>You know, this is kinda peaceful
>The sun is just starting to rise and come up over the bluffs
>There’s a type of dawn-stasis that’s got the whole world in a still, like a photograph, or a frame out of a movie
>That’s what this feels like
>All the teenage drama and angst and edge
>All the delusions of childhood that you’ve shattered in one weekend
>All the footsteps leading ahead, and the anxiety yet to come…
>It feels like a fine sheen of silver is over everything, fictionalizing your life, swallowing everything
>This must be what dissasociatives feel like
>You can hardly believe any of it
>And maybe your childhood therapist was right
>You don’t have to feel one way or another about anything. It’s important to just be present
>And right now, you’re feeling very present
>You’re grateful for this singular moment, sitting in your car with your friends
>How often do you take moments in like this with them?
>Too often it’s just drinking, vidya, complaining, drunk, pass out, drinking some more
>All those little mantras about smelling the roses and that zen bullshit? You swear at this very moment, you’d frame them all on your wall in teak
>You look out through your slightly fogged window at the school, as seen from the back of its parking lot.
>The darkness of the night sky is receding — the moon’s titanous face slipping behind the mountains
>The moon DEFINITELY should not still be full, or that large even
>The street lamps seem like they’re just barely staving off the glow of dawn
>All light is diffused by the steam of your breaths, becoming a muted and dim orange as it strikes with galactic precision on your misty windows
>It’s cold and slightly windy and the world smells like pumpkins and coffee
>To Sam in your passenger seat, it must smell amazing
>He’s got sensory perceptions that make your senses seem blind by comparison
>It’s not easy to admit, but you’ve become used to his presence, and part of you is always curious about what’s going on in his head
>What he hears, sees, smells
>What he’s expecting when he jumps…
>…And jump he does, when Alex, who is half up-to-speed by now taps him on the shoulder
>”Is that the janitor?”
>A clunky, square van, wearing curtains of rust and an odd ring of glittering stones encrusting the license plate, chugs into the parking lot, dragging behind it a tail of dark smoke
>It looks like a janitor’s van — or like a van a janitor would drive
>Sam nods and watches as three more clunky little sedan’s follow close behind
>”B-B-But those I d-d-don’t know about…”
>You squint hard, wiping down the glass a bit
>Mr. Bolm steps out of one of the cars, smoothing back his fading crop of hair
>Fuck, this just got a little bit harder
>Mike, impatient, tells Sam to get moving and go get the janitor to let us in
>Sam takes some budging, but after awhile, you unlock the door and tell him to go
>He flashes a look of utter remorse and fear, his eyes pleading with you
>No mercy
>Wearing his hoodie and badly fitting pants, he throws up his hood and trudges across the empty lot, where, back on Friday, you all assembled on the hood of your car, shaken to the core at what you’d all seen and felt but did not immediately believe
>This weekend has been one single long moment of disbelief
>Be Sam
>Or, ‘Thumper,’ which you know is a totally derogatory name, but you can’t help but feel you deserve it
>Just try to control your heartbeat, loser
>You can see Stella, your boss, walking towards the door, her stout badger-tail trailing behind her stocky body
>Being a rabbit, you close the distance between you and the badger quickly
>Your fragile little heart hammers against your ribs as Stella’s keys jingle in the door
>You audibly squeak at the mental picture of her turning around and verbally assailing you for being a no good fucking idiot rabbit (which is obviously true), fangs glistening with anger and hate, the glint of plain madness in her eyes
>Well, there will be some madness regardless of whether or not she’s angry with you — that’s just how Stella is
>The badger snaps her body around as soon as you come into speaking distance, a box cutter in her hands, her body wide in a practiced fighting stance
>”I’VE WAITED 56 YEARS FOR YOU TO MAKE YOUR MOV— Oh,”
>The wild look fades from her when she sees you, Sam Garlen, trembling before her
>She seems almost disappointed?
>”Sam, what did I say about sneaking up on me without some kind of warning? I nearly stabbed you. Thought you were one of those scum bastard collectors after my sacred crystal collection.”
>She squints and draws her blade again
>”You’re not, right? You haven’t been talking to anyone on any sacred crystal forums?”
“N-No?” You squeak
>The question you feel is still unanswered
>Oh god she might actually stab you this time
>You tune out the world and prepare for a death you knew was coming
>Her expression softens as she clutches a pink crystal pendant hanging form her neck
>”Good. Good.” She smiles. “Once they sell my collection to the CIA it’s all over for us. They’ve been harvesting sacred crystals since they scrambled my brains in the 90s. But they don’t know about this rose quartz here. As long as I keep this safe, the world is safe.”
