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Brexton had a gun leveled at a man who sat on an altar that had the demon Cthulhu carved into it. Behind the altar was a carving of Set the Ancient Egyptian god of chaos, war, and destruction. Brexton had seen the two gods quite a bit in childhood, but nothing like this. Set was carved in stone and stood at least twelve feet tall. Cthulhu was beautifully and meticulously carved as well and had rubies for eyes, same as the larger than life Set that was carved behind the altar.
The man was someone Brexton had known their entire life. He was a man who had terrorized them. He was Brexton’s first rapist. Brexton had been sure he had died in the raid. But here he was, he’d started a brand new religion, a brand new cult. Brexton had run across him earlier in the day, a complete chance encounter at a coffee shop near Dr. Durant’s condo.
A chance encounter that filled Brexton with peace and happiness. This was the man that really deserved to die. Brexton was standing near the altar, gun trained on Parker Carr, villain extraordinaire, trying to figure out what would be best to do to Parker Carr first. The possibilities seemed endless. This would not be quick and Brexton was sure even Martha was happy with the coincidence.
Brexton grabbed the unholy communion chalice, a gold plated goblet with rubies pasted on to it. Brexton urinated into the cup and gave it to Parker Carr, instructing him to drink up. Brexton’s only regret was that they had not had time to force a bunch of asparagus into their system before this moment. If only they had known, they could have planned accordingly.
Parker Carr gagged, then vomited onto the stone altar. Brexton nodded. Urine was briny and had a weird after taste, they still remembered that horrid taste.
“I’m a little teapot short and stout,” Brexton sang in a high childish voice that sounded nothing like their normal voice. “Here is my handle, here is my spout, I even bring blood to a boil and watch as the water screams out in harsh hissing steam that can melt skin off, are you ready to shout?” Brexton asked, walking close to Parker Carr. The two were only inches apart. The older man had tears in his eyes and they were already tinged red from the single incident of vomiting. Brexton was going to change that though, by the time he finished, Parker Carr would feel every anguished stabbing pain from having disgorged his stomach contents until there was nothing left. Parker Carr would scream for him and scream and scream, just like a teapot left on the burner too long.
Brexton pulled out a lighter from his pocket and flicked it twice, both times letting the flame dance for a few minutes in front of Parker Carr’s face. They were both so close to the flames that even Brexton could feel the heat.
“Got a teapot, Disciple Carr, for old times sake? We can have a cup of tea or two before we begin to really make you regret having ever recruited our mother to join your sick cult of deviance.”
“No,” Parker managed to whisper out.
“Now that’s a shame. Surely we have something around here that will work, a coffee pot or something.” Brexton grabbed the older man’s arm and jerked him from his seat on the altar, dragging his butt and thigh through his own vomit as he did so. It smelled rank, like fermenting fish or something. “You need to rethink your diet, buddy, that is horrible. Maybe eat a few less virgins and a few more greens.”
“I can pay you to go away and never mention you found me.” Parker offered.
“I have no doubt you could, but where’s the fun in that? I’m a little coffee pot,” Brexton sang as they entered what appeared to be a kitchenette attached off the main altar room.
“Amber, I was only trying to do what was best for you, you were possessed. By defiling the body, I was preparing for your exorcism, no demon wants to inhabit the body of someone that’s been defiled.”
“Oh, is that what you tell yourself at night to help you sleep?” Brexton asked, pouring water into the coffee pot and turning it on without putting new coffee grounds in it.
The water was a sickly brown color that wouldn’t pass as tea or weak coffee. It might have passed as creek water though.
“I’m a little coffee pot full of creek water and blood, I’ve been put on to boil, so I can melt flesh,” Brexton sang as the last gurgling drips exited the coffee maker into the coffee pot.
“Amber, you can’t do this,” Parker said, standing up from the chair he had sat down in.
“Just so you’re aware, I’m not Amber and that essentially negates your argument. Because you’re right, Amber couldn’t do this, but I’m Brexton and I absolutely can. You once told me that screams were purifying and a calling for the Almighty Cthulhu, I hope you still believe that, because we are going to honor the shit out of Cthulhu today.” Brexton said, grabbing the coffee pot and firing one shot at Parker Carr. It entered the older man’s leg near the shin. The leg folded up and collapsed under Parker Carr, spilling him to the floor where he struggled weakly.
