The Quinn household in Derry was a chaotic shrine to bad taste, its living room a battlefield of floral wallpaper so loud it could wake the dead, mismatched furniture sagging under the weight of decades, and a clunky old TV that looked like it had been salvaged from the Titanic. The air carried the faint, acrid whiff of burnt toast, a permanent fixture no amount of Febreze could banish. It was Saturday night, and the usual trio of misfits—Gerry, Joe, and Pastor Rob—were hunched over a wobbly card table, their weekly game of rummy already devolving into a shouting match.
“Oi, Gerry, you sneaky bastard, I saw you palm that queen last round!” Joe barked, his grizzled face twisted in mock outrage as he slammed his cheap lager can on the table, foam sloshing over the rim. His wiry frame was practically vibrating with accusation, his faded flannel shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tuft of gray chest hair.
Gerry, a stout man with a beer gut that strained against his stained vest, threw his hands up with a theatrical gasp. “Me? Cheat? Joe, you’ve got the eyesight of a bat and the trust of a loan shark. I’m pure as the driven snow, so I am!” He grinned, his yellowed teeth flashing as he winked at Pastor Rob across the table. “Back me up here, holy man. Tell ‘im I’m a saint.”
Pastor Rob, a wiry fellow in a threadbare clerical collar, adjusted his cross necklace with a sanctimonious sniff, his watery eyes narrowing behind thick glasses. “I’ll not be dragged into your den of iniquity, Gerry Quinn. The Lord sees all, and He knows who’s been stackin’ the deck.” He took a prim sip of his lager, though the slight tremor in his hand betrayed how much he was enjoying the bickering.
“Aw, come off it, Rob,” Joe snorted, dealing the next hand with a flick of his wrist. “You’ve been eyein’ my aces like they’re the second comin’. Don’t think I don’t see ya clutchin’ that cross every time you bluff.”
The banter rolled on, sharp and familiar, until a low, grating hum cut through their noise like a dull blade. The ancient TV in the corner, always on but rarely watched, flickered erratically, static dancing across the screen in jagged bursts. Gerry noticed it first, his bushy brows knitting together as he squinted over his cards. “What in the blazes is that? Bloody thing’s possessed again, mark my words.”
Joe waved a dismissive hand, not even glancing up from his lager. “Ach, it’s just the wind rattlin’ the aerial. You’re always on about ghosts and goblins, Gerry. Next you’ll be sayin’ the toast burned itself outta spite.”
Pastor Rob, however, was already muttering a prayer under his breath, his fingers tightening around his cross. “Lord protect us from the machinations of the devil,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the growing hum. “This ain’t natural, lads. I feel it in my bones.”
“Feel it in yer bones?” Gerry scoffed, though his eyes darted back to the TV, where the static was now pulsing with a faint, sickly green light. “You’ve been readin’ too many of them fire-and-brimstone pamphlets, Rob. It’s just—bloody hell, d’ya see that?”
The light intensified, casting an eerie glow over the room, painting their faces in ghostly shades of emerald. The hum morphed into a deep, resonant drone that seemed to vibrate in their chests. Their banter ground to a halt, cards slipping from their hands as their postures stiffened. Joe’s usual scowl faded, replaced by a vacant stare. Pastor Rob’s prayers trailed off into silence, his mouth hanging open. Gerry’s head tilted to the side, his expression blank but oddly serene.
A distorted voice crackled through the static, low and insidious, weaving through the hum like a serpent through grass. “New desires… unbreakable bonds… surrender to the pull…” The words carried a sinister undertone, wrapping around their minds like tendrils of smoke.
Gerry’s lips twitched into a goofy, dazed grin, his voice slurring as he muttered, “Aye, that’s… that’s not half bad, is it? Feels… right, somehow.”
Joe blinked slowly, his gruff exterior melting into something softer, almost hungry. He nodded, his gravelly tone unnervingly smooth. “Aye. Never felt clearer in me life.”
Pastor Rob, trembling at first, let out a breathy sigh, his pious demeanor crumbling as he clutched his cross one last time before letting it fall. “Lord forgive me,” he whispered, “but I’m listenin’.”
The green light flared brighter, searing their glazed eyes as their voices synced up in a chilling monotone, repeating phrases like a twisted mantra. “Family first… new roles to play… family first… new roles to play…”
The door to the kitchen creaked open, and James, Gerry’s slight, wide-eyed stepson, shuffled in with a tray of dodgy-looking sandwiches, the bread curling at the edges and the filling suspiciously gray. His mop of dark hair fell into his face as he mumbled, “Thought you lot might want a bite before you start throwin’ punches over them cards again.” He hadn’t noticed the shift in the room, too focused on not dropping the tray, until he looked up and froze.
The three men were staring at him—not with their usual annoyance or indifference, but with an unsettling, predatory gleam in their eyes. The green light from the TV reflected off their faces, making them look less like family and more like wolves circling prey. James’ grip on the tray faltered, a sandwich sliding off the edge with a soft thud.
Gerry’s voice came low and thick, dripping with a strange, unfamiliar warmth that made James’ skin prickle. “C’mere, lad. Don’t be shy now. We’ve got… things to discuss.”
Joe’s lips curled into a slow, crooked smile, his gaze unwavering. “Aye, boyo. Come join the family proper. We’ve been waitin’ for ya.”
Pastor Rob’s eyes glinted with something dark, his voice a soft, reverent murmur. “It’s the Lord’s will, James. Step forward. Be one with us.”
James took a hesitant step back, his heart pounding as the tray slipped further in his trembling hands. The men rose in unison, their movements eerily synchronized, chairs scraping against the floor with a grating screech. Their eyes locked on him, unblinking, as the green light pulsed stronger, casting long, distorted shadows across the kitschy living room. The hum from the TV grew deafening, drowning out the sound of his own shallow breaths, as he realized with a sickening lurch that whatever this was, it was far from a game.
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