#Hitchcockian Tension
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hotpotdragon · 30 days ago
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Shadow of a Doubt (1943)
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romanceyourdemons · 5 days ago
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pitch for a cartoon network show from like maybe the mid 2000s. it’s called North & North-West and it’s about two secret agents for an agency dedicated to the location and containment of Miscellaneous Containers of Generally Unknown Facts For Important New Stuff, or MCGUFFINS for short. some mcguffins are new/unique to the show while some are references to famous mcguffins in media the target audience shouldn’t have seen yet, for instance a suspiciously hitchcockian statuette or tarantinian briefcase. the protagonists are marguerite north, a suave james bond type who can talk them into any problem and out of most of them, and her sister-in-law kyleen north-west, a techy macgyver type who’s socially anxious but thrives in tight situations. marguerite has a running tension with their nemesis, the nefarious and nebulous McG, and kyleen is married to marguerite’s extremely normal brother jason. there’s very little running plot, but the first-season arc is about kyleen trying to keep her spy identity secret from her husband, only for it to be revealed that jason and marguerite are from a family of spies and he’s totally chill with all of it. in fact he’s been trying to keep his work a secret from all of them—he’s so scared they’ll react badly when he comes out as an optometrist
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cinemaocd · 9 months ago
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Movies I watched in March 2024
Under the Cherry Moon (1986)** I'm Not There (2007)*** Jingle All the Way (1996)* Three Graves to Cairo (1943)** Hitchcock (2012) ** Silent Partner (1978)** Possession (2002)** Oppenheimer (2023)** Oscar Wilde (1960)** Turning Point: The Cold War and the Bomb (2024)** Anselm (2023)*** 24 Hour Party People (2002)** Two of Us (1999)*** Remains of the Day (1993)*** Doubt (2008)*** Dune (1984)*** Dune Part II (2024)***
Under the Cherry Moon (1986)** Absolute bobbins of a script is still beautiful to look at, very gay and of course mainly a vehicle for Prince's music. Under the Cherry Moon was the follow up to Purple Rain. It was a box office flop, a critical failure that earned Razzie nominations, but is a worth another look. Prince and Jerome Beton are sex workers with a rich female clientele on the French Riviera, the kind of career that only exists in movies. Kristin Scott Thomas makes her film debut as the debutante who comes between the friends and threatens to part them. Prince's death scene, harkens back to Camille with Prince playing Garbo. Like Garbo, Prince was happy to exploit his own androgyny and like Garbo, he was doomed to only explore that in a way that could be squeezed into heteronormative films.
I'm not There: (2007)*** A fascinating look at Bob Dylan, dividing him into six personae played by six different actors. Haynes uses different film styles, the Cate Blanchett mid Sixties Dylan of Bringing it All Back Home and Blonde on Blonde is matched in style with the black and white cinematography of D.A. Pennebaker's Don't Look Back. It also has elements of the Italian Surrealists like Felinni or Antonioni with a scoch of A Hard Day's Night. The soundtrack is particularly good, avoiding for the most part, the licensing pitfalls that plagued Haynes' Bowie biopic, Velvet Goldmine. Some of the most effective moments of I'm Not There, pair landscape shots with Dylan's music. Given the catalogue and the array of talent, Haynes has gathered, one perhaps expects a bit more , but then that has always been Dylan's nature, he's mysterious and aloof, leaving us wanting more.
Jingle All the Way (1996)* We watched this Christmas movie in March because we recently learned that part of it was filmed at my son's elementary school. It had Jake Lloyd somehow being more annoying than he was in the Phantom Menace as a bonus. Phil Hartman got dragged into this unfunny mess as well.
Three Graves to Cairo (1943)** Tense war time drama about a British officer who gets trapped behind the lines and ends up hiding out in a hotel working as a waiter for Field Marshall Rommel. Billy Wilder ratchets up the tension, his script giving all the best lines to Rommel, played by Erich Von Stroheim who really owns the film though Anne Baxter and Franchot Tone nominally "star."
Hitchcock (2012)** Hichcock's struggle to make Pyscho dramatized with fantasies where he hangs out with Ed Gein, while Alma Hitchcock gets involved in a Hitchcockian romance with a hack writer. Scarlett Johannson plays an almost deliberately obtuse Janet Leigh and James Darcy captures pre-Psycho Tony Perkins. It's a bit silly but I'll never turn down Helen Mirren and Anthony Hopkins in anything. This has a slight, arch feel to it, like many of Hitchcock's pictures, but lurking underneath are the ordinary hates and passions of a man who fears being left behind, at the height of his career. For his long-suffering wife's part, she too feels she's being replaced by the young actresses that Hitchcock is obsessed with at the moment. The conclusion is sweet enough for the Hayes office: husband and wife rediscover the magic of their working relationship, which was always the rock upon which their relationship was built.
The Silent Partner (1978)** With Elliott Gould, Christopher Plummer and Susannah York in the cast, this should have been better. Decent heist plot that devolves into slasher film . Christopher Plummer takes on the dubious mantels of playing a villain in a piss-poor American action film and a cross-dressing murderer.
Possession (2002)** A rather thin adaptation of a great novel, A.S. Byatt's story of two modern academics who disover a previous hidden romance between two Victorian poets. The film lacks the poetry of the novel, which I think is necessary for the story to have its full impact, but the film is full of plenty of jabs at academia as well as burning passions. Gweneth Paltrow and Aaron Ecklund play the young couple, while Jeremy Northam and Jennifer Ehle play the poet/lovers. Tom Hollander has a small but memorable part as does Toby Stephens.
Oppenheimer (2023)** My least favorite half of Barbenheimer still damn good and the physics nerd in me reveled in seeing my dead physicist boyfriends on screen. There are better films about Oppenheimer's life (BBC did a mini series starring Sam Waterston and it's on youtube) but something about the dreamy quality of Nolan's film captures that quantum mystery kinda vibe and put it in a blockbuster package. Cool.
Oscar Wilde (1960)** Preceded the landmark film Crisis by one year, without the world shaking honesty that film managed, around the topic of homosexuality and the law. Both films hinged on blackmail of a gay man but Oscar Wilde is careful to skirt around explicit mentions of sexuality, using tricks like showing the dictionary definition of "sodomy" briefly on camera. More was needed and more was achieved a year later. Ralph Richardson contributes to the courtroom scenes admirably and Morley is a terrific Wilde, who would rather make point for style than save himself from prison.
Turning Point: The Cold War and the Bomb (2024)** Fascinating background to our current situation, most of which is terrifying and now I'm worrying about the bomb again. I took off a star for the sheer number neo-con/Reaganite talking heads in this...
Anselm (2023)*** Wim Wenders stirring mostly visual documentary about Anselm Kiefer, a German artist who has explored his childhood memories of post war Germany in a frank and intimidatingly in your face way, on a massive scale combining sculpture, painting and physical spaces, many of which he has engineered himself. As a middle aged person who feels estranged and terrified to look more deeply into her own childhood, Anselm was something to sit with for two hours.
24 Hour Party People (2002)** Steve Coogan plays Tony Wilson, the Manchester TV personality and club owner who helped launch the careers of Joy Division, New Order and The Happy Mondays. Coogan has a tendency to make all his characters Alan Partridge and this is no exception, but it kind of works? It did more to get me to listen to Joy Division that numerous goth roommates ever could...
Two of Us (1999)*** I can't stop watching this made for VH-1 fanfiction of a movie starring Jared Harris and Aidan Quinn as John Lennon and Paul McCartney, dramatizing a probably apocryphal tale that John and Paul met up in NYC in the 70s when Paul was playing Madison Square Garden. Pure fluff and nonsense. I need it like air.
Remains of the Day (1993)*** Revisiting this old favorite and finding that it's kind of pacey and funny for a Merchant Ivory pic. The movie that made me love Tony Hopkins as an actor, his Stevens is really such a fascinating, ostensibly tragic character and yet there is a weird kind of triumph to living one's life so completely to a schedule and a code, and yet never being to eliminate desire and feeling.
Doubt (2008)*** This is the second Philip Seymour Hoffman movie I've watched in the last few months that has left me utterly haunted. Like The Master, Hoffman creates a villain who charms the audience at the same time you know that he's probably done unforgivable things and is only at the start of a long career of doing unforgivable things. Meryl Streep gives a heavy handed performance (Streep never met a colloquial accent that she didn't wear like a Groucho Marx nose) that certainly gets the point across that unpleasant people usually aren't the bad guys you want them to be. Amy Adams plays a naive young nun who, like the audience, is left wondering what to believe.
Dune (1984)*** Unapologetic Lynch Dune lover here. I love the cheesy acting, the wild tonal shifts, and the attempts to put this sprawling multibook epic in the Star Wars shaped box that the studio wanted him to use. My favorite scene has become Lynch's cameo, he seems so happy just pretending to be a spice miner, in his little spice mining suit in his little unconvincing space ship. I love him and this whole stupid mess. Sorry Frank Herbert.
Dune Part II (2024)*** My prediction is that Villeneuve's probable trilogy will--like so many franchises--peak in the second film. The first part was a slow-moving visual feast, that only hinted at the potential of this cast. Things actually start moving in the plot and Chalamet's Paul does his best to cope. Unlike MacLachlan's avuncular Atreides, who takes being a Messiah as just being another Tuesday of being the Universe's Most Gifted Child, he actually seems conflicted. Zendaya continues to utterly dominate every time she's on screen. Can Channi be the focus of the movie? Please?
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denimbex1986 · 9 months ago
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'He starred in one of the year’s most profoundly moving films, All of Us Strangers, and won praise for bringing Uncle Vanya to the London stage. Now Andrew Scott continues an impressive run of work by giving audiences a fresh take on one of the most iconic characters of them all.
Since US novelist Patricia Highsmith first brought Tom Ripley to life in a series of novels, the shrewd criminal and con-artist has enthralled readers and audiences alike.
Over the years, actors including Alain Delon, John Malkovich and Matt Damon have brought Ripley to the screen. Now the Dublin actor takes a deep dive into Ripley in a new series for Netflix - and characteristically makes the role his own. Not only does Scott take on an American accent for the role - impressively, he learned to speak Italian to play the character, who moves to the Mediterranean in the late 1950s.
“I had a wonderful Italian teacher and learned it for three or four months before we started just so you could understand it. It's a beautiful language to speak. And then of course, when you're around it, you become more interested in it," says Scott.
“It's one of the things you have to get used to a little bit as an actor - you've got to become really adept at something for a particular period, and then you have to move on to something else. I love that about acting, actually. But I'll try to keep it, I'm going to go back to Italy this year.”
Scott has given us a Ripley for the ages in the suspenseful series. It’s written and directed by Steven Zaillian, whose previous screenwriting credits include Schindler’s List, The Irishman and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.
Zaillian brings Hitchcockian levels of tension to the storytelling, shot in black and white and striking in its attention to detail.
“It's the most extraordinary character and we spend so much time inside his mind and inside his world,” says Scott of taking on Ripley. “I think that's what's remarkable about it. Sometimes in a television series where there's eight hours of this, it might be about a couple, or a police department, or a family, or a hospital. This is really based on one person. We spend so much time with this guy, the character's in 95% of the eight hours, that's an awful lot of time to spend with one character.
“And so the challenge of it is to not blot the copybook too much in relation to how wonderful the mystery of the man is, as well as what we do know about him, which is that he is an enduring character that people love. But I think the questions about him, and his mysteriousness and his secretiveness, are a reason that he's so fascinating to play.”
Understandably, he opted not to watch other performances depicting Tom Ripley, though he had seen Alain Delon in Purple Noon and Matt Damon in The Talented Mr Ripley years previously.
“I love both those versions for different reasons. It's happened before in relation to Shakespearean characters, you think: ‘Oh, I don't want to see that’. You want to be able to put your own stamp on it.
“I was very lucky because I received the full eight hours of scripts, a big pile of scripts to read, which is very unusual for an actor. You usually get maybe one or two episodes. I had the whole thing mapped out and I knew immediately how extraordinarily written they were and sparsely written.
“I love the film noir-ish element to it. It's absolutely exquisite to look at and I love the opaqueness of playing this character. It felt like a real departure for me.”
The series was shot in New York and various glamorous locations throughout Italy including Rome, Capri, the Amalfi Coast and Palermo, as Scott’s Tom Ripley travels to Europe to seek out an old acquaintance, the wealthy and privileged Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn).
As a boy, a shy Scott took up acting classes and quickly fell in love with the craft - playing the Tin Man in one of his first ever performances.
Years later, he went on to star in several Irish dramas including Jimmy’s Hall and Handsome Devil. He gave us the villainous Moriarty in a TV adaptation of Sherlock and the legendary ‘hot priest’ in Fleabag.
“I think we all as human beings want to do something that's of use to other people,” he says of his career. “You want to do something that's useful in the world. I suppose I appreciate more now, how much this can be of use to people, and how it genuinely helps.
“I do feel like I try to force myself sometimes into appreciating that what I do can be of use to people and it's not a frivolous thing, because I know that actors and artists of all different persuasions have really helped me.”
There have been many memorable screen performances from the Irish actor, but theatre is at the very heart of what he does, and his recent successes include an award-winning run of Vanya, which also screened widely in cinemas.
“It's just like injecting the atmosphere straight into your veins,” he says of live performance. “You don't wait around - you're the chief artist, if I'm honest, as an actor. In the theatre, you're in charge.
“If the audience is getting bored, it's your job to pick the pace up, it's your job to be sort of all seeing, and there's nothing like that. If you don't exercise those muscles, you lose them and I don't want to lose them. I find it just the purest form of storytelling. Vanya was exhilarating, and exhausting, and all the things.”
Scott brought audiences one of the finest screen performances of the year in All of Us Strangers, which audiences are falling in love with on streaming services following its successful cinema run. He and his friend and co-star Paul Mescal entertained fans with their banter while publicising the film.
“It's been extraordinary,” says Scott of the film’s reception. “I’m still processing that actually, how affecting the film was for people. I suppose I understand for my own personal reasons more now why it affected people so much.
“I did that project with people that I really love - Paul especially. And when we brought it back to Ireland it was completely magical for both of us. It was very, very special. I'm very grateful to have just been part of it, not just the film, but the process and the reception and everything about it.”
Ripley comes to Netflix from Thursday, April 4. www.netflix.com/Ripley.'
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fzzr · 2 years ago
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What Is It About Dinner Parties?
Spoilers for:
Rocky Horror Picture Show
Shrek 2
A Civil Campaign (Vorkosigan Saga book 13)
The Nightmare Stacks (Laundry Files book 7)
I recommend every one of these works, with the caveat that you should really get into their respective series where applicable for the best results. Spoilers will not completely ruin the experience, but if you have the patience and opportunity to watch three movies and read several thousand pages, go do that first. (After is acceptable if you prefer.) When obtaining books remember to first check at a library or local bookstore. Do not buy from Amazon if you can avoid it. Audible is Amazon.
Content advisories: Works discussed here include depictions of sexual assault, murder, cannibalism, adultery, and various anti-LGBTQ+ phobias. (Rocky Horror is the main offender but some of the others contribute.) Additionally this explores awkward social situations in great detail, so you may want to skip if that sort of thing lives in your head.
I have noticed that fictional works often use scenes at dinner parties as key turning points in their stories. This is achieved through a combination of rising tension, humor, and tying together many plot threads at once. It's possible to do something similar without the humor (eg. the Hitchcockian suspense of a bomb under the table) but that's not what I'm looking at today.
