Chapter Text
Late ‘80s. The former actor is in his last year at the White House.
A brutal scream woke you up. A raw, guttural, horror movie scream.
A woman’s… no, maybe a girl’s voice. Standing up in your bed, heart pounding, you held your breath and listened:
And listened…
Nothing.
After a while you discerned your mother’s soft snore from the other room.
Wind blowing…
A
clock ticking downstairs…
Silence.
Then again
“AAAAaaaaah” with a voice torn from the chest of someone in excruciating pain!
…the scream trailed off as you locked onto its source:
Right. In. Your. Head??
Followed by a soft:
Chuckle…
The fuck?! You touched your ears, but the feminine chuckle had been somewhere behind your eyes... You started panting, looking through the clear moonlit room half wishing - half dreading to see another source for the voices.
There was no direction for where the scream came, only from where you were sitting. From… within you.
Then... Nothing.
The same silence.
But you were already petrified. That scream made your skin crawl. The chuckle even more.
Hugging your knees on the bed, you waited to make sure silence was certain this time.
After a few minutes, another scream! More like a wailing, much farther now, also within your head:
“Please… my dad’s rich… I’ll give you Anything…”
…said the distant plea.
As loud as a whisper, as close as the skin on your face.
Hearing that so clear between your ears, you jumped out of bed, sweating profusely and trembling within.
Then out of nowhere, your mouth spoke aloud, out of your control:
“Anything?…”
“Well, perfect, honeydoll, we’ll take everything right now.” - you replied to the night with a completely satisfied grin that did not belong to you.
Then suddenly your right arm tensed and jerked, as if you grabebd and pulled something in the air, like the gear of an old truck or stabbed the snow with a ski pole… or,
or something in-between, you imagined, never having done any of those actions.
A few more of the involuntary twitches until they trailed off and you simply regained control of your hand...
You looked in terror at the possessed arm, and started shaking it like it didn’t belong to you. Am I having a stroke? You thought.
You turned on the light in the room, looking around in panic.
Demons? Ghosts? The fuck was happening?
You went to the bathroom and splashed two hands filled with water on your face,
looking at yourself in the mirror with the odd expectation of seeing someone else.
The satisfaction you felt as you said that… “we’ll take everything right now”…you felt triumphant, you felt justified.
You felt something similar when your deadbeat dad had the accident.
The grin that oozed its way across your face when you heard the news…
And you felt evil and guilty afterwards, when your mom said we should not rejoice in others’ misfortune.
But you couldn’t contain the satisfaction.
Suddenly, you heard your mother call for you and panicked, feeling caught red handed with something you didn’t do.
“You in here, sweetheart? Everything okay?” your mother asked, pushing the bathroom door open.
You looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights.
She looked at you…
And then she turned off the light on you and continued calling:
“Darling? You left the bathroom lights on…”
Was she getting some sort of dementia? you asked yourself, wondering if she really saw you or just looked through you.
Or did she just not acknowledge you, like when you look at the clock but have to look again, ‘cause you didn’t really read it.
I was right here…
“Mooom??”
“Oh, there you are, what’s up, darling, you’re all pale.”
“I… I think I had a nightmare?”
“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart, you wanna tell me about it?”
“No, I think I’m good, I’ll just go back to sleep. Thanks, mom.”
You went back and paced around through your room at first, trying to make sense of things.
This was definitely not normal, what the hell, did you really dream or sleepwalked or something, or did you actually hear voices? And the hand jerks, the satisfaction in “we’ll take everything right now“… what did it all mean?
You shook your head. There must be an explanation, but not today.
You decided to go back to sleep and do some investigations tomorrow, maybe go to the library and find a book on possessions or something.
But right as your head touched the pillow, a scene flashed before your eyes, as vivid as you were living it:
A young girl laying on the grass in front of you, neck all bloody and windpipe completely exposed, breasts missing and open gashes in their place oozing blood…
And your hand… Your Hand, but like… a manicured elegant version of your hand, stuck inside the girl’s mouth prying it open.
