 

“It’s Connecticut's neighbor.” Ed reassured, waving a hand, “It’s only two hours away from our house and four from your church.”

“Normally we might spend nights with the family we are helping or in a hotel nearby,” Lorraine explained, “but Ed and I would love to welcome you to stay with us at our house when we are still investigating but not at the scene. Just because your church is quite a drive—" 

“This sounds like it might take a lot of time.” Father Mercier interrupted, "I do not believe that Clarice leaving her obligations to this church would be very appropriate, especially for that amount of time. Plus, Clarice has not traveled far from Veravetill Chapel, let alone another state. I just don’t think I can allow it.” 

Lorraine looked at Father Mercier with an exasperated expression. She turned her attention to Clarice and put her hand on the small of her back.

"Well, Clarice, it is your choice. We aren’t due at the Perron household until Friday afternoon, so you have a little while to decide.” 

Clarice looked at Mercier, whose eyes were slightly wide as he looked back at her. His eyebrows were raised.  

One of Clarice’s eyebrows flicked upward before she answered, looking to the Warrens. “I’ll assist you two. I would love to do so.”

“You’ll leave your duty to this church?” Mercier asked before the Warrens could react. His gaze was tight and controlled. 

“Mariana will cover my time.” Clarice said, “It’s only a few hours three times a week, and she and I were just talking about how she wanted to work more hours in the library. It’s actually quite perfect.”

“Then it’s settled.” Ed said, clapping his hands together once. 

There was a moment where they all just stood. Clarice looked from the Warrens to Mercier, who was seemingly trying to find something to say. He began to say something but was interrupted. 

Lorraine looped her arm through Clarice’s and pulled her just a little closer toward herself. She then looked to Father Mercier, playing in the victory of Clarice's choice, “We’ll take very good care of her.” 

Father Mercier did not look at all pleased. Realizing he could no longer sway Clarice, he nodded curtly and in a clipped voice excused himself.

“Have a blessed day, Father," Ed said after him. He shook his head as he turned his attention back to Lorraine and Clarice.

For a tense moment they sat in his absence. Clarice wondered if she should say something, maybe apologize for the uncomfortable conversation. She rubbed her upper forearm. 

Lorraine observed Clarice’s anxious face. Looking down at her from this angle, she noticed the curve of her nose and her eyelashes. Both details, Lorraine decided, were charming and kissable. To decide such things of Clarice’s face surprised her. 

She leaned in. Her voice was low and gentle. “Your library is beautiful.” 

All three of them looked around. Clarice admired the library again, now imagining through the eyes of the Warrens. 

“It’s just breathtaking. Isn’t it Ed?”

Ed took another full look around the library, his hands resting on his hips. 

“It really is.” His eyes went full circle, then landed on Clarice. “It suits you.” 

Her head tilted to the side, and she smiled, “Thank you for noticing.” 

-

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter Two: I Look to You and I See Nothing 𓏲ּ𝄢 (Chapter title is from Fade Into You by Mazzy Star)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: religious manipulation, phycological manipulation/grooming, boundary violations, spiritual abuse

Clarice felt watched as she walked up the path to the Chapel of Veravetill. She knew the eyes of a paranormal entity, she knew the feeling that accompanied it, and she could tell this feeling was neither of those things. She could also tell that this feeling was irrational. Because, she thought logically, could Father Mercier really be everywhere at once? Could his eyes have been watching her conversations with the Warrens? No. Could his eyes have been watching her walking up this very path? Maybe, but most likely not. 

Walking into the entry hall of her church, she felt like she could vomit. 

Outwardly, telling someone about a dream doesn’t seem like a sinful act. But inwardly? The guilt was almost all-consuming.

The sun was setting as she walked the halls. Tall windows lit and shadowed golden along the path, along the faces of painted saints whose eyes Clarice was trying to avoid. The light was a very small and gorgeous beauty. One that was missed by Clarice as she moved faster and faster down the hall. 

Again, she recognized that something about this feeling was irrational. Some fear in her mind was manipulating the situation to make it feel more intense. She could try to fight against it. She could stick up for herself and fight this horrible guilt with the logic that what she did was not a sin. She could fight it with the thought she’d pushed deep inside of her soul that told her the dreams were also not a sinful thing. But rather, as Lorraine said, a divine gift. But no, right now, the influence of Mercier felt too strong. She didn’t dare fight or challenge it. Instead, she decided she would allow herself just a small grace: the relief of forgiveness. 

