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unless-we-choose-to-reverse-it · 5 years

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Re: Contrapoints.

So Natalie Wynn, AKA Contrapoints, recently deleted her Twitter. And I’m going to state, up front, that if you are celebrating this fact, you are the problem. Inb4 y’all cancel my ass about this.

And to give the TL;DR up front: this is a post about what “cancel culture” actually looks like. Actual violent abusers being named and shamed is not cancel culture. Sex pests and people who are genuinely fucking hateful being accurately described as such? Not cancel culture. That’s a thing called “I don’t want to associate with these bastards, and I want other people to know that they are bastards.”

But let’s talk about what actual cancel culture looks like. I’m going to put the rest of this under a “read more” so that I don’t put an entire goddamn essay on everyone’s feed.

For those who do not know, Natalie Wynn operates the YouTube channel Contrapoints, focused on discussing leftist politics with a particular focus on gender and sex. Natalie, being a trans woman, has a level of insider knowledge that a lot of performatively woke people online lack, and her work, true to her nom de plume, often deals with the fact that these are complicated issues.

She has a considerable following, and a good deal of her following consists of men who she has essentially saved from becoming alt-right shitlords. Her production values, knack for performance, and willingness to recognize complex issues when she sees them has a certain power with people who are not already involved in leftist circles, and while many of her takes are fairly pedestrian by the standards of people DEEP into left-leaning circles, she is one of the avenues for bringing people into leftist politics from outside. Go onto any one of her most popular videos, and you’ll see the comments filled with people talking about how Natalie made them change their minds. It’s a beautiful kind of thing.

Now, am I loading the conversation a bit because I am a fan of Contrapoints? Yes. Yes I am. Because I believe that her work is valuable to modern leftism. She is a propagandist, and what’s more, she’s a brilliant propagandist. Where so many people attempt to bring people into leftism through shame, she entertains and entices, and presents a force that reactionary shitbags seem incapable of attacking.

But where reactionaries find themselves wanting, the Puritans have plenty of ammo to destroy progressive spaces from within.

Fast forward to a few days ago. Natalie Wynn posts a tweet talking about asking for pronouns. Now, because she deleted her Twitter and I don’t have the tweet in front of me, I cannot quote it verbatim, but to paraphrase, she said that asking for people’s pronouns isn’t always the best idea, since it can make binary trans people feel like they’re being isolated and viewed as “less than” their gender.

Okay, have we read that? Good. Let’s consider that for a second.

This is a genuinely good point to make, and it mostly arose from her own feelings of discomfort re: being a trans woman and finding trans-inclusive spaces uncomfortable on that account. Perhaps the point was not elegantly made, but still.

Non-binary trans folk, binary trans folk who can “pass,” and binary trans folk who cannot; they all have different needs. For some people, asking about pronouns is an affirming thing, something which allows them to articulate themselves fully and prevents them from dealing with people misgendering them. For others, especially those who are interested in a more classically gendered expression, asking about pronouns can feel like misgendering, can feel like people regard you as less than your actual self.

This is a discussion that needs to be had. How can the community balance different needs from very closely linked groups of people? How can we reconcile the needs of people who are openly defiant of gender norms and who want their opposition to that recognized, with the needs of people who are more comfortable with traditionally gendered expression and who want to be recognized as such?

It’s a conversation that needs to be had. Unfortunately, subtlety is dead on Twitter dot com. And on social media in general.

When I talk about “Puritans,” I refer to a specific subset of Extremely Online progressives. Just as the IRL Puritans seemed to disdain any kind of Christian teachings of love, community, and acceptance in favour of control, guilt, and hating thy neighbour, the “Puritans” seem to derive their politics solely from a sense of guilt and control, and relish in attacking those who are not Woker Than Thou.

The average Online Puritan is far more concerned with cancelling other progressives than they are with opposing evil in this world. Opposing reactionaries? Nah, that might actually do something. Let’s just attack other progressives, and then wonder why people don’t seem eager to support our causes. Opposing people who are actually making the lives of LGBT people worse in tangible ways? Pfft, that would take work. Hey, let’s nitpick every form of art that displays anything remotely shitty, because clearly, depicting shitty things in art or consuming art with dark themes means that you actually want to do those things in the real world. Hey, let’s all dogpile this queer creator who is trying to convert alt-right shitlords to the good side of history! Surely, that’ll advance our cause!

Hell, I think there’s something to that comparison, because at the heart of both groups is the idea of the Elect and the Reprobates. An unfortunate aspect of modern western culture is that we tend to believe that people are good or evil at heart. This is a really dumb idea. Good and evil are not things that we are; they’re things that we do. We perform good acts and evil acts upon this world, and when I say “we,” I mean all of us. Sometimes, I see people who otherwise do really good things for the world do something really stupid. Sometimes, otherwise monstrous people do good stuff.

But if we believe that some are Elect and others are Reprobates, then that paradigm is impossible. The Elect cannot sin, and since it is a sin to not believe yourself one of the Elect, then you must enforce this law upon all others. If they sin, they are a Reprobate. Alternatively, you must work hard to explain why what they just did wasn’t actually a sin, so they’re still good, actually!

This, right here, is cancel culture. It isn’t accurately calling out people who have done legitimately evil things. It isn’t attempting to get predatory people out of the community. It’s this dichotomy between the Elect and the Reprobates, and the need to constantly enforce that We Are The Elect and that All Who Do Not Match Up Are Reprobates. No willingness to admit the recovering shitheads who might not fully grasp the issue without some help. No consideration that people who do minor stupid things might just need gentle correction to set them on the righteous path. Nope, none of that. Any sin makes you a Reprobate, and Reprobates Must Be Purged.

I should stop beating around the bush. The Online Puritans descended, because apparently, “we should consider how this makes people feel” means, “asking for a person’s pronouns is personally attacking me.” In other words, Natalie was now a Reprobate.

What followed was Natalie clarifying her point and even attempting to throw her critics a bone, suggesting that she wasn’t as considerate as she needed to be about the ways that non-binary people would interpret her words. The response was unchanging. Other leftists came to her defense, but they were, of course, Cancelled as well, as I am sure to be the second that people discover this post. Eventually, Natalie deleted her Twitter, and the Online Puritans rejoiced at another Reprobate driven off of Twitter like it was any real victory.

Now, this is not the death of Contrapoints. She still has her channel, and a shitload of people who will continue to watch her content, like me. But a woman who, in my personal opinion, is a force for good in this shithole we call the internet, was essentially driven off of a social media platform because the Puritans decided that she was a Reprobate.

And to anyone who wants to declare me a Reprobate for making this post: go the fuck ahead. I am not perfect, and I am certainly not one of the Elect; hell, I’m no Calvinist, so I don’t even regard those as valid categories. And furthermore: you, the Elect, are as great a danger to progressive spaces as the reactionaries, because you force us to fight on two fronts. You force us to oppose each other, as opposed to standing together for the betterment of the world. And for fucks sake, is it too much to ask that the people who are getting fucked over the most by the current order should stand together in opposition to it?

So fuck it. I stand with Contrapoints. Puritans are cancelled.

