#he's boutta cause a thunderstorm

[lordratwich]

*A loud knock can be heard coming from the front door. Opening it reveals a cross, stuck a few meters in front of the door, that's about 5'2, with rat corpses neatly arranged in top and all around it, making it look like it was literaly made of rats. On top were younger ones, starting from baby hatchlings, and getting older going down. In the middle, "short?" was written using rat cadavers of different sizes that seemed completly covered in... Blood? It definetly looked like dried blood*

*No one was to be seen in the area*

Finley took a minute to realize what he was looking at. He produced some kind of loud, shocked, strangled noise and froze, heart pounding, staring at the…. Whatever it could be called. Their fingers dug into the doorframe. They couldn't take their eyes off the cross. It took him a while to muster the force to push himself away from the door and stumble forward to investigate. He reached out, tentative, and let his hand make contact with one of the corpses, but immediately jerked back from the feeling of the unnatural cold. Breath intensifying, he circled the cross, still shocked, beginning to mumble something.

“She didn't know. She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She doesn't know. Tone it down, dude, tone it down she doesn't know she doesn't know tone it down she doesn't know she doesn't know she doesn't FUCKING KNOW!”

Finley’s soft words devolved into yells, and he threw the pen he'd been holding into the bushes in a rage. He turned and looked at the cross again, at the top in particular, where the babies were. “Oh my- I can't-” shuddering, Finley covered his face with his hands for a moment, then peeked out again, dropped his hands. His movements seemed quick and random. He briefly paced back and forth before stopping and turning to face the word.

“Short,” he muttered in confirmation, answering the question mark. “Short monster. Gremlin. Goblin. Kobold. Snotling. Imp.” Finley abruptly reached out and dug his fingers between the rats, tearing the cross out of the ground. He dragged it into the lab, fueled by rage, and leaned it against a wall. “Dead rats. Let's see how you like dead rats when they're attacking you in the afterlife, Camy- No- no. We're not killing her. Don't. No. Bad move. Bad move, Finley,” he told himself. Finley left the room with the rat cross inside, tears in his eyes. “Let's come up with something worse.”