>You really don’t know where to go from here. She seems more unhinged than usual, and that’s saying something
>She takes your silence as an opportunity to tell you about the mystical properties of the crystals she bought off the internet
>”You know, Rose Quartz carries calming properties and energies. It helps with my sweating. And these sugilite-amethyst earrings help ward off the negative spirits that so often trail in the shadows just outside my vision. But they’re there. I know it. I can feel their cold hands on my back whenever they think I’m not paying attention. But I’m always ready. Waiting. Watching.”
>She strokes her earrings a bit
>Indeed, there were two purple stones dangling from the pinks of her ears
>You came here to do something — something that matters. Not talk crystals with a psychotic badger
>Stella turns her back to you, but not without a second, wayward glance
>She hunches low over the door and begins fighting to get her keys in, almost as if she were suspicious
>You hold your breath
>’Stella I lost my keys, may I have some more?’
>’Oh, I’m a clumsy idiot slut-for-brians. I lost my keys and I need to let my friends in to commit a crime would you please let me have my master keys?’
>None of those words come out
>Instead both you and Stella gasp as the doors swing open
>A scene of utter janitorial chaos unfolds before you
>The lunchroom looks like a raging bull trampled it. Tables that weigh hundreds of pounds sit overturned and pushed back against the walls with no order or direction
>Like a meteor strike, the epicenter of the lunchroom disaster is clear, all the furniture of the room scattered about on its sides
>Stella leaps forward into the lunchroom, boxcutter at the ready
>”SEE!!?” She shrieks, spinning her wide body around in a pudgy, tactical arc
>She’s going full /k/ommando
>”CIA HUNTING FOR THE CRYSTALS I KEEP HIDDEN! Well, you won’t find my stashes you deep state sons of bitches! No, not Stella’s stash!”
>She laughs maniacally, deeply pleased with whatever it is she’d done
>The thought of where she might hide those crystals makes you shudder
>”And the faculty all think I’m insane. Well now look at this! It must have taken at least 20 CIA operatives to turn the room over like this. And that’s with a sunstone juicing them up!”
>She turns back to Sam with a serious expression
>”Are you going to help me clean this up or what? We’re not going to be able to keep our jobs if the principal sees this and mamma’s got some sugar babies to feed.”
>Wait
>There’s no fucking way she got pregnant
>What the hell is a sugar baby?
“Y-Yes- I mean, n-no! Wait!” You stutter
>Stella impatiently taps her feet and jabs a claw towards the mess
>”C’mon Sam. I’m your boss, remember? Your literal job description is doing things like this.”
>Your heart jumps in your chest
>You try not to look Stella in the eyes
>Anything you can do to avoid her hateful gaze will help you prolong what little bit of courage you’ve been lent by your friends
“I… I uhhh - l-lost my k-k-key, and wanted to…open the rest of s-school up b-b-before the b-bell…?”
>Stella groans and swats her head a few times (a lot harder than she probably should)
>”Shit, Sam. You think I have 15 of these made and stashed around the school or something?”
>She leans in uncomfortably close. You can smell the filth and old gin on her breath
>Your noses nearly touch, and everything in the world right now makes you want to recoil in terror (or vomit)
>”Do you think that?”
>You shake your head rapidly, taking care not to whip her in the face with your ears
>She draws back, studying you as you choke down tears
>You open your mouth to issue an apology, but she merely nods and instead unclips a key from her ring and tosses them unceremoniously in the air
>”Here. Take my key. I’ve got extras hidd- errr, in my office. Go unlock the school. And when you’re done, you bounce your butt over here and help me clean this mess up, got it?”
>You scramble for the key on the ground, which you managed (unsurprisingly) not to catch
“Y-Yes Ma’am,” you squeak, holding the key up like it could unlock the greatest treasures in this world
>”And be on the lookout for any deep state operatives roaming the halls. If you see any, use the spells I taught you.”
