Jul 19
Tainted to the Marrow moodboard. artworks by jackie / sinatical
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Bosnia & Herzegovina
seen from Armenia
seen from Maldives
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from China
seen from India
seen from Bangladesh
Tainted to the Marrow moodboard. artworks by jackie / sinatical
Some feral Waldo doodles as a warm up.
Support me on Ko-Fi and Patreon
The Five Stages of Grief, Linda Pastan
Screenshots from https://kissthemgoodbye.net
Artfight 2023 attack #4 for @lsdoiphin
Perfect year and theme for me to draw Sam! 🥩🐺🌔
another bug
so this one was called 'Nebulous' before the buggening and he is essentially a red-herring villain, having a reputation as a thousand-year-old evil cursing the Shadow Kingdom, when really he was a scared and abused teenager who was pushed over the edge. Virus teams up with him to brutally murder her abusive father. Yippee!
as you can see he's a bit gunked up, like Virus. although I suppose there are more pressing issues for him to be concerned about - like the fact his internal organs are exposed. don't worry, he's alright. I'll have a post at some point about internal organs but what you can see inside him are the tracheoles and parts of the digestive system (also a calcareous 'bone' in the arm but I will explain that later)
he's a silly guy for sure
his design basis is the Death's Head Hawk Moth, and yes, he does have a skull marking on the back of his neck.
Do you Believe in Magic? - Chapter 2 - a LTWW Fic Commission
AGAIN WITH THE WRITERS BLOCK. Thank you again for your patience @whenthedeeppurplefalls !
***Enjoy!!!***
Those have to be contacts. Have to be. No one has eyes like that.
These were the thoughts gliding through the Detective's skull as he approached the stage, meeting again the gaze of the Great Waldo. This magician, this man, had the most intense stare the Detective had ever seen, with the strangest color; a red that bled into violet hue, unnatural and impossible, like the rest of all that had thus far transpired.
"So happy you could help me, my friend. Please, come on up."
Waldo reached out with his cane, as he had done for Wenda. Wenda... how should they approach this? They just wanted to know where their wife was.
"Um, actually I-" The hand that was still raised faltered a bit at the sudden jeer of 'Get on with it!' from someone in a back row, to which Waldo shot a smiling glare that turned the Detective's stomach.
A softer look fell back on them. "Don't be shy now!" Waldo's voice boomed, "Come On Up! Come On Up!""
This seemed to be some silent cue, as the audience began to chant the phrase, louder and louder, ringing the Detective's eardrums despite the earplugs they still wore. After a second more of trepidation, thoughts drowned out by the noise, their palm curled around cold wood to escape.
Cheering and light rattled their senses, and before they knew it, the Detective stood on the stage, captured in a bright beam. The grogginess of their sleep still clung to them with disorientation, muffling spoken words.
Cotton nouns came forward through the fog, and, blinking in the side-profile light, a grand contrast, the Detective inquired, "What?" having not heard what was said to them. They surreptitiously removed their earplugs.
Over audience low laughter, Waldo repeated.
"What is your name, my friend?"
A simple question, but a constriction of tongue knots overcame them, forcing concentration, "I'm... Detective-"
"OOOOoooo," Waldo suddenly looked alight, his impish gleam hitting them like a cold ice bath, "A Detective! How exciting! Well then, my dear Detective, will you assist me in my final trick of the evening?"
The Detective blinked, the bright lights highlighting the veins at the back of their eyes momentarily, framing the man's face in a temporary wreath. Again, molasses of cognition, and that sudden feeling of the charge before a lightning strike.
".... n-no..." As soon as the words left them, there was both relief and another chill; a highway collision traded for an oncoming train.
"No?" There was a tilt of the head from Waldo, but not a look of disappointment; far from.
"No I... I just needed to ask you-"
"Booo! Get off the stage!"
The heckler at the back made themself known again.
The sudden turn of Waldo's head produced a crack, far louder than should be possible, silencing the theater.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Waldo voiced loud, "Did you want the spotlight?" A finger wave inclined the burning beam to travel through the audience to the loud individual in the back, the illumination hiding facial features in its intensity. A mouth agape in surprise trembled out silent responses.
"What? Nothing to say now?" Waldo heckled back, seeming to grow with a giddy rise; a child about to burn an ant, "Don't tell me you're now... chicken?!"
A snap of long fingers, light inverted, folded, smoke and smell of burning, and at the half second mark, RED, then a rooster sat in the seat where a human had just been.
The creature, awash with a plume of smoke, jerked suddenly about, and began to crow in distress, flapping and flailing, and looking ill-fit in its feathers.
"Oh dear, looks like he now is too chicken!" Waldo chuckled to himself, the crowd joining in, guffawing and jeering at the poultry, which continued crowing and shrieking as it fled the theater, a note that had the tenor, vaguely, of a human throat.
Before the Detective had a second to process what they just saw, the entire space fell silent in an instant as Waldo put a finger to his lips again. The light swiveled back, hiding the audience in the brightness.
"I apologize, you were about to ask me something?"
Despite not seeing them, there was a self-consciousness that the Detective felt being in front of so many people. As such, they motioned for Waldo to draw closer so they could speak with no one else hearing, a motion Waldo understood thankfully, drawing close in an instant, a bit too close for the Detective's liking. Why was this guy so tall?
"Listen, I'm just wondering where my wife is. I know it's probably not policy for you to say, but I'm just a bit worried."
