Source: This Be The Verse, by Phillip Larkin

Rough Draft of Part 2 of Yesterday's fic

The stag was beautiful. Glen had never gotten so close to one before. They only wondered why he wasn’t running off for a minute before smelling copper. The poor thing had gotten caught in a bear trap. Glen pet the terrified animal, trying to soothe him. He leaned into her touch, seeming to be comforted by it. Glen tried to pry the cursed thing open, and cut open their hand. Glen felt sick to their stomach. They always hated the sight of blood. 

“Need some help there, Champ?” It was their father. Of course. They had been trying to get away from them and enjoy some of their time outside. Glen sighed, 

“Yes, someone left a trap here and this deer got stuck,” Glen said, straining as they tried to pry open the trap again.

“That is the intention of traps,” he said. 

“This isn’t funny, he’s really hurt,” Glen responded. Their father leaned over, using his shotgun as support.

“Comedy comes from pain, at least, good comedy.” He punctuated his statement with a laugh. Glen cut their hands again. Dad got on his knees and held onto the springs of the trap. 

“Try it now,” he said. Glen did, and sure as shit, it opened. Glen pulled the deer's leg out of the trap and dad pulled his hands away quickly, as the trap snapped shut again. 

“Thanks,” Glen said with a small smile. Dad used the shotgun as support to pull himself back up. 

“Yeah, don’t thank me too much. Take a look at your little friend,” Dad said, using his shotgun to point at the deer. He limped for two steps before collapsing. His leg was bleeding more profusely now. 

“So, how are you going to put it out of its misery, ” their father asked. 

“What! No! I’m not doing that,” Glen said. 

“You’re just gonna let it suffer? Seems a bit cruel,” he said. 

“Maybe we can help him, wrap the leg up and feed him until he gets better,” Glen pleaded, “Please.” They grabbed their father’s free hand and wrapped it with their own. They looked up at him with desperate eyes. 

“Do you know what to feed a deer?” he asked. Glen let go of his hands. 

“Well, no, but….” Glen looked at the deer.

“Do you know how to stitch up a cut that hit the bone,” 

“I don’t…” Glen looked at the ground.

“What about preventing infection, or do you just want it to suffer longer, so you can feel better?” Dad said, his mock concern quickly faded away and was replaced by a smug smile. He grabbed their chin and made them look him in the eyes.

“Either kill it, or leave it to suffer a slow death, there’s no third option here,” he finished releasing their chin. They both knew the answer before Glen could say a word. He put the gun in Glen’s hands, stood next to them, wrapped his arms around theirs and took aim. Glen tried to look away, but their father pulled their hair. 

“Look at it, look at it’s eyes,” he whispered in their ear. 

“Every hunter knows what this is. You saw it panic, and you saw it look in your eyes and beg for mercy. Now it knows there’s no escape. This is the end, and you have become a god to this animal. It’s giving its life to you. And all it asks for now, is to make it quick.”

Glen was quiet the entire walk home. Despite their father trying to talk to them. Whatever bullshit he was saying, Glen couldn’t hear it. The whole world was blank. The only thing they perceived was the path to the bathroom. Everything and one around them had disappeared. They could still hear the gunshots. They saw something different in the room as they walked into the bedroom, but didn’t process it. 

They spent a long time in the shower. Scrubbing themself raw and waiting for the world to come back to them. The water at their feet was a bright clear red. They stayed in there, until the water had gotten uncomfortably cold. Glen grabbed some bandages from the cabinet and wrapped their hands. They put on pajamas and brushed out their hair. Just wanting to lie down and disappear. 

They don’t know how long they were lying in their bed. The sun had set long ago. They were finally starting to come back to the world and the first thing they noticed was someone had taken down one of their paintings. Glen panicked and ran to their bag, digging through it desperately. Then what they were looking for appeared in front of them.

“Looking for something,” it was their father, dangling the amulet off his finger. Glen tried to grab it, but their father pulled it back into his hand quickly. 

“You went in my room. You went through my stuff. You promised you wouldn’t do that.” Glen said.

“And you promised you couldn’t find the amulet, yet her we are. Anyway, I didn’t go in your room,” he said.

“Then how did you find it?” Glen asked. 

“Why did you lie to me about having it?” he said.