You jumped out of bed again and shook your head, the last detail you noticed being that the girl’s tongue was missing.
In a state of shock, you remembered your “Our Father” and praying, you got out of your cursed room and went to sleep on the couch downstairs.
Or, you tried, because your mind was reeling that scene again and again and again:
So much blood… Y
ou were basically standing in a pool of that girl’s blood…,
her blond hair was spread in a puddle of blood, her eyes were bloodshot…, her mouth was gurgling blood and something else was coming out of her mouth, or was about to.
Something… satiating?
You remembered the feeling, the appetite, looking at her with satisfaction and demand, as you were prying her jaw open:
You felt like you just had a cold glass of the most refreshing drink after a long hot day.
And like you could’ve gone for just a little more.
Just one more sip, one more… whiff of that freshness.
What a strange feeling, you thought… like a predatory thirst or something. You actually went to get a glass of water.
As minutes turned to hours, you felt your mind relax, as if disconnecting from whatever had grasped you.
As you did, you found that, recollecting the horrific event, you were… intrigued.
It did not attract you in any way,
(
you felt the need to self-explain).
B
ut there was something purposeful in what just happened…
And you wanted to see more.
Rose the Hat
“Mmmmmhh” Rose inhaled the first cloud of steam deeply. She always reserved that to herself, said “the first scream tastes the best”.
Ah, and it did every single time, she thought, bitting her lower lip as the fumes awakened eternity in her.
She then shared the second and the third with the ones in closest proximity to her, this time, Silent Sarey and the newbie, Snakebite Andi.
It was Andi’s first meal and she was being fussy, looking at the rube with disgust and some sort of mercy, empathizing with the creature or something.
Some rookies are ungrateful lil’ shits when they start - Rose thought
, but would not let this little inconvenience spoil her appetite, or the lesson.
But Andi… well she was easy prey, maybe even easier than the rube in front of them.
She nodded towards her.
“Come here, Andi.” Rose spoke inside Snakebite Andi’s head, her psychic voice looping around the rookie’s mental being like a lasso.
Andi moved closer, crouching close to the spastic rube who was still processing the shock of having been stabbed.
Rose then punctured the kid’s barely forming breast with surgical precision, and eeeeever so slowly she buried the blade in to the hilt.
The slow penetration had the rube-girl howling a guttural, animalistic “AAAAaaaaah”! She strained to pull away from Rose’s unyielding blade in vain, powerless against the True Knot's centuries-practiced art of restricting their prey.
A thick cloud of white steam expelled with her scream, followed by sobs and struggles as muscles fought the intrusion.
Rose gasped in the steam-load and - grabbing the reluctant Andy by the back of her neck - she pulled her forward, forcing the young acolyte to kneel in the rube’s blood. She then kissed her possessively, exhaling steam into her mouth and mentally commanding her to just:
“Take it!”.
The steam of a child whose breast was being stabbed... It was challenging.
Each form of terror had its nuance and rookies were sometimes taken aback by seeing the action unfold, before sensing the pain in the scream-steam. The shock was double for someone new.
But then Rose realized, and she smiled into the kiss as she did, that Andi’s mind was already in a state of absolute obedience since the moment their lips touched.
Since her first night, Andi belonged to Rose the Hat and would follow her to hell and back. She was an easy conquest, and Rose loved her no less for it.
The girl inhaled the offering deeply and hungrily,
her mind thanking Rose,
her mind kissing Rose,
her mind worshiping the Goddess that gave her a chance at immortality…
her mind leaning forward…
Then Rose moved away, sharing more of the steam with Sarey, who was waiting loyally by her other side.
With the corner of her eye, Rose caught a glimpse of the little steamer having found the strength to bargain:
“Please!! Please stop!!! Please, my dad’s rich, I’ll give you Anything!!!” pleaded the rube.
“Anything?…” Rose asked, smiling fiendishly at the offer, while sensing a slight echo somewhere.
