Vessel

Author's Note: So I'm just gonna start writing while listening to music on full volume and just not stop. We'll see where this goes. Reviews are greatly appreciated as always. This one got scary...Enjoy! :)

Vessel

Tommy took a deep breath as he looked up towards the cloudless, blue sky. The warmth of the sun enveloped his entire being and a gentle breeze caressed the sides of his face with its cool touch. This is the life, he thought, This is the life of the single individual. The young man smiled a wide smile and held his outstretched palms to the sky as if he were lifting some invisible object high above his head. All around him, the light rustling of distant tree branches and the playful chirping of an array of Summertime birdsongs filled the air with an aura of blissful carelessness. He sat down upon the damp and grassy ground and pulled a little, purple notepad out from his satchel. "Today," he wrote, "The birds are singing again and there isn't a single cloud in the sky." The man sighed deeply and scratched his head before continuing, "and I really want a peanut butter sandwich." Tommy chuckled lightly to himself in embarrassed approval of his not-so-graceful journal entry. It had always been that way: Tommy would make a joke, and only he would laugh because only he had been there. He had always been alone. Of that much he was sure.

A pink-orange blanket began to stretch itself over the blue sky and the sun slid behind the purple mountains on the horizon until it was hidden under a blanket of its very own. The lighthearted chirping of the Springtime birds had been replaced by the far more lamentable chirping of the crickets. That sucks, thought Tommy, I liked those other sounds much better than these ones. The man placed his notebook in the outside compartment of his satchel and stood up from the ground, brushing himself off with eager hands. Save for the crickets, nighttime in the meadow was just as nice as the daytime was. Tommy took one last look at the sky as he threw his satchel over his shoulder and began to walk back towards his cabin. "Goodnight, stars," he whispered, "It's been a pleasure." Just as the man turned to continue walking, there came a voice. It wasn't a familiar voice, but Tommy was sure that someone had spoken, someone who's tone demanded his attention.

"H-hello," he began in the hushed and awkward tone he had specifically reserved for human beings, "Who's there?" There came no response. Tommy swallowed a lump in his throat and wiped his eyes before peering diligently into a nearby bush. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make out the image of a person or anything for that matter. Weird, he thought to himself, I guess it was just the wind. The man wiped a few beads of fresh perspiration from his forehead before tightening the strap on his satchel. Before he could turn back towards the road home, the voice came again, this time much louder than before.

"Tommy Jones," it beckoned, "Come here, bud." Only then did Tommy realize that the voice belonged to a woman; that made it all the more unsettling. Even so, he had not the slightest clue who it belonged to or how they knew his name. The man's mouth felt dry and his knees began to wobble. Tommy tugged at his shirt collar and sighed lightly before responding.

"H-hello, there," he murmured, "Who are you and how do you know my name." The silence was unbroken. Tommy felt his stomach churn and his heart began to pound. When he looked up into the sky once more, the stars seemed to had vanished. The eerie glare of a large, yellow moon provided him with the only light by which to see. "Please," he stammered, "Just tell me who the hell you are!"

"Oh, Tommy," teased the voice, "You know who I am. Don't act like you can't remember." The man took a deep breath in an attempt to keep from screaming. Oh man, he thought to himself, this is just too much. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a flash of yellow light inundated the entire meadow. Tommy stumbled backwards and tripped on a nearby rock, hitting the ground with ferocious impact. Damn it, he thought, What the hell was that? When he finally gained the courage to sit up straight, the young man noticed that his hands were covered in fresh, warm blood. He let out a frantic screech and began to pat the ground around him in search of his satchel, which he thought had been thrown from his shoulder during his fall. Tommy wiped his bloody hands off on his shirt as he slowly stood up from the ground. He had no clue what had just happened, but he knew who was to blame; it was the owner of that God-awful voice.

"Listen up," screamed Tommy, "Get out here and tell me what on Earth is happening!" Silence. The man began to breath heavily and his lower lip began to quiver. His entire face felt hot and his heart felt like it would jump right out of his chest at any moment. "I know you heard me!" he screamed, "Show yourself!" Another flash of bright yellow light exploded from the quiet darkness. Tommy fell to his knees and covered eyes his in an attempt to avoid the blinding illumination. A series of amused cackles filled the nighttime air and the scent of strawberry lotion filled his nostrils. Upon removing his hands from his eyes, Tommy was greeted with a sight that made his scream like a child waking up from a terrible nightmare. The only two differences were that this was no dream and that Tommy was most certainly awake. There she stood, towering above him in a black pinstripe suit, a bright red top hat atop her head. It was Gwen, his ex fiancee and the owner of the voice that had ruined his entire night in a matter of minutes.

