I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why I came here from the farmhouse. I do know where I am. I’m still in Gnaw Bone. I’m standing on Highway 46, next to a storage unit place. There are RVs on the property.
Hangin’ round, downtown by myself
It’s night time. And I’m surrounded by trees. I bet you didn’t know that Gnaw Bone was basically buried by trees. You wouldn’t even know you were there until it was too late. You’d either be swallowed by the trees, or consumed by us. The Astro Creeps.
And I had so much time to sit and think about myself
Something is off. The storage unit place is a sea of pink neon light. I can see… people. Walking along Highway 46 as if it were downtown. I can see the storage unit place looks like a nightclub. I turn, looking beyond the bodies walking along the highway like ghosts… and I see her.
And then there she was, like double cherry pie
Pink and blue eyes that look like bubblegum, or cotton… candy… lock onto mine. She doesn’t smile. She steps closer, through the people, and towards me. She wears a mini skirt, and her top is as revealing as it could be without showing the goods. She walks with confidence… determination… as if she knows exactly what she wants. And doesn’t she?
Yeah there she was, like disco super-fly
She approaches while I stand, frozen. And when she finally reaches me, we stare at each other like we’re the last people on earth. And then we kiss. I feel her body press up against mine as she sticks her tongue, impossibly long and and forked like a devil, through my mask and into my mouth.
I smell sex and candy here
I can feel us shifting away from ‘downtown’ Gnaw Bone to the farmhouse, like a movie. And I can hear her whimpering. Not in fear… but in pleasure… that desperate sort of pleasure that’s interlaced with the intoxicating excitement of doing something you’re not supposed to do.
Who’s that loungin’ in my chair?
But I never actually see her at this point. She is only a shadow figure bobbing up and down on top of me. And then I see two more shadow figures on either side of the bed. One of them has their hands on their hips and a posture that looks to be… amused?
I can tell by the shape of the shadow that it‘s The Omen. And she’s amused by… the other figure. It lurches forward, weighed down by some sort of backpack. When I see the nozzle poke its ugly head into the moonlight shining through my bedroom window, I realize two things:
One, it’s The Arsonist and he has a flamethrower. I couldn’t identify him because he was wearing a black mask of his own.
And two, it was too late.
Who’s that castin’ devious stares in my direction?
I look up in time to finally see her face, and I see her seductive gaze shift to that of sweet surrender, and then contort in unimaginable pain. The Arsonist sprays us both with fire, and I watch, frozen, as her face melts off of her skull. She opens her mouth to scream, but the flames sprint down her throat and silence her. I can feel the heat as her hands melt to my chest. The flames scorch past us, and I can see the writing on the wall… a psalm of napalm.
And I can hear him laughing, pausing breathlessly to assure me from beneath his black mask…
“And then you woke up!”
Yeah Mama, this surely is a dream…
And the world melted away, slower than I expected, but still at a rapid pace as I wake up…
He wakes up in a cold sweat, jolting up from his slumber. When he comes to, Tempest rolls over and snatches his phone from the nightstand, opening it. His eyes dart, looking for more flirtatious tweets… or what he perceived as flirtatious… and found none. He sighs, but doesn’t close the app.
And then you woke up.
Our dreams have a way of hitting us with a hard truth. Even monsters’ dreams can haunt their souls behind the curtain. Shaking his head, he goes to close twitter, but his finger slides down the screen instead. He starts to try again before he sees a picture of a spray bottle.
The Arsonist.
He reads the passive aggressive tweet mocking him.
Tempest: Encouraging the weirdo.
He glares at the screen before tossing it back onto the nightstand angrily.
Weirdo.
He glances over at the World Championship hanging in front of his closet.
Tempest: Is that all I am to you, Sebastian?
It is the first time he could remember ever calling him anything but ‘The Arsonist.’
Rett: Rett!
The half cat/half soldier toy calls from the doorway of his bedroom. It stands, its red eyes scanning the room like a terminator. Tempest nods sadly.
Tempest: You’re right, Rett. Uncle Ed would disapprove of such feelings, wouldn’t he? If he were still alive.
Rett: Rett!
The Spider King chuckles and kicks his blankets off of him. He’s shirtless, but has a pair of Good Guy pajama pants on. They look as though they’ve not been washed in months. He strides across his bedroom, kneeling down and scratching Rett on its chin. It shows its appreciation with a mechanical purr coming from its sound system.
Tempest: Don’t worry, boy. It was just a bad dream.
A pair of dirty bare feet step into the doorway behind Rett.
Tempest: Pisces.
