Mortuus lifted his heavy eyelids and looked around, his eyes red with red and sore with tears. His wrists stung, and his head ached. His knife was beside him, with bright red blood dripping from it. Standing just out of reach as he watched with curiosity, Death was always fascinated by the human condition to express their emotions in such ways of pointless violence toward themselves and others.
"You did it again, Morgan." Death said, his voice filled with empathy and sorrow.
"Mortuus. My name is Mortuus." Mortuus corrected him, standing up uneasily.
"Is it now? Hmm-" Death vanished again.
Mortuus began his unsteady walk to the town center, his head still unbelievably dizzy and light. A group of people stared, terrified, at a large blood spot. All of them seemed to be in awe at the strange marking below their church.
"IT'S THE WORK OF SATAN!!" One person shouted; he was a devoted Christian of the church.
"IT'S OBVIOUSLY THE STITCHER'S WARNING!!" Another shouted, weary of the creature that reigned over their town.
Mortuus walked past, keeping his head low and trying not to bring attention to himself. The bandages on his face were stained with the blood of the spot.
"HIM!! HE DID IT!!" An old lady shouted, pointing at Mortuus with disdain.
"Yeah, fuck you too, Granny!" Mortuus replied sarcastically before darting. The crowd pursued him with a burning hatred that only a mob could possess.
Mortuus ran down the roads, his leather boots hitting the ground, thudding with each powerful stride he took. His trench coat flapped in the wind behind him as he ran away from the angry mob. He was desperate to escape; he wanted to die but not at the hands of this angry mob. If he was going out, it was by his own accord.
"STRING HIM UP!!" They shouted, "BURN THE DEVIL OUT OF HIM!!"
It was not easy running from a crowd of angry villagers, especially not those motivated by fear and anger. It did not matter how fast he ran; the group was right behind him.
He couldn't keep running; his lungs felt like bursting, and his legs felt like noodles. He stopped running, and the crowd halted, some in shock. They grabbed his arms and legs, restraining him with little effort as he accepted his fate.
"STRING HIM UP!! STRING HIM UP!!" They chanted as a burly man put a noose around his neck. The rope was pretty thick and probably a bit unnecessarily wide around for hanging someone, but maybe that was needed to kill him finally.
The crowd gathered around a large tree, and a villager brought over a small chair. Mortuus stood silently on the chair as they threw the rope over a limb above him. There was nothing to do; this was his fate. Quietly and without notice, he slipped his knife into his mouth and swallowed it partly in his throat.
"Any last words?" The man with the rope asked as he prepared to kick the chair from under him.
Mortuus turned to the man with a sly smile, joking with him. "Keep my drink cold, will ya?"
The man kicked the chair forcefully. Mortuus's body fell almost instantly and dangled from the rope. It tightened around his neck and held him up. It swung back and forth. Dead. That's what he was thought to be.
Mortuus smiled smugly and winked at Death, who watched him from among the parting crowd. No one noticed the silent observer, but many people felt a cold chill as they walked through the spirit. Mortuus coughed up the knife from his throat and slit the rope around his neck.
He fell to the ground on his hands and knees, coughing and spewing blood from his lungs. Each cough was painful and stung with such intensity that Mortuus wished he could die. He rubbed his throat with one hand; it was sore and had rope burn from the attempted hanging.
"OH, GOD!! Dying hurts!! My insides feel like chicken noodle!!" Mortuus groaned loudly, rolling around the dirt in pain. He was still coughing blood, and each cough felt like his lungs would fly out.
Death leaned on his scythe and seemed to ignore him, a book in his hand, "What's a thirteen-letter word for greatly surprised or astonished?" He continued staring at the book before thinking of one. "Flabbergasted!"
"Asshole!" Mortuus painfully uttered with another bloody coughing fit.
"Yeah, yeah, die quieter." Death mumbled while he continued his word search. He didn't seem to care that Mortuus had just been hung, probably because he knew it would not kill him. Eventually, he vanished as Mortuus stood up, wiping blood from his mouth.
Mortuus walked down the road and left the town to be in the forest; at least he was safe from the people when he was there. The dirt path was littered with leaves and twigs, weeds popping up in what were once tire tracks.
No one used the road anymore. It was the main road into town, and yet it was as barren as the desert. The road was yet another hollow reminder of the once-prosperous village that was Crater Hollow.
The forest was hushed with an eerie silence. For some strange reason, the usual sounds of nature were absent. Without notice, the quiet sound was replaced with the awful sounds of The Stitcher dragging its ghastly claws against the trees.
It gripped Mortuus's skull without notice, holding him up by his jaw. The Stitcher's grip on his jaw was so firm that it dripped with blood. Mortuus thrashed his arms wildly, trying to get The Stitcher to release him, but with little success.
The Stitcher forced Mortuus's head into the flowing river that was beside the road. His heart and mind raced as water rushed into his lungs and filled them. He thrashed wildly, the water stinging and air bubbles popping quickly.
The Sticher released him and stumbled back unexpectedly. The child's voice once again screeched without warning. Mortuus sat up, drawing in painful, stinging breaths of air, coughing, and gasping for air.
The Stitcher stood above him motionlessly. The sounds of agonizing screams rang through its skull so loudly that Mortuus could hear them shouting for help. Their cries for help were so desperate, and they seemed so scared, almost like they were prisoners of the beast.
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