Chapter Text
THEN —The periodic table
It starts with:
Various omens, a forgettable all-American town, and some deaths –enough to end up in an article and to pick up their attention.
It's clearly a demon, so they get every ounce of holy water at disposal, paint cans, two encrypted gags, and keep the exorcism in the back of their mind.
Ah, Cliff also got his hammer –Kirk rolled his eyes when he insisted to wet it in holy water, but let him do the useless thing; let the man have fun, you know?
Lars is jittery and on the edge, like always when it's demons. They are not killable, that gets to him.
James just came back from the perimeter search and nods at the others, shotgun in hand, anti-possession tattoo (sharpie-baby powder-hair spray, and it better fucking stick till the end of the hunt this time) dancing with the tendons on his neck.
Nobody talks and they go in.
The stench of death increased as they progressed inside the abandoned mansion, Kirk keeping his concentration up, to hear and smell everything over the absolute drowning stink of blood and decomposition.
(He was not gonna throw up like the last time, don’t worry.)
Then came the noise.