She opened one of the grand doors to the nave, just enough to allow herself to slip through. Once inside, she moved quickly and silently down the side aisle. The light from the candles danced a flickering reflection on the polished pews. Another small beauty ignored. 

She opened the small wooden door to the confessional booth and slipped inside. Now, in the dim and shadowy space, finally, she allowed herself a small moment of rest.

The priest on the other side listened to her catch her breath. 

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The word "sinned" came out like a hush and lay heavy on her tongue. 

Clarice could see the shadow of the Father on the other side of the screen nod for her to continue. 

She looked down at her hands in her lap and hesitated. How to begin? The guilt and intensity of the feeling made the need for a release feel primal. But now that she sat on the cool wood inside of the confessional booth, she realized just how much she couldn't say. 

She couldn’t start with why she was nervous about divulging the dream. That she felt guilty because she and Father Mercier were supposed to keep this private together and she failed to do that. She wasn’t supposed to share intimate secrets with her priest, and if she told the person on the other side of this, they would have no choice but to question their connection. She couldn’t even begin speaking of what the secret entailed because then the person on the other side would know about Father Mercier’s worry that she held evil. 

All of it was too complicated, and there was too much at stake if she said the wrong thing. So she began with the Warrens and how going to them felt like an unfaithful turn on her church, leaving out the part about who exactly she felt unfaithful to. Gradually, and with leaving so much of the story out, it was almost incoherent; she explained that she shared a dream with them.

She chewed the skin of her thumb and waited for her father to answer her. 

The shadow spoke, “When was this dream?” 

Now, with the shadowed patterns of the lattice screen cast on her face and her truth laid bare, she realized that the man on the other side of the screen was Father Thomas Mercier. 

Her breath hitched. 

“Father Mercier—" She began, her voice laced with a plea. 

“Clarice.” 

There was silence. Clarice recognized that he was trying to make her sit with what she had done. Let the sin of defying him lie thick in the air between them. It was working, and Clarice hated that it was. Tears brimmed her eyes and clung to her lower lashes. 

“Why didn’t you come to me the night you had this dream? I have instructed you to come to my chambers so I can properly guide you.” His words left his mouth as a hiss. 

Clarice felt as though she couldn’t breathe. The truth was, she hated the nights she spent in his bedchambers. It was uncomfortably hot in that room. It smelled of something old and the smoke that emits from a wick after the flame is blown. His warm hands felt through her cotton nightgown as he touched her shoulders and the top of her head, whispering prayers all night.

“I have told you, if people find out you have this… affliction, they will remove you from this church. They will believe that you are filled with spirits sent from Satan, meant to mimic the divine.”

He spat the word Satan and it made Clarice flinch. 

“Am I not doing enough for you?” His voice became low, laced with false plea, “Clarice, please tell me what you wish me to do differently. Tell me what I can do to satisfy you.” 

“You’ve been very helpful, Father.” Clarice tried, "And I am grateful for it. Truly. It’s just—”

“Well, I must be doing something wrong. You and I built a trust. A special trust. And I have been trying so hard to help you…but still, you went to them.” 

“I… Father please—" 

Clarice saw his shadow lean close to the screen to observe her.

“And it looks as though you’ve made yourself all pretty for them too," he said, in an almost mocking tone. 

It made her suddenly self-conscious. She looked down at the dark orange plaid pattern of her dress and smoothed out the bottom, which lay flat at her knees. 

“I wanted to look formal. I can assure you it was not—" 

“I have seen Ed Warren around. Handsome guy, I suppose. I can see why you would want to get all dolled up—make an impression. Although, Clarice, I never took you for the girl to go after a married man.”

“I was not going after him.” Clarice said, aghast. She whispered the words, as if to try and hide the accusation from a listening saint. 

“You know how people view the Warrens, don’t you?" He spat, “People don’t regard them as credible, Clarice. They’re seen as kooks. Crazy. And you’ve just told them your darkest secret.” He scoffed, “My God, child.”

Clarice quickly looked to the lattice screen at the misuse of the Lord’s name. The hypocrisy of his usage settled oddly within her. 

“Father, they do the same thing our church does. They’ve helped people, just as we have. I thought because you didn’t want me to involve the church that they could—" 

He interrupted her again, “What we do is church sanctioned. It’s God's work. They go and bang on a few pipes and claim a haunting. You what? Thought that they could help you?” 

Clarice breathed out, “I thought I would consult them, Father. I thought they could give me advice on what I was experiencing and no one in our church would need to know.” 

