AI Atrocities

The days grew shorter as the fall approached, and with it came the crisp scent of burning leaves that wafted through the streets of New York City. It was a scent that was both nostalgic and eerie, reminding one of the approaching holidays and the chilly embrace of winter. For Credence, the change in seasons brought with it a mix of dread and hope. Dread, for he knew that his mother's mood swings would only worsen with the dropping temperatures. Hope, because he had read somewhere that colder weather could help suppress the beasts that seemed to lurk within her, keeping her erratic behavior at bay.

He continued to work on the modified leaf machine, his mind racing with thoughts of his mother's strange behavior. Her late-night rendezvous with the contraption had become more frequent, and he could hardly ignore the muffled noises that echoed through the paper-thin walls of their apartment. The tension in the house was thick, a palpable force that seemed to cling to every member of the Barebone family like a second skin.

One evening, as he was leaving for the evening's distribution of leaflets, he found a crumpled page from the Sears catalog in the trash bin. It was the page with the vibrators. The sight of it made his stomach churn, and he quickly shoved it back into the bin before anyone could see. He didn't dare ask her about it, fearing her wrath, and so he kept his thoughts to himself.

But the whispers grew louder, and soon the other children in the neighborhood began to question what kind of noises they heard coming from the Barebone apartment. It was all Credence could do to keep his head down and keep going, handing out leaflets and hoping that the whispers didn't turn into full-blown accusations. After all, in the eyes of the church and society, a woman's sexual desires were a source of shame and scandal, especially for someone as pious as Mary Lou.

The leaflets spoke of the sins of the witches and the need to purge the city of the impurities that plagued it. Credence's hand would tremble as he handed them out, the words on the page seeming to burn his fingertips. It was his job to be the messenger, the silent hand that spread the word of his mother's fiery sermons. And yet, as he walked the streets, he couldn't help but feel like he was delivering a warning to himself. A warning of the fate that awaited him if he ever allowed the beast inside of him to break free.

As he approached the corner of the block, he saw a group of children huddled around something in the gutter. They squealed and scattered as he approached, and there in the dim light of the streetlamp, lay his mother's hat, the same one she had worn the day she had gone mad with rage over the leaf machine. He picked it up gingerly, feeling the weight of her expectations, her fears, and her pain. It was a burden he wasn't sure he could bear much longer.

The hat was a symbol of her purity, her unblemished faith, and yet it lay there, muddied and forgotten. He clutched it to his chest and hurried back to the apartment, eager to hide it from her view. As he climbed the stairs, the throb in his own loins grew stronger, a silent reminder of the darkness that dwelled within him. The leaf machine had brought them a semblance of peace, but he knew it was only temporary.

The house was quiet when he entered, the only sound being the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock that had been passed down through the generations of Barebones. He tiptoed to his mother's room, the door slightly ajar, and peered inside. She was there, dressed in her nightgown, her eyes glazed over as she worked the handle of the leaf machine with a fervor that made him cringe.

He backed away, his breathing shallow and quick, and made his way to his own room. He had to find a way to protect himself and his siblings from her wrath. Perhaps if he could just keep her satisfied with the leaf machine, they would all be safe.

That night, he couldn't sleep. The noises from her room seemed louder than ever, echoing through the walls like a siren's call. His mind raced with thoughts of what she was doing, and his own desires began to stir. He felt guilty for even considering it, but the need was too strong. He had seen the way she looked at him lately, a hunger in her eyes that went beyond the religious fervor that usually consumed her.

The next morning, he found her at the kitchen table, her eyes bloodshot and her hands trembling slightly as she sipped her tea. She looked up at him, a strange smile playing on her lips, and he knew that she had noticed his interest.

"You've been a good boy," she said, her voice thick and syrupy. "But you must be strong. The devil is always watching, waiting for a moment of weakness."

He nodded, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing. "I'll keep working on the leaf machine, Ma," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her smile grew wider, a glint in her eye that made him feel both excited and terrified. "Good," she said. "For the sake of our souls."