>You distinctly remember spending a few lunch periods practicing ‘evasive magic’ with Stella, using various crystals and philters of cleaning fluids she keeps in her office
>It of course felt like a waste of time, but who knows, with all of this going on, you might just have to cast a repelling wall of atomized bleach from a bottle
>Be Anon again
>You see Sam poke his head out of a side door in the gym, and give the go ahead to Alex to go grab flowers from the garden
”Just be stealthy about it,” you tell him with a breathy air of caution
>Alex salutes you and pulls his trademark yellow beanie tight against his head
>That Shaggy looking motherfucker
>”Remember when we stole Sam from his house? I am nothing but stealthy.”
>You almost correct him, because what you pulled was a RESCUE, not a theft, but he’s already out the door, his lanky body striding across the parking lot, his hand on his head to keep his beanie from being torn away from him by the snapping wind
>You sigh and sink back against your seat. You can hear Mike’s anxious tapping on the window
>”So where are we going to get this venus fly trap? I thought you said you knew where to get some.”
>Your eyes follow Mr. Bolm as he enters the school from the lunchroom door
>All the feelings of shame and regret crop up in your belly like spoiled milk
>You may no longer be a coward, but you know that you were less-than-cool to Mr. Bolm on Monday
>And for what? All to put your anxiety somewhere else other than your caged heart?
>God, maybe deep down you still are a coward, one so absolute that no bullshit magic can fix
>Figures it’d be his classroom
>Figures it’d be him coming early
>Figures that you fucked up yesterday
>FUKCUCKFKFK
>Figures you’ve got anger issues too
>”I do know where to get some,” you summon a few fortifying breaths and unlock your door. “You just wait by the side door near the gym. I’m going in.”
>You step out into the cool dawn of fall, and even before you head for Mr. Bolm’s classroom, you wave to Alex, who does not wave back
>He dives down into the garden, ripping any white flower out of the ground and stuffing them into his pockets
>Inside the school, you see a blur of Sam as he dashes around the school with boggling speed, unlocking every door he can reach
>He looks vaguely terrified, but to be fair, he always looks vaguely terrified
>Maybe just slightly more terrified than usual
>No students are here, so he has nothing to really worry about… kind of…
>You don’t try to flag Sam down, and instead, you march straight to Mr. Bolm’s room, hoping that he’s not there and that you can make this a quick grab-n-go
>You’re not entirely sure how long Mike has before he’s too far gone and is trying to drink you like a red slushee
>To your dismay, the door is wide open, and you hear the sound of classic rock playing off a radio
>You pause, your back against the wall, and wait
>Someone in the room is humming along to the melody, singing soft and low
>Probably Mr. Bolm
>The song fades out into the throaty voice of a radio broadcaster
>”And that was Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, a 1975’s chart topper with Stevie Nix on the mic. A song about courage, and doing what it takes to move forward-“
>You rap twice on the door frame
>Mr. Bolm is hunched over his desk, a red pen spinning in his hand
>It comes to a curt stop when his eyes meet yours
>He looks up at you, his face hardening and his mouth setting into a hard, vaguely annoyed line
>”Mr. Anonymous. I didn’t expect you here so early.”
>His voice is devoid of any cheer. There is a tired air to his syllables
“Hi Mr. Bolm,” you reply, stepping over the threshold, clenching your fists — the terror you’d normally feel just lurking beneath the surface
>You flick a glance around the room, scanning for what you came for
>The chairs are all set down, the hard, flat, black desks all clean and neat, and in the back of the room, on a ribbed metal rack, thriving under a clean, luminous grow lights, is a row of venus fly traps
>”Can I do something for you?” He caps his pen and bends backward stiffening his posture. There’s a small look of contempt played across his face
>You can’t say you don’t deserve it
>You have been, and always will be, a coward. Once this buff wears off, you’ll go back to being a sniveling weasel (no offense to weasels, obviously)
>And Sam will be hopeless, helpless, always
>People don’t change
>But you think, maybe, deep down, a seed of hope has taken root, because staring at Mr. Bolm, who so clearly is still mad at you, you can only see yourself issuing some kind of apology
>At least, that’s what you tell yourself
>So what do you say now, to get a hold of a freshman science project, for a dark ritual?
>Mr. Bolm is a man of science. He wouldn’t understand if you explained it to him
>You clear your throat under the studying eyes of Mr. Bolm, mind racing for an excuse to intrude upon what is likely his early-morning solitude
>You at last land on a good excuse
“I came by because… because I wanted to apologize.”
>He raises an eyebrow and uncrosses his arms
>”Apologize?”
“Yes. I wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. It was totally, totally uncalled for, and out of line.”