The magician's head nodded with humming understanding, "Ah yes, your wife... what was her name again?"
Again, a chill of warning, but it had to be said, "Wenda."
"Hmmm... how unfortunate," hairs raised, what did he mean by- "Well, I could just show you where she is, if you help me with a trick!"
Waldo's eyes flashed, energy high.
But now the Detective matched him, patience low.
"Just tell me where she is!" Voice no longer a whisper.
Waldo smiled, but took a step back, "Sorry, my good Detective, but a magician never reveals-"
"I don't care!" Anger now, overriding the sheepishness, voice full of authority, the tone of on-the-job, mode fully switched, "You tell me! Now!"
The last part was shouted and echoed, the return reminding them where they were, of all the eyes on them. A molecule of self-consciousness returned, and they reeled themself in. "Apologies," voice softer now, but still stern, "but I'm afraid I must insist you let me in on where she is, or else we are going to have a problem."
Waldo stared, expression of awe slowly filling with ecstatic glee; not the reaction the Detective was expecting.
"Well," The magician tapped his cane to his chin, "You're certainly a difficult one. I'm afraid you're asking me the one thing I can't do in front of so many... Unless, it's just you I tell..." Waldo's eyes were distant, analytical, "Hmm, yes, that could work, more than work!" Those garnet irises inflamed the Detective's vision, "Let's make a deal then, since you are, most certainly, being impositional to the end of my show. You're not into big magic, that's fine, but I still need a closer before the hour strikes and forces align. Soooo... how bout just a simple card trick, and I'll make sure you, and only you, know where your wife went. Sound fair?"
The imposing frame leaned forward with cane inclined behind, eye to eye, awaiting their answer. Something about this seemed... Faustian. The Detective went over the terms, odd tension in the air. The concern for Wenda was mounting. Words were chosen carefully.
"You tell me on this stage, no where else."
A smile sank their heart.
"I can work with that."
A gesture of the wrist, Waldo made a show, to both the Detective and the audience, that his hands were empty. His movements were deliberate and controlled, a steady hand that was seen right away by the Detective, bony digits fluttering and shelling to reveal, as if from nowhere, the pearl that was a deck of cards.
"Pick a card, any card!"
A fantail of intricate blue and yellow starred cards gleamed gold under stage-light.
It was a simple random choice... so why did it feel so detrimental? Like their wife's life depended which card they chose...
The Detective was never one to doubt their instincts.
After a careful moment to ponder, a decision was made.
"Before I do, let me shuffle that deck."
A murmur rose from the audience, who had been so quiet that the Detective had almost forgotten they were there. While they seemed, from the tones thrown around, a bit put off by the Detective's request, Waldo's eyes seemed to glow.
"My, aren't you a skeptical one. Wanting to make this a challenge for me, do you?"
Without resistance, the cards were bequeathed to the Detective's outstretched hand, the deck nearly dropped at the wave of nausea experienced when the briefest brush of flesh was exchanged. Corpse flesh memory, but why?
Did not matter. They kept gaze with those unnatural optics as they began to shuffle the deck. To their horror, there was dilation, pupils reflecting them in black mirrors; no contact lens could do that. Waldo's eyes were real.
Their expression must have lost control, as Waldo looked away slowly in response, as if to ease their nerves, "Oh, ok, I won't look!" A hand covered his glasses, a childish countdown uttered, one that the audience didn't chime in for, strangely. That quiet again, a room of statues, staring and alive.
"-Three, Two, One!" One final cut of the cards, fingers snapped like a whip. A sudden invisible pull wrenched the deck from their grasp, a paper cut stinging, but ignored, as like insects, each suite folded and fluttered through the air in a spiral, settling in the lanky palm of the magician.
How in the world...
"Now," Waldo spoke, voice lower as he turned back to look at the Detective, bordering on a threat, expression hiding impatience behind a smile, "Pick. A. Card."
Again, the choice presented, and again, it felt too insurmountable, but, illusion being the theme, the choice felt more their own.
The one in the middle, least held to avoid another touch, immediately shielded in both hands when taken.
"Excellent, now look at your card, don't show me." And to ensure this, Waldo turned his back on the Detective, rocking on his toes with a child's anticipation.
A poker's glance, the Queen of Clubs, Wenda's face. Cold sweat beading on their neck now.
Is this how insects feel in a honey trap?
"Once you've seen it, show it to the audience as well!"
... how were they going to see it? Regardless, they followed the instruction. There was a sudden mechanical clink from above, and, flinching, the Detective jumped back as a magnifying glass swung down like a pendulum. Somehow, they had kept the card raised to show through the glass into the staring eyes of the dark. Mind was flipping at the notion that they were strung by some unseen threads.
"Do you all see the card, my friends."
YES!
An answer too synchronized, too timely. Wrong, all wrong.
"Wonderful!" The looming glass raised up into the dark with unsettling speed, "Now, for the last part."
Waldo's hands clapped the cards together, and there was a burst of fire and pain, as the card the Detective held went up with the rest. Fingers bubbled and blistered. Shock turned to rage. Now it was the Detective's turn to lose their patience.
"No! I'm not doing this! WHERE IS MY WI-"
The word died in their throat and was replaced with something else, a physical obstruction. They coughed, feeling a mass shift in their esophagus. What the fuck?!
"Your what, Detective?"
