VI. Bottom of the Well

Henry Galloway scraped by despite a rocky start. One year into the endeavor, his Frankensteined film studio landed a major motion picture. The wannabe Renaissance man could see his name in lights. 

Though that movie would be a worldwide hit, It was not a fire starter for Henry. He still couldn’t compete with the showbiz down the street. And potential clients were put off by Henry’s insistence that he was something of an artist himself. A strange energy remained in that “old cursed spot,” but in 1986, it was blamed less on urban legends and more on the low-life who owned the place. 

In a further twist of the knife, Henry’s construction business died. He’d sunk quite a bit into Cape Fear Church & Studio and let all the rest succumb to the neglect of a man fixated on a shiny new object.

Henry was obsessed with the church. Dreams of its potential consumed him. And there was another feeling, too… a mounting pressure. An itch he couldn’t scratch. He didn’t understand the nature of it, but it called to him. The show must go on. 

In 1987, Henry Galloway was arrested for attempted kidnapping. Though he’d claimed to be giving a tour to the excited up-and-comer, the late hour and hostile nature of his behavior raised eyebrows. Charges were dropped, but the court of public opinion ruled firm: stay away from Galloway the creep. 

His world collapsing, Henry became increasingly withdrawn. He lived at the church, maniacally pumping the well that once offered him such abundant inspiration. His paintings grew heinous and vile, his screenplays too disgusting for any real market. What few hours he could manage to sleep were plagued by nightmares. And the late-night voices in the church, his once-precious muse, now spoke only one command: 

“FEED ME.”