Chapter Text
|-Thursday evening, March 21st, 2024. The Cordelia, 4721 Room 3G, Azalea Landing Drive, Wilmington, North Carolina-|
"You knew this WHOLE fuckin' time and didn't say NOTHIN'!?" Dumbass jabroni hick keeping shit hid from me. Especially when it COULD HELP ME RIGHT NOW!
"How's I supposed to know it were fer real? I figured it were jest some kinda haint tale. That's the kind of thing you tell your young'uns so they don't get crossways." I ain't buyin' Bo's schtick for nothin'. He knew 'bout Murim and chose not to help me out. Jagoff redneck. I'm about ready to choke the muddafucka out. FUCK. What the fuck is my life even? How'd I end up in this jawn?
Okay, take a step back. Breathe.
In through the nose.
Deep and low.
Expand the diaphragm.
Out through the mouth.
In through the nose.
Deep and low.
Expand the diaphragm.
Out through the mouth.
I'm feeling a bit calmer after that, but I'm still mad at Bo. Fuckin' jagoff redneck.
"You couldn't have brought this up sooner?" I ask him, wanting to know why information was withheld.
"Do I gotta say it again? I figured it was just some kinda haint tale. How's I supposed to know it was real and you was mixed up in all that mess?" He says. I can't tell if he's being genuine or condescending. Probably the latter. He's fucking with me. Playing off my fears. Working with Murim. I look back down at the feather, the way it glints in the dying sunlight. Just how much does Bo know?
"What are you hiding?" I prod with the intent of interrogation.
"Ya wanna hear what my Paw-Paw tole me?" Bo responds, not taking too kindly to my interrogation.
"Go on." Without hesitation, Bo starts talking.
"He and his brother, they'd pass the summers on they daddy's spread. Makin' sure every seed was right where it belonged, plumb across that whole field. Shoot, they planted any ol' thing you could imagine. Even the stuff that weren't worth a flip. Just tryin' to grow whatever'd bring home the bacon come harvest time, bless their hearts. Corn, soybeans, cabbage, lettuce. Even wheat." Wheat... Because of course there was fucking wheat... Just great... "They'd always lose half thet there harvest. 'Specially the wheat. Just wouldn't bake right, ya know. Go rotten quick as you please. Pure no 'count. Drove my great-granddaddy plum crazy. So my great-uncle, he got riled up and decided to do somethin' 'bout it. Musta been... somewheres 'round '73 when all this went down. Well, that's if Paw-Paw ain't lyin'." Bo pauses. Clearly, this story he was told isn't one he likes or views positively. "Them bad crop years, now, they always started with a mess of crows gatherin'. More than you'd rightly expect. Then they'd start findin' feathers. Wasn't like no bird you'd see 'round these parts. Bigger, they was. And gold-like. Just seein' one'd give you the shivers, I'm tellin' ya. Paw-Paw, bless his heart, he'd get all worked up seein' it, tryin' to figure out what in tarnation it was. How'd it get they-er. What all it belonged to. Just bein' 'round it was enough to set him off somethin' awful." I should probably stop him. But for whatever reason, I don't. I just let Bo continue with this trauma dump.
"His brother? Lawd have mercy, that sorry thang was like kryptonite to him. Just shut him plumb down for days on end, I tell you what. Then he just up and lost it. Grabbed a shotgun, some shells, and went strollin' out to the field one night in October."
"Did he ever come back?" Why did I ask that? I know what the answer is gonna be.
"Naw, he didn't. Doggone, he just walked on out yonder into the wheat field and never did come back. They never found his body, neither. And they tried, bless their hearts: My great-granddaddy, he looked and looked for days fer his boy. Rummaged all over that farm, time and time again. But he come up empty ever' single time." Jesus... That's messed up. How do you even respond to that? "Paw-Paw keeps a-hearin' his voice, though. Out yonder in that ol' field. Hears him a-hollerin' and a-screamin'. Swears he's shoutin' his name. Even hears gunshots, bless his heart. Ain't had a wink o' sleep since then. Can't rightly say I fault 'im none. I reckon my head wouldn't be worth a plug nickel if I had to listen to that kinda stuff for more than fifty years."
