Where the Lonely Ones Go

Introduction- The Priest of Pain, Blood, and Disgust

I'd stare at the wooden table in front of me. The musty, dank room around me sealed off by a metal door. I'd look down at the chained up little girl, her hair matted with blood and scars flecked all over her body.

She had gone through a rough time in her life, being forced to work in pickpocketing and theft. No family, no life.

I'd brace both of my hands on the ends of the table, my sleeves so long they went down to the floor. My robes were pure, snow white and the seam was made with thick red stitching. I bore a mask made of solid wood, no eyeholes, no air pockets. Except for one tiny, needle-thin hole in the center of the mask from which I could see.

Slowly, the girl began to wake up, and when she looked over at me with her gorgeous, icy blue eyes, she instantly jumped, tried to get away. But the chains binding her to the table were too strong. I'd stay silent, staring at her as she struggled and wriggled, trying to get away. With a gesture of my hand, she was looking directly at me as I gripped her jaw with an iron-grip. My sleeve still covering my hands.

My mask suddenly had 3 line on it, much like pencil marks. An orange flare went from the hole outward through the lines, they now looking much like seams to a jigsaw puzzle.

Like three doors, they opened up.

My face was that of a very, very old lady. My wrinkles so intense that they covered my eyes. The girl was wide-eyed, after all, the old lady was quite sweet in her soft smile and rosy cheeks.

Thick, chunky yellow liquid streamed down from the old lady's eyes, her mouth opening like a snake to show it was full of kitchen utensils like butcher knives and fork and spoon and sporks, etc. All rusty and molded over, black guck smeared over every metal and plastic object. Her lips curled upward, showing what was underneath. Which was hundreds of sores and boils that had vomit-green sludge gushing out of them all over the floor.

The old lady screamed through it all, a muffled cry for mercy, a muffled cry of agony. The girl started to screaming as well, she struggled and struggled against the binds as the old lady's face came closer in skittish, jittery motions. My body was twitching and shaky as if I had too much coffee, my hands slamming against the table at random times.

I'd scream, she'd scream, as did the hanging bodies above us. They completely drained of all insides and hanging by hooks and chains. My scream blocked out all others, it like the sound that hundreds of bats make mixed in with that of a lion and eagle. All in a symphony of horror.

I'd start punching the girl's arm and legs in quick lashes. A punch on her arm and leg, then on the table, rinse and repeat. The knives and forks within the old lady's mouth clanked together yet squished as the rotten mold eased against each other every time I opened my mouth a little to scream.

The girl's voice was giving out, and thus I ripped a rusty, dull hand saw from the old lady's mouth. Instead of cutting at her legs and arms, I'd gently, steadily slam the rusty saw on her limbs, slowly. Her screaming and red eyes got worse and worse. Louder and louder.

The old lady's face began to foam at the mouth, blood mixed in with white spilling through the cracked lips and onto the girl's body.

My body started to split like wood, my arms spread apart as they grew to slither out of my long sleeves. When they were out of their sleeves, it was apparent that underneath the pure white robes were rotten features.

My skin was blanketed in blood, all trickling down my warts and giant white-heads that peppered my grayish moldy skin. The mold gave a shiny but also bumpier look. The girl continued to scream, scream, scream, and scream.

As did I.

My rotten, split hands gripped onto the old lady's jaw with my own maggot-infested fingertips.

I'd pull downward, the old lady's jaw snapping in 4 different places, making it look like some fucked up dream catcher. I'd start slamming my head on the girl's stomach a bit more, continuing to slam my hand saw against her limbs. I'd be screeching like mad and my head was spinning like all of hell's four horsemen were galloping around inside, blood and foam and yellow chunks splattering all over the room as it spewed from my mouth like a bunch of rockets.

After what felt like years, my body went entirely still. My wooden mask slowly closing and smoothing over. My sleeves back over my arms and my handsaw clattered to the ground.

The girl would be breathing heavily, shakily.

A small needle poked through the tiny hole in my mask. I'd take the needle with my hand, ever so delicately, an extremely fine string following. I'd then put the needle to her mouth.

She started to breathe a bit faster.

With insane speed, my hands worked like spider legs as I drove the needle in and out of her lips, sewing them together. Her muffled screams were...erotic.

I'd then sew together her nostrils, tears streaming down her faces as I slowly looked towards her woman parts.

I'd then sew together her underaged breasts together in a horrible piece of artwork, it too horrible to describe as I moved on to the other places.

Her screams and pleas were only getting fainter as if she was losing grip on reality.

I'd then lean down and look at her in the eyes, or at least from where my eyes should be.

I'd slowly put a finger to the small hole in the center of my mask.

With an insanely fast motion, my hand was gripped onto her leg and I jumped into the air, gripping onto a hooked chain. I'd hoist myself up with surprising strength as I hooked her ankle onto the hook. Her muffled screams continued to...move me.

She looked me in the eyes, they in so much pain.

Again, a finger went to the tiny hole in my mask. I'd then put the floorboards to the attic back together, hiding the dozens of other missing, empty children. My breathing was so slow, yet so intense.

Quickly, I scuttled across the floor, used a small key to unlock the metal door, and slither down into the bottom floor.