Backwaters Origin: Ghostface

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Purge Night
The Purge of Laveau

NSFW Warning, Graphic Content, Mature Themes, Violence, Sex


Night had descended on the muggy streets of Laveau, the full moon casting a pale illumination over the backwater town. The air stood stiff, clouds lingering in the sky still and silent, the swamp itself seemed to be holding its breath to try and smother out the stench of tonight. The purge had begun. Contrary to the stillness of the night, the city was in uproar, the faint drone of sirens could be heard wailing in the distance at all times. The Purge was a morbid tradition that stained the town with violence. The stench of blood and decay rotted into the foundations. A nightmare of carnage paying tribute to a monument of sins. An abomination of freed inhibitions, the worst of humanity put out on display and only the moon paid witness, glaring down with the enthusiasm of a voyeur, greedily watching the sins of men unfold. Bathing the evil in unabated light so that all the heavens could observe this annual tragedy. The shadows of craters twisted into a gnarled grin, the face of the moon smiling down and reflecting the wickedness before it.

You could feel it, the pulse of the swamp, a living creature in its own right. The loa screaming in pleasure and pain as they wandered through the town unleashed. It was nearly midnight by the time Mateo Reyez made his way back to the dirty streets of Laveau, hard to believe he’d been at a rave the night prior. He clutched a mask in his slender fingers, his large hands gripping nearly the entire top half, the pale plastic of Ghostface still easily recognizable in his grip. His other hand held a kitchen knife, the sinister steel crusted with dried blood, the exposed blade reflected the light in a way that made it clear it wasn’t a prop.
Mateo sauntered along, his skin pale and sickly, stretched thin over sharp cheekbones. His sunken eyes glittered from the depths of his skull, blue gray irises shimmered like water at the bottom of a well. Dark rings cradled his granite gaze casting his glare deeper into the depths of his face. He had a square jaw that framed his narrow face. Jet black hair shaved at the sides of his head. It was long on top and plastered to the side of his face, slick with sweat and grease, it stuck to his skin, combed over to one side. Even without his mask he looked like a ghost. The way he shambled through the streets he may as well have been dead, passing for one of the many spirits that seemed to thrive alongside the madness.

Pandemonium was running rampant the closer he got to the center of town. Frenzied faces passed him by, mobs of people fighting in the streets. Buildings flashing to life as fire roared from their windows. Red and orange light bathed the pavement in flickering hues. Mateo was watching it all in slow motion, his time dilated by the red wrapped candies he had lining his pocket. He watched in a trance, his vision widening unnaturally, contorting the world as if his eyes had moved to the side of his head, his peripherals now in the full focus of his sight. He could hear a drumming beat propelling him forward, pounding in his chest, reverberating through his body in quick succession. It would take him several blocks to realize it was his own heart pumping through his chest. His thoughts were clouded, a thick fog smothered his consciousness. He watched himself seemingly from over his shoulder, witnessing the world from a new perspective, rotating from one side to the next until he could look himself in the face and see behind him.

It took a bump of speed to snap him out of it, the rush of powder that he vacuumed through his nostrils hit his brain like a thunderbolt. A zap of clarity, new found adrenaline coursed through his veins like electricity. The slow thud of his heart quickly accelerated to the rapid pistons of a V8 engine in overdrive. The blurry shapes of people that surrounded him sharpened into focus, monsters, ghouls, vampires, angels, and demons. The streets were crowded with masked rioters, alarms howled from all directions, a flash of red and blue raced past him as a police car barreled through the crowds, mangled bodies twisting in its wake.
Mateo wasn’t sure how much was real or imagined but he was alive again. He laughed like a lunatic, darting through the streets, sprinting with a purpose, knife clutched in a reverse grip held high in the air as he prowled for victims. It didn’t take him long. He could feel eyes on him, guiding him to his prey. Mateo found a local drug store with a broken window. Inside was a masked demon with bolt cutters and leather wings trying to get to the good shit behind a heavy padded lock. The burglar's tail flicked from side to side with anticipation, completely unaware of the danger he was in.

