Chapter Text
It began as a small logging town.
Located near a dam, it was close enough to the label on the maps to be colloquially referred to as the same. Over time, people spoke the name aloud more often than they ever wrote it down. People misheard it enough to label it on official maps as Damn, Washington.
And in truth, the town was damned. Crops would wither and die on the vine. Trees would rot from the inside out. Children, young women, and foolish men would go missing, never to be heard from again. But still, the townsfolk soldiered on.
There were those in town who prospered, despite the misery permeating the very earth they stood upon. While others suffered, they thrived. Men found huge caches of gold while panning. Men rose to power, their industry sweeping through the streets and consuming all it crushed beneath its wake. Men struck oil, and their families would go on to live in the lap of luxury for generations.
None of them ever stayed in Damn, of course. Once they grew beyond the reaches of the town, they left it behind. No longer needing to suck the marrow dry for resources or wealth. Word did not spread quickly or well at that time. The people back home would never learn the ultimate fates of those who moved on to bigger and better things.
No one learned how horrific each of their ends would be.
In time, the logging industry would fall by the wayside, leaving the farmers and ranchers to take hold. Soon, Damn became a central hub for the dairy and poultry industry. The tales of disappeared persons and whispers in the night would fall aside as well.
But were never forgotten.
In 1906, a school teacher petitioned the mayor, citing a need for a more palatable town name. It simply wasn't right that she had to teach the town's children curse words while she was trying to teach its history. Taking inspiration from the ferns around her schoolhouse, she suggested a friendlier name. One she could show to the children with pride, rather than quiet shame.
Most people didn't care. But thirty men, ten percent of the town’s population, were swayed by the pretty young woman who came to their doors. Many of their wives took umbrage with her, and her reputation soured. But she had collected enough signatures, and so they were delivered to the mayor, who saw no problem officially renaming the town. Of course, he took full credit for the idea. Change couldn't have come from a woman's hand, naturally.
But the schoolteacher did not mind. She had accomplished the goal she had set out for, even if the world would never ascribe the proper credit to her. As far as Nami was concerned, living in a town called Fern Creek was reward enough.
But like all things, covering up a mess with a pretty bow does not remove the filth lying underneath. It merely hides it. Leaves it waiting. Angry and caged. Liable to bite any hand that approaches it. And once it is freed, it will be hungry indeed.
************************************************
“They still aren't here?” Nami asked, crouching down to meet the little girl at eye level. She shook her head, her eyes watery, but her tears kept at bay. “Would you like me to walk you home?” The teacher offered the girl a kind smile, her hands resting upon her knees. “It's very foggy today. I would hate for you to lose your way.”
“I don't want to be a burden,” the girl sniffed, her purple hair falling over her face.
Nami brushed it aside. “Nonsense, Tama. It is my duty to see all of you children become learned. But more than that, I aim to see you all healthy and hardy and prepared to become fine adults.” Rising to her feet, she extended a hand to the girl, “Now come along. We don't want you out after dark, do we?”
“But…” Tama hesitated. “Won't that trouble you?”
“I don't know if you know this,” Nami leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially in the girl's ear. “But your home is right on the way to mine.”
“It is?!” Tama's eyes lit up at the prospect.
“It is!” Nami smiled. “Why, we’re practically neighbors!” She extended a hand that Tama graciously accepted, the pair swinging their arms between them as her teacher walked her home.
************************************************
She left Tama's home with a smile in her heart, walking in the complete opposite direction. A little white lie to help see a child home safely could hardly be called a sin.
The fog had thickened fiercely once the sun fell below the horizon. Nami could scarcely see two feet in front of her. She had gotten her student home, sparing her this particular trial. Forcing herself to take it in the girl's stead.
Everyone knew never to stay out after dark in Fern Creek. Despite the town's newly freshened image, some things never changed. Unsavory gentlemen would roam the streets, searching for women just like Nami.
Young, supple, desirable in every way. She had never taken a lover, no man had ever asked for her hand in marriage. Not in any way that warranted consideration, in any case. Upon finishing her schooling, she knew in her heart that she wanted to share her knowledge and bring the next generation to heights the previous could only dream of reaching. She was pure. She was innocent.
At least, that was her image until her fingers were caught in a wealthy man's coin purse.
In truth, Nami was all of those things. But growing up impoverished had taught her how to survive. As a child, she knew how to pick a lock before she learned how to read. She was practical. Only stealing from those who had too much. And only to help provide for her family.
Her father, a retired lawman, disapproved of her actions but did nothing to stop her. Her mother would not allow it. Their orange grove made them money, but it was hard to keep four mouths fed. What little extra money Nami brought in went a long way.
She had developed a system once she became of age. Waiting in the shadows outside the local tavern and sizing up the men inside. Only the drunken and fanciest dressed would do. As they stumbled home, she would slip over, relieve them of their leftover dollars, and skip merrily home.
The trouble began when she chose a man who wasn't nearly drunk enough. He caught her. Demanded that she return what she had stolen and more. She wriggled out of his grasp, but there was no point. They were directly under the street lamp. Everyone around could see what had happened.