“They do not know you as I do, Clarice Chenn. I have known you…carefully… for over two years. That creates something. Do you understand? The Warrens can not provide you with what I can.”

“I disagree, Father.” Clarice said lightly, “And after our conversation, I feel Lorraine and I ma—"

“That is another thing. What that woman claims to see…her abilities. They are not recognized by the church. Her visions and these dreams of yours… they are simply not under God.”

Clarice felt an uncomfortable echo to Lorraine's story of being scolded for talking of her abilities under the claim that they were ungodly. The parallel made her feel sick. Especially because she had been so quick to defend the idea that he wouldn’t say something like this. 

“You are good, child, but malleable. You are being taken advantage of by something demonic, and now you are allowing yourself to be taken advantage of by the Warrens. You’d think by now you would have actually learned something from all of this demon malarkey. Learned to stick up for yourself, perhaps. Learned to not allow people to walk all over you, but apparently not…” 

Clarice was quiet for a moment. She remembered how it felt to tell the Warrens about her dream. How it felt like she had held her hand open and blew the secret from her palm. The way the Warrens received it meant something to her.

She thought of Ed, who was so patient and gentle as she spoke of the nightmare, only allowing the conversation to continue if she was comfortable. She remembered how it felt when Lorraine grabbed her hand. To have someone touch her with the intention of comfort after recounting her horror was something that never occurred with Mercier. 

“They both listened to me.” Clarice said. “Lorraine held my hand.” 

“So you’ll just take everything they say as truth? Because Lorraine Warren played mommy?” 

Clarice closed her eyes and breathed out. 

“Not at all.” She said, "I took everything they said as truth because it was true. It always has been. They just helped me excavate that.” 

“And exactly what truth was that?”

Clarice hesitated. She fixed her voice to be still and assured.

“I do not have a demon, Mercier.”

There was a pause. Father Mercier went silent. Only rough breaths could be heard from the opposite side, like he was breathing through a quickened heartbeat. Clarice half expected to hear him slam open the door and exit the confessional. Even worse, she almost expected him to then walk over and open the door to her side. But after a moment more of rough breathing, he spoke. 

“You are lost, child.” He said, exasperated, like she was utterly hopeless. 

Clarice’s face tilted to the side. Almost like she was wondering, Really? Is that all?

“You’ll let these…frauds…define one of the biggest parts of your life? All because they tell you what you want to hear? Come back to the truth, Clarice. The real truth.”

When telling Mercier of her nightmares, he listened to her cry and forced her to retell the horror. He then convinced her he was lifting the sin from her skin with his hands. After telling Lorraine of her nightmare, she held Clarice’s face and kissed her on the cheek. She told Clarice the origin of her ability was beautiful and divine. 

“The truth is, Lorraine Warren told me my dreams were a gift from God.” 

He chuckled, like what she said was the most ridiculous thing. 

“God does not simply give away power. So to allow her to fill your head with delusions that your dreams are what? Some sort of divine ability? Please, Clarice, you are a smart woman. You know better than this.” 

“I believe her. Why would she lie to me? She does not know me. Lying to me would benefit her none.” 

“It’s because that’s what they do!" He shouted at her. For a moment they could only hear the echo of his scream reverberating off the walls of the nave. 

Lorraine's voice sounded like the ring of a little bell in Clarice’s mind just then: “The control over your dreams belongs to only you, Clarice.” 

She realized then that one of the stark differences between the Warrens and Mercier was that instead of taking advantage of her trust and abusing the power, the Warrens gently opened her hand and set the power back in her palm.

She remembered Lorraine’s tone. It was like this truth has always been and always will be. 

He watched her shadow as her hand went up to the confessional booth door.

“Clarice Chenn," he warned. 

She did not hesitate before saying, “That will be all, Father.” 

-

-

[clement1me]

Title: - Dear, Only - Chapter One: I See the Crystal Vision ۶ৎ (Chapter title is from the song Dreams by Fleetwood Mac)

༻ ☽ ⊱⋆ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆⊰ ☾ ༺

Pairing: ed warren x lorraine warren x fem!oc (clarice chenn)

Warnings: Religious trauma, psychological manipulation/grooming (non-physical), graphic nightmare imagery, body horror (burning/drowning/hanging), vomiting, discussion of possession, self-harming behavior (skin picking/biting), mention of grieving a baby

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is only meant to depict the fictional take of Ed and Lorraine Warren and happenings are based from the film. This fanfiction also depicts the Perron family. They are a real family and I am being careful to be gentle with that fact. Though this fic is based in the fictional universe, some real events from the haunting will be added.