A note on definition: when I say “dinner party” here, I mean a social event in which a group of people who do not share a household meet for the main purpose of sharing a meal. This is different from a regular party, gala, ball etc. where activities other than the meal are the focus.
In my observation, the anatomy of a dinner party is as follows:
Stage Zero: Setup
A key element will be the interactions between characters who would prefer not to deal with each other. There are a few ways to build the guest list to achieve this. You can have the simple case of someone bringing a plus one without warning in advance who (or what kind of person) they would be. It's also possible that invitations were sent before a conflict came up, or the host may be unaware of the issue. There may also be a broader social obligation on attendees, such as a holiday. Wholly uninvited guests usually don't happen in this sort of scene (those are more characteristic of less intimate social events, like a charity ball turned hostage situation).
Rocky Horror's dinner party takes place right after several less than fully consensual sexual encounters and a very bloody murder, with the characters being assembled through social force and implied threat of violence. Shrek 2 has it as the first sustained interaction between the title character and his royal in-laws after his elopement with Princess Fiona. A Civil Campaign spends about half the book just building up to this event, with protagonist Miles so focused on making it a success for his main goal that he loses control of the guest list, the menu, and even the staff. In The Nightmare Stacks, it's a family meal introducing two prospective (and unconventional) significant others to the parents at the same time.
Stage One: Civility
The scene begins with all parties acting superficially civilly. The threads of the narrative and the stressor are both on the back burner as action begins. There will be hints of the conflicts to come, especially as the principal characters become aware of the full guest list and its implications. This phase may be very brief, or even skipped if the story uses immediately previous scenes to establish sufficient tension.
The Rocky Horror party's first minute strains the definition of "civility", with awkward silence accompanying deliberately sloppy table service. Shrek 2 likewise uses silence to delay interaction as long as possible. A Civil Campaign has a very large cast to introduce, but the atmosphere is casual with just a hint of stress as Miles does his best to manage the bloated guest list. The Nightmare Stacks barely gets everyone in the door before the incompatibility of hosts and guests becomes apparent.
Stage Two: Interaction
This generally starts with the appearance of food and of necessity seating of guests. This is the point where the characters in conflict are first forced to interact rather than passively stay away from each other. It's possible for this stage to still be indirect, but proximity means that there's no way to sustain the illusion of civility.
In Rocky Horror they can't even finish singing "Happy Birthday" before things start to escalate. Shrek 2's initial interactions are wordless, using the series' signature facial expressions to show to what degree everyone is already hostile or unaware. A Civil Campaign has Miles realize his carefully arranged seating positions have been disturbed by someone with different priorities, but most of the social tension is surprise rather than hostility. The Nightmare Stacks stumbles past this step right into the next when it turns out the guests have mutually exclusive dietary preferences.
Stage Three: Conflict
Next, some minor issue arises, like one character breaking a social convention. There is almost universally some issue with the food itself as well. Depending on the number of characters and plot of the story, this can go on for some time. This is often where most of the comedy of the scene comes in. Events may become more and more absurd, allowing things to escalate without over-burdening the reader with stress. Often the issue isn't even directly related to the core conflict of the story, or starts with a lower-stakes side plot. In doing so, it can weave such plots into the main one.
Rocky Horror is already under so much stress that it takes just the smallest spark to get things burning. Shrek 2 likewise gets here quick, as Shrek's cluelessness with regard to etiquette kicks off an escalating series of indirect and then direct criticisms. In A Civil Campaign the awkward seating arrangement makes social interaction difficult, and Miles realizes that the menu has been undermined in a way that could cause an uproar and deeply offend some very senior guests. The Nightmare Stacks lays on the dramatic irony, where a conservative father is too busy learning about gender nonconformity to worry whether his son is actually dating an Unseelie Fae princess (the answer is "unclear", but only about the "dating" part).
Stage Four: Eruption
The issue that led to the tension established before the scene is exposed to all present. More often than not this is caused by something in the comedic action accidentally exposing concealed information or causing a stressful event to be discussed or even repeated. Sometimes the comedy itself is the issue, with the disruption alone being enough to expose the issue eg. if it’s due to contrasting social norms. Regardless, this is the climax of the scene where everything comes to a head at once.
Shrek 2 kicks into high gear, with characters becoming so incoherent they can only scream out each other's names. Rocky Horror and A Civil Campaign reveal the truth about the meal they've been eating. The lack of coordination in A Civil Campaign causes Miles to move forward his social plans to disastrous effect. The Nightmare Stacks has the meal collapse into such disarray that the protagonists are able to escape unscathed.
Stage Five: Tone Shift
The comedy is (usually) suspended and drama kicks in. This is often also a turning point in the larger story. It may mark an act transition (typically second to third) or just a change in the intensity of the conflict. In a romantic comedy, this is a prime opportunity to get into the things-just-got-serious phase where the core relationship is under threat.
Rocky Horror's dinner party serves to launch the climax by getting everyone in place for the final showdown. In Shrek 2, where it's the act two kickoff, it establishes the stakes that Shrek can't simply slide into place as a socially acceptable fiancé for Fiona. In both A Civil Campaign and The Nightmare Stacks, the result of the dinner party is the revelation of the true intentions of a main character, respectively openly courting another (it's complicated) and tricking her counterpart into meeting her parents (it's complicated). They both leave the protagonists with few paths open to them and even fewer good ones.
Why do they work like this?
I think the main thing that makes the dinner party so effective at progressing a story in both plot and tone is the contrast between natural and unnatural human interaction. Sharing food is one of the most basic interpersonal activities, with archeological evidence going back further than anatomically modern humans. This is in tension with the artificiality of the actual situation, where precise details of food presentation, respect for social norms, and personal behavior are under scrutiny from individuals you may not fully trust. Food in general also has a visceral impact on everyone. No one is sophisticated enough to willingly eat all of "Meatloaf", escargot, "bug butter", and vegan "pizza", so you as the consumer of the work are forced into empathy with the characters.
Given a scene where everyone is under stress by default, you add on the wider context of the story. Any plot where progress is blocked by "well what if everyone who isn't getting along just avoids each other" is immediately reinvigorated. It's often the case that not everyone is aware of other moving parts, so things can move forward by broadening the impact of ongoing issues to the rest of the cast. If it's too early in the story for things to really blow up, the dinner party can still raise the stakes or expose fault lines that were previously unseen.
If you accept either of the theories that humor is built on tension and unexpected relief or on juxtapositions between the familiar and the incongruous, the natural/artificial split in the dinner party setup also provides these. Everyone on both sides of the fourth wall expects a certain degree of decorum, but it soon goes out the window and leaves you and the characters equally off balance. Likewise, the sharing of food presupposes that everyone can actually partake in the food presented, and undercutting that is a further violation of the common vision of what a dinner party should be. The way characters react to that challenge is another easy hook for comedy.
Conclusion
Putting it all together, dinner parties really do it all. Tension and release, humor and drama, heightening and resolution - the dinner party has the tools you need. Next time you read or watch a dinner party scene, think about the role it plays in the story and the way it's constructed to fulfill it. They're some of my favorite scenes, and I bet they could be some of yours too.
Detailed Examples
Originally I planned to give each spoiler-warned work a stage-by-stage breakdown, but they needed so much context that tumblr's editor broke. Instead I will give them dedicated posts and update this one as I go.
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pintsizeddeepthoughts · 1 year ago
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25 of 250: Favorite Films - Witness
Not long ago, work colleagues and I got into a discussion about what our favorite films were. Given my categorical nature I could not resist writing down a list and, as a writing challenge, have decided to write 250 word reviews of my favorite 25 films of all-time. Note: these are my favorite films, not what I think are the best films of all time.
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Directed by: Peter Weir
Written by: Earl W. Wallace and William Kelley
Starring: Harrison Ford, Kelly McGillis, Lukas Haas
Year/Country: 1985, United States
In an interview with the American Film Institute, Harrison Ford said, “the worst thing you can do (with a love story) is make love because it spoils the tension.” This was in reference to Australian director Peter Weir’s Witness, one of cinema’s great star-crossed love stories. Ford plays Detective Book, a Philadelphia cop who is shot by a crooked member of his department while investigating the murder of an undercover cop. The only witness to the crime is a visiting Amish boy, accompanied by his mother. Wounded, he takes the boy and his mother back to Pennsylvania’s Amish country where he’s forced to hide out.
From there the movie becomes something truly special - a beautifully shot and scored, thoughtful, honest examination of different cultures, their limitations, and how those living within those cultures are both empowered and constrained by them. Ford turns in the best performance of his career (netting his only Oscar nominatio). His Detective Book is a vulnerable man, out of place in the Amish world. The openness with which he approaches his situation leads to the tender romance with Kelly McGillis’s Rachel. Both are clearly attracted to each other but the tremendous gulf between their cultures prevents them from consummating their attraction. The film is mature enough to realize this (Book: “If we'd made love last night I'd have to stay. Or you'd have to leave.”) and it elevates the film’s power and informs its Hitchcockian finale, one filled with notable restraint and highlights the film’s themes.
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pinchraccoon · 2 years ago
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FAITH: The Unholy Trinity Review
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I played FAITH: The Unholy Trinity on stream recently, and I was very very satisfied with my experience.
Admittedly, I'm something of a wuss about horror media usually, but that didn't stop me this time. FAITH is a game in three chapters about a pastor by the name of John attempting to right previous wrongs and exorcise demons that have haunted him for a year since an incident in his first exorcism.
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The very first thing that you'll notice upon booting up FAITH is the incredibly palpable style that it sticks to. In it's in-game visuals it's highly reminiscent of an Atari title, but with some modernizations to make it look Not Awful. Additionally, all dialogue has this uncanny text to speech applied to it, such that even your main character sounds horrifying, and adds to an inability to trust most things in the game. The third and final major point toward it's visual style that I feel is worth mentioning, and perhaps it's biggest claim to fame, is that of it's cutscenes. At multiple points in its run, FAITH will pull you into something of a first person point of view (although there is no hard rules saying that this has to be so) where what is being presented to you is seen in this really interesting, almost sketchy, pixel art style that clearly shows signs of being traced from real video references. The visual effect that these make is unparalleled in it's ability to unnerve, and it strikes at the uncanny valley effect that an encounter with a demon would likely bring to attention.
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Provided are some notable examples of these cutscenes and their general style. These can occur at any time, and can be absolutely terrifying when the game wishes them to be.
I find that FAITH's visual elements serve to give a lot of this game's strength, and while the rest of the game is still quite good, it's apparent that the style contributes greatly to this games horror.
Regarding that, this game is fucking horrifying.
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There are numerous instances in FAITH where I was legitimately in a state of terror regarding what was occuring, and the tension made by FAITH for the majority of it's run is thick enough to take a big, bloody bite out of.
Airdorf Games clearly understands the fundamental tenets of what makes good horror, and the Hitchcockian advice that has served to underpin the genre since visual horror's popularization. Everything that this game pulls in terms of scares this game absolutely earns, both because the actual imagery is somewhat scary in its presentation, as we've established in the section on it, but also in it's pacing. There are very few areas that don't have a really good scare to them, and I'm happy to report that the quality of the game, up to a certain point, remains very consistent.
Smaller things that I liked about FAITH, this game, when it does kill you, doesn't make a huge show of it, and it shows you your death screen and lets you get right back into it, which does serve to assist the combat elements present. FAITH is also quite funny sometimes! It's subject matter is inherently somewhat spooky, but it does have a goofier horror tone later on that calls back to roots of old horror schlock, as referenced in it's key art. Additionally, it contains nods to Yume Nikki, WD Gaster, and I'm Scared, and I love a game that recognizes history like that.
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I only have a few complaints regarding this game. They are as follows:
Hitboxes feel janky and inconsistent, which one could argue adds to the horror, but in a boss fight you've been killed in 9 times to this point, it becomes frustrating.
Later portions of the game lose a lot of the horror, although in context they should absolutely be the part of the game that is the most horrific. This is largely due to the increased reliance on gameplay and combat in these sections as opposed to atmosphere as the game had done up to that point. It's not *bad* per se, but it's different in a way that doesn't immediately align with the clear objective of the game to that point
Occasionally the game becomes a little bit too "gamey." Which is odd to say, but there are some things that take me out of it and cut that tension that took so much to make, and when I'm cognizant that I'm playing a game and not being completely in it kinda makes me a little sad. This is a minor complaint however, as some of the puzzles are interesting and kinda fun, they even use this feeling of safeness at some points to really scare the shit out of you later on as well, so it's not all bad, just perhaps not to my taste.
Some puzzle design is needlessly obtuse, but sometimes they throw you a bone and give you means by which to bypass these (as well as boss fights) but with narrative consequences for them. I really love this idea, and this makes the game have a clear narrative arc FOR you that YOU make yourself. My run of FAITH might be completely different from your run of FAITH, and that's really cool!
I would implore you to play the game for yourself, as even if you watched my VOD of the game, you will get a completely different experience if you engage with it yourself.
Overall, I recommend that you should absolutely play FAITH: The Unholy Trinity. It's a lovely horror experience unlike much else. The best horror is Catholic, and this game is certainly a guilty pleasure.
If you'd like to watch my playthrough of the game, it's up on my YouTube, linked right below!
youtube
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kevinsreviewcatalogue · 2 years ago
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Review: Scream VI (2023)
Scream VI (2023)
Rated R for strong bloody violence and language throughout, and brief drug use
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Score: 3 out of 5
<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2023/03/review-scream-vi-2023.html>
We've got a moderate Democrat in the White House, Y2K aesthetics are coming back into fashion, and everybody's hyped up for a new Scream sequel. Buckle up, folks, it's 1997 again. Scream VI (the number returning, this time as a Roman numeral) is a film that takes heavily after the second film in this franchise, the protagonists now in college and dealing with the legacy of the events of the fifth movie that preceded it. As far as Scream sequels go, it's pretty middle-of-the-road in a franchise that's always had a high bar for quality, ranking below the second and fifth films but ahead of the fourth. Outside its heavily advertised New York setting, it doesn't really do much new with the franchise, instead existing as a vehicle for fanservice in the form of both returning characters and references to the older movies, and there were a lot of moments when I thought it could've afforded to be a lot more daring, in terms of both killing off established characters and making full use of the fact that it's set in the Big Apple. That said, the Carpenter sisters have grown on me as the series' new protagonists, the kills and the buildup to them were highlights, and the moments where it did step outside its comfort zone, especially the opening sequence, sent me for a loop. Overall, it was a film that had a lot of missed opportunities and felt like the series was coasting in franchise mode, such that I'm not really comfortable giving it more than a 3 out of 5, but it was an entertaining, crowd-pleasing slasher that showed that the last movie wasn't a fluke -- Ghostface is back as a horror icon.
This film takes place a year after the events of the last one, with Tara Carpenter and the Meeks-Martin siblings Mindy and Chad having moved to New York City to attend Blackmore University, and Tara's older sister Sam following them and sharing an apartment with her sister. Tara is eager to move on from what happened to her in Woodsboro, but for Sam, it's not so easy, not only because she seemed to have enjoyed killing the last movie's killer but also because, since then, conspiracy theories have proliferated online accusing her of being the real Ghostface murderer and framing the people who were actually responsible. What's more, a new string of brutal murders by a killer wearing a Ghostface costume has struck New York, and the killer seems intent on connecting Sam to them, leaving her old driver's license at the scene of the first murder. Together, the "Core Four", as the four Woodsboro survivors call themselves, team up with a group of friends both new and returning -- Sam and Tara's roommate Quinn, Quinn's NYPD detective father Wayne Bailey, Sam's boyfriend Danny, Mindy's girlfriend Anika, Chad's roommate Ethan, the older Woodsboro survivor Kirby Reed from the fourth movie (now an FBI agent drawn in by her investigation of the opening victim), and Gale Weathers, who went back on her decision at the end of the last movie to not write another true crime book about what happened, much to Sam and Tara's fury -- to hunt down the new Ghostface, who, as it so often is in this series, may very well be somebody in their midst.
