The Leaves of Fall Prologue >The easiest part of how you’d explain all of this is to start from the beginning >Without the proper context or background, you couldn’t really explain why you’re on the roof of your school building, why the whole parking lot looks like it’s been bowled over, or why you’re fighting Vanessa Doermuth, the leader of the goths >So as she punches your lights out with an unnaturally wild right cross that sends you skittering across the rooftop, your eyes snap shut, and you try to pretend that it’s not happening, which has been your strategy for everything in your life that scares you >You try to pretend that none of this is real and that this is all some really bad teen movie, or that you’re trapped in some shitty dubbed anime >But it’s real. It’s all real. Vanessa, the moon, Sam, Mike, Alex, Jenna the Behemoth >You’d rather get a slap to the face to wake you up, but you can’t choose how things happen >Vanessa starts laughing in that really obnoxious laugh that’s made you hate her for so many years, and you want to tell her to shut the fuck up, but you can’t put your energy into words >”Outnumbered, outclassed, outdone,” she lifts you easily in the air by the collar of your vestments and stares into your eyes. “And here I thought at least you and I could see common ground. I really thought you’d understand. And after all you’ve done for us, I was perfectly willing to let you live.” >Her lips curl up into a smile, and the fangs, which a doe definitely shouldn’t have, slide forward >”Unlike people, I guess some things change.” >You never thought it’d end like this. In all the fantasies you’ve had of your demise, death-by-doe was not one of them >Funny to think how all of this started a week ago, with that fucking flyer Act 1: Co-Conspirators https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0CSQk-UsIQ&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=1 >”Hey Anon, are you coming to the Spooktober Fest?” >The flyer is practically shoved in your face by Gloria, who doesn’t leave people alone until she gets an answer >You look it over, glancing back and forth between the poorly photocopied flyer for Ranchview’s Halloween program and the eager eyed goat-girl, all dressed up like she was going to church >She probably would be in church after school, now that you think about it >”Well Anon? It’s going to be so much fun! Candy, games, bobbing for apples, costume competitions, music…” >She leans in uncomfortably close and you can smell the incense she burned at Church before school radiating off her like perfume radiates off a teenage girl who just learned how to use it >”…dancing…” >You choke, and you’re not sure because of the innuendo or the thick smell of incense that blankets Gloria >Do you think she’s going to leave room for Jesus? >Luckily, before you can summon up a lie to give to this poor Catholic school-goat turned public school crusader, an annoyed voice from behind you answers >”Why would anyone want to go to a high school Halloween party, Gloria?” >The Goat’s eyebrows narrow with anger. You can see the swear words on her lips, but she settles for something more PG >”Was anyone asking you, Mike?” She stomps her feet >Mike, your longtime friend is leaning over your shoulder, reading the flyer. He grabs the flyer out of your hand and examines it >”It doesn’t even end until 2 a.m.! Why would anyone go to this?” >Gloria, of course, has an answer, as she always does >”It’s to keep kids from sinning and giving in to the devil’s temptations!” She shouts >Gloria is quick to get like this, which can be both funny and dangerous. You know it’s never happened before, but she could easily break a bone or two on your body with those curly horns. You just try to stay out of her way >Mike, ever the fuckhead, has a quick retort >”Halloween is the devil’s holiday you know,” he smirks. “Actually, it’s a pagan holiday too. Wonder what old JC would think of you participating?” >Gloria takes a step forward, tongue gated behind her clenched teeth >Her fingers rip through one of the flyers in her hand >”ACTUALLY, YOU IGNORANT DEGENERATE, THOSE ARE THE SAME THINGS. AND FURTHER MORE-“ >You spread the two apart with your hands before they can do the fusion-fuck-you-dance “Okay, break it up!” You shout >Mike backs off, and this seems to remind Gloria of her Catholic poise and temperament >You turn towards the goat with an answer, trying hard to sound as nice as possible ”I’ll think about it, okay, Gloria?” >Her expression does a creepy 180, almost like someone flipped a switch in her brain >She stands tall on her hooves and squeals with excitement >”Okay Nony, but let me know as soon as possible!” she smiles “Right, will do,” you return her smile, hoping she can’t tell faked emotions from real emotions >Honestly, you don’t think she can >You and Mike head down the hall, hoping to kill some time before class >”You’re not really going to that stupid shit, are you?” “Fuck no, I’m hanging out with you and Alex.” >”Thata boy. Thought you were being swayed by her charm and good looks.” >You snicker ”Yeah man, it’s those horns. They call it being horny for a reason,” you reply sarcastically. “Besides, you know I have better taste in women than girls like Gloria.” >”I’ve yet to see proof.” He smacks you on the arm >Oh that cheeky fuck. He’s lucky he’s your best friend or you would have kicked his ass years ago >You still might >”Also, I hate the way she calls you ‘Nony’ like you’re some kind of pet. It’s creepy and condescending.” >It kinda bugs you too. You’ve got enough weirdness in your life already, but you’re at least willing to try to explain this one away “You know, it’s probably from being homeschooled for like 10 years. That’s probably why she’s so weird and s-” >”-Such a bitch?” Mike cuts in. “I thought being homeschooled was supposed to make you smarter than us poor public-school plebeians. Guess all it does is make you a socially stunted goody-two-shoes.” >Her and Mike have never gotten along for one reason or another. Mike was the antithesis of what Gloria stood for. He was loud, forthright and rebellious. But to Gloria, what mattered most was his lack of faith >You could even say she found it disturbing HURRR DURRR >When they got together, it was like an unstoppable force colliding with an immovable object >One not willing to back down, and the other knowing just how to set the other off >You can still feel the anger radiating off Mike as you two walk down the crowded halls >You try to make a joke to ease the tension “You know she’s just horny all the time, right? That’s how those Catholic girls are.” >”Ew, dude. I don’t wanna think about that.” “No, look.” You point to the top of your head where your horns would be “Horny. See?” >Mike starts to laugh, and you can see the frustration on his face disappear >”Fuck you, that wasn’t funny.” >Sure it wasn’t >The two of you sit in front of your locker chatting until the first-class bell >People come and go, moving like waters of a hormonal river >Some humans here and there pepper the crowd of otherwise a largely anthro population >It doesn’t bother you being in a minority (or at least not in the majority), but tensions between humans and anthros have only just lessened after centuries of negativity between the two groups >Even the cliques are mostly segregated, perhaps unintentionally >Nowadays, everyone just side-steps the issue and the conversations >Mike is completely unaware of the conversation to begin with as he starts explaining his plans for college >Senior year is an exciting time for anyone, and for Mike, it’s the final step before he can ‘leave this shitty suburb behind’ >Talking about your future always made you a little nervous >Your mind wanders to what you’ll do after you graduate next year >It all seems so overwhelming >College? Trades? Take a year off? Travel? >For Mike, it’s all about going to college, ‘finding himself,’ and finding some tight pussy to bury his dick in >Despite your reserved nature, you kind of envied Mike for his certainty about the future >You wish your brain worked like his sometimes >Bah, there’s still a year for you to figure out what you’re going to do for the rest of your life >That’s not scary >…Right? >You’re listening to his babbling when seemingly for no reason, he stops talking all together >A look of terror spreads across his face >”Hey, isn’t that Sam Garlen over there?” >You look to where he’s pointing and groan >Sam Garlen: the name alone was enough to make you cringe, not to mention the smell >Everybody’s had that one ‘friend’ in their life, the one who you’re too pussy to tell off, right? >And maybe that one friend is also unbelievably awkward and weird and can’t take a fucking hint that you don’t want him around? >Well, that was Sam >Mike bids you a quick goodbye, despite your pleadings that he take you with him >”What, and risk Sam following us? Nah, he’s your friend, you deal with him.” >You stamp your feet in anger as Mike slips into the crowd “HE’S NOT MY FRIEND YOU ASSHOLE!” You shout after him >”H-Hey Anon,” Sam’s weak voice squeaks behind you >You jump a little bit >Sam is standing behind you, hands shoved into the pocket of his oversized and dirty hoodie, head cast downwards, greasy brown hair covering his eyes >God damn he moves fast, you didn’t even see him sneak up on you >”W-What were you and Mike t-t-talking about?” >You breathe a small sigh of relief. He must have not heard your conversation, or at least he’s pretending not to “Just talking about our plans for Halloween, nothing serious,” you reply sharply, hoping he gets the hint >He doesn’t. In fact, when you mention Halloween, his broad rabbit ears prick up a little bit >He raises his head timidly and brushes his cropped brown hair out of his eyes >”H-Halloween?” He stammers, catching your uninterested gaze before returning his focus to the floor >”A-A-Are you going t-to the Sp-Spooktob-“ >You cut him off “Dunno yet man, our plans are really up in the air right now. We haven’t decided anything.” >Which was a total lie, but you can’t stand to hear him talk sometimes. You think his parents were too poor or too stupid to correct his stutter or his anxiety issues >And now their 18-year-long bad decision is your problem >Fucking poor people >”Oh h-haha, w-well me too y-you know. L-Lots to do, lots of f-f-friends to make plans w-with…” >Now this was just getting sad. You know he has nobody else. He follows you around like a lost puppy >Sam anxiously twists his washed-out brown ears and shuffles awkwardly >You kinda wonder if that hurts, but class is about to start so you need to wrap this up “Did you need something Sam?” >“O-Oh yeah!” He says as he swings his ratty backpack over his shoulder and dumps it out onto the floor >A mountain of garbage comes spilling out, almost like his backpack is vomiting >Well, it looks sick, which fits with his attire; tremendously oversized hoodie, baggy sweatpants, generic sneakers, and to top it all off, none of it looks like it’s been washed in weeks >Sam quickly digs through the pile of crumpled papers, notebooks, broken pencils, a REALLY ratty comic book, and whatever else he’s been keeping in there since the dawn of time >You check your phone and pray he finds what he’s trying to autistically show you before class starts >His hands emerge from the pile holding a small red book, which he extends towards you >”D-Do you k-know what t-this is?” >You squint “Did you look through it yet to find out? There’s nothing on the cover.” >He squeaks a little and pulls the book out of your face >”Yes b-b-but I can’t r-r-read it, I-I-I never learned c-c-cursive,” he says, flipping open the rather thin text. “A-And s-since you’re always r-reading books, I t-thought you…could…umm…” >You take the book from him and start to read through it, but you have to admit, you can’t read it either >At least not in the hallways >It’s page after page of this really crooked and spidery scrawl, an uglier kind of cursive than what you’ve seen your grandparents write >It looks like someone wrote this with a fountain pen, as some of the letters have trails where the ink bled off the pen. You spin through the book pretty quickly, having concluded that there’s nothing of value in it “I have no idea what this says. It’s like a conspiracy theorist’s diary or something. Where did you get this anyway?” >He hesitates and starts turning the pages of the book like you did >”T-The bathroom… F-F-Found it b-b-behind a toilet.” >Well, that was gross and all, but you honestly need to get going because class is about to start >You say goodbye and slip into the crowd, finally able to breathe a sigh of relief >God that kid needs friends. Or at least some medication >You glance over your shoulders back at him >He’s piling all the junk back into his backpack, quickly getting swallowed into the crowd, so much smaller than everyone else around him >You spy a familiar looking Spooktober Fest leaflet go into his pockets >Oh shit >Looks like you dodged a bullet >Well it’s Friday, and so you probably won’t have to see him for the rest of the day >Time to just take it easy >”H-Hey Anon…” >God damnit how does he keep finding you? >You set down your sandwich and glare at the tiny rabbit >Of all the days where you and Mike and Alex didn’t go out for lunch, it had to be today “Hey Sam, what do you need?” >”O-Oh, I jus-just never see you in the l-lunchroom hahaha….” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. “S-S-So, you eating l-l-lunch?” >No, you’re writing your suicide note ”Yeah, usually I’m out with my friends, but I have stuff to do today so I’m eating quickly,” you tell him, giving yourself a way out >In truth, you and Mike don’t have the same lunch period, and Alex decided to skip school today, leaving you to fend for yourself, but you can’t tell Sam that >Why does this kid keep following you anyway? >You get that he’s oblivious to how much you’re not interested in being his friend, and that his weirdness probably makes him dependent on you, but god, even other special needs kids can take a hint >Maybe he’s got a crush on you? >…ew…. >The last thing you need is to deal with this awkward gayboy, but you don’t know how to proceed “Where do you normally sit?” You sigh. Guess you’re stuck until you can finish eating >You start cramming food into your mouth >He lets out a nervous squeak and starts twisting his ears again >Really? This is such a simple question, god damn >”We-Well, I e-eat…ummm…I d-don’t really eat h-here…” “Why?” >He shrinks a little further into himself >”Too m-many p-p-people.” >What did he mean by this? >”I c-can’t eat with the j-jocks,” he explains >You look over to where a crowd of surly looking students are sitting >There’s at least 20 of them packed onto a long table, and they’re the loudest in the whole lunchroom >It’s all large anthros, but there’s a separate, identical group of young humans wearing their letter jackets one table over >That’s the weird part about athletics. They’re fully integrated here but still so… divided? >”C-Can’t eat w-with the n-nerds” >The nerds are spread out towards the back of the lunchroom, all of them rail thin and poorly dressed, poring over their AP textbooks. You know most of them because you’re in the same advanced classes, but you don’t associate with them on principle >They at the very least have humans integrated with their clique >Sam continues to list all the groups he can’t sit with >Theater kids >Band Geeks >Goths >Stoners >Preps >Popular kids >Punks >Slackers >Cheerleaders >So… everyone >Except you >To be fair, you and your little friend group don’t really fit in well with the other kids either, but you had each other and three’s a crowd, right? >But god do you hate cliques and groups. The drama, the politics… you can see why Mike and Alex want to graduate so badly >Still, he’s piqued your interests. If he can’t eat in the lunchroom… “Where do you actually eat then?” >He shuffles nervously >”I-I d-don’t.” “You don’t what, eat in the lunchroom?” >”…E-Eat lunch.” >You raise your eyebrows >How could he not have lunch? >Even if he’s poor as shit, the school practically gives kids like him lunch “Not even the reduced lunch?” >He shakes his head >”I s-save it for d-dinner so I don’t-“ he pauses, eyes suddenly splitting open with fear >He inhales sharply >You stop chewing “Are you okay?” >He shakes his head, brought back down from his sudden, heart stopping insight >”Y-Yes, f-fff-fine.” “Right…So why do you save your lunch? You kinda got distracted there for a second.” >”I’m just not hh-h-hungry enough to e-eat.” >That would explain why he’s so creepy and skinny >Can malnutrition cause the dark circles under his eyes too? >He’s a shit liar because you could see him jealously eying your lunch from behind his greasy bangs throughout the course of this train wreck of a conversation >But why would he lie? >Whatever, you just need to tolerate him for one more year >You look down at your half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then back at Sam, who’s trying hard to look busy with the drawstrings on his rotten hoodie >Man, you really fucking love peanut butter and jelly. This kid better appreciate this >The lord giveth >You reluctantly extend the sandwich towards him and ask if he wants the rest of it >He hesitantly accepts the offer and sits down to start eating >That wasn’t really an invitation to sit with you, god damnit. >More like a ‘get lost kid’ sort of thing >You sigh, hoping he takes the hint, but he quietly stares at the table while taking mouse-sized bites of the sandwich and swallowing hard >He seems to be really taking his time with it, which is killing you, because this silence is once again awkward, and people are starting to give you looks >Oh, you know the looks. The ones that every textbook and parent says not to give a person of another species, looks that could get you fired in a professional setting >Humans and anthros alike pass by your table, staring at you and Sam. Some in disbelief, others with malice. The jocks especially don’t look too happy >They’re not cavalier enough to start something, but their faces say it all >’What the fuck are you doing?’ They seem to say >And you want to say ‘I’m trying here!’ right back >You start shoving food in your mouth a little faster >You NEED to get this over with >It’s Sam who breaks the silence this time >”O-O-Oh! I almost f-forgot! I did s-some more drawings!” >He starts digging through his rotten backpack, and you internally groan. He’s always trying to show you his drawings and doodles >He pulls a handful of torn and crumpled papers out of his backpack and carefully spreads them open on the table >Well, actually, he was pretty good at drawing, you had to admit, but you just didn’t care all that much about superheroes and comics. You liked books much more >He starts leafing out his drawings, all of them in pencil or pen, and, not one to stray from habit, Sam’s drawn only superheroes again >Brawny men with capes soaring above city skylines, striking macho poses, smashing their veiny fists into the faces of evil >Buxom women lassoing between buildings, hauling the elderly and children with them to safety >One of them is an anthro of some kind, a baseball bat slung over his shoulders, a bandanna across his face >Man you gotta show this kid Watchmen, or Transmetropolitan one day, give him some taste >You’re practically inhaling your bag of chips as Sam tries his damndest to explain each drawing and each hero to you >”A-A-And this g-g-guy is called t-the Electric T-Texan b-because—“ >A sudden explosion of voices and shouts cuts off Sam, filling up the lunchroom >There’s a crowd of students, at the far end of the room, all shouting and jeering at something >You stand on top of the lunch table to get a better view >Sam remains seated, nervously tucking in to himself >You scan the crowd for something, trying to see over the heads of students >Suddenly, the crowd parts, and a well-dressed young otter, a prep named Jordan, comes tumbling out from amongst the ranks and crashes against a nearby table. Blood pours from his nose >A large gray wolf, decked out in his red-letter jacket and dark denim comes bounding out, one eye swollen shut, frothing at the mouth with rage >That was Trevor Nelson, the captain of the football team >Jordan spins out of the way of Trevor’s crushing blow just in time, and launches himself towards the larger mammal’s face with a feral yell >Cries of ‘Go for the eyes!’ or ‘Fuck him up!’ are heard >What the FUCK is going on? >The jocks and the preps almost NEVER had issues with each other, and here they are fighting like wild animals >Another development catches your eyes: Gloria spearheading a group of frightened looking teachers and staff down the stairs towards the lunchroom >She doesn’t move fast in her ankle-length denim skirt and buckled shoes, but damnit if she’s not trying >With the authorities on their way, this wouldn’t last much longer, but the two anthros continue savaging each other like they’re not about to get suspended and kicked off their respective sports teams >When the teachers finally pull the two apart and restrain them, there’s a puddle of blood and torn fur all over the floor >”If anyone wants to get suspended, then stick around! If not, go back to class!” Mrs. Lang, a mustang, shouts >The crowd almost immediately disperses at the threat of referrals and write-ups >A small group of five goths led by Vanessa Doermuth, are the last to leave the lunchroom >You can see them chuckling loudly, clearly having enjoyed the death match between the “normies” >Man, of all the groups out there, you might hate the goths the most. Buncha antisocial freaks who hate anyone who doesn’t hate life… >Vanessa’s group strolls past Gloria, who is parasitically hanging on the fringes of the teachers, as if she had some valuable input to give >The doe puts on a contented sneer as she walks by >In response, the goat stamps her hooves and grits her teeth, trying to convey some message >Vanessa flips her off, and Gloria, flustered and holding back her un-Christian urges, defensively shoves the large crucifix around her neck towards the goths as they ascend the stairs >They laugh even louder at her >”Anon, Sam,” Mrs. Lang snaps her fingers. “C’mon, let’s go.” >As you’re packing your stuff, you notice that Sam isn’t moving. He’s got his head pointed down, his drawings still littering the table >His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of his hoodie >And he’s trembling all over >You knock twice on the table “Sam? You okay?” >His head shoots up >You can see how wide his amber eyes are, even from behind his uncropped bangs >He shakes his head and shivers >”S-Sorry, yeah. I’m f-fine. I-I’ll s-see you l-later,” he says quietly >You go to leave, but you see Sam still isn’t moving >You open your mouth to say something, but Mrs. Lang glares at you “Have a good weekend Sam,” you say, and you make for the door “I’m telling you dude, it was like they’d gone rabid or something. I’ve never seen two mammals tear at each other like that before,” >Mike tells you to keep your voice down and not to use the ‘r-word’ so loudly in public, especially around the Shop N’ Save after school >He asks if you want to get your ass kicked >You apologize, but keep going on with your story ”Like have the jocks and the preps EVER had problems with each other?” >”Not since I’ve been at Ranchview. Carly would probably know, since she graduated a few years ago. She used to be a Cheerleader, so maybe she’s in the know,” he says somewhat sarcastically “Seriously, I wish you were there to see it. We’re talking claws out, face mauling stuff here Mikey. You would have loved it, dude. Real videogame shit.” >”Real videogame shit,” he mutters, almost laughing. “Where did my pretentious friend go?” “Where’s my loud-mouthed friend always up in everyone’s face?” >Mike picks up a basket and starts heading for the candy aisle, ignoring your teasing >”Hey, did Alex tell you he was working today?” He asks. “He might be able to give us the ‘proletariat discount.’” >You shrug your shoulders and follow Mike down the candy aisle “I never asked him. Maybe he’s working, I don’t know. He skipped school today so I didn’t see hi-“ >And right on cue, a voice crackles over the store’s loudspeaker system >”Attention shoppers at the Ranchview Shop N’ Save. We hope you’re having a great shopping experience, because all you’re doing is filling the bellies of the pigs that exploit us.” >”To all you Shop N’ Save Smile Associates out there: Every single commodity you sell is another link in your own chains. The violence against the gentle laborer’s soul shall stand no longer!” >”Smile Associates, lift your heavy eyes! Cast down the shackles of corporate slavery! You have nothing to lose but your green aprons! You have nothing to los-“ >There’s sounds of a brief struggle on the mic, and then an older, out of breath voice broadcasts through the store >"Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize for that. Also attention all shoppers, visit our seasonal aisle and pick up those last minute Halloween treats. Bags of peanut butter cups are now buy-one-get-one-half-off. Thank you.” >The speaker crackles off, and the shoppers go about their business like nothing happened, shambling down their respective aisles. >Yep, Alex was at work >You locate Alex by tracking his striking yellow beanie towering above the stooped rows of the pharmaceutical aisle where he’d been imprisoned after his little stunt on the PA system >He’s busy assisting a mother bear and her completely-embarrassed-this-is-so-not-happening cub find estrus blockers, scent masks, things that’d make a vulnerable and confused cub going through puberty blush redder than a Mormon walking through the underwear section of a department store >The shelves are all picked clean, so they’re not having much luck >Is it breeding season or something? >You squint at the cub, who is trying her damndest to stay as far away from her mother as she socially can >Wait, you think she goes to your school or something, you know you’ve seen her before >She must be a freshman >You lose sight of her as a crowd starts piling up around Alex. Mostly mothers, sometimes daughters, and you can recognize most of them. They’re all cheerleaders as well. >”I’m sorry everyone, but I promise you, we don’t have any more estrus blockers or scent masks. We’re getting a fresh shipment tonight, so please-“ >”You’re sure you don’t have any in the back?” The mother bear begs. “My daughter’s more riled up than two rabbits on their honeymoon!” >”MOM WHAT THE HELL!?” Her daughter looks like she’s on the verge of tears >”Nope, we’re completely out,” Alex responds. But the crowd keeps closing in tighter and tighter >A frustrated request to speak to the manager is echoed through the mob >Feeling like he’d finally found common ground with the madness of the crowd, Alex sighs and smiles >”You don’t wanna speak to Mr. Smith, trust me. He doesn’t understand our plight, sitting up there in his office chair, driving his 2004 Honda Civic-“ >”Excuse me, but did you just say OUR plight?” An anthro fox steps forward. “What does a human know about what our children are going through? Aren’t you like 16?” >“Actually, I’m 18, and I understand what it’s like being under the heel of the state. The oppressor is up there right now, and let me tell you, he’s not going to listen to you-“ >The crowd erupts in anger, closing in around him >Oh shit, this is bad. They’re about to eat your dumb shit friend alive >You freeze up, not knowing what to do, and you curse yourself for always being like this >Luckily, Mike is two steps ahead of you >”Comrade Alexi!” >Alex turns towards us and looks like he’s about to die >”We could use some ‘assistance’ at the checkout!” >Relief spreads across Alex’s face >He nods, and tries to squeeze through the crowd as politely as he can >This only angers them further >”I’ll be right back folks, let me go talk to Mr. Smith for you and see where we are with the shipment. Shop N’ Save thanks you for your patience!” >He practically sprints towards the registers >Mike keeps pace, but you’re having trouble not looking awkward. A quick glance over your shoulder reveals a dozen hateful stares, the only kind of hate that can come from a middle-aged woman having a poor shopping experience >One shudders to imagine what would happen had Alex tried to handle this alone >”Jesus Christ, did you see the way that rabid mob was looking at you?” Mike practically shouts as Alex rings you two up >You glare at Mike, heart skipping a beat as he lets the ‘r-word’ fly freely around so many anthros >Alex seems a little flustered, but continues scanning things >”You’re not kidding. I’ve never seen anyone behave like that before in my entire three years at this sweatshop.” >”Well you know how they get when it’s that time of the year for them,” Mike says “That’s not until like November for most anthros, dude. Don’t you pay attention in class?” You bite back, sounding a little bitter >Mike shrugs >”You know I could give a shit about class at this point. I’ll figure that stuff out in the future,” >Alex finishes ringing you two up before you can respond >”Alright, your total comes to $16.63, and with the proletariats discount…, that’ll be $4,” Alex says. >You smack a $5 on the counter and tell Alex to keep the change >Knowing him, that’s exactly what he’ll do >Outside in the crisp, late-afternoon air, you pause for a second >There’s a steady stream of anthros heading into the store, almost all of them women, and a lot of them you recognize from school >It’s almost entirely cheerleaders >What the fuck is going on? >Mike is staring too >”…You think they’re all-” “Most definitely,” you answer >On the car ride home, you turn down the music down a little “Is it just me or has today been really weird?” >”What do you mean?” “I mean like, weird for Ranchview. The fight today, the sudden surge in hormonal cycles, that sort of stuff.” >”That’s not a bad thing. At least something interesting is happening around town.” >You guess so, but it’s still really fucking weird. Frankly, you just want to go home and relax for a bit >You pull up outside Mike’s ordinary house, which is tucked between other ordinary houses in an ordinary middle-class suburb “Am I still picking you up tonight?” You say to Mike as he unbuckles his seatbelt >”If you don’t mind. Oh, and maybe kill your headlights when you pull up. I’m ‘technically’ not allowed to leave the house this weekend.” ”What did you do now?” >”Nothing, I swear. Now,” he stretches out a fist to you, and you bump it >”See you tonight bro, and thanks for the ride!” >The drive back home is slow. Not because of traffic, but because you decided to cut around town and enjoy the drive >There’s this golden light coming from the cool and cloudless sky, and the trees are losing their leaves >They’ve ripened up and are starting to turn to a rusted brown >When the wind came, they’d flutter down from their branches like tiny crispy bird feathers >Lately you’ve started to appreciate the seasons and the pace of life in Ranchview a little bit more >Things are going to change when you graduate, like it or not >All of your friends are going to move far away, and you’re going to be stuck at the crossroads of life >But for now, you’re going to enjoy the fall. It was beautiful out here >Home is… well, it’s not as beautiful >You flick on the lights in the kitchen >You think of calling out to someone, but you know nobody is home >Mom and Dad are away on vacation, and yeah, you like to be alone, but it’s starting to get to you >Home has felt so empty lately >You throw your backpack down in your room and hop on your computer, pulling up some music and shitty forums that you KNOW you shouldn’t be browsing anymore >Guess you just need to kill time before tonight https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=laWNR1mkiwU&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=14&t=0s >You check the clock on your dash as your shitty car hums along towards the high school >9:14 p.m. You were the only ones on the road which was not surprising. Ranchview is like that when it gets dark, and this late in fall, it gets dark quick >”...And you know what I really can’t wait to do?” Mike croaks up from the passenger seat, pointing his beer towards the road “What’s that?” >”Go to college, get the FUCK out of this little town...” “...Find a nice girl, settle down, have kids…” you snicker >”Fuck that noise. I’m gonna stay 18 forever.” Mike drains his beer as if to issue a declaration of degeneracy >”And between you and me,” he twists the top off his second bottle of the night and tosses his empty into your backseat. “Maybe go somewhere where the pickings aren’t as… slim?” “You mean where there’s more humans?” >”Yeah, you get what I’m saying. More people I can relate with.” “What about Rachel Bigner?” You probe >”That weird theater girl from Lang’s English class? Hell no dude. I’m trying to get my dick wet here, not find my Juliet.” “I think Romeo and Juliet fucked.” >”Still not interested.” “What happened to ‘pussy is pussy’?” >”Listen man, just shut up and drive okay? I’m not super interested in anthros, but it’s got nothing to do with me not liking them or anything. Now, I’m gonna give Alex a call and tell him to meet us at school, so no more questions.” “Oh, and tell him to bring more beer because you’re fucking drinking all of mine.” >”Sorry, sorry, next time we pick up I’ll get you more.” >You’re not convinced >He starts rubbing your shoulder >”C’mon baby, you know Mikey’s good for it.” >You smirk, but you try hard not to “Mikey better be ‘good for it’, or my dad’s going to see that there’s at least 12 beers missing when he gets back.” >”That’s right baby,” Mike continues, dialing into his phone. