The Red Artist: Part 2

"Owen, baby? Are you awake?" Owen struggled to open his eyes. The hospital lights glared into his vision like the sun. Owen sat up slowly, his head feeling like it weighed a ton. He looked around and saw that he was sitting in a hospital recovery room, with his mother wearing a worried expression on her face. Owen studied his mom for a moment, trying to remember what happened to him that landed him in here. He thought hard against the throbbing concussion in his head. It was starting to come back to him. The basketball court, Jed, the boy, the fight,....and the blood. The blood. Owen remembered it now. The blood that ran from Franky's head as Owen pummeled his face to the ground. The blood that exploded from Benny's mouth when Owen cracked him in the head with that stick. Then he remembered the blood that flowed from Jed's mangled face and shoulder as he mercilessly beat him. It was everywhere. Dripping onto the concrete, splashing into Owen's face, covering his clothes. Crimson blood.... Beautiful dark blood! Owen smiled wildly, not minding the pain or the troubled look on his mother's face as he looked her in the eyes and replied, "I feel absolutely fantastic!"
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The doctors had already cleared Owen to go home from the hospital. The police let the Allistair family take Owen home, though as Owen's mother sat across the table from the officer in charge of the incident, she listened intently to his words.
"Your son is extremely lucky that he isn't being sent to "Juve" for this. The knife that stabbed Jedediah Fleming was definitely his own, and due to the eyewitness accounts of the other students who were present at the fight, your son was indeed attacked by all three of those kids. The injuries that your son received during the fight is the only thing keeping us from putting an "obcessive force" charge on your boy."
 Owen's mother breathed a sigh of relief. "What about the families of the boys who got beat up? Are they going to press charges?" she asked.
  "Jedediah and the two Cashton boys who started the fight will all be spending time in juvenile hall after this incident. Troublesome boys, those three have been. Their parents have either been jailed, dead, or just don't care for what they've been doing. Another reason why I say your son is very fortunate. However," the officer turned grim. "Back to how your son behaved. I don't believe Owen had a reason to stab Jedediah. Owen disarmed him of his knife and that should have been that. It's your son's cranial injury that saved him from an obsessive  force or weapons charge, or even both!"
 The officer sat back in his seat and thought for a moment. Owen's mother waited for him to continue.
 "I believe that your son may have serious anger issues. Was your son..."exposed" to anything rather gruesome, stressful or unpleasant in past years? Owen's mother thought back to the recent Hayborn family tragedy and briefly described the details to the officer. The officer nodded in acknowledgment. "You see, Mrs. Allistair, this is the first time I've had an incident with your boy, but it's not the first incident where I've seen someone resort to anger or violence over the loss of a loved one. Your boy indeed defended himself and the Bartholemew kids on that basketball court, but it's possible that your son reacted as brutally as he did because on the inside, he's struggling.
The officer paused another moment before concluding. "I believe it may be a good idea for Owen to undergo some anger management courses. Maybe speak with the precinct therapist. Dr. Jansen's office is just down the street from here, and she works with both police and civilian patients. You don't have to put Owen through it if you don't wish to, I'm just suggesting what might be best for the boy, because if an incident like this with Owen happens again, it's not going to bode well for him."
 Owen's mother thought about it for a few moments before taking Dr. Jansen's number. She thanked the officer for the advice and said that Owen would go to see the doc once his stitches were removed.  Cynthia Allistair was proud of her son for standing up for himself and others who couldn't, but she couldn't shake off that disturbing smile that spread across Owen's face when he awoke in the recovery room, or the grotesque pictures of the injuries he had inflicted upon Jed, Benny and Franky. If this act of violence was part of some anger he kept inside him from what happened with Ally, then she realized that her son needed help with his pain.
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 Owen carefully walked up the brick steps of his house and through the open door that his sister held open for him. "Thanks sis.", Owen said with a tired smile. Owen walked into the house and immediately began walking up the stairs that led to his room, Owen's mom called to him and said that she'd get dinner started soon, but Owen answered, "It's okay, Ma. I'm to tired to eat."
 Owen's mom answered, "Get some rest then, honey."
Owen walked into his bedroom and plopped onto his bed. His head throbbed through the stitches that held the upper right side of his cranium in a painful scar. He laid back, thinking about it over and over again. The fight, the blood, the feeling, and the execution of it. It was beautiful! "It was true art", Owen thought as he chuckled to himself. Owen covered his face with his arms as he stretched out on his bed. Then he heard a knock from downstairs. He listened as his mother answered the door. He strained to listen to the words being spoken.
Owen heard a woman's voice.  "Hello there. Are you the mother of my children's savior yesterday?"
Owen was puzzled. "What?"
Owen heard his mother answer in the same puzzled tone, "Umm, I'm sorry, I'm afraid we haven't met yet."
 The woman answered, "My name is Mary Bartholemew. This is my son Isaiah, and my daughter, Ruth. I was told by the police officer that it was your son who saved my children from those hooligans."
 Owen thought back to the small kid. "So that's his name. I never asked."
  He heard his mother answer, "Oh, so you were the other kids from then! I'm sorry, but Owen is resting right now, otherwise I'd call him down. He's really tired and he's still kind of banged up."
  Owen listened as Mrs. Bartholemew replied, "Oh, that's a shame. I brought some medicine that would help his pain, and I also went ahead and brought some of my fresh baked corn bread. I was really hoping I would get to see my son and daughter's savior face to face."
"I'm a savior?" Owen felt both confused and a little flattered by the woman's words. "I guess I'll go see her," he thought. "I mean, Hey! She's got cornbread, and that girl is with her!" Owen jumped off his bed and walked down the stairs. He met his mom at the door as she talked with Mrs. Bartholemew.
 Owen's mother looked back at him with a surprised look as Mrs. Bartholemew exclaimed, "Ah, so is this the boy?"
Owen stood by his mother and examined the Bartholemews. Mrs. Bartholemew seemed to be a couple inches shorter than Owen, had long golden hair that was done up in a ponytail just like Ruth, along with old glasses that hung on her nose. She wore a patterned green and pink dress that went down past her knees. "They all look like they're ready for a Sunday church pot luck," Owen thought smiling. Isaiah now wore a navy blue polo shirt, but the same khaki pants, and Ruth wore a long pink dress that resembled her mother's fashion. Owen looked at Ruth, and to his dismay, he saw that she still had a large bruise on her cheek as well as a few small stitches running down her lower lip. "I should've jumped in sooner," Owen thought. I could have prevented that. Ruth must've seen Owen's expression, because she replied with a cheerful smile. Owen shrugged and looked at Isaiah. He wore a cast on his right arm and one of his fingers was in a splint. "Ouch. Poor guy."