Days turned into weeks, and the leaf machine took on a life of its own. It became a part of their daily routine, a twisted ritual that brought them a semblance of peace. But as the leaves continued to fall and the nights grew colder, Credence felt the beast inside of him growing restless. The whispers grew more persistent, the urges harder to ignore.

One night, as he lay in bed, unable to sleep, he heard a knock at his door. He sat up, his heart racing, and called out, "Ma?"

The door creaked open and she was there, dressed in nothing but her nightgown, the fabric clinging to her body in the moonlight. "I need you," she said, her voice low and needy.

He knew what she wanted, and he was tempted.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine the warmth of her body pressed against his, the sweet release of her embrace. But then reality crashed down around him, the coldness of the room seeping into his bones and the fear of her wrath freezing his thoughts. "Ma, I-I can't," he stammered, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

Mary Lou stepped closer, her hand reaching out to caress his cheek. "You're a good boy, Credence," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "But you know what needs to be done."

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Her eyes never left his as she leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "The leaf machine isn't enough for me anymore," she murmured. "I need something more... personal."

The air grew thick with tension, and Credence felt his stomach twist into knots. He knew what she was asking, and he knew that if he refused, he would bear the brunt of her fury. But to give in... that would be to betray everything he had been taught, everything he believed in.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mary Lou leaned back, her hand dropping away from his face.

"You know," she said, her tone a mix of sweetness and malice. "The leaf machine has been a godsend, hasn't it?" She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his, and he could see the madness swirling within them like a tempest. "It's given me such... relief. But it's not enough anymore. The Lord has shown me that sometimes, we must seek solace in the flesh to truly purge ourselves of sin."

Credence felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead, his mind racing with a hundred different scenarios, none of them good. "Ma, please," he began, his voice shaking. "I don't know what you're asking."

But she did know. And she was going to make him say it.

"I want you to make me feel pure," she said, her voice a sultry whisper that made his skin crawl. "I want you to use the leaf machine on me. To show me that even in the throes of passion, we can still be cleansed by the grace of God."

He felt sick, his stomach turning as he realized what she was asking. The leaf machine, which had been a strange source of comfort and fascination for them both, was now a tool of twisted devotion. And she wanted him to wield it on her, to be complicit in her descent into madness.

With trembling hands, Credence picked up the leaf machine, feeling the weight of it in his grip. It was cold, almost lifeless without the hum of its engine, but he knew what it was capable of. He had seen the way it brought her relief, had heard her cries of pleasure when she thought she was alone.

He approached the bed, his knees knocking together as he climbed onto the mattress beside her. She lay there, her eyes closed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, and he knew that she was already lost to the power of her own desires.

He positioned the leaf machine between her legs, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to be a part of her delusion, but he was trapped. If he refused, she would turn on him, and he knew all too well what that meant.

He began to crank the handle, his movements tentative at first, but then growing stronger, more sure. The leaves spun, their edges catching the moonlight and casting shadows across her face. And as he worked, he felt the beast inside of him stirring, eager to be let loose.

The whispers grew louder, more insistent, telling him that this was his destiny, that he was meant to serve her in this most intimate of ways. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight of her, but all he could see was the hat in the gutter, a symbol of his own lost innocence.

And so he did it.

For hours, he worked the leaf machine, his arm aching, his mind racing. He didn't dare look at her, didn't dare meet her eyes, because he knew that if he did, he would see the truth of what they had become. But he couldn't stop. He was her instrument, her means of salvation, and he was as trapped by his own desires as he was by her madness.

When the sun finally began to peek through the cracks in the curtains, she lay there, exhausted and sated, her eyes closed and her breathing slow and even. He collapsed beside her, the leaf machine clattering to the floor.

The silence was deafening, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.

He didn't know what this meant for them, for their family, for their future. But he knew that he could never go back to the way things were before. The leaf machine had brought them together in the most unholy of ways, and he was now irrevocably bound to her, a participant in her madness.

He lay there, his body trembling, and prayed for the strength to endure what was to come. Because he knew that this was just the beginning.