THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE

tyler hathaway. 36. not really. WATCH OUT FOR THE SNAKES. GET BACK ON THE HORSE THAT THREW YOU. written by jade.

[wnderkinds]

ofdollparts‌:

She snaps out of the initial shock enough to pull her phone out of her pocket, fingers fumbling to unlock it and open up her friends’ Whatsapp group. Tyler Hathaway’s here, Henley types, glancing between her screen and the man’s back to make sure he doesn’t see, we heard something. He’s trying to open the door, be careful.

When Tyler talks again, she jumps a little, fingers scrambling to lock her phone and stuff it back into her pocket. She’s luckily the least bit faster than he is, though her success doesn’t calm the rapid-fire beat of her heart.

The card catches the light glowing from a nearby streetlamp. It winks at Henley. She stares at it, feeling it practically dare her to follow Tyler inside.

His second hey pulls her gaze back to his. Henley blinks, feeling the leftover moisture in her eyes betray Tyler’s silence when he cuts himself off. Of course he notices; of course she isn’t being fucking subtle.

“No, I’m fine,” she promises, words spilling out of her a little too quickly. Her nose is still blocked, but she ignores it, closing the distance to stand next to Tyler. She gestures at the door, “let’s figure this out.”

          An unsure pause ensues. Henley doesn't look fine. She's obviously rattled and jumpy, the slight sniffle to her tone betraying her hasty words of reassurance―but Tyler drops the subject without saying anything else. He does wonder what her excuse is, because she isn’t supposed to be here as much as he isn’t. 

          The card is forcefully jammed between the door frame and the lock; he then pushes the card against it, trying to get the lock back into the door. It takes a few tries before he hears a rusty click. A nifty trick. He wouldn't know how to use a bobby pin or a paper clip or even a proper lockpick set to open a door, but this is something he learned from a colleague during a field investigation.

          "This was a bad idea," he mutters quietly as he pushes the door open, regretful and resigned, like he's having second thoughts but it's too late to back down. Which isn't too far from the truth, really, since he is walking into uncharted territory here. The lack of knowledge bothers him, frightens him, even, as the bizarre humming lures him into the house, a wicked promising of answers. Richard isn't one to get scared easily―and that isn't some cliché, macho kind of bullshit boasting, he just doesn't, instead throws himself with a certain degree of reckless abandon―yet he feels dread piling up from the bottom of his stomach, mixed with anticipation. If he can understand what it is, he isn't scared of it anymore. The act of acknowledgement. There is power in being able to name what he sees. However, this escapes his understanding, escapes his version of reality―and that makes him hesitate more than anything.

          Inside, everything is still and dark, except for the moonlight trickling through the windows. They are in the ―- kitchen area?

          "Fuck, we're really doing this," Tyler hisses under his breath, a hint of panic creeping into his tone (as is appropriate). His eyes are slowly adjusting to the dark. “You think it's coming from where the... where Josie's body used to be?”

[gaylizardjail]

Visit Original Link

Anderson Paak - Heart Don’t Stand a Chance

[wnderkinds]

THE LONG GAME / tyler & frankie @oracleurchin

          "Doesn't make sense at all," he muses, frowning into his pint of beer as he takes a sip. "The cops are on it, though, aren't they?"

          He's been echoing similar words for the past thirty minutes or so to a number of different patrons, who each throw in their own two cents as to what happened to Josie's body. A giant misunderstanding, a perverted prank, a zombie resurrection―evidently, not all the residents display the same sensibilities―to name a few. Tyler is a genuinely concerned, confused, but creeped out newcomer, who tentatively lingered at the back of the funeral crowd as a polite gesture of solidarity while the whole town mourned ―- that is the impression he gives, and he plays the part well. It's exhausting work, though, and he's more than ready to walk back home. And eat. And glare at his laptop screen as he figures out what to do next.

          He strolls over to the bar for his last refill, nearly stumbling as he tries to step around the gaggle of customers; fortunately, he manages to catch himself before anything disastrous involving their multiple cocktail glasses and his pressed clothes can happen. Frankie’s there, watching the whole ordeal.