Mrs. Bartholemew interrupted his thoughts. "So you are the boy who saved my children from those vicious infidels! Let me look at you!" Owen took a shy step forward, and kept a puzzled glance as Mrs. Bartholemew studied him with a piercing gaze. She stared at Owen so hard, Owen began to feel a bit uneasy. Finally, she exclaimed again with a big smile, "I rejoice, for you are truly the perfect boy!  May He who Waits bless you!"
"He who waits? What?", Owen thought confused.
  Mrs. Bartholemew spoke again, "Oh never you mind, son. It's just my yammerin. And I see you got yourself a shining headache there", gesturing to Owen's stitches. "Well I stopped down by the drug store in the way here and picked ya up some Motrin. Use generously, because that looks like it hurts!" Owen chuckled. She wasn't wrong. Mrs. Bartholemew handed Owen's mother the pills on top of a foil wrapped pan of what Owen guessed must be the corn bread. Mrs. Bartholemew gleamed at Owen. "I'm sure you'll enjoy that too. Baked it myself this afternoon!"
Owen smiled and replied, "Thank you, Miss. I really appreciate it."
 Mrs. Bartholemew chuckled. "Oh, you're so polite too." She turned to Owen's mom and said. "Tell you what. Once your boy is feeling a little bit better, we would be honored if you could join us for dinner at our house! Don't bring anything! It'll be our thanks to this brave young man!" Owen's mother smiled nervously. "That's very nice of you. We certainly don't want to trouble--"
"Oh, never you mind that dear. It's our pleasure, and it's the least we can do!"
 Owen's mother smiled again. "Well then I guess we'll take you up on that." Mrs. Bartholemew looked delighted at her answer.
"Splendid! How about Saturday evening? Green Bean Casserole night!" Owen's mother agreed, and Mrs. Bartholemew said goodbye to the Allistairs. Owen couldn't help but notice throughout that entire conversation, Isaiah and Ruth just stared at him, like he had a giant bug on his head. Isaiah just gazed at him with a very pale, nervous, morbid expression, while Ruth gazed at him with a shy smile on her face. She looked rather cute. Yet even after they walked back to their rusty red suburban in the driveway, they still remained mute.
Owen and his mother watched the Bartholemews leave and walked back into the house. Owen's mother took the pan of cornbread into the kitchen and  removed the tin foil protecting the bread. The alluring aroma of baked cornmeal flooded the room. "Yep, that's country cookin for ya," Owen's mother said with a smile. Jaina skipped into the kitchen and exclaimed, "That smells like grandma's cornbread!" Owen's mother laughed.  Owen  wasn't thinking about the cornbread. What did she mean by He who waits, and that thing about me being a "perfect boy", Mom?" Owen's mother  just chuckled. "Oh, that was probably just her referring to God, son. These country folks have their own language for religion, you'll see. As for the perfect boy thing, shes probably just grateful to you for helping her kids." Owen sighed. She was probably right. "Okay then, I'm going back to bed." "Don't you want a slice of cornbread first," Owen's mother asked. Owen thought for a second before reluctantly accepting the offer. Owen's mother prepared him a plate with a big slice of the bread, and Owen walked back up the stairs to his room. Owen set the plate on his desk and sat back down on his bed. His thoughts turned again back to the Bartholemew kids. "At least Ruth seemed to like me," he thought. "Isaiah is kind of a weirdo." Owen suddenly realized something. Through the events of school and the hospital the previous day, Owen had forgotten about his mysterious painting that still lay in his closet. Owen walked over to his closet and opened it to find his painting and easel right where he left them. Owen carefully picked up the painting and set it on his bed. Again, he studied the red and black masterpiece carefully. Nothing was different. It was the same detailed image of his backyard, with the strange, faceless man staring up at him. Owen remembered how disturbed he felt at the sight of the painting when he first laid eyes upon it, but now... Owen felt proud! It was beautiful! Owen walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer to pull out several wall hanger strips. Owen gazed around his room. Where would this be a good place for his art? Owen smiled when he looked at the wall right above the headboard of his bed. Owen placed several of the sticky strips upon the back of the painting canvas and carefully stood up on his bed. Making sure that the painting wouldn't be crooked, Owen slowly stuck the canvas to the wall and climbed off the bed. Owen stepped a few feet back and beheld his work. "It's perfect!" To Owen, it looked like the painting was meant to be there! Owen smiled again, admiring his handiwork for several more seconds before preparing for bed.
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  Owen awoke to the sound of his alarm clock. Eight-thirty, Saturday morning.It had been three days since the fight, since he was expelled. Owen never cared about having to leave his new school, because as much of a bad impression he gave the school on his first day, the school didn't really give him a good one either. "It gave me a concussion, stitches and bruised knuckles".
Owen rolled out of bed and switched on the TV to the news.It showed the regular hosts talking about early snow to some of the northern states and how it would affect the airlines. "Don't care", Owen thought annoyedly. He waited through the ramblings of the news, until the weather report came on. Owen watched as the weatherman predicted a sunny day at 52 degrees for the high with winds picking up later in the afternoon. Owen was about to switch to History channel when he heard his mother call him downstairs. Owen left the TV going and walked down the stairs where his mother and sister waited for him at the table. "Morning, sleepyhead," his mother greeted cheerfully. Owen sat down at the table. "Let me see how those stitches are doing," his mother asked, trying to get a close look at Owen's noggin. Owen responded, "Ma, they're not going anywhere until my head heals. "Owen's mom replied, "Oh I know. I just want to see how it's healing!" Owen finally turned his head and let his mother examine stitches that held his gash together. "It's healing very well! You should be able to have those removed within a couple more days if you're lucky!" Owen grunted. "Yippee!" Owen's mother chuckled, "Okay Mr. Cranky pants. There's eggs and toast waiting for you in the kitchen." Eat up before it gets cold." Owen got up and began to walk to the kitchen. As he fixed himself a plate of breakfast, Owen's mother asked, "By the way, are you feeling any better?" Owen sighed. She had asked the same question over and over ever since he left the hospital three days before. "I'm good, Ma. You really don't have to worry about me!" Owen's mother called back, "Sure I do! It's my job as a mom! Owen sighed again and returned to the table with his family. He noticed Jaina in her yellow pjs trying not to giggle in her seat. "And what are you laughing about," Owen asked curiously. Jaina laughed and replied, "You! You look like Frankenstein when he wakes up in the morning!" Owen couldn't help but laugh with her. She wasn't wrong!