The opening scene, which starts with the requisite big-name star (in this case, Samara Weaving) getting brutally murdered, threw me for a loop and started the film on the right foot by immediately revealing Ghostface's identity (Jason, working with an accomplice named Greg) and motive (he thinks Sam is a murderer and that he's avenging "her" victims). This is an idea that I've always thought it would be neat for a Scream movie to explore, telling the story in a Hitchcockian fashion by following both the heroes and the villains with full knowledge of what both sides were up to, the tension coming not in trying to figure out the killer but in wondering if the heroes would figure out what's really going on before it's too late. It almost felt like a cheat to then have the real Ghostface step in and kill this impostor, especially since Tony Revolori's brief performance was a highlight in crafting an utterly cold-blooded sociopath who doesn't think his victims are human. This was, unfortunately, about as inventive as the movie got, and the fact that they backed off from that idea of making a Scream movie where we knew who Ghostface was right off the bat kind of foreshadowed that the rest of the movie would be quite derivative of the ones that came before it, the second film most of all. It's got Roger L. Jackson's Ghostface voice being creepy as ever, the requisite self-referential humor about horror movies courtesy of Mindy (in this case long-running franchises), and more, but in a lot of ways, the New York setting was really the only thing new about this movie.
Fortunately, when you're working with "a very simple formula!" like the Scream movies, themselves loving homages to '80s slasher tradition, it's the production values that really count, and this movie looked and felt amazing. There were a ton of great slasher moments and sequences, from a battle between Gale and Ghostface in her penthouse apartment to the scene in the bodega (heavily featured in the trailers) where Ghostface decides to finally grab a gun to a scene involving a ladder that is easily one of the most intense moments I've seen in not only the series but the slasher genre in general. Not only were there some killer chase sequences, the kills themselves were properly bloody, with stabbings, eviscerations, eye gougings, and knives getting shoved down victims' throats all depicted in graphic detail that earns this movie its R rating. If I had one real complaint about this movie on a technical level, it's that they could've made better use of the New York setting. Yes, seeing Ghostface kill people in alleyways, brownstones, bodegas, penthouses, and (of course) the New York City Subway was great fun, but if I were to really go all-in on sending up the gimmicky setting of Jason Takes Manhattan that was clearly on the filmmakers' mind, this time with an actual budget so that they don't have to spend two-thirds of the movie on a cruise ship, I would've gotten a bit more inventive. In the penthouse scene, use the location hundreds of feet up as a hazard for the protagonists to work around and Ghostface to exploit -- which would've made a great homage to a standout kill from the second film, while you're at it. I get the reference to the second film's climax of having the finale take place in an abandoned theater, but instead of a fairly generic location like that, have it at a Broadway theater during a show or a TV network (perhaps even the one Gale works for) during their nightly newscast, which would've had the added bonus of having the killer's plot blow up in their face by way of an inadvertent public confession.
The cast, both returning and new, was solid, especially the "Core Four" of the new generation of Woodsboro survivors. The MVPs were probably Mason Gooding and Melissa Barrera, the former getting a lot more to do as Chad than simply hang around in the background (especially with his romantic subplot with Jenna Ortega's Tara) and the latter having improved considerably since the last movie, growing into her role as Sam and finding a lot to work with in regards to her troubled relationship with her past and those around her. The film seemed to be setting up an arc for Sam not unlike what the fifth Friday the 13th movie set up for Tommy Jarvis, or the fourth Halloween movie set up for Jamie Lloyd, and unlike those series, I can see the next Scream movie actually following through on the darker directions they take her character rather than chickening out. Seeing Hayden Panettiere back as Kirby was also a treat, especially once the movie started throwing some curveballs with regards to her character. The killers, however, were a weak spot. While the film did do one new thing from a technical perspective, and I liked how the lead killer's identity was foreshadowed over the course of the movie, their motive was recycled from the second film, and only the lead killer really left much of an impression, their accomplice feeling like an afterthought who was there just because Ghostface in these movies always has somebody to do their dirty work. There were also plot holes as to how the investigative reporter Gale and the FBI agent Kirby would not have figured out who they were, and their connection to previous Ghostfaces, from act one. While the acting for the killers saved them, overall I felt that they were the second-worst Ghostface team in the entire film series, ahead of only the killer from the third movie and the hot garbage that the TV show served up. The character of Sam's boyfriend Danny also felt completely pointless, existing only to provide some hunky sex appeal and accompany the rest of the cast on their adventure without really having much of a character of his own. He felt like a waste, there only to pad the suspect list.
The Bottom Line
This was a flawed movie that felt like it was cranked out to cash in on the success of the last one, but the Radio Silence team knows how to get the job done, and overall, it's a solid, perfectly fine installment in a series that is, at this point, five-for-six in terms of quality. If you're a Scream fan, you don't need me to tell you to check it out, but even if you're not, it's still a worthwhile watch.
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spoilertv · 3 months ago
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brawn-gp · 6 months ago
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google search lesbian hitchcockian high tension psychosexual film with gothic undertones
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unit3947 · 6 months ago
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dressed to kill was mostly garbage for its blatant transphobia + racism, but the museum & elevator sequences were insanely stylish and nail biting— hitchcockian tension mixed with the unique giallo murder, de palma had his influences down and made something totally unique from that. i just wish the rest of the movie held to that… it was cool to see (in true eurohorror fashion) sympathy towards a sex worker tho. honestly, american giallos haven’t quite made the same impact as euro giallos have. there’s always something stopping them (transphobia, pro-cop message) from hitting their potential to be remembered as much as even the most obscure giallos…
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romanceyourdemons · 14 days ago
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the strength of kiyoshi kurosawa’s seance (2000) lies in its pure, low-budget simplicity. generally avoiding gore and reality-bending effects, the film’s stripped-down visuals force the audience to always maintain a high alert seeking out the supernatural for themselves, rather than simply being led by the creepiness. this effect builds an almost hitchcockian tension, guided by brilliant conceal-and-reveal cinematography, on top of the uncanniness of the ghostly narrative. furthermore, the simple physicality of the ghostly manifestations partially shifts the locus of horror from the realm of the impossible to the realm of the psychological—that is to say, because the ghosts are as physical as humans yet do not harm them, the real danger of the film is not that you will Get Got by a ghost, but that you will fall prey to your own guilty conscience. these techniques stripping down a typical ghost flick give seance (2000) a nuance and depth that i found incredibly enjoyable, and i would highly recommend it
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amandi-mga2024mi5017 · 9 months ago
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Hitchcockian Animation - Narrative Concept
I wanted to build tension and suspense in the viewers. To do this, I decided to first imply the presence of the lodger before the character notices him. make use of pathetic fallacy.
Also wanted to make use of 'the unknown,' to further build tension, therefore I didn't want the lodger to be revealed until the very end.
The animation opens with the homeowner ant walking into the kitchen at night. She can't sleep so she decides to make some food for herself instead. she walks across the room to pick up some ingredients. From the other side of the doorway the audience sees the lodger's sword drag across the floor.
The homeowner ant picks up various ingredients and heads back to the cauldron sitting over a fire. She sits on the bench in front of the fire and waits for her food.
A shadow passes across the room - there's something, or someone, lurking at the doorway. The ant's eyes look back towards the doorway. Her antennae twitch. she listens for a moment, and then...
she jumps into action. Standing across from her is the lodger. He's standing over her with his sword raised and pointing towards her.
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denimbex1986 · 8 months ago
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'Tom Ripley returns. Disturbing character born from your pen Patricia Highsmith Despite its numerous adaptations for the big screen, it deserved to have its own television series. after it happened alain delon, Matt Damon, John Malkovich anyone Dennis HopperThe character returns to the screen thanks to Netflix. This time the player Andrew Scott The performance of Scott, who is tasked with giving life to an immoral, blackmailer, fraudster and psychopathic murderer in the version that is nominated to be one of the TV series of the year, is at the same level as his predecessors. This actor was already responsible for reinterpreting the evil Professor Moriarty in the Sherlock version. BBC starring Benedict Cumberbatch. Shooting the entire season in black and white is a risky and elegant artistic decision that underlines the classicism of the story. This is the new version netflix There are pure moments HitchcockA wizard of suspense who once made a great adaptation of another Highsmith novel. Strangers on a train.
At the beginning of the story, Tom Ripley is hired by a person. American millionaire so i go Italy He is looking for his son, from whom he received the revelation to devote himself to art. Painting, sculpture, literature… but he doesn’t seem to be good at any of them, so the ruler plans to send his friend to persuade him to settle down and return home to help run the family. business. When she gets there, Ripley, who is not much of a role model, finds herself fascinated by the bohemian life and will fight tooth and nail to protect this paradise that has fallen upon her without eating or drinking. If in White Lotus the landscapes, art and buildings of Italy shine with their own light, in Ripley they shine with wonderful black and white photography. That’s the way it is after all Federico Fellini He knew how to portray us Sweet life in Rome.
After dealing with minor shenanigans, this new job opens Ripley’s heart. Just as in France, the cliché was that aspiring painters would go to the Caribbean or some exotic island; Here our heroes fell I surrender to classical Italian art. Ripley was particularly impressed by this figure: Caravaggio. HE Baroque painter was as morally ambiguous as Ripleyand was even accused of committing murder during a fight.
Maybe the first two chapters may seem a little slow. The series takes its time to take us where it wants to take us, and that’s where it gets. Third part when the slowly developing intrigues begin to bear fruit in all their glory. There are these scenes great tension will leave the viewer glued to the couch even though nothing is happening not a single line of dialogue If I remember correctly, during a sequence that lasted about half an hour. From the moment the moment of crime entered the scene, The most Hitchcockian moments are coming. Inside PsychosisThe master of suspense managed to make the audience empathize with Norman Bates for a few moments after the legendary shower scene by showing us how the evidence of the crime refuses to sink to the bottom of the swamp. The Netflix series is full of moments like this, where the tension plays out when the killer thinks he’ll be surprised. Makes us empathize with the bad guywithout ever trying to justify or justify everything he did.
Black and white reminds us that we are in another time. Maybe it’s a step away from the technological sophistication of CSI. Ripley is not the perfect criminal, nor are the police immune from occasional screw-ups. with the crime scene. Even though we have a smart and determined investigator leading the investigation, we can’t help but smile when we see him do this from time to time. murder weapon right under their noses without realizing it. Some close-ups on the object serve to remind us of this. You will get the feeling that a part does not fit properly throughout the entire case, but That piece that completes the puzzle and allows the drawing to emerge in your mind in all its glory does not arrive until the last moment., in the scene that closes the series and when it’s too late to do anything. Caravaggio also fled Rome after the murder.
This may be considered a spoiler, but we should not forget this. Mr. Ripley’s talent It is the first of five that Highsmith wrote about the character. This An ambitious mini series that smells of awardsTherefore, it cannot be ignored that the aim of the platform is to adapt all the books of the character. It’s quite a wink that in the final episode, we get a cameo from John Malkovich, who has played the character in the past and here provides him with the documents that allow him to start a new life with a fake identity. art dealer in italyexactly the work that Malkovich did in the film in which he starred.
Black and white is not an unknown format for the person who made this adaptation. Steven Zaillian is an experienced American screenwriter and director whose work includes screenplays. Schlinder’s Listfilm Steven Spielberg The artist skillfully uses the absence of colors in his photographs. As in that movie, we have a scene in the TV series where color is used to highlight a particular object in the shot. How not? It was supposed to be red.
It is noteworthy that although audience data These are often one of the platforms’ best kept secrets, even here Ripley’s poor results were overlooked with a certain pride. Perhaps to attract the attention of an audience that cannot get enough of watching black and white TV series, but whose attention is attracted by baits consisting of comments such as “”.honey is not made for the bear’s mouth”. Let me briefly word of mouth does its magic and best of all, there will be another award, which will allow us to continue bringing the rest of the books to the big screen. Just watch it to see that these doubts about the chosen format are unfounded. One artistic decision This makes the series great. It’s a love letter to the monochrome format and the great classics, where the platform puts emphasis on quality and forgets that it’s not all about numbers. I doubt the final results will be this bad and that scribbled black and white might be the ideal way to go. To inform new generations about the novelist’s literary keys, One of the most important noir writers of the 20th century. Both Zaillian and Andrew Scott have already stated that they want a repeat, but for now we can say goodbye to new episodes until 2026. The wait will be long.'
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Research : Hitchcockian
Hitchcockian refers to narrative or situation in a story that shares characteristics with the work of Alfred Hitchcock, the renowned filmmaker known for his suspenseful and psychological thrillers. Hitchcock's films often involved ordinary people who become entangled in mysterious and dangerous situations, facing unexpected threats and moral dilemmas.
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Some key elements of a Hitchcockian scenario may include:
Everyday Characters: Hitchcock's films often featured ordinary individuals, often caught up in extraordinary and suspenseful events. These characters could be relatable to the audience.
Suspense and Tension: Hitchcock was a master at building suspense and tension. The audience is often aware of impending danger or a threat that the characters may not fully understand.
MacGuffin: Hitchcock popularized the term "MacGuffin" to describe a plot device that propels the story forward but may not have significant relevance to the overall narrative. The focus is on the characters and their reactions to the situation.
Psychological Complexity: Hitchcock's characters often faced moral dilemmas, psychological struggles, or internal conflicts. The exploration of the human psyche was a recurring theme in his films.
Unexpected Twists: Hitchcock was known for incorporating unexpected plot twists and turns, keeping the audience engaged and surprised.
Limited Information: The audience may be given limited information, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue. This can lead to suspenseful moments as characters and viewers alike try to piece together the puzzle.
Symbolism and Visual Storytelling: Hitchcock used symbolism and visual storytelling techniques to convey meaning and heighten the psychological impact of his films.
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xjoonchildx · 1 year ago
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holy SHIT this was incredible. book shit. way too good to be free shit.
truth be told, i finished this story before bed last night and needed a full 24 hours to process. i knew this story was going to be great, @eoieopda said it would be and who the hell am i to question jade's taste?
but reading it? got DAMN i was still not prepared for the fucking quality of this fic.
i want to tell you everything about it and nothing about it at the same time. i'd hate to spoil every little detail that was so expertly laid out and then peeled back, but let me just say this: this entire fic was a masterclass in writing. i saw the dusty roads and doors and signs, i heard the creaking, aging wood and could feel the rough ride every time OC went out on the road.
nevermind the brilliant characterization of this hoseok (and how everyone around him responds!). he's magnetic and terrifying and you don't want to look directly at him but you can't look away.
the hitchcockian tension that runs throughout this fic had me in a chokehold. i think i was holding my breath for much of it and by the time i got to that fucking ending, it was like i had gone for a run. good god hali, this was magnificent.
and yes, i realize i'm way late to this fic but like my entire life has basically been in a blender for weeks and i can't find a bag of socks that i JUST bought from target, so this is on brand for me. wish me luck finding my car keys tonight 💕
The Wood | JHS | (m)
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❀ Pairing: witch!Hoseok x female reader
❀ Summary: From the moment you step foot in Kill Devil, you know something about the town is off. Determined to find out exactly how your sister went missing in such a small town, you receive unlikely help from the man staying in the motel room next to yours. But there is so much more than what meets the eye with Hoseok and the citizens of Kill Devil.