          "Never seen this place so packed," he remarks with a slight roll of his eyes, leaning on the counter, and finally flags down the bartender. “You doin’ alright?”

[agirlnamedmason]

@wnderkinds​

date:  april 25th time: an hour and half after Josie’s funeral location: the conifer lounge

Mason didn’t know what to make of it all. Unlike what took place at the Spring Celebration, in which she’d been suffused with a blend of glee and pride, after Josie’s funeral, she was simply stumped. Despite the content of her show or the theories she and her friends volleyed during Ghoul Gang hang-outs, she’d been almost certain that whatever was going on with Josie would end up having a more grounded explanation. But there was simply nothing grounded about a dead woman disappearing in the midst of her own funeral service. The second Mason had walked out into the fresh air, she knew she was going to have to reassess all of her case notes. She also knew she needed a drink. 

She rushed home, haphazardly changing into a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt, and shoved a number of her Josie files and notebooks into her trusty backpack. Not wanting to waste time by walking, she skateboarded to the Conifer Lounge. The bar was more crowded than usual, and she set up in the very back, copious notes splayed out on the table before her, a pen behind her ear. She ordered a whiskey. There was much work to be done, especially since she and the rest of the gang intended to break into the funeral home after hours to search for clues. She wanted to go into that investigation with a sense of stability, with even the vaguest idea of what she should be looking for. 

It took her a moment to notice that someone was standing before her table, and even then she only noticed because they had casted a shadow over the page she was furiously scribbling on. She gazed up. 

“Oh, hello,” she said, genuinely surprised to see Tyler standing before her. In her shock, she forgot to ply on her usual sharp-tongued wit or charm. Instead it was a genuine, close-lipped smile which she casted at him, nudging out the extra chair with her foot so he could sit. 

[wnderkinds]

          Tragedy is good for business. It's only been an hour or so since the attendees heard the announcement, yet the place is packed to the brim already, gossip mill full in session. Tyler didn't bother to head home, instead choosing to accompany a grieving acquaintance or two to Conifer; comforting words were exchanged and rumors were overheard. He's nursing a pint of beer like everyone else―courtesy of dollar drafts―but, God, his mind is too busy processing the disappearance of Josie's body to register what these people around him are saying. With a gentle clap on the shoulder to one of his clients standing next to him, he excuses himself under the guise of getting another pint.

          When no one is looking, he squeezes his eyes shut, exhausted and stressed and helpless. The soft thud of the topped-up pint placed before him makes them shoot open again. He has ditched the tie, didn't even wear one to the funeral, but it feels like he's being choked. Or pushed underwater. Like everything is closing in on him.

          Grabbing his drink, he spots the familiar dark-haired girl sitting at the far back by herself, who really isn’t trying to be subtle with her files and notebooks strewn all across the table. She must have heard about it, too, then. Seems like every hushed story turns into public knowledge in this town sooner or later.

          “Hey, Mason,” says Tyler, offering a subdued grin in return, then plops down on the pulled-out chair with a low mutter of thanks. Her casual outfit is a stark juxtaposition to his all-black shirt and slacks ensemble. “Busy workin' already, huh.” This is also where they met last time, he notes absentmindedly. That was a fun night. Unexpected, but fun. “Cute shirt.”

[antiquecritique]

A Dog Walk through a Funeral || Tyler&Aaron

[wnderkinds]

antiquecritique‌:

Apparently, no one was any wiser. Aside from walking into the funeral home and straight up asking the closest family members, Aaron doubted anyone else would be able to give him a hint on what was going on. The priest was definitely there, he saw him earlier. And all the important members of the Johnson family seem to be present. He glanced down at the small bouquet of white lilies he brought. At least it had stopped raining. “How odd…” He mused to himself - weddings could run late. There was so much potential there to change one’s mind, and for something to go wrong. Funerals, though? Not much could influence the final outcome. 

Aaron looked up just in time to see the owner of the funeral home come out with an announcement. The funeral was being canceled until further notice. Who would cancel a funeral and what could possibly be the reason for that?!