#contrapoints #leftism #lefttube #cancel culture #cancelled #i had to get this off of my chest #and do not read this as me saying that people should not be criticized for doing bad shit #we absolutely need to criticize bad behaviour where we see it #but ffs #maybe we can keep the criticism proportional to the transgression #if i see one more Online Puritan calling natalie a bootlicker #i'm going to shit a mile of rage snake #swear to god

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blooddrinkingbartender · 5 years

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Narrative: Old Bill’s Endeavour

Summary: Back in 1918, when Bill suspected foul play in his surrogate son’s death while he was returning home from the Western Front, he set forth on a roaring rampage of revenge, regaining his youth in the process.

Warning: I would definitely say this a mature fic not suitable for younger audiences. There are copious amounts of violence, bloodshed (and blood drinking), gore, and death. There is also homophobia (a man is murdered for kissing another man) which would have been considered typical for its time (not that that makes it right obviously) and word ‘queer’ is also used as a slur. It’s also very long, over 10,000 words long.

He had been waiting for the ship to make its return. He could only be glad it was during the night time. Most people knew him to be nocturnal, often blaming his old age for his messed up sleep cycle. If only they knew the truth.

Russell had sent him a letter, the last of the many he had sent while on the front, saying that he would be on his way home. He had been surprised but delighted to know that Russell had managed to prove his original prediction wrong. He had been debating to himself whether to share the news about his mother just yet. Of course, he knew what had really happened; he had decided her life was forfeit and drained her off her blood soon after Russell left, but he had figured out the cover story. He briefly wondered if Russell would end up noticing the years that were shaved off his appearance since then.

He had ultimately decided not to tell him. He would most likely want to take some time to relax after all the travelling and not be thinking about it if he had told him in a letter.

Bill’s heart sank as he watched everyone leave the ship and saw no sign of Russell anywhere on it. His eyes met with one particular individual. He was a man in his late twenties. His brown hair was closely shaved and his blue eyes were filled with anxiety as he approached. Another man was behind him. His own black hair was a little bit longer, his face was riddled with sorrow, and he kept his brown gaze over Bill’s shoulder.

“You must be Bill,” the first said, “Russell’s told us a lot about you, Sir. Me and Walter here. My name’s Elmer.”

He gestured to the younger man behind him before offering his hand to shake.

“Ah, nice to meet you both,” Bill replied. He accepted the gesture, “He’s told me a lot you both as well in his letters, along with everyone else in your little group, Lord rest their souls and Lord give Earnest a safe rest of his journey. I hate to sound rude to you nice young men, but where is Russell? He said he was coming back.”

He could smell the lie as soon as it came out. It was like concentrated ammonia.

“He fell off the ship, I’m afraid,” Elmer said, “And we couldn’t find him when he landed in the water. I can only assume that he just sank like a stone. The weather had been really bad that night, an awful storm.”

Bill couldn’t help but notice that Walter was constantly looking back over his shoulder to four particular men. He could smell a familiar scent in their blood; very similar to decay despite them being alive. A lot of humans he had met in his time carried that smell.

Did they have something to do with Russell’s disappearance?

“You don’t want to bother yourself with those guys any,” Elmer said, noticing that he was looking at them, “They’re not very nice people. I call them the Horsemen. Russell probably told you. We’re really sorry that we had to give you this news, Sir. I can only assume that God’s given him a warm welcome now.”

Russell had indeed told him about the Horsemen in some of his letters. One of them had tried to cut out of his tongue. Earnest had stopped that from happening though. He had to give the big man some credit for that.

“Perhaps,” Old Bill replied. He did his best to show a calm demeanour, despite the rage that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, “Don’t be sorry, my friend. The cosmos have a funny old way of seeing things through.”

As it went later into night-time, he told Freyde and Robert that he had a pilgrimage to go on.

“I probably won’t be coming back,” he had said, “I’ve got places to go, and things to do. You both have been absolutely wonderful neighbours to me, and stand-in parents to Russell when I couldn’t be, and I felt I owed it to you to say goodbye. Please tell anyone who comes around that my house is free to anyone who just needs it.”

“What will we tell them about you, Bill?” Freyde asked. Her cheeks were still running with tears from the news of Russell's death.

“Just tell them I died suddenly in my sleep, like Cassandra did, and you buried me. I even wrote a will to use. You’ll find it under my bed,” Bill said, “They’ll believe that. I’m old.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Robert said, “Can you at least tell us why?”

“As I said, I got some things I need to do,” Bill said, “And I know for a fact I won’t be able to come back once I’ve done them.”

“Bill Goodwin. Always the secret-keeper,” Robert said, “Aren’t you, Vampire?”

“That I am,” Bill replied, “Hunter.”

Elmer was staying in a tavern for the rest of the night. He wanted to get some rest before he started making his way back to Texas. All he could think about was seeing Dorothy and Rose again. He could already picture Dorothy running into his arms with a happy cry. He pictured Rose’s smile and his arms wrapped around her.

He then briefly thought to Russell. If he hadn’t told him to stand down against the Horsemen, he might not have lived to be able to see them again. His heart sank. He knew what Russell and Walter had been doing was a crime, and a sin against God, but they were still his friends, and that didn’t make what the Horsemen did right.

He pressed his hands together in a prayer.

“Dear Lord, please forgive Russell for his mistake. He’s only human. And humans make mistakes, don’t they? Even if he and Walter shouldn’t have been doing that, they’ve done a lot of good, and Russell doesn’t deserve damnation for it, or at least what the Horsemen did…”

He paused when there was a knock on the door. He was certain he hadn’t locked it. He shrugged. Maybe it was someone who had been on the ship with them and they wanted to talk.

“Come in,” he casually called out, as he moved to sit. His eyes widened when Old Bill opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him.

“Good evening, Elmer,” Old Bill only said. In what seemed like an instant, he was suddenly standing next to the bed. Elmer almost jumped onto his feet but Bill placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down, “I think you and I need to have a little chat, if we may. What really happened to Russell? And don’t lie. I can smell lies, like when someone rips ass in a train carriage.”

“I told you, Sir...” Elmer said, swallowing. How did Bill get here? “He fell off the ship.”

“Wrong!” Bill snapped. Both his hands were suddenly placed on either side of Elmer’s head. He drummed his fingers along Elmer’s scalp, as though to emphasise his point, “You will tell me the truth, my friend. You will tell me the truth, or I will reach into your head and claw it out myself. You’ll return to Texas as nothing more than a mindless husk, and then what will become of your wife and daughter?”

Elmer was paralysed with fear. Bill’s eyes had changed from that warm grey to a bright yellow and had sunken into their socket. The sclerae were bloodshot, and the pupils had become slit, like that of a cat’s. His veiny skin had taken on a deathly blueish tone. His canine teeth had grown significantly sharper and longer.

Elmer couldn’t help but think back to the stories his grandpa had told him in order to scare him into going to bed. He would talk of how corpses would rise from their graves as vampires to steal the blood of the living, especially if they had been bad.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Bill said, smirking, “You can see what I really am. Not just some harmless old man sitting on his stoop anymore, am I? So… are you going to tell me the truth?”

“Yes!” Elmer said, “I will! I’ll tell you the truth! Please, don’t hurt me!”

“I won’t hurt you, unless you give me a reason,” Bill said.