❀ Word Count: 16,786
❀ Genre: supernatural, psychological thriller, southern-gothic
❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 
❀ Warnings: Creepy town vibes somewhere in the south, unreliable narrator because she’s a dumb bitch, missing family member, descriptions of nightmares and night terrors, allusions to toxic citizens and intolerance in the southern US, cryptic exchanges, being attacked and choked by a strange entity, sleep paralysis, depictions of anxiety and panic and deep fear, manipulation, cat Yoongi.... sort of, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight hand job, a lot of spit and cum, fucking in a nasty ass motel room, mean Hoseok at the end, I don't know why I reference frogs so much please forgive me, ambiguous ending/unexplained ending, implied death of a side character off-screen
❀ Published: May 29, 2022
❀ A/N: Not only is this absolutely a million weeks late, it also is the longest it has ever - and I mean ever - taken me to write a fic. This was so hard for me to write, and I have deleted anad re-written thousands of words for this. The end result is something that I absolutely did not plan. This fic is ENTIRELY different from the original outline and idea, so at times it might seem where this piece doesn’t know where it’s going because it wasn’t until I got to the end of the smut scene last night that I realized what the hell this story needed. 
I want to thank @here2bbtstrash because I could not have written this fic without them, but also for the amazing and thorough beta they gave this. This was one of my choppier/messier pieces and they helped fix this so much and I have giant feelings for M that are very normal. Also a special thank you to @gimmethatagustd for keeping me somewhat sane while really struggling with this piece.
❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Masterlist | Ask | To Love A Monster Collab | Song Inspiration |
Only God can save us! 
It’s probably the tenth sign of the like that you’ve seen. Your palms feel sweaty on the wheel, the unsettling feeling in your stomach as you drive through God’s Country increasing. For some reason, as you catch glimpses of old abandoned churches at the end of red dirt roads and leaning fruit stands with no seller in sight, you think that perhaps God has forsaken this place. 
The drive has been unremarkable, but the closer you get to Kill Devil you think perhaps the town is aptly named. You can’t help but get the sense - especially when you stop at a gas station with no one inside and a single working pump - that there is a reason the town sports such a unique title. 
It’s hard to imagine why your sister would ever move here, even temporarily. Outside, the locusts whine, a high-pitched buzzsaw hidden in the boughs draped with Spanish moss. The paint on the road has long since faded, single lanes stretching North to South in an endless strip. 
Sticky heat prickles your skin. Though there’s no one else around save for you and the locusts, you can’t help but look around nervously, eyes scouring the oak trees. The door to the gas station is locked, and the other side of your single-station pump has a red bag on the handle. 
The sk sk sk of the pump is a slow heartbeat. Pulling out your phone while you wait, your stomach flips when you see that you have very little service. You’re about thirty minutes away from Kill Devil and an hour away from any major cities. Peppered along the map are small towns like Kill Devil, home to pecan farms, corn fields, and cotton gins. 
You feel a long way from home.
A tingle slides down the back of your neck. You look up from your phone, gaze sweeping back and forth through the trees and over the cracked pavement of the station. There’s nothing else there, but you have the sense that the trees have eyes. 
The pump clicks loudly and your heart lurches, hand flying to your chest as you shriek and turn. For a few moments, your heart beats so loudly in your ears you can’t hear the chirping of the locusts or your ragged breathing as you close your eyes, trying to level out your moment of panic. 
“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling the handle and jiggling it lightly to ensure any dripping gas is shaken off. 
Naturally, you’re a pretty calm person. The jumpiness belongs to your mother, who screams every time someone turns a corner in the house unexpectedly. It’s something about the feeling that clings to you like a second skin as you get in the car that has you shaken. 
Or it’s the fact that your sister has been missing for two months. 
On instinct, your hand goes to the necklace around your throat. It’s a heart-shaped locket, which would seem cheesy to anyone else. But for you, it’s one of the few coveted items you have from her.
It’s also something that you swear burned you in the middle of the night two months ago. You’re not sure if you believe in spiritual intuition or connection between family members, but what you do know is that you haven’t heard from her, and the local police have been no help. 
Trust your gut. That’s what she’s always said. And you do trust your gut on this, this knowing that something is wrong. 
On the road again, your tension continues to increase. The land has turned to steep up and down hills, pines lined on either side of the road, pocked with deep canyons.
Orange tire tracks appear and disappear on the highway, turning off onto clay roads with washed-out shoulders and deep ruts from all of the rain over the summer. Your sister had mentioned the house she was renting was nearly impossible to get to when the rain was bad.
A green sign that says Kill Devil City Limits passes by. No welcome sign, no little plaque announcing the population. Your music skips in and out, the connection to your phone weak. You switch to FM, flinching at the roaring static that comes through, finger jamming on the arrows to skip through to something passable.
Country. Country. Church. Country. Rock. Pop. 
You leave it on the pop station, turning your eyes back to the road. A logging truck comes roaring up the hill, blasting by your sedan at top speed, making your car shake. Your heart squeezes in fear. You’ve passed over two dozen of them and they never drive any slower or any safer each time. 
You’re going to kill Hanna if you find her lounging in her house, making you come all this way.
She had taken up a story there, investigating the town's eerie occult background for the media company that she worked for. Her editor had stopped receiving updates from her around the same time you’d stopped hearing from her. 
When you called the landlord she was renting from, he was no help. Some idiot who owned seventeen houses dotted around the country, renting them out for twice the price they were worth. 
The local police station had been worse. They’d done a wellness check several times after you called but insisted she wasn’t home. No signs of a break-in, no signs of a struggle. No reason to be missing. They refused to make it an official report, as there was no reason for her to be missing. 
Have you considered she just doesn’t want to talk to you? they’d laughed on the phone. 
It was a joke. Somehow you could not believe they refused to file a report, and you threatened to take it to the state police and anyone who would listen to you. The woman you had spoken to had chuckled then, her mirth sending a chill up your spine. 
Have fun on hold, sweetheart.
You could not fathom how not a single person cared. Not the news, not any authority that you could get in contact with, and certainly not the lawyer you reached out to. 
Let law enforcement handle it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears and it was like it didn’t even matter that an entire person was missing. You’d heard about the blunders of the law enforcement system before, but this was a new level of ignorance and oddity.
It was… unexplainable. 
Which was why now, you were driving into the backwater town of Kill Devil in the southern part of the United States. 
Dropping your speed down, you take the chance to look around. There are a few houses on the outskirts of the town, their yards sprawling with kudzu and their homes leaning heavily with brown vines climbing up the eaves. There are several old, broken-down trucks in the middle of the kudzu fields, swallowed by the invasive vine-like devil’s snare. 
You’d heard of one-stop-light-towns but you had never seen one without. Kill Devil is made up of all stop signs. Everything is built around the courthouse, a red brick building dropped in the middle like a fungus growing its roots outward.
The sheriff’s office is just across the street with Crown Victoria model patrol cars. A taxidermist is right next door, the gold cursive font on the front of the glass door telling you it’s been there since the 70s. 
Kill Devil has everything you expect. Antique shops with dusty windows and dry-rotted awnings, a convenience store that looks straight out of retro America, closed-down shops with empty shelves and shattered glass, and a single diner with station wagons and mud-slicked trucks in the parking lot. 
A single motel stands at the edge of the town center. When you pull into the parking lot, you look up at the sign and frown. Like something out of a horror movie, the Lodging Motel is missing several letters in long-burnt-out neon, three letters blinking in the fading afternoon sun: Lodging Motel. 
Die.
With one look at the crusted, three-paneled windows and mold-covered brick face, you think that you just might die. 
Pink sun sinks behind the rolling hills of pine. You get out of the car, stretching and popping your joints as you look at your lodging with a sour taste in your mouth. You pass the ‘vacant’ sign as you walk to the small square building at the end with ‘front office’ on the window. 
“Yeah no shit,” you mutter. You cannot imagine who would stay here out of anything but necessity. 
In fact, it seems like there is no one staying at the hotel. This fact makes you jumpy as you approach the office, which is just a clerk's window and a woman with sunken eyes and a scowl on her face watching you. You swallow thickly as you give her a weak smile and nervous wave, trying to get past the sudden anxiety trembling in your hands. 
“Hi,” you say. “I have a reservation for-”
A small window that’s about six inches tall and a foot wide pops open. She hacks, fluid-sounding and phlegmy before saying, “I can’t hear you with the damn window closed. What do you want?” 
You clench your jaw. Slowly, you begin again. “I have a reservation.”
“ID and credit card.” 
You slide the materials through the window. She holds them up close to her face, scrutinizing them. Crickets join the singing of the locusts. Mosquitos fly around your head and you cringe, swatting at them as you wait while she rolls her chair over to a cabinet.
Wordlessly, she puts your credit card on a manual credit card imprinter. You raise your brows, unsure of the last time you’ve seen someone do paper credit card printing instead of sliding it through a machine. 
While you wait, you look past her into the office. It’s dingy inside but you can see a box TV and a window unit air conditioner rattling in the window. There are metal cabinets that form their own little skyscrapers around her office. An episode of I Love Lucy plays on the fuzzy TV screen. 
“Here’s your room key.” She tosses it through the window. It’s room three, the key hanging on a diamond-shaped, acrylic keychain with Lodging Motel written in Sharpie. “We don’t got room service or maid service. If you need more towels, the launder-mat is down the street. Don’t run the hot water more than twenty minutes or so. If the AC ain’t on, hit ‘er a few times.” 
“Great,” you deadpan. “Anything else?”
She scowls. “Mind the raccoons. They got rabies.” 
“Thanks.”
Inside the room is just as expected: peeling wallpaper, red shag carpet with questionable stains and the unmistakable stench of cigarettes, sconce lighting with lampshades that look decades old, a twin with a horrible patterned blanket, frayed at the edges and moth-eaten, and a single, square dresser with a box TV on top and a white, corded phone. 
The bathroom is no better. The tub is stained with limescale, cracked tiles, and a lamp that buzzes when you flip it on. You scream when you see the massive roach hanging out in the tub, gagging and running out to look for anything to kill it with. 
You settle on a sneaker, and it’s a battle involving your high-pitched scream as you try and kill it. You do win, but you’re covered in sweat and shaking after your victory.
A sharp knock on the door startles you further. You drift to the front door, looking out the peephole to find that it is cracked and you cannot see the person standing just on the other side. You slide the chain lock in and open the door tentatively, peering out into the now early night. 
“Everything okay?” a male voice asks. “I heard screaming.” 
The voice belongs to someone who absolutely does not belong in Kill Devil. He’s dressed in jeans with large rips at the knee and a plain white shirt that hangs off his frame stylishly. He has a few necklaces on, a single hoop hanging from his right ear that catches the flickering parking lot light. 
And he’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that stuns you. He has a slender face with smooth, flowing skin. His eyes are kind, glittering brown with flecks of lighter shades throughout. The slope of his cheekbones and jawline makes you think perhaps he’s into modeling, which would explain the taste in clothes. 
But it does not explain what someone who looks like that is doing in this shithole town. 
“I had to kill a roach,” you admit, a little hesitant. Your skin tingles under his gaze, your instincts picking up something that you can’t put your thumb on. “I don’t like them very much and it was fast.”
“Disgusting. I had to buy killer for them - it came in a two-pack if you want?” You don’t answer, watching him warily. He picks up on your anticipation and smiles, disarming. “Sorry - my name is Hoseok. You can call me Hobi, if you’d like. I’m staying next door which is just as gross as your room is I’m sure. I heard you yell and I got worried.”
“That’s kind of you. This doesn’t seem like a place where people would care if they heard  screaming.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not from here.” He looks around the parking lot and his eyes focus on a raccoon meandering near the trash. You grimace, thinking about rabies. “Thank fuck, this place feels right out of fucking Deliverance.”
You can’t help but laugh, feeling better at his distaste. “One sec, let me slide the lock off.” You close the door and slide the chain before opening it a little wider this time. “Yeah, this place gives me the creeps. Hopefully, I don’t have to be here long.”
“A night is long enough. You want that spray?”
“Yeah, that would be great.” 
Hoseok grins and holds up a finger, asking you to wait as he jogs to his room. He’s only gone for a moment, leaving you in the poorly lit lot with the tk tk tk of the raccoon pilfering through trash and the crickets creek creek creeking. 
Hoseok’s door opens and he’s back, handing you a large, red can of lemon-scented Raid. “Just make sure you drown them. They did outlive the dinosaurs. Makes you wonder what the hell is in that stuff.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem…” He drifts off, unsure what your name is. You laugh, a little flustered by the way his entire face lights up when he smiles, and give him your name. “I like it. Well, I don’t know how long you’re here, but I’m your neighbor for a few days. Try not to catch any infections while you’re in there and holler if you need me.”
“Thanks,” you grin. You hold up the can and add, “Especially for this.”
With a wave goodnight, Hoseok returns to his room. The buzz of something instinctual fades with him, replaced once more with the unsettling frequency the town seems to vibrate at. 
Closing the door firmly behind you and flicking the lock, you shiver. The eerie feeling that had been following you lingers.
After changing the sheets, inspecting the rest of the room and setting the spray can firmly on the pillow next to you, you lay on your back in bed, mattress lumpy and air conditioner rattling. 
-
Moonlight streams through the curtain, catching dust motes floating in the air and turning them into diamonds. You stand in the middle of the room. Cold but humid air clings to your skin, the air conditioner rattling and dripping as it cools the room but does nothing to suck out the moisture. You don’t know why you’re standing in the middle of the room and you don’t remember waking up and getting out of bed, but you face the window, the curtains open just enough to face the empty parking lot. 
Silence blankets the world. The hum of the air conditioner fades and you stare out into the silver-painted parking lot. Above the lot, a street light flickers on and off weakly. It goes out for a minute and flashes back on.
Someone leans against the pole. You can’t make out any features, just that there is a person there, perhaps facing you. The hair on your skin stands on end but you can’t move. Your instincts begin to prickle and there is a sharp feeling in your chest.
Belatedly, beyond your hypnotized stare, you realize the feeling is fear.
Your ears start to ring. You stare out at the shadow and the shadow stares back. Something is telling you to run run run but you don’t know how. Can’t move your feet. Panic begins to rise, your heart beating so fast that you can hear it over the steady whine in your ears. 
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump. 
You can feel your pulse skyrocketing, your chest squeezing tight with terror as the beating gets louder and louder -
Awareness hits you like cold water. You lurch forward in bed, hands flying to your chest as you gasp for air. It takes a moment to get your bearings, the pounding in your heart so hard it feels like you might vomit. Battling the sheets, you rip them off of you, legs sticky with a sheen of sweat. 
The lamp is still on in your room, the curtains are closed just the way you left them, and the bug killer rolls on the bed as you get up. Several paces away from the window, you catch your breath, running a hand over your face. 
“Fuck,” you pant, realizing you were dreaming. 
When your breathing levels out, you glance at the closed curtains. Something niggles at your brain. Slowly, you walk toward the window, feeling the hairs on your arms tingle and stand on end.
Lifting your shaking hands, you grip the curtain tight. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in and pull open the curtain just a bit. 
Unlike your dream, there’s no moonlight outside. It’s so dark you almost can’t see anything in the parking lot. When the lot light flickers back on, your heart squeezes, expecting to see a shadow leaning against the pole. There’s nothing there, just empty lot and a dumpster. Not even the raccoon is around. 