Aaron glanced back at Tyler, checking if he was as equally surprised, ‘what the fuck’ written all over his face, only in a polite, British way. “Huh…” Honestly, he really didn’t know how to react. “I guess… that’s it for the day?” People were slowly dispersing, equally stumped and curious. 

          Finally, the announcement: the funeral is not happening. Some yell out questions, others murmur among themselves, all of them wondering the same thing, which is ―

          "What? How does a funeral get canceled?" he blurts out loud to no one in particular. The question of the hour.

          A spike of hot anger shoots through him like a lightning strike at yet another mystery popping up to interfere with his investigation. How? Why? What the hell is going on in there, and why are they refusing to give an explanation to the attendees? If only he could just run up there, flash his badge, and demand to be taken inside ―- now he’s succumbing to useless wishful thinking. The next best strategy would be... to talk to people, find out what happened inside the funeral home. Someone's bound to talk.

          "Guess so," he mutters, gaze flickering to Aaron, who appears to be just as puzzled as he is. "Weird, huh. And they're not telling us why."

[chris-evans-archive-deactivated]

Steven Yeun Discusses Dark Parts Of “Sorry To Bother You”

[wnderkinds]

daisyjcnes‌:

“The gym?” Those words had escaped DJ before she could stop herself. Was she really surprised that a gym would take the opportunity to do some advertising in a place they knew would be packed with both teens looking to get in shape and bored PTA moms looking to score the next hot widower? The more she thought about it, the more DJ began believing that she would be more surprised if she hadn’t seen a gym PR stunt at the Spring Celebration. Granted, Red might have ruined it. “Well,” DJ began, feeling a sort of teasing tone creep into her next words, trying her hardest to hide the smirk that was growing on her lips, “did you at least sign any bored old people for some classes?”

DJ wrapped crossed her arms over her chest, cursing herself for not wearing a jacket. She knew how cold nights in Wade could become and yet, there she was, using nothing but a bordeaux sweatshirt that she decided was her favorite for the day. 

At Tyler’s question, DJ’s gaze went from her dirty sneakers to him. “Hmmm,” she hummed, both in thought about what she had read last and debating whether or not to say the truth or choose something that would be more relatable, more interesting, “I’m reading,” rereading, really, “Brief Answers to the Big Questions. Stephen Hawkin’s book. Not that interesting.” DJ shrugged as she looked away, before letting a half-awkward, half-humorless chuckle. 

Just as she was about to look at Tyler again, waiting for an answer, she was greeted by a reaction that came unexpectedly. DJ’s eyebrows furrow, the crease between them still present as she looks at where Tyler appeared to be looking at, and then back at him. “See what?” 

Her eyes stop on the line of trees again. The thought of disembodied eyes began creeping in the back of her mind, though she always shrugged that possibility off — she was young, with an overactive imagination. “If it was just like… eyes or something, it was probably just deer. There’s been a lot of them lately.”

          The slight teasing lacing her tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and Tyler lets out a laugh, turning to look at her as he does. “Dude, totally. I should’ve been a used car salesman instead. And old people love me in general." He grins, before jokingly continuing in a chirpy, would-you-like-fries-with-that tone. “You should sign up for a slot, too. We’re offering free trial sessions.”

          Oh, please. He doesn’t buy the whole cool, blasé vibe she’s putting on, because DJ absolutely would pick something like a Stephen Hawking book for down time reading. There’s no mockery here, though. The overall idea of physics is fascinating, especially when space science is involved. Having a streak of the snobby academic himself, he enjoys hearing from other experts pioneering their respective fields. Admittedly, unlike DJ, Richard wouldn’t go out of his way and do a full-on reading about it (for which simply not having enough time is a frequent excuse for people his age), but that doesn’t mean he’s bored by the subject matter. (Also, the fact that she feels the need to censor her interest is ―- well, that signals a lot of things, but he ought to stop with the psych eval.)

          “Really? But the title sounds interesting,” he offers, feigning ignorance. “I mean, I don’t know a lot about his work. Only that he was, like, a genius physicist and studied space or... black holes or whatever. Didn’t he say something about time travel?”