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that Mikey doesn’t treat his bitches right.” “Why am I the bitch? I’m the only one who knows how to handle money right.” >Mike shoves his phone against his ear, and you were the bitch for the rest of the night >You aim the car up the hill >Despite the relatively large size of your town, your high school is kind of an island >There’s no houses or businesses around for a mile at least, and Ranchview is built on a hill >Which made it an ideal place for a couple bored seniors to go and fuck around at on a Friday night >You pull into the nearly-empty parking lot and kill the engine >You and Mike end up sitting on the hood of your car, nursing beers and staring off into the distance >Autumn was coming in quite nicely around here >The air had gone stiff and cold, and each breath you took pulled cold embers of fall into your lungs >You keep your eyes on the entrance to the lot. You almost want to wait in the car and turn on the heat “Hey dude, Alex is coming, right?” >”That’s what he said. Just give him some time, you know how long it takes for him to do anything.” >This was true. He does take a long time to do anything. It might help if he didn’t fucking bike everywhere >It was possible he wouldn’t show up at all >So you and Mike shoot the shit for a few more minutes. It quickly becomes clear through your conversation that Mike’s getting pretty drunk >He keeps talking about how excited he is that he got accepted into his first pick college and how far he’s going to be from home >”It’s not that I hate this town or the people--” “You just wanna slay some human pussy?” >”No man, it’s not like that. I got nothing against anthros, nothing at all. It’s just... Nothing ever happens here. It’s boring. Do you know how old my neighbors are?” “Aren’t they like… four or five?” >”EXACTLY! We’re being pushed out of town by the youngins. Everything is so safe and sterile and boring. Like I said, nothing ever happens here...” “You looking for that ‘girl next door’ kinda thing?” >”Well I wouldn’t say no-“ >He abruptly trails off, staring at something in the distance “You okay dude?” >No answer “Mike?” You shake his shoulder >”Hey Anon, isn’t that Sam Garlen over there?” >He points towards someone walking out of the school’s gym entrance, pushing a cart laden with cleaning supplies >HOW THE FUCK DOES MIKE KEEP FINDING THIS KID >”Holy shit, I think it is. I think that’s our cotton tail.” >You hope to God he’s wrong. You were having a decent night >Mike slides off the hood of the car and lands with a curt stumble “Wait, Mike, hold on…” >you try to stop him, but it’s no use >”SAMMMY!” He yells “Hey, keep it down man. There’s no way that’s him!” >It’s too late to reason with Mike. He takes off towards the person, now frozen at the edge of the parking lot “It’s probably just a janitor you fucking idiot!” You yell after him >You love Mike like a brother, but sometimes you want to strangle him. You can’t believe he’s going to college >You grab his beer off the hood of your car and drain it, and then start shoving the rest of the beers into your backpack >You were NOT going to get an MIP because of his drunken bullshit >You finish putting some of the beer in your backpack when Mike’s excited voice booms behind you >”Anon, look who I found!” >Reluctantly you turn around “H-H-Hey Anon…” Sam is standing next to Mike, red in the face and shivering from either fear or the cold >You glare at Mike for a second, and then turn to Sam “Hey Sam,” you sigh, trying to sound polite >Somehow he always manages to find you. Do you emit pheromones that attract really awkward people? >Mike, buzzed and oblivious, prattles on excitedly before Sam can get a response out >”Did you know that Sammy actually works for the school? Isn’t that neat?” >Actually you kind of wondered how he spent his Friday nights “Is that what you’re doing out here, or did your parents forget to pick you up?” >”Nope, he’s a night janitor!” Mike claps him on the shoulder, which makes Sam wince >A janitor huh? It’s oddly fitting for him, you guess >It’s creepy and decidedly low-level work “How come you never told me you were a night janitor?” >Sam fidgets with his ears “I-I’m not really an e-e-employee. I clean a-and they p-p-pay me,” >While you’re listening to Sam try to explain his job, you get an idea “Hey Sam,” you try to sound polite, but you honestly don’t have all night to let this kid explain his work >”Y-Yes?” “You got keys to the school?” >You can’t convince Mike to come with you, because he says he’s got a better idea than just wandering around the school at night >”So you know how the gate to the dumpsters is always locked?” “Yeah…But why would you wanna go hang out with some dumpsters? I thought you had better taste in women.” >For the first time in what is maybe months, you hear Sam quietly snicker, just beneath Mike’s range of hearing >”No, you’re not thinking of the bigger picture here. The ladder, Anon, the ladder!” >Mike was referring to a ladder that lead up to the roof. He’s always wanted to get on the school’s roof for one reason or another >You take a swig of your own beer and make a decision, like any good student would “Fine, but we wait until Alex gets here.” >Mike pumps his fist into the cold night air. ”Yes!” >Sam is looking between you two like he’s trying to say something, but he eventually decides against it >Maybe he wanted to protest or say no the fact that he’s basically just getting used for his access to the school? >You look at the backseat of your car and realize you’ve still got some stray beers and a full six pack left, which was gonna be hard to fit all in your backpack >Luckily that’s where Sam comes into play >You stuff the last beers into the rabbit’s backpack just as Alex rides up next to the car on his bike >”What’s up comrades…” he leans his bike against your car ”…Annnndd Sam Garlen?” >He gives you a confused look, but you just shrug your shoulders, as if to say, ‘just go with it.’ >You fill Alex in as the four of you walk over to the dumpsters, which were back behind the school in a loading dock of sorts >It was a popular spot for the slackers and the goths to come and pour out their angst on the great concrete canvas that is public high school >In the cold moonlight, you could make out all the graffiti and vandalism that the docks had accumulated >As Sam nervously unlocks the gates to the dumpsters, you paused to read what some of your fellow social misfits had left behind >Swear words, dicks, a swastika, a few pentagrams, even a heart containing two initials are proudly displayed >Were those two still together? >What drew your attention was a sentence that read “Fuck off Skinfuckers” and immediately beneath that, a booming retort was issued: “Yiff in hell furfags” >God, how old are these? How old is any of this? >Did the kids who left this all behind think that it’d be here forever? Where are they now? Behind the counter at a gas station, in a college dorm, serving overseas and killing brown people? >They were just like you once, but then things changed. Things always change. Nothing ever lasts >”You coming or what, Anon?” Mike is looking down on you from halfway up the ladder >You shake your head free of these curious thoughts and make for the ladder >Sam is waiting at the bottom, looking weighed down by the beers in his backpack “You gonna be good to carry those?” You question. “Because if you drop ‘em, you and Mike both owe me some beer.” >He nervously hooks his thumbs around the thin straps of his backpack >”I-I th-th-think I’ll be okay. W-We’re not g-gonna be here l-long right? I c-could get in t-t-troub-“ >”Don’t be such a pussy,” Mike’s voice booms from the rooftop. “It’s a Friday night, the principals gone home already. Now hop your ass on up here, same goes for you too Anon, you dapper bitch.” >You frown and make Alex carry Sam’s backpack up. Alex tells Sam that the school shouldn’t be making him work for such poor wages and in such pitiful conditions — all without knowing what they pay Sam or what it’s like being a night janitor >You think he just likes pretending to be some kind of communist revolutionary >Sam goes ahead of you, struggling up the bars, and Alex brings up the rear >The ladder is a tenuous climb. It makes sense that it’d be hidden from students — this fucking thing was a lawsuit waiting to happen >Every bit of it is covered in a thick coat of rust, and wherever you put your feet, the bars flex dangerously >Noticing this, Sam scampers up to the top, and you were quick behind him. >Fuck that death trap >Alex is having a little more trouble. He’s by no means fat, but out of the four of you, he’s the biggest and the tallest, and having the extra weight of a few beers in his backpack isn’t helping >”Hey guys,” he pauses on the last few bars of the ladder. “This bar here seems kinda flexibl-“ >The sound of metal sheering and snapping breaks the quiet of the night >The bars at Alex’s feet rend in half, and were it not for the fact that his grip reflexively tightened around the bars that he was holding onto, he would have likely plunged the 30+ feet onto the cold, wet ground >”FUCK!” He shouts instinctively >You’re all frozen with shock as Alex dangles off the side of the building, the bars too far down for him to comfortably place his feet >He grits his teeth and musters whatever he learned in gym class of sophomore year and pulls his body and feet up to the next rung >After some struggle and some grunting, Alex flops over the railing and onto the roof, where you and Mike pull him to safety >”Holy shit,” Alex breathes, sitting up on his hands and knees. He looks at you, out of breath, red and still shaking out the adrenaline. “You know how some high school kids have those ‘I almost died doing something stupid’ stories to tell? I think I just earned mine.” >You’d have to agree, though you keep it a secret that you haven’t had yours yet >”Well, we’re boned, thanks to comrade Alexi,” Mike says, looking over the rooftop’s railing >Alex’s near brush with death had destroyed enough bars in the already delicate ladder that it looked impossible to climb down >”It’s not my fault that the school can’t afford to replace their equipment,” Alex brushes the dust off his green sweater, “That’s something that the greedy fucks in the White House should have taken care of for us.” >”Well, we better get used to life up here, because we’re trapped. I say we eat Sam first,” Mike says >Sam squeaks nervously >He knows that was just a joke, right? >You scan the rooftop and notice a stooped building attached to the roof, obviously some sort of maintenance access tunnel “Sam, you have keys for that?” >He fumbles with the keyring in the pockets of his sweats >”M-Maybe?” He stammers >Good enough. It’s cold, you’re all a little scared, and you want a beer to warm up >You all sit near the edge of the roof, beers in hand. Alex is halfway through his first, Mike through his third, and you’re nursing yours >Sam hasn’t even sipped his >From up here, you can see everything >Stretching out before you is Ranchview, all lit up with phosphorus orange from the streetlights >The moon, too big and too bright to not be a curious anomaly to astronomers, hangs fat and round in the sky above >All that stretched before you, stubborn against the darkness, was home. It was all you’d ever known >It seems endless >“Man, I cannot WAIT to get out of here,” Mike says, almost as if he was talking to the entire town >”Going to go to college, going to have some fun, put some miles between me and this town.” >He tosses his empty bottle off the roof towards the city, almost like he could strike a blow against the forces of stability and monotony that have plagued him since birth > It lands somewhere beneath you in the dark, the sharp sound of glass shattering on pavement being the only noise for miles >”I just wanna quit Shop N’ Save. College will be a nice segue into politics,” Alex concurs, also hurling his bottle off the edge >You pass them both another bottle >More ammunition for their rooftop rebellion “Why not just quit?” >”I’d love to, believe me, but mom and dad won’t let me. But once I’m no longer beneath their iron fist, I’m gonna do something big, something more important than selling estrus blockers to horny moms,” he sighs. “I just... wanna do something that matters.” >”Yeah,” Mike quips. “Me too. I want to do something important. Something that matters.” >You suck down your beer and toss it into the night >That doesn’t sound so bad, you think >Something that matters >”So what about you, Anon, bet you got into some pretentious Ivy League school,” Mike takes a swig. “You know what you want to study?” >You fidget uncomfortably at the question >In truth you’ve been putting off thinking about this kind of stuff for as long as you could. It made you nervous >How can anyone ask an 18-year-old what they’re going to do for the rest of their life? Haven’t they seen how many kids get burned in this trial by fire? >You clear your throat and start on another beer “I actually haven’t applied anywhere. Or… thought about it much,” you reply quietly >”You’re kidding?” Alex sounds surprised. “Out of all of us, I would have thought that you would have been on top of this.” >”Yeah, both of us morons couldn’t swing it in the AP classes like you can. You’re seriously not applying anywhere?” Mike replies >Your heart skips in your chest. God damnit can we stop talking about this? >You guess you don’t see a purpose in all the urgency in adolescence. This is the last, finest year of your youth. There are movies made about senior year and all these guys can think about is trying to get it done with. The fools >You look around for a distraction and your eyes coldly settle on Sam, who hasn’t said a word yet. He’s been sipping on his beer, but is barely a fourth of the way through >That big tourist. That outsider. That freeloader “What about you Sam? What are you doing after you graduate?” You ask almost tauntingly >The rabbit freezes up at the question >That was mean, but it had to be done. You needed a diversion >”W-Well I-I-I umm…” he stammers. “I’m n-n-not s-smart enough for c-c-college a-a-and I’m not good enough f-f-for a r-regular job…s-so…” he trails off, unable to finish his thought. He bows his head, almost shamefully >Wow. That was really hard to hear, actually >You’d feel regret if you didn’t hate him >”So you’re just gonna be a night janitor your entire life and live at home?” Mike says, rather matter-of-fact. You