Elmer told him almost everything; like how Russell had become a scapegoat to defend Walter and himself after an accusation of some kind of perceived crime, the torture that had been inflicted on him, and then the murder. He even included the states the Horsemen were planning to go back to; New York, Maine, Delaware, and Ohio after some prompting. There was one detail he refused to divulge; why they had attacked Russell. All he really knew was that it had something to do with Walter. Despite Bill most likely hearing his prayer, they both knew that he didn’t hear what Russell’s ‘mistake’ had been.

“It’s all a mess, ain’t it, Bill? I shouldn’t told you all those details, they’re just terrible,” Elmer said.

“I suppose they are,” Bill replied, “But I’m not too shocked. When you get to live as long as I have, you see many terrible things. Good things too of course, but a lot of terrible things.”

He sighed. His anger practically radiated from every pore in his body, despite his voice sounding calm and his face being like stone

“Typical. He threw himself to the dogs so you and Walter would be safe,” Bill continued, “But why? I know you said they look for an excuse, so what was theirs?”

“I’m sorry,” Elmer’s voice wavered with fear as he spoke, “I can’t tell you, Bill. It would be disrespectful to Russell. He was keeping it a secret himself.”

Bill held onto Elmer’s face for just a little while longer. He then slowly released his grip and brought his hands to his sides.

“All right. I suppose that’s fair...” he only said, “And I must give you some merit. You did try and help his chances of surviving, even if you couldn’t save him directly. Of course he would tell you to think of your wife and daughter first.”

“He was a kind man like that,” Elmer said.

“Yes, yes he was,” Bill agreed, “Well, I think I’ve heard enough. I think I’m going to have a little talk with Walter next.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Elmer said, “He was in a difficult situation as well, they were both really good friends.”

“I’m not going to hurt him. I’m just going to have a talk with him, tell me where he is, or do I need to reduce your brains to cheese?” Bill asked, as he made a motion to grab Elmer’s face again.

“No! No! He’s… he’s staying at a tavern on the other side of Boston, called The Swan,” Elmer yelped.

“That’s a good man,” Bill said, smiling, “See, isn’t it much better when you’re just honest? I never got that whole ‘say something but mean something else’ you mortals are into.”

Elmer was silent. Bill made a move as though to straighten up. But then he stopped.

“Oh, well. Of course, I can’t have you telling anyone about me...” Bill said. The fear came crawling back onto Elmer’s face. He tried to jump back. But he blinked and in an instant, his head had been taken in Bill’s hands again. Bill could already see his resistance draining as he focussed on forcing the commands to wrap around Elmer’s mind, “You blinked. Now, listen to me very closely. You are going to forget that I was ever here. When I let go of you, you are simply going to fall asleep. As far as you’re concerned, that’s all you did in this room tonight. Now sleep.”

He released his hold. Elmer’s eyes slid shut and his entire body relaxed. Bill chuckled.

“Just like a riding a velocipede, you never forget how to erase a few memories once you learn,” he said. He straightened Elmer so he was laying down and pulled the blanket over him. He then turned the lamp off, “Rest well, Armpit. Enjoy the rest of your life.”

Walter was sitting on the bed that he had gotten for the night. An empty bottle of scotch rested by it. He held his head in his hands, sobbing quietly.

“I should have just said the truth,” he said to himself, “We could have at least died together. We could have been together, wherever we were going, and I just threw him away. I should have confessed. He shouldn’t have gone through that for my...”

There was a knock on the door.

“Go away!” he called out, “I said no one was to bother me until tomorrow.”

The knock only repeated.

“I said piss off!” he snarled. It continued. He hissed in a breath through his teeth and staggered to the door. He yanked it open and got ready to give this intruder a piece of his mind.

“Walter, I must ask that you let me in,” Old Bill simply said. The instruction was simple and it seemed to wipe away the hostility that had previously been brewing inside of Walter’s head.

“Fine, Bill...” he only said. It seemed like he wasn’t about to question what he was even doing here in the first place, “Just for a short while though. I want to be alone.”

“Of course,” Old Bill replied. He stepped inside of the room. It seemed that Walter had been hit a lot harder by the ordeal on the boat, “I had a feeling you would be like this. Elmer told me everything.”

“Of course he did. Can you honestly blame me in that case?” Walter said, “Those fuckers murdered him and I should have gone with him too! Yet I didn’t. They said I’m going to have to live with that now, and they’re right. I’m just a coward who watched him die. I’m, I’m gonna do it, you know. I’m gonna go and follow him.”

“No you won’t,” Old Bill said, “That’ll just be a kick in the teeth for him, after saving your life, and you have a niece to go home to. Why make his sacrifice meaningless?”

“Life is meaningless without him in it,” Walter replied.

“Then you have to find another meaning to your life,” Old Bill replied.

“You say it like it’s easy,” Walter said.

“It’s not,” Old Bill said, “I’ve lived so long now that I’ve had to constantly find new purposes, new reasons to live. It isn’t easy, but it’s possible.”

He had been planning to find out more details about what had happened and perhaps get some more knowledge about the Horsemen, but he had gotten a clue from this display. He wasn’t going to push the young man any further.

“I would like to be alone now,” Walter said.

“Fair enough,” Bill replied, “Although I want to make the new road a little easier for you to find.”

He didn’t hesitate. He placed his hands on the sides of Walter’s head, like he had done with Elmer. Walter was drunk and that made his mind a little bit less resistant. He didn’t even bother to try and move away from him.

“Walter. You must listen to me closely,” Old Bill said, “Hold onto this for the rest of your life if you have to. You must live. You must move on from this. It’ll always hurt, yes it will. But that pain will lessen over time. If you live though, Russell will get to live on through you. You understand, my friend?”

Walter only nodded.

“Good. Now, go to your bed, and get some sleep. I was never here,” Old Bill waited until Walter was laying down before he quietly headed out of the door again.

The hunt was on.

Chester, also known as Famine, was relatively easy to find. He was still in Boston, possibly to enjoy it a little longer before heading back to his home. It seemed that none of the Horsemen had any interest in each other now that they had returned to the states. He would track down the other three later. He was certain he would get an idea of their whereabouts once he had drained the blood of the first.

Bill found Chester drinking in a bar a couple of nights after he left The Swan. He was bragging about how much blood he had shed while on the front. Typical. Despite the bartender politely listening, it was plain to see that he was trying to figure out how to escape the conversation. That was where he could come in.

He took the glass of whiskey he had bought and stood up, approaching them. He pretended to slip and stumble, letting the drink spill over Chester’s back.

Chester immediately spun around and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Please, forgive me,” Bill feigned fear, “It was just an accident, my friend.”

“Yeah, and now, ‘by accident’, I’m gonna fuck you up, who do you think you are, swaggering around like some kind of idiot?” Chester said. The bartender turned and pretended that he had no idea what was going on. It seemed he was afraid of invoking the Horseman’s wrath on himself, “I can just tell them you crept up on me, a war veteran, and I acted accordingly.”

Bill let himself be dragged outside. He put on a show of struggling and begging for mercy, which Chester only seemed to enjoy. No one tried to stop Chester. Bill didn’t actually blame them.