Later on Owen went outside to rake the yard at his dad's request. Since he didn't really have much to do that morning, he accepted. Owen took a quick shower and threw on some tan cargo pants, a brown collared t shirt, and a belt. It was chilly that morning, so Owen also donned his favorite red hoodie coat. Owen walked through the sliding glass door that led to his backyard and closed the door behind him. Owen studied the leaf laden yard in front of him. Thousands of brightly colored leaves lay before him in a sea of orange, yellow and red. Owen wished he could set up his easel here on the back porch and just paint. Owen knew his dad wanted the yard raked though, so he pushed the desire aside and got to work.
Owen pulled out his IPod and started listening to some country music as he worked. Owen whistled with the music while raking the leaves in rows, then gathering them all up in piles. Owen planned it all out: once he was done with the piles, he would rake them all into one huge pile, then he'd let Jaina jump in it for a bit before getting rid of the leaves for good. Owen continued for about twenty minutes until he had a strange feeling. A feeling like... someone was watching him. Owen pulled out his iPod earbuds and looked back to the back porch. He didn't see anyone. Owen looked back towards the woods in front of him and saw nothing but trees. Owen immediately began to feel uneasy. Ever since he had seen that tall man in his backyard earlier that week, Owen had triedto avoid going out there. Owen stood still, paused his music, and just listened. Nothing but trees. Not even the sound of a bird. Just silence. Owen started to feel a strange urge to walk into the tree line. Owen tried to fight it. "No way. When a guy walks into the woods in a horror movie, he doesn't even sorta come back," Owen thought. Owen remained as quiet as he could, trying his best to listen for whatever gave him this feeling.
A terrified scream echoed through the woods. Owen's blood ran cold. It took everything he had to keep from hauling ass back to the safety of his house. It was quiet once again. "That scream sounded familiar!" Owen felt a terrible feeling of dread creep up his spine. He waited several more seconds before another piercing scream broke the silence! This time it was different. It was his name! "OWEN!", the scream rang out again! Owen couldn't believe his ears! He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. Owen turned his gaze back towards the woods, and tried to call out, but the name came out in a terrified whisper. "Ally?"
Something moved through the trees. It was quick, as if someone was darting in between the trees to keep out of sight. Owen looked closer. He saw it again as it darted behind another tree not thirty feet in front of him. Owen called to it again. "Ally?" Then he saw her. It stepped out from behind the tree and faced his direction. It wore a white dress, or what used to be a white dress, because it was stained with red splotches all over. Owen's heart jumped into his throat. It was Ally! She stood next to the tree, just staring at him! Her skin was pale, dead. Her green piercing eyes met his  own with the friendly smile he remembered so well. Owen's jaw dropped as she lifted her petite arm towards him and gestured at him. It was as if she wanted Owen to follow her. Owen finally moved, but not towards her. He took a nervous step backward. Ally's smile disappeared. She wore a pleading expression on her face as she called to him, but no words came out. Owen read her lips, and realized that she was saying, "Come with me!"
That did it! Owen dropped the rake he was holding and ran as fast as he could to the back door to his house! "This isn't happening!," Owen breathlessly whispered to himself as he ran. This couldn't be happening! Owen looked back as he ran only once, and to his horror, she was still there. The same pleading expression on her face, begging him to go to her.
Owen reached the glass door and threw it open with such force that the glass almost shattered! Owen ran through the dining room and up the stairs to the bathroom. He heard his mother call his name, but he ignored it. Owen reached the bathroom door and ran in, slamming and locking it behind him. He sat on the toilet and tried his hardest to gather his wits, but he felt sick! Owen felt the nausea rushing to him and lifted the toilet seat just in time to puke. Owen let it all out as quick as he could, then sat on the bathroom floor and tried to catch his breath. "Why in hell is this happening to me," he thought shakingly. Owen sat there for several minutes as he hyperventilated. He sat back against the wall and felt the cold sweat bring chills to his spine. "I gotta get a grip," he thought. "There's no way this is real!" Owen stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was dripping with sweat, but his face was deathly pale. Owen took several more breaths as he tried to calm himself. He saw color slowly come back to his face. He heard a knock at the door. "Owen! Are you okay in there?" It was his mother. Owen called back, "I'm alright, Ma! Just feeling a little sick!" Owen didn't want his mother to worry about him now, especially not after this! Owen quickly ran another hot shower. He felt the warmth return to him as the water hit his face. Owen got out of the shower and dressed again. He opened the door only to see his mother with the same worried look approach him from down the hall. "Owen, are you okay? You really gave me a scare! You were running through the house like you're a bat out of hell!" Owen put on a fake smile and tried to look as convincing as possible. "It's alright, Mom. I just got a bit sick out there." Owen's mother gazed at his head where the stitches were. "Are you having another concussion? I'm going to call the doctor and make an appointment--" "Mom I'm fine! I'm okay, I just felt a little woozy," Owen interrupted. Cynthia Allistair studied her son. "Are you sure?" Owen nodded. Owen's mother sighed. "We were planning to have dinner at the Bartholemew's house tonight. I'm not sure if we should go now." Owen tried to remain calm as he reassured her. "No, really! I'm good, Mom! Let's go have dinner with them tonight!" Owen's mother relented finally, but added, "I want you to go lay down for a while. I'll tell Dad to finish the yard." Owen responded with a "yes ma'am" and walked back to his room. He wanted nothing more than to be away from that yard, or this house for that matter! Owen didn't care if he had to eat with some weird family, just anything to get away from this house.
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It was five o clock when the Allistairs made the drive down the road to the Bartholemew's house. Mrs. Bartholemew's phone directions led them to an old dirt road that led into the woods. The sun was descending over the trees when they finally made it to the brick house. It looked really old to Owen, like it was lived in for many generations. The paneled walls of the old two story house were blue with a black shingled roof. Rocking chairs swayed quietly in the breeze on the wooden front porch, and what looked like a centuries old woodshed lay about thirty feet to the left of the house. The lights were on and Owen noticed that Isaiah sat on the stairs of the front, eyeing their jeep with a blank expression. Owen's family parked in the driveway and were greeted by Mrs. Bartholemew. "Welcome, neighbors," she said cheerfully. "Please make yourselves at home!"
Owen followed his family up the stairs and onto the front porch. When he passed Isaiah, Owen greeted him. "Hey, What's up, bro? How's the wing?" Owen gestured to Isaiah's arm, which was still bound in a cast. Isaiah met Owen's eyes in a shocked gaze, as if he had just snapped out of a trance. "I'm okay, thanks to you, Savior." Owen frowned in confusion. Owen was just about to ask what he meant when Isaiah suddenly turned and followed his mother into the house. "Uh.....Okay then."