And no other girl in town had hair as fiery as hers.
Nami fled for home, angry locals trailing not far behind. More and more gathered, joining the case. A rabble had become a mob. Hardly any of them knew the reason they were chasing this girl. All they knew was that a woman needed punishment.
She reached her house and locked herself inside. She told her parents what had happened, tears of fear streaming down her cheeks. Her father had known something like this was going to happen. It was only a matter of time. Her mother was not happy, but she loved her little girl. And she would do what she must to keep her safe.
She and her husband addressed the assembled crowd. Promised them that she would deal with her daughter herself. While many of the men were unhappy that they would not see whatever twisted form of justice they had envisioned, they were satisfied knowing that someone would dole it out. They began to file home.
Until a lone voice rang out. The wronged party. The wealthy man. The bearer of the pocket Nami had so hastily picked. He refused to leave. He would not be satisfied until he received his pound of flesh.
Some of the mob stayed with him. Camped outside of Nami's home. When the police arrived, her parents tried to convince them that they would see their daughter punished. But the wealthy man was lining their pockets, and it was only a matter of time before they breached their home.
Which made it all the more heartbreaking when, on the morning of the third day, Nami's mother announced to the crowd that her precious daughter had taken her own life the night before.
She shamed the men for driving such a promising young woman to this fate. They all shuffled home, some satisfied that they had dealt some manner of justice. But the rest only felt heavy. Guilty.
All save for the wealthy man. He felt nothing. Only rage over being denied his righteous vengeance. He left, but not without a curse lingering by. He would have his revenge, one way or another.
But that was a tale for another time.
Nami's family shuffled through the motions. They held a wake. They purchased a casket. Their beloved daughter and sister received a proper Christian burial. Suicide was a sin, but the Lord's charity granted forgiveness to all.
They grieved, they mourned, and they waited.
After her funeral, under the cover of night, Nami was smuggled onto the last stagecoach leaving town. They gave her what money they could, what would have been some form of a dowry once upon a time. Now, it was all they could provide to their little girl as she had no choice but to step out into the wide world on her own.
She headed west, away from the people she loved and off into the unknown. For months, she traveled through deserts and over mountains until all she could see for miles around were trees. It was breathtaking. She had never seen anything quite like it, not even in her old picture books.
Nami was a new woman. Not only did she swear to change her ways during the three-day siege of her home, but she had felt something profound watching her own funeral from afar. Perhaps it was the brush with death. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that God had saved her soul while she still drew breath.
Whatever it was, she had made a solemn vow to herself. No longer would she live a life of sin. She would never steal from another again. She would not bring scandal upon her family name with any inappropriate usage of her feminine wiles. She would give back more than she had ever taken. Nami had received a second chance to get into Heaven, and she would cling to it with all her might.
It was a week after reaching the state of Washington that she learned a small town on the far west coast needed a schoolteacher. She had no teaching experience, but she had passion and knew how to read, so that was good enough for the school board.
The town of Damn was not what Nami had expected, but she knew there was always kindness to be found, even in the unlikeliest of places. A woman named Robin took her in and gave her room and board. The children loved her, and she loved them in turn. She successfully petitioned to change the dreary town name. Life was good. She had learned the lay of the land. Fern Creek had become a second home to her. After the ordeal she had gone through, there was little that she was unprepared for.
Her old life had ended, buried in her family's meager plot. Nami was a woman reborn, and she was not going to waste the gift of a new life she received.
All that to say, Nami felt confident that she could navigate her way home. It was clear on the other side of town from Tama’s home, but not even the thick fog could erase her memories of Fern Creek’s street patterns. She hadn't spent weeks canvassing the town for nothing.
Marching into the fog, Nami began her confident but perilous trek home. Robin would surely give her a talking to for being out so late, but she had a perfectly valid excuse. A child was in need. Who was she to leave her for the wolves?
Taking carefully measured steps, Nami made her way down Main Street, the only paved road in town. Progress was steady, if slow. Following the map in her mind, she knew her next turn was another fifteen paces forward. Then a right, then two more buildings, then a left, and cross the bridge. Only another three paces to go.
Three…
Two…
Nami crashed into a solid form hidden within the fog. She cried out, stumbling back, only for the figure to snatch up her wrist, yanking her forward. She planted her feet, pulling away from him, but his grip was too strong! Something burned within the fog, flickering above her head. It moved, a small circle, staring down at her.
“Evening, Miss Nami,” a gruff voice cut through the haze.
Nami froze at the mention of her name. It took her another second to recognize the voice. “Sheriff Smoker?” she asked, straightening up, though her legs still trembled fiercely.
“I thought my cigar would make me more visible in all this fog,” the man said, his face barely illuminated by the ember. “I suppose it didn't. My apologies for the fright.”
“Why, Sheriff,” Nami took a breath to compose herself. “I don't believe a man of the law should be purporting himself in such a manner.”
“And what manner would that be?” Smoker asked, taking a puff of his cigar. “Is a man not allowed to enjoy the tobacco he purchased with his hard-earned dollars?”