Mateo saw red, the edges of his vision tinting crimson, his perspective elongating, he saw the world stretched around his target like a tunnel, blurring and stretching until only the burglar was in focus. He charged, racing forward, leaping through the broken glass, pouncing like a viper. His hand jerked forward and back as he plunged his blade into the shoulder of his prey. The man screamed, his voice crying out in agony, echoing in Mateo’s head for minutes even if that same scream was choked into a gurgling cry seconds later as the second stab lodged his knife straight into the man's neck. He didn’t stop, he was in a frenzy, he jerked his arm back and forth, jabbing his blade into his fleshy target repeatedly. Blood splattered over his bare chest, his latex gloves, smeared over his corset. Mateo climbed on top of him, pinning down the lifeless corpse and continued his assault. He didn’t know when or how but he was watching through the thin black fabric eyes of his mask. The brief realization was enough to make him hesitate, if only for a second, and jar him into reality.

Mateo was looking down at a kid, a teenager he’d guess. The boy looked up at him in horror, soft features and a sprinkle of acne over his forehead and cheeks. “When did he turn around?” Mateo’s voice rang through his head in confusion, he was stabbing him from behind a second ago. His left hand was clutching the kid's neck. His forearm flexing with the strain of pinning the boy to the ground, smooth tan skin leading up to a white baggy shirt sleeve. A booming voice cut through his confusion. “Apurate Flaco! Si no lo matas te mataran a ti!” The voice was coming from his right, a thick necked Mexican man with a shaved head and a wife beater shouting at him. He was covered from neck to fingertips in tattoos, a few standing out in bright colors, demons dancing on his skin. Mateo turned back to the boy, his chest heaving as he worked up the courage, the sun beating down on them hot and dry. The kid was clawing at his wrist trying to pry it away desperately. He reached back in an effort to escape and slammed his fist into Mateo’s face, the pain jolting through his jaw triggered his attack reflexively. His knife drove deep into the kids chest, hitting with a thud, it struck him as odd how difficult it was to plunge the blade into his chest cavity. “Wait… where are my tattoos?” He was looking down as blood started soaking the teenagers shirt around the wound, the struggle had stopped as they stared at each other in shock. Mateo’s arms, both arms, were tan, skinny, and clean from the ink he’d been covered in since he was 16. Then it hit him, he knew this boy, he knew that man, he’d done this. This was the first person he’d ever killed. “What the fuck?” He whispered to himself, the light was draining from the kids eyes. A ring clattered to the ground above him dull and dark. Suddenly Mateo felt a stab of pain from his skull, sharp stabbing above both eyes. “Ah, aahhh, fuck?” He grabbed his forehead covering his eyes.

Night swallowed him, he was shrouded in darkness, the moon still casting the street in front of him in eerie light. He was looking through his mask again, he could feel the cheap plastic sticking to his face, sweat dripping down his neck from the humidity. He was standing in a bush, leaves scratching against his mostly bare torso, branches concealing him in cover. The heat of the day he’d just lept from was replaced by a cool breeze, his arms inked down to the fingertips in various patterns, a snug fitting fishnet top hugged his muscular arms. He was still holding a bloody knife in his right hand, the wetness of the crimson told him he’d stabbed something alive not that long ago. His left hand was clutching a small box of condoms, something he’d apparently snatched from the drug store. He licked his lips, suddenly aware how aroused he was. His pants felt tight over his bulge, he could feel his erection throbbing down his pant leg. A faint voice caught his attention, muffled and distant. He looked up.

Mateo was looming in front of the house. The dead of night, standing and stalking from the edge of the bush he’d been hiding in. His latex gloved knuckles clenched tightly around the hilt of his knife as he waited. The house was still, a pumpkin flickering in the doorway, a light visible through the open shutters of the living room. As he approached he’d see the front door was cracked ajar. He crept forward, slow and silent step.. He heard them, the two women, their sweet voices whispering back and forth as they hid in their home in confused panic.

The drugs held onto him like the hands of death, his mind grasped by the skeletal fingers of his vices. Mateo could taste the fear on his tongue, almost as sweet as the strawberry hallucinogen he’d been eating. He stalked into the house opening the box of condoms and pulling out a pack, the little silver cases packaged together 10 at a time. He tossed the box and shoved a row of them into his right pocket, a crinkle of discarded red wrappers breaking the stillness of the house as he walked inside.