Bill was slammed against a nearby wall once Chester had deemed them both far away from the bar. Chester got a large knife from the inside of his coat. But in an instant, Bill was suddenly gone. Chester’s eyes widened. Wasn’t he just...

A hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and set of sharp teeth sank into his neck. He dropped the knife as a searing pain shot through the wounds. As much as Bill thought about drawing out Chester’s death or being creative, he knew it wouldn’t be wise in this area. He wasn’t too torn up about that. There were three others he could have a better time with.

Chester uselessly struggled and his screams were muffled as his blood was pulled of him and swallowed down at a rapid pace.

Eventually, his screams were silenced and he grew limp. Bill tore his teeth out and let Chester drop to the ground. His head was flooded with memories that weren’t his own. He gritted his teeth. But then his eyes widened with shock at some of the visions he saw. Chester had hung back with Lawrence and Floyd as Arthur stalked over to Walter and Russell without a sound.

They didn’t notice him; they were too lost in that kiss they were sharing. Bill’s heart sank as he heard the taunts, saying how Old Bill wouldn’t want to know that he had raised Russell ‘into this’, as Floyd described it. He saw Russell scratching out his names while his own gun was pressed to his cheek. He then heard Elmer’s protests. His heart ached as the Horsemen laughed at him and Russell before knocking him into the ocean to drown.

“So… that’s why Elmer didn’t tell me,” he only said, “Oh, Russell… I can’t hate you for something like that.”

He paused when he heard Chester’s final thoughts in his brain.

Well played I suppose. I guess it’s easy to get away with something like that when you look like a harmless old man. Won’t change what I did though, will it?

“No, it won’t, but you won’t hurt anyone else this way,” Bill replied. He ran a hand along one of his cheeks. It felt smoother. He then took Chester’s knife from the ground and shoved it into the Horseman’s neck.

He then hurried off into the night. He could already hear the footsteps of someone who had most likely heard Chester’s screams.

He found War four days later.

Lawrence was on a train, making the journey back to Ohio. He was just a third of the way through Pennsylvania now. He preferred travelling by night. Less people to deal with; less people to annoy him. Killing people wasn’t considered as ‘acceptable’ in this setting compared to the front. He knew that all too well. He reminded himself to get out at the next stop so he could transfer. That would be an hour yet.

He smirked, chuckling a little bit. It had been almost way too much fun dealing with the Cockroach. He hadn’t had that much of a thrill in ages. It was a shame it had been over so fast. He wished he could have gotten a picture of the heartbreak that flooded his face when that wooden medal was thrown over the edge of the boat. Or the tears in his eyes as he stared down at the ocean. The fear that crept into him as the knowledge of his fate slowly sank in was amazing.

It had been useful to remember that the younger man was afraid of the ocean. He had no idea they had been listening in while he had admitted that to his friends. It was certainly more satisfying than Arthur’s original plan to cut out his tongue. He found himself rather thankful that that big lug of a mute had stopped that from happening.

He let his eyes shut. He could nap for a little bit.

But then they sprung open and he found himself letting out a shocked yell when the violent screeching of metal and metal rang around him. The train came to a juddering stop.

“Oh for shit’s sake, really?” he muttered. Something must have gotten on the tracks. He huffed. Must have been an animal or something. He took his lighter out of his pocket and flipped it on. It was so stupidly dark in here, “Must be in a tunnel.”

“That was my thought as well,” a new voice said. Great. Of course someone took their chance to talk to him. Confusion about a situation did that, “Perhaps someone ought to go and investigate?”

It was too dark to make out any discernible features. He could only tell that a man was talking to him.

“Well, you go do it then,” Lawrence retorted, although an idea had come to mind. He had been restless since had gotten back. And no one was going to miss this old codger, right? Sure, he wouldn’t be as fun as Russell had been, but it was better than nothing.

“Actually, I was thinking…” in a blink, the man was standing in front of him. He rested a hand on top of Lawrence’s head and whispered in his ear. His tone became smooth and echoed inside his suddenly-emptied mind, “You could come with me.”

Lawrence awoke somewhere far away from the tracks. There was nothing but trees and dirt surrounding him. It took him a moment to realise that he was on the ground, and that his own long coat had been removed and used to tie his arms and legs together behind his back.

He had no idea how he got here. One moment, he was talking to that old man, and then…

He heard whistling. He turned his gaze upwards as the said man stepped into view. He was clearer under the light of the moon. His skin was very pale, almost blue, and his red hair was faded in colour, as was his beard. In fact, some of both was starting to go white.

He turned his eyes towards him, and Lawrence felt his breath catch in his throat when they saw that his irises were an unnatural gleaming yellow. The pupils didn’t look right either. They were bloodshot, and animalistic, like a snake or a fox.

“Does that remind you of anything?” Bill only asked, “Being tied up, helpless, and forced to look death in the face?”

“Can’t say it does,” Lawrence replied, shrugging, before he smirked, “Oh… I think I know who you are.”

“Do you?” Bill replied.

“Yeah, you’re Bill! You’re Old Bill! And now you’re mad because the guy you raised as a son is dead. And you know I had something to do with it. So, who squealed? Because I’ll need to go and gut him like a pig once I’m out of here,” Lawrence said, as he started to struggle, “I’ll get out of this and you’ll regret messing with me.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere,” Bill replied, “But I do suggest being careful about struggling there. You could...”

He trailed off and then smirked as Lawrence suddenly yelled in pain.

“Break a bone,” he then continued, “Oh dear, I suppose I should have you that straight away.”

“You absolute fucker. You old piece of shit!” Lawrence cried, “People will come looking for me! They’ll know!”

“I’ll be long gone before they find you, and there’s no one around to hear you for miles, the train left a few hours ago,” Bill replied, as he took a glance at his nails, “Although if you really have to scream more at any point, try not to do it too loudly. I have sensitive hearing.”

“Fine! I promised him I wouldn’t tell you this if he did what we said, but he was a queer! You raised a queer!” Lawrence said.

“Does it look like I care if he was that or not?” Old Bill replied, “Besides, I already knew. I got that out of Famine. He’s dead now. And soon you will be too.”

“You really wanted someone like him running around in this world?” Lawrence asked. Although his voice and face showed defiance, the smell of his fear was thick in the air, “A disgusting pervert like him?”

“Better him than people like you running around in this world, but we’re not here to talk about who deserves to live or who doesn’t,” Old Bill said. He then approached. He grinned, showing the tips of his fangs, “I just want to ask you a little question, my friend. It’s relevant to your situation. In or out?”

“What?” Lawrence asked.

“In or out?” Bill repeated.

“In or out?” Lawrence asked.

“Your bowels,” Bill said again, as the digits of his hands suddenly changed into clawed crimson fingers, “Would you like your bowels in or your bowels out?”

They came out, even though Lawrence had said he wanted them in. Bill smirked as he tore into Lawrence’s abdomen and ripped out his intestines. Bill took his time in making it as slow and as painful as possible. Lawrence had managed to dislocate his own shoulders when his movements became desperate, leaving him utterly helpless.

Bill looped them around Lawrence’s neck and throttled him with them until his lips turned blue and his struggles weakened. He then stopped when he thought the man was about to pass out and let them hang loosely around his shoulders like a warped shawl.

