The Gnawing Hunger

Five Hours Before The Party

Despite everything that he tried to not think of the creature. He couldn't stop himself from it. Hawthorne cropped up in every single one of his thoughts. Bo had walked outside for the briefest moment to combat them. As he feared what his Mom, Grandpa, and Xander would say about his facial expressions. Or the fact that he was so quiet while standing there for so damn long. Every part of his thoughts were centered around the idea of hi-it showing up there. Forcing him to do terrible things, worse then before. Not making him just watch it work this time around. Forcing him to do things that he would deeply regret. Since it seemed to have some strange hold on him that no one else did.

And that he could barely fight the damn thing.

It was another thing that absolutely terrified him. What the Hell could he even manage against the thing? Would he always be unable to fight Hawthorne? Just how long was he going to last with it? And it slowly dawned on him that he probably wouldn't last a year. Possibly only a little over six months if he were lucky. Which Bo was rarely ever so. If the past few days were anything to speak of.

He quite possibly could only survive four months if that.

And there was this small part of him that deeply resented this. For reasons that he couldn't or rather wouldn't want to think on. It thoroughly disgusted him that his own body was like this. That it was betraying him this way.

And knew it wasn't the wisest thing to be lingering on. That he should be more worried about his birthday party. As well as what this terrible creature would do when it starts. Thinking of where if he was going to be able to get help against this terrible creature. Whatever in the world it was, even it had no real idea. Which made him a little, well more then that if he were being truly honest with himself, worried. Just what in the Hell was...that didn't matter in the long run. All that mattered was that he needed help with the damn thing.

Just who in the Hell could help him?

That was another thing that Bo realized he couldn't tell anyone about. The thing would be so damn disturbing to know about. If he tried to tell anyone else in the cabin about it, he would be seen as deranged. And that was definitely going to be hard to prove that he wasn't. Hell, some part of him actually did feel as such. Despite knowing everything that had been going on. Along with the fact that he had been living the whole thing. It just still seemed like such a strange freaking dream.

He had to tell them despite this. Tell them there was a strange creature out in the woods. One that wanted to hunt each of them down and rip them to shreds. That he didn't know when it was going to happen. Before or after the party starts or not. Just that there was something in the woods out for everyone but his blood. As well as trying to convince everyone to leave. Though that might be more difficult than he initially thought. As Wayne had put a lot of money into this vacation. Sure he had too. But not anywhere near as much as his elderly Grandfather had done. He definitely would be upset with Bo if he made them leave early.

Not without a decent reason for why they had to go, too.

Some part of him debated on what he should be saying. Whether or not he should lie on what's going on. Or if he should tell the truth about the situation. It made him cringe at imagining that scenario and how it would go. He was fairly certain that his Mother would force him to go to a psychiatrist or something to that effect. Quite possibly be involuntarily committed to a mental hospital. If that were the least bit possible. Bo wasn't entirely certain if it was but didn't really want to tempt fate in the slightest bit.

So how in the Hell was he going to lie about this?

What kind of lie would make them leave a day early? And wouldn't disappoint his Grandpa that they were? Tell them that he couldn't be in the cabin any longer? As the place was reminding him of Arthur's death? It was starting to be difficult to be in the room his friend had slept in? That could possibly work if he said it carefully enough. As he was feeling somewhat uncomfortable with still being there. Not just because that creature had its sights on him and its claws metaphorically buried in his brain. The fact he had somewhat witnessed his best friend's death and couldn't do anything about it made him feel sick. Like he had been a monster before Hawthorne forced this transformation into him.