The Shadow of the Simulacrum

Chapter 3: The first punishment

NOTE TO READERS: Please be aware that the chapters detailing Jesse's past (when he was known as Horace) are set in the 1800s and are presented out of chronological order. It's important to follow the respective dates provided in each chapter to understand the sequence of events and character development. Additionally, the modern-day chapters set in 2010 take place before the events of the movie My Babysitter's a Vampire. Please keep this timeline in mind as you read.

Content Warning: The chapters set in the 1800s, which delve into Horace's past, contain intense and dark themes, including psychological and physical torture, self-mutilation, and deeply disturbing content. These scenes are crucial in understanding the traumatic experiences that shaped Horace into the character he becomes. This content is intended for mature readers who can critically engage with these themes and understand the complex motivations behind the character's actions. Please be aware that these events are not meant to encourage or glorify harmful behavior but rather to provide context for the character's development and the narrative's darker aspects. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Good reading !!

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November 1803 (13 years old)

By the light of my candle, I saw my father falling asleep from supervising me. That night, I took the opportunity to sneak out and join my friends behind the cemetery. We were meeting up to play with a ball. However, I was far from imagining the cost I would pay the following day.

At dawn, to the sound of the church bells, I woke up with a burst of energy that got me out of bed. I hurried to find my father, who awaited me every Monday morning to continue my lessons. That morning, he had ordered me to recite yesterday's lesson and the one I had learned the previous week. Two long passages from the Scriptures; it was an essential rite of passage to reinforce my training for inheriting his place as the future reverend.

Positioned behind the podium, my father watched me with authority, ordering me to begin. With a dry throat, I struggled to recall the beginning, a mental block freezing me. Seeing my father's eyes grow impatient and his anger intensify made me freeze even more.

— Wait, I know what to say, Father, I said, raising a hand to signal a pause.

— Horace, I thought you were more serious about your recitations, he said sternly. Speak! he shouted, pounding his fist on the wall.

I adjusted my collar around my neck, trying to breathe. I swallowed, my memory coming back as my eyes fell on one of the sacred objects in the room. Taking a voice tinged with anxiety, I began reciting yesterday's lesson. By the middle of the passage, my memory had gone blank. I didn't know this part because my desire to join my friends the night before was stronger than my will. Therefore, I hadn't practiced this passage much. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to remember the exact words. The silence stretched on, and finally, I admitted to my father that I didn't know the rest due to my fatigue—a lie I had made up.

— How do you expect to be a good reverend if you can't even memorize sacred words at your age? Lowell said with an impatient tone, his expression one of disappointment.

Shame and anger burned through me. I wanted to defend myself, to tell him that he was wrong to be so harsh, but I couldn't find the words. They remained stuck in my throat. I could only lower my head in shame for not having the strength to respond. I was only 13, and he was putting this immense pressure on me.

By the end of the day, my thoughts remained fixated on what had happened in the morning, gnawing at me for not having had the strength to retaliate. I simmered with regret, imagining all the possible scenarios where I had sincerely told him what I thought of him and his religious writings. As my pain deepened, I started having dark thoughts. I took a blade and made a thin, deep line on my arm, letting the pain overpower me.