Chapter Text
“It doesn’t matter where we go, he’ll find us!” Peter exclaimed, struggling to catch his breath. His lungs burned from the relentless running—he wasn’t built for this much physical effort, not with his usual life as a nerd. Terror flashed in his eyes as he looked at Stephanie. “There’s only one way to end this.” He paused, his voice faltering. Tears welled up as he said, “Steph, I know what those things want you to do.”
Stephanie froze, her heart thudding so loudly she swore Peter could hear it. The weight of his words struck her like a blow, and she could see the dread in his expression mirrored in her own. They both knew Max wasn’t someone they could run from forever. But even amid her fear, she clung to the faintest hope that there had to be another way. There had to be.
Not too far away, Grace knelt on the cold ground. While Stephanie and Peter were bothered by Max, she had taken her chance, snatching the Black Book and slipping away unnoticed to the opposite side. Her hands trembled as she carefully opened it to the summoning page. Now that she was involved in this whole mess and her holiness was a thing of the past, why not put this newfound power to use? For the greater good, she told herself. At least, that’s what she wanted to believe.
“I... I... I invoke the names,” Grace stammered. Taking a shallow, shaky breath, she began reciting the Lords’ names, one by one, in the exact order the book displayed. Her voice grew steadier as she reached the last name. “...Wiggog Y’Rath.” She waited, holding her breath. But nothing happened.
Groaning in frustration, Grace slammed the book shut. Of course, they wouldn’t just appear for her again so early. She’d been foolish to think otherwise. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Not only was she standing on the precipice of giving up the one thing she cherished most, but now, she couldn’t even make use of the power she’d risked everything for.
“Now, now, Gwacie-wacie . What do you bother us for this time?” A voice drawled from somewhere behind her. Grace froze. Slowly, she turned her head to look, but there was no one there. “You’ve seen us once, in your form and all, don’t be greedy.”
“I apologize.” She says. Taking a deep breath, she continues: “I want to change the deal. I have much more to offer than just what I cherish most.” A short silence followed, almost as if Wiggog Y’Rath was too amused by her audacity to respond.
“And what would that be, Chas-ti-ty ?” Grace clenched her fists, forcing herself to ignore the mocking nickname. “I’ll give away what I cherish most,” she began, “But I know that won’t be enough to satisfy you. An all-powerful being like you doesn’t just want sacrifices. You need followers. L-Like God…”
“Hmm. Go on,” the voice prompted, a hint of curiosity creeping into his mocking tone.
“If you spare me just a fraction of your power—a tiny bit—I’ll give you more than mere entertainment. I’ll give you souls. Not just any souls,” her voice sharpened. “The souls of every dirty man in Hatchetfield.” And with that, another moment of silence came.
“Interesting, I must say,” the voice replied, his tone dripping with mock delight. “But tell me, is a tiny wittle girl like you really ready to do such big work?” A cold, alarming giggle echoed around her, making Grace’s skin crawl.
“...That’s where the change in the deal comes. I want you to keep Max here. Just let me control him. Let me bend him to my every will. He’ll be my weapon. He’ll be mine.” A soft blush crosses her features.
The voice let out a long, thoughtful hum, amusement thick in his tone. “Oh, my dear Grace,” he crooned, “you’ve got quite the imagination. Keeping Max Jägerman as your petty-wet? Using him as your weapon? How delightfully wicked. But are you sure you can handle such power, pumpernickel? It’s not so easy to control a monster, even when it’s yours . ”
“Please! Give me this chance to prove myself! I won’t disappoint you. You know how devoted I am to what I believe in. Please!” Her voice shook with desperation, her perseverance burning bright for the greater good she clung to. Yet, deep within, an implicit doubt dawdled—maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t ready to send Max to hell so soon. The thought gnawed at her, but she pushed it away with all her strength, refusing to let it take root in her mind.
“Who am I to say no to a bit of fun… I accept your deal, Gracie. Do not dissatisfy me.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Grace forgot to breathe. Slowly, deliberately, she rose from the ground, brushing the dust from her knees as she stood tall. She knew what she had to do.
“...But I’m gonna start with you, Steph.” Max scowled, turning his head to glare at her. She was a traitor. She had been someone he trusted, someone he thought was loyal. But now, she stood there, having chosen to side with those he despised—the pathetic, despicable prudy nerds.