Clarice Chenn was a woman prone to nightmares. Nightmares that would begin as a vast expanse of midnight, where suddenly she’d feel the entire size of the universe expanding and contracting beneath her eyelids. Then the dreams would roll into a vivid and vicious horror.

A lone farmhouse that was alive and breathing. Torn flesh and sinew. A tree with branches that created an archway, a cruel invitation to the mist and water that was beyond it. The water where, upon a cautious descent to the old wooden dock, she felt like she was suddenly thrashing beneath it. Her mouth tasted of salt and blood. 

Then there was a horrid twist, where in one moment her lungs filled with salty water and the next they were coated with soot. Every breath injected black smoke into her lung tissue. She felt the fat under her skin liquify and blisters spread across every surface of her body. Somewhere beyond the pain she could process that she was on fire but she could not see that fact because her eyeballs were no longer able to withstand the pressure of the heat. They had begun to leak fluid.

The dream would turn before death. She would see nothing except blur and light before she became aware of her body again, which was now laying hard against the planks of the dock. Her eyes squinted against the grey sky as she sucked the clean air into her lungs. 

Her nightmare grants her only a moment to recover before forcing her to stand. As she began to walk forward she felt the terrain change from wood to grass from beneath her feet. She was guided to stand directly underneath the arched branch.

After a moment she suddenly felt the soft earth vanish from under her feet. Her breath is taken from her again. She felt thick rope burning her neck, the end of it tied to the branch that was now bending from her weight. She tried to claw at the rope and pleaded for the earth to return to her feet. Her body flailed and the motion made the rope swing.

The twine of the rope gave away and her body hit the ground. She felt a splitting in her skull that was accompanied by an explosive flash of red.

Invisible hands force her face to look at the house. She tried to decipher the pulsating, throbbing rhythm that was emanating from the core of it. She glimpsed raw muscle, twitching. Red meat being torn apart

She tried to blink through the blood pooling in her eyes to view the scene that began to unfold in front of her. A family was driving to the farmhouse. She felt the heartbeat of the house quicken, her head thumping in eager unison. She felt it open its elongated jaw as the last little girl ran into the house, curls bouncing. Then its jaw snapped shut. 

The last thing she sees before her dream finally ends is blue eyes staring into hers. Eyes so blue and serene that even after the gore of her dream, the only two words that come to her mind are "Prairie Sky."

She’d awaken to the ceiling of her bedroom. The dream had occurred in such a quick succession that her head spun dangerously. She lurched over the side of her bed and covered her mouth. Her stomach contracted forcefully and she gagged against her hand. She then vomited through her fingers, the white chunks splattering onto the wooden floor. 

Sweat pooled, sour on her skin, and a tear fell down her face. Her puke was tangled in her hair. The air in the room felt thick and charged. She looked at the crosses scattered across her wall. The ones meant to rid her of the paranormal horror that was plaguing and controlling her dreams. 

She would whisper please to her God, whose symbols surrounded her, unresponsive. 

She would whisper please to the piece of hell that had its invisible fingers in her mind. In her soul.

She would whisper please to the universe. To the night sky. 

--

Clarice stood between a pair of mahogany double doors, chewing on the skin of the side of her thumb. This was a nervous habit she’d promised herself she’d break. Here, she promised it to herself again as she looked down at the small chunks of missing skin.

She turned slightly and looked behind herself, glancing up at the large embedded clock at the top of the archway she stood in front of. She counted the minute dashes.

The lecture would end in five minutes.

She looked down, a little unsure, at the pamphlet she held in one hand and reread 'Seekers of the Supernatural’ and, below that, ‘Presented by: Ed and Lorraine Warren.’

Clarice felt a wave of nausea flood her stomach at the thought of what she was about to do. Consulting help, especially concerning a religious matter, felt like she was being unfaithful to her church. To settle the nausea, she sat down on a bench that lined the hallway. Her heart palpitated as she decided to be truthful to herself. It was not that she felt a horrid disloyalty to her church, but more so about a specific person inside of it.

Her stomach twisted again. This time it was so intense that she was convinced he was there, gripping her organs and ripping her toward himself. Father Thomas Mercier.