The devil himself didn't smile so saccharinely.
They coughed and coughed and sputtered, arms raising to their throat, feeling the lump that refused to budge. Inhales struck pain through their chest. Whatever it was felt full in their lungs.
Help! They had to get help!
But to increasing horror, like a bad dream, they found they could not move. Rooted, the Detective's shoes remained held fast to the stage, a phantom feel of fingers caressing their ankles, rendering the muscles taught.
Even when their vision started darkening at the edges, their knees would not buckle, held up by unseen strings.
"My word, what is it? Spit it out, Detective!"
At the end of the tunnel, he approached, eyes illuminated train lights.
"Here, let me help you." HELP reverberated in the Detective's own voice, a mimic facsimile in their own head; and the audience, a choir radio, a reminder that, despite the crowd, they were alone.
Digits gripped their jaw, forcing open their maw like a mongrel pup. The touch, the skin, felt wrong, dead electric, but flinching afforded no purchase from the vise. All they could voice was a rattle.
Another touch, at the lips, soft, sparking, an energy that traveled through nerves and stirred whatever was lodged within. Terror at the feeling of the object rising up on its own accord, serpentine, sliding out along their tongue with a taste of silkiness and copper. A finger met it, twisted around it in greeting. Mind torn between biting and screaming, neither was performed.
"Here we are, now let me just..." Waldo began to pull, the colored cloth pulling free, only to reveal another knotted on the end. And another, and another. Waldo began to walk backwards, maintaining the streamer chain of reds, whites, blues, and yellows, all remaining aloft.
"Oh dear, oh dear, it just keeps going, doesn't it?" There was no concern in Waldo's voice, no real laughter that answered him. Hollow and fake like cardboard cutouts, a laugh-track rang out , canned and empty. But that dread would have to wait, as the faint hints of oxygen were what concerned the Detective now.
A concern that was mounting, as something rose up, thicker and wadded, getting stuck completely. Waldo gave a few light tugs for show, the banners dancing between them.
"Hmm, I'm going to need your help with this one. Are you ready?"
A hissing of cheeks was all they could muster.
"Excellent! On three! One! Two! Three!"
On some unheard instruction, or perhaps from a faint memory of CPR, the Detective brought their fists together and hit themself in the diaphragm. That seemed to do the trick, as the rolled up cloth emerged, as well as a last line of handkerchiefs. Air flooded their chest, gulped down with alcoholic thirst that brought shimmers and shapes to their eyes. The cloth was not fully expunged; a constriction, like a silk glove, grabbing their tongue, keeping the chain aloft. At least they could breathe again.
"Well, that was quite an ordeal. Let's see what we have here."
Blur turned to focus on the tug-of-war rope between them as Waldo gave it a small pull and swing, that wooden cane extending forward and tapping the center, the large middle cloth unfurling to mark the middle flag.
They couldn't see fully what was on that tapestry, but, in the shattered reality of their heart, the Detective knew.
"Dear Watchers, great and small, is this the Detective's card?"
YES!
A final pull, the tongue released, and they were finally permitted to fall. The force of their knees hitting the stage rattled the Detective's teeth, head ringing, vision swimming.
And in that swirling chaos, they saw a pair of shoes.
Before him, Waldo held up the unfurled cloth, embroidered with the image of the Queen of Clubs, stitched together like it had been cut into four pieces. There was no mistaking to whom the woman's face belonged.
"This is your card." It was a statement, a fact.
Disbelief, confusion, and at the deepest pit, a frustration, a rage. Part of them wanted to shake their head out of spite, yet whatever unseen force stopped them from doing so fueled the anger even more. It bubbled up from their ravaged throat like lava, a tempest growl.
"Where. Is. My. Wife?!"
A flicker of something in Waldo's eyes, a shooting star of trepidation, before the challenge was risen to.
"I told you, we need to be alone for this." Waldo glanced evilly at the audience, which from a glance, were no longer smiling or static.
In a kaleidoscopic shimmer, Wenda's face descended on their own. Dead hands held it fast, the fabric pressing in like a suffocating mask, shielding them in a darkness of muted stage lights. And meanwhile, a rise in human horror. The voices of the audience, harmony broken, crying out in terror one by one, till all was screams, and screams, and screams!
Clothed lips pressed to their own, and heavy hands receded.
Finally they could move.
At once, they tore away the sheet.
At once, all was silence.
The audience was gone.
The auditorium was gone.
Everything was gone.
Except Him, and the stage.
Waldo, in a cone of smoky light, stood, staring off into the nothing, like there was still an audience only he could see.
Slowly, shakily, the Detective rose to his level.
"What... is this?" They croaked, echoes asking the same.
From profile, Waldo closed his eyes and smiled, as if the Detective should know better.
"We agreed," The side glance was devilish and coy, "I'd tell you my secret on this stage, nowhere else."
The blackness roiled with his chuckle rebounding, the lost applause.
"Where-" But they were shushed, buzzing in their head, recoiling.
"I'm getting to that, dear Detective."
The magician removed his cap and reached into its depths, arm extending farther than what would be possible, bringing up a burning bright light; a tiny little star.
"May I present: your lady wife!"
The brightness wrote cursive swirls onto their vision, a messy pattern that matched the reasoning in their head.
"That's not..."