“Of course he is,” Nami placed a hand on her hip. “I was referring to your skulking around in the dark. You startled me, but a more sensitive woman could have suffered from all manner of frights.”
“More sensitive women know better than to be out after dark,” the sheriff countered.
“If you must know, I was escorting one of my students home,” Nami crossed her arms with a huff. “Would you rather a woman walking home in the dark or a small child?” Smoker grumbled but couldn't beat her argument. “Now, if that is all, I must be off. The longer I tarry, the darker it gets.”
“Can't let you wander off by yourself, Miss,” Smoker stopped her from going, by presence alone. “The last thing I'd want is for something awful to happen when I could have prevented it.”
“I appreciate your concern, Sheriff, I do,” Nami offered him an honest smile. “But I do believe that if you are caught escorting a young lady such as myself this late at night, your wife will be the cause of something much more awful.”
Smoker chewed on his cigar, countless thoughts running through his head. After a moment, he sighed, “Hina does have a temper.”
“And I would hate to be the reason you ran afoul of it,” Nami tittered at the man's defeated nature. “A happy wife makes for a happy life, you know.” Smoker grumbled noncommittally, and Nami continued before he could provide a counterargument. “I will be fine, I promise you. I have learned this town like the back of my hand. A little bit of fog will not be enough to cause me to lose my way.”
“Alright,” the sheriff finally relented. “Go on your way. But you head straight home, you hear? No dalliances, no house calls, and no side trails. Straight home.”
“Of course,” Nami bowed her head subserviently. “Do give my regards to Mrs. Smoker.”
“I will,” Smoker huffed a small laugh. “Now get going. And don't let me catch you out this late again.”
Nami left at that, disappearing into the fog once more. The thought had crossed her mind that it would be nice to take a midnight walk with a man of Sheriff Smoker's stature. He was handsome, for sure. Despite being only thirty-six years old, his hair was already a silvery shade of white. But rather than withered, it made him look rather distinguished. Granted him authority and recognition amongst the townsfolk beyond his years. He would be a fine man to marry.
If only he weren't already.
Before you think ill of poor Nami, do not judge her. She did not pine after a married man, nor hold a quiet flame for him. He was merely one who stood near the head of the line of men whom she felt deserving of her affections. And by the day, that line grew longer and longer as her standards fell lower and lower.
Simply put, Nami was lonely.
She got on well enough with Robin, the woman whose house she resided in. But the older woman fancied herself a scholar, and more likely than not would rather be buried to her neck in ancient tomes than dragged into a conversation by her tenant.
She had come across a cat a few months into her stay in her new town. A fluffy, white thing she named Zeus. He was a fine companion, if not very good for conversation. Something warm to rest in her lap with a good book and a cup of tea on a chilly night. He would nuzzle against her legs while she slept.
But a few months ago, he ran away, leaving Nami's room empty once more. She hoped she had only found him after he wandered off from his original owner's property. It was better than thinking about the alternative, especially in this town. It served only to fuel her loneliness.
Nami could hardly strike up a conversation with a random gentleman in town. Going door to door to collect signatures for her petition had been precisely what she needed to achieve her goal. But busybody housewives gossiped, and a lie traveled around the world before the truth finished putting on its shoes. Hushed whispers of a pretty young Jezebel making house calls to unattended males. Lord knew what she got up to in their marital homes, but it was no doubt scandalous.
Even after the word got around after the petition, the rumors never ceased. The people around town branded Nami a harlot, silently accusing her of promiscuity and adultery. Sentenced to scorn with nary a trial. Women would gossip to their husbands or let one little insult slip. The men would tell the other men, and soon, the whole town had practically emblazoned her with a scarlet letter.
The entire reason Nami was still making her way home was due to a recent detour added to her mental map. Her old path home took her past the local saloon, where one too many unkind gentlemen had lobbed crass solicitations in her direction or made attempts at getting physical.
Luckily, Sheriff Smoker had been nearby during one particular incident. He arrested the drunkard, though Nami saw him back out on the street the next day. He was taken in to sober up, not charged for his attempted assault. And while the good sheriff defended her, the look in his eyes told her that he didn't think any better of her than the rest of them did. He was simply capable of placing his position over his opinions.
And even still, Nami sadly wished for a quiet evening with him. Loneliness makes the heart crave unnatural things; even the unwanted hand of a married man.
Lost in her thoughts as she was, Nami almost missed the sound. Perhaps if she had, her life would have turned out differently. She would have gone straight home, washed herself, crawled into bed, and slept the sleep of those who live unaware of the things that exist beyond our knowing. She would have kept teaching and lived a quiet life, eventually marrying a man well below her standards, but for the need to no longer be alone.
She would have borne him three children. He would not have been a good husband. Not bad, but not present. She would have raised her children as best as she could, but one by one, they would have all left her behind. Each one moving on to live their lives and forgetting about her. Her husband would die, leaving her alone. She would pass shortly after, surrounded by no one.
Depending on how you look at it, her life changed for the better the moment her ears perked up. It would take considerable time, effort, pain, and hardship to get there. And this night would be no exception.