>You scoot towards the venus fly traps
>Your science teacher looks down at his papers for a moment and draws out a long sigh
>You take that as your chance to get as close as you can to the back of the room
>”It’s okay. I’d like to think you didn’t mean anything by the question. To be fair, it was unprofessional of me to use you as an example, let alone expect an 18-year-old to know about love or the human mating process.”
>Ouch
>Swallow it down, Anon. You deserve this
>You put your back against the shelves and fold your hands behind your back
“Honestly, I’m just more frustrated with myself than I am with not knowing those things. I sometimes get nervous and say or do things that are really hurtful.”
>You wrap your fingers around the base of a plant and give a light tug
>The stem writhes in pain beneath you
>Wait
>WRITHES?
>You suppress a yelp as you feel something nipping at your fingers
>Little teeth like a puppy — sharp as needles — pierce your skin
>You try your damndest not to look like you’re in pain while Mr. Bolm explains himself
>”So I’m glad we came to this understanding. I know that the details of my marriage are popular among students, but still, it doesn’t hurt any less.”
“Yep, glad we did!” You tug a little harder, trying to balance pain and subtly. Mr. Bolm is far enough to not be able to see the minutiae of your struggle
>The conversation lulls, and now both of you seem to wait for the other to speak
>Mr. Bolm makes the first move while you feel another row of teeth embed themselves in your finger
>”So, you’re a senior now. What school are you going to?”
>You clear your throat
“I”m not… I haven’t really thought about it yet. I guess I don’t know if college is for me.”
>Fuck fuck fuck
>”You’re kidding me?” Mr. Bolm adjusts his posture, leaning forward across his desk
>”A kid as smart as you… not going to college?”
>You tug harder but the roots seem to resist you
>”That’s a serious waste of talent. You’re a smart kid, Anon. Maybe the smartest in my class, at least. Just don’t tell the other students I told you,” he adds with a chuckle.
“I won’t S-SIR!” You barely hold down a squeal as the tiny mouth latches onto your finger again
>”So, what I’m saying is: Have some faith in yourself. I’m not trying to be an ‘adult passing down life-changing advice to a despondent teen’ here, but I mean it: give your future some consideration. A future outside this town, at least. There’s nothing in this town for anyone who is young. Sure, you could get some minimum wage job — there’s nothing wrong with that of course — but there’s better ways to find fulfillment outside of this place, especially for someone like you. I don’t want to see you trapped here, rotting away. You ever been to the bad part of town?”
“N-No sir! I mean, yes, I have, I think… twice now.”
>You slip your other arm behind you and try to do your best to look like you’re holding a respectful pose
>”You don’t want to end up there Anonymous. I have a few students who come from there, and they’re… not doing well. But you’re doing spectacularly.”
>You clench the base of the plant, and with your other finger wrapped around the stem, you tug the fly trap free of its soil
>It comes up, along with the rest of the dirt in the cup, attached to the bottom of the plant by its robust root system
>The damn thing chomps down even harder, trying to defend itself
>It’s of little use, as it comes free, thrashing its bulbous head about like a fish on a line
>Mr. Bolm’s expression brightens a little
>If only he knew what you were doing
>”I mean that. You’re going to be alright, Anon. Maybe sometime this week you can come by and we can discuss scholarships?”
>NOT IF YOU KEEP FUCKING TALKING TO ME
>Is what you want to say
>Now you just need to slip out of this room without showing him you just destroyed a science experiment
>You shuffle to the door, your hands behind your back
>His eyes follow you, expectantly
>Good
>Don’t look at the back of the room
>Don’t look at the science experiment you’ve just ruined
>You grunt as the plant again bites you
>”You doing okay there Anon?” He raises an eyebrow, cautiously sizing you up
“Yep!” You exclaim. “I’m actually just… Thinking about what you said. I need to give this college thing more thought. I guess I’m just stuck between a rock and a hard-”
>You definitely feel blood slipping between your fingers
“-A hard place. So to speak.”
>You are nearly to the door
>So close to freedom you can taste it
>And you know? This turned out okay. Things between you and Mr. Bolm seemed to have gotten smoothed over
>You pause in the door, halfway out of the room
>You lock eyes with your teacher and nod
“Thank you, Mr. Bolm. You’re a great teacher,” you smile — and it’s a real, genuine one too
>He returns the gesture, the small twinkle of an educator’s satisfaction behind his eyes
>”HANDS OFF MY CRYSTALS, YOU DEEP STATE FUCKO!”