“Animals and birds will have a nice meal from you,” he said. Lawrence weakly coughed, a dribble of blood escaping from past his lips. He was still alive and conscious, but at this point, he was going to welcome death, “Oh dear. Does it hurt? Are you afraid now? Imagine how my boy felt when you killed him!”

“Just, kill me,” Lawrence said, he strained to talk and his voice was quiet, sore and hoarse from all the screaming he had done, “I’m sorry...”

“You’re only sorry because I caught you and made you pay,” Bill said, “But seeing as you’re going to die soon, and I really want some of that blood for myself, my pleasure!”

He clamped his mouth onto Lawrence’s neck and bit into the vein as hard as he could. Lawrence flopped around weakly like a fish that had washed onto shore, but then he went limp as the last of his blood was taken. Bill saw those memories again. He winced. He was going to have to go through them twice more, wasn’t he? He growled.

It hurts. It hurts so much. You’re right though. I’m not sorry about him. Maybe I’ll see him in Hell and we can do it all again.

“I doubt that, I doubt that very much,” Bill replied, before he shook his head, “Huh, that was oddly quick… perhaps I’m getting soft in my old age.”

He decided to use the man’s entrails to hang him from a tree branch by his neck. He eventually found a small stream to wash his hands and his mouth of the blood that coated them. He did so quickly. He then moved on, not bothering to take a proper look at himself. He had to find a place to rest before the sun came up.

It took another three days before he made it to New York. He could travel on foot for miles on end, but he always had to hide from the sun, and if anyone was watching, then his ability to move quickly was hindered.

That had ended up happening more times than he had cared for. However, he couldn’t deny that the people he met on the way were fairly decent.

He eventually made it though. Better late than never. With any luck, he’d make it to Maine in good time after he found and killed Death here.

When he managed to catch up to him, he could see that Floyd still lived up to the name even now. It had been coming to midnight. He was on high alert and his nose had picked up the trail of fresh blood.

Something had told him to follow it, and so he had.

It was way too late to have saved Floyd’s victim. The poor man’s head was practically nothing more than a red puddle of slush. His heart had stopped beating long ago, hopefully before he ended up in this state. Floyd no longer carried Russell’s rifle in his hands like in those memories, but he was using a heavy piece of pipe to beat the man’s corpse.

Bill moved an empty bottle with his foot. The scraping of glass on tarmac was enough. Floyd suddenly snapped his head up. He realised he was being watched. Their eyes met.

Floyd wasted no time. He rushed at him with the pipe in his hand without a single word. But then Floyd stopped when Bill suddenly seemed to disappear. He gazed around. He started to wonder if that middle-aged man had really been there.

He then felt a rumbling beneath his feet. He gazed down to see what looked like a circle made of pure darkness. Before he could step back, tendrils burst out of it. One set grabbed his upper body, and the other grabbed him by his thighs, lifting him high off the ground. An additional one stuffed itself into his mouth to muffle any screams.

It took about ten seconds of straining. Floyd squealed as the pain seemed to radiate through the rest of him. Bill concentrated, placing all his focus on his new task. He was finally rewarded by a satisfying snap of bone as Floyd’s spine was broken. He was then dropped to the ground in a heap. He couldn’t move his legs. His face had practically turned grey as he looked up at Bill. He felt as though his entire body was made from pure agony.

But then he gritted his teeth and spat on Bill’s shoes as he approached. Bill rolled him over with his foot before placing it onto his chest. He could feel some of his ribs bulging through his skin and threatening to burst through. He pressed down, causing Floyd to scream again.

“A pity. I was saving that one for Conquest, and I am trying to mix things up for all of you,” Bill said. He glanced around. No one was approaching yet. Good, “But I suppose I need to act quickly for someone as aggressive as Death himself.”

“What?!” Floyd was unable to stop himself from gasping and panting from the pain he was in.

“How does it feel?” Bill added, “To be on the receiving end of the pain you and your fellow riders commonly dealt to others? How does it feel to know that your life is over?”

He didn’t give Floyd a chance to answer. He grabbed him up from the ground and bit into his throat. He let the Horseman scream freely into the night before ripping his fangs out when he felt that he was empty. He endured the flood of memories, both distant and recent. There were those same images of the ship; just from a different point of view. As painful as they were, it was getting easier to go through them. He wiped his mouth with his hand.

It feels so cold. It feels so empty. You just swooped in and stole my life away like it was nothing, and you act like I’m a monster?

He didn’t dignify that with a response. He hurried off. There was going to be uproar when his body was found.

For the first time in his life, Arthur was afraid. Six days had passed since Floyd had been reported dead. He had seen all the newspapers. First Chester back in Boston, then Lawrence on his way back to Ohio, and then Floyd in New York.

Most people hadn’t made the connection. He was certain that some people knew. But did any of them really have the guts to attack them? He couldn’t put it past them now that they had separated.

What he knew was that whoever this was had specifically targeted the other Horsemen, and they had also drained them of their blood. Chester’s death had been a breeze compared to the other two. It seemed the murderer was getting more creative with each one. What were they going to do to him?

Maybe if he told the killer that he had a mute cousin and a sickly mother to look after, he could avoid such a fate. Sure, his uncle was still around since his father died and she became ill five years ago (how could a sickness last this long?), bringing in the money for them, and Earnest brought in extra with those wood sculptures he was always doing, but his assailant wouldn’t know that, right?

He almost chuckled. Earnest would hate being used as a pawn. They had kept that secret well-hidden. Earnest was ashamed to be related to him, and he didn’t readily tell his little group of friends that he had made on the front about their family connection.

He had done the same with the Horsemen; he didn’t want them thinking different of him. They weren’t close at all, but it was easy to gain sympathy from other people when he told them about his ‘poor handicapped cousin’. He had debated killing Earnest after the big man had broken his jaw in order to stop him cutting out the Cockroach’s tongue. Was it really his fault that that stammer was so damn annoying?

Perhaps he had let him live for this very purpose. That’s what he tried to tell himself. He didn’t want to admit that it was because Earnest would have easily snapped his neck before he even got the chance. Arthur was surprised he didn’t do it when he realised Russell hadn’t come back on the ship with them.

However, he had suspected foul play and hadn’t been afraid to say it. When they had arrived home after a train journey filled with silence, he retrieved the piece of slate he had attached to his clothes, along with a piece of chalk, and simply wrote:

“There are thousands of words in the English language and yet there’s no such way to combine them to describe what an absolute cunt you are. Despite everything else, I never thought you’d actually stoop that low.”

He then walked off, heading to the shed that he always did his whittling in. He had almost thought about taking one of his uncle’s guns and shooting him in the back. Maybe he would have if his mother hadn’t come to greet him.

He remembered that night vividly even now. Arthur wondered if he would tell their family members would have happened, if he hadn’t already. Would they believe him? What would his mother think? What about his uncle? That was what worried him the most.

He shook his head. He had to think about the murderer. He felt anger briefly steam through his nerves when he remembered what Earnest had written down in response to hearing about the other Horsemen:

“In the words of Kin Hubbard, ‘Men are not punished for their sins, but by them’.”