 The inside of the Bartholemew's house was rather what Owen was expecting when he thought of a country house. Old furniture, a fireplace, a grandfather clock in the living room, and picture frames of admirable art of the national parks. The living room had a dark brown carpet and the walls were painted a beige color.  Owen inhaled and caught the scent of green bean casserole as well as fresh baked roles and fried chicken. Owen felt his mouth water at the taste. "The food is almost ready," Mrs. Bartholemew stated as she chatted with his family about how their day was. Owen looked around once more. It was a nice old house. "Nice.... except..." Owen couldn't help but feel that something was weird about the house. Something missing. Owen dismissed his thought when he heard his mother call him to the table.
Owen sat down with his family at the table just as the food was being served. Owen laid his napkin in his lap and waited his turn until he could grab a couple of chicken breasts and a scoop of steaming casserole that lay before them at the table. Owen saw Ruth smile at him as he helped himself to a roll. Owen tried his best not to blush, instead just bowed his head and said grace to himself over his food. He looked up to see Ruth and Isaiah looking at him from the other side of the table with dark expressions. Owen felt nervous at their gaze. "What? Did I do something wrong?" The Bartholemew kids stopped staring and started eating their dinner. Owen frowned slightly. "I was just praying," Owen thought to himself. Why would they of all people have a problem with that?
Owen relaxed and started eating as Mrs. Bartholemew went on about the history of their old house. "Ever since my Pa passed on, Ezekiel has been ever so faithful to making sure this ol' roof stays up. This house was built in the mid 19th century by my ancestor, William Bradford Bartholemew. His true goal in building this house was so his descendants would have a place of worship and a sanctuary from the true evil that inhabits this world! Ezekiel did some renovations while--"
Owen began to wonder again about what was different about this house. It was something so obvious. He knew it. "A place of worship," Owen thought. Then it hit him. It was all that obvious! "No sign of so much as a family bible around here!" He was right! There were no cross ornaments hanging from the wall, no pictures or artwork of Noah's Ark or Moses or any character Owen could remember from church. Owen suddenly realized how strangely "bare" the house now appeared. "This may have explained why Ruth and Isaiah looked pissed when I prayed." Owen felt slightly mortified now, but also nervous. If it wasn't God, or Jesus, then who did this family call God?
Owen's father spoke up and asked Mrs. Bartholemew  where her husband Ezekiel was at the moment? Mrs. Bartholemew smiled and replied, "Oh, he had to go and help some of our other members prepare for a special service we're having." Owen looked and saw Isaiah staring at him again. Owen thought for another moment and then spoke up. "Mrs. Bartholemew?" She looked at Owen. "Yes, Owen? What's on your mind?"
Owen tried to hold his tongue one last time, but curiosity got the better of him. "When you say "place of worship", do you mean the God in the Bible? Mrs. Bartholemew's smile dropped slightly. She exhaled as if she had just been insulted, then replied, "No Owen. We don't believe in the teachings of the Christian folk."
Mrs. Bartholemew resumed eating as Owen studied her. "That's it?", he thought. An awkward silence filled the room. Owen looked at his mother and saw a confused look at Mrs. Bartholemew's reaction.
 Mrs. Bartholemew was quiet now too. She seemed as though, to Owen, she was having trouble with thinking about what to say next. Her expression looked flustered, as did Ruth, and Isaiah was looking down at his food. Owen was feeling less and less comfortable around this family. "What is going on here?", he thought.
Owen heard a slight creak from the other room. It was faint, but it reached Owen's ears fast enough. "What was that?", he thought? Owen paused for another moment, another realization reaching him as he asked it. "If you don't mind my asking, who is your God?"
The room remained quiet. Mrs. Bartholemew looked down at her plate, glaring down, thinking about what to say. Owen's mother gave her son a severe look for asking what seemed like such a sensitive question. Owen's dad kept his eyes on Mrs. Bartholemew, curious at what her response would be. Mrs. Bartholemew finally took a deep breath and looked at Owen with a wide smile, and replied, "Our god is the One Who Waits Behind The Wall, Owen."
It was clear to Owen now. The realization he had was confirmed. Owen listened intently as Mrs. Bartholemew went on. "We worship He who waits. He has gone by different names in the past. Some before us referred to him as Cthulhu. The more modern full name of our God is known as "the Nezperdian Hivemind". We refer to our god as He who waits, or by his true name." Owen's blood ran cold as that strange feeling washed over him once more as she stated the true name of her god. It was throbbing, pounding at the stitches in his head as he heard the name. "Zalgo".
Owen felt sick once more. He almost got up to go to the bathroom, but Mrs. Bartholemew motioned for him to stay put. "Zalgo, is the name of He who shall purify this world of the true evil that runs rampant. His final song shall bring an end to the world of true evil. When HE COMES, He shall burn his truth into the unbelievers and scoffers. When HE COMES, he shall torture the offspring of the whores of this world before they receive their own justice. When HE COMES, he shall bring an end to the apathy and parasites that live on this world to take and not give---
"HE COMES," Owen thought. Owen felt a deep sense of dread creeping up his spine. He had heard those words before. Owen thought back to that day in the library, at that disturbing comic strip he had come across. He had wondered all week who had the disgusting mind to terrorize a comic book in that way. Owen looked to Isaiah, and he realized by the wide grin that covered his face that he had found that person!
Owen looked to his father. He looked worried now. Owen's mother looked pale. They weren't enjoying their neighbor's company in the least now. Over the rising rant of Mrs. Bartholemew about her God, Owen heard it again. That strange creak, coming from the other room. Owen looked behind him, but saw no one. Owen's father heard it too. He turned his head the same way and began to stand up from his chair, but Mrs. Bartholemew suddenly commanded, "Please sit down, Ryan!" Owen's dad looked to his wife. "Cynthia, get Jaina. Owen, let's go. Mrs. Bartholemew, we appreciate the dinner tonight, but--"
A shot shot rang out through the room! Owen jumped back out of his chair as he heard his mother and sister's terrified screams. Ryan Allistair stumbled backwards against the wall, clutching his shoulder. Owen saw dark red flowing through his father's fingers as he struggled to stay up. Owen looked back at Mrs. Bartholemew, who now stood up from her seat, Isaiah and Ruth standing behind her. Smoke rose from the barrel of a Glock .20 pistol that she held in her hand. Owen heard the rushing of footsteps into the room as Mrs. Bartholemew called out, "Hurry up and hold them!"
Owen's father shouted out, Cynthia, Owen! Get your sister and--" Ryan Allistair was silenced by the impact of a baseball bat to his head from one of the masked attackers. Owen's mother rushed to grab her daughter, but another masked assailant tackled her to the ground! Jaina screamed as a third attacker rushed towards her.