It was a groan. A low, drawn-out expression of pain. Down an alley that, even unshrouded by fog, would have been hidden from moonlight. An alley that Nami usually hurried past. Unsavory individuals haunted this place, but she was quick and quiet enough on her feet to escape their notice. It appeared this fellow was not so lucky.
Another groan echoed from the alley. Nami clutched at her chest, looking this way and that. The fog was too thick to see more than a few feet in front of her. She had no way of knowing if this man's attackers were still nearby. And offering help would only put herself in harm's way. It was better for her to keep walking. To leave this man behind and seek the safety of her home. To…
Abandon him to his fate.
Nami shook her head furiously, a few fiery locks coming loose from her neat bun. That was how the old Nami thought. The Nami who stole, and struggled, and seduced to survive. The Nami who was dead and buried. She couldn't do it. She couldn't leave a man to suffer, solely to avoid possibly joining him in agony. Nami was a good Christian woman, and the Lord would not abide by her resignation.
But she could still provide some insurance to bolster herself against the potential threats. “Sheriff Smoker!” she called into the fog from which she came. It had been some time since she had last seen him, but perhaps he had followed her or was at least nearby. “Sheriff Smoker, are you still here?”
She received no reply.
Truthfully, she wasn't expecting one. But Nami knew the heart of a criminal. Hearing that a man of the law was within the vicinity would be more than enough to send them running for the hills with their tails between their legs.
Turning into the alley, Nami cautiously called out, “Hello? Are you hurt?”
“Please!” came a wheezing reply. “Help me!” The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Not as pained as it sounded.
There was that pain in her chest again. The one that drove her onward, plunging into the darkness. Unknowingly consigning herself to her fate.
“My name is Nami,” she said, taking careful steps forward, watching for anything lying underfoot. “I can help you.”
She thought she heard a sharp intake of breath at the mention of her name, but it was just a coincidence. Surely.
“Help…” the man coughed, something thick in his throat. “Help me…”
“Are you able to move?” Nami asked, taking another few steps. “I don't know where you are.”
“Right behind you.”
He was on her in a flash, sinewy limbs crashing into her, pulling her to the ground. She fought, struggled, and tried in vain to free herself from his grasp. But he pinned her down with his body, planting his knees between her legs and spreading them, defending his weakest place from harm.
He had done this before.
She tried to scream, but he covered her mouth. She bit at his fingers, but he was too quick. Every time she inhaled to yell, his hand returned. And every time her teeth flashed in the darkness, they snapped only on air.
It was when his hand approached from the left that she knew he baited her. It moved more slowly, more cautiously. She was acting on instinct and lunged, aiming for his fingers. But she found only acrid-tasting cotton.
A filthy sock was shoved past her lips, filling her mouth with the foul fabric. While her mind reeled from the horrid smell and taste, her assailant coiled a rope around her face. Tying the gag in place, he moved lower, binding her flailing, striking limbs.
Her left arm was pinned to her back. Her right reached back and caught a fistful of hair. She pulled as hard as she could, feeling it rip straight out at the root. The man roared, and his fist came down across her cheek. Something exploded in her skull, and her body slowed. More than long enough to be constricted entirely.
Her head spun, and her vision was spotty. When her faculties returned, she still could not move. She flailed, squealed in panic. “Hush, my sweet. There is nothing to fear,” came his voice into her ear. His hands trailed down her side, coaxing more terrified jerking. “Oh, Miss Nami. You have no idea how long I've wanted you in this position.”
The way her name rolled off his tongue made her skin crawl. But she had heard that voice before. The two of them had met before. He was a local pig farmer, a local drunkard. The man Sheriff Smoker had arrested for attempting to tear her clothes off that night.
His name was Absalom, and being bound by him in particular shook Nami to her very core.
His hands found their way to her chest. She thrashed, trying to throw him off her, but to no avail. He moaned, “Teats like these could feed an entire village.” He roamed lower, caressing her body like he owned her. “And these hips! Why, you could deliver children until the end of your days!”
A hand clapped down on her backside, forcing a muffled grunt through her gag. “And with a rump like this, any man would keep you in the family way for the rest of his!”
Absalom's weight pressed down onto her. Something foreign pushed against her thigh. Nami flailed, trying to wriggle away from him. He stroked her hair possessively, “Miss Nami, you may just be the perfect woman. What I would give to have you all to myself…”
Her breath quickened, her heart raced, and terror coursed through her very soul. He was going to defile her. Force her to raise his children. Trap her into a life of pain and anguish and torture.
Right when she thought her life was over, he shifted, planting his feet in the dirt and hauling her up over his shoulder. He cradled her head in a sickening, tender way. “Oh, but I mustn't lose sight of my goal,” he cooed to her. “Miss Nami, you're much too valuable not to spend.”
Nami almost wished she could fall back into the fears from mere moments ago. That nightmare, she at least understood. Spend? What on earth did that mean?
He dropped her, unceremoniously, into the back of a nearby wagon. A horse, unnoticed through the fog and strife, huffed as its owner jostled its reins. Absalom stroked Nami's cheek. She jerked away as if he had burned her. “Calm yourself, my sweet.” his words churned her stomach. “It won't be much longer-”
“This is Sheriff Smoker! As a duly appointed enforcer of the law, I demand that you identify yourself!”