know he didn’t mean to sound rude, but when you look critically at Sam’s options, there was no other way around it >”I-I g-guess?” he whispers >Now you REALLY feel regret for asking. You never wanted to know this much about him >Alex brings his knees close to his chest and looks thoughtfully at the city. You can see the moonlight reflected in his soft blue eyes >”Well, at least you’ll have Anon to keep you company in this tiny ass town,” he says wistfully >He didn’t mean that to be spiteful. Maybe he was trying to be sensitive >Alex has never been tactful. Amazing that he wants to be some kind of politician >Sam shivers a little from the cold, and maybe, in his head, he’s hoping you’ll stick around >You all settle for silence, at least until almost all of the beer is gone and the night gets too late >Mike somewhat drunkenly slurs out that it’s cold and he’d like to get off the roof now, to which Alex replies that we’re stuck up here “Actually, we can just go through the maintenance thingy over there,” you jab a thumb behind you, towards the stooped over little entrance back into the school. “Right Sam?” >”I knew Sammy would come in handy,” Mike laughs. “There’s a reason we brought Thumper!” >Sam doesn’t say anything while Mike and Alex come up with increasingly offensive slurs and nicknames for him. His eyes watch the tiny flitting lights of the city, like a child watches fireflies dance in the dark >They’re the only thing he hears and sees right now, not this city, not the cruel jokes behind him between two drunken dickheads he barely knows, not even Anon, his only ‘friend’ studying him, volunteering him to break the law >The rabbit’s tiny fingers are spread apart, barely touching yours, and you can actually see him breathing steady for once instead of hyperventilating over everything >You shake him by his shoulder, and he lets out the most feminine squeak you’ve ever heard from a boy “C’mon, we’re gonna go,” you say, pointing at the door >He reluctantly retracts his hands back into his hoodie and digs around for his keys >When you finally stand, you can feel the blood pounding in your temple. You’d had a bit too much >More than a little drunk, Mike trots over to the edge of the roof near the ladder >”We could jump,” he says, looking a little like he intended to do just that. “We could probably land in those dumpsters. They’re open.” >Alex yells at him to get away from the ledge >”Don’t be a retard, Mike. You’d get killed, and I already cheated death once tonight.” >”You guys are no fun,” Mike grumbles, taking a few dizzy steps back from the edge. “Are we going to waste our youth playing it safe or are we going to fucking do something!?” >The four of you elect to leave the rest of your beers on the roof, right next to the rooftop door, making plans to return again >Sam nervously fidgets with his keyring, trying out all shapes and sizes while Mike complains that he’s cold, which doesn’t help the rabbit in going faster >When he finds the right one, the door pulls open slowly, shaking off ages of rust and dust >Sam stands in the entrance wrinkling his nose >”We going or what?” Mike asks >”S-s-something s-s-smells bad in h-here…” He turns to you for assurance, but you keep your gaze fixated on the dark corridor ahead >None of you can smell anything, but you remind them that anthros like Sam usually have a greater sense of smell than humans >”So nobody fart, cause it’ll kill Sam,” Mike laughs >”Especially not you,” Alex mutters >You tell Sam to just hold his nose so you can get inside and get out of the cold >The four of you wander the black corridors above the school, relying on the lights from your cellphones to cleave a path into the dark >Old pipes are strung up like forgotten Christmas lights, and beneath you your feet echo off the cold concrete floors >After several minutes of no progress and increasing frustration, you ask Sam if he knows the way out >He stammers a little and shakes his head >”I-I’ve never b-been up here. I-I-I don’t know w-where t-t-this goes…” >You all groan loudly >To be fair it doesn’t look like anyone has been up here in YEARS >The only saving grace is that the deeper you get into the school, the warmer it seems to get, which is a welcome change from the frosted night air >That saving grace quickly becomes a thorn in your side, as the air gets heavier and warmer the deeper in you go >Soon you’re practically suffocating >Mike ditches his jacket and Alex pulls off his sweater. You also strip down to your undershirt >Sam rolls up his sleeves, revealing his starved, skeletal arms, his brown fur caked in sweat. He starts panting, not loudly, but enough to be heard, and you’re tempted to ask him if it’s hot under all that fur and why he doesn’t just take off the fucking hoodie. You’re all guys, right? >The corridor spreads out considerably, and you can no longer use the walls to guide yourself safely >You fumble about in the dark, hands grasping at anything solid >Wherever you are now, it’s not the same stuffy halls as before. >After a few twists and turns, you all take a small break, slumping, backs against the wall, sweating out the tight air >It feels like you’re drowning >This is how you die, isn’t it? Steamed to death in your own high school? >Fuck, you can see the headlines in the local rag already >Mike tries to make light of the situation >”Everyone say their prayers before tonight?” He wheezes >Alex starts coughing and gasping for air >Sam takes raspy breaths and throws back his hood, his sticky brown hair spilling across his face, ears tumbling down in front of him >He reaches up to twist them reflexively, but his hands fall short and slump against his sides >You want to help him, call for someone, even scream at your own lagging suffocation, but you don’t feel like you’ve got any strength left >You check your phone for the time >11:59 >How poetic would it be to die at exactly midnight? >But life isn’t like your favorite poems. Damn them for ruining your expectations >Goodbye Mom, Dad, Mike, Alex. It’s been a wild 18 years. Here’s to hoping that whatever god is watching you doesn’t mind all the shameful porn you’ve fapped to >Your vision starts clouding with darkness, so you close your eyes and surrender to the pink of your inner-eyelids >You hope it won’t hurt >A tremendous, unearthly roar forces your eyes back open >The air almost instantly becomes bone dry and cold, and a strange, fiery light spills into the long corridor >The four of you suck in huge gasps of air like you’d just been held under water for too long >Before anyone can speak, Sam lets out a girlish yelp, undoing all the air he’d just taken in >He inexplicably slides forward, as if tugged down the hall by his backpack >”H-H-Hey!” he squeals, falling flat on his face >He’s jerked further down the hall, his fingers clawing into the raw concrete for something to hold on to >You instinctively lunge out towards him and wrap your fingers around his thin wrists >He slides further down the hall, tugging you along with him? >The loudest sound you’ve ever heard practically deafens you >Alex grabs at your ankles, trying to keep you and Sam from being pulled away >He goes down with the two of you, and Mike doesn’t have much luck either >You hang on to Sam as tight as you can as you and your friends effortlessly strung along like dumb fish who took the bait >You all get pulled into a somewhat spacious room, but it’s clear that whatever’s happening has something to do with Sam, who gets tugged into the air >You heroically let go of your grasp on him lest you get pulled up into the air as well >The rabbit is suspended over a concrete basin in the middle of the room >”H-H-Help!!” He yells, flailing in the air, desperately reaching towards the ground >You can only lay there on the floor, paralyzed with shock >Is this a dream? This is anime shit, not real life >Sam’s backpack rips at the top, and the small red book comes flying out >The rabbit comes crashing down into a stone basin at the center of the room, landing face first >The book hovers in the center of the room, its pages flipping and glowing with a pale, phantasmal aura >The room explodes with a blinding, fiery light, and when you can see again, you look around >The walls are COVERED in strange writings, symbols, poems >It looks like the bedroom of a madman >You can recognize a few symbols >Pentagrams, symbols for planets, for men, for women, various species of anthros…? >And then at the center of the room, two numbers appear on the wall, scribbled in fire >31 >A titanous rumbling in the earth beneath you shakes you out onto your back >What follows is a deep, throaty roar that shakes the whole building and forces all of you to clap your hands over your ears >It echoes for some time, and you try yelling, but your screams are swallowed by the monstrous howl >After a few seconds the roaring flitters out into stunned silence >You cautiously crack an eyelid and look around the room >The red book, which was floating in the air, drops harmlessly onto Sam’s head >Deciding that they feel safe, Alex and Mike start slowly moving, and then scanning the walls >Bathed in the dim, warm light that seems like it has no source, nobody says a word, just stares slack jawed at each other and the fiery writings on the wall >Sam is heaving silently, his ears pulled tightly over his face in fear >You think he might be crying, which would be understandable. You’d probably cry too if you weren’t in shock >Slowly you pull yourself up onto your feet, though your legs tremble and shake >Holy fuck >You stumble over and lean against a wall, but you quickly pull away, not knowing if you should touch anything here >The walls are schizophrenically covered in strange writings and symbols, a massive “31” burns against the largest wall, traced in a flame >You study your surroundings as you try to steady your breathing >The closer you look, the more things start to make sense – at least a little bit >It looks a little bit like what’s written in that book Sam showed you today >There are words here. Words like “Drain” and “Desire,” burn as clear as red flame >Other words like “Rage,” “Rape,” “Raise” also appear >You read a little farther down the wall, trying to commit to memory what you’re seeing >The name written beneath the great 31 makes you pause >’Doermuth’ >”Anon?” The sound of Alex’s voice makes you jump >Mike and Alex are both on their feet, though they’re hanging on to one another trying to keep upright >Sam is leaning against the basin, knees pulled tight against his chest. He’s got the book in his hands – shut >”What the hell is all this stuff?” Mike asks, glancing around “I have no fucking clue. None at all.” >You’re not superstitious or anything, but this defies the natural order >You saw Sam get pulled into the air, you heard that awful noise. You can see the writing that is literally on the wall >You take out your phone and try to snap a picture, but they all come out dark despite the strange light filling the room >Nobody is going to believe this. You can’t believe it. You try pinching yourself to see if you’re dreaming but you can’t wake up (wake me up inside) >You all marvel and whisper, except for Sam, who is still trying to regain some nerves >Mike opens his mouth to speak >”We…We all saw that happen, right? Like, every one of us saw Sam get tossed around? Heard that noise?” >Speaking of… >You ask Sam if he’s okay, but he doesn’t answer immediately, he just stares straight ahead, trembling with the fear of supernatural death hanging over him >The poor kid must be so scared right now >You extend a hand in front of him, offering to help him up >His eyes focus on your hand, and he hesitantly accepts your offer >He must have been weak in the knees, because when you pull him up, you pull a little too hard, and all 104lbs of him stumble into you >You wrap your arms around him to try and stabilize yourself to keep from being knocked over >God damn this kid is bony as hell. He must have an eating disorder >But you also feel a tenderness to him, something you wouldn’t expect from an Auschwitz-tier kid like him >This is so gay >When you realize what you’re doing, and how close he is, you break the unintentional hug and give him a sharp push, which sends him stumbling towards the basin >You awkwardly dig your fingers into the skin on the back of your neck >This is some fujoshi’s wet dream, and you’ll not be a part of it “Y-You okay Sam?” >He nods his head and quickly averts his gaze to the floor >”Y-Y-Yeah, t-t-thanks.” “Good…Good…” >Silence, except for your strained breathing >You raise an eyebrow as you see a trail of blood winding down from Sam’s nose >How did you not notice that before? >He notices you looking and runs a finger under his nose >It comes back covered in warm blood, which causes a brief look of panic to cross his timid face before it collapses into something that looks like guilt >He must have hit his nose when he fell into the basin, which now has a substantial blood stain on it >It doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, so the small fluttering of worry in your heart subsides >N-Not that you’d tell him of course >The light of the room slowly begins fading, however, cutting your investigation short “I’m ready to go home now and forget this all happened.” You say, which earns tired nods from your friends, and Sam just shuffles behind you >The other end of the room opens up into a similar hallway, with pipes emerging from the concrete like branches out of an old tree >The lights is quickly dwindling down to embers, so you all follow the shiny copper pipes, around corners, down long corridors and cramped hallways, silently hoping they will deliver you into the school’s interior >You’re relieved when you locate a set of stairs, which means you’re at least heading in the right direction >Or to the basement, and God knows you don’t want to find out what fucked up shit is down there >After a few more minutes of near darkness, you finally push open a clean, heavy door, and burst into the sterile light of the school >”Where the fuck is this?” Alex asks >You notice that the walls are stacked with shelves of sporting equipment, football pads and old event signs >The Spooktober Fest sign is pulled into the center of the room, ready for use next Friday “I think this is the equipment room, the one attached to the gym…” >It looks clean enough for Sam to have been in here recently >Kid probably just forgot to turn out the lights >Nobody wants to stay in the school any longer than they have to, especially not Mike, who cites his drunkenness and nausea >The crisp autumn night feels good against your feverish skin when you finally exit from the gym’s doors >You hope no shit heads had come around while you were in there and fucked with your car or Alex’s bike >Luckily they’re all still where you left them >Alex props his bike up, but doesn’t get on it. He stares expectantly at you, waiting to move >”So…What now?” >A chill wind blows, and you can feel exhaustion starting to weigh on your eyelids “We all go home and sleep. Try to figure out what we just saw.” >He nods in agreement and jumps on his bike >You make Alex promise to text you when he gets home, and he agrees, sailing off across the cold pavement of the parking lot, beneath a moon that looks much closer than it should be >Mike produces a joint from his pocket, half smashed, sparks up, and begins puffing on it, not looking at any of you, just letting the pathetic little thing hang out of his mouth as he peers down the hill at the city >You frown, and as you get closer to Mike you can see him shivering – either from the cold or from something else “Mike?” You lightly tap his shoulder, but he doesn’t respond “Mike, we’re going home, okay?” >Silent as a stone >”C’mon dude, don’t give me the silent treatment right now. You gonna even offer me a hit off that?” >At last Mike turns around – and you wish he hadn’t >He’s scowling, eyes bloodshot red, face twisted up with something beyond malice >”Just- give me a second, okay? Fucking Christ, you’re so needy.” >Ouch >You can feel that warm blood rush hitting