It was happening all so fast for Owen. Owen felt frozen, dead in his tracks. Then he heard his sister scream as the man grabbed at her shoulders. Owen suddenly felt that feeling again! It was bubbling over in all the corners of his mind. With it, he felt a burning hot rage coursing through his body! Owen had feeling in his legs again and rushed at the table, Owen grabbed up a long, serrated bread knife and lunged at his sister's attacker. The attacker, trying to get a tighter hold on Jaina, was oblivious to Owen's attack. Owen lunged up from behind the man and struck in a quick forward slice at the man's neck. The blade tore through the man's jugular artery, and all Owen saw was red! The man released his hold on Jaina and clutched at his ravaged neck as he turned to face Owen. Owen struck once more, a side slice at the man's throat. The blood was spraying everywhere now. The man fell to his knees and frantically clutched at his now severed throat as he gasped for air! Owen delivered a powerful front kick to the man's chest which sent him crashing to the floor. Owen held the knife up at the Bartholemew's stunned and horrified faces, a face of insatiable rage on his own. Owen tried to grab for his sister, who was staring at her brother with the same wide eyed terror, but was suddenly grabbed from behind in a tight neck hold. Owen tried to struggle out of it, but was surprised by a cloth being pressed over his mouth. Owen's head now felt a million times heavier. "They're drugging me!" Owen frantically tried to struggle out of it again as he heard Mrs. Bartholemew shout out, "Do not damage the Vessel!" It was no use. One last thought came to his mind as he lost consciousness. The name. The name he had heard Jed call Isaiah and Ruth that day at the basketball court. Darkness overtook Owen as he remembered the name. "Cultists!"
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Owen awoke to the throbbing pain in his head. He blinked repeatedly, trying to gather his surroundings in the darkness. He felt a chilling breeze sweep over his body as he realized he was outside. Owen's vision focused, but he couldn't move his arms. Owen looked down and saw that he was bound by ropes around is arms, chest and feet to what he believed was a tree trunk.
Owen looked up to a bright light in front of him. Owen focused to see a large bonfire in the middle of a grassy clearing. He saw hooded figures standing around the fire, chanting and circling the fire in some strange dance that Owen couldn't recognize. This place didn't look familiar to Owen. "Where am I? What happened?" Owen looked past the bonfire and the hooded figures and remembered everything as he beheld the terrifying sight in front of him.
 Owen saw three large posts sticking out of the ground about ten feet away from the bonfire. Owen almost shouted as he saw three figures bound in the same manner as he. Owen stared in shock as he beheld the gagged faces of his mother, father, and little sister on each of the posts. Owen's father was pale from the loss of blood, and his clothes were drenched in red from the gunshot wound he received. Owen's mother looked as if she had been beaten terribly after he lost consciousness. Bruises covered her face, and blood stained her gagged mouth. Owen held back tears at the sight of his almost lifeless mother. Then he looked at Jaina. She was shivering, freezing from the cold autumn night wind. Her clothes were covered in blood from when Owen sliced her attacker. She was scared to death. Owen couldn't bear seeing his family like this! Tears ran down his face as anger took over. He finally called out to the hooded people, "Why are you doing this to us?!"
 The hooded figures, all eight of them, stopped their ritualistic dance and turned toward Owen. They began stepping towards him, their robes flowing in the wind as the leaves crackled under their feet. When they were all standing 10 feet around him. One of the figure stepped forward and pulled back his hood, revealing Mrs. Bartholemew's husband, Ezekiel. Owen had remembered seeing pictures of Ezekiel before they sat down to dinner with the Bartholemews, so the brown bearded and whiskered features to Owen were no surprise. Ezekiel stared at Owen for several seconds, before responding to Owen's question. "Because you are the perfect Vessel, my boy! You will be the embodiment of righteousness, to deal judgement upon the true evil of this world!"
Anger surged through Owen's mind now. "Fuck your God!", Owen spat at Ezekiel. Ezekiel just smiled. "You shall see differently once HE WHO WAITS has shown you the truth, but in order to see the truth, you must have a face that he can mold to his image." Ezekiel turned back and called to the woods, "Come now, Benjamin! Prepare our new Vessel for the Truth!"
Owen watched as someone emerged from the tree line. As he drew near, Owen saw that the man's hands and feet were chained in rusty shackles. He wore a tattered brown jumpsuit that looked as if it hadn't been washed in years. The man's face was hidden behind a white plaster mask.  In his hands, the man held a pouch. The man stepped up to Owen and crouched down. Owen watched in growing fear as he saw the assortment of knives that lay within the pouch. They weren't like surgical knives, but they were blades of various length and ages. A large Bowie knife handle stood out as the largest knife in the pouch.
 The man stood up and face Owen. Through the eye holes, Owen saw the sparkle of tears as the man studied his face. Owen eyes widened in terror as the man grabbed a handful of Owen's hair, and pressed the blade of a small knife against the top of Owen's forehead. Owen screamed in agony as the blade stroke downward, peeling off a long bloody strip of skin.
The man stroke the knife slowly, cutting off a longer strip of skin from Owen's face. Blood was covering Owen's eyes now. He couldn't see anything through the pain and the blood gushing from his head! He felt the knife push against his head again, and he threw his head back and screamed! "Stop! No more!" The man simply grabbed Owen's hair and pulled downward. Owen's eyes met the man's through the the blood. The man held the knife up against Owen's head again as he gruffly whispered two words to Owen. "HOLD STILL."
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Owen was jolted awake by the feeling of cold water splashing against his face. He felt intense, searing pain all over his face. Owen blinked as blood ran down his cheeks. He focused through the pain and saw the members of the group were now walking back towards the fire, all except for Ezekiel. Ezekiel took a couple steps forward and stood next to the masked man he called Benjamin. "Well done, Benjamin," he said. "Your work is almost done." Ezekiel reached into his robe and pulled out a small pocket mirror. Ezekiel held the mirror up to Owen's face and said, "You will soon be ready to meet the truth!"
  The sight of his face made Owen gasp in horror. Benjamin had stripped every single piece of skin from the top of his forehead all the way down to the bottom of his chin. His cheeks were skinned to the pink muscles that lay beneath, and several holes ripped through them. His eyebrows were gone, along with parts of his lips and purple arteries bulged from his blood red temples where Benjamin had ever so carefully carved around. He looked like something out of a horror movie!
The terror of the pain was gone now. Owen felt that feeling tearing into him now, forcing him to yank and struggle against the ropes that bound him. It was more intense than he had ever felt now! Owen glared at Ezekiel, and with a bloody, vicious sneer, he said, "I'm gonna gut you for this!"