Fingers curled like gnarled elm, lanterning the light in bars of bone. "Even after everything, you still don't believe in magic?" Waldo's bemusement was uncaring, "So stubborn and headstrong. I would have loved to have you." Those beady reds looked over to the vibrant glow. "Not that I'm complaining about you, dear Wenda."
Squeezing beams of lights through finger tips, Waldo inhaled, a stream of brilliance entering him to the sound of a distant scream, rippling over him like a surf of sea-foam and stardust. The Detective seized.
Blissful gaze gleamed through starry spectacles, "Thank you for giving her to me, Detective," he released the light, which started to ascend, "Along with everyone else."
Waldo shook his hat, and holding it open, allowed an eruption of fireworks to spring forth, stars shooting up into the heavens in screaming comet tails, till the darkness was alight, like midnight sky.
Something clicked.
"I didn't-"
"Oh but you did," The tall man approached, his colors now that of Starry Night, a sickening blue bright and yellow light, "It could have been you. I wanted you. But you said no. It was your choice."
Breath apart, shimmering with an awful grandeur, as if he were part of the Void sky itself, Waldo stared down at the Detective with vibrant malice.
"Did you enjoy the show, Detective?"
A pause, what was there to say?
The question forming was dismissed, as if he knew, "You got one answer, Detective. Really now. A magician must keep some secrets or it would break the illusion, am I right?" That gaze turned dangerous and flashing again, and again, they could not move, "Now, I ask you again, did you enjoy the performance? You know, the parts you were at least awake for?" He actually sounded a bit miffed. "It's a shame you slept through most of it. You really didn't get your money's worth, did you? Actually, you know what?" He raised his hand, and with a dramatic wave, a coin appeared between his fingers, "Here, a bit of compensation!" He made a motion to tuck it behind the Detective's ear, pulling back the offending hand to reveal the talisman had vanished, "You can't say I'm not a fair man."
A bell tolled, Waldo's rushed breath ceased, disappointment moth-fluttered in expression.
"And that concludes my performance! Thank you all who attended!" Ever the showman, Waldo strode back into the spotlight, gesturing to the false heavens, "I hope the magic has left you feeling lighter than when you arrived!" He took a bow, a spread carrion bird over a banquette kill, clad in endless sky and vibrant eye.
"Have a good night, Detective."
The trap door opened.
It's light shrinking and falling away until it blinked out and was gone.
...
They awoke to a square of mood blue.
In the dim, they stood, up out a shallow grave.
There really had been a trap door, but it didn't seem to go anywhere now.
Dusty stillness rung out in the space. No one around, but evidence there had been was everywhere; bags, phones, even clothes, decorated the plush tombstone seats.
Wenda wasn't here.
Her camera and bag remained where they had left it before they had gone on stage.
Descending the stage, their sea-legs had them swaying.
The Detective retrieved the camera.
Dead.
Phones, as they discovered, were also dead.
No energy remained in this place.
It had been taken.
They had to leave, had to call this in.
They exited the auditorium.
Wenda wasn't here.
Nothing was here, the place was clean, the troop of one had packed up and left.
They exited the building, jumping at the lights of a passing car. It was dark, cold, and a breeze seemed to snicker at them through the refuse on the ground.
Wenda wasn't here.
A payphone silhouetted in a street light beckoned from across the street.
They crossed, stumbling at the car horn that sped past them.
Have to call it in.
Reaching the booth, they tried to dial the number of their precinct, only recalling they needed a quarter after hearing the dial-tone.
Right... debating on either 911 or calling the operator, their addled mind preparing for labyrinthine call paths that would bring, a sharp pain jolted them to attention.
The Detective reached behind their ear and felt something embedded in their skin.
More than it was already, skin turned colder, heart raced faster.
They felt around, finding a slit, digging in, pulling, revealing a glinting sliver coin.
It was a quarter, only the cameo winked that devilish magician grin from the relief.
The Detective stared a moment, leaning, falling against the glass, righting themself instantly, gripping the frame.
Have to call this in.
Thumb polished the blood off the coin, inserted, and kissed the right numbers.
As the number rumbled in connecting call, a passing car shone light on something in the road.
It was a rooster, no more than a stain of viscera and feathers, kicked up by the gust of the speeding tires.
Somehow, the Detective laughed, a small scoff, a final break, delirium.
To get to the other side...
~TBC~
Am I really leaving this off on a chicken cross the road joke... yes, yes I am... Thank you all who were patiently awaiting this. It has been a real tough few months for me. I'm wanting to do this full time with less distractions. You can support me at the link below.
Support me on Ko-Fi
Blood Trail - A Lumpy Where's Waldo Vamp Fic Commission- Part 3 of 3
Last chapter! Sorry for the delay, but you know how it is with holidays.
I was commissioned by @whenthedeeppurplefalls to write this via my Ko-Fi, link will be at the end of the fic.
***Warning: Contains violence, blood, injury, body horror, viscera, and highly suggestive themes. I hope you all enjoy!***
A cold towel to the face wasn't enough to perk them up, but a shower seemed like too much effort at this point.
With a heavy sigh, the Detective returned to their study, the centrifuge of their headache. Documents were placed in random spots, but they knew where everything was, and what it all said. One simple message: they were screwed.
Sitting down at the desk, they adjusted the table lamp, hoping to literally and metaphorically shed some light on the situation. Once again, they followed the paper path and played everything out from the start.
There were two separate stories to this. The Detective's and everyone else's.