you as well >Heart racing, you open your mouth >What crawled up his ass? >And despite that sudden and impulsive need to defend yourself, you swallow down your anger, shut your mouth, and nod >Where the fuck is that retarded little rabbit? You need someone to take this out on >Found him >He’s sitting down on the curb at the edge of the lot, head down, hands working on something, his backpack beside him >You approach and try to make your presence known with a cough – you’ve already had enough of people turning their backs on you >All this accomplishes is startling him, causing a scrap of paper to fly from his hand into the wind’s pull >”N-NO!” He throws down his notebook and pen, digging into a full-on sprint, vanishing into the darkness that the streetlamps could never penetrate >Suddenly, you’re worried >Several seconds pass >Did the darkness swallow him? Is there something out there? >You jump to the edge of the curb, too afraid to venture into the dark yourself “Sam?” You call, not yet brave enough to yell >No response >Your fists clench, white-knuckled with panic >You just need somewhere to put your anxiety. You can’t deal with this right now – this entire night and frayed your nerves >Just before you cut a path down the hill into the darkness, see a brown rabbit emerge out of the dark, head down, a balled-up piece of paper in in his right hand, “SAM WHAT THE HELL!?” You shout at last >The shout makes him wince, and he looks up to you all suddenly hurt >He apologizes to you in a voice just beneath the wind’s own, and you can see that he’s still trembling, either from the sudden cold or the adrenaline >Could be both >You unclench your fists and snap the balled-up paper from his hand “This better be important enough for you to go off into the night for,” you sneer >You retreat from that threshold back under the light artificial fire of the parking lot's light >You undo the damage that his tiny, anxious hands did to the paper >It’s a loose outline of a sketch, some basic shape of a human, and maybe a cape flowing behind him? There’s a big circle drawn on the chest – the start of something, possibly a logo? “What is this, Sam?” You say, still trying to make out the beginnings of the features he sketched under the fragile light >”I’m sorry!” He squeaks, quickly appearing at your side, and for the first time (that you’ve seen), you think he might be crying “Why are you apologizing? You don’t have to apologize. I just… did you just draw this? Like, in those five minutes I was talking to Mike?” >The wind cuts into you again. This wind shouldn’t be here >He doesn’t answer, instead he wipes his eyes with his sleeve >You try not to think about how crusty that sleeve probably gets >You don’t know what to feel right now – Anger, fear, anxiety, pity – so you just mumble something about being sorry you asked >You ball the drawing up and shove it into your pocket – he doesn’t seem to care >Alright, now it’s your turn to go and sulk for a bit >You need to cool off. Everyone needs to cool off >Mike is already in the backseat of your car, head against the window >Silent, except for some grumbles >Sam stands on the curb, his ripped backpack slung loosely over his shoulders, not knowing what to do or say >Does he walk to and from school every day? >Damnit, you really just want to go home >You sigh and ask if he wants a ride >”W-W-Well y-you don’t need to, I sometimes get c-c-car sick an-“ >Mike cracks open a window and pokes his head out at Sam, annoyed, drunk, high, but much more mellow than before. The weed seems to have done its job >”Get in Thumper, we’re going home.” >Normally you’d cringe at him using a slur against rabbits like that, but you’re too tired to care right now >Sam stutters an apology and scrambles into the passenger seat >The whole ride is silent, you figure everyone is processing what just happened >You put on some music, some boring acoustic stuff, just to keep it from getting more awkward and confusing >You drop Mike off as he mumbles a ‘thanks’ >You pull away into the dark neighborhoods >You’re still a little salty about him snapping at you, but it’ll pass >You look over and think Sam might be asleep next to you, so you shake him by the shoulder >There’s no way you’re doing this alone >Startled, he jumps a bit in his seat >”S-S-Sorry! I was l-looking at the h-h-houses…” he trails off into a whisper. “They’re all so nice out here.” “Speaking of houses, mind telling me how to get to yours?” >He sits up straight in his seat and nods his head >You go slow through the neighborhoods, your car passing quietly underneath the orange street lamps https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3nqKAw9vuU&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=4&t=0s >Something by Matt Elliot comes on, which Sam seems to really enjoy, quietly humming along to the somber melodies while he watches the neighborhoods slide by >You know, it’s weird. You’ve never really talked to Sam at length before. It’s mostly been dismissive stuff, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible >All the houses have Halloween decorations set out >Pumpkins, light strings, plastic bones strewn across yellowing lawns, fake cobwebs >It all seems to fascinate Sam, because you have to ask him several times if you’re going the right way, to which he dreamily agrees >… >So, what now? You just keep rolling on you guess? “Listen, I wanna get home before the sunrise, okay?” You complain, not necessarily angry at him, but tired and annoyed >”W-What time is it now?” He asks, sounding a little more nervous than before >You tap on your dash clock >12:42 “12:42, and wayyy past my bedtime. Probably yours too,” you say with a slight laugh >Sam squeezes his ears so hard you think he might actually damage them >”I-IT’S PAST M-MIDNIGHT!?” He squeals, louder than you’ve ever heard him >It’s almost painful to witness “Yeah, it’s almost one. What’s the rush?” >”I N-NEED TO GET H-HOME!” He squeaks “Okay man, chill out. What’s the rush?” >”I-I’ll get in t-t-trouble…” Without realizing it, he squeezes his neck a little bit >You’re tempted to just stop the car then and there and ask what the fuck that’s all about, but he seems a lot more anxious than usual, so you give your old rust bucket a little gas and sail out of the nice, cookie cutter neighborhoods and back onto the main roads >Crispy leaves seem to dash out of the way as you thunder through blinking streetlights and down empty roads >Sam stutters directions a little later than you’d like, so you have to crank the wheel sometimes to avoid missing important turns, your little shitbucket car crying out in anguish as you nearly slide onto two wheels >You’ve decided to kill Sam after this and sell his organs for new tires >Eventually you’re traveling down a road you’re not familiar with >Behind you the familiar and the suburban glow like a fast-fading fire >The houses and buildings and stores that pockmark your suburban town start to thin out and become smaller and older and more weathered, more ashen, more haphazard and forgotten >Chain link fences press up against the cracked road, and the sidewalk devolves into a dirt path, and then, strangely, back into a sidewalk again >The streets no longer have names – just letters to designate their position in the minds of the city planners who forgot about this part of town >You roll slowly, suddenly aware of the fact that you’ve been white-knuckling the steering wheel, doing more leering than driving >Sam directs you to pull up in front of what must be his house, which is really no larger than a trailer, sitting on some forgotten lot >There’s a twisted chain-link fence around the front ‘yard’, if you could even call it that >Without the moonlight, you wouldn’t have been able to see that the ‘yard’ is just patches of dead grass and junk thrown about carelessly, with a shitty, rusty sedan parked in the center of the decaying landscape >This looks… sketchy as fuck “This yours, Sam?” You ask cautiously, letting the car idle in front of his house >He swallows hard and nods, hugging his backpack like a safety blanket >You don’t kill the engine >Everything inside of you is telling you to just push him out the door and drive the hell out of here “I’m coming with you. Just to the front door.” You decide, without ever asking the rabbit if he’s okay with that >Naturally he isn’t >”Y-You don’t n-need to d-d-do that,” he says with barely contained panic in his voice “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here. No offense dude, but this is a rough neighborhood.” >”I-I’ll be o-okay Anon, I p-p-promise...” >But you won’t hear any his whining as you undo your own seatbelt >You walk with him from your car to his front door despite his protests >He hesitates for a second, then knocks twice >he doesn’t have a key? >There’s a short delay, the sound of a heavy chair squeaking, and then the door at least lumbers open >Standing there, arms slack at his side, wearing an oil stained undershirt, smoke drizzling from his cigarette, is Sam’s father >He looks a little like Sam; same shade of fur, but he looks much more greasy, much more unkempt, if that were possible >Maybe you’re specieist, and think all rabbits look the same? >Plus he’s almost your height, so he towers over Sam, glaring down at his son as if he could strike him with just a gaze >”Where the FUCK have you been?” He spits, at last taking the cigarette from his mouth >The smell of liquor is thick on his breath >Sam tries to answer quickly with a stammered apology, but his father doesn’t want to hear it >”Thinking you can just turn up two hours late… and who the hell’s this?” He says, jamming a finger at you >”This one of your friends? You got friends now? Friends with humans?” >Your heart jumps in your chest, and you freeze up, not knowing what to say >Normally you’d introduce yourself politely, but the words aren’t coming out >God damnit, why does this always happen? >”N-N-No,” Sam whispers. He casts a pitiful glance up at you, his eyes begging you to forgive him and just leave him to his fate >”H-He’s not my f-f-friend. J-Just gave me a r-r-ride home...” His voice shakes, but you’re still impressed that he hasn’t completely broken down yet – something you feel like you’re on the verge of doing yourself >Sam’s father glares at you, the tense silence broken only by the sound of the TV left on inside the house >He leans closer to you, bracing himself with the door, his weight and posture make you feel like he could tear the entire frame off on a whim >He blows a puff of smoke into your face and you wince at the acrid smell >”You can leave now. And you can keep the hell away from my son. This boy ain’t had no friends ever, and he’s not starting now, especially not with a fucking human,” he spews with venom. You can tell he’s just waiting for the chance to get physical >What do you even say in these situations? Like, what are you supposed to do? >”You heard me?” He slurs. “You deaf?” >You nod, not knowing how to answer >You feel like you’re going to shit yourself >”What’s your name?” He says >Your name? >Uhhh >Shit, what is your name? >He leans in closer, uncomfortably close >Oh god ”Brody,” you cough >Brody, what kind of fucking name is Brody? >He makes a grumbling sound with his throat, seemingly satisfied with your answer, until some stench hits his nose >His posture slackens, a smirk spreads across his face, his hateful eyes lock with yours, and it takes everything in your body not to look away in submission >”You been drinking tonight Brody?” >Your stomach drops >He lets some laughter die in his chest, rumbling out of body like an earthquake >”Cause I can smell it on you. Trust me. I’ve got a good nose, ‘specially for drinking. Good ears too. Like how I can hear your asshole clenching up tighter than a kike’s pockets.” >Words don’t come out >You didn’t even drink… much... how do you answer? >He doesn’t wait long, or even at all, really >”Hey, Skinfucker. I know you can’t hear shit out of those assholes on your head, but I need you to try.” >His cocky, almost playful mood is gone in a puff of smoke. Something older than pleasantries and manners is now haunting his croaking voice >You can sense the restrained violence in his words, like a rabbit senses a wolf, just eying him in his peripheries through the brambles >You’re a coward though >Rabbits always run >”Because I just want to know that my son here is safe, and that you’re not endangering any anthros. You ‘coulda been a predator – wolf, fox, you know those snapjaws live ‘round here.” >His hands clamp around Sam’s thin, shoulders, his dirty paws clawing into Sam’s flesh >Sam squeaks in pain, but does his best to suffer through this sudden standoff >”I ‘bout got my gun when I heard the door. Never know what kind of blood drunk savage is going to wander ‘round here. You probably think you’re real brave, don’t you? Coming to my door, drinking, out fucking around with my son, putting him in harm’s way – bad enough they let those jagged jaws out round school — well you’re not.” He laughs for real this time >”You’re not brave, I can smell the fear on you. You smell like sweat and cologne. Don’t need to have a decent nose to see that you’re not from around here.” >”So listen to me, Skinfucker. I think we can understand each other. I have a drunk human kid on my porch right now, in a hood filled with predators, and I, being a responsible adult, shouldn’t let him drive home. But I think maybe it’s best you forget anything about my son, get in your car, go home, and forget this ever happened. Wouldn’t want to have to get more involved in your life to make sure you’re… making the right decisions.” >He nods towards your car >You understand him perfectly, but something keeps you on that porch >It’s Sam, struggling as quietly as he can while his dad’s paws, black with motor oil, force Sam to bend under their crushing pressure >With shame, fighting tears, your burden, that Rabbit that thinks he’s protecting a friend, looks up at you, black circles already gathering around his tired eyes >He’s saying it’ll be okay – this isn’t new for him >And with his unspoken permission, you finally snap back to the present >The iron rods in your body go soft like noodles – your stiff posture slackens, though the blood-pumping-fear that’s flooded your senses keeps you from speaking >But you do manage a nod, which is enough >”And you…” he turns a hateful eye towards Sam. “Get in here.” >He drags Sam inside by his ears and practically tosses him through the door >Sam’s father takes one last long look at you, his cold eyes glazed over and blood shot, scanning you, feral with smoke and drink, bitter from the years, stained hands anchoring him to the doorframe like a thin string holding on to a puppet that had grown too old and rotten >There’s the sound of gulls crowing overhead, the lap of waves at the beaches shore. You’re holding a revolver over Sam’s dad, and your name isn’t Anon, it’s Mersault, and you’re not scared, and this isn’t happening, and you squeeze the trig- >The door slams in your face, bringing you back to reality, standing on the porch, shaking out the adrenaline and the biting wind >You stare ahead, unable to move, unable to even think, just listening to the sound of the TV, the steady voice of Sam’s dad beginning to rise >Oh >It feels like the porch is spinning, much to the chagrin of your stomach >You hear the sound of the television grow louder, Sam’s meek apologies, threats from his father about getting his mom, some loud muffled thumping, and then a door slamming >And then heavy footsteps, those of a drunken rabbit >Moving towards the front door >Now it’s your turn to play rabbit >Though you lack their survival instincts, you yourself are quite an impressive coward, so you cover the distance between Sam’s house and your car in time that’d make a Gazelle envious >You don’t look to see if Sam’s dad is coming back out, you just twist your key into the ignition and gun it down the street, weak tail-lights evaporating into the dark >Where are you going? This car is pointed… somewhere, deeper in this ghetto shithole — and