She looked across the hallway and out of one of the tall windows. She remembered when she had asked if they could consult the higher church about her problem. She reasoned that maybe the church, which had loved her since childhood, might understand and provide help. He looked at her like he might slap her.

“Clarice Chenn, is my help not satisfying you? I have exhausted myself in trying to tend to your secret, and now you want to bring someone else in on this? Do you not trust me anymore, child?” And then he would scold her and talk about how tirelessly he has been working to try and rid her of this horror. All of the prayer, all of the blessings, and all of the private mini rituals.

But the truth remained. No, his rituals did not help. That in fact, in the two-year period in which these dreams began getting out of hand, his help has seemed to make it increasingly worse.

That’s why she was here. Clarice knew the Warrens had a growing reputation in small Catholic circles of Connecticut for helping people navigate the paranormal. She had heard of them while gossiping during a particularly boring mass and had never given them much thought beyond that. While her church delved into the paranormal, they had never worked with the Warrens. But her mind went to only them when Father Mercier had denied her.

She was yanked from her thoughts as the double doors to the lecture hall exploded open. University students poured out, talking animatedly about the lecture. She felt particularly hesitant as she heard one describe the Warrens as absurd and another call them ridiculous with an amused voice.

Despite that, Clarice stood. She twisted her features into something hard and determined. That wasn’t a false expression. Beyond the terror of disobeying Father Mercier, she was extremely resolute.

She quickly smoothed out her dress and twisted the amber gem on her ring to face forward. She noticed that she had again been chewing on the skin of her thumb. There was a bead of blood forming out of the tear of flesh.

“Damn it,” she whispered before sucking on the wound for a moment.

She then heard a passing student call the lecture enlightening and she breathed out.

Clarice gently pushed against the flow of students leaving the classroom as she went inside. Ed and Lorraine were at the end of the hall surrounded by a small group of students who had lingering questions about the lecture. Clarice walked the incline of the lecture hall and stopped about halfway to allow a patient space as the students finished their questions.

Here she observed Ed and Lorraine. She noticed the charming detail of Ed’s tie, which was the same pattern as the dark red plaid of the skirt Lorraine wore. She watched the gentle nods Ed gave to his students and the soft giggles Lorraine laughed when a student made a joke.

From within the group as Ed finished up with a student, Lorraine’s head suddenly lifted, her eyes meeting Clarice. The movement was like someone had called her name. Or as if some divine hand had lifted her head by the chin, guiding her to look at Clarice.

Clarice stared back, her brown eyes wide. It felt as if someone took her breath.

Prairie Sky. Those two words rang out in Clarice’s mind. The moment felt like an echo of a wind chime.

There was an extremely present feeling of déjà vu inside of Clarice. It wasn’t disembodying or scary like every other feeling that surrounded her dreams. Clarice expected it to be considering what else this dream entailed and what she was about to have to share. Instead, it felt like the swirling steam that arises from a cup of coffee. A warm and gentle comfort, as if something critical were falling into place.

Ed noticed his wife’s sudden interest and followed her eyes.

They both looked at Clarice Chenn, and Clarice Chenn looked at the both of them.

Outwardly she was a little strange, a little uncertain, but a feeling passed between the Warrens. A feeling that was fleeting but carried a deep importance.

The crowd around Ed and Lorraine began to thin, so Clarice made her way over to the pair. She stood and waited just a little longer for the last students to file out before clearing her throat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Warren?”

They, now with no surrounding students, could give her their full attention.

“Hello.” Lorraine smiled. “Do you have a question?”

“Yes. Well, I have something I want your opinion on. Do you both have a moment?” And before they could answer, she added, “It is extremely important.”

Lorraine looked to Ed.

“Sure.” Ed said, “We can all talk over here.” He motioned to a nearby table.

“Mr. and Mrs. Warren—" Clarice said again as they all took their seats.

“Oh, please,” Lorraine interrupted with a wave of her hand, "You can call us Ed and Lorraine.”

“Ed and Lorraine,” Clarice nodded once, looking between the two. “My name is Clarice Chenn.”

“Clarice.” Lorraine repeated, a small hum lacing the end of the name, like she was looking through the cosmos to find where that name sounded familiar.

“I help manage the library at the Chapel of Veravetill. You may have heard of it. Our church has handled some of the more extreme cases of demonic possession in Connecticut."

Lorraine looked at Ed and nodded.

“We are familiar with Veravetill. Beautiful church.”

“Oh, good.” Clarice replied and then added, “Um, thank you.”

