The Immortal Series: Episode Six!

[Logan]

The Immortal Series Presents…
Joel Hall’s Face.

It had felt like a million years since he first awoke in that hotel room bathtub where tiny mental threads tried desperately to stand their ground and fight to keep from being snipped off one by one and lose the footing of mind, to keep from letting it go into free fall, give way to bounce helplessly in his skull. And it even felt longer since that white narration of a voice spoke to him, whether he could even recall the voice at this point didn’t matter, it’s just the voice was comforting, and that was something he hadn’t had lately – comfort. The things that came about lately were more like high dosages of confusion, pain, and delusions injected straight into the back of the soft pink tissue of his brain via mind-fuck syringe. His sense of reality had been completely derailed since the carnage of a match with Bobby Cairo. Not that the train of insanity was smoothly riding the tracks to begin with, the penetration of nails and face plummeting of brass knuckles by the hands of Cairo certainly did not provide any relief to his already dismantled state of mind, made it worse in fact.

THE SERPENT: The bloodied Logan stands triumphantly above the bloodied Cairo, and how does he s’sstand like that, like a fuckin’ trooper, like an Audie Murphy on top of a burning Nazi tank that’s on the verge of exploding? He stands, my God, he s’sstands![/i]

Was that when he lost himself, when he heard that bell finally sound off and looking down through bloody eyes and seeing a bloody ring mat with a bloody Bobby Cairo and a bloody screaming audience, could that have been the exact moment in time when he could no longer rely on a white voice to direct him because the voice no longer existed, even if it ever did to start, but was that when? The eyes changed course, they had been staring at a photograph recently taken of Joel Hall for sixteen hours. His sockets felt like launch pads ready to countdown and blast eyes off into the fan lightly spinning over the ceilings surface. They needed something wet, a blink was not enough, they needed quite a few. He blinked, once, twice, a third time, and the dry eyes finally got the coating so desperately needed. Just in time too. If only his eyes could speak, he imagined they would like a bone to pick with him, or a straight razor to slash through meat and pick one of his bones out.

THE SERPENT: The eyes win! The eyes win! Ding, ding, ding. Tune in next week to s’ssee who the eyes take on next!

Sixteen hours was enough time to observe his jaw and take in the detail of all the little small pimples that Joel Hall may have regretted popping as a teenager. You know, those really small holes and scars, the ones that only he knew about. Those instances in the mirror where he would notice one every once in a while and wonder how many more would show up with time. Nobody else saw that. His fingers ran down over Joel Hall’s face as the picture lay in his lap. The nose, that nose that has grew with his face over the years, a thing he was born with, the tool that helped one inhale oxygen, though that was optional at times, more like a backup. The cheekbones, hidden behind his flesh, something he may unconsciously touch on occasion like any other normal human being. The lips, now healthy, the same lips that could’ve suffered a great chapping once upon a time on a windy winter day.

THE SERPENT: The great chapping of ’04! But he made it out alive, AND without chapstick! How did he make it, by God, how did he not lick those lips’ss away?

He would take them all away from Joel’s face. The teenage pimple war, the nose, the cheekbones, and the lips. All of it was now on the official endangered facial list of Joel Hall. He would rip them off, scratch it into nonexistence, and erase it, and eat it, and swallow it, and digest it, and expel it out into a cold bowl of toilet water.

THE SERPENT: Make sure you double flush, by God, make sure.[/b]

He gave the picture a farewell for now, petting it with his hands like an old Catsy-Cat that you would find squashed in the road after coming home from work, but first you’d take the time to pet it real nice, remembering how soft Catsy-Cat was before and many fond memories she brought before finally nudging her into a hole and kicking soil at her. Goodbye for now, Catsy-Cat. We’ll meet again, oh will we.. meet.. again. He folded his hands and placed them over the picture, hiding it into his lap. He then nodded to the small handheld camera that had been filming on the table this entire time, of course.

CHRIS AVERY: Do you know what time it is? No?

He points to a nearby clock hung on the wall.

CHRIS AVERY: It’s four fifteen, but to be more precise.. it is…

TRUTH TIME WITH AVERY, BITCH.

[/COLOR]

Hideous gigantic big golden letters rolled over the screen with haunting hysteria. A little small jingle from a Biggie song even blared. Horrible editing, truly horrible editing. Whoever viewing the segment might have got the feeling that this would become an annoyingly weekly ritual.