He says it without looking up. As he does look up, he notices the dirt and the pink, infected scratches on her legs. He steals a glance up her gown, and she reaches down, smacking him across his maskless face. Standing, he smirks, fresh blood collecting on his teeth and in between his gums from his lip. She shoves him backwards and he nearly falls, but manages to maintain his balance. Pisces steps over Rett and walks to the bed, sitting down and clutching her blood-stained teddy bear close to her chest.
Tempest: Not the ideal woman I’d have in my bed.
Pisces: You are a disgusting worm.
Tempest: …on second thought.
Pisces: Shut up. You know you couldn’t handle this ass.
Tempest pauses, looking genuinely offended for a brief moment. Pisces seems to smirk behind her mask.
Tempest: Your normal human talk disturbs me.
She rolls her eyes.
Pisces: Monsters are people too, Moseley.
He takes a step back in surprise, as if he were shot.
Tempest: Don’t call me that.
Pisces: Why not? Embrace who you are. You’re the best at doing that. No one in that miserable company that you represent can embrace who they are like you do, and it’s not even close.
Tempest: I represent myself. And us.
He sits down on the bed next to Pisces.
Pisces: Be that as it may, that piece of metal and leather that you carry around doesn’t say “Astro Creeps World Champion” or “Gnaw Bone World Champion” does it?
Sighing, Tempest looks at her sideways impatiently.
Tempest: Well, no, I guess not. Why did you come down here, Pisces?
She remains still, and speaks with no emotion.
Pisces: To get on your nerves, mostly. But also, to open up your… mind. It’s time that you accept who you are. Yeah, you’re Tempest. You’re the Spider King. You’re King Freak. You’re all these aliases, and they’re all part of you. None of them are fake or insincere. But your most fearful face of them all? It’s not the monstrosity that the Arsonist made you to be…
She reaches up and gently runs her fingers along his permanently blistered flesh on his face. He closes his eyes, a tear falling from his good one.
Pisces: It isn’t the monster that you’re showing them that they should fear. It’s the monster you’ve been hiding for three years. The minotaur that you’ve kept locked up in that beautiful labyrinth of yours. And if you want to rewrite the prophecy, and exorcise the Omen?
She pauses and giggles, standing from Tempest’s bed.
Pisces: You’ll have to let him come out and playyyyyy.
She says it in a sing-song way that only Pisces can do, before she skips out of his room like a child up to mischief. She flips up her nightgown as she turns the corner, giving Tempest an eyeful, as she disappears into the Underlook. Tempest sits on the bed for a long time, deep in thought. Finally, somewhere in his head, he can hear the sound of a chain being shaken. A half smile manages to form (because he can never physically smile completely) and he stands, stripping down his pajamas. He picks up his jumpsuit from the floor and pulls it on. He sighs, grabbing his mask. He walks to the closet and, after looking it over and running his fingers along the face plate, snatches the World Championship belt as well. He walks to the doorway and pauses, gazing down at the mask he clutches in his fingers.
Rett: Rett!
It calls up at him from between his legs and he nods in agreement, then steps into the Underlook, humming Marcy Playground’s “Sex and Candy.”
The Astro Creeps sit at a table on the ground floor. Each of them has what looks to be a bowl of oatmeal in front of them, though chances are, it probably isn’t oatmeal. Daedalus gazes across the table at Tempest as Kosnar slurps his food out of his spoon.
Daedalus: I’d like to… nip something in the bud, if I may. Hmm? May I do that?
Tempest looks up at him in confusion, looking around before bringing his hands to his chest.
Tempest: Me? Are you talking to me?
Daedalus: I am talking to you, as a matter of fact. And I’ll cut right to the point. I don’t like the flirting between you and the Final Girl on social media. Not only do you have zero chance with that girl, but it’s distracting! And we don’t need distractions pulling your attention from the task at hand, do we?
Kosnar and Pisces look up, startled. Tempest stares at him silently.
Daedalus: It’s not right the way she baits you, Tempest. She doesn’t know you like I know you. You’re a fragile boy. And she’s pure evil wrapped in a pretty face. Look at what she’s done to you. If you think about it, if it weren’t for her, you’d still have vision in both eyes, not just one. You wouldn’t look…
He pauses. Tempest still stares at him. His stillness briefly makes Daedalus visibly uncomfortable.
Daedalus: …I’m sorry. But it’s true. You wouldn’t look the way you do if Sloane Taylor had never crossed your path. The two of you flirting, she looks at it as being harmless. But the fact is, she’s on the side of your nemesis. It would be… it would be like–
Tempest: Why are you stammering, Dae?
