bprd_agent_red (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bprd_agent_red) wrote2012-10-23 03:19 pm
bprd_agent_red) wrote2012-10-23 03:19 pm
Slenderman - The Building By the Lake
He hasn't slept for days.
He hasn't seen Liz in a week, maybe longer (maybe not so long as that), time is screwed up, along with everything else and he can't seem to keep his head on straight.
He's hearing things, seeing things, and he's so scared right now it's making him Mad.
There's nothing to fight, no one to hit or overpower. There's nothing real that he can get his hands on and punish for making him afraid. There's only the constant cold and coughing, the things in the shadows that make him jump and cringe, that unsettling feeling of always being watched.
When he heard about the building that appeared by the lake he knew he'd find whatever it was out there.
He's spent hours (days?) skulking around the grounds, skirting the woods and giving a wide berth to the ruin on the lake shore. Afraid to go in, unable to stay away.
Whispered thoughts stir around in his head, telling him to go in, telling him to run away, taunting him for being afraid, bolstering him to charge in.
He can do this, he can't.
He's not afraid, he's terrified.
Stay, run.
Enter.
Stone grinding against stone, Red clenches his right fist, holding it close to his chest as he wades through the overgrowth and into the building.
He hasn't seen Liz in a week, maybe longer (maybe not so long as that), time is screwed up, along with everything else and he can't seem to keep his head on straight.
He's hearing things, seeing things, and he's so scared right now it's making him Mad.
There's nothing to fight, no one to hit or overpower. There's nothing real that he can get his hands on and punish for making him afraid. There's only the constant cold and coughing, the things in the shadows that make him jump and cringe, that unsettling feeling of always being watched.
When he heard about the building that appeared by the lake he knew he'd find whatever it was out there.
He's spent hours (days?) skulking around the grounds, skirting the woods and giving a wide berth to the ruin on the lake shore. Afraid to go in, unable to stay away.
Whispered thoughts stir around in his head, telling him to go in, telling him to run away, taunting him for being afraid, bolstering him to charge in.
He can do this, he can't.
He's not afraid, he's terrified.
Stay, run.
Enter.
Stone grinding against stone, Red clenches his right fist, holding it close to his chest as he wades through the overgrowth and into the building.
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"Cute."
Stepping sideways, he's slow to turn his back on the scrawling, and when he does his fear hikes up another notch.
Moving down the hallway his eyes and ears strain for things in the dark.
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One wheel is slowly spinning.
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He's being toyed with.
For a moment frustration pushes down the fear, and he calls out a challenge.
"I know you're here, so come on out."
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Scratchy music plays.
Take a litle walk to the edge of town
Go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you're never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with
a red right hand
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The squeak of rusted metal makes him whirl around again, and he seizes it, twisting the metal so it can no longer turn.
Chest heaving as his heart beats hard against it he turns to look back over his shoulder as the music plays.
Jaw set, he straightens up and faces the direction of the noise. Fear is roiling in his guts, and now he's pissed.
"Think you're funny?!"
He starts forward slow, cautious steps turning into his normal stride and picking up from there until he's charging down the abandoned hallway; knocking aside litter, boots crunching glass.
Coming to the origin of the music he doesn't slow, instead he barrels through the already splintered doorway, stone fist drawn back. The record needle skips at the edge of the scratched vinyl as he brings his fist down on it and splinters it to bits.
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Heavy He's a god, he's a man, he's a ghost, he's a guru. They're whispering his name through this disappearing land. But hidden in his coat is a red right hand silence.
Scraaaaaaaaaaaaape.
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The whispers ring in his ears, and he can feel the cold breath of the voices cast against his skin.
His shoulders are tense and he knows he needs to turn around. He's sure there's something behind him, but he's too scared to look.
Fumbling, he reaches with his flesh hand for his coat pocket.
"I'm not-- I'm not afraid."
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"Spooks are my business. There's nothing-- "
His hand slips into his pocket, searching.
"Nothin' you can do that I haven't seen before."
His fingers curl around his father's Rosary beads, and he pulls them slowly from his coat.
"I'm not afraid."
When his numb fingers fumble the strand his eyes open to watch the Rosary hit the floor.
"I'm not afraid... "
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A foot attached to a very long leg.
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His heart hammers loud in his ears, but it's not loud enough to drown out what's around him.
It's the fear that finally lifts his head. He's too afraid not to look, and when he does he all he can think is, 'Father, help me.'
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He waits.
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He stares at the faceless thing, taking an involuntary step backwards.
"What do you want?"
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He takes another step back, that 'voice' he hears in his mind chilling his insides.
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He doesn't need to.
All he need do is call Hellboy's name. His true name.
Anung Un Rama in a voice both silent and as loud as thunder.
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Don't surrender. FIGHT. Don't let him...
...in.
Starting in the center of the carved swirl on his stone fist, a spark ignites, setting off a glow like embers all along the the cracks of his right hand.
The sawed off stumps on his forehead sprout into full horns, curling back over his crown with a fire igniting between them.
Hellboy is somewhere far away, curled up in darkness, and cold, and fear.
Standing in his place is the demon Anung Un Rama, who looks to him in reverence.
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As it is, his tentacles unfold from his back and reach out to touch Anung Un Rama's face, like a fond parent
Oh, we are going to have such fun.