The whispers silenced, the faintest yelp could be heard behind clasped hands. He could hear them weeping, their muffled sobs beckoning him. A beautiful symphony compelling him to hunt. He had them cornered and he knew it, the hallway was the only way out, he could just tell. He let his steps fall with a bit of weight, wanting them to hear his boot on the tile floor, a soft thud. Then the next, and the next, each step growing louder and closer, he gorged himself on the anticipation, the growing terror of his victims on the other side of a closed door. Mateo stepped right up to it, both feet planting down so they could see his shadow from under the brim. His presence was sinister, his vile intentions clawed under the doorway, the gnarled hands of the devil trying to take hold. His lust was palpable as he grabbed the knob. It wasn’t locked when he twisted it slowly, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He snarled, growling from his chest, a primal sound that vibrated through him, opening the door with slam.

Dim light flooded the otherwise dark bathroom as the door swung open. It was a tiny confined space, two women huddled against the back wall frozen with terror. The only other exit was a small window facing a narrow alley, not enough room to squeeze through. They were trapped. Mateo stood in the doorway unmoving, his full height towering above the cowering women. He looked deceptively thin, standing at six foot five his body seemed slender at first glance. Their eyes adjusted to the new light the reality set in. Ghostface was staring them down, a cheap plastic face glossy with blood dripping down the front, a black hood covering everything up to his shoulders. Fishnets stretched over bulky biceps, hugging the contours of his arms and wrapping snugly over defined deltoids. His chest was broad, pecs ripping through the black mesh as he took deep hungry breaths. His waist was constrained by a latex corset that matched the gloves he wore on both hands. Most importantly, the sound of blood dripping to the floor from the tip of his blade. The intensity of it echoed into the chamber and snapped the two women from their paralysis.

Both girls looked to be students at CU, the local subpar university. One of them was crouching in the tub, she was short with a soft face and even softer skin. Her hair was shoulder length and bright green, black eyeshadow smeared from tears streaming down her face. She was dressed for a costume party, a witch outfit leaving little to the imagination. Black puffy shoulders over a baggy crop topped shirt and a black layered skirt barely longer than her ass. She was wearing thin tights that covered her legs and some cowboy boots, a strange choice. Her hat was nowhere to be seen, likely tossed aside in some other room. Her friend, maybe sister, as if to confirm his suspicion was wearing an oversized CU sweater, black letters in the front and a crudely painted jack-o-lantern smile underneath. Her face had matching makeup blond hair cropped into a bob, a pumpkin smile painted over her lips and up her supple cheeks. Her eyes darkened to look like typical jack-o-lantern eyes only this makeup withstood the tears running down her face. It was the cheapest way she could dress as a pumpkin and rep her school at the same time.

The pumpkin was standing flat against the back corner of the room, the toilet in front of her shins, no apparent bottoms besides white sneakers on her feet. The witch moved first, lunging forward in a desperate attempt to barrel past him. She was met with a backhand, cool latex slamming against her jaw with enough force to send her staggering against the wall in a daze. That same rubbery glove coiled over her throat, snatching her off her feet for a second to ram her against the wall. Not a word was breathed through the cold sad expression of Ghostface’s mask. Sharp pain suddenly split her side as he slid his blade into her exposed midriff. An ear piercing scream broke the silence as the pumpkin wailed at the sight.

Mateo’s mind was in overdrive, the intoxicating cocktail of designer drugs and pure cocaine slowing time while energizing his movements. He knew what he had to do. “Break them.” The witch might as well have offered her face to him, her frantic sprint coming at him sluggishly. He didn’t strike her face so much as predict the exact place it was going to be and arc his fist toward that spot. Pinning her to the wall a second later he aimed his knife carefully, straying to the edge of her belly, not wanting to damage her too much, if she died she wouldn’t scream for him. He pushed the blade into her belly, it was effortless. He expected a scream but not from his side, the witch in too much shock to cry out it was the other girl that shrieked. He pulled the blade back and stabbed her again, inserting the blade horizontally, tucking it under her ribcage just an inch. “Hurt them.”