Ezekiel just smiled, even as Owen spat at him. "It's not even over yet, son!" Owen stopped struggling and watched as Ezekiel and Benjamin joined the others at the bonfire. Owen's anger faded quickly as he saw the hooded figures walk closer to the three posts where his family was bound. The feeling was screaming at him to fight against the ropes now. Owen felt the dread of what was about to happen and began tearing against the ropes with all his might!
 Ezekiel and his brethren of believers formed a line in front of Owen's family. Another hooded figure stepped back and removed her cloak revealing Mrs. Bartholemew.  Mrs. Bartholemew stood back and shouted, "To He Who Waits Behind the Wall! Please accept these humble offerings as we await the day of your glorious Arrival!"
The members of the group each pulled out a bottle of something Owen couldn't see. They each removed the caps from their bottles and stepped forward. As they passed by each post, a member would splash some of the substance from the bottle on the bound bodies of the Allistair family. Owen's jaw dropped as he caught the pungent scent of kerosene and heard the muffled screams of his family. Owen screamed out in sheer panic, "Stop it, Please! Don't do this! I'm begging you!" The members ignored him. They kept walking past the posts splashing more of the substance at their sacrifices. As they splashed the flammable liquid at the sacrifices, they each chanted the same line, "To He Who Waits!...To He Who Waits...To He Who Waits!
 Owen tugged and fought against the ropes harder than ever before! He screamed at the members until he tasted blood in his mouth. The feeling was burrowing into his being now, tearing at the deepest parts of his mind!  The tears rolled down his face as his pleas fell upon deaf ears. He looked at the members and saw one of them turn towards him. Owen looked and saw Ruth's face as she smiled at him. He gritted his teeth as he roared at her in sheer hatred.
After all the members passed by the posts, they all stopped and stood in front of the three posts. One of the members turned and walked back to the fire. He stooped down and picked up a burning stick. He turned and stared for a moment at Benjamin, who was standing motionlessly by the fire. The member walked back to join the group by the posts.
 The members began to chant again as two other members lit torches of their own from the fire of the first torch. Owen looked to his family. Tears were streaming down his mother's and little sisters faces from watching Owen's torture. Owen's dad fought violently to break free of the ropes as the three members approached them with their torches.
 Owen realized that this was the end. This was going to be the last time he would see the faces of the family he loved so much. His adorable little sister who idolized him. His mother who always cared for his problems, big or small. His dad. His hero who always believed in him and his goals. Despair welled up in his heart, and he stopped struggling. Choking down the tears and pain, Owen shouted out to his family one last time. "Mom! Dad! Jaina! I love you all! I'm so sorry! Forgive me! Owen closed his eyes as the members threw the torches onto the wood that lay around the posts. He heard the muffled screams of pain and agony as the light from the fire rose into the night sky like a pillar of sparks. He opened his eyes once more.....
Then he snapped!
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The members watched and prayed as the flames began to die down upon the charred corpses of their offerings. Mrs. Bartholemew breathed a sigh of satisfaction that the ritual was almost over. Ezekiel stood close to her and hugged her tightly. Mrs. Bartholemew hid her face beneath her hood as she shed tears for the loss of her brother earlier that evening. "It was never supposed to happen," she thought sorrowfully. Mrs. Bartholemew pulled away from her husband. "Come now, sweetheart. Let's finish the deed." Mrs. Bartholemew motioned for her brethren to follow her, but a loud crack from behind them interrupted her thoughts. She turned around and stood agape at the sight that lay before her.
 At the bonfire she saw Benjamin laying in a crumpled heap. He had been attacked from behind and bludgeoned with a rock. Her eyes met the attacker that stood over their servant, and her blood ran cold. It was Owen. He was standing over Benjamin holding a palm sized rock above his head, his arm shaking profusely. He dropped the rock and faced the crowd that lay not thirty feet before him, panting like an enraged half-mad wolf. Mrs. Bartholemew saw the dark gleam in Owen's eyes as he stared at her. His red hoody was drenched in two different shades of red now, and his face was nothing but torn muscles, eyes and teeth now. Owen twitched violently as he crouched down and pulled something off of Benjamin's belt.  Mrs. Bartholemew gasped as she saw Owen pull the Bowie Knife and an old military dagger out of the ritual pouch.  Owen gazed at the blades with a growing crazed, bloodthirsty smile. Mrs. Bartholemew  saw nothing left of the boy who had rescued her children earlier that week. All she saw was pure, unbridled insanity. Mrs. Bartholemew began to reach for the pistol hidden beneath her robes, but then hesitated. If the Vessel was damaged before the ritual was complete, it would be rejected. Mrs. Bartholemew finally called out, "Owen, go back to the tree. You are almost ready to meet Him! Come now, my boy!" Owen  responded with a quiet chuckle, barely audible to the crowd. Then he began to laugh, louder and louder, until he threw his head back in boisterous hysteria! He finally stopped and stood for a moment before spreading out his arms, knives in hand, in a threatening posture. All traces of humor were replaced again with the murderous desire that burned in Owen's eyes. Owen stared at Mrs. Bartholemew's brethren once more, as if sizing them up. Before she she could even react, he was on them.
 Owen sprinted towards the members at full force, a target already chosen. One of the hooded members rushed towards his brethren's defense, stepping in front of Owen as he lunged at him. Before the member could even defend himself, Owen had tackled him to the ground and placed two deadly stabs through his heart and stomach. The other member squealed in fright and ran back to Mrs. Bartholemew's side. Owen rose and saw three of the other members rushing towards him, Ezekiel included. Owen saw knives in the members' hands. Ezekiel had a revolver. It didn't matter. Owen sped at the closest member and grabbed his knife arm with lightning speed! Twisting her arm around, Owen held the wailing female member in a neck hold. Without pausing, Owen sliced the woman's throat from ear to ear and shoved her writhing body to the ground. He saw Ezekiel ready his revolver, reluctantly raising it towards Owen. Taking advantage of his extra second, Owen flipped the Bowie Knife around in his hand, now gripping it by the dripping red blade. With a viscous roar, Owen chucked the Bowie Knife at Ezekiel with incredible force. Before Ezekiel could fire the shot, he felt the wind pounded out of his body from the hilt of the knife battering him in the chest.  The shot rang out, kicking up a couple leaves as the bullet hit the ground. Owen realized he hadn't brought him down, just stunned him.        Owen turned towards the other member who was almost within arm's reach with a long hunting knife in his hand. Owen dodged as the man struck at him with the knife. Trying once more, Owen drew back his arm and chucked his remaining dagger at the member's face with full force. Owen heard the satisfying crack as the military dagger buried its blade through the man's forehead. The man struggled to stay standing, unable to even process the damage done to his head yet. Owen saw Ezekiel standing not far off, gasping for air as he raised his pistol once more. Owen sprang forward and grabbed the man he had just impaled. Holding him by his shoulders, Owen yanked the man to his right just as Ezekiel fired a shot. The man grunted in agony as the bullet struck the back of his rib cage, and blood spewed from his mouth and onto Owen's shoulder. Owen realized he had a shield now, and with his full might, lifted the man off the ground and heaved him on his shoulder. Seeing Ezekiel prepare another shot, Owen sprinted towards him with his meat shield.