          Deer eyes? But they don’t float around, do they? “No, the lights, they were ― hanging in the air, I think.” His uncertainty places the statement somewhere between a claim and a question. “What, deer? In this area?” Which doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t take a wildlife expert to ask why the fuck they would willingly travel so close to where humans are.

[wnderkinds]

jaylenmaxwell‌:

Jaylen would entertain that thought: someone else is out there. But he knows a bit better by now. There’s always someone else, some-thing else. Wherever you are in Wade. Jay had given up on the idea of it being a stalker, following close behind, into the woods, into the halls of his apartment complex late at night, into the corner of his bedroom. But when he’d turned on the light, there had been no one there. Not even a shadow. Someone else is out there, but never in the ways one might expect.

Most cases around here go overlooked. Jaylen’s no expert; he doesn’t know the national averages for disappearances or murders or anything like them, so he can’t be sure Wade has any more cases than a few towns over. What he can be sure of, though, is all the similarities in them… Kids, drawn towards the water. People wandering towards the woods, hearing a voice they hadn’t heard since a loved one’s passing.

“Bro, I wish,” Jaylen says with a sigh, stepping over a particularly bulky log and keeping the light over it for Tyler with an off-handed, “watch your step.” A few more paces forward, and he continues. “But Mothman’s mostly a West Virgina thing… I ‘unno, he’s got wings. Maybe he travels.” He snickers, then shakes his head. “No, uh… From what I can tell s’mostly been… other kids. Like, whoever went towards the water or whatever will say cryptic shit about some other kid in the water telling them to come closer. There’s one story, though, about this one girl who saw the family’s dog in there… maybe a week after it passed away? Some chalk it up to just a kid not handling their grief well, but… Well, animal control gets a lot of calls out by the one lake? But when they get there, they can’t ever find nothin’.”

          “So not exactly monsters, then. Huh.” There is a psychological element to it if they are all seeing what they themselves would consider to be non-threatening. Something that looks familiar and doesn’t make them feel unsettled or frightened―for example, another kid their age playing in the water, or their pet. Could be hallucinations triggered by something like a chemical reaction happening near the water. If that is the case, though, there has to be reports of adults experiencing similar things around the area, perhaps in a less intense degree. So why only children? And why do they see figures with specific characteristics? What’s the point of luring these kids under the guise of security and familiarity? Where do they go?

          His gaze falls on Jaylen, then, wondering how long it took for him to gather all this information. How long he's been developing these theories of his, building from bits and pieces of discarded stories floating around Wade.

          “Must be frustrating as hell,” says Tyler, gingerly walking over the log. “Having all these... questions but never getting any concrete answers.” He can relate. Sort of. He’s never had a penchant for chasing ghosts or demons or what have you ―- but that intense fixation, he knows what it feels like to have something like that sitting in the back of your mind, gnawing away at your brain until you give in and indulge it.

[wnderkinds]

LITTLE DO YOU KNOW / tyler & olivia @oliviapvrker

          He pushes open the door, instantly greeted by the blast of cold air hitting him in the face. The Conifer Lounge is packed, some still dressed in their funeral outfits, all of them brimming with gossip over what happened earlier. Josie's body, gone. Fucking vanished into thin air like she had never lain in the coffin from the very beginning. Just when he thought he was making some headway with the mysterious happenings around Wade, it throws him yet another curve. The exasperation shows in his features. He lets it show. No one else is around to see it, anyway.

          He pulls out his e-cig, sucking on it as he glowers at the asphalt ground. Fuck it, fuck exasperation, he's furious and confused ―- at the Bureau, at the entire situation, at himself. This is a goddamn clusterfuck of a nightmare and he is so fucking done with the utter lack of answers. 

          As soon as the door behind him swings open, however, he schools his expression into that of neutrality. Tyler turns. It's Olivia.

          "Stuffy as hell inside," he remarks, in lieu of a greeting.