CHRIS AVERY: And know why it’s truth time? Because nobody here likes it to be truth time, no, they like to ignore it. The WCF lives in a world full of bullshit. You see, somebody has to speak up, somebody has to keep the lies full of shit from getting swept into the cracks, somebody to pour a bucket of truth acid over the shit and dissolve the lies, that somebody is me. So, straight up, I got to say this.. Joel Hall is a piece of trash. I don’t know this cat, hadn’t even heard of him before, but I got a feeling he stinks; stinks like lies stink.

He disgustingly waves a hand across his nose, further emphasizing the horrid smell of Joel Hall.

CHRIS AVERY: I have a special idea for you, Joel. It might even help you on our little quest to the truth this Monday. I want you, Joel, to go back and look over the tapes of Chris Avery. You need to go and see my great reigns as television champion – the greatest in history! I want you to watch the countless lairs that had their heads planted with Truth Spin Outs. And then, Joel, I want you to ask yourself whether or not you could psychically endure the truth inside the ring. Maybe by kicking your ass this Monday might just make you a better person in the long run. If I can choke the lies out of you, maybe some good honest truth will light your future. Hey, maybe you’ll even have somewhat of a career here in the WCF, but not now, Joel, oh not now. You’re just a track that needs to be beaten and laid down so my truth train can storm onward to greater and bigger things like the WCF championship.

He makes a gesture with his arm, like he was honking a big air horn.

CHRIS AVERY: Choo-choo!

THE SERPENT: Gooood one.[/i]

He heard the previous entries, humorless commentaries, provided before by The Serpent. He just chose not to. They were like the lurking of a headache starting to throb behind the eyes, the ones that never reached anything of rhythm, instead just sufficing to creep in a quiet knock here and there just to remind you that a head throbbing storm was blowing just around the corner. But with IT, The Serpent, a simple swallow of aspirin was no good.

THE SERPENT: Hi. And to think I was talking to myself all this time..[/i]

Whenever he accepted IT’s presence as more than just a mind-poop of a crazy voice, IT would appear, and sometimes in more ways than one and not always bearing resemblance of a reptilian. When it did, and it did and it always would, he’d turn blank. When The Serpent drew near the more him himself was pushed away into whatever darkness that welcomed him with tugging and tearing waiting arms. And in that period of dark there would be no memory of what had happened, only that he knew – wherever place he might find himself waking after a duel with ‘The Serp’ – that IT had come. The Serpent came, not slithering, not even hissing, IT came in the form of a psychical knock, a sounding of three sharp thuds bouncing off the inside room of the bathroom door. He could have thought of a better place to knock on a door, like maybe the front door, or forgive him for sounding hysterical but maybe, let’s say a back door. Not the bathroom door, and not from inside it, that was inappropriate. As far as he knew – and that was little these days – he had been alone inside this house of 2267 Oral Oaks. But even that memory was fading, just as things always did when The Serpent came. Within its presence he was empty air operating a body, he wasn’t Logan; he wasn’t even the broken Logan recreation of Chris Avery. He was just a thing with arms, feet, lungs, eyes, and a beating heart that understood and spoke the English language. The knock came again just as fast as it had before and once more from within the bathroom door. It’s damn strange that someone could lock themselves in a bathroom or even a room for that instance. Nevertheless, this was no time to question the poor fool’s stupidity. The knock sounded desperate, a plea for help, and he sprung to the occasion. What waited behind the door was more of a surprise than the knock from within it, as he soon realized when he opened the door and found an empty bathroom.

CHRIS AVERY?/LOGAN?: … Hello?

Another knock, flawlessly identical to the one that brought him to the bathroom, sounded off just five feet behind him at a hallway door leading to a bedroom. Unless this knocking prankster could run through walls…

CHRIS AVERY?/LOGAN?: Who is that?!

The thought did not occur to him that it could have been The Serpent playing a usual round of games, because such thoughts were not equipped with the clueless empty mind of his, the one The Serpent had cozied up with and smothered. He rushed for the door and pushed it open hoping to catch the knocker red handed. Nothing, this room was just as empty as the other, furniture excluded. Just when he thought that this seemed like a dead end, a childish giggle protruded from underneath the bed. An eerie heavy panic kept his feet weighed down from moving further and inspecting the source.

LOGAN?: .. What?!

The same playful giggle resurrected.

CHRIS AVERY?: H-h-..