"Well, Clarice, what can we do for you?” Ed said, a light smile on his face and his hands on top of the table. Clarice didn’t feel as though he were being impatient, but something in his body language politely suggested that he had an afternoon to be getting to.

Clarice cleared her throat before speaking. She tried to sound sure and clear.

"I am being possessed by a demon.”

Her tone came out practiced rather than assured. It was like she was reciting something told to her. She realized this and shifted in her seat, self-consciously straightening her back.

At her words, the Warrens blinked in surprise. They observed her. Her legs were elegantly resting to the side, and hands were tightly folded in her lap. Not a single curl on her head was out of place, each one swooping down her back with perfect charm. They specifically noticed a golden cross resting from a chain in between her collarbones. A shining vessel of God that sat against the skin she claims houses the demonic.

Ed cleared his throat. “A demon? Okay, um, well… explain it to us.”

“I think it may… have attached itself to me through my dreams,” she said. “I have always had dreams—well, we all dream—but I’ve always felt mine are different from others."

“How so?” Lorraine asked with a gentle interest.

Clarice hesitated, thinking of an example that would make sense to them. “They started off normal. As a little girl, I would have a dream of some scene. Then the next day I would pick up a book I've never read, and I’d read the very same scene from my dream. Or, once I glimpsed my friend Tommy Feller in a dream. Then I saw gold lettering that said, “But anytime you’d like, you can heal in his presence." Those letters border the entrance to the church hospital wing. The next day Tommy Feller flung himself off of a tire swing and broke his arm.”

“Prophetic dreams?” Lorraine said, awe lacing her voice, “That sounds like a wonderful ability, Clarice.”

"Yes, well, rather suddenly, my ability began to get… intense. About two years ago my dreams became so violent. And the feeling of it was more vivid, like I was living through it. I would wake up covered in blood because my nightmares began causing nosebleeds. I was worried. It didn’t feel normal, so I consulted my priest.”

Lorraine nodded, watching her carefully. “And what did he tell you?”

Clarice felt like she could feel him. His wrinkled hand lifting her chin, guiding her to meet his eyes. His lips forming the words, demonic, malleable, possession, malevolent. And then his voice was soothing, shushing her worries, his thumb brushing her cheek. Let us hold this together privately, my child.

She shivered, cringing lightly at the remembered touch. She then looked at the Warrens, who watched her with polite patience. She hesitated for a moment more before beginning.

“He told me that it was demonic. And he works with the possession cases our church receives, so I trusted his opinion. " Clarice hesitated, her thin eyebrows drawn together. “But he told me that this was something that needed to remain private between him and I because I posed an extreme threat to my church. He said he didn’t want to see me removed if the higher church found out, so he told me he’d heal me. I trusted him, so I listened. I did what he suggested.”

“What methods did he try to remedy this?” Ed asked.

Clarice went suddenly quiet. She was very carefully choosing her next words: “Guided prayer, mostly. We hung crosses above my headboard, and he would, um… come in and bless my room. He'd always ask me to retell the dreams in detail, and then he would write them down.”

"Do you know why he would write them down?” Lorraine interjected, a hint of confusion in her voice.

Clarice shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured maybe to log them and then study them.”

“Clarice, how often does he bless your room?” Ed asked her, his eyebrows furrowed.

Clarice looked between the two. “Often.”

“Every month? Week?” Ed asked.

“Maybe every three days?” Clarice offered. She watched the Warrens share a look.

“Okay. "Wow," Ed said. Something uncomfortable stirred in him. A priest entering a room that belonged to a woman from his flock was not allowed. Not unless someone else was present.

“I suppose—" Ed paused. "Would you be able to tell us what happened in one of your dreams? That way we can determine if your dreams actually have a demonic presence.”

“I know this may be hard for you,” Lorraine added. “But anything you remember will be helpful. There are specific things that a demon will do to affect a living person through dreams, and we can see if this matches up.”

Clarice swallowed and looked down. She remembered absolutely every moment of it. Even now she could feel every moment.

“The house was hard to see in my dream. Everything was so grey, and the fog was so thick. There was a farmhouse… and something was beating inside of it. Um, there was a tree that had a very large branch, and it twisted over like an arch,” she mimed the tree arch with her hands. “There was a water bank beyond it.”

Ed interrupted, “From what you could see of the house, did it look at all familiar to you?”

“Not at all. But my dreams aren’t really about visuals. It’s more about the feeling and the emotions. I mean, I see things, but I feel it more. Sometimes I feel what the attacker feels; sometimes I feel the victim. I didn't feel anything familiar about the house.”