"Fifty years?" There's no way that... No. Just no.
"Over fifty years ago. That happened back in October of '73. It's March of '24 now"
Where do we go from here? How do I process this? Jesus Christ... This shit goes deeper than I thought. And for far longer. Just how many people has Murim disappeared? How many people has he killed? How many poor fucks has he turned into those shambling deadheads? How many families has he torn apart just because he got bored one day? How much trauma exists because Murim wanted to have some fun? Murim... and Him? How much of it was because of His will? How many people's lives were irrevocably altered because Murim was funneling them towards Him? The more I think about this...
"Is there any way we can fight this?" I ask, knowing that Bo doesn't have an answer I'll like. "Naw, not that I'm aware of. Paw-Paw shore don't, and he's had over fifty years to git it figured out." He responds. God dammit... I start pacing, trying to not let nerves get the best of me. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. If Bo of all people doesn't have a clue as to how someone can fight Murim, what kind of chance do I stand? I'm wicked fucked right now. Especially since Murim knows where I'm at now. Alright, think. What can I do to protect myself? There's gotta be something. I take another look at the feather. How did Murim even get in here? None of the windows are open. Unless..
I start moving towards the window, Bo looking at me like I'm mad.
"Whatcha doin'?" I don't pat him any attention, though. I just keep walking. And I immediately see something that's off: I can feel a breeze coming through. But not through the vent. I walk over and push the curtains aside. Just as I thought: The window is open. Wide open. Wide enough for, say, a crow to fly through and drop a feather. But now the question is how it got open.
"You didn't leave this open last night, did you?" I say as I turn back to Bo, feather still in hand. "Shoot, no. I ain't crackin' that window 'til it's good and May." He responds, still taking unkindly to my interrogation.
"Then how did it get open. Something tells me you can only do that from the inside. Where we are now. And we're on the third floor of the building." I then add, still interrogating Bo.
"You 'spect me to know? I was gone from here 'fore the rooster crowed this mornin'. Ain't laid a hand on that there winda, not once." He sounds accusatory, like he thinks I'm the one who opened the window. But I haven't been here all that long. I look back down at the feather in my hand. Damn thing... I should just throw it out. Be done with it. The more I look at the damn thing, the more I feel like my mind is slipping. But for whatever reason, I can't. I'm compelled to keep it. I wouldn't be surprised to learn if this was another way Murim has to keep tabs on me. Like an airtag for your phone or wallet. More reasons to get rid of this feather. But that urge to keep it...
thud
Me and Bo both snap our attention to where the sounds came from. It wasn't the window. It was the front door. With everything that has happened within the past twenty-four hours... I'm on edge.
|-Twenty minutes earlier-|
I should... I should talk with Cam. I know it'll sound stupid, but I want him to know that I still care. I'll always care about him. He's like the brother I wish I had growing up. And seeing him so... out of it... It's making me nervous. Worried. I just want to be sure that I'm imagining things. That it's just my mind messing with me. It's settled: Once I get back, I'm gonna sit Cam down and just... talk. Pick his brain. Make sure he's doing okay. The way he's been acting since he got here... It's too disjointed for it to just be exhaustion and sleep deprivation. I don't want to keep putting stock into the paranormal and occult, but if it helps me and Cam be at ease...
I roll my window down, wanting to feel the air for a few seconds. The rush of it hits me, but not too hard. It's quite pleasant, actually. The way it feels. A let it stay like this for a bit until I decide to roll the window back up as I reach the apartment complex. I quickly get into my parking spot and exit my car once I turn the engine off. I make my way to my building, the motions being a blur as I enter and head for the elevator. I hit the button for the third floor and start to ascend. Within a few seconds, I'm on the third floor and on my way to my apartment. I have my plan, but once I get into the actual apartment, I sense that things aren't alright. There's something in the air, and it isn't love. It's something else. Fear, maybe? I hear shuffling in Bo's room, followed by a thud. Was his window open? I don't remember it being open when I left this morning. I quickly make my way to his room to find him and Cam over by the window, arguing over something.