Blowing out your held breath, you close the curtain again and shake out your hands, trying to get rid of the jitters. Rolling your neck and shoulders, you try to work out the tension as you sit on the end of the bed, staring at the faded wallpaper. 
The dream felt so real. You swear that if you turn your head, you’ll see silver moonlight through the curtains. That you’ll see that person - that shadow - standing outside of your window. 
Exhaustion weighs heavy on you. You crawl back into bed, mattress damp and smelling like mildew even with the sheets that you put on it. You’re under a lot of stress and you hate this motel room as much as you already hate this town that you’ve barely started to explore. It makes sense that you’re having weird dreams. 
Blanket pulled up to your chin, you eventually let your lids flutter shut until you’re taken by dreamless sleep. 
-
Morning sun chases away the dregs of your strange dream from the night before. With daylight streaming between the curtains, the room looks no better. It’s a futile hope, perhaps, to keep thinking that the room will suddenly not look nearly as questionable as when you checked in. 
At least there are no bugs. 
Outside, the balmy air is filled with the voices of the locusts. You lock the door behind you and glance toward where Hoseok vanished the night before. His windows are closed and there’s no sign of him anywhere in the parking lot, so you head to your car, stomach begging for food. 
Kill Devil is small in both size and population. The Diner is easy to find, tucked in the southwest corner of the town across from the courthouse. Folks wander about the parking lot, shaking one another’s hands and laughing as the weekend rush of people meanders up the steps for breakfast. 
Your arrival is noted immediately. Eyes turn your way as you walk through the lot, loose gravel crunching under your feet. The lot is more packed dirt than pavement, full of holes and mud softened by rain. 
Seeing a new face in a wretched little town like this probably isn’t common. Though you’re not familiar with growing up in such a small population, you remember what it was like knowing everyone at school. The same theory applies here when a portly man with raised brows stands, screen door in hand as he stares at you.
The man blocks the way to the inside of the diner. You pause and look up, noting the confusion on his face. After clearing your throat, he realizes that he’s completely frozen from opening the door and coughs, bowing his head and apologizing. 
“You uh - visiting?” he asks, holding the door open for you. When you nod, he seems surprised, though that had to be the only answer. “Well, that doesn’t happen often. Welcome to Kill Devil.”
There’s a small host stand with a pile of laminated menus on top. A girl who looks to be about your age stares back at you, wiping her hands on a red apron tied around her waist. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt that says The Diner across the chest, her hair pulled up and stabbed through with a pen. 
“Just you?” she asks, eyes fluttering to the man who shrugs behind you. You nod. “Right this way.” 
The wooden walls are painted white, some of the paint peeling. There are miscellaneous animal heads with plaques underneath stating the names of their killers with a stamp of Jason’s Taxidermy. You try not to make eye contact with their black, glass eyes as you sit in a chair that wobbles from side to side.
You thank the hostess as she wanders off to get you coffee. The family at the table next to you does their best to whisper about who the hell is that as you look over the menu, flipping it to the breakfast side. The laminate is sticky and peeling at the corners. 
It’s a pretty standard breakfast menu. You put it down on the table, nudging the container holding different colored sugar packets and sweeteners while you wait for your coffee. There’s a breakfast bar with people bent over steaming eggs and sitting atop cracked vinyl seats. 
The door opens behind you at a steady rate as people pay their bills and leave while new customers are sitting. A presence at your back sends a cool tingle up your spine, making you straighten and look over your shoulder.
Hoseok stands in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, turning him gold. For a moment, the diner around you falls to a hush of murmured voices, muting the clinking of spoons against ceramic and scraping chairs.
He’s dressed well again, in a simple white button-up with the button undone to reveal a strip of golden chest. His hair is slightly damp and styled back, an outrageously good look on him. The same hoop earring dangles in his ear but today he has on a few necklaces and rings on his fingers. Somehow, he makes the delicate pieces carry an edge. 
“You survived the night, huh?” he says by way of greeting and then gestures to the chair across from you. “Would you mind company for breakfast?” 
You shake your head, forgetting words for a moment as he smiles, radiant as ever. Hoseok pulls out the chair and sits down, a twinkle in his eye that makes your heart flutter as he plucks a menu from the holder at the center of the table. You can smell his rain and lavender scent from across the table. 
“Thanks again,” you say, realizing you haven’t spoken yet. His brown eyes look at you over the top of the menu, and you can’t help but admire how beautiful they are. Warm, both dark and light, with flecks of chipped gold. “For the bug killer. I haven’t seen any more but I just know they’re there.”
“That’s the shitty thing about the South. All of God's least favorite creatures are here.” He glances at the table of scowling men next to you to emphasize. You hide your laughter with the plastic menu. “What brings you to this shit hole?”
“I’m… visiting my sister.”
“You sound unsure of that. Does she not know you’re coming?”
“She doesn’t.”
While they aren’t technically lies, you don’t know how much you can trust him. Instinct makes you hold the truth from him. After all, you don’t want him to know you’re in a town where no one knows you, and where no one knows you are. By yourself.
Hoseok looks at you again, his eyes narrowed. You feel tension creep into the air between you, your mouth drying out as he watches you silently. 
The arrival of the hostess who is also your server saves you from another question. You both place your order, and you note the way the girl cuts her eyes to Hoseok, wary. Her hands shake a little.
When she leaves the two of you, you ask, “How long have you been here?”
“A few weeks.”
“Enough to win over the locals, hmm?”
His grin is sly as he drums his fingers on the table. “I’m their favorite - you’re perceptive.” 
“My sister is an investigative journalist. She’s made me watch all kinds of shows and read books about psychology and body language with her. I picked up a few things.”
“An investigative journalist, huh?” Hoseok plucks a sugar packet and rips it open with his teeth. He shoots the ripped piece onto the table with a huff of air and dumps the contents on the table. Leaning on one elbow, he begins to trace patterns in the sugar. “So you’re not from here. No one here is smart enough for that.”
“No, she’s been living here since July.” 
“What’s she investigating?” You hesitate again. He doesn’t look up from the patterns he’s tracing on the table, finger steady as it cuts through the white sugar.
“I don’t really know.” He does look up when you say that, gaze razor-sharp. A chill slides up your spine. So you add, “Something to do with the occult.”
Hoseok stops moving his finger through the sugar. He doesn’t look at you, but he’s fixated on the mess he’s made on the table. You chew on your bottom lip, eyes dropping to his little sweetened artwork. You don’t understand the pattern that he’s traced, but it buzzes your brain when you look at it.
The silence stretches on. He remains unmoving and silent. Anxiety starts to creep in and you wonder if he thinks you’re crazy or is going to get up and leave-
With a huff of laughter, he leans back and smiles at you. 
“The occult huh? Interesting subject.”
“Know anything about it?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, what is really considered occult? Most of these Bible thumpers around here would consider being queer witchcraft.” 
“You have a point there. Don’t tell them I’m a witch.”
He grins. “You can join my coven, then.” 
“Do you think they know there’s more than two genders?”
Hoseok’s laugh is infectious. You laugh along with him, visibly ruffling the feathers of the table next to you. 
For a moment, the two of you share a secret smile at your little table, wedged between the people who go to church every Sunday and swear by Fox News at brunch. It feels good to know you’re not the only person completely out of place in Kill Devil. 
The arrival of your server with steaming plates breaks the moment, but you feel better about your morning nonetheless. Especially when the conversation switches from stilted exchanges about your sister and the occult to things about you and Hoseok. 
Over runny eggs on toast and crunchy bacon, you learn that Hoseok is a shop owner in a small town very far from Kill Devil. He brushes over the fact that he’s visiting family to tell you all about his small corner of the world and all of his favorite plants. 
“Fiona is a venus fly trap,” he giggles with a snap of bacon. “She’s my second favorite, but what I really love is my pitcher plants. They eat bugs, mostly, but they like to devour frogs too. The frogs love to hide in them, but sometimes the pitcher plants take kindly to them and don’t eat them. It never lasts.” 
“I would hate for them to eat the frogs.”
“Hmm, circle of life.”
“But the poor frogs!”
Hoseok isn’t swayed. “There has to be a balance to everything. The pitcher plants will kill the frogs eventually. Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey. Their ecosystem doesn’t make sense. In order to pay back the food the pitcher plants bring them, the frog must die. It pays for power, in the end.”
“How do you mean?”
“Everything has a give and take.” He pauses to sip his coffee. He makes a face, opens a sugar packet, and empties it into the coffee. “In order to have life, we must have death. In order to have water, we must have fire, for earth, we must have air. There is a give and take in existence, and it has to stay that way.”
“If it doesn’t?”
“Chaos.”
“You know, a lot of theology believes that chaos created the world.”
“And perhaps it did. But in order to make the world, chaos needed…” Hoseok takes his butter knife in one hand and sticks out his pointer finger with the other. You watch as he places the knife horizontally across his finger, sliding it just so until he slowly lets it go, leaving it teetering back and forth, but never falling. “Balance. There has to be even weight on the scales to make it work.” 
“Interesting. So you think there is true balance in the world.”
“Not always, which is why we must make it.”
“Hmm. You have some interesting opinions.” 
“I am an interesting person.”
You like Hoseok. Conversation flows easily and it seems that he either doesn’t notice or does not care that he draws glances around the room, particularly when he gives a high-pitched laugh, leaning backward on the metal legs of his chair to clap his hands excitedly. You swear you see the table next to you flinch, though you can’t imagine why.
Hoseok insists on paying the bill, though you fight him all the way to the register. The elderly woman behind the till jams the pricing in from the ticket and slams the cash drawer shut when Hoseok hands over the bills. She makes sure not to tell you to have a good day, and you feel her sharp stare as you leave the interior of The Diner. 
In fact, the stares of the citizens are just as intense outside. Hoseok rattles on about a time he got really high and forgot to feed his cat. “Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”
“What?” you ask, distracted by the way a group of men leaning against a red pickup glare. “Your cat talks?”
“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”
“No, but I’m sure he was very vocal.” Hoseok smirks, toeing the gravel of the parking lot as you reach your car. You glance over at the pickup truck again, seeing the four sets of eyes fixated on the two of you. “Why does everyone around here stare?”
“They’ll ignore you soon enough if you ignore them.”
“They don’t seem to ignore you.”
He gives you a wry smile. “I guess you’re right. Going to visit your sister, then?”
Digging around in your bag, you search for keys. “Yeah, she lives out in some place called Grave Hollow. How creepy is that?” 
Silence is your only answer. You look up, pausing the search for your keys to find him staring at you with a blank expression. Your heart skips a beat - it’s the same wiped-clean face he had when you mentioned your sister investigating the occult. 
Licking your lips, you ignore the feeling of a weighted stone dropping into your stomach. Hoseok says nothing.
Then, he’s chipper again. “Well have fun,” he chirps, shrugging and giving a wave as he backs away to leave. “Hopefully she has some cool occult stuff to tell you about. You know where to find me!
It’s hard to keep track of the way Hoseok’s mood flips on a dime. You stare after him, but he’s all smiles and sunshine again before turning on a heel to walk out of the parking lot. His hands are tucked into his pockets and he tilts his face toward the azure sky, whistling a tune with a happy cadence. 
Something sticks to you as you watch him leave. You don’t know what it is, this feeling that you’re missing a critical detail. It’s like your instincts are scratching lightly at the door, but you have no key to flip the lock and no crowbar to force it open. 
Anxiety returns when you remember the weight of the eyes still focused on you. Hurriedly, you snatch your keys from your bag and get in your car, tossing your bag on the seat and starting the engine. As soon as it purrs to life, you feel instant relief. 
You hope that it lasts.
-
According to the research you’d done on Kill Devil, the town had been officially founded in the 1700s. Of course, being ‘officially’ founded didn’t mean much in the way of Western colonization. You had little doubt that the migration of people to the South chased out Native American tribes, as was the story everywhere. 
Kill Devil has been named such since its inception, which occurred a little after Georgia had been named an official state. The abundance of soil for cotton and peanut fields made it a wet dream for the expansion of cotton gins and eventually, peanuts - there was even a rumor that peanut butter had been invented in Kill Devil first, but you knew that to be untrue. 
A small town with a small impact. That was Kill Devil at the heart of its existence. It has always had a small population of sleepy folk. No stop lights, one church, a lot of paper companies coming in and cutting down trees, and some farming fields for various reasons.
There’s no reason that for a tiny little dot on the map, the town should be significant. 
And yet it had called your sister here. 
The car bounces, the suspension whining as you drive down the dirt road. A clay wall comes up on either side of you, roots of trees sticking out periodically. There’s no shoulder to the road, the rain has deepened the ruts on either side. You’re careful to keep in the middle, slowing down as the road tightens on corners. 
Pine stretches as far as the eye can see. You pass the occasional neon tape, marking sections of trees for the paper company to let grow a little longer before hacking them down. Several metal gates with keep out and declaring different hunting clubs flash by. There’s even a sign that says Rucker’s Meat Processing. 
GPS is unreliable out in the sticks where the cell towers don’t quite reach. You keep an eye on the flattened paper map in the passenger seat, marked with your red marker to make sure you take the right road.
A sigh of relief escapes you when you see a little metal post with a turn-off sign: Kill Ditch South. The house that your sister is renting lives off of that, only a mile down the road or so. Long drives appear between the trees, houses parked at the end of them. You feel a little less alone in the woods now knowing that there are people around. 
Though you’re not sure how helpful they would be if something was wrong. 
Worry creeps into your stomach as you slow the car. There’s a little mailbox with the address your sister gave you. It’s at the end of a short drive that’s been layered with gravel to make the incline easier on tires. It crunches beneath the tires as you drive toward the modest, white house. Your sister’s Four Runner is parked outside, making your heart thunder. 
Turning the car off, you slide out into the humid air, hands trembling. Locusts scream, hidden in the trees. The sun is at its zenith, beating down on you as you slowly walk toward the house. It’s a single-story with two sets of windows facing the front. A wrap-around porch that leans to the side stands empty, save for a single bench. 
As you pass your sister's car, you notice that the grass underneath is dead and dry. As if the car hasn’t moved for a while, denying the grass any sun to live. It makes you feel nauseous, feet like anvils as you take your first step up the stairs. 
The creak of the wood makes you flinch. 
“Hanna?” You call, voice shakier than you want it to be. “Hanna, it’s me! Don’t freak out!”
No one answers. Your stomach bubbles like acid, the slow drip of sweat down your neck making a chill rattle up your spine. You reach the door and swallow thickly, lifting your hands and knocking loudly. 
“Hanna?” 
Nothing but the sound of the locusts answers you. 
Your palms feel sweaty as you knock again. This time, your voice cracks when you call, “Hanna? Please answer the door.”
Wind sweeps across the trees. One thing about the wind in a land of pines and hills is that it’s loud, making a whooshing sound as it’s picked up by the boughs of the trees, rattling and letting their needles shake to the floor. 
It’s cool at your back and you feel your lip wobble when you lower your hand to the doorknob. When you twist, the door opens immediately, swinging of its own volition when you let go. 
Inside the house is the kind of silence that terrifies you in horror movies. The air is heavy. Your ears ring, searching for any rasp of sound to tell you that your sister is home. Licking your lips, you step over the threshold, the wooden floor cracking beneath the weight of your feet. 
To the immediate left of the door is an open kitchen. There are dishes on the dry rack and plants in the window, though they are wilted and dry. You chew your lip as you step further into the house, eyes sweeping around.