He wanted to say something with authority behind it; such words never came around to actually form. Instead, he shouted some odd gibberish, mustering up enough unknown courage in the process to bash his knees into the hardwood floor and fling open the blanket laying over the beds edge and hiding view of the floor beneath.

LOGAN?: AH?!

A small red rubber ball stared back to him. When did such things knock on doors or giggle for that matter? He reached for the ball, gripping it in his hand, noticing a little splatter of red on the side of it that was a darker red than the ball.

LITTLE GIRL: Can I have my ball back, Mr. Chris?

The voice alarmed him and he bumped his head on the bed frames steel support bar. He rubbed the back of his head; the pain quickly subsided with the surprise of this little girl’s presence. She was standing just beside him, which seemed odd, because he hadn’t heard her footsteps.

LITTLE GIRL: Please?

Strange that he would remember it, but he remembered that she had called him, ‘Mr. Chris’.

MR. CHRIS: Sure.

He held it out over her awaiting palm and dropped it. The ball, without any interruptions, went through her hand as calm as it would air.

LITTLE GIRL: My ball!

She chased after it as it bounced and rolled steadily across the hardwood floor and into the corner of the room, in her pursuit she ran effortlessly through the wall and disappeared. The wall did not show any signs of damage, the small rubber ball stood more of a threat to it than her.

MR. CHRIS: Wha-

He had trouble forming words again. The afternoon sun shined into the dead silent room, warming into his face, displaying the terror in his eyes like lighting on a professional movie set. He heard nothing now, nothing but the sound of his fast beating heart. No birds to chirp in the graceful afternoon setting, just pure and genuine silence, something that a lot of people desire, something that terrified him. The silence broke in the most unsettling of ways when he heard an angry shout echo from the living room…

SHOUTING VOICE: MELISA!

He scrambled like a quarterback evading defensive ends, trying to keep himself from falling backwards when he slid into the hall, bouncing a future bruised shoulder off the doorway frame.

SHOUTING VOICE: Stop screaming. They will come and eat you!

He straightened with fear at the sight, the pain in his shoulder having little effect with the posture. He saw a man with broad shoulders, a big man, probably in his fifties, looked like a poster picture of the ideal lumberjack. He had the little girl he had seen earlier cornered and a leather strap rose back behind his head.

LITTLE GIRL: I don’t want them to eat me, Daddy – pleas –

She ate her words, literally, biting down on her tongue till it bled as another lashing of the belt burned over her arm and across her cheek, fighting the urge to scream. Another shot of unknown courage lifted him into action. He charged the lumberjack and drove his shoulder into the lashers side, hearing a distinct sound of cracking ribs immediately after impact. The two collided almost on top of the little girl, before he could finally pull her away from him, and dig hands into his throat. The little girl cried from her corner of torment, watching the man strangle her abusive Father. He turned to look at her for only a second, noticing a red rubber ball in her hand. He somehow got the feeling that it really, realistically still remained where it last rolled, and not in her hand. The poster boy lumberjack laid his hands over Chris’s strangling hands though he gave no true attempts of resistance.

MR. CHRIS: You bastard!

He choked harder despite the fact that the choke’e was enjoying himself.

SHOUTING VOICE: Hahaha! Hahaha!

The lumberjack’s eyes bulged stronger with every growing laugh.

SHOUTING VOICE: HAHAHAHA!

The grip on his throat loosened, not because he thought strangling him wasn’t doing any good, but because there was no longer a throat to strangle.

THE SERPENT: Hahaha![/i]

He closed his eyes momentarily, opening them, finding himself alone again. He slumped down onto the floor, pressing a cheek flat into the cold surface, and went to sleep. The only place he’d have a hope of ever finding peace. The Serpent whispered him a lullaby.

THE SERPENT: S’ssss..[/i]

I may be a little darling gal of yours / That’s when I’m straight and sober and both feet are on the floor / But sometimes when the booze grabs a hold of me / I get the devil in my eyes and I’m running wild and free / If you don’t want a wild one quit hanging round’ with me / You knew right from the start that’s my personality – The sound of blaring radio speakers and crunching rattled him back to earth. Not to wake, apparently, because the sound of crunching came via mouthful of CheezIts. He sat up on the couch, staring at the box of CheezIt’s in his hand like some type of alien ray gun. It was a mystery to him how they got there, or in his mouth, but they tasted good nonetheless so he chewed up the mouthful that was already there and swallowed them down. A few things had changed since he took a face first nap into the floor. For one the radio was blaring a god awful song that sounded like a mix of country and whatever they labeled as ‘alternative’ in the 90’s, which was just about everything. And there was the CheezIt’s, of course, and the naked man sitting just right beside him.