“What else did you feel?” Lorraine asked.

Clarice’s words were beginning to slow, as if she were flitting between this moment and reliving the horrors. It was clear to the Warrens that she was as much with them as she was back in her dream.

“The water… I, uh, I felt like I was drowning. I only felt that for a moment before… um—"

Clarice’s thumb went to her mouth, her eyebrows drawn together as she tore a piece of skin off with her teeth.

“I suddenly felt like I was being burned alive. And well, I’ve had dreams like that before, but um… I- I think whoever was being killed… the energy felt young. Too young to understand what was happening. I think it may have been a small child or an infant.”

Clarice placed her hands on the table. Her eyes were wide and far off for a moment. When she looked at the Warrens again, Lorraine’s head was lowered, her lovely eyes acting as a gentle invitation back to the present moment. Here Lorraine noticed the corners of Clarice’s mouth slightly turned down like she was trying to compose her features. She had an instinctive urge to kiss Clarice lightly on the cheek or move to the opposite side of the table to hold her.

“I’ve been hurt many times before in my dreams, and I have felt that physical pain for days afterward. But this was nothing like I had experienced before. For days after, I felt such a loss. I don’t know. I can’t really explain it. It was like I lost a child. I think it was because I felt the loss of its life. It was so violent and painful, and all I wanted to do was hold the baby.”

Ed’s posture shifted. He leaned forward just slightly. His eyes were gentle and watching as she spoke.

Clarice took a breath and felt a sting in her throat. After the dream, one of the only comforts was to imagine herself rocking the baby, to lull it to sleep by brushing the ends of her hair lightly against its face, to count its eyelashes as it slept. She sat in the rocking chair that was in the church gardens for four days after this dream. To be anywhere else felt wrong.

Lorraine gently reached over and grabbed Clarice’s hand. She fit her hand into the groove of Clarice’s palm and loosely interlaced her fingers with Clarice’s. It was like a puzzle piece fitting into place.

"The dreams stay with me, you know? But it’s normally all physical, not emotional.”

“Physical how?” Ed asked, his voice gentle. His eyes lowered to hers, trying to determine if she was okay to answer.

“Normally it’s not that bad, I suppose. After the dream about Tommy, I felt a tingling in my arm the whole next day. For the more intense dreams I might have a nosebleed for two days afterward, so I’ll feel faint. But for this most recent dream, I was hanging from the twisted branch by a noose. I was dropped from the tree and hit my head on the ground. Then I had a headache for six days afterward. Does that happen with demonic possession? Can demons do that to you?"

“Well, um," Ed began carefully, "sometimes. It could be an indication. What else—if you feel comfortable—happened in the dream? Anything?”

Clarice nodded and breathed in, reorienting herself before continuing, “I saw a family moving into the house. A mother, father, and their daughters. I think, um—I think I counted five daughters.”

“Did they feel familiar to you?” Ed asked. “Did they say anything?”

“They didn’t feel familiar—I mean, I don’t know them—but I heard the father call out to his wife. He called her Carolyn.”

“Carolyn. Okay.” Ed nodded, making a mental note. “Did anything else happen?”

Clarice’s eyes flicked to Lorraine’s. Her eyes that were as blue as a prairie sky. The ones that felt like a gentle, reassuring kiss on the forehead after her nightmare. Lorraine’s head tilted, waiting for her answer. To explain that she saw Lorraine’s eyes in her dream almost felt too intimate for the moment.

She shook her head lightly. “Nothing else happened.”

There was a quiet moment. Ed looked to Lorraine, giving each other a look that seemingly held their verdict of whether Clarice held evil or not. Clarice’s hand slipped out of Lorraine's, and her thumb went to her mouth as she waited.

Ed cleared his throat.

"Well, to be honest with you, Clarice, what you’ve described to us… it doesn’t match up with our experiences with demonic possession. The dream doesn’t fit what we have seen with demonic cases. Also, I can’t imagine a demonic presence being able to survive in a room that is as heavily protected as yours. I mean, our occult museum doesn’t even get blessed as often as your room does."

“No, but—" Clarice hesitated, thinking for a moment. “Father Mercier told me that my ability to dream so vividly was a vulnerability. He said that the demon has attached itself to me through that weakness. What if it’s already inside of me and got there through my dreams? It wouldn’t reside in my room. It would reside in me.”