“Well, perfect, honeydoll, we’ll take everything right now.” she replied, eager for the evening’s entertainment. But that darn echo…
She pulled downward at the lodged blade, less precision now, just taring flesh; and as steam rose, she invited the rest of the Knot to partake.
Rose led the group in inhaling the thick steam, their eyes glowing otherworldly as the ecstasy of youth, pain, vitality and fear was becoming one with each of them.
She removed the knife, stabbed and pulled again.
Then again, from multiple sides, until the small breast was completely severed. She let the useless piece of flesh slide off onto the grass, adding to the blood puddle where some ants were drinking and others were drowning.
She then moved on to the other breast.
The pain - no, the struggle and despair - and of course, the steam, it was all an incredibly arousing cocktail for Rose.
She would fuck someone tonight, Rose thought. Someone that thirsts for her right now… it could be Andi, but why incentivize that little flash of hesitation earlier? No, she won't indulge weakness and the girl must learn.
Maybe she'll have Crow, or Sarey, or rather both of them at once! She'd fuck them senseless until she'll climax her soul out, if she ever had one.
That'll spur Andy on, stoking her need to prove herself...
Thinking about this, she syphoned a thick stream of steam though her parted lips, moaning gently as the powerful substance tingled her every nerve, reversing time within her as the screams were awaking every cell in her body.
Good steam pup, this one, and oh how delicious - she tastes like berries - thought Rose, licking her upper lip.
The rube was offering a copious meal indeed, but was surprisingly mouthy: between screaming and crying, she kept trying to make deals with them, pleading with each, and promising to be silent if let go and so on…
...the stimulant they injected to keep her awake must have been a little too effective.
Wiping the smirk off her own face, Rose leaned even closer to the young prey.
“Shhhhhhhhh…” Rose whispered to the rube gently, catching her eyes in a stare that was deliberately filling with heartbreaking compassion.
With a hand behind her back, she gestured a pinching motion to her crew. Then, grabbing a pair of pliers from Crow and keeping it out of sight from the little steamer, she continued, with a soothing voice:
“There… shhh… be calm little one, we’ll stop now, I promise…”
Her face exuding genuine concern, she caressed the girl’s cheek, wiping off tears, comforting the little rube with the reassurance that the pain will cease.
Rose’s eyes brimmed with all the pity of the world, while the young girl lying at her mercy was softening under her gaze.
“You suffered so much, baby girl… it’s okay, you can rest now, just…. yawn.”… she ended, also mentally commanding the exhausted rube to:
“Yawn!”
The girl’s ragged breath surprisingly calmed down, though an uncontrollable sob continued within her ravaged chest.
As Rose comforted her, her eyes actually widened with a glimmer of hope. Crow was always impressed every time his leader was able to pull that off.
As the kid took a couple of sobbing but deep breaths, the third one obeyed the command and she opened her mouth wide in a deep yawn, eyes closing.
Rose immediately stuck the pliers inside the brat’s mouth and pulled out her tongue fast, in an expert maneuver as to not risk getting bit.
With the tongue clasped firmly, stretched out of the rube’s mouth, Rose leaned closer, burrowing her sapphire eyes within the kid’s soul, delighting in the horror on her victim’s face, as the shock of deception was setting in:
“Let’s see you bargaining without this, shall we?” She said, baring teeth, as an absolutely delightful smile stretched across her elegant features.
She then used the blade to sever the kid’s tongue in one swift motion, triggering violent screaming and flailing, while a new cloud of steam was released from her bloody screaming mouth.
”Hahahaha!” Rose’s laughter rippled through the cloud of steam with genuine humor and satisfaction at the shock and horror caused by her trick. Her gorgeous features lit with sadistic delight, “Oh, I just love it when they play along!” she exclaimed, twirling the severed tongue for a moment, before dropping it on the ground.
They all took deep breaths of the precious mist, and as the rube was thrashing and struggling, blood sputtered everywhere, including on Rose’s face.