The sheriff! He came! He had heard her! Nami screamed around her gag, but he had muffled her quite expertly. Absalom swiftly pulled a burlap sack over her. Unable to move in the first place, she had to rely entirely on her hearing to know the true nature of her savior.
“It's me, Sheriff!” Absalom called out. “What can I help you with this fine evening?”
“Absalom,” Smoker growled. “I believe I told you I didn't want to see your sorry hide back in town again. Told you what I'd do if you ever came back.” Yes, Sheriff! Take him down! Be the hero she knew he could be!
“And I had no intention of violating your trust,” Absalom attempted to assure him. “One of my hogs escaped, and I've spent the better part of the day chasing it down. Only just managed to tie it up. I've got it in the back of my wagon here, ready to depart the confines of your highly regarded constabulary.”
Nami screamed around her gag. He had to know it was her! He was lying! The sheriff was a bright man! He wouldn't be foolish enough to fall for so obvious a lie! “See?” Absalom patted the side of the wagon. “I even tied its snout shut. We have to be courteous to our neighbors, don't we?”
She screamed and thrashed, kicking her feet against the wagon wall. Come on! Smoker! You spoke to her mere minutes ago! Don't believe his lies!
But her faith in the justice system would not be rewarded that night. “Shove off, already,” the sheriff grumbled. “And I mean it. Don't come back into town. Next time I see you, I'll take it as a personal offense.”
No! No no no no no no no no no!!!
Sheriff! Don't leave her with this man!
The wagon jostled as Absalom scurried to the driver's seat. “Good evening, Sheriff!” he called over his shoulder, cracking the reins and spurring his horse on. Nami screamed until her throat went raw, tears streaming down her face. The wagon bumped along the road, carrying her to fate's crossing.
************************************************
The ramshackle farmhouse loomed before them, its weathered clapboard siding shrouded in the thick, moaning fog that hung heavy in the night air. The once-white paint had long since peeled away, leaving the wood a sickly gray and pitted with age. The porch steps groaned ominously under Absalom's gait as he hauled Nami's bound form closer to the front door, now hanging crooked on its rusted hinges.
Behind the house, the barn hulked like a monstrous silhouette, its roof sagging, and the area around it was cluttered with rusted farm equipment and refuse. The stench of the pigsty drifted over on the damp night breeze, mingling with the stale reek of the sock in her mouth. Muddy hoofprints and cart tracks churned up the yard, where discarded liquor bottles, rotting scraps of wood, and other detritus lay strewn about.
Atop the hill overlooking the farm stood a crumbling silo, its metal flaking away, and a prominent hole in its side. Skeletal trees encircled the property, their branches clawing at the moonlit fog like the grasping fingers of a drowned corpse. The eerie stillness was broken only by the distant squealing of hogs in the pen and Absalom's labored breaths.
To Nami, the entire farm seemed to radiate an aura of decay and danger, like the sinister, long-abandoned plantation homes in gothic horror stories. In the darkness and the fog, it appeared to be a perfect hiding place for his sinister intentions and also a nightmarish prison. Fear gripped her heart as he dragged her closer to the ominous doorway, the lantern light flickering across the rotting wood, casting sinister shadows.
Absalom kicked open the warped front door, the lock splintering and clattering to the floor as he stumbled into the dimly lit house. The air inside was thick with dust and the musty scent of long-term neglect. A rickety floorboard creaked loudly under his boots as he staggered further into the room, his grip tightening on Nami's bound wrists.
The interior of the farmhouse was bleak and cheerless, with peeling wallpaper and faded, moldering furnishings. A thick layer of grime coated every surface, and dirt and neglect clouded the windows. The only light came from a single candle dangling from the ceiling, nearly burnt out and casting stark shadows across the room. In the faint illumination, the peeling floral print on the sofa and the moth-eaten rug beneath it were clearly visible.
Absalom ignored the deplorable state of the living room as he kicked open a door to the side, revealing a dark, narrow staircase descending into the basement. Without hesitation, he began to drag Nami's squirming, bound form down the creaking stairs, her heels striking the steps and sending vibrations through the rotting wood.
The staircase opened into a dank, earth-floored room, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and something more sinister. Shadows danced on the rough stone walls, cast by the flickering light of the lantern Absalom had brought down. As he set it on a crude wooden table, its light illuminated a chilling sight.
Painted on the stone floor with a dark, rust-colored substance was an intricate, arcane symbol. Strange, twisted sigils adorned the circle, as did a five-pointed star at its center. The very air seemed to hum with an unsettling energy, the cold tendrils of fear coiling around Nami's heart as she beheld the ominous symbol and the equally terrifying intent behind it.