[wnderkinds]

ofdollparts‌:

Chain smoking to fill an awkward silence rarely results in anything good. Henley knows she isn’t being fair, but there’s a stopper in her throat keeping all her words at bay. They stay barricaded in her chest until they morph into anxiety.

She excuses herself from Tommy’s side with the quiet excuse of needing to pee, and wanders back round to the back of the funeral home with a purse in her lips that’s supposed to help keep burning moisture from her eyes. It doesn’t quite work, but the five slow, deep breaths she takes when she comes to a stop do.

It’s quiet back here; for once, Henley doesn’t care that it’s eerie. She runs her fingers through her hair, sniffing as she rakes the strands back into a haphazard ponytail. Loose, straw-coloured pieces topple free, tickling the back of her neck. That’s not what causes the hairs to stand, though.

Every muscle in Henley’s body locks into place. Her ears strain past the nearby sound of someone struggling, trying to grasp something dark that rumbles out of reach. It spreads a metallic taste over Henley’s tongue, coppery and warm. The sensation rises up her throat like bile; she’s drowning, it’s difficult to breathe–

The sound of her name snaps Henley out of it. She whips around just as Tyler does, their eyes meeting. Henley’s widen.

“Ty-Tyler,” she chokes out. Were it not for the nausea ruminating in her chest, Henley would have almost felt embarrassed, memories of that awkward dinner a few nights ago lurking in the corners of her panic-stricken mind. But the sound’s back, and it feels closer.

“I… Yeah, I can hear–” She has to force a breath down, chest feeling too tight for comfort– “Where– where’s it coming from?”

          Richard takes a long, deep breath, one hand still firmly clutching the handle. Okay. Good to know he isn’t losing his fucking mind. He glances over her appearance, then: blonde hair pulled back in a disheveled ponytail, bleary eyes. Has she been crying?

          "I don't know. Kinda sounds like it's everywhere. But ― it's coming from the inside, maybe," he mutters, calmer than before, now that figuring out the source of this humming is established as the objective. He's still creeped out as hell, but finds himself unable to resist the chance to enter the building. It would be sensible to scream and run the other way, perhaps. But this has always been his greatest advantage and, simultaneously, will likely be his downfall ―- willingly stepping into the dark and the unknown, enjoying it, sating that compulsive curiosity of his.

          He tries the door handle again, jerking it up in a certain angle then pushing it with more force. Nope. Still not budging. "Shit, okay," he huffs to himself, frustrated, then pats down the back pocket of his pants for his wallet. The door looks ancient enough for this trick to work. “Hang on, let me try this―”

          Then, he stops, letting his hand pause mid-air with the laminated gift card clutched in it. "Hey. Hey, Henley, you alright? You look like you've been―" Tyler doesn’t finish the sentence, carefully peering down at her face. (Meanwhile, the humming never once halts, beckoning them, beckoning him.) “―Do you want to leave? We can leave. I can take you home.” That’s reverse psychology, and he does feel like a downright asshole for using it now. It’s a bit of a gamble, though, since he has no choice but to oblige if she ends up replying yes. But the fact that she’s still here, lingering around the funeral home in the dark when she herself isn’t even a huge paranormal fanatic, is a testament to some sort of personal motivation. Henley’s here because she wants something ―- an answer, maybe, just like he does.

[wnderkinds]

There, from the pulpit ahead, the preacher speaks in the tongue of his grandparents.

Nine years old, he squirms in his seat, squeezed in between Amy and Ethan, his mother hushing him every now and then. He can't help fidgeting. Sitting in pews hurts his butt and these stiff, itchy chinos he's wearing only adds to his bad mood. This is so boring.

There, from the pulpit ahead, the preacher speaks in the tongue of his grandparents. He speaks of family, community, and selflessness, but Richie is not fluent in the language enough to comprehend all the words. Mom and Dad insist on attending this particular church, despite their children’s protests of why can't we go to a regular church like my friends —- because this, they believe, is the closest thing to a sacred connection to their heritage and God.