"You," he sighed, frightened, "W-What do you want from me? Why are you here?" The well-dressed young woman threw her head back in boisterous laughter at the stunned young man. She lightly licked her cherry red lips and removed her top hat before responding.

"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," she chuckled, "Don't look so surprised to see me. That's no way to greet your wife." The man nearly gagged as he stood hurriedly up from the ground. His eyes grew wide with terror upon realizing that she towered a good five inches above him. Her large yellow irises studied him with playful alertness and her flawless skin became more pale by the second.

"What's wrong?" she inquired calmly, "Have you gotten cold feet, darling." Tommy jumped back from the woman and pointed a bloody, trembling finger towards her.

"Gwen!" he yelled, "You said you wouldn't be back for another two years. Why have you come so soon? This wasn't part of the deal." The man's voice cracked on the last syllable and he felt his eyes begin to water. Gwen's red lips curled into a devilish grin and her eyes became wide with depraved amusement.

"Well, my dear," she began seductively, "I believe there is something that you owe me."

"What ever do you mean?", stammered Tommy on the edge of tears, "The contract is up!"

"Oh, it's nothing too serious. Just a little favor."

"But the contract!", he moaned.

The suited lady winked fleetingly at him as she pulled a small slip of paper from her top hat. Before Tommy could express his disgust at such a gesture, she threw it into the air and motioned it into his back left pocket. Good Heavens, he thought to himself, The powers are still workin' up to par. The man frowned hard at her and cleared his throat to keep from crying. No matter how powerful she had become, he could not let her win; he could not be afraid.

"Listen, Gwen," he began shakily, "You ca-"

"I can't what, Tommy?" Her tone of voice let him know that this was a rhetorical question. Answering her wasn't worth the loss of his tongue. Gwen shook her head from side to side and let out a loud cackle before continuing.

"Go ahead," she encouraged him, an ear-to-ear smile upon her face, "Reach into that grimy little pocket of yours." Tommy sighed deeply and obeyed her command, all the while trying not to let the frightened tears come falling from his eyes. "Read it to me!" snapped Gwen coldly. Without a second thought, the man carefully wiped his eyes, unfolded the piece of paper, and began to read.

"By divine decree of the Department of Supernaturally Talented Individuals, he read, "It is hereby ordained that Thomas A. Jones of Cambridge Massachusetts, former vessel to Lady Guinevere Abbot of the Umbrosphere, is to offer one additional service to the aforementioned in addition to providing her with a sustainable source of blood energy." Tommy felt his face go numb and his entire body began to tremble. Whatever horrible task she had waiting for him in the dark and wicked labyrinths of her mind, he would have to obey her; he always had to obey her. Gwen put her top hat back on and clapped her hands in volatile amusement.

"Well done, vessel," she cackled, "You haven't gotten any dimmer since our last little soiree. Tommy nearly screamed as horrible images of Gwen and three of her accomplices, his blood dripping from their insatiable mouths, flashed before his eyes. A frigid breeze blew through his entire body and an icy chill ran down his spine. "What's wrong," teased Gwen, "Aren't you going to ask me what I want."

"Y-yes, Milady." mumbled Tommy, too frightened to say anything else, "How may I be of service to you tonight?" Gwen smiled from ear to ear and snickered lightly. Nothing could have made her feel so full; nothing could have made her feel so powerful.

"Well, Tommy," she tormented him, "The deed has already been done." The man's heart stopped and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end. What does she mean? he thought, The deed?

"Yes, my dear," she taunted, "Those poor hands of yours are so...wet." Tommy fell to his knees once again and looked into his bloody hands. He hadn't wiped them hard enough, but what difference did it make?

"What did you make me do?", he cried unable to hold his tears back any longer. Gwen rolled her eyes and sighed lightly before responding.

"Nothing too drastic," she baited him, "But I do think your mother looked quite elegant with that satchel strap tied around her neck." Tommy let out a series of choked sobs and his mouth gaped in horrid astonishment at what had come from Gwen's beautiful, red lips. She had made him do many terrible things in the past, but never had she made him kill.

"Don't look so sullen," she chuckled, her lips curled into that same devilish grin, "You've done fabulously, vessel. You belong to me and so do your hands...those dirty, bloody, murderous hands." Gwen let out a few depraved cackles and nearly doubled over with laughter.

As much as he wanted to kill her right then, or at least to defy her, Tommy knew that he nor any mere mortal could ever do so. Gwen was his Lady and her word was final. The man bit his lip to conceal his tortured cries and bowed his head towards her. "Thank you, Milady," he cried, not a hint of bitterness in his tone, "Thank you for allowing me to serve you."

The End