“Because I didn’t want you to have it. It’s bad enough you and mom have taken Jennifer Tilly, Nica, and Andy’s lives. I’m not going to let you take anyone else’s,” Glen said. They tried to grab it again. Dad dropped it into his jacket pocket and used his free hand to grab Glen’s. Tightly squeezing the wound.

“I am your father. And you will treat me with respect and obedience. I have been nothing but respectful to you,” he said. Their hands started bleeding again.

“You locked me in the basement closet,” Glen said. 

“You locked yourself down there to avoid confrontation, you little coward,” he said. 

“Stop lying to me,” Glen said. 

“I haven’t lied to you once,” he lied. 

“You promised you wouldn’t go in my room,” Glen said. 

“I didn’t go into your room,” he said. 

“Then how did you find the amulet?” Glen asked. 

“I didn’t, Devon found it and gave it to me,” he said. He let go of Glen’s hands. Glen’s stomach dropped. The kid had been here. He had been here alone with dad. Glen had watched him like a hawk every second he was here to make sure their father didn’t hurt him. Not that they were sure what they would do if he tried to. They couldn’t even protect a deer from him. Tears pricked their eyes. 

“What did you do to him?” Glen asked, grabbing their father’s jacket, begging for mercy far too late. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked. 

“Don’t bullshit me, I know what you’re doing,” Glen said.

“Do tell,” he implored. 

“You're getting close to him so you can kill him.” Glen said. Dad looked puzzled. 

“No, you’re way off, I don’t want Devon dead. If I did, I would have killed him by now. You think your weird staring at him was stopping me,” he said. He was wearing an amused smile. 

“By the way, you gotta stop doing that. You’re creeping the kid out, he thinks you're a killer, like your old man. As nice as that would be, aside from getting the amulet, it doesn’t help me much for him to distrust you,” he said. 

“Help you to do what?” Glen asked. They let go of his jacket. He straightened it out. 

“Keep him around,” he said. Glen gave them an inquisitive look. 

“As nice as it is to use Andy’s body, he won’t live forever. In twenty to forty years, I’ll need a new one. Devon reminds me a lot of him. So I keep Devon around. Keep fueling his hatred of me so he keeps hunting. Keep playing substitute dad for him so he trusts ‘Andy.’ Then when the time comes, he’ll come to me, one way or the other. Just like Andy,” he said. 

Glen looked horrified. 

“I won’t let that happen,” they said. Their father laughed and patted his pocket. 

“And how are you going to stop me?” Their father walked away, leaving Glen to sit in their horror. 

After dad had gone to sleep, Glen opened the bedroom door, to see Andy sitting on the floor next to the bed. 

“Andy…” 

“I already know,” he said. Glen fell to the floor next to him. Sobbing into his chest. 

The next morning, dad showed them his new wall decoration. A bleached deer skull. 

The Hunt

Devon had gotten to the cabin early one afternoon, he didn't feel like spending the afternoon arguing with Jake over Chucky, getting harassed by his schoolmates, or getting lectured by the fathers and sisters. Neither Andy or Glen was there. The cabin was unlocked, and it was winter, so he let himself in. 

As he walked around the cabin, his eye was drawn to the open bedroom door. The messenger bag covered with animal and fairy tale pins indicated it wasn’t Andy’s. Devon stood at the entrance of the room. 

Now he didn’t like Glen. Andy trusted them, Andy vouched for them, and he trusted Andy, but he couldn’t bring himself to trust them. He tried to keep everything amiable, but the creep was making it hard. 

Everytime he came over, whether it was to practice shooting, make plans regarding “Good” Chucky, or just to talk, Glen was there, watching. The eerie blue eyes they shared with their father followed every move he made until he went back to the school. Devon tried not to look back at them, but he could feel them staring. Andy either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

Andy had also told him if he felt in his gut that something was wrong with someone, he needed to take immediate action. If Devon did this, one of two things would happen, he’d either find something that proves he was right, or he’d be able to put those fears to bed. 

Devon felt stronger and more confident after crossing the threshold into the room. He needed to be quick. He surveyed the room. They had clearly decorated the room themselves. Aside from the photographs and fairy lights, one of the walls had three paintings hanging on it. If Glen was really held prisoner by Chucky with Andy, they wouldn’t have been able to bring these paintings from their old home.  