Ezekiel realized he only had one more shot before Owen was on top of him. He raised his pistol, grunting from the pain of his now broken ribs. He took aim at the Vessel's face which was now only nine feet away. He fired! A shot rang out in the darkness, and he saw a body drop to the ground. "Good."  Suddenly, he saw nothing but Owen's  skinless face in front of him, and gasped as he felt the sharp blade of a knife enter his stomach! Ezekiel frantically tried to fire another shot, but Owen grabbed his arm in a vice grip, preventing him from aiming. Ezekiel screamed in pain and terror as Owen began to slice at his stomach, back and forth as the blood and gastric juices poured from his midsection! Once he was done, Owen shot his hand out in a knife strike into the shredded hole that used to be Ezekiel's stomach. Grabbing whatever he could, Owen let go of Ezekiel's arm and yanked hard. Ezekiel's eyes widened as he watched his own intestines rip and tear from his body, and onto the ground in a steaming heap! Ezekiel looked up, his vision swimming before him, to see Owen's mutilated, grinning face. Owen stared at him, before finally muttering in a quiet tone, "What did I tell you?"
 Owen shoved Ezekiel's lifeless body to the ground, feeling a beautifully unnerving sense of bliss. He turned behind him to see the remaining members of the group now standing on the other side of the clearing. Ruth, Isaiah, Mrs. Bartholemew, and another hooded figure Owen couldn't recognize, stood before him. Through the light of the bonfire, Owen saw tears streaming down Mrs. Bartholemew's face. He watched as she commanded her children to run. As Isaiah and Ruth reluctantly began to trot away, Owen saw Mrs. Bartholemew reach into her robe and pull out the Glock.20 and point it in Owen's direction. "You bastard child," Mrs. Bartholemew screamed as she fired off two shots! Owen growled in pain as he felt hot metal rip through his left arm as the second bullet whizzed into the trees behind him. Swallowing the pain, Owen crouched down and picked up the revolver that Ezekiel had tried to end him with. He took quick aim and fired at the last member besides Mrs. Bartholemew. Owen heard a shout of pain as the man fell to the ground clutching his wounded leg. Mrs. Bartholemew panicked as her fellow member fell before her, and she dropped the pistol.
This was his chance. Owen shoved the revolver into his pocket and reached down once more to grab the Bowie knife from the grass where it had fallen. With both knives in hand, Owen sprinted full force across the grounds, ready to end her once and for all.
 Mrs. Bartholemew frantically fumbled for her weapon in the darkness as she watched the distance between her and this maniac shorten by the second. She finally found steady grip on her weapon and aimed it at Owen. There couldn't have been more than twenty feet between them now! Mrs. Bartholemew fired three more shots, and grinned as she saw one of the bullets puncture Owen's leg. Owen was slowing down now, growling and limping from the burning pain that inflamed his right calf. Owen realized he wouldn't make it in time in his condition. This was his last chance! Before Mrs. Bartholemew could fire off another shot, Owen flipped the Bowie Knife and gripped the blade one last time, and with an angry growl, chucked the giant blade at Mrs. Bartholemew with inhuman strength.
 Mrs. Bartholemew didn't even know what hit her. She gasped for air as the heavy blade impaled her right underneath her rib cage, sending her stumbling back several feet before falling on her back. She tilted her head back and tried to gulp fresh air, but all she could taste was the blood that filled her mouth. Mrs. Bartholemew opened her eyes and saw the dark, hooded form of Owen that now towered over her prone body. She tried to speak, but no words could leave her mouth which was now overflowing with deep red blood.
Owen just stood over her, holding the military dagger still as a deathly statue. To Mrs. Bartholemew, he seemed to be in a trance. Mustering all the strength she could, Mrs. Bartholemew spat the blood from her mouth, and with a shivering, dying breath, cried out, "P-please! D-don't hurt my k-kids!"
Owen crouched down and stared at her with cold, dark, unforgiving eyes. He licked torn lips, but remained  silent. Mrs. Bartholemew's eyes widened as Owen raised the dagger!
Owen plunged the knife into Mrs. Bartholemew's left eye! He grinned at the shrill scream that emanated from her as blood and fluid gushed from her face! Owen pulled the knife out and stabbed again, this time her other eye! The screams were music to his ears, and the blood and fluid ran across her pale writhing head like a beautiful watercolor painting! Owen stabbed again and again, listening to the screams and spraying the ground with the blood of his family's murderer. Finally, there came a stab, where there was no scream, and Owen realized it was over.  Owen stared at the bloodied mush that was once his enemy's face, then replied, "There's your answer."
Owen stood up and limped towards the last surviving member, whom he had shot moments before. Owen now held the Glock in his hand, and he checked the remaining rounds in the clip. Six rounds left. Owen stood over the pained, wide eyed face of the man and aimed the gun at his neck. "I don't really like using guns, but let's see what happens." The man screamed in terror at Owen's demonic grin, but was silenced as the first bullet ripped through his throat. Owen emptied the weapon into the man's neck, trying to decapitate him with the bullets. When he was out, Owen reached down and grabbed the corpse's shirt to lift him up. Owen bludgeoned the dead man's hanging head with the handle of the pistol until finally it ripped off and rolled several feet away in the grass.
 Feeling a deep sense of pride, Owen turned around and examined the scene in front of him. Six corpses lay strewn around the bonfire and clearing, blood running down their mangled bodies and sparking in the firelight. Owen sighed calmly. It was Beauty. Pure Beauty.
 Motion by the bonfire caught Owen's attention. He peered closer and saw his first victim, Benjamin slowly stand up, clutching his head. Knives in hand, Owen walked across the grass and stood in front of him. Benjamin stood as still as a statue behind his white mask as Owen gazed at him murderously. Then to Owen's surprise, Benjamin fell to his knees. He reached down and picked up the pouch with the remaining knives he had used to dismember Owen's face, and presented it to Owen with outstretched arms. At first Owen didn't know what to do. Why wouldn't he try to fight? Owen slowly reached out and grabbed the pouch from the masked man, and quickly attached it to his belt at his side. Owen looked back up to see Benjamin still kneeling before him. Curious about who he really was, Owen reached out and grabbed the mask from Benjamin's face and pulled it off.
