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Martha couldn't close her eyes without seeing Fred's mangled body. Hell, Martha couldn't do anything without seeing it repeat in her mind like a scratched record. Round and round she spun as bones cracked, snapped, and twisted to the beat of a macabre melody. Saw the bloodstream from his eyes as they popped like ripe grapes between phantom fingers. Fred was only a boy, no more than sixteen. Now he was just another casualty, a number in a body count.
It was not the first death Martha had witnessed, it wasn't even her second or third, but it was the worst of them. The monsters, ripping into flesh and muscle with their gaping maws, were like wild animals. They weren't vindictive and plotting-- they were indiscriminate and vicious. This was something else entirely. It felt intentional, down to the glaze of his eyes, every detail crafted to perfection by a spectral monster.
"You didn't see what did it?" The High Priestess's brows knit together with deep concern. Shannon did not like it when she felt out of control, especially when the issue concerned the safety of her coven. There was an undertone of panic in her voice, something urgent and searching.
Sat in the center of the room, surrounded by the four elders of the Coven, Abigail and Martha clutched hands. It felt to Martha that the contact was all that kept her tethered to the earth. Her mind and heart severed from her body, stuck in that horrible clearing with whatever demonic creature butchered that boy.
"There were no physical signs of the monsters, but there was a... feeling." A chill ran down her spine like a rat skittering along a cord. "It was the same as at the Equinox." Martha's voice was steadier than she expected. She almost sounded normal. She clutched the blanket George draped over the two of them tight to savor its warmth. If she never felt that way again, it would be too soon. Shannon's lips pressed tighter together.
"These murders aren't like anything we've seen. The monsters, The Shadow, all presented similarly. They had a physical manifestation. This is completely outside the normal pattern." George examined his niece with surgical precision, taking stock of every line and crease in her expression. The moment she came through the trees with Abigail white as a sheet, he'd checked her over for injuries, but there were none to find -- none physical, anyways.