(Richard will come to understand them much later in life. His parents who watched their own parents struggle, so far away from their home, digging for better opportunities under an American sun as they saw their grandchildren grow up to be foreigners. The generational guilt. It is his to inherit, too.)

Throughout his adolescence, attending the church is an uncomfortable reminder of his foreignness. Perhaps it's different for his parents, who seem to relish the opportunity, but teenage Rich just feels awkward and frustrated, surrounded by a culture that is not entirely his. He sits in the pews with a sense of displacement. Once, he kisses a boy from school behind the bleachers, then decides to stop going altogether. Arguments follow suit. This is supposed to be a family thing, he is told, but he doesn’t relent. Neither does he come out.

His relationship with religion ends there pretty much. After that, he’s off to college, then grad school, finding his passion in studying the minds most alien—those of criminals, serial killers, the individuals who commit such atrocious acts without blinking an eye. By the time he’s recruited by the FBI, science—not God—is what he believes in. (Except there is a parallel here, seeking to understand what is so fundamentally unknowable: a human mind not his own, and the mind of a single omnipotent deity. The ultimate epistemic challenge.)

Richard doesn’t pray, not anymore. He will indulge and tag along when his family gets together for the holidays; he will seat himself in the same old pews, absentmindedly thinking this place hasn’t changed at all, and stare at the cross on the wall. He could make peace with all of this if he wants to, he supposes. He's not a teenager anymore, desperate to fit in, wishing to claw his way out of his skin and discard his blood, to prove that he's as American as a white picket fence.

Nevertheless, for him, religion has been so closely tied to the church, this church and all that entails ―- and once he began to stray from the institution, Richard has never again felt the pull to return. He doesn’t want to believe. Sees no use in it. He will create himself; he will be his own savior.

[7l7l7l7l7l7l7l7]

fuck small talk how old were you when it all went wrong

[wnderkinds]

agirlnamedmason‌:

Mason ordered another whiskey neat from the hipster bartender before she answered him. “I don’t know, if I’m honest. There’s just not enough information to go off of. I’ve spent so much time pouring over what is available, just waiting for something to click. But it never does.” The whiskey had been set before her and she downs it all in one fluid gulp. She signals the bartender for another. It was going to be one of those nights. She could already tell. “Needless to say, I’ve lost a lot of sleep over this. In a way, I kinda wish it was cults, too, then at least I’d have a more reliable place to base an investigation.”

Mason’s third drink had found its way to her, sat daintily on the little cocktail napkin. She paused to sip at this one, realizing things had become a little too… momentous for her taste. Too serious. She was grateful when Tyler brought up the terrible karaoke singer, allowing her to slip back on a smirk that said she didn’t care about anything, which, of course, couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Please. Drunk white people. Don’t malign the rest of us.” 

Tired of just sipping, she downed the rest of her third whiskey. She could already feel herself becoming drunk. The hazy warmth that seemed to drench her brain and belly was sublime. She smiled mischievously at Tyler, a wicked idea crossing her mind. 

“Whatdya say we get up there next and show these losers how it’s done?” 

          Perhaps he's an elitist bastard (he is, a little bit), or just automatically dismissive towards those who claim to chase the paranormal, but he finds himself unexpectedly startled by Mason's sheer commitment to the case. She isn't working on the story for shits and giggles, or for her own amusement; her frustration is evident in the way she pours whiskey down her throat like she's chugging beer. Dubious subject matter aside, she is a journalist.

          "Hey, whatever it is, it can't stay under the radar forever, right?" he offers by way of consolation. This is Richard talking to himself, too. It's a difficult case, but he didn't expect anything less, did he? No use in letting the restlessness get to his head. He just needs to be patient and put the pieces together like he always does. Observe. Rule out possibilities one by one. Form logical, well-founded inferences. Find the pattern ―- it will be there. It has to be.

          And again here he is, thinking too much, working, on a night out meant for unwinding. Signaling the bartender, he opts for a rum on the rocks this time, which is soon followed by several more. He will allow himself this. However talented he may be at repressing the fuck out of his stress, it's the farthest thing from healthy, after all. (Then again, nor is using alcohol.)

