Page 109 of Twisted Heathens

“Hmm. It’s almost too easy, isn’t it?” Lazlo smiles at me.

Fear washes through me; not irrational, pointless fear, but visceral terror. That feeling when you know that something is wrong, without any evidence or support to explain why. I glance up at the camera blinking away in the corner, capturing our exchange.

“What are you doing?” I ask in a small, timid voice, sounding entirely unlike myself. He’s getting beneath my skin, unhinging me.

“Just exploring your thought processes. Tell me, how would you do it?”

The camera blinks. Lazlo stares. Distant shouts and cries echo through the room. My skin begins to itch and I pull my knees to my chest, seeking the intrinsic comfort as a threatened child would.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Are you afraid of the way it makes you feel?”

I shake my head rapidly, as if to force him out. “No, I just… No.”

“Don’t you want to see your parents again?”

“No,” I whimper, teeth breaking skin as I gnaw my lip. “I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t want to die!” I scream, feeling my tears spill over. “I’m fucking afraid and I don’t want to die! But I have no choice, I have to do what they tell me to. That was always the plan.”

Lazlo’s fingers drum on the table methodically, entrancing my gaze. His face looks completely different to me now, gone is the fragile old man, replaced by a wolf in human skin. I blink, trying to disperse the image, shadows creeping up from the corner of the room.

“Who? The voices?” he guesses.

I swallow the bitter lump in my throat. “I… I’m not sure. Why are we talking about this?”

“Because it’s November 13th today.”

The room seems to freeze around me, detaching from reality and existing in an entirely dark world of its own. Lazlo flips through the papers, humming under his breath. When he selects a glossy photograph and slides it across the desk, my world implodes.

Victor’s face stares back at me.

Bright, happy and alive.

“Does he look how you remember him?”

“Why are you doing this?” I whimper.

The photo seems to stare at me, those pixelated eyes wide and terrifying. When I manage to look away, someone stands behind Lazlo. Escaped from his mirror and grinning at me, slick blood pooling across the cream carpet. His pearly whites reflect sparkling light, fingers reaching out to point towards me.

You will join me, Brooklyn.

I’ve waited a year and your time is up.

I can’t help it. I scream bloody murder, leaping up and tripping over the coffee table. Splayed across the floor, I scramble on my hands and knees, frantically putting distance between myself and the shadowy ghost my mind has created.

“He’s here for you, Brooklyn.” Lazlo smiles at me encouragingly. “All debts must be paid in the end. Time to face the devil and take your punishment.”

“Please help me,” I beg. “Don’t let him hurt me. P-Please.”

“I can’t help you. People like you cannot be cured.”

The world is closing in around me, the blinking camera seeming to pierce my head along with Lazlo’s intent gaze.

“Run along now. The clock’s ticking,” he adds.

---