Anything in His Name

00:47

Will sobs like an injured animal, blood trailing behind. He screams for help into the vastness of November, surrounded by a sea of trees that stare at him in silence. Bile boils up in his throat. Nausea, desperation. He’s dragging himself away from her. Something in his body is fighting him. It's an unfathomable poison he can't explain. He doesn’t remember much about his night before now. There were drinks at a bar. He felt a wave of sickness and decided to leave. He remembers whispers, her tongue in his ear, her teeth in his neck, her nails on his back—then nothing. And now he is here, injured, hazy, bathed in her looming shadow.

She stands in front of the car’s headlights, taking in the scenery, this frame of pure art. It brings her joy when a man, swollen with desire, crumbles into an insect in her presence. His screams are music to her ears. The wailing. The begging. A theatrical epic.

As he puts some distance between them, she wonders how loud he can get. The possibilities fill her with excitement. A smile brings itself to her lips. She can already taste the blood. The wait won't let her mind rest. The thought of driving this insect of a man to madness is invigorating.

She takes out a silver knitting needle and toys with it. The air seems to ripple around her fingers. She smiles. Power hums beneath the surface, waiting for her command. But not yet—tonight, she prefers to work with more delicate instruments. She bought this tool two years ago in Italy. Floral patterns and intertwined leaves run along two-thirds of it. The size is perfect for a late-night game like this one. It is good for enough pain but not too much to bleed out fast. After all, what fun is a game if it doesn’t last?

The closer she gets, the harder he trembles. His eyes, those beautiful eyes, are wide and panicked. She admires them for a second. They are almond-shaped, red, and caked with tears and dirt.

‘Please,’ he begs, tears and mucus covering his lips. ‘Please stop! Let me go! Please.’ He’s so beautiful when he whimpers.

‘Cheer up, you pathetic fuck!’ A chuckle. She watches his futile attempts at escape. They all resist in the end. It’s not surprising; humans cling to their lives like ants to a dying queen. She wipes the sweat from his brow with a tenderness that feels almost maternal.

‘You’ll understand soon,’ she whispers. ‘He needs this. He needs you.’

‘Please. Fuck off!’ Trembling lips. Drums in his chest, he aims a punch at her ankle. But he’s drugged and slow. And she’s excited and sober. She dodges his attack with agility, and—Crack. She pushes her heel onto his palm. Hot pain shoots up his arm. He whimpers. Like a child, afraid and lost. Crick-crack-crack. She continues to twist her stilettos onto his skin until his palm is left a mess of blood and disfigured digits.

‘Your ingratitude is disappointing.’ She thrusts the knitting needle into his thigh, and oh mother of God, the sound that comes from him sends shivers down her spine. Blood gushes from his wound, soaks his jeans, and starts pooling on the grass. She stares at her creation. The burgundy looks delicious under the car’s light.

A smile on her face, she stabs his other leg, slower this time, savoring the scream that tears from his throat. His body convulses, fingers clawing at the earth as though he could burrow into safety. But there’s nowhere to go. She watches him like a hawk, feeling the power shift as his resistance fades with each puncture.

The next stab is a little deeper, dragging the scream out longer. And then another. And another. Roars of human desperation fill the air. It’s intoxicating. He starts to lose his voice. Unacceptable! This game should not stop at its foreplay.

She admires the gushing blood, the consistency of it, how it flows slowly and drags itself like a snake. A feeling of pride fills her up as she makes sure that the stabs are at a distance from the bone. An artistic choice.

After several stabs which she didn’t care to count, she sits next to him. She watches his chest rise and fall as he cries. The trees are remarkably still, as if afraid to move. And the leaves remain fixed; not a single branch yields to the breeze. She takes a cigarette out of her jeans and lights it. Warmth fills her lungs.

‘I know this might seem cruel to you.’ Inhale. ‘But this is divine intervention.’ Exhale. ‘Truly, I am doing you a favor.’

Despite his wounds, Will still tries to escape. She tastes the bitterness of nicotine off her lips as he manages to get into a crawling position. He starts to crawl slowly away from her, whimpering, shivering, and sniffling.

For the first time tonight, her stomach growls. An omen. Hunger means He approves. She digs her fingers into the dirt. She calls for the earth, for the roots of all things living within it, and closes her eyes. She then reaches for her powers. Muffled words ring in her ears, distant whispers. Her lips move to a symphony that plays in her head. She speaks forbidden words; a language bestowed upon her by Him. The ground shifts between her palms and the dirt hardens. A frame condenses, cold to the touch. A viscous liquid slithers within her palm and forms a revolver. She lifts the jagged weapon and wipes it clean on her pants.

Out of her pocket, she takes out two bullets as she carefully watches him crawl away. ‘This should be fun.’ She places the bullets inside and gives the revolver a turn. ‘Let’s see how lucky you are!’ She aims her weapon.

Click. Will buries himself in the dirt. Realizing that nothing has happened, he starts crawling again.

Click. He crawls faster.

Click. A moan escapes from him as he drops to the ground. ‘What a great shot!’ She drops the revolver. It turns into a bundle of rotten roots as it hits the dirt. Then, she walks his way.

