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aplaceinthedark · 8 months

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SUNK my TEETH in

a GRIM tale

(Nick Folio)

Word count: 2.1k+

Warnings: supernatural themes, blood, religious trauma, mentions of reform camp torture, religious sacrifice, major character death, wolves, rapid mental decline, serial murder

They had to tie Nick to a tree, he'd resisted them so much.

He'd been tied up since the moment the Counselors dragged him out of his bed. He'd thrashed against them so bad, and he even bit someone's hand deep enough to taste blood. He'd heard one of them shout for a sedative, but apparently the only ones available were the swallowable kind, and no one was brave enough to go near his mouth again. So restraints were the only way to go.

Nick hadn't always been this way. Normally, he was a pretty chill kid. His favorite pastime was to fish in the rivers near his Maryland home. He hadn't been the easiest to anger, but when he did…

There was a reason why his friends called him an Animal.

In high school, he had gotten in one too many fights at school, got caught one too many times smoking weed, when his parents decided that enough was enough. “An intervention from God is what you need,” his dad said. When summer vacation started, suddenly he was being shipped off to the middle of nowhere in Virginia to some reform church camp or something like that.

There was no way these people worshiped the God he knew.

When Nick first got there, he acted out a lot. No amount of chores the counselors gave him or punishments like solitary confinement would get him to stop revolting against “God”, and his parents for sending him here. Sometimes the counselors would even force him to stand for several hours without food or water until he passed out from exhaustion.

These “treatments” did nothing to help his nonexistent problem. If anything, it made him worse. So one summer day, when everyone was nice to him, he got suspicious. And he was right to feel that way.

They dragged Nick through the forest. He was practically hog-tied to keep him from flailing or moving too much. They were also being quiet, so he couldn't tell where they were taking him, or what their plan for him was this time. All he knew was that he wouldn't like it.

And boy, was he right.

They tied him up to this big oak tree. When they undid his bindings, he tried to make a break for it, but three people were there to pin him back down and then to the tree. Then the camp director, who he'd only seen once in the few weeks that Nick had been there, started chanting in front of all the counselors and a bonfire, and then he pulled out a large, wicked knife.

And that was the moment when Nick Folio knew he was going to die.

He definitely didn't do it quietly. He thrashed against his bonds, screaming and cursing up a storm so loud he was sure someone from the nearby town would hear. But it was no use, as the camp “director” came closer and closer, talking about something with “Many Names” and a “Watcher”, and then he plunged the knife into Nick's stomach.

The people in movies made getting stabbed look like it was painful. It wasn't. Sure, for the first few seconds of entry it hurt, but after that, the only thing he could feel was his blood pouring out of the wound when the “director” pulled the knife out. After a few minutes, he couldn't feel his body to make it fight anymore.

Nick barely had the energy to look up and out into the crowd, who was too distracted with their weird ritual to notice movement behind them. But he saw it, despite the darkness creeping in on his vision.

He caught a small glance of a few horrified faces staring at him from above some bushes, before they disappeared. Hopefully off to report whatever the hell was happening right now. Even though he knew he wouldn't be alive by the time they got here.

He couldn't breathe, and as his vision continuously got darker and darker, he swore he saw a low red light pulsing in the grove around him. But he wasn't conscious long enough after that to tell what it was.

And that was how the young human, Nick Folio, died.

Nick didn't remember much of the In-between; the moment he came back to life, and then the moment his bonds to the Watcher of the Woods was completely cut free. There was a whirlwind of black and white as it felt like something pulled him along on puppet strings. Then, one night, it felt like all but one string was cut, and the next thing Nick knew was four paws hitting the ground.

He certainly didn't feel free. That one string was still pretty strong, feeding him horrible thoughts. He pretty quickly forgot that he was once human. The only thing in his head that he knew was the beast's instincts.

That, and the low voice saying only one word.

CONSUME.

It was always that one voice, that one word, over and over again. He let that voice dictate whatever he did until he didn't know anything but that one word: CONSUME.

It wasn't until one night five years later that Nick felt again, until everything came back in startling clarity. He fell forward, bare hands scraping across the ground as he tumbled. And just like that, the last string was cut.

And Nick was free to consider the consequences of what he had done.

He wasn't adjusting to being in human form again. He was filthy; old, dried blood coated his arms up to his elbows. He could feel that it covered his face. No matter how many times he dove under the river and wiped at his skin, he couldn't wash the feeling away. He had killed. He had killed a lot.

But just before the inevitability crashed over his head and he thought about throwing himself down the river, another voice cut through the panic. This one was different, though; not inside his head.

“Careful, the waters around here can be deadly, vännen.”

Nick looked up from the water at the form of another man. He was naked as well, the only thing on him being an acoustic guitar. He was absolutely drenched, like he’d been living in the rapid waters they stood in.