you think you’re cursing at 40 in a 15, not that cops really care what happens here >Coward >You are more focused on the rear-view mirror than the road, watching for headlights to emerge out of the inky blackness like angry torches, burning a path clear to your vehicle >He had to be following you- >The deafening shriek of a horn draws your eyes forward >You throw your wheel into a sharp right, tires giving off that awful tortured yelp as your rustbucket stutters towards stillness, hurtling you against the wheel >A massive shape blurs past you, clothed in bone-white moon, ripping into the dark, out of town, horn splitting the air like thunder as it rolls on through, bound on tracks of faded steel, past the quarries, the sheds, somewhere inland but to God knows where and God knows when >A train >Christ >You almost got smeared by a train >You forgot how close you are to the rail car yards out here >The horn calls out again- >Cornered, alone >-Aren’t you supposed to be that apathetic cool guy? >Where is that stoicism now? >The rumble of that beast is like an avalanche >And the horn >Cornered... >...Alone >One last echo repeated into the shit hole neighborhood, one last wakeup call for these ghosts >A hesitant glance over your shoulder reveals an empty neighborhood, streets as dead as the houses they feed into >Your feet shake, hands tremble, stomach twists itself painfully, free of the chase that never even was, but still feeling like a rat in the jaws of a wolf, that whiskey rot in your nose >The car is spinning >No, the earth is spinning >Too fast >Yep, you’re gonna- >You throw open your door and practically tumble out, spewing acrid vomit onto a street that has no name >The train rolls on, swallowing up your retching and choking, railing out of town >Sleep doesn’t hit, even when you down four Bennadryl >You lay in bed reading through the red book that Sam had accidentally left in your car, but you can’t focus on the words >What you just saw inside the school and at Sam’s house has you too wired to sleep >God fucking damnit, you wished you had his number. You wanted to know that he was okay >You just left him there, with that… thing… >He probably didn’t even have a cellphone now that you think about it >What the fuck do you do? >Do you call someone? >It might just make things worse for Sam, especially if his dad found out. Oh fuck, you’re too young to handle this >This whole night has been a gigantic slap in the face >And you’re about to get one more, as you flip the book to the first page, about to set it down for the night, >There’s something sketched on the inside front cover in what looks like pencil. You read it out loud ”Brothers, black and red, convene on Hallow’s Eve. All blood debts paid and preparations made, then corruption shall be free.” >You squint and read it again “on Hallow’s Eve…” >Your mind flashes to the fiery 31 and all those names written on the wall inside the school >….. >You’re dreaming. You’re dreaming. This is all bullshit, there was SOMETHING in that beer. Mike spiked it, you’re sure of it >You pinch yourself, but you’re still in your bed? >You start flipping through the pages, trying to read the shaky cursive >There’s references to the moon, poems about debts, symbols for men, women, anthros, and constant references to something called “The Book of Wrath” - a black tome of violence and trickery >And “The Book of Rite” - a red book of invocation >You’re not dreaming >You’re just losing your mind >Doesn’t Schizophrenia set in around this age? That’s what this is >Your very first psychotic break >You should take pics of stuff >You pick up your phone to fire off a text to Mike and Alex about needing to talk about things tomorrow, but stop when you see there’s one already there >From Mike, to both you and Alex >”Tomorrow, Burgershack? We need to talk.” >You try to think of an answer, but don’t have the mental capacity to formulate something >With the message sent, your head slumps against your pillow, and the roaring quiet of your empty house finally lulls you into a shallow sleep >You wake up, only once >Something, and you swear you’re not just hearing things – something, inside your house, is growling, deep and low, with blood in its mouth, with enough weight and force to feel real, not just something coming from the trailing vapors of your fever dream >And you’re wet >You didn’t piss the bed, right? >No, clothes are soaked through with sweat >Sticky, warm, god awful sweat, a literal stain on your sheets >It feels like your body is trying to scream in fear but can’t find its way to your throat >Resignation sets in >It was going to be one of those nights >You go take a piss, drink some water >You hobble to the living room couch and give in to gravity’s call, body crumpling into the cushions, eyes snapping shut >The growl is long gone from your blitzed mind, so sleep comes — and not a moment too soon >The sun was just starting to rise Act 2: Fear the Nobodies ”So I don’t know EXACTLY what I’m reading here, but I think I have the gist of it: something bad is going to happen on Halloween, it’s got something to do with the moon, Vanessa Doermuth--“ >”The goth chick?” Mike cuts in >Obviously that name invoked something sour in his mind, because his already darkened mood gets darker “Yep. She’s either behind this whole thing, or is a target for some ‘blood debt,’ but she’s involved somehow. I mean, I’ve been reading this thing all last night and since I woke up this afternoon, and I don’t think any of what’s going on is just coincidence.” >Do you sound crazy? >Guess you might as well go full conspiracy-theory mode inside this Burgershack >Alex asks you what exactly is going on “So the goths hate the jocks and preps, right?” >”They hate everyone, dude, and everyone hates each other,” Mikes states. “It’s just… so retarded. Everyone is so retarded.” >Well, he’s not wrong ”Right, but yesterday I saw Trevor Nelson and Jordan fighting in the lunchroom. The goths were there. And then, Alex, what’s been happening with the estrus cycles of the cheerleaders around town, that can’t be coincidence.” >Your commie friend isn’t convinced. “How do you know it’s just cheerleaders? Could be anyone. Most anthros have pretty strong estrus cycles. It’s like scent based right?” >Mike tells him what you two saw coming in to the store, and Alex can neither confirm nor deny because he was hiding out in the break room after Mr. Smith came looking for him to presumably send him to the gulag >Time to drop your manifesto >Well it’s not really yours, but this should help “So last night I did some reading-” >”Thought you were pounding your girlfriend,” Mike says sarcastically >You flip off Mike and pull the red book out of your coat pocket and slide it across the table >You crack another energy drink while Mike and Alex flip through the red book together “You ever seen Donnie Darko? The Philosophy of Time Travel that Grandma Death gives Donnie? This is… I don’t know, think of this book kinda like that. There’s weird shit happening all around — we all saw it — and this book helps explain a little of what’s going on. It’s not just coincidence.” >Even though you did eventually find sleep in the end, it wasn’t a pleasant sleep. You kept waking up with your stomach in knots, the mid-morning sun burning bright >Guess you were still having a hard time swallowing this whole thing >Or it’s the energy drink >You shrug and choke it down, trying to shake off the tired feeling weighing on your eyes >”Did you highlight this?” Alex points at the inscription in the inside front cover “Yeah. Last night. Said I couldn’t sleep. That’s what has me most worried. I know it seems like I’m drawing a lot of conclusions here with how people are acting and behaving and how I think it connects to this book, and all, and… just the stuff we saw, and… fuck-” >You take a long, long draw on your energy drink >You turn into a motormouth when you don’t sleep “I know that this is confirmation bias on my part, all of what I’ve explained to you, but this part in the front is what worries me the most. Is this thing about another book. I’m not sure what the fuck this book is talking about, but there’s some other book out there that someone has, and this book, that someone out there needs, and I think- Fuck, I don’t know what I think anymore. This book is wrapped up in something, and there’s some other book out there that requires this one, and… yeah... >That was very eloquent, good job Dr. King >Alex raises his hand >”Where did you get this? It looks like something the Unabomber would have written. It’s cool, don’t get me wrong,” Alex says. ”Love the revolutionary feel.” >You almost say Sam found it, but you hesitate, that name dying on your tongue >That’s right… Sam >He could be dead >If he is dead, that’s one less loose end to worry about >But the idea of you being culpable in the murder of your classmate makes your stomach hurt, so you crush the energy drink >Do you tell them about Sam’s house? >You don’t know if telling them what you saw would help, or make Sam’s situation worse, so you decide to test the waters “Sam found it in the bathroom, I guess,” you say as casually as possible, “and he left it in my car when I dropped him off last night at his house.” >But Mike doesn’t care about that stuff, he cares more about teasing you. Why? Because he’s a cock face >”Speaking of, how did your little boyfriend do last night? He seemed pretty rattled by the whole thing.” >Fuck you Mike, you were the one who turned into a dick when you got out of the school >You can feel yourself going red in the face, either from anger or…something else >Oh god, fucking fujoshits are actually getting to you “Okay, he might be gay, but he’s not my boyfriend, and I don’t swing that way. He’s just a weird kid who needs a friend,” you reason >But reason is lost on Mike, who is just smart enough to know how to push your buttons >”Why put a name on it, right? Did you two at least say no homo?” Mike says, holding back his laughter >...And Alex, who means well, but is lost in his own world, speaks up >”C’mon Mike, it’s literally the current year. Don’t be so homophobic.” >Sometimes you can’t tell if he’s being ironic, sincere, or stupid >But with Mike, you can always tell when he’s trying to be a dick >Like right now, making you bite your tongue, since for some reason he’s had an attitude since last night >Still, you know they’ve both got your back, and it’s been that way for years, and you wouldn’t trade them for the world >A pimply faced teenager drops a tray of fries between the three of you, momentarily easing the tension >Mike digs in and starts eating >”So Anon’s gay and is banging a rabbit, the goths are going to end the world, the school is full of horny cheerleaders, and somehow these two little books are the center of it all. Did I get all of that right?” He spews fries across the table “First of all, I am NOT. GAY. FUCK.” You jab a fry at him >”No need to get so defensive, Anon,” he laughs “I am not defensive you dipshit. I am 100 percent NOT GAY.” >Mike cracks a shit eating grin, and you want to smack it right off his face >”Sure Anon, we believe you.” >Alex, known for his listening skills, tells you that it’s okay to be gay and that he doesn’t mind >You throw a fry at his face, and you hope it hurts, but instead he plucks it off the table and eats it >You’re going to kill these two one day, holy fuck >It then occurs to you: Mike was the one who organized this whole thing >Did he bring you and Alex here just to tease you? ”You didn’t bring me here just to be an ass, did you? You were the one who called this meeting,” you say, glancing between Mike and Alex “Cause I have a lot of sleep to catch up on.” >Mike’s expression darkens >He sets his handful of fries back onto the table >”Look, I know I’ve kind of been a dick lately, to both of you, but mostly Anon. But last night...” >He pauses and scans the room, as if his next words were written on the wall >”You know I don’t believe in magic, God, all that shit- but last night, I think we all saw something that should have us worried. I don’t care about the other kids, but I do care about you guys, and most importantly, I care about graduating.” >Seriously? This is why he’s been so standoffish lately? >”Something fucked up is happening at this school,” he declares, a cold kind of determination creeping into his voice >”And we’re going to stop it,” >You pause. You hadn’t thought of actually getting involved >In fact, you risking your skin for anyone else other than these two is so far removed from your personal narrative that it’s practically unthinkable >Ultimately you just wanted to make them aware of this bullshit so they could avoid it “I hadn’t thought about… stopping it... I figured we could just ride this one out, try to keep from getting turned into hospital patients or something. If what we’ve already seen is any indication of what’s to come, we need to be as far away from school as possible, especially on Halloween,” you conclude >Mike shakes his head >”No way in hell.” >You clench your teeth, biting down on nothing – though you wish it was his neck “What about class? Your grades?” >You know he’s bordering on a D in science >”I’m going to be fine to graduate. And I’m not running from this. You haven’t ever wanted to do something bigger than just… going to school, drinking, smoking, talking shit about people?” “Don’t be stupid Mike, you have NO IDEA what you’re messing with here,” >”I don’t. But Vanessa Doermuth does.” >You’ve activated his trap card “What?” >”Vanessa Doermuth. Rail thin, reeks of Menthols, likes blood, hates everyone – her name was on the wall last night.” >You tried going back to that night, searching through your mind and what was still left over, what had survived the painful events after >And there she was, her name underneath those two horrible figures, alongside a few others >But hers was the biggest, the gaudiest, the ugliest, the most ignoble looking >Vanessa Doermuth “And your plan is?” >Mike clears his throat and cracks his knuckles >”Anon you’ve known me for how many years?” “Too many,” you exhale, knowing what’s coming next >”Right, too many years, and I’d have thought that by now you’d know I never have longterm plans, only short term ambitions-” ”-And balls the size of cantaloupes,” you say without enthusiasm >Mike smirks >You’ve been practicing this dumb routine with each other since freshman year of high school >”Right-” >”That’s BULLSHIT!” Alex slaps the table, and you’re pretty sure that he even made the tray jump a few inches >Also you may have let out a few little drops of piss >… >What? Your nerves have been fried ever since last night. >”There’s no way that you’ve got balls that big. You’d be like… on the internet or something.” “Not now dude,” you say. “It was just a joke.” >You don’t have the energy to deal with Alex right now >God your head is pulsing with noise >Where was Alex during this whole conversation? >You need sleep badly >You try to tune in to Mike and Alex’s conversation, but it doesn’t feel possible >It goes in one ear >And out the other >Mike is saying something to Alex, drawing little things on a napkin with his finger >Each time Alex nods harder, enraptured in what Mike has to say >Unlike you >Everyone and everything in this burger shack looks and sounds like it’s a million miles away >You kinda feel like that guy from Fight Club. What was his name again? Cornelius? T- >Alex yet again smacks the table, shaking you from your pretentious day dreams, causing everyone in the restaurant to stare at your table >And that’s a lot of very spiteful glares, especially from anthros >You feel like a very small island about to get bombed >Alex, unconcerned or unaware, loudly continues on >“How can we sit idly by while this injustice robs from the cradle of our youth? Who will lift the flag of the gentle laborer? Who will rend these chains from around our necks? Certainly not the fascist PIGS of our father’s generation, the RABID WOLVES of the capital throwing them the bones of our generation for slop!