As he begins to lose consciousness, disappointment grows in her chest. The stillness of the night is deafening. She stares at his lower spine, the bullet buried perfectly where she wants it. She takes a mental picture of this masterpiece and lets out a long breath.

01:23

His body shivers as he hangs upside down from a thick oak branch. She had attended to his wounds with enchanted bandages so he survives till the end. He’s now slipping in and out of consciousness. Good enough for the final stage of her game.

‘Have you ever thought about how meaningless your life has been?’ she says, toying with a knife in her hand. The hilt is engraved with relics and ancient symbols. The silver blade gleams under the moonlight. He’s not bleeding anymore. The little blood left inside him is important for this stage. He winces. His tears make her heart race. Perfection. Misery and suffering are the fuel for creation.

‘I am here to change that.’

Blade against her wrist, she unleashes a waterfall of blood onto the earth underneath. The blood flows unnaturally, controllably, bending to her will. She trails the dark rouge in a circle around Will. With closed eyes and whispers in her head, she speaks the forbidden words again. With every syllable, a rotten root grows from the blood. Black and moldy. Thorns and fungus sprout from the intertwining structures that now sit in a star symbol under her feet. An artist at work.

When she’s done, she places the knife against her forehead and whispers to it. The silver radiates and begins to heat up. ‘He is thirsty for your pain.’ As the metal takes on an orange color, she shoves the blade into his stomach. An explosion of screams erupts as his skin withers and burns under the metal. The smell of burnt flesh hugs his hanging body. Blood gushes onto the ground, bathing the roots below as they grow larger. She takes the dagger out and starts bashing it against him from all sides. There is a moment when she is deafened by his screams. He wails, weeps, begs, and gags on his own blood.

A shrieking pig. A dying animal. Content fills her. She lets out a breath and walks toward a nearby tree. It is time for the grand finale. The crying in the background plays through the air like a soothing score. Ancient words rumble in her throat. She reaches out into her core, into the source of her powers, and hums a mantra.

The fire inside her stomach stretches to her sides. Her muscles contract. She digs her fingers into the dirt as something slithers inside her. A piercing sensation. A knife pulling itself against thin skin. A tear of flesh and a grumble of clattering teeth. Pain shoots from her stomach into her head. Her jaws clench. Her heartbeats quicken. It moves. She sweats. Claws scratch against her insides. Warm blood fills her from within. She feels the first layer of skin detach under the force of something sharp. Scissors pierce through fabric.

Her body convulses. Her stomach bulges. A shriek escapes from within her abdomen. She gasps as the first claw bursts through her stomach: a jagged, black limb covered in slime. Her scream echoes through the trees, but she doesn’t stop. This is the moment she has waited for.

Another claw finds its way to the surface. The warmth inside her pushes itself against the lining of her stomach. It pushes its limb into the world. She looks at the black, furry hand that wiggles out of her stomach where her belly button was. The pain expands like an air balloon, and she isn’t sure she can hold it in. But it doesn’t matter. Feeding time is sacred. And soon enough, this will all be over.

A monstrous shriek echoes against the November trees, mucus-filled and thick. The creature pushes its other limb out and stretches the flaps of her abdomen sideways. A black, unearthly mass starts crawling out of her flesh. The horns at its head are crusted with blood and its teeth rest on its hairy chin. It pushes itself up, plops onto the ground, and drags itself like a worm.

The creature slowly crawls towards the pentagram. It pushes out its long brown tongue and drags it along the ground, slurping on the blood now caked with dirt. Every time it swallows the blood, it shivers, cracking sounds escaping from its limbs. It reforms and grows with every bit of blood consumed.

When it reaches Will, the creature widens its mouth. Its brown tongue slithers up Will’s hand, its tip untangles into several tentacles. It makes its way to his mouth, parting his lips. The tentacles, which have fine, teeth-like growths along their length, wrap around his tongue.

She watches the creature, a scenario she has seen hundreds of times. This is it. The climax. She awaits the final scream. A different version every time. The essence of this magnum opus.

The tentacles rip Will’s tongue out of his throat and throw it away. The creature then aims for Will’s lifeless mouth. The sound of wet tentacles slurping on blood fills the silent air. November is such a beautiful month.

After some time, when Will is almost dry of blood, the creature shudders and lets out a sound like a wild boar. It elegantly makes its way to her, stepping back into her stomach. It tucks its legs under itself. Resting its head against the warmth of her insides, the black creature puts itself to sleep like a tired cat.

The world becomes a blur as time passes. She closes her eyes and thinks of all the beautiful things she will do when she wakes up with new flesh tomorrow. She rests her cheek against the dirt, slowly slipping into unconsciousness.

10:13

She drops the portable fridge onto the counter. A metallic plaque gleams in the light pouring from the window. Saint Orphanage. 'There are a couple more in my car. If someone can help with them, it would be great.’

‘Of course! Thank you so much.’ The lady sitting behind the desk gives her a cheerful smile. ‘We’re always looking forward to your donations.’

She nods and stares at a painting next to the old lady, a depiction of the divine. The art piece has holy names etched above perfectly painted figures. A smile slithers across her face. ‘Anything in His name,’ she replies.