The official story was that the team hadn't managed to find enough evidence of the cult to make massive arrests that night, but there had been some people taken into custody, mainly for minor misdemeanors, nothing out of the ordinary. There had been one hiccup though, in regards to the Detective. They had reported an assault by a tall assailant, one the rest of the team hadn't seen. The Detective had been found passed out and injured after contact had been lost, a broken arm and internal bleeding putting them in a cast. They had been in a state of some delirium when found, and were quickly taken to the hospital to treat the anemia and broken bones. The task force would continue to look into the cult, as they witnessed the main target leaving the club and being driven to a secondary location. The reports of the tall man, whom the Detective had said was called Waldo, would be made a suspect in relation to the cult, though this connection was still currently pending with the board, as doubt had crept in around the legitimacy of the Detective's claims that night.
This was all, of course, total BS.
A red pen was snatched up and began to make red circles to drive out the frustration.
What had actually happened... no one would have believed, both because it was totally fantastical, and because the ones to convince had been brainwashed.
The cult had been there, all of them most likely, and leading them all, the serpent's head had reared, striped and sharp-toothed. Waldo. That was his name, and he was no ordinary human being.
A familiar itch set in, and the Detective rubbed their neck to satiate it, not liking the warmth it blossomed.
A vampire's bite.
They had done research on the tropes, seeing which were similar to the experience. It was all a mixed bag of different stories, all taking liberty with the fantasy characters of myth.
But it wasn't a myth. And only the Detective knew it.
They couldn't bring this forward, as they knew the danger it would pose them. Professionally, to start spouting that they had been attacked by a vampire, and that the cult was a legion of vampires and/or thralls, would certainly be a nail in the coffin of their career. Worse, it would potentially mean danger to themself, as the team had been bewitched by the creature's influence.
The red pen circling burned into a watching eye. They crumpled the piece and scooted it off the table with the rest.
Hypnotism was a popular power to give a vampire in fiction. Seeing it, experiencing it, in real life, was another thing altogether. It had felt... odd, from what they remember. Like nothing was wrong, initially, when they had been ensnared. It was if their will and desire had simply changed of their own volition, that they wanted to dance, to follow, to be bitten, to be his. Only when the colors of the trip had melted away did they realize they were being controlled, like waking up from a convincing dream.
The after effects were still being felt, as even now, a faint glimmer of infrared and ultraviolet flickered in the corners of their vision. Though, if they ignored their paranoia, that also could be a result of the pain medication they were currently taking while on leave.
They absentmindedly scratched at the cast, trying to focus back on the looming threat, but finding it difficult.
A glance to the clock showed why. Way past late, almost morning, sun would be up in a few hours.
That brought on another worry. After the encounter, the Detective had felt a shift in their circadian rhythm. During the day, it was difficult to keep their eyes open, but as soon as the sun set, there was a sudden rush of adrenaline.
This had led to multiple checks in the bathroom mirror for any... changes. But everything seemed normal. No fangs sprouting, eyes changing color, or signs that they were going to explode were observed. Only the bite mark remained like a brand, as well as the faint scratch on their forehead, three lines in a VI shape. Still, they would continue to monitor themself.
Ablutions carried out, they made their rounds, passing a vacant room that gave them a sullen pause, a wonder as what could have been if fate had been different for her. They trailed their fingers over the door, moving on through the halls of the empty house, checking periodically that the windows were locked, and the garlic salt lines were unbroken. Hopefully, this deterrent would work, couldn't be too careful.
The bedroom yawned large before them, its king sized bed an imposing reminder that they were alone now.
Memories came rushing back, the moments before the black wall.
A human being reduced to a larval cocoon for that monster's spawn.
The realization that he had done this multiple times before, and why they couldn't find Wenda.
Because she had been with them that whole time, and was gone, simultaneously.
An echo of her had peered down at them through the eyes of Waldo, and had said, "Hello."
From there, they couldn't see past that point, only waking up, and she... he was gone. Would always be gone.
It was all too much, even now, and they collapsed on the bed, weeping with grief at knowing the horrible fate that had befallen her.
Tears fell like a stream, till the world turned blurry, and exhaustion took hold.
...
Miasma behind the eyes. Echoes of light at tail ends of the spectrum. They felt it all around, like it had seeped into the muscles and filled them with shimmering sand.
Their eyes had opened without realizing it, the dark of the ceiling coming into focus.
A faint picture of light painted the expanse, squares of window light, too faint to be morning, too few to be unobstructed by...
The Detective looked and saw the form silhouetted, windows upon windows reflecting and refracting stained glass cherry wine.
A numbness traveled throughout despite the fear that told them to move, the body they inhabited refusing to budge.
A dream... please let this be a dream...
A tap on the frame by a self brought wooden knocker, an ask for invitation.
And here, a pause. A choice presented.
All the preparation at avoidance, the steps at protection, the fear of what awaited, all still there, clawing to reason.
But, deep within, a want to know more, of knowing the inevitable, limited other options on the horizon dictated the course that must be taken, regardless of the outcome.
The Detective, with what little control they had been granted, acquiesced and nodded.
Like formless smoke, the apparition passed through the barrier, billowing towards like liquid black static, never blinking. A weight bent the bed, and the face took shape, smiling.
"Hello again."
The soft cadence in the tone rotted them to the core, a maggot swarm liquefying interior emotions till they welled out of a corner eye, misting the creature in a mock halo, like an image out of romance film.