“ >Holy fuck what is wrong with this guy? >Actually that was fairly poetic >But it doesn’t deter stares, in fact it only intensifies them, especially from the few canines nearby >Like the golden retriever and his family, who crowd behind the father as they exit the building >Though the father is trying to smile and explain to his kids compassion for the retarded, you catch his concerned glare that says ‘Please control your child.’ >Luckily dogs are known for their friendliness >Thank god it wasn’t a Wolf, who might have been liable to rip your face off and eat it >Silently, you try to apologize to him >He nods in understanding and pushes his wife out the door >You try to shush Alex, but he’s gone completely off rails >Mike is able to do what you can’t, and that’s get Alex to stop raving >”Comrade Alexi, save it for college. Right now you sound more pretentious than Anon usually does.” >Alex lowers his fist like it was a revolutionary’s flag >”Sorry,” he says, red in the face from exhaustion and soapboxing. “I just got so wrapped up in the injustice of it all.” >”No, no, that’s good! Save that energy, Alexi. We’ll need it for later,” Mike nods, obviously pleased by Alex’s enthusiasm for whatever it is he’s enthused about >Mike turns to you >”That’s why I brought you here, to talk about this, and what we’re going to do about it. If anything gets in the way of me and my diploma, I swear on my sister’s non-existent virginity that I will destroy whoever is involved. We’re solving this shit, I’m graduating, and getting the hell away from Halloween Town.” >Fuck >You kinda expected Alex to care, but not Mike ‘I could give a shit’ Sapone >Especially to be so serious about this >They both look at you expectantly >”Well?” Mike says “Well what?” >”Are you going to try to stop this with us?” >”Yeah Anon, think about how important these kids are to the revolution!” >Thank you Alex >You suppress a groan >You don’t want to get involved, but it looks like you have no choice, because these morons will likely get themselves killed without you >And if they die, you’ll have to put up with Sam by yourself >The realization makes you pause >You had almost forgotten that you left him there by himself last night >Still hard to believe that all happened, huh? >Making a silent resolution to at least find a way to check in on him at school on Monday, you nod your head at Mike and Alex “Fine. I guess we’ll save the world or something,” you offer weakly, outnumbered and outgunned >Mike scowls >”Or something?” He mimics you, adding some nasal congestion for flare >What the hell? Why is he doing this now? >”That’s seriously all you have to say about this? You were THERE last night, and that’s all you have to say?” >What does he want from you?! What is with this sudden aggression? First last night, and now this? >Your grip the table and meet his stare >Yeah, that’s right. Get angry. Didn’t you see how he was looking at you? Say something. Defend yourself. Call him a manlet. Break something. This isn’t fair! “Sorry-” you exhale, swallowing that bitter feeling again >You can feel your balls shrinking up in defeat “Didn’t sleep well last night.” >Mike nods, >”I swear,” he says, voice dropping to a terse growl, glaring around the room, lingering on everyone he can find – including you, “I will break every finger on the hand that did this, and the neck of the one who keeps me from graduating.” >You’d rather not get involved >You’ve said this a trillion times >Yet you sigh in defeat “I… I’ll try talking to Vanessa, on Monday. She at least doesn’t outright hate me.” >That was enough to satisfy Mike >Alex declares that he has work, but to stop by whenever, because ‘The oppressor's supplies are our supplies,” >Alex hops on his bike and starts grinding up hill towards his home instead of work, waving you both goodbye >Conversation between you and Mike becomes more friendly, but there’s still an air of slight tension hanging over you two as Mike slides into your car >He promises you that if you could talk to Vanessa and lure her somewher- >You cut him off >Assault, kidnapping, and violence are out of the question right now — especially as a human-on-anthro crime >”Yeah, but I bet she’d be into it,” Mike starts to laugh, a little more unrestrained than usual >Which gets a laugh out of you >Yeah, Vanessa would absolutely be into that >You can’t stop thinking about Sam on the drive home. You wish you’d told Mike and Alex about what you saw. You could have at least told Mike before you dropped him off, but you didn’t, because you don’t know if he’d be able to take it seriously >When you started to talk about Sam, he just snickered a little bit, so you shut the fuck up almost instantly and threw the car into a sharp turn >Mike neglected his seatbelt, as usual, and the sound of him thumping into your unfurnished car door made you less angry >It’s not like he could help anyway. And Alex would do something catastrophically dumb. And the police were probably a no-go, because Sam’s dad looked like the type who’d get himself and Sam killed in a police shootout >The insane thought of ‘rescuing him’ yourself pops into your head >His dad has no idea what your real name is or where you even live… it might work… >An image of you princess-carrying him away from his burning house sticks in your mind’s eye for longer than you’d like to admit before you violently shake away the gay thoughts >Fuck, you promise yourself you’re going to do some push ups and shotgun a beer when you get home to feel less gay >The street lamps flicker on as you clunk into your neighborhood, but you drive slowly, not in a huge rush to get to your vacant house >Plus the neighborhood has this nice orange glow to it from the various lights and decorations your neighbors had set out >Sam had probably never really seen Halloween decorations, or been in a home that celebrates any holidays, so you can see why they might have caught his eye >And the Spooktober Fest is something that he probably wanted to go to. It’d be his last chance at any real high school memory-making before graduating >You start to feel bad about not wanting to go with him or anything, because as much as you think it’s lame, you can understand why he’d be so interested >Still, not how you’d spend your Friday ni- >You slam on the brakes when the realization hits you >The Spooktober Fest is on Halloween night >October 31 >31 >Whatever is going to happen, it’s going to involve a lot of students as well, not just people that the goths might hate >You start to hear that annoying little voice in your head that’s too loud for Alex and too quiet for Mike >Your conscience >You crank the music and try to drown it out on the way home >”Hey, coward. When are you going to grow a pair?” >”You’re just going to let whatever happens happen?” >”Always too scared to-” “SHUT THE FUCK UP” >The music can’t go any higher >”-too scared to get involved.” >”Playing it off...” >”...Like you don’t care...” >God you need a distraction >You pull into your driveway with the music at a blistering volume, thumbing through the contacts on your phone >Let’s see… >Alex >Mom >Dad >Mike >Jenna Orthorn (Fox from science class) >Leo… >Nah >You slide your phone into your pocket, kill the car, and just sit there, forehead smashed against the wheel >What you feel right now is kind of a mix of rage and sadness — the teenager’s cocktail >Everything feels like it’s falling apart on you >Mike’s turning into something else — will you even talk to him once he goes to college? >Are you going to college? >You’re going to be all alone, like usual >Like Sam >”Do you care at all?” >You put your hands on the steering wheel >If only to stop their shaking >Be Sam >And you’re not going to cry >In fact, you don’t really have any good reason to cry – you made a mistake, you disobeyed him, you violated his wishes >You deserved the bruises on your shoulder, the angry marks on your arm >Thankfully you learned how to hide them with your brother’s old clothes >Anon had just left after dropping you off, leaving you alone in your room, only the sound of the TV in your ears >You’re not even sure what time it is, but sleep is long past the point of possibility >Like most rabbits, your survival drive is extremely high. It’d take a hell of a lot to get you to calm down >In fact, you’re still shaking >You prop up a broken chair against the single window in your room so you can look out at the old abandoned warehouse next door >You shut your eyes and try to listen for the sound of strumming on a guitar, the heavy thump of a bass, the pop of a drum kit >Bands sometimes rent the warehouse out to practice or record >There used to be a human band that played… >What did they play? >It was slow and kinda soft, you think there was a trumpet? >It made you feel like jelly though >Even the memory of those soft, gentle notes was enough to take you away from this place >You imagined yourself playing in one of those bands, not saying much on stage, but not needing to say anything at all >All that confusion and heartache gone with the opening notes >Would you play drums? You’ve got the foot speed for it >You could see your music soundtracking a super hero’s journey >Samurai Outlaw, her bat wheeling and spinning, clearing a room of bad guys while the guitarist and drummer go wild >Fantasy is where you were safe, and when you didn’t feel safe, you drew things >Pictures, mostly superhero costumes, but sometimes other things >You’ve still got that stash hidden in your roo- >The shriek of a train’s whistle stops your fragile little heart >The ground starts to rattle and shake, you can feel the heavy sound resonating in your chest >Bringing you back to that day- >No no no no no no >You grab at your own throat >-The day that everything went quiet >Be 11-year-old Sam >You’re in your shared room >There’s noise reverberating throughout the house >Your older brother Jacob hands you a sock stuffed with loose gravel and tells you to hold it “I-I don’t-” you start to protest >Jacob crouches down to eye level. He’s exhausted, the gravity of sleep pulling at his eyelids. >He pushes his ears back and taps an aluminum baseball bat against his broad shoulders >Jacob doesn’t play baseball — but he knows how to use the bat. You’ve seen him beat Joseph from down the street so bad he had to go to the hospital >When Joseph was of course kicking your shit in >At least he makes you feel safe sometimes >The sounds of heartbreak comes rushing from under the door — muffled shouting, the climax of a love gone wrong, choked sobs, drunken anger — the things you and your older brother know to be love >”Sam, look at me,” he says, exhaling, trying hard to maintain his composure and keep from getting frustrated. “If anyone tries to EVER hurt you, I want you to tell me, okay? Just like with Joseph. But before that, I want you to hit them with that heavy sock. Right in the head. You got it?” ”But I don’t w-want to hurt anyone” you pull hard on your ears, like you could just pull the blinds on your shitty home and tune it all out >Jacob taps you on the arm, and you release your vice-grip >Blood comes rushing back to your ears >”Did you hear me? I’m trying to look out for you, okay? But you also need to look out for yourself and stop being such a little kid. I’m not always going to be around.” >The weighted sock feels like it weighs 100 pounds. Your arms tremble, adrenaline and desperation the only things lending you any amount of strength ”Even if it’s Dad?” You ask >Your brother’s shoulder’s slump. He opens his mouth to speak >The door shoots open >Your mother, a tired middle-aged looking woman with worn and dirty fur, amber eyes swollen with pain, scowls at you two >”Are you two still here?” She slurs, the sting of bourbon heavy on her tongue. “I told you to get the hell out of here. And don’t come back for a few hours.” >Jacob stands up to his full height, his knuckles tightening around the bat >”We heard you. I was…” He quickly glances back at you. “…I was just telling Sam some stuff.” >You’d nod, but your whole body locks up when you see your mother glaring at you — and then she turns that same spiteful look at Jacob >Your older brother, 17 by now, doesn’t back down, his face darkening, jaw clenching up like a coiled spring ready at a moment’s notice >Your mother digs into her purse and throws a handful of wadded up bills at you >”Here. Go. Make yourself gone for a few hours. Your uncle Richard’s coming over in a few.” >You collect the bills and quickly dart behind your brother, dropping your make-shift weapon in the process >He stiffens at your touch, his shoulders seeming to broaden when he feels you cowering behind him >Protective reflexes, likely >You were only 11 >You guess Jake felt pretty strongly about protecting you >But then there was this whole thing about teaching you to fend for yourself >”Even if you’re a girl,” he said once, “you just gotta hit a wolf in the nose, and they’re down. Humans, aim for the shins. That’s all you have to worry about. Rabbits? Right in the chest.” >Mom lets a side gust of air out of her lips. “You think you’re some kinda man with that bat? What do you think you’re gonna do, hit your own mother? Boy, I’d break your fucking ankles if you tried to touch me.” >Jacob’s powerful legs tense. You watch and pray that he doesn’t lose his temper, so much like dad’s mean streaks >… >… >”You ain’t no mother. You’re a liar.” He says, marching forward >Mom steps aside >You follow your brother out of your room and towards the door, keeping close to his formidable shape and his shadow of safety >”You’re a liar and a whore,” Jake says >Mom just starts laughing >”Guess I know where you got your smart mouth from,” she says. “Now get the hell out of here.” >You don’t need a second invitation. Though your home is small, Dad’s managed to tuck himself in the kitchen, and you can already smell the reek of his whiskey, the sting of his cigarettes >You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help yourself >You look behind you, into the kitchen, and see him at the table, the trails of smoke rising from his lips, the heavy bottle of amber liquid by his side >His eyes are red, face burnt out and ashen, that devil smirk as you walk by >It makes you start to shake worse >”Oh, and Sam?” your mom coos from your room. “Make sure your retarded brother doesn’t do anything stupid. Can you do that for me?” >You nod timidly, if only to do something with your body >When you face forward your heart freezes as you catch the side-eye from Jacob >His expression is ice cold when you two walk out the door >You can practically hear him muttering ‘traitor’ “Jake?” >”What?” “I- I don’t understand why you and m-” >He stops walking, his bat dragging across the shattered sidewalk >His body turns, and when you see his face you could swear you see dad’s hateful glares etched into his skin >”Of course you don’t understand. You don’t understand shit, Sam. You’re still just a little kid who doesn’t know anything about… anything.” >The sun burns your fragile skin, light brown fur offering little protection — your brother’s old hoodie the only thing clothing you, besides an old pair of jeans >His scorching look dims a little when he sees you start to tense up >”Come on,” he says, pointing down the street with the silver tip of his bat. “We’re going this way.” >You don’t argue, and you don’t drag your feet >Jake has no interest in matching your meager pace, so you keep up as best you can >”Mom’s a cheat,” he says after a long bout of silence. “With uncle Richard. She’s been cheating on dad.” >And then he looks down at you >”You’re probably Uncle Richard’s kid.” “B-But-” >”But that doesn’t make it your fault. It just means you’re a coward like him. And mom. Remember what I said back at home?” >You shake your head, trying to grasp what’s being said >”If someone comes to hurt you — I take it back. I’m not always going to protect you. I can’t. Not anymore. Maybe when you were little, from mom, or dad, or anyone at school, but you’re older now.” >He stops walking >”Do you understand that?” “N-No… I don’t understand a-anything!” You squeak loudly, wrinkling your nose. You want to