Absalom dropped her roughly into the center of it, a layer of dirt kicking up into the air from beneath her. She saw the gleam of the knife and kicked with all her might. But her legs were still bound, and she only tangled herself up further. “Hush now, keep still,” her captor whispered. “I'm not going to hurt you…”
He reached around behind her, his blade slipping between her wrists. Sawing through the bindings, he made sure his free hand was placed on her chest, pressing her breast into her ribcage. Her movements stilled now that he had introduced a lethal weapon into her peril. She couldn't risk angering him and tempting him into sticking her with it. Not just yet.
The rope snapped free. The moment the vile man pulled it away, Nami struck. She lashed out, clawing at his eyes, his throat, anything to survive!
“I told you to keep still!” His fist came down from on high the second time that night, crashing into her eye with a meaty thud. Stars exploded inside her skull. Her head cracked on the stone floor.
Everything went dark.
************************************************
Nami felt it before she knew what it was. A gentle warmth coated her arms. The pain came next, a burning on her cheek and a throbbing within her skull. And something stinging beneath the comforting heat on her arms.
Her jaw flexed open and shut while she forced herself to breathe. It took her a moment to realize the sock was long gone. Had her captor been gracious enough to remove it before defiling her? Or had his rope work been sloppy around her mouth because she was still fighting back at that time?
Questions she would never see answered.
She stirred, trying to sit up. Her legs were still bound. That gave her some solace. Absalom couldn't have violated her without forcing her legs apart. Nami was no gasping schoolgirl. She knew what sex was. And with her clothing still intact, it meant so was her chastity.
Except that her clothes were not undamaged. Sitting up, the sleeve of her dress stayed caught beneath her hip, which shouldn't have happened. They were nowhere near loose enough for that.
Upon inspection, which took considerably longer than it should have due to the spinning and lightness in her head, she saw that he had cut her sleeve open. Both of them, in fact. Which begged the question, if he had exposed her arms, why did they feel so warm? And why was the rest of her becoming so cold?
She caught Absalom finishing his work on her left arm, dragging a knife down her now-blemished skin. The blade cut deep, bringing rivers of blood in its wake. A strangled, gasping sound stopped in her tightened throat. “Shh…” her captor tried to calm her, but his gesture only served to fuel further panic. “It will all be over soon, my sweet.” He backed out of the circle, knife in hand. Nami couldn't talk. She couldn't think. All she could do was sit there and stare at the sanguine fountain her arms had become.
She was going to die. There was no questioning it. When it came to medicine, Nami was not well learned, but even she knew there was no way to survive blood loss of this caliber. Tears flowed just as freely. She would never see her family again. She would never see the smiling faces of her beloved students. She would never again have a pleasant conversation with Robin.
Nami was going to die.
So consumed she was with her impending demise, she almost neglected to see the first stage of the Satanic Sacrament occurring beneath her very feet. But there was no missing what would come after. The first drop of her blood dripped onto the circle.
The sigils burst alight as if they had ignited. Light danced across the claustrophobic walls of Absalom's cellar, but none shone so brightly as the ones within his eyes. “Yes!” he cheered. “Come to me! Ancient One, I summon thee!”
The ground shook before he even spoke. Nami, who had tried to pull herself to her feet, slipped and crashed back to the cold stone below. The circle grew brighter with each passing second, the tremors more intense. She tried to back away, despite her leg bindings, but quickly felt her back press against a wall.
But the circle was in the center of the room.
With nothing around it.
Nami twisted her body only to find nothing. But still, she could not move past the boundaries of the sigil. Some invisible force was keeping her there. Trapped.
The shaking grew more fierce, odds and ends from the cellar slid from their shelves and tumbled to the floor, many shattering upon impact. A terrible groan soon drowned out Absalom's rapturous chanting, the sound of the earth grinding against itself. Nami's ears ached from the sheer volume.
A clawed hand pierced through the stone.
Nami shrieked, tears of pure terror springing from her eyes. Her heart pounded, but she felt weak. Slower. Colder.
A second hand joined the first, clinging to the floor. Prying it open. A gaping maw spread the Satanic circle apart, and within the darkness, Nami could see two glints of light. The way a beast's eyes shone when lurking on the edge of shadows.
A predator's eyes.
The form dragged itself upward, clawing its way into our realm. It had the figure of a man, but adorned with features undeniably otherworldly. It had short, dark hair and a pair of horns. Red, curved, and growing from either temple. A scar marred its face, just beneath one of its eyes, both of which burned a wrathful scarlet. A wide grin crossed its face, its mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.
Copper skin disappeared beneath a white dress shirt, which in turn was encased below an embroidered, black velvet coat. Gold buttons held the fabrics together over its chest, the undershirt clinging tight to lean, dangerous muscles. Its sleeves ended in rounded red cuffs, drawing the eye back to the claws at the end of each finger.
Nami flinched back at a sound like a tarp unfurling, only to see a pair of wings extend from the monster's back. They were both calcified and leathery, bone and skin mixing in unholy matrimony as the crimson appendages flicked in the air.
The hellmouth beneath it sealed, leaving Nami with no hope of escape. An invisible barrier to her rear, a monster before her, and a lesser monster blocking her only way to safety. All hope had long been snuffed out. As the creature advanced on her, she broke.
Nami was strong. She was independent and confident, despite her crippling loneliness. But as death loomed above her, none of that seemed to matter.