“Do you not care that I could be next?” Arthur had asked. Earnest only shrugged in response, “Do you not care that this killer could be after me? I’m the only one of the Horsemen left, you piece of shit. You’re my family. You should care.”

“I could write something meaningful down, but then I’d just have to explain it to you,” was what Earnest had written next.

Arthur gritted his teeth and rubbed at his temples, as though that would somehow stop the memories from distracting him. Night had fallen over the house and its gardens. He couldn’t relax though. He kept staring out of the window. It was coming to midnight. His mother was asleep. His uncle would be working late into the night with his paperwork, as usual.

Earnest was in his shed, whittling something new. Arthur could see the light of the oil lamp that he used whenever he chose to work late. He briefly pondered going down there and seeing if he could somehow implore Earnest into protecting him.

He shook his head. Earnest was just going to let this happen, if it was going to. Arthur had decided to get prepared. He crept through the halls of the house, arming himself with a carving knife, one of his uncle’s old muskets, a revolver, and a ball-bat that Earnest had made before the war.

Bill’s face was completely expressionless as he knocked on the door to the large house. He knew better than to press the doorbell. That would attract the attention of everyone. If he knocked, he would only cause Arthur’s uncle to come to the door. Arthur’s room was too far away for him to hear of his arrival.

He briefly wondered if he needed to go and check on whoever was on in the shed. He decided not to. He would handle them if they came in to investigate or try and stop him.

He was more surprised about the lack of security. Arthur’s uncle seemed to be a confident man, especially living in such an isolated area where no one was close enough to give them immediate help. He felt a smirk of his own creep across his lips at that thought.

He then let it fall away as he head the door being unlocked from the inside. He had to seem like he was serious.

Arthur’s Uncle Thomas seemed to be a very formal man. He had a curious frown on his face as he opened the door. He was already looking suspicious to see a stranger at this time of night. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bill got there first.

“I’m afraid you need to let me in, Sir. It’s about Arthur. I believe he’s your nephew,” Bill said. It had the effect he needed.

“Oh no, what has he done now?” Thomas replied. He then gestured with his hand, “I suppose you better come in. Honestly, only been back a couple of weeks and he’s already causing trouble…Alice deserves better than this.”

He shut the door and locked it behind them when Bill entered. He then went to his study without another word, beckoning for Bill to follow.

Once he was in the neat and tidy little room, he sat at his desk, indicating for Bill to do the same with the chair on the other side of it. Once Bill did, he opened his mouth, most likely to ask for details about Arthur’s apparent crime. Bill jumped up and placed his hands of both sides of his head.

“Sleep, Thomas. Sleep, and do not awaken until tomorrow,” Bill said. It was so much easier when they were caught off guard. Thomas slumped back in his chair as the commands wrapped around the inside of his mind, “Good man.”

Alice. Yes. He had smelled a woman who was unwell. Presumably Arthur’s mother. From the memories he had seen, Arthur lived with his uncle, his cousin, and his mother, who was Thomas’s sister by blood. His cousin must be the one in the shed. Their butler didn’t seem to be too near, but he was around. He would most likely run into him at some point.

He thought about paying a visit to Alice’s quarters as well, just to make sure she wouldn’t see or hear anything that he didn’t need her to.

He quietly stepped out of the study, closing the door behind him.

He was blessed not to need lights to get around. He was also fortunate that his movements hardly made hardly a sound.

But then his eyes widened when he realised he couldn’t move in his usual flash steps. He glanced back.

A woman had stepped into the corridor. This must have been Alice. She was the same age that he appeared, but she looked frail, like a breeze could blow her off of her feet. Her brown hair was patchy in places. A faint rash that was shaped like a butterfly had spread over her cheeks. She was using a crutch to help herself walk. Her gait was stiff. Sympathy riddled his face. He could already see that she wasn’t even going to make it to fifty.

“Alastair,” she called out softly, “Is that you? Why are you creeping around?”

He could only guess that Alastair was their butler. Now he had a name to use. It would be easier to address him and hopefully sway him if they ran into each other.

“Alastair?” she called out again. There was a hint of fear in her voice.

He could see that she was experiencing a severe headache. That was probably why she wasn’t asleep. He could fix that. It wasn’t the same as the actual treatment she was having to make her illness easier to manage, but it would do for the time being. It was only for one night.

She blinked and he took his chance to approach. Her eyes widened in alarm when he was suddenly right in front of her. She wanted to move back, but she knew she would fall if she did.

“Who are you? Get...”

“Be silent,” his voice was firm but not threatening, as he rested his hands on either side of her head. To his relief, he managed to stop her from revoking the invitation that her brother had given him. She found that she couldn’t speak at all anymore, “I am not going to hurt you. I promise.”

She tried to make her mouth work, but it only opened and closed repeatedly.

“Listen to me, Alice, listen to me carefully,” he said. He could see that her eyes were already growing glassy as she stared into his. Her fatigue made this easier, “You are going to back to your bedroom, and you will sleep. The pain will not plague you tonight. You will slumber peacefully until tomorrow.”

He released his grip and let his hands hang by his side. He watched as she turned and headed away. She then went back into the room she had emerged from.

“Back to work...” he told himself. He then moved on. Arthur’s scent was growing closer. The Horseman was scared. Good.

Arthur was gazing out of the window, as though that would somehow keep him alert. He was so tired. He had been too afraid to sleep properly since hearing about Floyd. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought to arm himself sooner against the coming threat.

“It’s just a man… just a man… there is no man out there that can withstand a bullet,” he said to himself. It did little to make him feel better, “None of the others had a gun on them. I have a musket and a revolver. This fucker is not getting me.”

He swallowed then. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the others he had hurt felt. He then shook his head.

“They were weak. I’m not weak. Not like they were,” he told himself. But then he felt his blood turn to ice as he noticed the knob on his door turning. Why hadn’t Thomas allowed him to put a lock on it?

The door opened and he ran to his assailant with a scream. He raised the ball-bat and brought it down onto his head.

The man crumpled to the ground in a heap. Arthur grinned, but then it fell off his face and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh shit! Alastair! I… I didn’t realise it was you! Come on! Say something!” Arthur said. He knelt down to the butler, shaking his shoulder He showed no sign of waking up. Arthur checked his pulse. Much to his relief, he was still alive, “Alastair! Wake up!”

A low whistle caught his attention. He snapped his head up.

“Impressive. A pretty good smack if I do say so myself,” Bill commented, as he walked down the corridor towards him. He was clapping a little bit, “I suppose it was me you were hoping to catch out with that, so I have to take away points for hitting the wrong target.”

Arthur didn’t waste any time. He dropped the bat and rushed back into his bedroom to grab the musket. He never remembered seeing this man on the front or on the ship. But he knew that he had to come to kill him, just like with the other Horsemen.

As soon as he saw the red-headed stranger come into view again, he pulled the trigger back. The gun went off with a massive bang and he felt himself pushed back by the recoil. The bullet left a hole in the wall behind where Bill had been standing. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the f...” a hand was suddenly clamped around Arthur’s throat. He was pinned to the wall, dropping the musket. He found himself staring into a pair of bloodshot yellow eyes with slit pupils.

“You blinked,” Bill said. Arthur uselessly squirmed.

“Don’t kill me! I have a sick mother,” he started to protest, “And a handicapped cousin. They need me!”