Stephanie stared back in panic, and Max continued. “You lured me to that house. You betrayed me! You fuckin’ Judas!” She tries to crawl back and away from him, interrupted by a sudden voice, who shouts: “So you do know the bible!” Her tone was laced with mocking surprise.
Grace stood confidently, her hair pulled back into a quick ponytail. Max, caught off guard by her sudden appearance, turned his head painfully slowly. “Grace..?”
Stephanie’s panic skyrocketed. Their only chance of stopping Max hinged on survival, and at least one of them had to make it out alive. If nothing else, Grace needed to save herself. “Grace, get outta here!” Stephanie shouted, her voice desperate, pleading. But Grace didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she ignored her entirely, a confident smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“I always thought there was something about your wrath that was so… Old Testament.” In a dramatic trim, she reached up, yanking the ponytail loose with a sharp tug. Her hair tumbled free, and she swung her head to mess it up even further.
“Huuuh?” Max’s expression twisted into one of utter confusion, but most importantly, intrigue. “I used to have a crush on another guy who rose from the grave. But Jesus never threw a football like you, Max.” Grace, sensually, loomed over.
At this point, Peter might as well be dead and in hell. “Grace, what are you doing?”
“Shut your fuckin’ fart-hole, Spankoffski! I wanna hear this.” Max shouted back, then turned to Grace with a silly smile. “As you were saying, Grace…”
Grace swallowed every ounce of pride she had left, looking away as she said words that betrayed her every being. “You were right about me, Max… I tried to hide it, pray it away, but you were right.” She hesitated, then squared her shoulders, her voice growing steadier. “I’m a dirty girl.”
Max’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. For a moment, there was something in his face that wasn’t sadistic rage, something that wasn’t predatory hunger. No, for the first time, it was something startlingly… human. His eyes, though still dark and piercing, seemed to light up, widening with something that almost resembled joy—if Max was still even capable of such a thing.
“Fuck yeah!” He exclaimed excitedly. “And I’ve been in my bathtub every night, brewing up a big old pot of dirty-girl soup just for you.” Grace pressed on, her tone unwavering.
“What?” That confused Max, but certainly did not take away his interest. “Uh, it’s what you call my bathwater in my sexual fantasies,” Grace explained. Max let out a dramatic gasp. “That’s nasty..! I like it.”
“Oh yeah? You dirty dude!”
Grace and Max locked eyes, their gaze smoldering with an intensity that suggested they might consume each other right then and there.
“What the fuck is happening right now?!” Stephanie was not enjoying the scene but was appropriately thankful to still be alive.
“Take me, Max! Right here on the 50-yard line!” She was ready. She was ready to sacrifice it all. She was ready to have him. And, well, save the world. For now.
“But, Grace… I gotta kill these nerds!” Max complained that two things, both almost equally important to him, were happening at the same time, forcing him to seemingly choose only one. “Are you really gonna pass this up? Are you gonna come under the bleachers with me, or am I gonna need to find another stud to use?”
Grace’s aggressive tone only seemed to fuel Max’s excitement even more. A flicker of panic crossed his face as his gaze darted between Grace and Pete, torn about what to do next. Finally, he stormed toward Pete with a clenched fist and a furious expression. "I'll be right back," he muttered, before spinning around and sprinting toward Grace with an almost childlike enthusiasm.
And so, Hatchetfield was saved from the evil spirit of Maxwell Jägerman. Grace sacrificed her chastity to banish Max to hell, ridding the world of his wickedness. At least, that’s the story Peter and Stephanie believed. While they mourned the tragic deaths of Ruth Fleming and Richard Lipschitz, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in their heroic efforts. Perhaps, they even developed a sliver of newfound sympathy for Grace, especially after she decided not to cancel homecoming.
Homecoming was lovely, and Grace even attended with a date—Jason Jepson, a boy who occasionally went to her church. They danced, laughed, and embraced the moment, a brief yet meaningful escape from all the horrors they had endured.
That moment lingered until the very end. As Jason walked Grace back to her house, she suddenly paused mid-step. “...Well, you can make it up to me if you’d like,” she said with a soft, innocent smile. “How?” He asked, naive. “Kiss me,” she replied, her voice playful but deliberate.
“Oh! Okay!” He said, a bit flustered. Their faces drew closer, and they shared a quick, awkward kiss before pulling back, both breaking into laughter.
“That was…” Grace began, a grin still on her lips.
“Absolutely disgusting,” a deeper, more menacing voice interrupted from the shadows.