Silence and tension fill the room. Tempest tilts his head curiously at Daedalus as his leader struggles to find an answer. He stammers and trips over his words a little more before Tempest stands from his seat, his hands clutching the table.
Tempest: Let me make something very clear to you. I know what I am. I know what I look like. I was this ugly before the Arsonist did what he did to me. I’m aware that romance is beyond the reach of my fingertips. Especially something that Sloane Taylor and Sebastian Bryce share together. I know it’s not meant for me.
He pauses and glances at Pisces before looking back at Daedalus.
Tempest: Monsters are not people. We are what we are. So… I guess I don’t need you to tell me that. As far as it being a distraction… sometimes I need a distraction from what I am.
He looks down at the food in his bowl absently, then looks back up into the eyes of his leader.
Tempest: And sometimes, the fly is trapped in the spider’s web through seduction and manipulation.
He looks around the table before storming out of the dining room. In the front room of the farmhouse, he gazes out the window at the frost outside. The skeletons of trees tremble as the wind moves them to and fro. He can hear the large boots of Kosnar approaching from the adjacent room. Eventually they stop, not long after Kosnar enters the front room. Kosnar’s eyes move to Dead Seb slouched on the couch, facing the television. On the old television set, an old movie called ‘To the Devil a Daughter’ is on. Kosnar half watches a scene before his eyes move across the room to Tempest’s back.
Kosnar: Daedalus is only looking out for you. He should know that you know better, but the fears that being overprotective bring have infected him. You… do know better right?
Tempest shrugs, still looking out the window.
Tempest: There’s a particular evil that you can only taste through romance and sex. Especially if you know you’re doing something you’re not supposed to. It intensifies the excitement. And allows you to really reach down into the darkness and have a look. It’s why so many people succumb to affairs. It would be my best revenge to have the Final Girl at my side. As far-fetched an idea it is, are we not living by reaching for the stars that reside in the darkest parts of our universe?
Kosnar: I don’t have an argument for your thinking. I support it, in fact. But, it’s dangerous to be exploring that right now. When you should be focusing on Lucy Wylde… and Zane Scott.
The Spider King straightens.
Tempest: He’s returned?
Kosnar: He has. And he’s set to fight the Spider King on Monday. I promise you, he will be looking to make a statement at your expense. What better way to say “I’m back motherfuckers” than to defeat the current World Champion?
Tempest: I expect him to live up to what they call him: The Personification of Pain. I want to feel that. I do hope that he isn’t some watered down version of himself. It’s sad what this company has done to some people. People who are supposed to be monsters. Domesticated like lap dogs. And while he’s been fighting against becoming one, this company has done everything in its power to tame him. In some ways, it has. There’s one key that can unlock Zane’s true potential, and it’s quite simple. It’s the realization that he isn’t a dog, but a wolf. Once he realizes that, Zane Scott will be everything that he’s been longing to be.
He glances over his shoulder, his green dreads swaying, then turns to face Kosnar.
Tempest: Zane Scott’s weakness is ironically his own mind. I could crawl into it with little effort and control him as I saw fit. You know those bugs that we sometimes find on the outside of the farmhouse? They’re not live bugs, they’re only shells of them. And you can see the holes from where the live bug escaped the shell?
Kosnar: Mmhmm. Cicadas.
Tempest: Yes, those! Zane Scott is a cicada. The problem with him is, he’s the shell. The living part of him left him a long time ago. And he’s never been the same since. Despite what he wants to be, he’s only the shell of what he once was, wandering aimlessly in the purgatory of his career. Is he alive? Is he dead? No one knows.
Kosnar: That’s true. What about you?
For a moment, Tempest doesn’t say anything. He only stands and ponders the question. Finally, he sighs.
Tempest: What do you mean?
Kosnar: I mean, all this talk about being wild or domesticated, being bound by chains and leashes. What about you? I know you’re far from domesticated, Tempest… But are you really as close as you think you are to being free? Are you as liberated as you believe you are?
The Spider King turns back to the window and speaks quietly.
Tempest: I’ll always be free, and yet… I’ll never be free. I am the lock and I am the key. The wound and the weapon. The fracture and the fist. Do you know what makes my actions authentic, Kosnar? Do you know what makes me authentic?
Kosnar shakes his head and shrugs.
Tempest: It’s because I have a compulsion to do what I do. And I stay true to my compulsion. I never question. I never falter. I engaged in flirtatious activity with the Final Girl, because I had a compulsion to do it. It’s important that you know that.
The large man folds his arms across his chest and nods in agreement, knowing exactly what Tempest means by what he says.
Tempest: Soon… it will be important that they all know that, as well.