          Happily tipsy, Tyler throws her a smirk, clapping haphazardly as the last note of the song rings out. “Ooh.” He downs the last drop of his drink, then sets the now empty glass down on the counter with a dramatic flair, standing up. “C’mon, let’s show ‘em the flavor ― I’m thinking classic Britney.”

[lupita-nyongio]

[agirlnamedmason]

@wnderkinds

[wnderkinds]

daisyjcnes‌:

For as long as DJ had been at the diner that night, everything earlier had sort of left her mind. The Spring Celebration had been a lot. A lot of people, a lot of noises, a lot of everything —- and it all just got a whole lot more heightened after Red’s… DJ didn’t see it as an outburst. He was grieving and he was angry that Josie didn’t seem to be getting the attention she deserved. 

And DJ couldn’t blame him.

Just as the cold night air hit her face as the door opened, Tyler’s offer came with it. DJ looked at him and for a heartbeat, she pondered. “Really? I mean, that’d be cool. But I don’t wanna make you walk in a completely different way from your house and then have to walk all the way back home.” While she didn’t mind walking home by her lonesome, she wouldn’t mind the company —- but she also didn’t want to have him walk in a different direction. Josie’s death had made her feel uneasy about who lurks around town. 

After he asked which way it was, DJ had a feeling Tyler wouldn’t really back down from his offer. “It’s this way. Like… ten-minute walk.” DJ began walking, keeping her pace slow and steady until she would eventually find herself walking faster than normal just to keep up —- one of the downsides of being short, she thought.

“So…” DJ began, pressing her lips together, “Did you go to the Spring Celebration? Did you get to see Wade in all its glory?” Sarcasm dripped from her words, a humorless laugh escaping her. It was the worst part about Wade —- in between all the nothingness the town had to offer, there some people in it made it less… boring. And, at the same time, making it less uneventful. 

          Following her cue, he starts walking in the direction she pointed towards. He isn't surprised when DJ brings up the Spring Celebration; that fight between Red Johnson and Mayor Daniels seems to be on everyone's lips since the event. "Yeah. The gym sent me, actually. I'm guessin' you were there too." He shoots her a small, rueful grin. "I went in there thinking, I'll talk to some people, get them signed up for trial sessions, eat some pie, whatever. Didn't expect something like that to happen. It was scary," he adds, hands stuck in the pockets of his bomber jacket, his tone growing distant as he recalls the scene. Maybe it has been a long time coming, but the sense of community, the trust, the thread holding the town of Wade together ―- he can see it thinning. And if his suspicions are correct—and they usually are—this is only the tip of the goddamn iceberg.

          The dark settles around them, with that dry Illinois chill creeping into his bones. Street lights have been turned on, but only few dot the path they walk; it takes some time for his eyes to adjust. Is it colder than usual tonight?

          "So, uh, you been reading anything interesting lately?" he asks, conversational, knowing her to be an avid reader. Collecting random information from books and websites and videos to be piled up in that mind of hers. Which signals something, he thinks, because she's a born-and-raised Wadian (a word that has recently entered into his vocabulary) who’s staying in Wade, despite possessing the obvious means of getting out: her brains.

          He is about to mention this book he's been meaning to read, a translated collection of short sci-fi stories by Chinese writers (which has been sitting in his―yes, Richard's―Amazon cart for eternity, frankly), but something in the corner of his eye stops him. A flash of a light, coming from the patch of woods they’re walking past.

          “Yo, did you see that?” he asks abruptly, scanning the trees. It’s gone now. A cat?

[antiquecritique]

A Dog Walk through a Funeral || Tyler&Aaron

It didn’t come to Aaron’s mind that going to a funeral wasn’t exactly the best idea until he actually got there. The last one he’d attended was to bury the closest person to him - his wife. Somehow, it had slipped his mind that another person’s funeral may bring back some very personal, bad memories. But he was already there, with a small bouquet of white lilies, neatly and modestly arranged in plain paper wrap. He wasn’t going to linger anyway, the leash held loosely in his other hand reminding him to move on and continue with his day quickly after he got the appropriate pleasantries over with. 