A blue, painted table stands in the middle of the kitchen. Piles of mail sit on top of it with a fake plant centerpiece and your sister's car keys.
Across from the kitchen is an open doorway with a stacked washer and dryer, and a folding table. It smells faintly of detergent, clothes folded in neat piles as if Hanna had just completed a laundry day.
Everything is silent in the living room. The couch looks cozy, with piles of blankets draped across it. There’s a faint smell of vanilla, though the wick on the candle doesn’t look like it’s been lit in a while. Dust collects on the TV stand and there are sandals by the door that leads to the back porch. 
Chewing your lip, you gently press your fingers to the door of Hanna’s bedroom, holding your breath. The sudden fear that it’s going to swing open and you’ll find your sister dead in her bed nearly incapacitates you, making the room spin a little as the door fully swings open. 
Nothing. No Hanna, no rotting smell of a dead body. Just an unmade bed in a room that smells vaguely of her cherry perfume, a bathroom with the door open, and a pile of clothes near the hamper.
The sight of the clothes on the floor and right next to the hamper slams you with a wave of nostalgia. You walk into the room and you unceremoniously plop yourself down on the edge of the bed. It sags underneath you but you don’t care, letting your face fall into your hands and letting a sob rip through you. 
Hanna isn’t here. You knew she wouldn’t be, but the relief that you don’t find her dead is so poignant that you can barely breathe past the snot clotting your nose and the way your throat constricts as you let out the fear. 
The sobs subside and you wipe your face, hands coming away sticky and wet. Through swollen eyes, you look around the room. With a wipe of your hands on your jeans, you get up and start looking around, pulling open drawers and looking for evidence of the last time that Hanna was in this home. 
It’s slow going. You’re unfamiliar with the space and you don’t know what to look for. It doesn’t seem like she had packed anything, but then again, how would you know if she did? 
There are signs that she hasn’t been in the house in weeks. Rotted food inside of the fridge, molded bread in the pantry. 
Outside, weeds grow around the steps. A cricket pops from the railing to the grass where its green body vanishes. The yard isn’t much of a yard - it’s open to the trees and a kudzu field to the west. 
Back inside, you grab Hanna’s keys and open her car. There is nothing inside that looks like she was trying to make a quick getaway. An extra pair of shoes shoved in the back, and an empty grocery bag she was using for trash - all normal things. 
In the passenger seat, you strike gold. 
Hanna’s journals and folders sit in the passenger seat, stacked in a leaning tower with pages sticking out from the edges of her books and slanted handwriting scrawled on the folder tabs. Gathering all of it, you head back inside and deposit the stack on the kitchen table before looking around the house again to see if there’s any sign of her. 
Something in your gut tells you that Hanna hasn’t been in the home for at least a month, if not more. 
Dread creeps into your stomach as you gather items and pack a bag. Your intention is to keep it on you at all times in the event that you find her cold and alone somewhere. The thought of needing it leaves a sour tang on your tongue, but you pack it nevertheless.
Bag over your shoulder and stack of Hanna’s investigative work in hand, you head off to your room at the motel. The afternoon sun still burns hot over your head, but you have no intention of sitting in the empty house that carries the scent of your sister’s absence. 
-
… While most historical accounts and official state documents indicate that Kill Devil was founded in 1730, journals buried deep in the city’s crumbling library have written records of townsfolk living in this settled town long before it was declared an official town. The journals reference the town as Covenstead and are filled with generations of the same family names. 
Booth. 
Park. 
Warren. 
Kim. 
Jung. 
Jeon. 
Min. 
Generations of these families settled in Covenstead and built what is now Kill Devil. From the description of the town in the collection of journals, it appears that the general layout of the town is similar to Kill Devil’s current city map. 
Throughout the journals, there is a reference to the Wood. It seems to be a place mentioned in reverence, and there are allusions to celebrations in the Wood with entries dated in alignment with sabbats on the Wheel of the Year. 
Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe seeing him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter. 
Your finger traces over your sister’s writing. She still writes in her cramped, crooked way, with the sabbats of pagan holidays crammed in the margins. You smile, biting your bottom lip again as you go through the written notes of her study. It is dizzying and you’re unsure what exactly you’re looking at, but something tickles the back of your mind as you reread the entry she copied from the long-dead Yoongi Min. There’s something you're missing.
This time, your eyes snag on a word. 
“The Covenstead,” you murmur, reading it over again. “Why would he call it the Covenstead? Is that just an older way of speaking?”
A tingle pricks your neck as you stare at the entry. You can’t understand what made your sister think this entry was odd besides the old-fashioned writing and reference to Mabon, because she writes nothing more on her analysis, and none of the journals she had been studying were anywhere you could find. 
Sighing, you push away her notebook and pull out a collection of folders and papers that she had on the town. It’s mostly renderings of the town in its heyday with maps and newspaper articles. There seems to be no correlation between her clippings of new business openings and random town news. 
Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building
Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies
The Grove Neighborhood Building Plans Accepted by Mayor
Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident
Something catches your eye in the article about the mayor’s son who fell into a well and died at the bottom. You reach for your sister's notebook and flip to read the small dates shoved into the margins.
Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident
June 19, 1781
Litha: Summer Solstice
June 19-23
Grabbing the other newspaper clippings, you climb off of the bed and lay them flat against the sheets, each crinkling under the excited press of your fingers as your brain whirs. It’s a puzzle your sister seems to have figured out already, and one you don’t expect to understand.
But you do. 
Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building
February 14, 1899
Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies
March 19, 1899
Ostara: Spring Equinox
March 19-22
You suck in a breath as you look at the next clipping, using your pointer finger to keep your place on the sabbats calendar your sister has written down to see that the article for the new neighborhood The Grove is dated only a month before the mayor's son fell tragically in the well. 
“Holy shit, Hanna,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your mouth and staring with burning eyes at the dates. “They match with pagan rituals? Something good, followed by something bad… like revenge? Punishment? Payment?” 
The question bothers you. A flutter in your gut tells you that you’re asking the right questions as you stare at the pages, unseeing and trying to understand what your sister is getting at. She didn’t write down her thoughts explicitly - in case anyone stole her work, she’d said - and now you’re wishing she weren’t so paranoid. Or that she at least used a computer. 
It isn’t an easy answer to puzzle out. An ache has settled deep in your temples and your half-eaten dinner has long gone cold. You decide you’ve earned a shower, though you don’t go into the bathroom without the bug spray armed and ready. 
Briefly, you think about Hoseok. Such an oddity to the town. You can’t help but think about the way he changes from light to dark so quickly, face becoming shadowed and eyes masked, expression there and gone so quickly that you’re unsure if you saw it at all. 
Strange. It’s all very strange. 
-
There is a shadow in the parking lot again. This time, it’s closer. The bulb burning above the lot flickers, but stays on. The shadow stands just beyond the silver halo of light it distributes.
No moon hangs in the sky. It is dark dark dark - impossibly dark. You stare through a crack in your curtains, watching the shadow as it watches you. Dread weighs down the pit of your stomach and you feel a fresh wave of terror-laced nausea sweep through you. 
You slide a foot backward gently, preparing to step away from the window. The shadow twitches and cocks its head to the side, not unlike a dog curious about something it’s heard. You suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, air screaming in your lungs, heart racing a frantic staccato. 
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck it seems to say, beating until it’s all you can hear and feel, pumping your system so full of adrenaline that you feel light-headed. 
Your heart turns into a drum, frantic. It beats louder and louder and you feel rooted to your spot on the carpet, the soles of your feet surgical-stitched to the ugly shag carpet. You stare and stare and stare at the shadow and your heart is hammering so loud boom boom BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM-
Sweat-drenched and gasping for air, you sit up. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it under the palm you have pressed against your chest. But the banging is coming from the hotel door, a steady stream of closed-fist hammering and Hoseok’s voice calling your name. 
Peeling the covers back from your damp skin, you stumble to the door, nightmare-drunk and disoriented. You forget to remove the chain from the door, yanking it open and immediately slamming it to a stop as the chain pulls, refusing to let the door open.
Hoseok is on the other side, hair slightly disheveled, brows pulled together. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, a casual look by anyone’s standards but still effortlessly put together. 
“Shit, hold on,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth with sleep. Closing the door, you slide the chain out, then reopen it successfully. “Sorry, is everything-”
“What’s going on?”
“What?”
His gaze is thunderous as he looks past you into your room. “You were screaming at the top of your lungs.”
Heat flushes your neck and face. “I-I’m sorry. I was having a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m not mad. What’s going on?”
In the shadow of the night, he looks dangerous, made up of edges and eyes narrowed. “Can I come in?” 
You open the door and move out of his way. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Out of habit, you latch the door when you shut it.
Hoseok is a little out of place in your room. Even when dressed down, he looks like he belongs on a private jet, lounging among soft, polished leather and sipping exotic coffee. Not in a rundown motel room with peeling wallpaper and smoke-stained ceilings. 
“What’s all this?” Your stomach plummets when he sees the journals and papers on your bed. you rush to shove it all under the blanket but Hoseok is fast, plucking a sheet of paper and looking over it, face pinched. “Is this what you meant by your sister studies the occult?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just um- looking over her work.” 
“You know about the occult?”
“Not at all.”
He glances at you, razor-sharp. “Then why would you be looking it over for her?”
The atmosphere shifts. It occurs to you that he doesn’t know your sister is missing. Has no idea that you’re desperately trying to put together pieces of a broken puzzle, without any clue on where to find the remaining parts to view the entire picture. 
You weigh the options of lying, losing precious time as the silence hangs heavy and awkward between the two of you. He watches, brows raised and expectant, fingers gripping the paper. 
“My sister is missing.” It feels weird to say it. Your tongue feels heavy and as you stare over his shoulder at a fixed spot on the wall, it feels like someone else enters your body to tell him, “I came here because no one would help me find her. She was here studying the town's occult myths for work and vanished. I had this… horrible feeling when she stopped calling and answering.”
“Have you contacted the authorities?”
You scoff and throw a glare at him. “Of course I have. It’s useless and frustrating. No one seems to give a shit that there is a missing person, and every lawyer, law officer and city official I talk to don’t fucking care. It’s like they’re all programmed to give me the same answer. They keep telling me that they’ve seen her around or that she’s probably ignoring me on purpose. They make me seem crazy.”
You expect him to tell you to leave it to the authorities. That’s what Hanna’s boss had told you to do. No one seems to be alarmed, no one cares. But you do. Desperately. And you cannot wrap your head around them looking the other way. 
You’re preparing for the same reaction when Hoseok surprises you by saying, “You’re not crazy.”
“I’m not?”
He quirks a brow and his rosebud lips twitch in a smirk. “Well, you probably are. But not for this. Have you asked around town about her?”
You shake your head. “I only went to the house that she was staying at. I wanted to see if maybe she really was ignoring me or maybe just… I don’t know. In the zone for work. She wasn’t there and it doesn’t look like there was any sign of distress.” 
“Take me there.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.” He tosses the papers onto the pile on your bed. “We’ll be safe.”
“First of all,” you hedge. “How do I know that? I barely know you. Second of all, what is going there in the middle of the night going to help?”
“I’m good at investigating. Maybe I’ll see something that you don’t.”
“Sorry, are you a cop now?”
“No, it’s hard to explain but I promise I’m trying to help you.” When you don’t move, Hoseok grimaces. “Look,” he explains evenly. “I really am trying to help you. I haven’t been entirely honest about why I’m here in this town. I came because I was also interested in some things happening here. Now I’m worried your sister is involved.”
Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “Involved how?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s a coincidence. Believe it or not, those do happen. But I’d like to visit her house to see if there’s anything at all that sticks out to me.” You hesitate, chewing on your lip. You don’t really know him, and now you trust him even less with his reasoning. “Please,” he adds. 
You relent. “Fine.” Hanna is your main goal. You don’t trust Hoseok, but you wonder if he really can help you when no one else has. “Let’s go.” 
Damp air rushes through the open windows of your car. You lowered them as you got in for a quick escape if Hoseok attacks you while you drive. He says nothing in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the pine trees rushing behind you. 
Outside, the world is painted night-blue from the moon. There’s a weird hue to everything, making it feel as though you’re wading with heavy limbs through a dream. It’s no better when you arrive at the dark house.
It looks terrifying at night. There’s no street light to guide you, only that of the silver moon and the bright halogen lights of your car. You turn off your vehicle but switch the headlights on, turning on the high beams to shine on the house. 
On the edges of where the light fades to shadow, your fear lies. The trees look taller than in the daylight, their branches like craggy limbs and reaching fingers. Anxiety bubbles uncomfortably in your stomach. 
Each crunch of the grass beneath your feet falls too loud against the heavy silence. Here, you notice that the crickets are no longer singing. It’s just the hush of the wind gusting through the canyons and the far-away swell as it blows up the hills. 
Though it’s not cool outside, there’s a chill on your skin. Hoseok walks up to the house, the beams of the car’s headlights throwing his shadow across it in jarring, monstrous shapes. You keep your eyes focused on him and your keys tucked in your hand, ready to use them as a weapon if needed. 
Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned about your anxiety or the silence thrumming around the home. He walks up the steps and opens the door, vanishing into the dark mouth of the threshold. For a moment, you stand in the front yard, getting tunnel vision as you stare at the darkness in the doorway. 
You imagine stepping over the threshold into that cool dark, letting it suck you in. You imagine that as soon as your shoes hit the creaking floor, Hoseok will snatch you by the waist and pull you into the belly of the beast. Once in his clutches, he’ll throw you to the ground and the last thing you’ll remember is-
Hoseok reappears in the doorway. You blink and the waking nightmare melts away, so vivid that you’re shaking where you’re standing, looking at him in confusion. He hops down the stairs, scowling as he crosses the front lawn in a few long strides. 
He pauses when he sees your face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“I…” you shake your head, trying to dispel the weird vision you had a moment ago. “Nothing. I just don’t like the dark very much.” 
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you find anything?”
His lip twitches. It’s almost impossible to detect, but you’re so focused on his face and trying not to picture him as the man in the terrifying thought you had moments ago, that you see it. “No.” 
Lying. He’s lying. You clutch your keys and your breath quickens. He moves to round the side of the car and take the passenger seat, but you step in front of him. He pulls up short, eyes narrowing as you stand between him and the vehicle, blood pumping. 
“I think you’re lying.”
“About what?”
“A lot of things.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“My instinct.”
He hums. “Instinct isn’t always a good thing.” He looks you up and down. “I didn’t find anything,” he says again. “I just got a really weird feeling inside of the house.”
“And?”
“And it’s the same weird feeling I’ve gotten in other places where people visiting went missing. Including the motel we’re staying at.” That makes you recoil. You feel the blood drain from your face, making you a little dizzy. You don’t know what’s going on, don’t understand what he’s getting at. “Your sister’s notes were about the covenstead here.”
That word again. The covenstead and not Covenstead, like a town name. “It was the town name before it was Kill Devil.” 
“No,” he corrects. “It was a landmark. A covenstead, for people who lived here. A coven.” 
“A coven.” He nods. “Like vampires and witches?” 
Hanna’s notes had included all of those pagan holidays crammed in the margins of her work. Marking dates of occurrences that coincided with sabbat holidays. “Hoseok,” you say slowly. “Are you telling me that a bunch of witches live here and have kidnapped my sister?”
He regards you for a moment, eyes flickering up and down. His face is unreadable and dark in the night air, eyes shadowed and haunting. “That’s actually exactly what I’m saying.”