It was fitting and parody all at once.
"You..." Their throat produced noise, somehow, strangled with the deep roots of ten thousand nagging questions, furies, pleas. One found path to the finish line, "Are you... her?"
It was not a baseless question in tone, more like a statement that required confirmation.
Unfortunately, they got it.
Waldo tilted his head, at just an angle so the eyes peaked under the glasses rim. There was a flash, the Detective saw the veins that lived in the back of their eyes, then beyond that, reaching fingers feeling along memory paths, flicking on the light in room after room, photo after photo.
"Yes... but no.... depends on your definition of being." The memory of the club, resurfaced, pulled up unwillingly, the person chrysalis becoming a copy of him, knowing the same fate had befallen Wenda. "I retain the memories of only the most deserving. They are now everlasting. They are... Me..."
Looming, skeletal, the figure encompassed their vision, "All that she was is now in me. Her memory, her emotions, her love... for you..." If there was that most pure of feeling, it was buried deep behind all, as the only thing the Detective could see burning in those irises was a hungering desire that made them want to shrink away.
But they persisted, too held fast by the agony.
"Why..." they whispered, an anger rearing, "Why did... How could she..." This was a tactic, a vie for control, to present what they knew to be false to reveal the truth. They had hoped for interjection, correction, the spoken proof that it had all been him, puppeteering, steering, forcing.
Waldo sensed this, saw through the ploy, and did not lie. His expression turned serious and cold, a chill that the Detective could feel in their teeth.
"You think me so monstrous, Detective?" It was a mocking laugh that held no humor. A chilled hand cupped their cheek. "I do not subsume the unwilling. She came to be unraveled, as all the others before, seeking only that which I can provide; escape without end."
They searched, but there was no falsehood. And that was more horrifying. "But then... why did she..." Their question was earnest this time.
The smoldering gaze dimmed to a soft somber glow.
Whether through the vampire's assistance, or their own puzzle-piecing, an explanation was found, one that was shattering. They had known deep down, had suspected, but it was too painful to put into words. So much unsaid.
But when would they ever get a chance to say it? She was gone.
And soon, most likely, so would they.
"I'm sorry," sobs were quiet in the still darkness, magnified with grief, "I'm so sorry. I should have been there for you... s'all my fault. All my fault!" Their voice reached a shrill suppressed shriek.
A talon fell across their lips, hushing them. Rhinestone eyes of blood amber bloomed in their vision, and a soothing constriction wormed through the Detective's mind, keeping those horrible memories at a distance.
"It wasn't your fault," the voice smoothed out the turbulent tide, "What befell you both was a tragedy, unimaginable. No one should have to experience it. Such loss, such death, such cruel, unjust fate..."
The claws began to trail, the hand unfurling to a mask that rested just above the Detective's face. "She didn't deserve that pain," Waldo purred, "And neither do you..."
Fingertips rested on forehead and cheeks. Through the gaps, those rose petals sparkled. Beneath was the gleam of twin daggers, hanging, poised. A serpent's tongue outlined them with a swipe, and for a moment, the Detective could feel it, a phantom memory that tingled and raised hairs.
"I give this, unto you, my precious one. The ultimate choice..." Pressure molding to them, shadowing them, overtaking all. They could think of nothing else, feeling fire rising to meet the cold.
Breath at their wound, aching, afraid, anticipating.
"Let me give you a taste..."
Black light poured into their veins as they felt the needles pierce, flowing a blinding exuberance that filled and filled and didn't stop, replacing what was being taken.
They were aware this time, knew what was befalling, yet somehow didn't care... almost...
The thought of wondering 'is this was what she felt' was agonizing, and made them roil.
Simultaneously, they were filled with sorrow. She had become this, apart, absorbed, out of a sadness they hadn't been able to help. And now, a part of them wanted to follow. To join her...
They could feel her, in those hands, those presses, familiar echoes, Polaroid imitations scrap-booked with who knows how many.
There was a humming chuckle tinged with their blood.
Five, the voice curled through their mind like vines as a stony thumb traced the VI cut on their forehead, For now...
And there it was, the proposal.
He wanted them. All of them, every part, ever drop, ever bit of their essence, till there was nothing left.
Why was that so alluring?
A deep gulp resounded in their ear, making them see glittering space a moment. A shudder ran through them that wasn't their own. Waldo raised off of them, seemingly shaking, eyes distant in ecstasy.
He felt them staring, eyes meeting. When did the glasses fall? They were now absent, along with that silly hat. Before them, he was outlined in moonlight, the tomb shed from his skin, now full, youthful and handsome, all from the life siphoned away, given freely.
Waldo laughed softly, lidded eyes smoldering through ebony strands. "Your blood really is something else."
And as he kissed them, they had to agree with him.
...
There was a period of melodious orchestra, the sinews of brain matter wrote taut and vibrated like violin strings, music that echoed in the empty chambers of their mind, full of nothing else.
Past memories flitted by, here and there, only to be copied and overwritten by this new being of multitude experience.
He alternated between drinking from their cup, and then finding a new or familiar vise to treat them to, allowing them to fill back up before draining again.
This went on for... how long was it...?
Blurry eyes, dancing with satin hues, looked out past him to the room. Things had changed. The windows were drawn and covered with thick curtains, fixtures that had not been there before. The fabric was patterned and elegant, and billowed up to the four poster... this wasn't their bed... but it was still the room... how long had they been here?
