bITS 'N CHUNKS
What's up everyone,
I like this story & I don't like it. There's some good stuff in it but it got...I don't know, too experimental? I just wanted to do a second person POV story because they're notoriously hard to translate and I just wanted to be the person. It COULD have worked but for reasons it didn't. I did still shop this one around a bit but no takers, and I have no hurt feelings over that because when I read it back to myself all these years later I'm like yeeeeah. I would have hard passed too. It's very Prince of Darkness, I can't remember if that was my intent or nah. But, there's no harm in sharing it with y'all. Learn from these mistakes! I tried to turn it into a full length novel too but, as Jud in Pet Semetary said, sometimes dead is better.
You know that eccentricity and age aren't mutually exclusive, but you never expected this.
For months you've worked your connections – whatever you could scrounge up from your previous job as a defense lawyer – to find the one known only as The Diviner. The esoteric higher-ups spoke his name with reverent awe; low-lifes whispered of him with dread.
He has minions. Mostly derelicts, people no one would miss if they ended up missing. He comes with high costs: most of your already-frayed sanity, untold amounts of money, countless hours of sleep. You've been places you never thought you'd go, would never go otherwise. Your spouse decided separate apartments were best after one too many shady characters approached you with trembling voices, holding cryptic notes.
But obsession wasn't enough. Before you completely lost your mind, you needed a sign that your sacrificed hadn't all been in vain for a flight of fancy. Then it came, in the form of one last vagrant with a hellish chorus of voices coming out of his mouth. He gave The Diviner's final orders before gasping his last breath and falling dead away on your doorstep.
14th Ave N. You were to bring a pricey case of a certain grape drink and a rare card from a trading card game you've never heard of.
You should have seen it then, but you were already too far gone. Once you shilled out your savings on eBay for pop and monster cards, you were ready.
And now you are sitting on the front stoop of a run-down apartment complex in broad daylight, in the company of a ten year old child. The Diviner.
He gratefully accepts your offering, slurping down half his drink and stuffing the card in his pocket. His tiny hands are scarred with arcane symbols and circles and strange shapes. The rest of your doubt is washed away by his sheer presence when he sits up straight, stares you down with golden eyes and pupils in the shape of a diamond, like a frog's.
Your mouth goes dry as you try to think of words to speak, an introduction, explanation, anything. But The Diviner is already speaking for you, speaking in you, conversing with the thoughts floating around in your head.
I know why you're here. Lindsay Bledsoe is dead.
Even in his thoughts he retains a slight lisp from a missing tooth. His hair is that fair, luminous shade that children eventually grow out of. His childish timber so charming you're caught off guard.
The man who killed her is free.
You nod sharply.
And you want to hurt him.
Let's cut the shit. This isn't some Hollywood voodoo witch crap. This is real life, hardcore magic you want. I can bind him, haunt him, kill him – whatever you want. Just pay the prices and I got you.
But what are the prices? You grip your sweaty hands.
Bondage is the easiest. A couple of chickens for blood and bones, some candles, and a piece of his clothes. But don't you want something a little stronger?
You've dreamed of that bastard's death for years. His slow, torturous death, just like he did to Lindsay. Hours and hours alone, cold, terrified, suffocating, knowing he will never leave his nightmare.
The Diviner grins and says, That's gonna cost you three young men, all of 'em virgin Christians, their entrails on fire and the seals burnt in their chests.
Your fists keep clenching. You don't want to hear it. But this is what you asked for. Isn't it? Killing him is supposed to be the salve for five years of pain and emptiness; but underneath it all, you just want your life back. Your daughter back.
That? I'll need a substitute. So another girl, seventeen, brown hair and eyes. But it won't be pretty. We'll re-enact her death, and if you're lucky, their souls will swap out.
Lucky? But what did luck have to do with anything?
Oh, you didn't know? Nothing's a hundred percent accurate. I can give you ninety at best. So sometimes it goes wrong.
The Diviner wraps his bony hands around his prize greedily. It's time to leave before someone questions your sanity or calls the cops. Maybe if you go home right now you can still salvage something of your humanity.
You'll be back.
A slight stumble in your step as you walk away.
Ia! If you've come this far, you're either looking for weird or you know you've found it...