Carrion Choir. Van Was Supposed To Die. She Knows That. The Dead Know That. The Wilderness Knows That.

carrion choir. Van was supposed to die. She knows that. The dead know that. The Wilderness knows that.

Winter starts bad and gets worse. Van hallucinates.

(horror oneshot, rated M, 4.7k words, taivan. So, so much body horror.)

Written for yjoctober 2023. Prompt(s): 1. Horror element or trope from the show (hallucinations and madness) 8. came back wrong

You're dead. You're dead and you're still hungry. Your worm-riddled stomach dribbles acid from countless bite wounds, slowly eating itself. You chew on pine nettles, boot leather, your own hair. You shuffle through the cabin like one of Romero's zombies, rotting and starving all at once. You stare at your living friends with crawling envy, craving their heartbeats, their breath. Their warm, sweet, living flesh. Necrotic purple bruising spreads across your torso. You make sure it's always hidden. Your fingernails fall out, one by one. You bind your hands in more cloth. Strips of skin peel away from your arms and legs. You clumsily stitch them back together with Akilah's needle, swallowing your screams. You tell no one.

like a phantom limb. The plane doesn’t crash. The team is haunted by a forest they’ve never seen, and monstrous girls wearing their faces. (29k words, Taissa POV, taivan, background jackieshauna and lottielee. A no crash au with a horror twist. Feat. trippy dream sequences, quality time with your gf’s cannibal doppelgänger, and losing your mind in suburban New Jersey.)

"I've been having them too. The nightmares." A pause. You hear the faint roar of a plane flying somewhere high above you. There's no point, you know, to asking how she knows. "We're, like, in the woods somewhere. And we're dying. We're always dying. It makes us—we start to—" She doesn't finish.

"That's not us," you tell her. "They're just dreams. We wouldn't do those things."

Van doesn't say anything.

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