All Owen saw was the same skinless face that Owen had seen when he saw his reflection in Ezekiel's mirror! No flesh covered Benjamin's face at all aside from the torn muscles, the skin of his eyelids and the cuts that riddled the previous Vessel's face. They were completely alike to Owen, all except for the strange branded symbol that was carved into the man's forehead. To Owen, the symbol appeared to a star with only four points. This must've been the final part of the ritual that the members were never able to complete. The conjuring seal! Owen looked into the man's eyes, and to his regret, saw tears of sorrow flowing down the man's face.
Owen looked down at the white, mouthless mask that belonged to Benjamin. This had been his face for years. He had experienced the same merciless torture from this family, and was probably forced to watch his loved ones suffer and die in front of him. Anger was replaced with pity in Owen's mind. This man was suffering his whole life, and could never find peace again.
 Benjamin stared at Owen as the tears streamed from his pleading eyes. Owen finally lifted his knife towards him. The man showed no sign of fear as Owen brought the knife to his neck. Owen looked at the begging eyes of the man once more, then in a low, yet calm voice, said, "HOLD STILL!"
Owen sliced the man's jugular artery. Blood sprayed from the man's neck and onto the ground. Benjamin began to fall backwards, but Owen caught him by the shoulder and gently held him up. Owen held out his hand that held the mask and ran it under the stream of blood that still gushed from his neck. He held it there, watching as the white plaster was attacked by an ocean of red as the mask changed color. When it finally showed no trace of white left, Owen retracted his arm and gently laid the dying man down on the ground. Through the red that covered Benjamin's face, Owen saw one last gaze from Benjamin. This time, it was a gaze of freedom. Of...gratitude. Benjamin closed his eyes as he finally found his freedom from the life of torment he was given.
Owen rose and stared at the now pure, blood red mask in his hand. It was destined for him now. Owen pulled the mask over his head and adjusted the straps to his fitting, then he looked back. Back to the three posts where the blackened charred forms of his family stood. Owen walked over until he was five feet away from all of them. Owen felt the tears sting his face as he gazed at his once sister, mother, and father. He stood there and wept for several minutes, letting the grief and sorrow overtake him. Finally, Owen looked up and faced the blackened corpse that used to be his father. Owen smiled behind his mask as he said to his father, "Dad? I-I found it! I found my inspiration! Thank you!"
 Owen began to walk back to the bonfire, wondering what he was going to do next. Suddenly, he heard a shrill scream of terror coming from the woods behind him. Owen recognized the voice. "Isaiah!" Owen began to reach for his knives, ready to pursue that scream, but then another scream sounded through the night. Different this time. "Ruth!" Owen began to walk towards the direction of the woods, but darkness suddenly washed over the clearing. Owen spun around, and saw that the roaring bonfire had just suddenly been snuffed out, leaving the clearing in almost complete darkness. Owen listened intently for a noise. Anything. No noise reached his ears at all. No crunching leaves, no wind blowing, no crows screeching. The woods was filled with a dead silence.
 Owen felt it now. In the back of his mind, he knew what was out there. Owen reached for his Bowie Knife and listened once more. A second later, Owen spun around again!
 There it was, towering over him! The faceless ghoul stood at least eight feet over him, staring at him through its pale non existent eyes!
Owen gripped his knives tighter, waiting for the Creature to strike at him. He began to feel a buzzing sound in his head, and he began to feel lightheaded. The Creature stared at him all the more intently as the buzzing grew louder and louder in Owen's head! Owen could barely stand now, reeling under the pressure this Thing was putting him through! Owen thought back of everything he had just went through, the ritual, his family, the fight. It sped through Owen's mind as he grew newfound strength! With all his might, Owen lashed out at the creature, striking at it with the knife, and shouted, "Stop it!"
The Thing was gone! It had vanished in front of him! Owen turned around, and right there, by the dead bonfire, the Creature stood. It stared at Owen differently now, as if confused or puzzled. The buzzing in his head was gone, and Owen stood as the Thing examined him some more. After what seemed like hours, the Creature turned his head, and studied the bloody scene that Owen had caused a short while before. It slowly scanned each of the bloodied corpses, and when It was done faced Owen again. Owen stood at the ready, but suddenly heard It!
 It didn't say anything from its mouth, but Owen could hear it from inside his mind! It was a dark, low, sinister voice, that seemed to have a tinge of pleasure in it. Owen listened as he heard the Voice say in a low whisper, "Magnificent work, Mr. Allistair."
Owen was stunned at the Creature's compliment, but remained on guard as It spoke again. "So, what will you do now?" Owen kept his eyes on the Creature, thinking of an answer for It. Owen finally answered, "I...I will share my work with everyone! With this art, I shall be the reminder to everyone's frail lives!"
 The Creature vanished once more, then in a flash, appeared right in front of him! Owen reared back, ready to attack if he needed to. Owen looked at the Thing, and was confused to see strange, long "black tendrils" creeping out from behind the Creature's back! The tendrils waved and shivered quietly in the darkness, almost invisible. The Creature bent down his tall slender frame until It's face was inches away from Owen's face! Owen stared at the blank, bald face that did the same to him, but suddenly saw the "skin" where It's mouth would have been, contort and twist! A small tear appeared on the lower part of the Creature's face, then spread across it like a large rip in a white sheet! Before Owen realized what was happening, he was staring into a ripped mouth which spread into a vicious grin that revealed a row of sharp jagged teeth. Owen gripped his knives tighter, but the Creature simply replied to his statement, "Very well. Teach the mortals of this world the very meaning of their fragile existence through your art." Owen nodded at the smiling Face. The Voice continued. "As you show the world your art, there is a certain mortal in particular, that may very well make the perfect canvas for your creativity."
 "The perfect canvas", Owen thought. Who could it be? Owen considered the Creature's offer for several quiet moments, before finally asking, "Who is it?" Owen stared at the Creature, waiting for his answer. An image entered Owen's mind. A man clothed a white bloodstained hoodie, his head revealing long shaggy black hair. Owen focused on the man's face in his mind. His face was a deathly white like the rest of his body, except for the dark red scars that spread across the man's face in a chilling forced smile. The man's eyes were cold and black, as if blinded by insanity. In his hand, the man held a long, shining bloodstained kitchen knife. Then a Name, a single Name, entered Owen's mind, filling him with a vehement, bloodthirsty, and challenging intrigue.

.................."Jeff"..................................