"Oh, shut ya yap. Could be him."
"What if it ain't, though? Could be Reilly. Or Maddy, reckon." "She's prolly busy all day. C'mon, help 'em get rid of dis jawn."
"That... Ain't how that works, Cam..."
"Uh... What're you guys up to?" My question gets the duo to immediately snap to focus on me, their faces pale. Definitely need to have that talk with Cam. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Cam fidgets for a second before he sets something aside, addressing me as he does so.
"Agh, uh... Ya back already?" He feigns ignorance despite it being past seven.
"Uh... Yes.? It's half past seven. I don't have anything else to do. What did you just put down?" I respond, my concerns not being alleviated in the slightest. I see a part of it, but not all of it and my curiosity is getting the better of me. But Cam doesn't budge.
"Whatchu talkin' 'bout? I dunno whacha mean. I ain't put nuttin' down." He says, trying to gaslight me. But it won't work. I know he set something down on the nightstand and I want to know what it was. So I walk over to said nightstand and... Oh. Well isn't that great. A golden feather. Exactly like the one I found earlier this week. This has to be a joke. But when I turn around to confront Cam about it, feather in hand, he goes pale. Correction: He gets paler. He was already pale. And somehow, more color has drained from his face. Why is this doing that to him? Just another thing for me to worry about.
"What is this?" I ask sheepishly, not entirely sure if I should be asking that. Not with what Cam currently looks like. He gulps, but stays silent. His breathing spikes, but still says nothing.
Something is wrong. And it has everything to do with this feather.
"Cam... What is this?" I ask again, most definitely against my better judgement. But again, I get no answer. Not from Cam at least.
"Ya wanna hear this? 'Cause you ain't gonna believe us if we tell ya." Bo says, his voice weak. It's not like him, and it's off-putting. I don't like it. What could he mean? What happened to Cam? "What do you mean?" I watch as Bo takes a deep breath. I'm in for another one of his grand-father's stories, aren't I?
"And he's been following you for how long?" I ask, fully expecting to not like the answer I'm given. Cam doesn't immediately respond. He takes a few seconds. A few very long seconds as he tries to collect his thoughts.
"Since Sunday." Is all he manages to say when he finally speaks. It's clear that this has taken a massive toll on him. How much, I can't tell. Not at this moment. Think that'll need to be something we work on. In the meantime, another question nags at me. One that I feel horrible asking. As if I shouldn't.
"Does he have a name?" I watch the color drain from Cam's face again. Bo looks unsteady. I've crossed a line. As I get ready to apologize, Cam slowly leans in, close to my ear and whispers something.
"Murim..."
"Mur-" He puts his hand on my mouth as I speak, blocking anymore sound from escaping my lips. "Don't... Don't say it out loud." He says. Oh great. An entity whose name I can't say out loud. How fun. But the name. Murim... I remember seeing something about names when I did that "research" the other day about European stories of a golden crow. I didn't go too far into it for obvious reasons, but it was something I took note of to look into at a later time. Guess I need to do that now. Just for ease of mind. And for anything that could help Cam out. But then something else starts nagging at me: Why is Bo reacting the way he is? What does he know about this? I turn to him, but as if sensing what I'm about to ask, he starts speaking before I can even open my mouth.
"A whole mess of old tales my Paw-Paw used to spin. Still does, ever' time I see him. They'd give me the heebie-jeebies back when I was knee-high. Ain't no doubt they will again, seein' as how it's all gospel." He says, voice still weak and unsteady. It's really getting me concerned.
"What kind of stories?" I ask, voice slowly becoming as unsteady as Bo's.