WILLIS BURNS: Goin’ share some of that?

It’s a good thing he swallowed that last handful of CheezIt’s before noticing the man next to him, he might’ve choked.

WILLIS BURNS: Don’t look at me like that, gimme!

He snatched the box away from his hands. That’s when he noticed that he, too, was nude.

WILLIS BURNS: Dude, you really need to get cable.

He stared at him. Cable was the last thing he was thinking about.

WILLIS BURNS: Chris?

He wasn’t even sure if that was his name but he responded anyway.

CHRIS: Why are we naked?

WILLIS BURNS: Ha..

The man stood to his feet carrying the box of CheezIt’s with him, his bare bottom just a foot or so from Chris’s face. He gritted his teeth and turned away, not very happy with the view of sweaty buttocks.

WILLIS BURNS: You’re a trip.

He stood there adjusting the bunny ears above the television casually as one could possibly be while naked. Chris reached over to the nearest reach of concealment which just happened to be a pillow, which was also moist with some type of fluid, and covered it over his exposed crotch.

CHRIS: Get out of my house!

He turned around from the television and smirked at Chris.

WILLIS BURNS: Get a good fuck then kick me out huh? I thought you changed.

Chris dug his fingers into his own mouth, clinching downward on his bottom jaw, as if his jaw couldn’t drop on its own.

WILLIS BURNS: You’re too much when you make those funny faces.

He didn’t break the ‘funny face’, keeping his fingers barred in his mouth, hoping that his jaw would just fall off and he’d watch it sing and do a dance number so he could wake up and put this dream in a past. But it didn’t. It only hurt. Finally, he broke free from the trance, and pulled the fingers away.

CHRIS: Can you.. just leave..

WILLIS BURNS: Okay..

Willis sighed, but he didn’t watch his chest puff and suck back in, he didn’t even look at him. He didn’t want to.

WILLIS BURNS: I’ll give you your space.

He reached down under a table, grabbing his pants and slipping them on. Chris would do the same soon as Willis left, after taking a long hot shower, and watching lesbian porn. Willis looked around, finding his shirt a good ten feet from where his pants had laid.

WILLIS BURNS: Things got pretty wild.

He looked at Willis’s back and noticed claw marks just before Willis put his shirt on. Chris whispered under his breath…

CHRIS: Good Lord…

After strapping his boots on, Willis nodded awkwardly to him and headed out the front door. Just when the door closed and no sooner, The Serpent rattled back.

THE SERPENT: Well, THAT was fun.

He felt used, violated, raped. He also felt exhausted, and he cringed to even think why. He rolled his eyes, noticing a cardboard box sitting on the table. Check the box, he thought, why not, maybe they’ll be a flamethrower inside there, and maybe he could use it to cleanse his backside. To his dismay, it was not a flamethrower, but a small mailbox within the box. A mailbox too small. Letters probably wouldn’t even properly fit in there. He held it up to his face, studying it. The lid flapped open an inch or so and closed tight.

MAILBOX: HI THERE!

He let go of the mailbox and it landed flat to the floor. This did not stop the cover from flapping open and speaking again.

MAILBOX: Easy fellow, that hurt.

A few hours ago a talking mailbox may have startled him. Far worse things had happened at this point, far worse. Not entirely calmly, but easily, he covered his nude region with the pillow and sat down again.

MAILBOX: You going to ask me?

He idly answered.

CHRIS: Ask you what.

MAILBOX: Whether I have mail or not.

He suspected a better question to ask might have been ‘why are you talking?’

MAILBOX: Well?

CHRIS: Not unless there’s a flamethrower in there..

MAILBOX: No flamethrower. Just a phone. And an urgent call!

He had enough. He reached a foot out and wrapped his toes into the flap to keep it from opening. Muffled sounds came from the mailbox.

MAILBOX: It’s a (muffle) call (muffle) Seth Ler – (muffle)

That name rang a bell for some odd reason or another. Oh, what the hell, he removed his foot from the mailbox and reached inside finding a cell phone just as the mailbox had promised. The phone rang; he answered and brought it to his ear.

CHRIS: Seth?

The person on the other end refused that name, saying instead that his name was the ‘Scot.

CHRIS: Who the hell is the ‘Scot?

