Monday, December 3, 2012

Hollis Funeral Home

I used my dad's computer to Google the location of the Hollis Funeral Home.  I'd never been there before, but it was about three blocks away from the piano teacher my mom made me go to for a few months when I was ten.  So I teleported to my old piano teacher's house and took off on foot for the funeral home.

It felt good to run.  Until recently, I'd had an awkward adolescent body.  But now, I had a fully-grown adult body, and a large one at that.  All my muscles seemed to know exactly what I required of them and they performed accordingly.  Plus I had that whole telekinetic power boost thing, so when I sprinted down the street, I felt like a fucking force of nature.  I'd felt this way in Hell, too, but the feeling was intensified because my surroundings were semi-familiar and decidedly not supernatural.

I burst into the Hollis Funeral Home in a very loud and disrespectful manner--but it was my funeral, so I wasn't offended by my irreverence.  I was a few minutes early, and I used the time I had to dodge people's judgmental glares and scan the small gathering for people--or demons, really--that didn't belong.

My parents were here, of course, looking understandably devastated.  I considered saying something to them to reassure them that I was okay, but I couldn't come up with a way to make it not freaky-sounding.  "Hi, I know you don't recognize me, but I'm your son, and I'm okay.  I'm the King of Hell now, and I'm here to protect you from some demons that are trying to kill everyone."

Yeah.  I decided that maybe I'd just let my parents grieve and focus my efforts on keeping them alive.

Soft sounds from near the door indicated that a few more people were entering the home.  I turned to look.  And I saw him.


Quinn Madsen.

One of my murderers.