There had been a small voice in the back of her head for some time, thinking it would be alright if she randomly passed away one day. Nami had already received her last rites. She had acted well and godly since that day. Would it not be fine for her soul to travel to Heaven on this day? Had she not earned the right?
Human nature was a trickier beast than that, unfortunately. Nami's innate need to live superseded any religious desires. The plain and simple fact of the matter was: Death is terrifying.
Especially when it came at the hands of a creature from the depths of Hell.
“Please,” Nami choked out a sob, her tears running a river through her dirt-smeared face. “Please don't kill me. I don't want to die.” Begging a monster for mercy. A fool’s errand. But she couldn't think. Couldn't plan. She was at the end of her rope, and if she had to choose between bleeding to death or whatever this devil had in store for her…
She hoped blood loss would be a gentler way to die.
The monster shuffled towards her, back hunched, clawed fingers dragging across the stone floor. Its breath came in huffs, in through its nose and out through its mouth. Closing in. Nami could feel the heat radiating off it. She expected to burst into flames. But, perhaps due to the chill coursing through her, she felt peaceful. Knowing the end was staring her in the face gave her some manner of tranquility. She could feel herself beginning to drift away.
The monster looked down at her, its face twisting into an expression, some veneer of human kindness. A soft smile. A gentle look in its eyes. No doubt a way to lull its prey into submission. It opened its mouth, but rather than sink its teeth into her flesh. It spoke. A single word, with a voice that came softer than she would have expected:
“Okay.”
It reached down, taking her hands, being careful to avoid its claws touching even an inch of her skin. It raised her arms. Looking closely at her gushing wounds. “Oh man, this isn't good,” it muttered to itself, turning her arms over, finding the best angle to keep the blood from flowing too quickly. “You're not gonna make it if this keeps up.”
Was it… showing concern for her? That couldn't be possible. It was a demon. A monster beyond her comprehension. What purpose would it have in caring about her well-being?
“Demon! Devil! Denizen of the Abyss!” Absalom cried from outside the circle. “I am your master, and you will do my bidding! I want money! Riches overflowing my coffers! I want power! Beyond my comprehension! I want women! A harem of broodmothers to-”
“Hey, man, can you shut up?” The demon shot him an annoyed glance. “I'm tryin’ to talk over here.”
“What?!” Absalom snapped. “You dare defy your master?! I am in command! I summoned you and paid the price! You-”
“Nuh-uh! You didn't do nothin’!” The creature stuck its tongue out at him. “I came up here cause I got paid with blood.” He pointed a clawed finger at Nami. “Her blood.”
“She summoned me.”
Absalom sputtered. His dreams were crumbling away due to a technicality. Nami's head lolled forward, falling against her chest. The devil cupped her face, desperation in its eyes as it pulled her back up, patting at her cheek. “Whoa! Hey! Stay with me!” Was it begging? “Come on, don't die on me. Please.”
Yes. Yes, it was begging. It… It didn't want Nami to die? Well, that made two of them.
“I can fix this, I promise,” it sounded so kind. It almost made Nami want to believe it. But her head was spinning. It was getting hard to think. Or breathe. Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps. She had never seen someone die before. But she could feel it. Death was imminent.
Was the demon still talking? She couldn't hear well any longer. “I'm not explainin’ it well, but I can do it,” she heard. “But I can't do nothin’ until you tell me to. Please.”
Nami had thought a lot about her own mortality ever since her funeral. What she had ultimately decided upon was to live this second life as well as she could. To help those in need. To spread kindness wherever she went. The smiling faces of her little schoolchildren were payment enough for any troubles she suffered through on her own.
But this? To accept assistance from Hell itself? Would she not be forfeiting her immortal soul for a measly few more years of life? A few more years of desolate solitude? A few more years of whispered accusations of her moral standing? A few more years of lascivious men attempting to get their filthy hands on her? What kind of life had she been living? Was it truly worth an eternity of suffering to stay here?
But… Hadn't the creature said Nami had already made her payment? Then, wasn't she damned already? If the result was the same, would it not be better to grant herself time, no matter how small, before she descended into the pits of Hell?
Oh, it was getting too hard to think anymore.
Nami's vision came back into focus for the briefest moment. Her eyes met those of the devil before her. And they looked… sad. Desperate. Something clung to her heart, weak as it was. A feeling that, if she slipped away, it would destroy him.
Him. Not a monster. Not a creature. But an individual. A man, kneeling before her, hoping for a miracle that he could provide. But only if she asked for it.
Fresh tears sprang from her eyes, and he gently wiped them away. “Please,” he repeated. “I can fix this. Just tell me what to do.”
Nami choked on her sobs, grief and anguish coursing through her. She wasn't sure when the terror had subsided. But her vision was narrowing. She felt herself slipping away.
She didn't want to die. And so she let two words roll off her tongue. Two words that would change the course of her entire life. Two words that would bind her soul to the man in front of her for all time. Two simple words:
“Help me.”