THE ‘SCOT: The queen of hotdogs, my buddy, pal, Loogie-Boogie. I was just calling to say that I want dibs.

CHRIS: Dibs..?

THE ‘SCOT: Yes. I watched you from inside the mailbox. That looked spicy.

He threw the cellphone into the television screen, squinting his eyes and expecting a glass shattering impact. It merely bounced off and slid over the floor, he could still even hear the ‘Scot on the other line.

THE ‘SCOT: Hot! Hot! Hot!

Exhausted from events he’d whether not mention, he lay down on his side, easing into the couch, and closing his eyes. He awoke several hours later, The Serpent’s hideous snake face dancing in front of his, darkness taking over the windows behind it. He attempted to scream but the revealing of The Serpent’s open mouth and dripping fangs froze his lungs. It was like the snake had bitten him mentally, the dreaded venom pulsing in his brain.

THE SERPENT: S’ssorry I woke you.

IT had no true feelings of empathy, so he knew anything with the words ‘sorry’ coming from The Serpent was just a charade.

THE SERPENT: You’re going to need your rest for Slam. I have opted to put aside our little playful time for up until then. It’s for the best, maybe.

He managed to speak. The Serpent swiftly interrupted him, apparently not finished with what IT had to say.

THE SERPENT: Shhhh, s’sshhh. When I leave things will settle back down, you’ll return to yourself, Chris Avery, and this little get together of ours would have never happened today. I will remember it, surely I will. We had good fun, and good fun is hard to forget. But know now, pleas’sse know, I’ll come again, and the next time I do I intend to make a grander circus than the little clown in a tent job you seen today.

Worse was coming? And what could be more possibly worse than the sticky smell of Willis Burns still lurking behind the lobe of your ear.

THE SERPENT: Sleep now, Chris, and for God’s s’ssake.. put on some clothes.[/i]

IT hissed what he made to be a sign of amusement, then turning IT’s head, easing it down, and slithering across the floor. IT headed to the fireplace. He knew deep down that he couldn’t let IT escape like this. He had been had. Truly violated and next time it might even be worse. No, he was sure it would be worse. He had to stop IT somehow. His first impulse and one he’d soon regret was to grab the nearest thing available and beat the giant snake to death with it. He grabbed the box of CheezIt’s. Had there been something more useful nearby, perhaps a machine gun that shot grenades and ejected little ninjas with bazookas to aid one in battle, then he might’ve chosen that over the half empty box of cheese crackers, but for now that was what he picked as a weapon of death. The surprise of attack was on his side of course, though The Serpent didn’t appear very surprised when he bashed the box of CheezIt’s over IT’s head and sent a mess of crackers flying that he’d more than likely have to sweep up later.

THE SERPENT: …[/i]

IT reared its head back and blinked as if to say, ‘really? A box of crackers?’ He wouldn’t give it the chance to make any sarcasm; he struck again with the CheezIt’s. The Serpent seen the cheese attack coming this time, vouching to gobble the box and swallow it whole than be embarrassed.

THE SERPENT: I see that someone isn’t ready for play time to end.

Gulp. The box of CheezIt’s now just a mere outline of a square inside The Serpent’s massive belly.

CHRIS: I can’t let you leave.

The Serpent appeared to be very amused by this, spreading its reptile lips and grinning.

THE SERPENT: Ah! Then you’ll have to kill me. And we both know you’re incapable of that.[/i]

He didn’t know what The Serpent meant by that. IT flickered its tongue and smelled his puzzlement.

THE SERPENT: You beat Bobby Cairo, you did. You were supposed to kill him. Just there near the end, when the razors were still sharp and bloody, you didn’t want anything to do with them. You couldn’t do it, like I said.

CHRIS: I-

THE SERPENT: YOU LET HIM LIVE!

He had never heard IT shout before and he was glad he hadn’t. The Serpent’s loud hiss of rage launched the hairs out of his neck.

THE SERPENT: And soon, before long, maybe a year, maybe two, he will return, and he’ll have scars. You will remind him of those s’sscars. He shouldn’t be reminded. A true warrior like Bobby Cairo needs death with defea-

The Serpent had been carrying on, rambling almost, and that lack of attention gave him enough time to baseball slide over the hardwood floor and take the mailbox into his hands. Once the mailbox realized what he intended to do with him, it had words.

MAILBOX: Not so sure this is a good idea, Chris.

He held his hand over the flapping lid, quieting it.