Mateo wanted to inflict pain, not fatality. His head turned to the pumpkin as he twisted the knife from side to side, this time eliciting an anguished cry from his victim. He yanked his knife away and threw the girl by the neck hard into the nearby countertop. She collapsed in a heap, clinging with her right hand to the sink. Her left hand clasped her bleeding wounds. A horrid gurgling scream coming from her lips, she was hiccupping and hyperventilating through her sobs. Without taking his eyes off the pumpkin he snatched the green hair of the witch with his knife hand, clinging and yanking her head back so she could look up at him. He pulled one of the red wrapped candies out of his pocket, rolled it between three fingers until the wrapping came undone and then shoved it into her mouth, pushing his gloved fingers into her mouth until he felt her swallow it.

Mateo was dangerously calm, methodical. His lust was boiling in his blood but he handled them with a cold efficiency of someone who’d done this before. As an extra insult when he pulled out his latex fingers he wiped them off on the witch’s cheek, smearing her own saliva on her face. The drugs wouldn’t hit right away but they’d help sooner than later. She was small, likely hadn’t eaten in a while, he suspected ten minutes tops before she was tripping. He stomped on her ankle, her booted foot rolling to the side as she screamed and fell flat on the floor. Insurance she wouldn’t run while he toyed with her friend. The blond was fixated on his mask, she’d stopped screaming after the first and was now panting like a dog. She was clearly in shock, panic setting into every fiber of her being. He craved it. Devoured it. “They’re weak.”

The shadows that filled the room twisted and warmed into tendrils of hate, clinging like inky tentacles they latched onto the walls. The darkness teased around his feet, mangled arms with clawed fingers reaching out to snag the pumpkins ankles, she could feel them. The cruelest of the loa had gathered, his fiendish lust a medium for their brief manifestation. She’d feel them, spiders crawling up the wall behind her, hands snatching her head, binding her wrists, restraining her. Mateo could see it too, but he didn’t question, he enjoyed it. With her body bound by the supernatural or sheer overwhelming terror, she couldn’t move, couldn’t resist. He grabbed the brim of her sweater and pulled it taut, tugging it forward while the black tar stuck her torso to the wall. No slack in the fabric as his knife stabbed through and tore it down the middle. He yanked his blade a handful of times to cut her top in half. She was exposed, her chest bare, small perky mounds with tiny pink nipples. She was petite, her hips only a little wider than her belly. She had slender legs, a thigh gap and black lace panties as the last barrier between them. The malicious nature of the demons that held her in place ripped her sweater all the way off, yanking it down her arms until he heaped on the floor. She was defenseless.

The witch was whimpering, her eyes locked on them, she couldn’t believe her eyes as the shadows seemed to bend to her assailant’s will. She wanted to scream but the more she moved the more the sharp pain of her wounds would jab her. She just laid there watching, clinging to the floor with white knuckles, trying to slow her breathing to ease the stabbing sensation in her ribs. She could see him pull out another candy and force it into her friend's mouth. She felt hopeless, her only wish now was that the candy would take the pain away.

Mateo didn’t bother to wipe off his fingers this time, he made his victim watch as he unfastened his belt, popped the button loose with a pinch and slowly unzipped his fly. The sound of his zipper was menacing, it drowned out the distant sirens and muffled cries just behind him. That sound sealed their fate and they knew it. He pulled the pack of condoms from his pocket and let his jeans fall to his ankles, his cock standing erect. He was twitching with anticipation, his mast standing strong. Thick veins pulsated along the sides of his cock, his girth so thick he could barely fit his hand around it. His head peeked out from uncut skin as he slid the thin ring of a condom onto it. He pulled down so it unrolled smoothly over his shape, the rubber glistening wet with lubricant as he nestled it between her thighs, letting the pumpkin feel the heat of it against her sex. The way it twitched and smacked against her thigh gap with anticipation.

He stabbed the knife into the shadows above her head and the darkness seemed to swallow it. Clinging to the blade so it stayed in place, black ink licking away at the blood as if it were an offering. He grabbed her thighs and yanked them up, pulling her ankles free of the clinging fingers that had held them to the floor. He didn’t bother to strip her panties, he just pushed the tip of his cock against her sex, sliding it along her right thigh until her panties retreated to the side and revealed her pink sex. He took his time sliding his fat head to her entrance, rubbing it up and down while she cried silently, squirming as much as she could against the black bindings that pinned her. He leaned his weight forward, pushing his cock against into her entrance, her body resisting with everything it had. She was so impossibly tight, her walls closed and dry as he forced them open anyways. Gloved hands digging into her legs with a painful grip, he jerked his hips forward and forced himself in.