"Stuff you tell young'uns to keep 'em from actin' a fool." He responds, voice steady for once. I take a glance at the feather. Murim... Well, things just got a bit interesting, didn't they?
"And your dad told you these stories?" I continue, knowing that I probably shouldn't.
"Naw, my Paw-Paw. Not my Daddy." Bo says in response, voice becoming unsteady again. It's very clear these are things that make him uncomfortable. But still, he presses on. "Still carryin' on to this day 'bout how he hears stuff out yonder in that ol' farm field of his. All hours of the day, mind you. Clean through the night. That cawin'. Them howls. That hollerin'. He's put up with it for fifty years. I don't know how he sleeps a wink at night. How he keeps his conscience clear."
I take a step back. I want a clear head. Or as clear as a head as I can get. This is... a lot to take in. I don't even know where to being when it comes to processing this information. It's past nine at this point, and I need to get to sleep soon. I have a nine o'clock tomorrow and I want to be sure I'm awake for it. This occult business can wait for another day. I bid the two men adieu and head for my room. But something tells me that sleep won't be easy. Not with everything I've been told tonight.
|-The Ceramic Grove of Wheat-|
This is another dream. That's what this is. Because I distinctly remember sleep finally hitting me like a truck on that air mattress. I didn't go out in the middle of the night. I didn't go out for a walk or a drive. So why am I back in the Grove? Only one answer: I'm dreaming. I look around and see nothing but wheat stalks. Guess I'm in the field right now. That's fun. I wonder if any of those horse-crow things are out here with me. Or those shamblers. Just the thought is enough to get me moving. I do not want to stay in one place. Great way to get yourself killed.
As familiar as this looks, it also feels different. Like I'm in a different spot. I ain't feelin' this. Not even a little bit. But I gotta keep moving. It's not safe here. So make my way through the stalks, unsure if I'm heading towards that dead forest. I hope that I am. But my gut is screaming in protest. Hate when it does that. Usually because it ends up being right. Regardless, I keep walking. If I stay and listen, I put myself at risk. I don't want that. I want to stay mobile to minimize risk. But as I walk, I see the stalks rustle up ahead. Could be a horse-crow. So I scrounge the ground to find a rock. Once I get one in my hand, I toss it in the direction of the rustling, and one of those things pops out, thinking it was me. Good to know that strategy still works. Don't know for much longer, though. Once I'm certain that the thing has moved out of the way, I start moving again, though weary. More of those skeletal horse-crow things could be stalking me in the wheat.
It feels like hours have passed, but I know that's not the case. The moon hasn't moved once, and this is also a dream. I wish it was like a regular lucid dream, where I can fly and shit but NO, I have to get tormented by a demon bird in my sleep. Can't have shit in Wilmington. I keep walking, getting the feeling that I'm about to come across something. Not that the idea makes me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse with that. It's not a good or pleasant feeling. But I have to live with it. For now at least.
I eventually find something. Something that is familiar, for better or worse. It's the dead forest. All roads lead here, I guess. Like Rome. But this place. This Grove... it's older than Rome. Older than Greece and Persia. Older than Egypt. Even older than Sumer. It's ancient. Primordial. I can't shake that feeling. Modern man is not meant to be here, even in a dream. There are things here that human eyes are not supposed to see. The more I look at them, the more I feel my mind slip away. And the deeper I move into the Grove, the closer I feel to coming upon some kind of eldritch truth that will shatter my entire being. It's like reading from the Necronomicon or looking at Cthulhu:
Something as simple as that is enough to land you in a psyche ward, completely insane and babbling nonsense. The kind of shit that'd earn you a lobotomy a century ago. And yet, I press on. Undeterred. Undaunted. My gut is screaming. Telling me to stop with every fiber of my being.
But I don't.
I keep walking.
I move forward into insanity.