“Darling, the cross adorns you," Lorraine gently interjected.

Clarice’s hand went to her necklace. Her fingertip traced the little golden cross.

Lorraine’s features were soft as she spoke. “Abilities like ours are vulnerable things. They are susceptible to manipulation if you don’t have control over them. All of this extra prayer, the crosses in your room, and the constant blessing may be making your dreams worse. It may be taking away the power you have over your dreams.”

Her voice was gentle, so gentle, as she leaned in closer.

“Sweetheart, I discovered my abilities when I was young. I knew, like you, that something was different. I knew that I viewed the world differently than other people.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I grew up in a Catholic school. When I began to talk about the auras I saw around people and my ability to see things in the future, I was told not to speak of those things by the nuns who taught me. They told me it wasn’t proper... that it was ungodly. This priest of yours, he—"

Clarice saw where Lorraine was going with this and felt immediately defensive. It was almost instinctive for Clarice to defend Father Mercier, although as soon as she did, she couldn’t explain to herself why.

“He’s trying to help me. He told me he was.”

Lorraine’s voice was immediate and soft. Clarice looked away from her, disliking the fact that she was being handled like some sort of fragile thing. When she walked in here, she chose to be decided and strong.

"I know. What I’m saying is that he may not understand it. You gave the control to your priest; you trusted him with it. But he may be unintentionally mishandling it. He may be mislabeling it as a demon because that’s what he thinks it is.”

“But it’s not like my other dreams.” Clarice said, “These ones are not prophetic. They are scary. They frighten me.”

She realized that her words came out childish, and she mentally scolded herself for it. But neither Warren seemed to think her fear was childish.

“They may still be real.” Lorraine offered, “When you were younger, you said you dreamt of things, and then you’d find them later. Like in your books. They didn’t become real because you found them. They were already there. It’s possible that these dreams are happening in real life and are just unseen by you.”

Clarice looked down at her hands. After a moment she breathed out, "So it’s not a demon?”

“Clarice,” Lorraine said softly, "in my opinion, this ability of yours… it sounds like a gift from God.”

Clarice felt as if her breath were taken from her.

“A gift from God.” Clarice repeated. There was a lift at the end of her voice. It was almost a question, but somehow at the same time it was like she was repeating something she already knew. She felt something in her soul stir. She felt it swirl.

Lorraine nodded. “God may be trusting you with a heavier vision. He may be giving you this ability to see hard things because he knows you are strong enough to handle it. The control over your dreams belongs to only you, Clarice. And once you begin to regain your power, you will have the ability to control how much you feel when inside a dream. Think about it, darling. Your priest having you retell each dream to him in detail? That will force you to live the dream even more vividly the next time."

Lorraine said this all like it was the simplest and easiest truth in the whole world. It was like this truth has always been and always will be.

Clarice looked between the Warrens again. She had the urge to ask them what to do next. She wanted guidance on what to do when she returned to Veravetill Chapel with this newfound truth and how to present it to Mercier. But, really, how could they possibly help her with that?

“Thank you both.” She nodded. The formality in her voice was almost ridiculous after how emotional this conversation turned out to be. “And thank you for your time.” She added.

“Of course.” Ed smiled as the group began to rise from their seats.

“Um, well-” Clarice began awkwardly. “I should go. Um, thank you again.”

She reached toward Ed, her hand extended. Ed reached forward and shook her hand. He covered her other hand for a moment with his free hand.

“If you ever need us, Clarice, just reach out.” He nodded. Clarice found something stern, almost unsettled in his features. It was almost like he wasn’t completely comfortable with letting her walk away.

“I will.” Clarice assured him.

She moved her hand toward Lorraine and was met with an amused smile.

Lorraine’s next movement was almost a little awkward. There was a slight hesitancy before maneuvering herself around the table. Clarice stood still and watched as Lorraine approached her, slightly unsure.

But the moment next occurred like it was the most natural thing. Like it was scripted by the universe long before they met.

Lorraine lifted her hands to Clarice’s face and lightly brushed her fingertips up Clarice’s cheeks. She gave a small floaty laugh, like Clarice was something gentle and impossible. Clarice’s hands lifted to Lorraine’s arms, holding them as Lorraine held her face. Lorraine then gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

She looked down at her for a moment, Clarice’s face was still framed by her hands. “Clarice Chenn, you do not suffer demons.”

Her words were reassuring and definite. She then gave Clarice another kiss on her cheek.

-

Okay, toodles!

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