She was unfazed, enjoying herself. This happened all the time, and the salty iron was always part of the menu.
Licking a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth:
“My… my, what a temper you have…”
Rose stuck her left hand inside the rube’s mouth, grabbing her mandible and pressing inside the jaw with her nails, into a spot she knew prevented the little brat from biting her. The girl’s head was locked in a gaping cringe, completely immobilized.
With her other hand, she tore a cut on the side of the rube’s neck, then quickly moved to the other side. Connecting the two sides with her blade, she managed to expose the trachea without taring it.
Show off - Crow thought, smiling at his beloved boss. That woman was certainly skilled with a blade.
Steam was rising slowly from between Rose’s fingers and it seemed like it was slowing to a trickle.
Not yet - Rose thought, sticking her right hand nails inside the chest wounds slowly but deeply, eliciting a fresh scream, with a little more steam.
Through the bare windpipe, one could actually see the luminescent steam flowing out of the rube. Rose was really putting up a show for them tonight.
Curling her fingers inside the former breast, she kept milking the rube of every last ounce of steam, while prying her mouth open with her left hand.
The scene was almost biblical, with the rube-girl in the center and the True Knot feeding off her like in an unholy communion…
Rose had absolute control over the being at her feet, manipulating the kid’s mutilated body with surgical precision and a somewhat artistic flair. She was playing an instrument and the symphony was magnificent…
Unfortunately, the session was coming to an end. Soon, the rube expired, probably due to blood loss.
They collected the last remnants of steam by lung compression (which was not easy, with those particular wounds) and stored it in canisters.
…
As they buried this one, Rose recounted the evening’s events, irritation flickering across her face: “Did you see Andi’s reaction when we started?”
“Yeaaah, they’re all like that to begin with” said Crow.
“I wasn’t.” replied Rose. “Neither were you, or Chink. Can’t put my finger on it, but some, even if turned, even if hungry, are not immediately ready to take it.”
“Well, you had her taking it pretty fast.” Crow lifted a brow at her with a sly smile.
“Jealous?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare, Rosie.”
“And you shouldn’t. Dare, I mean. You know you’re my favorite, rest is my business.” She pressed a blood-stained kiss on his cheek.
Crow welcomed it with a smile.
She continued: “I had an echo, you know.”
“How come?”
“I think a new one, just awakened, could be big, could be shallow, but certainly curious about my activity.”
“Nearby?”
“That’s the thing, I don’t know. I can’t really tell a direction, which is unusual. But she was rather old for a new awakening, probably 13 or more. Girl, I believe.”
“Wanna start searching, while she still has it?”
“Mmmno… I think this one’s in it for the long run. There’s potency there. And some sort of twisted curiosity that will have her in our orbit again. She didn’t look away when echoing me.”
“That’s new. But she might get polluted if we wait too long, time could ruin the steam…”
“No, Crow. I think this one’s different. Let her come to me. I find this more interesting, really.”
Nothing troubled you until the next morning.
You went up on your tiptoes and looked at your own room from the doorframe: the bed was as you left it, nothing moved, nothing out of place, no sense of any foreign presence or anything to suggest last night’s… event. But you wouldn’t dare enter or make your presence known yet.
As you were staring at your own room, through the slightly open door, hiding from what could jump at you from within, your mum’s voice suddenly called right in your ear “You up, honey?”
At the same time, she opened the door fully and walked right… through you ?
The fuck?!
You looked in shock at your mother having passed right through at least half your body.
The movement was brief, but clear.
Your shoulder, at least, should have been rammed out of place by her if she appeared in front of you like that. What the hell was going on?
“Mooom!”
The woman startled and turned:
“Oh!!! You scared me.”
“Didn’t you see me here??”
“Where, honey?”
“Right in the door frame, mom, what the hell?”
“Watch your language, missy! No, I did not, now go get ready for school, it‘s already late !”
That was the second time she didn’t see me, you thought. Was there something going on with her? Was I doing something? Did she really pass through me or did I just imagine it?