He didn’t know Red or Josie well enough to really feel for them more than in that common, sympathetic way that was acceptable from an acquaintance. So, he kept himself on the margins of the lawn in front of the funeral home, leaving it to others who had more history with the family to move to the front. Sumo, his senior American Akita, sat obediently at his side, idly watching a few pigeons resting in the shade under an oak tree. 

Aaron had hardly spoken to a few people there he recognized, everyone mostly focused on keeping up the somber mood that was a required default for a funeral. Then growing more and more curious and antsy by the minute as the whole event seemed to be late. Peculiar. Perhaps one of the family members got overwhelmed. Whenever Aaron dropped by the diner, Red seemed to be in a perpetual state of overwhelmed, ever since Josie disappeared for the first time. 

Looking around, he laid his eyes on a familiar face and made his approach. “Tyler, hey. You know what might be going on? Should have started twenty minutes ago, right?”

@wnderkinds​

[wnderkinds]

          Tyler lingers at the very back of the crowd along with a handful of others who, presumably, like him, were not that close to Josie to be standing next to her family and friends ahead near the entrance. The whole town is attending, and it seemed like a polite thing to drop by as a tentative sign of solidarity or something―which serves as a good excuse. The funeral would be an excellent opportunity to observe everyone around her. If she swallowed human flesh without resistance, she would have either willingly done so by herself, or consumed it unknowingly; if it’s the latter, it would’ve been given to her by someone she knew and trusted. Granted, Richard isn’t sure if this indeed is the case, but it is a possibility worth looking into.

          Except the funeral isn’t commencing. He checks his watch, then stares ahead, standing on his toes to get a better peek. People around him murmur among themselves, all wondering what’s going on inside the funeral home. His head turns in a swift motion when a familiar voice calls out his name ―- it’s Aaron from the gym.

          “Hey, man,” he greets, stepping to the side a little to make space for Aaron and his dog. “I have no idea. No one’s come out of the house yet. Maybe they’re just... running late?” His brow creases into a puzzled frown. (The innocent look of confusion masks a sinking feeling in his stomach. Did something else happen?)

          They wait. The town of Wade waits, helpless in its disquiet. 

[wnderkinds]

THOSE WHO GO CREEP IN THE NIGHT / tyler & henley @ofdollparts

          When Richard hears it, his skin crawls, hair at the back of his neck rising. It doesn’t sound like anything he’s ever heard in his life, and he’s heard many a strange things with the kind of job that he has. The sound is a low, reverberating hum, unpleasant and unsettling, and it sort of licks into his ears, sticking to the eardrums and echoing there, like when water gets inside your ear after a swim and you can’t hear anything straight. He absentmindedly wags his head, as if the movement will magically shake off the eerie hum. It doesn't work. The humming continues, growing louder as he approaches the Funeral Home.

          See, he couldn't sit still, couldn't fall asleep, couldn't calm down and think while the site was left unexamined. He had to go and see it for himselfーthe stage where Josie Johnson's last disappearing act took place. Hence this impromptu visit. His car is parked somewhere three blocks away. What he didn't expect, however, is this sickeningly frightening sound overtaking his senses. Doesn't sound mechanical. It's closer to a voice, or something animalistic, with a certain rhythm to how it resonates, chilling him to his core.

          "Fuck," Richard hisses under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again, carefully surveying the building for a back entrance, an emergency exit, a window, anything. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, a familiar rush; he doesn't know what he's walking into, but his mind craves answers.

          Turns out there is a back door. No cameras nearby. He tries the handle. Locked, but an old house like this is bound to have loose parts. If he grabs the handle and tugs it upward, instead of pushing down, like this, a bit more forcefully―

          He snaps his head around. Someone's behind him.

          It's Henley Evans. For a fleeting second, he wonders if he's now hallucinating as well.

          "Henley," he exhales, wide-eyed. (Normally, he'd be worried about making her suspicious, but he's too fixated on that godawful noise to care.) "What are you ―- you're hearing it too? Is that why you're here?"