She screamed in pain only to be gagged, black clawed palms covering her open lips. He fucked her hard, savoring the sensation of her tight walls griping his member. Yanking on her legs like handlebars as he rocked forward and filled her cunt with his meat. The drugs made his nerves extra sensitive, the pleasure multiplied as he slowly violated her in front of her friend. The condom did nothing to hamper the sensations rippling through his system. It wasn’t violent, the brutality of it was in the slow agonizing pace that he used her. He took all her power and dignity in that one act. Robbed her of her agency, of her pride. The worst part was, a few minutes later she was moaning like a whore, drooling down her chin as those latex fingers stuffed her mouth and toyed with her tongue. Her eyes glazed over and rolling into her skull as he fucked her, the drugs taking effect and transporting her away from this horrific nightmare.

Power radiated through Mateo, a feeling of overwhelming strength and clarity. He harnessed the evil around him. Manifested it in the inky black hands and tendrils that did his bidding, aided his assault, he looked down at the smeared make up of the pumpkin he was ravaging. Her voice whimpered out of her lips in cries of pleasure but a sharpness still lingered in her pitch, the pain and sorrow of being ravaged, whatever was left of her mind wailing in protest even as the drugs buried it under a bliss of ecstasy. He slid his cock deep inside her, savoring her body, her walls quivering, thighs trembling wildly, her hips jerking up and down sporadically against her supernatural restraints as she climaxed over his sheathed cock. His own bliss overwhelmed him until he was bloating her belly with the latex balloon he was pumping with cum. He shivered in relief as he pulled out, tugged off the used condom and tied it at the top, discarding it by throwing the wet gross balloon at the witch mewling in lust by his feet. It slapped her across the face and she moaned, her lips parting to slurp the flavor of latex and her friend's juices. The witch had shredded her own tights, escaping the pain of her wounds by masturbating to the sight in front of her. She was reduced to a brainless animal squirming in heat.

Mateo was still erect, twitching with potency, the drugs keeping blood pumping to his member so he wouldn’t come down. He watched the pumpkin girl as he slid another ring over the tip of his cock, gloving it in another condom barely enough faculties left to know this would reduce the evidence left behind. The swirling shadows looked more and more like gnarled fingers, hands gripping her in place, holding her down by her wrists, her shoulders, gripping her face and neck. Even her legs were being lifted up on both sides, Mateo snatched her waist easily and plunged himself deep inside again, pounding into her with a rough wanton lust. His eyes rolled into his head with pleasure when he heard the crowd of people cheering.

Mateo snapped his eyes forward and back to the task at hand. He was sweating but not with fatigue, nerves were boiling under his skin like an itch. Around him several men were holding down a woman, he couldn’t see her face. A hemp bag was tied over her head to mask her identity, her voice muffled as she weeped in fear and pain. She was older, he could tell. Her skin looked weathered, her body a little chubby and shaped in a more mature way than he’d known a young woman’s to be. She was beautiful in her own way, except for the deep purple bruises along her ribcage from where she’d been stomped into compliance. He felt her yelp and her body clenched, squeezing his manhood and sending a shiver up his spine. He looked down and saw he was inside her, his raw cock pushing in deep as he slowly rolled his hips. One of the large men pinning her down suddenly encouraged him. “Como eso, Mijo.” That man licked his lips, for some peculiar reason he had horns on his head, sprouting out in twisting branches like a devil. Another one of the demons spoke. “Hurry up, Quieres ser de nosotros, then finish. We’re all gonna take a turn on this perra and then you’re gonna put her down.”

Mateos heart was pounding again, he was trapped in another memory, he couldn’t stop himself, he wanted to fight and break free but his body moved on its own, the way it had so many years ago. He lurched his hips forward in a painful jerk shoving his cock into the woman, her scream coming out harsh and shrill before it devolved into a hiccuping cry. He did it again and again, feeling his head splitting with pain as horns started to sprout from his skull. The sound of bone snapping and cracking as he grew his own twisted extremities in that moment. This wasn’t like killing the kid, that kid had been a rival, another fighter from another gang who would have stabbed him if the tables were turned, but this was wrong. She was innocent, pure, a victim stolen from her life. Her wings broken and crumpled, halo flickering and dim, cracks appearing like spider webs across the floating ring. Her body jerked back with every violent thrust he put in her until he finished. Stepping away and letting the next person in line join in their ceremony of sin.