The devil's eyes blazed with fire. His grin widened with vicious, terrifying glee, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. His clawed hands gripped her forearms as he leaned in, his face inches from hers. “That's the best thing you coulda said!” He threw his head back, wild laughter ripping from him.
Fear gripped her again, but only for a moment. He directed his attention down to her arms, where the flow of blood had trickled away. She was empty. How was she still alive?
Because she had chosen the devil she didn't know over the one she did.
Nami hissed as points on her arms burned, the demon pressing his thumbs into the tops of her wounds. “One sec,” he whispered. “No more pain, comin' up.” With that, he slid his digits down her arms, taking great care to keep his claws away from her skin.
As his fingers traveled down, the lacerations vanished. They had not healed. The flesh did not knit back together. In their wake, no scars were left. It was as if they had never occurred. The red staining her skin remained, but it was as if her unholy savior was turning back time on her very self.
Next, the demon raised its hand to her chest. An inch away from her bosom, it paused. “Uh, I'm not tryin’ to… uh…” He scratched his cheek sheepishly, “I'm not tryin’ to touch a boob, I'm just…” He let out a frustrated little grunt and pressed his palm against her chest. A shockwave blasted from his hand, and Nami shot up, sucking in a deep gasp.
“Easy! Easy!” The demon cradled her as she flailed. “Just gave you some blood back. You're gonna be okay.” Nami didn't respond. Her lungs were too occupied filling themselves. “That's it, breathe. In and out. Deep breaths.” He glanced around the cellar and winced. “Well, not too deep. This place reeks.”
He lowered her gently to the floor, collecting some of her loosened hair to act as a makeshift cushion. “Get some rest,” he said, pushing himself up from the floor. “I'll be right back.” He went to take a step away, but caught sight of her ankles still bound together.
“Whoops! Almost missed that!” he laughed, reaching down with a single claw. It sliced through the rope as if it were paper. Her legs freed, Nami curled into herself, the shock still addling her senses. “Alright, you sit tight,” the devil smiled warmly at her. “I just gotta take care of one more thing.”
Knitting his fingers behind his head, he strolled to the edge of the circle, finally looking his would-be master in the eye. “Man, you’re a lot uglier than I thought you’d be,” he said, holding back a laugh. Badly.
“This is- I don't-” Absalom stammered, his face pale, his breath wild. Hyperventilating.
“See, she told me to ‘help her,’” the devil said, swaying back and forth on his heels. “I think they call ‘em ‘open-ended’ up here? Anyway, it means I get to do whatever I want! So long as I'm doin’ it to help her.”
“But, I'm the one who decides what helps her, and I'm a very helpful boy!” The demon chuckled. “I can do all sorts of stuff for her! Fix her wounds, pump blood back into her, tear you limb from limb, carry her back home, all sorts of stuff!”
Absalom paled even further. “What was that third one?”
“Oh, buddy. Dude. My guy,” the devil wasn't containing its laughter any longer. “You're gonna die tonight.”
“But…” he couldn't swallow the lump in his throat due to his full-body tremor. “But you can't leave the circle. Not without-”
The devil took a casual step forward.
Absalom ran, but the devil was on him before he could even finish turning around. Echoing through the cellar was the sounds of tearing flesh, snapping bones, and anguished screams that devolved into bubbling gurgles. None of which reached Nami's ears, as she had already drifted away into the darkness of the unconscious.
************************************************
Nami shot up in bed with a gasp. She frantically patted herself down, searching for wounds, but found none. Falling back against her pillow, she allowed herself the time to breathe. Her mind was a blur. What a horrible nightmare!
She needed to make herself focus. Lying still, she tried to tell herself all of the things she was experiencing. The air hit her lungs with a chill. She had left her window open that night. Her blanket lay draped over her form, the warmth seeping into her bones. Zeus, her beloved cat, lay against her leg, a gentle comfort as always.
The sounds of Fern Creek drifted in through her window. People at work. Horses trotting and dragging carts. A small thud followed by a curse from a man who must have dropped something. Nami breathed deep, steadying herself.
She felt her clothing and paused. Why was she still in her dress? Had she been so tired the night before that she fell straight into bed, without even putting on her nightgown? It would not have been the first time, but she couldn't recall what would have pushed her so far past her limits. The weight against her leg shifted.
Nami felt at her dress, feeling the ribbon tie at the back of her neck. The small embroidery at the front was still there, though it was rough beneath her fingers. She paused at her sleeves when, instead of cotton, she felt her bare skin. Opening her eyes, she paled.
The fabric of her sleeves lay on either side of her arms, each set cleanly sliced. But a dark stain matted either of the newly created sides. No scars marred her skin, but something red had dried and flaked off her. But… it was merely a dream? Was it not?
Wait…
Didn't Zeus run away?
Pushing herself up by her elbows, Nami slowly brought the entirety of her bed into her field of view. There, sitting at the foot, was a young man, rocking back and forth with his legs crossed, watching her. He looked upon her kindly, and truthfully, he was a handsome man.
Save for the horns, wings, and claws.
“Good morning!” he beamed at her, his sharp teeth dazzling in the morning light. “What's for breakfast?”
Nami shrieked.
He did too! It seemed fun!