“Witches aren’t real.” 
He frowns. “I can prove that they are.” 
“How?”
He gestures to the car. “Let’s go.” 
-
When you were younger, your sister always believed in magic. You remember spending all of October huddled on the couch with crocheted blankets, watching Halloween movies with the blanket pulled warm over scabbed knees, with popcorn-greased fingers tucked under heated thighs. Hanna always picked the movies - Halloween was her time of the year and you were happy to indulge. 
Hanna’s choices were always superb. Hocus Pocus received more airtime than anything else, replayed between Halloweentown one and two, Practical Magic, The Witches and The Addams Family among others. Every night of the month was crammed full of magic and spells and haunted houses, sweetened by candy corn and Butterfingers. 
Those were the nights that you loved the most. There was no fighting, no whining and crying over Hanna stealing your hair clips or you breaking her hair dryer. It was just the two of you, pressed skin-to-skin and spelled by the scrolling movies.
It’s as close to magic as you’ve ever been. You don’t think you were ever closer to her than in those moments. Under the blankets and the dim candles your mother lit, you were one being, melded. You knew when she would gasp at every jump scare and whisper each one of her favorite lines. 
Thinking back on it, you wonder if Hanna was onto something. She always insisted that parts of the movies had to be true. Stories are rooted in history, and though myth and legend changed with culture, colonization and the introduction of new religions, science and ideas, there was something about the concept of magic and spirit that felt real to her. 
It was why she went to school and majored in journalism with minors in folklore and history. She had even started a master's program for occult studies and folklore, spending late nights studying between traveling across the country from haunt to haunt for her job. 
Staring at her work on the bed of your hotel room as Hoseok adds some of his own notes and findings, you have never missed her more. There is a sudden ache inside of your chest, so strong that it takes your breath away. Your hand goes to the necklace at your neck, feeling flushed, heart pounding. 
Hoseok is explaining how there used to be a coven of witches that lived in the Wood long before Kill Devil existed. The Wood, Hoseok explains, is like a living and breathing conduit of power. It was something that gave the coven power but also needed to be fed. 
The Covenstead. You remember the journal entry that had called it the covenstead. A place where witches commune and live together as one functioning body of magic. That much power does things to a place, skews the way the world works a little bit. He gives examples of places all around the world with similar experiences: the Bermuda Triangle, Door To Hell, Reed Flute Cave. All places where an abundance of magic and energy warps the way life functions. 
But the Wood was strange before the witches got here. Hoseok rolls out a map, fingers tracing the lines of the city. Clarity snaps like a rubberband stinging against skin as you stare at it, lips parted, inhaling sharply. 
The city roads make a pentagram, and at the very center is the courthouse. 
“This is on purpose,” Hoseok explains. “There are other places in the world where the way the city or town or village is built is like a pentagram. Usually, these are called portals. They’re different from faerie rings which have their own power and distortions. These portals are for practicing witches and those who know how to use them.”
“Portals for what?”
“Creatures of great power that exist in worlds that don’t belong to us. Part of what gives witches their ability to perform magic is their energy. They are attuned to the world around them in a way that humans are not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you understand the concept of third and fourth dimensions?” 
“Third dimension is what we live in,” you answer mechanically, somewhat familiar with the idea. “If a fourth dimension existed, we wouldn’t know because it moves in a way that we are unable to perceive. The fourth dimension, in theory, is movement and sight we would never have.”
“Exactly. But witches are attuned to that. These pentagrams,” Hoseok murmurs, tapping the map. “Are made to connect to the fourth dimension. Pentagrams are not inherently evil or even paranormal, but similar to sacred geometry, they… radiate at a frequency that other dimensions do. Powerful symbols like this have existed since Mesopotamia.” 
“I… how does this prove that magic is real?”
For a moment, you’re distracted by the way Hoseok’s artful fingers pluck your sister's notebook from the bed. He flips until you’re looking at her journal entries and the newspaper clippings with dates and headlines. 
“Witchcraft is different in every culture and part of the world. These holidays have roots in Celtic and Welsh craft. It was brought over by the pilgrims when people fled England and traveled here. This is old - not as old as whatever lives in the Wood, but old enough that it’s powerful. These dates you’re looking at? They’re sacrifices to keep the Wood powerful.”
“How do you even know all of this?”
“I’ve studied it my entire life.”
“Why?” 
“It’s just something that runs in my family. We’re very spiritual people.” Something about the way his voice wavers makes you look at him sharply. Hoseok isn’t looking at you, busying himself with sifting through papers. There’s a pinch in your gut that makes you think he’s lying, but you’re afraid to push the matter. 
“Get some rest,” he says, breaking your exhausted train of thought. “We can talk more in the morning when you’re not exhausted.” 
“Yeah.” You rub your weary eyes. “Yeah, okay.” 
With Hoseok gone, you crawl into the bed, leaving the light on, staring off into the distance as your hand clutches your necklace. Your lip trembles and your throat constricts painfully. When you close your eyes, you feel tears slide down your face. 
Tucking your face into the pillow to hide your tears, you let out a small, aching sound. You just want to know where your sister is, and somehow you’ve landed in the middle of a hateful little town with strange little people and a strange little fantasy.
Crying is inevitable. But at least it puts you to sleep.
-
This time, you know you’re dreaming. You don’t know how you know, but you do. There’s a watery feeling to the hotel room when you open your eyes. As though you’re both there and you’re not.
You glance at the clock but the numbers are all wrong. You rub your eyes and look again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t make sense of them.
You want to sit up. You move your arms - no, you try to move your arms. They don’t move, suddenly too heavy to slide under the covers of your blanket and peel it back. Panic sparks in you as you try to shift your legs, but though you can feel them, you can’t move them.
Terror as you’ve never known slides between your ribs, sharp and poignant. You can’t breathe and you know you’re dreaming and yet you can’t move. You close your eyes, brain repeating the same words over and over again: wake up wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP-
It doesn’t happen. You open your eyes and your room still has the dream-glazed light to it, and you still can’t move. Something shifts in your peripheral vision. Your heart seizes in your chest so sharply you think you’ll die. 
You cannot turn your head to look at the shadow that moves just beyond your sight. Tears slip from your eyes, hot, wet and burning. You can’t wipe them. They blind you, turn your vision into an opaque, watery mess as something slides to the foot of your bed. 
When you feel the mattress dip, you try to scream. The sound is locked in your throat, with so much force behind it that you wait for your vocal cords to explode. The fear is raw now, your eyes wild, tears leaking as you mentally thrash and thrash and thrash. 
Weight shifts on either side of the bed and you have the sense that there is someone crawling on you but you can’t see beyond your crying, can’t hear beyond the pounding of your own heartbeat slamming in your ears, blocking out every other noise and-
Something invisible to you grips your throat. You still have the instinct to move, driving you to madness as your brain signals for your hands to fly to your assailant and yank and remove the hold on your neck. 
It’s crushing. You gasp for air, no noise coming out as the grip tightens, and you know with certainty that this is it. Whatever dream this is will kill you, this time. 
The realization that you’re going to die suddenly mutes the terror. It slides behind a glass door, beating its fists, but it's duller now. You have sharper clarity, and briefly you think of what Hoseok said about beings from the fourth dimension, and how the witches summon them through their craft here. To this place. Where you cannot perceive them. 
You wonder if this happened to Hanna. You miss her, your sister, with big dreams and fast smiles and a head full of magic and wondering. This, you think, is how you go. And perhaps you’ll join her. 
Thoughts blend together, sloshed wine in a glass. They’re warm and liquid and have no shape to them, no real purpose. It’s like you know you’re thinking, but you don’t know of what. Darkness pools at the edge of your vision. It feels cold and alone but you drift toward it, away from the pain. 
And then you can breathe. 
Air comes sweeping in, forcing its way into your mouth, into your lungs. Your lungs inflate so painfully that for a split second, you think they’re on fire. Oxygen burns its way through you and bursts of color explode on the canvas of your closed eyes - you don’t remember closing your eyes. 
You roll over in bed, coughing, mouth wet with spit and phlegm as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. 
High-pitched ringing whines in your ears, and there are muffled sounds on the other end of it. The motel room tilts back into vision, melting into place. You think that the room has reloaded into your world wrong - everything is crooked. 
Then you realize you’re laying on your side, gagging and gasping for air. There is a hand against to your back, palm cold, fingertips freezing. The touch, you realize, feels full of energy, your spine tingling where it’s pressed against you. 
Lurching away from the touch, you roll to the side of the bed, looking at the person whose hand had been pressed against you. 
Hoseok’s tangled in the sheets, hair a mess, shirtless and in sweats. He’s panting, flushed, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his body. But it’s his eyes that stop you from scrambling away. They’re dark, burning like two pieces of coal as he looks at you, kneeling with his hands in his lap, palms facing the ceiling. 
Hoseok says something. The ringing in your ears has just started to die down and you shake your head, unsure of what he means and not confident in your ability to speak. 
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
You stare at him. “What the fuck just happened to me?”
“This is my fault, I’m so sorry.”
“What?” 
He lifts his hands and you flinch. The look on his face is pure heartbreak, shrouded in golden light. “Please,” he murmurs. “Let me help you. I’m not going to hurt you.” 
It’s quiet, save for the sound of the humming air conditioner. 
Trust your gut, your sister had said. 
So you do because he’s offered to help you thus far. You nod, giving him access to you. He sags in relief, shuffling forward tentatively as he takes your face in his hands. His palms are impossibly warm. Your eyes flutter shut at the touch, unable to look at him this close, this boy of light and something, as he cradles your face. 
Warmth pools in your face, saturating down to your neck and chest. The ache in your lungs eases, and the lump in your throat continues to recede. You don’t want to ask what he’s doing. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel the terror of moments ago ever again, and with the way Hoseok is touching you, so close that his breath fans your brow, and you can smell him like rain and lavender, you want to embrace it. 
There’s no thought process to the way you lean up into him. Your eyes are closed, your breath shaking as you seek him. Hoseok makes a surprised noise, but it vanishes as you press your lips against his.
Relief sweeps through you. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before, every drop of terror fading away, momentarily forgotten. Every ache vanishes. It’s just Hoseok and the way he burns brighter than the sun, and the way it doesn’t hurt anymore. 
After a brief moment of hesitation, he kisses you back. It’s sweet and soft-lipped, his fingers pressing into the side of your face gently as he pulls you to him. You follow his pull, both physically and something like a tether, getting up on your knees to get closer. 
Hoseok breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. You open your eyes, half-lidded and feeling dizzy from just the gentle press of lips. His eyes are dark, but you see the light flecks of brown in them, like an entire world of sun and stars exist in their depths. 
“Make it go away,” you whisper.
You don’t specify. The pain, the nightmares, the fear, the weird town, the worry about your sister. You want it all to stop and this person you barely know - you feel as though he can take it away. Or mute it. 
He nods, eyes closing as he kisses you properly. You forget what you were worried about, and it’s all you can do not to fall headfirst into Hoseok. His mouth is warm and wet, tongue soft but greedy as he pries your mouth open, drinking you in. 
Hoseok’s lips tingle against yours, sending a shiver skating down your spine. You wrap your hands around his neck, fingers tangling in the silky strands there. He hums appreciatively when your nails slow-scratch at the base of his scalp. 
Carefully, Hoseok shuffles you into his lap. Your knees dip on the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling his waist. His hands find the hem of your sleep shirt and pull upward. You break the kiss, a string of spit connecting your flushed mouths before the garment breaks it.
The room is cold, air hitting your bare chest and hardening your nipples immediately. You whine but Hoseok is fast, pressing your chest to his as he attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking at the tender flesh sharply. 
“Fuck,” you whisper, letting your head drop backward heavily. Your eyes are shut and the world feels like it’s spinning. He has one hand on your hip, the other on the small of your back, pressing you to him to keep you warm and to rock your hips gently into his. “Feels good.”
He hums in response, sucking wet stains onto your flesh as he moves toward your chest. You push your tits out to meet his searching mouth, gasping lightly when the rough drag of his tongue swipes across your nipple. 
The sensation is overwhelming. Your fingers dig into the back of his neck as Hoseok sucks your peak greedily. You’re grinding into his lap on your own now, panties clinging to your hot, sticky folds as you seek friction. He’s hard beneath you and you want to feel him. 
Letting you rut in his lap, Hoseok drags delicate fingers over the curve of your ass and thigh, and his nails leave goosebumps in their wake. The feeling between your legs and at the base of your spine is heady as he lets go of one nipple with a sharp pop, tongue tracing a sloppy line to the other. 
Hoseok’s teeth tease the tight bud and you whine. “Oh?” he asks, voice rough and low. “Gonna be a baby about it?”
You shake your head, but your lip juts out as you look at him, dazed. “Want more.”
“Tell me.”
Dropping one hand from his neck, you take the hand resting on your thigh, guiding it between your legs. Hoseok presses the pads of his fingers to your underwear and you let out a keen. It’s not nearly enough, but the pressure sends another wave of arousal flooding through you. 
“Hmm,” he hums, dragging his fingers back and forth over the damp cloth. “Soaked from just that, huh?” You nod and he bites your collarbone. Fuck, he’s going to kill you, sending another tremble down your frame. He hooks a finger in your underwear, sliding against your glossy folds experimentally and he curses, “Fuck. Pussy is already messy and I’ve barely touched you.”
“Please.”
“What do you want? I already asked.”
“More.” Hoseok presses your clit, letting you drip onto his fingers, but he doesn’t move them. You grit your teeth. “Want your fingers,” you ask through clenched teeth. “Fuck me with them, anything. Please.” 
He grins, face wicked before he kisses your nose. “See, you just had to tell me.” 
You’re tense as he pulls your underwear to the side, shoving the fabric against your thigh. Cool air hits your cunt. You can’t recall ever wanting someone like this, vibrating uncontrollably as he traces your slit with his fingers, lazily circling your clit.
A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you drop your forehead on Hoseok’s shoulder. He lets you sag against him as he plays with your pussy, fingers barely dipping to tease your hole and gather juices before coming back to trace your clit, applying delicious pressure. 
It feels so good. It’s mind-numbing, letting him do what he wants. Hoseok pants in your ear, breathing stilted between chaste kisses against the side of your head. 
Painfully slow, Hoseok inserts a single finger into your wet heat. The sound you let out is high-pitched and loud. It’s not nearly enough, but you lose all sense of asking for more as his finger slides in deep, pressing against your front wall to massage that delicate spot inside of you.
“Oh shit,” you stutter, unable to help it. 
He laughs, voice deep when he asks, “Yeah? That the spot?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He slow-drags his finger in and out of your pussy, fucking you slowly. He curses, teasing you only for a moment before he gifts you another. The stretch is so much better, and you melt. He thrusts leisurely, not hard and fast but deep. Your walls swallow his fingers, gripping them and begging him not to stop as a tight coil winds in your stomach as he presses hard against your g-spot.
It’s messy, the wet drag of his fingers in your cunt. You feel the slow drip of arousal every time he pulls back, soaking his hand. It drops down your thighs as he picks up the pace. You lift your hips a little, adding a bounce to his motions. 
“Oh? You wanna do it?” He stops moving his hand and you let out a desperate sound. He laughs. “No, go ahead. If you’re so eager, do it yourself. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”
Seeking balance by holding his shoulders, you grip him tight, face tucked in his neck as you maneuver yourself, using your knees to lightly fuck yourself on his fingers. It feels so good, and you adjust the angle until you feel him hit that spot again, making you see stars. 