None of that made sense…
The day continued uneventfully.
And so did the following ones…
…
Until one day, in class, when you heard your history teacher saying:
“…dumb fucking idiot, they don’t pay me enough for this shit”
during a test.
You laughed, looked around and realized no one else heard him say it, though it seemed pretty loud and clear to you.
At least you didn’t laugh loud enough to draw attention…
You returned to your test paper, since time was running out and you were terrified, not having studied much for it.
It was one of those subjects you kept putting off, telling yourself you’d study eventually - until eventually turned into too late. Now you were frozen, brain blank, staring at the questions like they were written in Chinese.
You read the third one again: “What was the primary purpose of the Inquisition during the Middle Ages?” - and that’s when you heard the teacher’s voice cutting in over your thoughts:
“…relationship between lord and vassal… no… moron, not master and slave… a… vassal pledged… loyalty… and… military service…”
What?
You were staring at the teacher for some time now, your face in utter disbelief.
He was correcting the tests of those who handed them over early.
You looked intently at his mouth: he was not speaking nor mumbling.
But you were hearing him loud and clear.
You focused on him and the words became even clearer.
As you closed your eyes, you heard every single line he read and every scornful comment. That man really disliked his job. And most of the kids. But he sure knew the right answers.
Focusing on his voice and based on his comments, you filled in the rest of your test. You stayed until the very last minute, listening and adding to your paper.
When you got your A+ it did not surprise you at all.
…
In the next days and months, you honed that skill.
You learned how your senses sharpened under pressure - how fear or fury dialed everything up until you could feel the air vibrate with other people’s thoughts. And how, if focusing that energy and closing your eyes, you could even to tap into scenes in front of other people’s eyes, how you could hear what they heard and thought and felt. You reflected people’s most intense emotions, at least the negative ones.
You became a mirror for their darkest feelings. A siphon for their contempt.
As you practiced your skill you found that there was so much contempt in the people around you, and how their inner monologues were laced with fear and judgement and disgust.
You took advantage, of course, using your knowledge of their inner voice to manipulate your classmates and teachers and later on in life, coworkers and managers.
Somehow, though, you never made any friends, never got anyone to pledge some form of trust in you. Not that you’d trust any of the double-faced fakes around you either. But as you heard or saw others’ loneliness and vulnerability, you longed for yours to be seen as well. And you despised that weakness about yourself.
What you were learning, slowly and bitterly, was that the world was made of people like your father.
Men who loathed themselves and took it out on everyone else. Selfish and violent when drunk, but pathetic and apologetic when sober and faced with their own shortcomings.
Your father failed repeatedly in all his endeavors and blamed it on you and your mom every time. He had ridiculous dreams that mismatched his lack of spine and ambition, and every time he lost a job or one of his ideas blew up in his face, he got shitfaced drunk and ended up beating the living hell out of your mom… or you, if you got in the way.
After a few of the failed attempts at “making it big” with investing in all sorts of crap like soup-vending machines and welding tools which he never learned how to use, he got into gambling and ended up wasting away all the money, leaving his woman to pickup the slack.
At the same time, one of your earliest childhood memories was of your grandfather telling you about Napoleon Bonaparte, describing the character like a flawless, intelligent and charismatic leader, capable of mobilizing masses and outsmarting enemies.
And somehow that memory stuck with you. You were barely 4 or 5 when you heard it and had grand hopes from your father, this charismatic man your mother adored.
But he let you both down quickly and repeatedly, with each lost bet, each drunken abuse, each broken promise.
Later you learned that his father was actually the same. Weak men with mighty stories and feeble characters.
And their women may have been hard working and the only ones carrying on, but just as weak themselves for staying with the bastards.
And now you were learning the entire world was like him: a wretched contemptuous mass of frustrated sheep.
The disdain you grew and harbored was shaping you. You felt no shame using your talent to exploit the assholes around you.
But there was another aspect to your skills that you were yet to master.