Glancing around, they spied the others. Had they always been there? They stood, observing, eight eyes blinking at them in unison. Which one had been Wenda?
Did it even matter?
There was an itch, and only now did they recall the cast they wore, a result of their gall. It had nearly been forgotten, the pain numb, along with everything.
Soft lips apologized into their flesh, "Sorry that happened to you." He kissed the hardened plaster, running a claw sensually up and down it, "Would you like me to fix it for you?"
There was no doubt in the Detective's mind that he could do it. All that was needed was their gentle, "...Yes..."
With a crescent moon grin, Waldo proceeded to tear apart the cast as if it were tissue paper. It made a static charge jolt up the Detective's spine.
The arm seemed just as worse off as when it had been bound, the flesh swollen, cut, and bruised. Faint gashes were scaring over, a memory of them sealed with a teasing tongue brought maroon to the Detective's cheeks. The break had been set to heal but it would take a few more weeks... perhaps they hadn't been here long after all.
Waldo inspected the arm, his eyes felt like they were peering through the flesh to the calcium beneath.
After a long silent moment of breaths, those eyes met their's again, a shimmering, warping, radiating curtain of hypnotic nebulas.
Words ran up their spine and through the hair on the back of their neck, nestling into the crown of their head.
I don't blame you for looking away.
What?
Before they could voice the question, Waldo's surgically sharp claw cut a line through the skin.
What struck the Detective first was the pain; there was none.
Then was the fact that there was no blood; he had taken it all.
Through the slit of flesh, softly parted by Waldo's digits, the threads of muscle lay, red like crime case string. White lines crossed over them, and as Waldo's claw gingerly stroked one, the Detective's fist reflexively curled.
Their tendons.
A wave of nausea set it, and prophecy fulfilled, they looked away.
He was there beside them, another him, smiling softly, and gently squeezing their shoulder as she would always do when they were nervous.
"It's ok, I got you."
They breathed shakily, weakly. They felt other hands on them, the other Waldos crowding around, softly pawing, distracting, as the main one worked.
A rhythm of breath was set by all, and soon, the Detective found themself mimicking unconsciously, calming down from the shock.
Then the curiosity snuck in, as they could still feel it, a strange warm pull under the skin, within their arm. Not uncomfortable, it was... it was...
They looked back.
Wound splayed open like a crimson bowl, the flesh of muscle having been parted to reveal the bones, splintered, put back together like a jigsaw puzzle. And between the ulna and radius, between all the folds of living mass, lapped a tongue, curling around pulsing veins and sinews, its owner's eyes glazed in satiation.
The Detective found they could not breath.
As the appendage swiped and tasted, polishing along the bones, the cracks began to mend and disappear. Slowly, everything else began to knit back together, taste buds tenderly lavishing, till the seam stitched close, and was gone.
Pale hands gave the forearm a firm squeeze, "Does that feel better?"
Heart was hammering, something was stirring, beads of sweat formed and fell, and still, the breath would not come, hitched.
"I-I..." the tone produced was airy and cued a ting of embarrassment to rise to light upon their cheeks.
Waldo's eyes, all of them, bore into the Detective. The main one inhaled, then sniffed with interest. He leaned back, taking them all in, realizing...
"Oh... you enjoyed that, didn't you?"
A deep mocking chuckle vibrated the room, fueling flames that licked the Detective's interior, causing them to shift from the sensation. The fire within turned rubidium as those burning eyes melted into theirs.
"If you want..." palms pressed and pulled, softening the meat that was their body, the warmest one caging the racing heart like a promise, an offer, a spoken temptation, "... I can take it further... would you like that?"
It was all his gaze, the collage of all that had come before, the passion and desirable depravity multiplied, all consuming with yawning hungry unknown.
It was the Call of the Void.
The Detective leaned in, and let go.
"Yes..."
Irises replaced with smiling maws, widening in a steaming hiss of elation, entrance to the cave of untold delights.
The Detective became aware of their surroundings for the last time as they were propped up against the headboard, a multitude of pillows at their back, placed just so to give the Detective the perfect angle of the show, a perfect view of the stage.
The canvas being their own torso, bare... hadn't they been wearing a night shirt? They couldn't remember, and didn't care.
A nail positioned between their collarbones, pressing, a bead of scarlet rosebudding at the tip. Fingers curled around their arms and legs like iron cuffs, clamping around the Detective's head to ensure no movement. For this, they mustn't look away.
Watch.
The command rang clear and undeniable, as the nail began to travel down, slowly, unzipping.
The Detective wasn't going to flee now, relaxed and accepting in the steel grasp of this monster, but as multiple fingers dug into the slit and pulled, their body betrayed and reflexively spasmed at the sight, a motion those hands had been waiting for.
As for their mind, a forefront thought looked out upon this strange new alien landscape and marveled at its beauty. But that dissociation was being pestered by the last line of rational sense.
Those are our organs, our organs! Oh God! Oh God! No! No! No~
Then, as an exhale wafted into them, filling them with a pleasant chill, the station changed.
...My insides... oh my god... yessss...
A noise escaped them,and they could hear it resounding below. A hum of encouragement tickled their ears, lips pressed in odd places.
The one, HIM, leaned back to admire the vivisect expanse, like admiring it like a work of art.