A sound of a gunshot rang through his mind, reverberating through his skull, his hand trembling on the grip as he squeezed the trigger like a vice. He had put her out of her misery, by that point it was a mercy. He had buried these memories so deeply and now they were haunting him like fresh wounds. He started hyperventilating, his breaths ragged and panicked until the wave of euphoria hit him. He was plunged into his climax and as the pleasure rippled through his skin like a wave the world whipped back to the bathroom. He was holding the witch by her short green hair. Fingers knotted into her locks as he yanked her head back. His other hand clutched her wrist which he used as a handle to build the momentum of his thrusts. He was looking at a mirror, forcing the witch to watch as he fucked her from behind, her top ripped off, her skirt by her ankles, all she had on was her tights that were torn apart at the crotch. His cock buried inside her tight pussy as he flooded a condom full of his seed. She was screaming in a gurgling pleasure, bent over the sink blood smearing down her belly and over the porcelain rimmed tub and faucet where her stab wounds were still bleeding. Her face was a total mask of pleasure, pure unadulterated lust at the way she was being used, fucked like a piece of meat for his pleasure. Mateo trembled as the last of his climax leaked out of his cock. Pulling out slowly he tied off the condom like the others.

He didn’t know how much time had passed in his delusions but the Pumpkin was passed out in the tub, her body in a discarded heap with several full balloons littering the room around her, a few were in the sink and on the floor beneath him. He’d had his way with both of them repeatedly, mercilessly, looking back at the mirror he couldn’t see his face. The pale blood dripping mask of Ghostface still covered his head, the hood melding with the skin of his neck, black oil seeping down his body, clinging to his arms and down his torso with glistening shine. He looked like he was dipped in tar but the substance was pulsating with a life of its own. His hands were talons of black and he realized in horror that the insidious spirits had taken hold of him. It was a fleeting shock, a smile curling over his lips behind the black open mouth of his costume. He released the witch, letting her fall like garbage onto the ground, collapsing unceremoniously at his feet. He wasn’t being processed, he was in control. The evil responded to his will retracting up his arm into thick tendril sprouting pauldrons. His gloved hands revealed again so he could collect the evidence, cleaning up as many condoms as he could find.

He escaped into the night. A small metal cylinder trashcan tucked under his arm full of all the evidence he could find. He took it with him, deep into the swamps, vanishing from the moonlight, from the terrorized blocks and streets of mayhem still wreaking havoc well into the night. Trudging through the muddy jungle away from it all. It wasn’t until he felt the warmth of the sun beating down on him that he opened his eyes. Coughing wracked his body, his lungs burning in pain as he hacked uncontrollably, ripping the plastic mask off his face, gasping for fresh air. He panted heavily as he caught his breath. A metal spike was being hammered into his skull. He felt nauseated like he hadn’t felt in years. He was half buried in mud, struggling to his feet to access the damage. He was covered in dirt, his hair caked with it. His muscles ached and his eyes burned from the bright light. It was mid afternoon and he was completely alone. In his hand he was still clutching Ghostface, the mask covered in dried blood, his gloves and clothes were another story, the sheer amount of dirt made it impossible to tell. He gulped, his knife was missing. He didn’t know how much of last night was even real but he knew he had to get home. He moved to take a step and his boot clanged against a metal tube. Reaching down he picked up an aluminum trash can, lid open, contents emptied, his heart pounded in his ears. He dropped it and ran, sprinting toward the sounds of honking horns and distant sirens. His footsteps crunching through the mud were followed by several more running in tandem. He was no longer alone.

Thank you for reading my short story, though it ran fairly long. I appreciate feedback if you read through it all! This happened ICly during the 2nd Purge night in October, any character can have knowledge, footage, or rumors of a masked killer/grapist wearing a Ghostface mask. Police can investigate this as well if they desire.

November 20, 2023 at 12:23 pm
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