“W-why are you naked in the middle of a river?” Nick asked. For some reason that was the only question that came to mind.

“Why are you naked in the middle of a river?” the man asked, arching an eyebrow.

For some reason, what the man said was the funniest thing Nick had ever heard, and the next thing he knew was that he was doubled over, face nearly submerged, and he was howling with laughter. If the other guy thought he was insane, he didn't care. It was the absurdity of the situation that brought him out of his rapid mental decline.

He learned that the man's name was Joakim, but that was hard for him to remember and pronounce, so he just called him Jolly. Jolly, too, barely had any recollection of the past, just that one minute he was being held underwater by some people he thought were fellow worshipers, and then he was sitting in the middle of this river.

Their friendship wasn't completely instantaneous. Nick got the sense that he could be annoying sometimes. There was one time when he was floating on his back in the river, Jolly playing guitar as he always did, and he suddenly got the urge to howl along with the music and singing. When he had looked up, Jolly was glaring at him with glowing yellow eyes, and suddenly he was being rushed down stream. He didn't see Jolly for a week after that.

Nick really didn't have a feel for the time passing. To him, it was just temperatures changing. When it got stifling hot again, meaning it had been a year since he was free of whatever’s control, and he was trying to cool down in Jolly’s river, he heard a voice in his head again.

He froze, feeling fear again. Except this voice was immensely different from the evil one. It was softer, more frantic; almost human. It also only said one word:

HELP.

One look at Jolly, and Nick knew that he could hear it too. The two took off in the direction the voice pulled them to, unaware that their lives would change again.

It hadn't been a reform camp. Nick had known that really, but to hear it being said lifted a burden off his shoulders that he never realized he had. It had been a cult the whole time. A cult that killed innocent people and disposed of them when they were no longer of use, leaving them to suffer the curse of this forest and to rise up as haints. A cult that should've disbanded a year ago, when their god was killed by The Voice. But tonight, they were attempting to resummon their god. And Nick couldn't let that happen.

The New Voice, calling himself Noah Sebastian, had summoned him and Jolly to the grove where they had originally been killed. With some help from a third guy, a human named Nicholas, they formed a group that vowed then and there that nothing else would become of this cult ever again.

He was there when it had begun, and he would be there to watch it end.

A year ago, Nick might've felt bad about killing more people. But now, as he tore through the people who had tortured him for weeks, he didn't care. He felt the thrill of the hunt as he chased down those who had brought him to this state in the first place.

It wasn't as easy as it probably was back when he was under the control of the Black Stag; when he didn't have a conscience. Just eat eat eat non-stop. That's how he was justifying the killing now. He was hungry, and these were bad people.

He was hoping to find the cult leader, the one who had stabbed him. He must've ran off, never to return again, because he wasn't there in the woods that night when they slaughtered the dregs of the cult. He had hoped that he could have sunk his teeth into the leader, somewhere that would’ve led to a slow death so he could take his time with him.

Nick was almost like a machine, despite the fur and sinew that shielded him. He almost felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. Slash, bite, rip. Slash, bite, rip.

Slash.

Bite.

Rip.

Until every single monster that hurt him and everyone else around him was dead.

He wasn't the real monster.

But he could become one if they wanted him to.

And from then on, Nick Folio became known as the Grim, the Animal of the Shenandoah Valley.

Something felt wrong with the Woods.

Nick Folio sniffs at the air for what felt like the tenth time since the sun set, still not sensing what exactly was off. He sighs, his breath faintly visible in the Grove's chill. Even in the dog days of summer, this place was always dark and chilly.

Not even Noah knew exactly why this area was so different from the rest of the Valley's Woods. Maybe it was the trees growing so close together? The four of them; him, Jolly, Nicholas and Noah, had all agreed that it was something darker tainting this place. They just hadn’t bothered to seek out the reason why.

And honestly, why would he care? He was free. He could run as fast as a motorcycle if he pushed himself hard enough. Over the past few years, the pain of transforming back and forth had dulled to that of background noise. The slight twinges as his muscles stretched and his bones elongated. The prickle of fur sprouting all over his body. It all went away when his blood got pumping; the adrenaline kicking in.

And this feeling? This itch he just couldn't scratch? This was something new. Which meant something exciting. Something he could sink his teeth into. And that was fine for now. Fine until the next new itch overtook him.

Nick sheds his clothes, memorizing the spot where he throws them. He looks up at the sky, noting the placement of the waning crescent (a term that he hadn't wanted to know about, but did now thanks to Nicholas), and lets the shift take over. He kicks off, sending foliage and dirt everywhere. He lets the mysterious sense take over, pulling him to where he needs to go.

This was how he wanted to live forever: wild and free.

It was time to hunt.