More time passes yet doesn't. The one constant paradox in the Grove other than the wheat. I move deeper into the dead forest, seeing the aqueducts looming in the distance. But there's something else. Something more... human. I hear someone yelling. It's too my right. I immediately pivot to face the sound and start running towards it. If it is another person, someone who's alive... I just need to reach them. I run and I run and I run. Getting closer to the sound. Whoever they are, they're in distress. Like something's chasing them. All the more reason to help them out.
"NO! STAY AWAY!" I hear, the voice getting clearer. Something is definitely chasing them. I just need to get to them first. But something tells me I won't. And that fear becomes realized.
"What... NO! NO, GET OFF! AHHG-" I reach them after this, but I don't get any closer... Them deadheads already got their stinkin' mitts on 'em. I'm watchin' in horror as they tear that jabroni apart and chow down. Arms get ripped right outta their sockets with these sick poppin' and crackin' sounds, and they're just tearin' into the legs like wild animals. I gotta book it, get back to the trail, but I'm stuck watchin'. Fight or flight kicked in, and I'm just standin' here like a jagoff. It ain't until them zombies start comin' at me that I finally haul ass. I ain't goin' out like that poor fuck. So I'm outta here. Back to the trail. But I trip over somethin'. I don't even wait to get back on my feet, not even lookin' at what I tripped on. Somethin' tells me it's one of them deadheads I didn't see earlier. I kin hear it bitchin' and moanin'. Good thing I kin haul ass faster than them jawns.
I make it back to the trail, breathing heavy after all that running. I need to catch my breath. I've exerted myself way too much. I just hope I managed to put enough distance between me and those zombies that they don't know where I am. That I've lsot them. Shaken them off my tail. But I get the feeling that it's futile. They'll find me eventually. Everything does here. Which makes it all the more unsettling that I haven't seen a single crow... Or Mu-
"Welcome back, Cameron."
Talk 'bout the devil and boom, there he is...
I turn around, and see Murim in his more human-looking form. The four wings, the shaggy hair and the hat. The pointed ears and the condescending attitude. No mistaking who this is: It's Murim. I can feel my eye start twitching. The one with his mark. No doubt he used it to find me. Just the thought disgusts me. I hate it.
"It's youse again... Da fuck youse want from me?" I can feel the venom in my voice. It's dripping with every word. But it has no effect on the Crow.
"I already told you. To bend you to my Master's will." His Master... Him... The little Rumpelstiltskin fuck. I'm not gonna let that happen. I feel a rock at my heel. If I can get Murim distracted... I can grab the rock and beat him with it. All I need...
"A futile effort." I hear, and suddenly, the feeling of stone of my heel is gone. How'd he... Nah. He can't just... read my mind... Can he? Aw, shit... Only thing I can do right now is run. But that's gonna be useless since he track me down like it's nothing. Regardless, I turn in my heel and run. My vision starts to blur as I run, eventually going entirely black. I don't know where I'm going now, and my hearing is slowly going to shit. All I can hear is Murim, taunting me.
"Run, Cameron. You will never be able to hide. I will find you. He will you."
|-Friday morning, March 22nd, 2024. The Cordelia, 4721 Azalea Landing Drive-|
I wake up with a jolt. The dream... nightmare is over. For now. I grab my phone to check the time, already knowing what it's going to be when the screen lights up: three in the morning. Dat jagoff Witchin' Hour. Goddammit. Every goddamn time, I'm wakin' up at dis hour. Why? What da fuck is dat bird doin' to me? I know Murim's gotta be in on this jawn somehow. He's gotta be connected. After all, this whole thing started on Sunday when I was headin' through Virginia. Okay, just breathe man.
In through the nose.
Deep and low.
Expand the diaphragm.
Out through the mouth.
In through the nose.
Deep and low.
Expand the diaphragm.
Out through the mouth.