Two years ago, Junior thought he botched his cross country tryouts, he spent 20 minutes talking to Devon, swinging wildly between anger and fear before punching a hole into the wall and bursting into panicked tears. The two of them went out and bought the first poster they could to cover it. It stayed hidden for a good two years. 

Devon started to take down the paintings. Behind the paintings, partially obscured by torn away contact paper, were paintings on the wall. The first one was a symbol in red Devon knew he’d seen somewhere. The second one was puzzling, a pair of upside down bound feet. Devon moved the last painting and realized why the second painting was so odd. It was only the top of the painting. Divided by torn up contact paper, was very clearly a painting of a blonde woman, hung upside down, with her throat slit and dripping. 

Devon swallowed his nerves and went to look through the messenger bag.  Chapstick, bracelets, pencils, notebooks, books, headphones, necklace, an oddly big necklace. Devon took it out and looked at the gold pendant and remembered where he had seen the symbol on the wall before. He heard talking outside. He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew they were coming home. Devon hid the pendant in his pocket and ran out of the room. 

Devon walked out into the living room as Glen walked into the house. They had blood on their hands and face. They slunk past Devon, not even seeming to register he was there. He quickly ran outside in a panic. There was groaning coming from the shed. Andy. He stopped in front of the door and cautiously opened the door. He saw Andy had blood on him. And then he saw he was up and moving. And he found he was able to breathe again. Andy cracked his neck, having just finished hanging up a deer. 

“You got here early Devon,” he said without even looking back. Devon smiled and let out a relieved laugh. 

“Yeah, I didn’t really have anything else to do, so I snuck out a bit earlier." Andy gave him a small smile and went to open a small black box on the side table. 

“So… you and Glen went hunting,” Devon half questioned. 

“Yeah, you gotta eat buddy.” He pulled a handle out of the box and with a flick of the wrist, revealed a small, sharp, knife.

“I guess so…” Devon sat on the bench besides Andy, as he kneeled down next to the deer.

“Did Glen enjoy themselves?” Devon asked. 

“Yeah… I guess…” Andy looked up at Devon through the corner of his eye. He sounded confused and slightly concerned but he continued, “Hunting’s pretty calming… exciting… lot of people like it for a reason.” 

“I know, but did they enjoy it…” Devon looked for the right words, “more than usual.” 

“No, why would they?” Andy asked, readjusting the bloodstained basin under the deer.

“I… I don’t trust them, Andy,” Devon said.

“Devon…” Andy said, sighing. 

“I know what you’re gonna say.” Devon tried to interrupt. 

“They helped me escape from Chucky,” Andy continued.

“Don’t you wonder why they did that” Devon said.

“There’s no reason to distrust them,” Andy said. 

“There is, I went in their room,” Devon said. 

“Why would you do that?” Andy asked. 

“You told me to trust my gut on people, and I’m glad I did. They painted a woman with her throat slit on the walls,” Devon said. Andy slit the deer's throat. It’s blood poured out like a fountain.

“Artists are weird,” Andy said, wiping the bloody knife on his leg. 

“I found this in their bag,” Devon said, pulling out the necklace. Andy’s eyes lit up as he cradled the dangling pendant in his hand. “The same symbol was painted on their wall. It’s the amulet of Damballa, I learned about it when I did a podcast on Charles Lee Ray. It was his prized possession. He died with it. He was buried with it,” Devon said, pleading for Andy to believe him.

“They’re a good kid,” Andy said.

“Nothing good can come from Chucky,” Devon said.

Andy’s face turned cold. Devon wasn’t scared of him, but the glint in his eyes was unsettling to say the least. He rose to his feet, still holding the pendant. He stood over Devon in silence for what felt like an eternity. The blood had gone from a fountain to a trickling faucet.  The smell of copper was overwhelming. 

“I’ll talk to them,” Andy said, taking the pendant, staining it with deer blood. 

“Be careful,” Devon said. 

“I always am. They’re a lot like their father, but not nearly enough”  

@cult-of-dollbabies got me to watch all of Andy's scenes in Cult again. And I just noticed Chucky yelled "wait" before Andy shot him. And as smart as it was to immediately shoot him. I really want to know what Chucky was gonna say next.

I wrote another thing for the Chapter 2 Au. Maybe it's just that it's late, but I'm pretty proud of it.