“I believe your uncle Thomas is doing a good job looking after them himself,” Bill replied, “And I’m sure he can keep taking care of them. Your mother isn’t long for this world in any case, sadly.”

“What did you do my mother?!” Arthur felt his voice rise to a shout when he heard that statement.

“Nothing. But that sickness of hers will be her end. It’s a miracle she’s even lived this long. I suppose when she’s had you to deal with...” Bill said. He decided to trail off and let the implication of that statement hang in the air.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Arthur protested. He struggled uselessly against Bill’s hand.

“You killed my boy,” Bill said. His voice was calm, but a rage burned behind his yellow gaze, “You tortured and murdered the boy I helped to raise since he was born. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so upset about a boy who’s not even of my blood, but I am. I really am.”

“Bill?! The Cockroach’s Bill?! I… I...I didn’t do anything!” Arthur said. The stink of the lie made Bill grit his teeth. A mix of disbelief and fear sank into Arthur’s eyes. This man couldn’t be Bill. He only looked the same age as his own mother. “The other Horsemen were all in it. I was just along for the ride.”

“You pulled them apart, you said those things about them, you told everyone to watch as you and the other Horsemen tortured him and called it a lesson. You laughed at his pain and as you tied him up,” Bill said, “You threatened a father with the same fate and then you threw him into the ocean to drown, and then you came up with the idea to make Walter live with the trauma. I saw it all! You were the ringleader!”

Arthur shook his head.

“You got it all...”

“I saw it all when I drained them of their blood, and I’ll have to see it all again when I drain you t...” it was Bill’s turn to stop talking when he felt a sudden pain in his abdomen. Arthur had retrieved the butcher knife from his coat and stabbed Bill in the stomach with it. His hand loosened, and Arthur took his chance to pry it off of him.

He then took off running, leaving the musket behind. He jumped over Alastair’s prone body. The poor butler showed no sign of waking up.

“When will they learn? You have to aim for the heart, or the head...” Bill said. He casually removed the knife from his abdomen. The damage would resolve itself soon enough, “Shame about my shirt though, I liked that one...”

He then followed.

“Thomas! Please! Wake up! Wake up!” Arthur begged as he shook his uncle’s shoulder. Thomas showed no sign of stirring at all, “Thomas! We’ve got a murderer in here! Did you just invite him in or something?! Wake the fuck up!”

“I’m afraid he’s in too deep to be doing any of that. To be honest, it looked like he needed a good night’s sleep for a change,” Bill said, “And he did invite me. I’m quite the charmer, you see. All I had to do was tell him it was about you. Seems you’ve been quite the naughty boy for him to have believed me.”

He darted forward. Arthur had failed to notice himself blinking. He screamed in pain when he felt the knife being stabbed into his shoulder. Bill then twisted it hard. Arthur’s arm hung uselessly by his side. He found that he couldn’t move it even when Bill took his hand away.

“Oh dear, nerve damage,” Bill said, “Well, I suppose that takes care of your weapon arm, doesn’t it?”

He felt something hard pressed against the side of his head.

“I have two arms, you piece of shit!” Arthur barked out at him. He blinked just as he pulled the trigger of the handgun back. Thomas didn’t so much as twitch as the bang erupted through the room. A glass ornament on one of the bookshelves shattered into pieces.

Arthur’s eyes widened when he realised that he had somehow missed, just like with the musket. It was like Bill had vanished again. He fled the room, firing behind him as he did.

Once he was gone, Bill peered out from behind the desk. He shook his head.

“And to think, he was so cocksure when he was being the aggressor,” he said to himself.

Arthur ran through the corridor. He occasionally kept looking back and firing the revolver behind him. He tried to be sparing with them, but he didn’t want to give that man any chance of catching up.

He found himself crashing into Alastair, who had finally seemed to have awoken from the violent attack. The side of his head was bruised and he seemed to have no idea of what had occurred. He let out a yelp of his own when Arthur came running into him in the dark.

“Master Brennan, what are you doing?” Alastair asked, “I wake up after some kind of fall and I hear you running around screaming and shouting.”

Arthur fired the gun behind him again.

“What is the meaning of this? Is that Master Kingston’s revolver?” Alastair’s voice sounded indignant, “Master Brennan, what has gotten into you? What happened to your arm?!”

“Someone’s come to kill me, Alastair,” Arthur’s tone was desperate as he spoke, “Someone’s come to kill me, just like he did with the others.”

“What others?” Alastair asked, although some alarm had crossed onto his face at the idea that someone had to kill one of the family members he served, “We should call for help.”

“You really think help is going to get here in time?” Arthur said, as he then frantically pointed towards his room, “Grab Thomas’s musket from my bedroom and then we can...”

The knife was suddenly yanked out of his arm, slicing through muscle and flesh as it was removed without any finesse. Blood dripped over himself, his clothes, and the floor. The limb was left hanging on by just a few threads of skin. Arthur screamed in pain as Bill casually licked the blood off of the blade.

“And to think, I was planning to keep the mess to a minimum,” he said. Arthur managed to stagger past Alastair, “Just as well you have wood floors. You can cover it up with a good rug.”

“Who are you?!” Alastair’s voice was filled with shock.

“Alastair, don’t let him kill me!” Arthur begged. He came to the awful realisation that he wouldn’t be able to hold the heavier gun. He would have to rely on the revolver, “Grab the musket.”

Alastair turned to follow Arthur. That had been his mistake. He was grabbed before he could do anything. One arm pinned both of his down and his back to the stranger’s chest.

“Arthur!” he called out desperately, struggling against Bill’s grip. The young man raised the revolver, but he found himself hesitating. Bill was using him as a shield. Alastair struggled, but he couldn’t break free. He tried to kick at Bill, but it didn’t seem to have much use.

“Alastair?” Arthur couldn’t hide the fear in his voice, “For fuck’s sake, man!”

“If you want any chance to stop me, you’re going to have to risk shooting him. A man who’s looked after your family. Are you that much of a monster?” Bill said.

Arthur frowned. Alastair hadn’t helped to protect him at all during this entire night. He should have been ready to jump in and guard him with his life.

“He’s useless,” he raised the gun.

“Arthur...” Alastair was unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

Arthur fired the very last bullet. Bill moved before it had any hope of hitting either of them. He heard shattering as it smashed yet another house decoration.

“No! No! How did I miss?!” he screamed.

“You blinked,” Bill said from behind him. Alastair still wore that mix of fear and betrayal on his face. Arthur turned and threw the gun, which he batted away with the knife. It clattered to the ground. He whispered something else into Alastair’s ear as he briefly placed his hand over his forehead. The butler’s eyes drifted shut and his body grew limp. Bill put him down, “There we go. No more witnesses. No one to remember what happened.”

“Alastair?! What did you do to him? My cousin’s a witness. He’ll tell everyone!” Arthur said. He was backing away again. He had no way to fight this man. No, not a man. He was a monster, “He may be handicapped, but he’ll know! He needs me! He’ll be broken if I die!”

“Just a little trick I learned a good several hundred years ago now. Mastered it even. And if that is the case, I’ll just have to make sure he won’t tell, won’t I? Just like with everyone else here,” Bill said. He didn’t sound concerned at all, “And something tells me that he’ll be just fine...”