I sit up, taking another deep breath as I do so. I'm not gonna get back to sleep. I'm already wide awake... and I don't want to be sent back to the Grove. It's bad enough that I was actually there the other night. But the fact that Murim can bring me there in my own dreams? That's fucked up. Beyond fucked, actually. It's heinous. Foul. The kind of shit that gets you in front of a tribunal. Dat feadered jagoff... When I get my mitts on him... But what happens after that? If I take out one of His marquises... does he find a replacement? Logic would assume so, but who would take Murim's place? That's not... No. I'm not replacing shit.
'I already told you. To bend you to my Master's will.' He's trying to turn me into a proxy. What the fuck am I dealin' wit' here? Some kinda Slenderman bullshit? This ain't 2014. Get wit' the program, ya fuckin' jagoff demon. But a proxy? What exactly does that mean? Him possessin' me so He can just schlep around in my body doin' all His jawn? Fuck that noise.
I stand up and head into the bathroom. I glance into the mirror and see that my eye hasn't changed back. That Senara chick... she saw it in my eye. And she's marked too. By the Snake. What did she say her name was? Aziel? Something tells me I don't want to meet her. If Murim can be this bad... I don't want to think about that. It's something I can deal with at a later stage if it ever comes to that. I hope it doesn't. I turn to the tub, get undressed and start the shower. May as well given everything that's happened. Wash away my sins, so to speak. I let the water steam first before I hop in. Once I do... well, safe to say, I needed this. I'm not one for daily showers, but this is nice. The heat, the steam. For once, I feel protected. But then I remember that Murim knows where I am. That he can see me at anytime. Frankly, if he's peeping while I'm in the shower, it says more about him than it does me. What a perverted fuckwad.
I finish up in the shower and start drying off, catching glimpses of my pupil. Still shaped like Murim. I don't know why I expect it to change. It's not going to. Not any time soon at least. Don't think it ever will. So I best make peace with this. Just accept reality as it currently stands. I finish drying off and slip into some clean clothes. At that point, I just head back into Bo's room. Probably not a good idea with that window, but the comfort. Then I remember the feather. Yeah... No. I'll slump on the couch. I'm not in clear view of the window. I think I'll be safe that way. I do grab my phone and charger, though. For doomscrolling, naturally.
I take my place on the sofa and start going through the motions. I have my earbuds in, so I'm not making any noise. There's not much to say here. Just shit that makes me depressed and realize how fucked we are right now. But then, something catches my eye. And it's not what I was watching. It's a message from Senara. What could she want at this hour? Clearly not anything good. I tap the message to see what it is, and I feel a pit form in my stomach.
'Meet me at Long Leaf Park. I got something you might want to have.'
Oh god... Jus' when I was gettin' all chill. This mumbo jumbo jawn don't know when ta leave me the hell alone. I let out a sigh, not happy about where this is going. I then get up and head back into Bo's room. I grab a jacket, that high-power flashlight and my keys before putting my shoes on. After that, I head out the door and down to the parking lot. Once I'm outside, I feel the eyes on me immediately. Everywhere I go, I feel them. Even in my car, they won't leave me. I'm being watched, even in a place where I should be safe. I hate this. I sit here for what feels like hours. I feel around in my pockets, and I brush against the feather. I pull it out, and immediately see why that was a mistake. The second I lay eyes on it, my mind starts flying. Coming apart at the seams. It's like I gazed upon an elder god and my sanity decided to nose dive into the Mariana Trench as a consequence. I shouldn't have done this. I need to do something that can stop the flood. But what? I start combing through memories, good and bad for anything that can stop me from losing my mind. It's a blur at first, but I manage to scrounge a few things together. Just enough to keep me sane. Sane enough... to make a decision. One I'll probably regret, but if it helps stop this bullshit... I put my keys into the ignition and start the engine. I'm meeting with Senara. See what she's got for me. This better be worth the time. If it isn't, there's gonna be hell to pay. And I'm taking it to Murim. And after I'm done with Murim... I'm taking that shit straight to Him.
No mothafucka's gonna make me his chump. Not while I still got a say. I'd ratha off myself than serve some demonic jagoff.