“Disciple Carr, are you ready to honor your deities with your screams and beg for their mercy?” Brexton knelt down next to him and dumped the entire coffee pot full of water on Parker Carr’s face.
Screams and blisters began simultaneously. The skin began to peel in parts and a not quite clear ooze began to flow from Parker Carr’s eyes and nose.
“I’m blind!” Parker screamed. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Seriously?” Brexton asked. “Why am I doing this to you? As opposed to sodomizing you with a broom or something? Well, I’m saving that for later Parker. You murdered my father, my sister, my brother, and Melissa, even if you didn’t do any of the bloody work directly. A little torture is the least of what you deserve. Where are your gods now? Where is your precious Cthulhu and devil now to save you from me?” Brexton shouted in his face. Their hands were shaking and Brexton couldn’t get control of them. Did you know that Martha sings me nursery rhymes when I kill for her and that Amber still can’t listen to rock music without breaking out in a cold sweat and vomiting because of you? If you had been there the day I manifested and took control, I would have beheaded you as well as Disciple Gerding. But there’s still time. Maybe when I do finally kill you, when you have begged for death and I have obliged, I will go ahead and remove your head.”
“You’re crazy,” Parker screamed at them.
“You made us that way,” Brexton said. “And you personally made me, your repeated abuse of Melissa created me. How does that make you feel? They say we sow the seeds of our own destruction and you, my friend, definitely did that. You sowed the seeds of destruction for yourself and so many others. Maybe after this, I’ll be locked away with my fucking mother for a while and let her reap the destruction she sowed. That will be fun, won’t it?” Brexton licked Parker’s face and Parker screamed again in terror. A warm spot spread over Parker’s robe front causing Brexton to giggle uncontrollably.
Five hours later, Brexton was tired of listening to Parker’s screams. They had gotten their revenge. They had done everything they could think of to Parker. The man was a bleeding lump of quivering sobs.
He was slumped against the lower cabinet in the kitchenette. His clothing was in a pile, soaked with blood, urine, excrement, and other bodily fluids. Both eyes were nearly swollen shut from the scalding water Brexton had poured on his face. Blood continued to pool around his body, no doubt the result of internal bleeding caused by the handle of a broom.
If screams honored Cthulhu, then Brexton and Parker had honored him like no other. Brexton found a large chef’s knife in one of the drawers and sat down on a chair a few feet from Parker.
“I imagine you regret your life choices now, Parker old buddy.” Brexton leaned forward and showed him the knife. “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, I’m going to make sure that Cthulhu hears one more scream from you, as I take your head. I had forgotten about that Parker. Despite everything else I’ve done to you, I’m still going to take your head and then I’m going to go stick it on top of that awful chalice in the altar room and let some poor sucker that follows you find the fucking thing. I’ll write your confession on the wall in your blood, let the world know that you were the real leader my mother followed, not that twisted fuck Gerding, but you. Which is worse, the physical abuse or my promise that I will tear down your legacy and destroy your public image like the wrath of God?”
“You’re so weak,” Parker rasped out.
“From where I’m standing, it’s you that’s weak. I lived. Amber lived. Martha and Caroline are both alive. You’re the one dying. If I called an ambulance for you right this second, you’d still die before you got to the hospital. Do you know why? Because none of your shitty little evil gods care about you. Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is defined by screams.” Brexton drew themselves upright in the chair and readied themselves. They swung with all their power, the chef’s knife entering Parker Carr’s throat with a sickening thud as it slammed against his spinal cord. Brexton had to rock the knife back and forth to free it from the bone.
They drew back and swung again, like it was a short baseball bat. The knife bit into the cabinet behind Parker Carr’s head. For a second, everything seemed frozen. Carr’s eyes blinked once, then twice, and then Brexton jerked on the knife handle. It broke in their hands. Parker Carr’s head lolled to the side and fell to the floor slowly.
Brexton grabbed it by the hair and took it to the altar. He set the chalice up and placed the head on top of it. There was a bloody trail from the kitchenette to this room. Brexton used the blood from the floor and wrote “The Almighty Cthulhu has spoken, you will not be saved from this monster created by the sins of Parker Carr. Row your boat.”