He seemed to vanish again. Arthur stiffened, gazing around. He then felt an intense pain in the back of his legs. He screamed out loud and he dropped to the ground. He managed to force himself to stand, but he realised he couldn’t move more than a few agonising steps. He staggered and found himself leaning against a nearby wall. Blood soaked into his trousers and ran down his skin.

“You can always rely on a straight cut to the Achilles tendons. As much as I enjoy a good game of cat and mouse, this is starting to go on a little bit long, don’t you think?” Bill asked, “I still need to go and find somewhere to rest before the sun comes up. Honestly, when you’re as old as me, all it takes is one experience in the sunlight to make you never want it again.”

“Please, please don’t kill me,” Arthur said, as Bill walked over to stand in front of him, “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, huh? Can you bring back my boy Russell?” Bill asked. Sorrow crept into his face and his voice when he asked that question, before his tone grew cold again, “Can you take back the things you did and said to him? Can you somehow turn back the clock and change it all? Can you?”

Arthur was silent. He then cried out when he felt the knife being stabbed into his abdomen. It was removed and thrust in again, and then again. Bill then let go and left the blade in his stomach.

“You’re not sorry about what you did to him. You’re just sorry that you got caught, and by the worst person to catch you,” Bill said, “I know doing this won’t bring him back either, but it certainly makes me feel a hell of a lot better.”

He grabbed Arthur and sank his teeth into his neck, pinned his arms to the nearby wall as he did. Arthur squirmed, trying to get out of the vampire’s grip. It was useless. Bill drank every last drop of blood that he could. When he tore his fangs out, Arthur was still and silent. He dropped to the ground, his heart no longer beating.

Perhaps it’s a fair trade, my life for his. I’m still not sorry about him though. I enjoyed it too much. My only true regret is that my mother will have to live with this.

Just like with Death, Bill didn’t give that last thought any response. He instead felt a laugh burst out of his mouth. He threw his head back and let it echo through the corridors. He then stopped as suddenly as he started.

“Hmm, crazed laughter suits me a lot less than I thought it would,” he said to himself, “No matter. It’s time to go.”

He couldn’t help but notice himself in a mirror when he into a nearby bathroom to wash his hands and his mouth, just like he had done in that stream back in Pennsylvania. He let out a low whistle and grinned, running a hand down one of his smooth pale cheeks, through his ginger beard, and combed his fingers in his hair. He gave his reflection a wink.

“Now, what’s a handsome gentleman like you doing a place like this?” he said, as he took a few moments to admire his new look. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties and he found it rather becoming on him, “I’ll have admirers chasing me for miles. I think I’ll keep up appearances this time… at least for a while.”

He opened the door to the whittling shed. Earnest did look at all surprised to see him. He and Bill stared at each other for a few moments. Earnest stood. Russell was right. He was a big man. He was easily a good six feet and a half, and looked like he could punch his way through a brick wall. Bill wondered if he was going to try and to fight him. He got his answer when Earnest got his piece of slate and wrote down:

“Old Bill?”

Bill was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded.

“Yes, that’s me, even if the ‘old’ part doesn’t really fit anymore. You’re definitely smarter than your cousin gives you credit for,” Bill said, “And you’re Earnest. Big Red. I saw it. Russell saved your life, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Earnest wrote. He didn’t even seem shocked to hear that. It was like he expected Bill to have known, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save his. I’m sure if I was on the ship with them, things could have been different.”

“Yes, I suppose they could have been,” Bill agreed, “But I said this to Elmer, that the cosmos have a funny old way of seeing things through. So you knew this was going to happen?”

Earnest nodded.

“It seemed the most logical outcome, with what happened to the other Horsemen,” he wrote, “He is my family of course, and I feel sad for him, but I think he would have done a lot worse had he lived. Sometimes you have to think of the majority.”

“Heh, despite what he said about you, you’re more than capable of thinking for yourself,” Bill said, smirking, “And you’re not scared despite seeing what I am now and what I’m capable of. Impressive. Maybe I really am getting a bit too soft in my old age.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have already done it. I may be a big man, but that’s all I am, just a man,” Earnest replied. He erased the message he wrote and then added, “Are you going to?”

“No. Only Arthur was my target. His life for my boy’s. Your father, aunt, and butler are all sound asleep, although poor Alastair will have a bit of a headache in the morning,” Bill said, “Arthur thought he was me and hit him with a ball-bat.”

Earnest huffed.

“I was wondering where that had gone,” he wrote, “So what now? You’ve done what you set out to do. You’ve taken care of all the Horsemen.”

“Who can tell?” Bill replied, “I think I’m going to head a different state and think about what I want to do next. Look after your aunt for her last bit of time here, okay? She’s going to need it.”

Earnest nodded.

“To alleviate suspicion, I’ll do to you what I did to the others; make you sleep until tomorrow, just so you can’t be considered a suspect... but I’ll allow you to remember. I think I can trust you not to tell anyone?” Bill said.

“Yes, Sir,” Earnest wrote, “I’ll take this to my grave.”

“I appreciate it,” Bill replied, allowing Earnest to rub away the words first so it didn’t seem like he had been ‘talking’ to anyone, “Now, just allow me...”

Three days later, he decided to stop in Maryland. He had stopped in a small shop to buy a newspaper and a packet of cigarettes. He leant against a wall outside so he could smoke one. He flipped through the articles, letting his eyes run across them. Nothing was really going in.

He then smirked when he saw the article that told its readers of Arthur Brennan’s death. Luckily, none of the other family members came under suspicion. It was concluded that they had simply been drugged by the murderer, so they couldn’t get in his way. He chuckled when those who had gone to investigate the murder said they had no leads.

However, they had come to the other conclusion that the four recent murders were coincidental, and four different people were the perpetrators; they wrote that there was no way one killer could have travelled to each particular area so fast. Bill chuckled.

“I suppose not,” he joked to himself. He then turned a few other pages. He froze. His eyes widened and the cigarette dropped out of his mouth. One particular headline had caught his eye:

“American Soldier Washed Up on London Docks.”

He was still and quiet for the longest time as he read the article over and over. According to it, about three weeks ago, an American soldier had been washed up on London’s docks. There was no name and the circumstances of his arrival seemed to be a mystery even to those who had written it. Not even the soldier had seemed able to confirm.

“No wonder,” Bill said, shaking his head, “With all the times they smacked his head around… if it really is him?”

He pondered. Could it be Russell? Had he somehow survived the assault and managed to make it all the way to London? What were the odds? If it really was him, was he all right? Was he safe? Bill knew he wouldn’t get the answer to those questions just standing here. He looked up at the stars in the night sky.

“Russell. If it really is you, hang in there. I’m coming.”

That's the end of the narrative. Sadly, Bill arrived too late in the end. Russell was indeed the soldier who had washed up on London’s docks, but he had been killed in a fight the day before. Although he took the vampire that killed him down with him as well, which Bill is proud of him for.

#ooc #violence tw #gore tw #death tw #homophobia tw #the moral is don't hurt or kill the people Bill cares about #Because you will face his horrific wrath #Yes #His surrogate son happened to be called Russell as well

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