It’s electric, this feeling rippling in your bloodstream. It feels different with Hoseok and you can’t place why, but your orgasm is building so sharply in your stomach that you nearly stop thrusting, overwhelmed by the sensation. 
The pressure in your stomach winds and winds and winds until it snaps, every muscle in your thighs and ass squeezing tight, your hands turning to an iron grip, breath stuck in your lungs as you let out a strangled sound, squeezing Hoseok’s fingers as you come. 
Hoseok is whispering something in your ear, but you can’t hear him over the thundering heartbeat of your pulse, shaking as you come down from your high. When you do, you’re vaguely aware that he’s pulled his fingers out, but he’s massaging the tight ring of muscles, making you shiver.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Wanna see you stretch yourself on my cock like that.”
“Wanna,” you mumbled. 
Your limbs are heavy and lazy as you shuffle, uncoordinated. Hoseok laughs, finding you endearing as you scowl and shift off his lap. His touch is featherlight as he pulls your panties off. You need him, completely naked and shivering as your eyes drop from the smooth, carved planes of his chest and abs to the heavy imprint of his cock in his sweats.
And the wet stain mess you’ve made. 
Flushed, you watch as he looks up at you, smirking. “Go on.” 
Scooting toward him with eager hands, you rest with your feet tucked under you. Dipping your touch below his waistband, you grasp him firmly, cock heavy in your hand. He sighs, head tilting back a little while you slide your grip along his shaft.
Brushing your thumb over his tip to collect hot, sticky precum, you spread it, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you stroke him gently, testing the waters. His hips twitch and his mouth parts, gold light of the lamp turning him into Giovanni’s Apollo. He is ethereal, a burning sun and you suddenly understand why Icarus flew to his demise.
Maybe you will too. 
With your other hand, you push Hoseok’s sweats down. Though you could feel the size and swollen weight of him in your hand, it’s still a marvel when you see his thick length, dark tip oozing precum. 
A hiss escapes his teeth when you give him a firm squeeze. He lets you pump him lazily, and your mouth catches the underside of his jaw, teething and sucking sharp marks into his skin. He tastes like something electric and a little bit of sweat, your tongue buzzing. 
“Hmm,” he hums, fingers gripping the back of your neck to pull your mouth back up to his. It’s more spit and him gasping into your mouth more than anything. “You know how stunning you are?”
You feel heat creep up in your cheeks. Hoseok shuffles away from you and you let go of your grip on him, watching his dick slap against his stomach, smearing precum. He sits near the headboard, leaning against the wallpaper and staring at you with hungry eyes. 
“You’re going to make me shy,” you say softly, though you still crawl toward him. You can feel the slick slide of your inner thighs. He pumps his cock lazily, giving you a look that says he doesn’t believe you. “You’re pretty.”
“Think so?”
You nod, a little light-headed and uneven. You tilt toward the side and he catches you, hands sticky from your mixed arousal. Bending down, you capture his lips. Hoseok runs the crown of his cock through your folds and you moan, lips parting. He drinks in your sounds, licking them from the roof of your mouth. 
For a moment, it’s just the teasing and sloppy kissing, pausing to pant into each other's mouths, slick from sweat. He presses the blunt head of his dick into your hole, dipping only a little before retreating and sliding back up to tease your clit.
“Hoseok,” you growl, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the iron tang blooming in your mouth. He hisses out a laugh and does it again. This time, you lower your pussy, trying to catch him on an angle to sink down on him. “Stoooop.”
“Whiny baby,” he teases again. “Cock-hungry, huh?”
“Wanna be full.”
“Mmm.”
Hoseok repeats the motion, but this time lets you sink slowly on the length of him. The stretch stings, hurt-laced pleasure as you suck in a sharp breath and hold it. It feels like your lungs might burst, shaking as you slide down until your ass rests on his damp thighs and you feel the tip of his cock deep in your gut. 
“Fuck,” you gasp, leaning forward, palms pressed to his shoulders. They slide a little, his skin warm and sweaty. You dig your nails in for purchase and he sucks in a sharp breath, but lets you claw your way back to sanity from the feeling. “Deep.”
His hands find purchase on your ass, digging in and massaging. “Come on, then. You were so eager for my fingers.” 
You lift your hips a little, the slide delicious against your warm walls, and drop down with a wet smack. You both moan at that and you grin, putting the weight into Hoseok’s shoulders as you lift your hips again, hypnotized by the wet schlick of your cunt sliding on his length. 
Everything fades away again. Your thighs burn as you increase your movements, chasing the buzz that has settled deep in your stomach. Hoseok lets you use him, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt drips into his lap. 
His nails bite into the meat of your ass and you feel dragged under by the pleasure, the sting of his grip and the pressure of his cock hitting your g-spot sending you further and further.
Your legs grow a little tired, movements sloppy. Hoseok doesn’t mind, planting his feet on the bed and thrusting upward to meet you, hands supporting your weight under your ass. He helps lift you, pulling you up and down until you’re mumbling incoherently. 
It feels mind-numbingly good, and the tension in your stomach grows taught and tight, your second orgasm oncoming. 
“Come on,” Hoseok demands between clenched teeth. “Give it to me.” 
You nod, sliding a hand between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure and speed to get you shaking again. White spots appear in your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him take over and fuck up into you, cunt gushing as you come hard enough around him that you fall forward. 
Hoseok lets you lay on his chest, dead weight as he claws at your ass and thighs, rutting up into you. You’re dimly aware of the soaked mess of your smacking bodies, but your ears are ringing and you feel lighter than you’ve ever felt before. 
You begin to whine in oversensitivity just as Hoseok slams into you as deep as he can, cock twitching and filling you up. You shiver as he grunts, hips bucking with a wet squelch as he gently fucks you through his orgasm.
Both of you lay there in a messy pile as his cock softens inside of you. Cum pools between your pressed bodies, but you don’t care. The room is humid, the light dim with the haze of how far gone you feel. Hoseok traces soft circles on your hips with his fingers. Your mouth is pressed against his jaw, breath kissing his skin. 
You could fall asleep here, you think. It’s nice to forget for a while, to let your body feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, the shaking of his thighs against yours, the ache in your muscles. 
Heaviness tugs at you, so close to pulling you under, but Hoseok stirs. You feel drunk, letting him peel the two of you apart until you’re stumbling to the shower. The air makes your tacky, cum-covered skin cold. 
It’s hard to fit both of you in the shower, but you manage it, rotating under the rough spray of the hot water, hands exploring and kneading sore muscles. Your lips are abused and feel bruised, but it doesn’t stop you from seeking the comfort of his mouth, the world turning to static every time you kiss him. 
The motel room smells like sex and sweat when you return to peel clothes back on. Wordlessly, Hoseok takes your hand and leads you to his room on the other side of the wall. It has the same faded wallpaper, the same dusty and stained lampshades, but it looks more lived in.
There are added pieces in the room. A dehumidifier hums in the corner, and there is a hamper full of clothes. Hoseok has added plants near the window, plasticky leaves vibrant green and shiny. Burnt-out incense sits on the plastic folding table he’s erected, books and papers splayed out over its surface. There’s a collection of crystals you can’t identify.
An inviting bed beckons you. You both fall into it, heavy-limbed and sighing. It smells like Hoseok, a mix of rain and lavender. There’s a sense of trepidation as you roll over on the mattress.
Carefully, Hoseok pulls you to him. He presses your back to his chest, one arm going under his head as he yawns and smacks his lips lightly, the other looping over your waist.  
“No one is going to bother you,” he sleep-slurs. “I got rid of them. And they won’t go against me.”
You hum, sleep crawling up and stealing your thoughts. You wonder how he got rid of them and why they’re afraid of him. 
It isn’t until he mumbles a response that you realize you’ve spoken your question out loud. “Because,” he sighs, words slow and soft, as he drifts off to sleep. “I told them you’re mine.” 
Hoseok’s words are lost on you because you’re long asleep. 
-
No dreams disturb you. When you wake up, you feel the weight of the night before on you. It’s cool and empty behind you as you startle, realizing you’d fallen asleep with Hoseok there. You look over your shoulder, blinking away sleep, and see that it’s just you in the dark room.
From the bathroom, you can hear the shower. You relax a little, groaning as you roll to your back and stare up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. Your thighs still burn with the soreness from the night before and you bite your bottom lip, trying to conceal your grin. 
Gently, you bring your hand to prod at your neck where it had hurt so much last night. You remember the lock-limb nightmare, the feeling of needing to scream. The thought that you were dying. 
Hoseok had saved you, but it begged the question of how. You remember asking him last night, but you cannot remember what he answered. You’re also surprised to find that you’re not in any pain from whoever or whatever had attacked you. 
Unease turns your stomach but you decide to crawl out of his bed, wandering around his room. A salt lamp casts an orange glow on his makeshift desk. You’re drawn to the mess on top of it, looking at the stacks of books and frowning. They’re not in English - or any language that you know, embossed symbols and shapes on the covers and cracked spines. 
Lifting a heavy, green canvas book, you flip it over in your hands. The edges of the paper are yellow and oxidized with time and there is a gold symbol pressed on the front. Your fingers trace the groove, remembering what Hoseok said the day before about sacred geometry. 
Putting it down, you select another book. It has a pentagram on it. When you flip the book open, the pages are filled with slanted writing, diagrams, and shapes. You recognize sabbat dates and stop when you get to a picture of interlocking shapes. You trace the symbol absently, wondering what it means. 
Why does he have books like this? 
A current of electricity slides up the finger that’s tracing the symbol. You squeak in surprise and drop it, cringing at the loud clatter that it makes against the table. The shower flips off and you look at the shut door. Hoseok moves around before opening the door, sticking his head out. He’s dripping in water, hair slicked back, golden skin glistening. 
Despite the night before, you avert your eyes, shy. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything, instead asking. “You okay?” He glances down at the books. “Good luck reading those.” 
“Yeah,” you answer absently.
He grins. “Be out in a second.”
When Hoseok shuts the door, you feel unsettled. Rubbing your arms to fend off a sudden chill, you continue looking through the things on his table. There’s a small glass case with the exoskeleton of a frog. You cringe, thinking about Hoseok’s pet frog awaiting death in his pitcher plants.
Hoseok’s phone starts vibrating on the desk, making you gasp. Your hand goes to your chest, feeling the way your heart pounds violently against your rib cage. Looking at the screen, you see that someone named Yoongi is calling him. 
You hesitate, cocking your head. The name rings familiar, and you watch as the call goes to voicemail. The screen fades to black but you keep staring at it. Not for the first time on your trip, you get the sense that you’re missing something, that there is something right there. 
A text from Yoongi comes in, lighting up the screen. 
Jung, you better not be fucking around with your prey again. We need to prepare. 
It doesn’t sit well with you. When the screen goes dark, you tap it, bringing up the preview. What the hell does Yoongi mean fucking around with your prey? And what are they preparing for? You swear you remember the name Yoongi, retracing your thoughts. 
You feel the blood drain from your face. You do know that name. 
“Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”
“What?” you had asked him. “Your cat talks?”
“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”
Slowly, you stiffen, remembering Hoseok’s words after breakfast. It had seemed silly then, that Hoseok was talking about a cat. But it’s not the only place you’ve seen Yoongi’s name. 
Trust your gut, your sister always said. 
You look at the bathroom door once before turning on your heel and creep from the room. You pull the front door open slowly, wincing and holding your breath as the outside world makes noise. Slipping through, you’re careful not to let the door click loudly before running to your room. 
With the same care, you shut your door, flipping the bolt lock and sliding the chain in the door. The room feels like it’s spinning, your tunnel vision making you dizzy as you sweep your gaze back and forth, looking for the piles of your sister's research. It’s sitting on the floor, shoved off the bed where you let him fuck you last night. 
The urge to vomit flips your stomach as you dive for the papers, riffling through them and scanning, feverish and sweaty. You find the entry you want, finger pressing to the page as you read it multiple times, fear making the words tangle.
Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe to see him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter. 
Yoongi. 
A sick feeling coils in your stomach as your hands tremble, eyes scanning the list of names your sister scribbled out as old families in Kill Devil. There’s another one you remember, the one that Yoongi used in his text to Hoseok. 
Booth. 
Park. 
Warren. 
Kim. 
Jung. 
Jeon.
Min.
A shaking hand presses to your mouth. Jung. “Fuck,” you squeak, looking at the wall separating you from Hoseok’s room.
It occurs to you that all this time, you thought the citizens were looking at Hoseok with contempt. How easily hatred can be confused for fear. Hoseok, who had shown up every time you were having a night terror. Who seemingly knew all the right things to do to ease you.
Hoseok, who had flashes of darkness that terrified you. Whose expression could go blank as he thought about something, but flip on a dime to a bright, sunny boy. Hoseok, whose presence always gave you a weird tingle, triggering some sort of instinct you couldn’t place. 
Something happens then. With absolute certainty and a razor-sharp resolve that you’ve never experienced, you know your sister is dead. Perhaps you’ve always known. The sudden burning of your locket that night two months ago, the way that it looks like she ceased to exist. The eerie feeling dogging you, nipping at your heels. 
Hanna is dead. The pain is only sharp for a second, a slice of agony as you bend over, arms wrapped around your stomach as you let out a silent scream. The grief is powerful but abrupt as you hear Hoseok call your name on the other side of the wall. 
You stand. Because now you can’t mourn. Now, you must leave as quickly as possible. Because you hadn’t been trusting your gut, ignoring that weird little sense of something wrong. 
Now isn’t the time to scream over what you know. Now you must get away from-
“Was it the books or the phone call?” 
You whirl around. Hoseok is leaning against the wall by the door. The bolt is still flipped and the chain is still in place. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at him. He looks at the papers on the floor and back to you, smirk razor-sharp. Of course, he could get into the room without opening the lock. 
All of the features you thought were beautiful are suddenly terrifying. “It took you way too long to puzzle it together, but I guess you’re not nearly as smart as Hanna.” You open your mouth but nothing comes out, throat constricted. “You were so easy to convince though, so I guess that’s something.”
“I don’t…” your voice is raspy, shaking. 
“When you kept calling the city officials, I knew it was only time before you showed up here. I’ve been living in this fucking shit hole waiting.” He tsks and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Took you forever.”
“The citizens?”
“Stay out of my way and stay out of the Wood. They’re the frogs I let live, so long as I find other ones.”
“Why?” you ask, shaking your head. It’s the only question you can think of. It’s the only question that matters: whywhywhywhy. “Why help me?”
“Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey.” 
It dawns on you that he had said as much at breakfast while he was tracing symbols on the table. He had been talking about his frogs, but he had been talking about you too. How many signs had you missed because he fucking smiled at you? Something dangerous lurking behind light flirting. 
He points to himself. “Pitcher plant.” He points at you with a grin. “Frog. Ribbit.”
“Fuck you,” you snarl, fear replaced by a hatred that burns so hot the edges of your vision flash red. But it isn’t him you’re mad at. It’s you. For being so easily deceived. For being so casually influenced in a matter of days. “Fuck you, and your fucking town.” 
“I did fuck you. You were special, though. I hope that makes you feel better. Didn’t fuck your sister. You’re cute, and I had time to spare.” 
“All of this for what? To get off on the chase? The manipulation?”
He scoffs. “I already told you what this place is. It isn’t my fault you didn’t put it together. I almost hand-fed it to you. The Wood gives us power, and the Wood needs sacrifices.” Hoseok pushes himself off of the wall, his smile like the first light of the morning sun. “I’m taking you to the Wood.”
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