"You know, I never can get over how beautiful the colors inside are."
He reached within, they rose to meet him.
"The stomach is a marvelous baby blue."
Waldo gave the robin's egg viscera a gentle press, and the Detective tasted bile in the back of their throat. They swallowed with a shiver.
"The lungs, lavender."
A squeeze forced an exhale, and he held it a moment, letting them experience that control. Releasing, they watched themself breath, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly.
"Then down here," The daggers traced lower, lower, to that spiraled ensemble of intestines, "taupe... or is it beige?" Lithe fingers slowly plugged past the mass of folded tubes, and began to fish around, "Now... where is..."
Lightning strike, a bolt shot through the Detective, causing them to gasp and spasm.
What the heck was...
Five mouths grinned, they could feel the teeth on their skin.
"Found it."
And with that, Waldo began to stir.
Wave after wave flooded them with light, their body and voice was no longer their own. Hands kept them positioned, but were free to roam, as with the mouths. Those began to sample them just as the main one had, and it seemed their veins still had a little bit more to give. And they would happily give it, so long as they could keep taking all this, all, all!
My insides, oh God, he's there, there, there! Oh my god!
The mind circled and stayed on the same track, chasing the feeling and what it gave them, radiance and electric thought, buzzing and pent, and more, and more, and more, and~
Too much, oh God, please!
As if he heard them, though it was likely they had said it aloud, Waldo looked up at them, fangs teasing his lips.
This is just the start.
The statement echoed in their head; the Detective couldn't help the sob.
There were no more words left to say, and those that were thought were simple enough.
Please, end it, finish it, end, end me, end me, finish me, please!
A tear fell, a kiss took it.
I have much more to show you.
The pale hand reached further within, almost sinking inside, filling the hollow where pleasure now grew.
In and out, faster still, the Detective panted, feeling a pull of the soul, and something give way.
Waldo pulled out his prize.
My favorite color.
A heart.
The Detective's beating heart.
Still hooked up to veins, near empty. Each pulse pushed a lifeblood line through translucent veins, an effect that mimicked the sweater that walled them.
The piece that made them whole was brought up to Waldo's lips.
The final choice.
Do you accept?
There was only one answer.
Yes... please...
The dentin flashed, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
Lungs inflated, then let loose an orchestra of sound.
"Yes, oh, please, just take it, take it, TAKE ME PLEASE!!!"
Echoes filled the chamber, their church, ringing dim, allowed to settle to frantic quiet, all but beat and breath.
Then a hum, a purr, a rising laughter, till it was just him, spotlighted, haloed, madness.
The jaw unhinged...
"As you wish."
...and teeth sunk in with a satisfying SHNK!
...
With a cry, the Detective awoke, clutching their chest in a cold sweat.
The world slowly swum into focus. They were in their room, bathed in pinkish light of near dawn, dusted by drops of exterior rain. All was still, changed from moments ago, back to it's original state. Out of the dream.
The dream. It came crawling back like basilisk, coiling in their bosom, settling, smiling.
Their arm remained cast, not as itchy, and nothing seemed amiss, but there was a change.
They could feel him still, all over, inside, every piece a part unraveling.
And a problem had arisen, one that was rather... unfortunate.
They should have felt revulsion, anger, hatred, determination.
But the definitions were removed, lost, covered up by something new and indulging, pleasant and promising no pain.
And they were so sick of hurting.
So with a shaky sigh, they turned on their side, allowing mind to fade to Kool-aid bliss.
...
From a high corner of the window, unnoticed, Waldo peered in.
His claws gripped the frames dangerously as he watched the Detective, HIS detective, dealing with their "problem."
They were nearly ready.
...
But did he want them like that?
Waldo found himself contemplating other options, ones they had never considered, illogical, yet persistent.
This one was perfectly slated to become the sixth, yet the thought of them incorporating was... distasteful?
No, further from the truth, the Detective tasted divine.
Was that merely it?
A selfish desire to keep that taste around? An indulgence of appetite?
... perhaps...
He gazed upon them intently, mapping every thrash, every hair, every sound, scent, outline, the Detective, dearest...
Now they knew.
They had made a mistake.
The wife, she remained, had infected him, changed his nature in a way unforeseen.
A given heart for a gained one.
A puff of air frosted the glass, a mark made out of a habit adopted framed the Detective in valentine.
"I think I love you more than I love myself..."
And there it was, unheard, but felt, as the problem was solved, for both of them.
Morning light approaching, Waldo retreated back into the dark, weighing the paths now to take.
Consume.
Absorb.
Conquer.
Alter.
All laid gifts upon his altar.
Whichever he chose, one thing would be the same.
They were his.
And he was theirs.
~FIN~
ALL DONE!!
It actually ended a little sooner than expected narrative wise. I had a scene after this planned, though perhaps it's good I cut it out, as I didn't know what path to end it from there anyway. Shooting now for open ended/open to interpretation as to what will happen after.
Maybe I'll write some of those ending variants for a future project. IDK. Comms will be open for that.
I will say that I did give a very subtle reason as to why Wenda was susceptible to Waldo's influence. I won't go into that much, as it is a very sad subject, but I will just say that there is a reason Junior doesn't exist in this story; they never got to be.
If you like my writing, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi via the link below. It would really help me out a lot. If you want to request a fic like this, I have a commission slots for writing open over there. Feel free to DM me if you're interested!
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