THE SERPENT: You should listen to him.[/i]

CHRIS: Hey, Serpent..

The Serpent stared on, idly nodding his head.

THE SERPENT: Yes’ss?[/i]

And with all the corny aspects of a one liner in an action movie, Chris continued.

CHRIS: You got mail, bitch.

He flung the mailbox at The Serpent, the mailbox screaming in disagreement all the while, expecting the mailbox to magically explode and send the snake into bits. The mailbox clung off The Serpents head and fell to the floor.

THE SERPENT: …[/i]

CHRIS: …

Silence filled the room, even the battering mailbox hushed.

CHRIS: ….

THE SERPENT: …[/i]

Finally, Chris killed the silent air, gasping it in.

THE SERPENT: You amuse me, Chris. You really do.[/i]

CHRIS: I thought it might have exploded or something.

The mailbox flapped its lid with angry protest.

MAILBOX: And what gave you that idea?

CHRIS: Well.. you can talk..

IT hissed.

THE SERPENT: Enough! I’m ending this.[/i]

He didn’t know IT could move that fast, but it did, and damn was it fast. IT wrapped his body entirely, restraining his arms at his sides. The Serpents hideous jaws unlatched and opened wide, engulfing Chris’s head with its mouth. He tried to scream, to move, but the shock and the hold it had on him alone was too much to do anything. He felt his head inch into The Serpent’s slimy throat. His eyes were soon blinded by spit and darkness, and in those last moments he knew it was only a matter of time before he’d become Serpent feces. Next week, perhaps, his remains would be shat out. He’d cringe at the thought if The Serpent wasn’t so tightly wrapped around him. Slowly, inch by inch his body worked into The Serpent, feeling the powerful muscles stretch over him. He could open his eyes a little now, seeing the inside walls of The Serpent’s pink stomach. He felt something wet and hard brush against his face, something cardboard like, red and yellow. It was the box of CheezIt’s. It even still had some CheezIt’s in it too. Well, at least he could enjoy a last snack, a snack inside a snack. He managed to struggle a free hand into the box, grabbing some snake fluid soaking CheezIt’s. Not exactly appetizing anymore after it’s been settling in the belly of a beast. But something else was inside that box of CheezIt’s, something.. hard and pointy, he pulled it out from the box and studied it. ‘Willis Burns Ass Plug’ was etched on the side of the, you guessed it, ass plug. He didn’t know what business it had inside a box of CheezIt’s, but he was glad it was there nonetheless. The sexual object was just pointy enough to plunge into The Serpent’s side and make him feel SOME pain – irritating maybe – but something.

CHRIS: Thank you, Willis Burns.

The Serpent felt the odd poking in his gut, it was irritating, an itch he couldn’t scratch.

THE SERPENT: Stop that![/i]

He heard it howl from the inside.

CHRIS: Spit me out you son of a bitch.

IT didn’t respond, as if it might have been debating spitting him out. He took that as a positive sign, poking the anal plug harder into the inside of The Serpent’s belly. The Serpent gave way to his demands, feeling his body inch forward with the unsettling noise of a gagging sound. IT’s mouth now wide open, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel, the hardwood floor outside The Serpent, the flapping mailbox. He clawed and kicked, traveling along the stream of The Serpent’s vomiting gag reflex. Pretty soon he had inched his head out of The Serpents mouth and then his shoulders and then his arms, freedom was in the air, he could smell it, that and rotting stomach acid of The Serpent that he was covered with. The Serpent began gurgling, shaking its tail aggressively, choking. CHOKING! The damned thing had swallowed too much, or better said, tried to spit up too much. He helped The Serpent, helped it choke. He tried desperately to keep his bottom half clogged in The Serpent’s throat, aiding its lack of air by tangling his legs together and keeping them still. The Serpent thrashed and thrashed, life slipping away from its eyes, death approaching via a naked man stuck in his throat. And soon, soon, IT kicked its last sign of life with a final thrash before laying still. The mailbox had been watching all the while, and now he was almost congratulating Chris.

MAILBOX: You killed The Serpent! You really did it!

He climbed out of The Serpent’s mouth, the anal plug still clutched tight in his hand. He would no doubt put it somewhere for safe keeping, something to look back at every now and then and cherish.

CHRIS: IT’s finally dead…

Slowly and slowly he felt the Avery, the truth, returning to his veins.

**BONUS**

THE IMMORTAL SERIES CREDITS