>You feel the sudden absence of the plant in your hands
>And the brush of a thick paw swatting that plant out of your hands
>You watch in abject horror as the fly trap — spraying dirt across the floor as it travels — sails through the air and lands out of reach down the clean, clean hallways
>You turn around to see a very overweight and upset looking badger staring at you, her fangs bared, a growl simmering in her chest
>”Thought you were pretty smart didn’t you?” She barks
>She jabs you in the chest with her claw, but your eyes immediately flick to the flytrap a good distance down the empty hallways
>You swear you see something green in the plant's base — almost emerald green — covered by dirt
>Mr. Bolm rises in his chair
>”Stella?”
>Stella doesn’t seem to hear Mr. Bolm
>”So you’re the agent that’s been stealing from me? You look like a little kid!” She laughs, her lower jaw quivering with manic desire to nom on your neck flesh
>”Well, I got you now. I got you.”
>Mr. Bolm moves towards the door
>She quickly slams it shut on him and jams a set of keys into the lock
>With one fluid motion, the bolt slides forward into place forever separating you from Mr. Bolm (or until he unlocks the door)
>”What the hell is the meaning of this!?” Mr. Bolm tries to knob, but it’s of no use
>Stella grabs you by the wrist
>You lurch forward, fighting against her near-Amazonian strength to no avail
>”I have been DREAMING of the day I find one of you deep-state fucks in my school. You have no idea how deep this school’s pits are. How many hallways nobody’s ever been in. There are maintenance corridors even /I/ don’t know anything about,” she says with sadistic joy
>You stumble behind her
>”They’ll never find your body.”
>You can only watch as the fly trap writhes in agony on the waxed floors, surrounded by handfuls of packed dirt, a small greenish crystal gleaming in the white fluorescent lights
>She actually buried a gem in a student’s science experiment
>You dig your feet in and strain hard to stay immobile
“I’M NOT CIA, I’M JUST A STUDENT!”
>”Sure you are. And I’m a doctor. You sons of bitches have the rest of my crystals, and /you/ are going to share with me /exactly/ where they are!”
>Jesus fuck she’s strong
>And that’s not even to be speciest or anything
>You fall flat on your ass as this absolute unit of a woman drags you down the hall towards janitorial oblivion
>The sound of plodding feet forces your attention
>Sam sprints around the corner, a ring of keys in hand
>He comes to a screeching halt in front of the fly trap, eyeing it curiously
>Holy fuck
>What luck
“SAM!” You scream
>The rabbit looks up
>”A-Anon?!”
”SAM! GRAB THAT PLANT AND BRING IT TO ALEX!”
The Leaves of Fall Act 2: Fear the Nobodies (Part 12)
You've never really 'fit in' with the heavily divided Ranchview High School crowd. Jock, Goth, Prep, Cheerleader, Nerd... you were never any of these. But as Halloween approaches, strange things start happening, and a dark ritual begins with the finding of a curious red book. It's a race against time for you and your friends to stop a group of students from ushering in an age of darkness, and to also figure out just what the hell is wrong with that rabbit.
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About this version: originally, The Leaves of Fall was split into two pastebins to compensate for the length of the story. Given that pastebin has chosen to censor this story for ambiguous reasons, it will forever be stored here and on AO3. This new version contains spelling, grammar and content fixes. Please understand that the content is all the same as the earlier versions minus some sentences being changed and fixed up. I cannot stress this enough: no new content has been added. It's my hope that this is a cleaner, easier-to-read version of the story.
Cover: https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q
Sam (drawn by Akella of /hmofa/) https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT
Fan art collection: https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv
Accompanying playlist (WIP): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J
Alternative link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078
Total word count: 147,552 words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About this version: originally, The Leaves of Fall was split into two pastebins to compensate for the length of the story. Given that pastebin has chosen to censor this story for ambiguous reasons, it will forever be stored here and on AO3. This new version contains spelling, grammar and content fixes. Please understand that the content is all the same as the earlier versions minus some sentences being changed and fixed up. I cannot stress this enough: no new content has been added. It's my hope that this is a cleaner, easier-to-read version of the story.
Cover: https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q
Sam (drawn by Akella of /hmofa/) https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT
Fan art collection: https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv
Accompanying playlist (WIP): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J
Alternative link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078
Total word count: 147,552 words
5 years ago
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0 Likes
Estimated reading time
19 Minutes
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