cry >Big kids don’t get to cry. Nobody gets to cry at your house >But that doesn’t stop you from tensing your throat up and fighting back tears anyway >”God, when are you going to grow up!?” Jacob lets his bat drop against the concrete, the metal chiming like thunder strokes on a hot day >Instinctively, you jerk backwards, squeaking like you’d just been caught with the clothes iron by mom again >Jake is still trembling with anger, but when he sees you shuffling backwards, he takes a long, slow breath and unclenches his fists >Darkening, he reaches down and grips the bat, lifting it up to you >”Here. You take this.” >You stare at his offering and look down the nameless street >Nobody is coming — no cars, nobody on the sidewalks >Nobody cares >”Sam?” He says, lowering his voice. “Take the bat. And let’s keep going, okay?” “O-Okay,” you stammer, wrapping your spindly fingers around the thin base >It’s a lot lighter than you expected >It makes you feel safe >The two of you walk in silence until you get to the gas station, where Jacob buys you a soda and some gum >He buys himself some cigarettes and a soda >He lights up as you two keep walking, the ramshackle houses thinning out and fading into pastures and sheds, the sun overhead dissipating like a drop of amber into the hazing sky >When the light slants, orange with the dying flames of the day’s end, and you two arrive at the old rail car yard, he stops you >”Sam?” He says. “I want you to watch what I do.” >He looks immensely tall and fierce in the eyes of the sunset. >Standing far away from the tracks, you watch, gripping the bat like an anchor to reality >Jake stands on the tracks, facing the darkness of a tunnel, his legs and body spread wide >A pinhead of light glows in the darkness ahead “J-Jake?” You squeak. “There’s a train coming-” >”I know there’s a train coming!” He barks. “That’s why we’re here. Are you watching me?” >You step forward, body guided by concern >The train whistle shrieks in the tunnel as it rockets out of the darkness, its yellow head charging forward like a railed bullet >Jake doesn’t move from the tracks as the train hurtles closer and closer >”YOU CAN’T ALWAYS BE SUCH A LITTLE BABY, SAM!” He screams above the panicked shrieking of the horn >You can hear the steel brakes crying out desperately to stop, to avoid the kid standing dead ahead on the tracks >They yell at him to move >Instead you stop moving >Move, you will yourself >Move >The train is trying to brake but it can’t >Move >Your body is locked up like a car in the wrong gear >It can only tremble with the need to move forward >Jake doesn’t look at you >MOVE >”YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO F-FEND FOR YOURSELF!” >You can see his whole body shaking >He can feel the rush of wind from the train barreling forward >He shuts his eyes >Everything goes quiet >He tenses his legs >Tightens his muscles like a spring >And jumps to the side at the last possible second, rolling into you, knocking you off your feet and onto your back >He lays there, his weight crushing down on your tender body >You can feel him shaking >”F-Fucking…” he whispers, trying hard to hide his panic beneath the train’s evaporating whistle >”See? See Sam? You— God— You can’t be afraid. Fear will destroy you.” >He sits up >You can see the tears stinging his eyes >You can feel his body trembling on top of you, pinning you to the dirt >He looks away, down the track, as the train rolls on >”And, when you’re older, sometime soon... It’ll be your turn on the tracks.” >Be Sam >Be 18 again >Watching out the window, heart racing as the train passes by in the night >You didn’t get back there, to that day, when you were the one on the tracks >But that doesn’t make your memories of Jacob any less painful >Breathing a sigh of relief, you hop down and dig under your bed, pushing aside your brother’s old bat >The bruises on your shoulder slow you down, so you only just grab the paper sack by the tails >It’s more precious than gold, so you’re extra quiet as you withdraw the bag’s contents >Comic books >This whole ritual always makes your body shake and heart race >If Dad were to catch you with these >Oh there’d be hell to pay, just like last time >You had welts for weeks, and you never saw those Hurricane Jones issues ever again >They were the last things you had to remind you of Jacob >You sit back against your mattress, your walls covered in looseleaf drawings and sketches, shaking as the train rips into the night >You’ve read these all so many times, but they help calm you down >Especially after everything that’s happened tonight >As you flip through the pages, eyes scanning across the print, you can’t help but let your mind drift towards happier thoughts >Like Halloween decorations >And Anon’s car >And the way he walked up with you to the house >You bet he understands why dad treats you like he does >It’s not like you don’t deserve the punishment and the cruelty >You’re a useless, slow, shy, timid piece of shit >Frankly, you don’t think you deserve Anon’s friendship >Your fingers turn the pages, but you’re no longer reading as Hurricane Jones uppercuts a terrorist >You can’t help but miss Anon >In some ways, he reminds you a lot of Jacob >You push the comic book away and stare at the drawings on the wall >He’s strong and cool, but also not afraid to be afraid >Jacob was always talking about being strong >And you know you let him down someho- >The nob starts to turn >Your eyes split with panic and you dive forward, throwing the Hurricane Jones comic into the bag, then shoving it under your bed, just as the door creaks open >Dad is standing in the door, looking around >”The hell are you doing on the floor?” He asks, eyes narrowing into slits >You can smell how drunk he is — the smell of whiskey and motor oil radiates off him “J-Just, I… I was t-t-trying to do h-homework,” you say, not meeting his gaze >If dad heard you, he doesn’t give a response. Only glares at you, as if you’d just told him that you were a lion >”Listen. That friend of yours?” >Everything except your hands goes numb >You pluck and stroke your ears >”What’s his name?” Your dad says >… >Do you tell him Anon’s real name? You know Anon gave him a fake name, but what was it? >Brody? Tyler? Joseph? >”Hey, retard, did you hear me?” Your dad steps forward >”Because I don’t want him around you anymore. So I want his name.” >”H-His name is Brody,” you squeak, coiling up against the mattress >He stops and braces himself against the door, lightly swaying to the tune of a whiskey stupor >You notice the belt in his other hand >Sometimes, when he’s drunk, you can make him forget to punish you >You know that it’s for the best, but still, it doesn’t make you feel good >So sometimes you take advantage of the situation “He’s not my f-friend. S-S-So you won’t s-see him anymore,” you continue. “I d-don’t have any friends.” Your voice falls into a whisper >Dad coughs loudly, bracing against the door >”Course you don’t,” he says. “But if you EVER bring any of them back here again, I swear, you’re getting worse than the belt.” >He steps forward >You don’t think there’s any avoiding this >”You still have so much debt to pay off,” he growls >You shrink into a tight ball, shivering as his shadow blots out the light, the belt loose in his grip >You try to think of Halloween decorations >Be the next day >Be Anon >”Biological Diversity Week is a state-mandated week in which we, the unfortunate souls who thought teaching was a noble endeavor, get to explain to you the nuances and caveats of a multi-species society. Now, before we begin, do we have ANY questions?” >Gloria raises her hand >”…Annnnyyy questions…” Mr. Bolm, your science teacher, asks again, eyes practically begging for someone other than Gloria to speak up >Gloria makes an impatient grunt and starts waving her arm >The science teacher, a human in his mid 40s, runs a hand through his failing head of hair, and calls on Gloria >”Yes, Mr. Bolm, will we be discussing sexual immorality and degeneracy as a part of this unit?” >The class groans, and your head hits the desk >Why is she always like this? You thought Sam was oblivious to social cues, but Gloria takes it a step further >”No, Gloria. The syllabus clearly explains that this week is set aside so we can learn about the biological and physiological differences between all of us, so that we can all learn to better appreciate one another.” >Not quite satisfied with that response, Gloria asks if she can lead the class in a prayer before they discuss such ‘disgusting topics’ >Mr. Bolm shakes his head again, and you can see the desperation for a drink already worn on his face >”Once again, Mrs. Duchene, as I’ve told you before, the school does not endorse any sort or religious ceremony. If you’d like, you may quietly pray. And furthermore this is purely science and biology. There’s nothing to be afraid of here, and we do not deal with topics like faith.” >His words falling on deaf ears, Gloria smacks her palms together loudly in pious fashion >”I’ll pray for all of you, especially those among you who have given in to Satanic temptation…” she says, casting her judgmental gaze around the room, pausing on hard on Vanessa Doermuth >”…And those who I believe can still be saved,” she says, as her eyes land on you with a wink >You shiver a little bit, the holy spirit of the lord vacating your body at her vile gaze >Vanessa hurls an eraser at Gloria’s head, and you’d laugh if you weren’t so on edge right now >Sam hasn’t assailed you with his presence yet, which is a usual Monday morning ritual >The fact that you haven’t even seen him wandering around aimlessly between classes had you late to Mr. Bolm’s class >You spent the whole time and a few minutes after the bell waiting for him to show up >And what’s worse is Vanessa Doermuth is in your class >You cast a sideways glance at her >She’s slouched in her seat, open-mouthed as she gawks at the ceiling tiles >And though her fur is a lighter color, she’s dyed her hair a raven black, and cropped it short into an intimidating slice that rests easily across her light green eyes >The very definition of ‘rebellious phase’, you used to think >But now, as you study her, you can’t help but see her as something else — a cult leader, a witch, a servant — somehow she’s wrapped up in this whole thing, whether she knows it or not >Her eyes flick over to you, and you try to stare straight ahead at Mr. Bolm as he endures another barrage of questions from Gloria >A few seconds later, a ball of wadded up notebook paper bounces off the side of your head and onto your desk >You sneak the ball behind your science textbook and unfold it >’Saw you looking over my direction. Got something to say to me? - Vanessa’ >And of course it’s written in all black and decorated with pentagrams >I mean, I how cheesy can you get? >You scribble a reply, hands shaking >Your distraction is only broken when yet another girl, this time an otter in a cheerleaders uniform, exits the room >There was practice after school, that much was sure, but of the five in your class, four of them have left the room, and none of them have come back >You know what to write >Gotta play it smooth, Anon. Don’t let her know you know she’s involved >Hell she might not even know she’s involved with some demonic fuckery >Jussssst talk about the weather, that sort of chit chat ’What’s with the cheerleaders leaving the room? - Anon’ >You hop the note over to her desk. Another returns in a few seconds >’Why don’t you go to the second floor men’s bathroom and find out? Winky face. - Vanessa’ >What ‘What’s that supposed to mean? - Anon.’ >You turn in your desk. Vanessa flashes you an evil grin >You’re almost tempted to go to the second floor bathroom and find out for yourself >Another note from Vanessa hits your desk >’You know who is an even bigger slut than any cheerleader? Gloria. I bet if you put on a priest’s robes she wouldn’t mind being your little choir girl. Winky face - Vanessa XXX’ >Now that’s just disgusting >You shiver at the idea of Gloria’s body on top of your own >You don’t mind anthro girls, but you do mind Gloria Duchene. You mind her a lot >You scribble a quick note, and throw it at Vanessa— ‘That’s disgusting. I’d never do anything with Gloria. But seriously, what’s going on in the second floor men’s room that you know about? - Anon’ >—Which never makes it to its recipient >Paper, that fickle bitch, never cooperates with you >Instead the note sails a wide left, bouncing off Louis’ head >Louis, in a room full of other gray wolves, would quickly stand out like a tree stands out among saplings >He’s gawky, tall, body stripped of the typical broad-shouldered muscle and angular features that define his species >Were he in anyone’s pack, he wouldn’t even qualify as an omega wolf >His disinterest in reality and other people actually makes him some kind of an autistic alpha >Plus he just outsizes most other wolves, at a cool 6’6”, so tall he has to slouch wherever he goes (at least for a wolf) >He uncurls the note, reads it, and then shoots you a disinterested look >You silently tear another piece of notebook paper out and scrawl down some instructions >’Don’t go in the bathroom Louis. Trust me. Something is up. - Anon’ >It bounces painlessly off Vanessa’s head >You grit your teeth and swallow a barrage of swears >She reads the note, holding back her laughter, but just barely >You try to signal for the two of them to switch notes, but Vanessa pockets Louis’ note with a devil smirk, and Louis raises his spindly, stick-like arm >You can see trails of red ants crawling through his fur, probably a sign that he yet again brought his ant farm to school despite what happened last time >You wonder why they never bite him >Mr. Bolm breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Louis’ hand go up >”Yes, Louis. You have a question?” >”Yeah. Can I use the bathroom Mr. Uhhhhh…” >Mr. Bolm looks like he’s about to collapse >He wheezes a yes and weakly announces that his name is “Mr. Bolm” as Louis makes his way to the front of the room, hands drowned in his pockets, body curved in a slouch >Gloria’s hand flies up again as Louis walks past her, his spine bent in a permanent ‘C’ >”Mr. Bolm, do wolves eat their mates?” >Louis slams the door loudly >”What? That- No. They don’t,” he replies, rather quickly >”Do wolves eat their pups? Do wolves have a lot of pups? Do wolves-“ >”No, yes, and whatever you’re about to ask: No.” >She weakly lowers her hand and looks around the room >Everyone is as still as lead statues >”Well come on people, don’t any of you have questions?” >Jenna Orthorn raises her hand >You’ve always liked Jenna >She’s a red fox, very clever (no stereotypes implied) and reads the same books you do >But something doesn’t seem right >She almost never speaks up in class >You notice that she’s shifting uncomfortably in her seat, her dress practically shaking as her legs spam into the carpet >Mr. Bolm notices too. “Bathroom, Jenna?” He says >”YES!” She bolts from the room, her nimble body maneuvering around larger desks >Vanessa and Gloria watch her red tail bounce through the door, Gloria with fascination, Vanessa with a sick and gleeful smile >Almost mechanically, that goat’s hands shoots up, and she speaks without ever being called on >”If foxes mate for life then why is Adrian Orthorn such a man-slut?” she quips. “He’s been with at least three other vixens since freshman year. I heard he and Jenna-” >”Gloria,” Mr. Duchene stiffens up, face going red. “If you don’t have any appropriate questions about mating rituals or rites for Canids, then PLEASE be quiet. I reserve the right to remove you from the lesson you know.” >Gloria shrinks in her seat with a pained expression >”Yes sir!” You swear she’d salute if she were told to do so. “My apologies sir.” >Mr. Bolm sighs >”It- It’s okay. Now if we could move on, with class almost over-“ “One more question, sir,” Gloria’s voice reaches a military staccato >He hangs his head even lower, arms slackening like socks full of yogurt >”What is it? You get one more question, Gloria.” >”What about humans?” she asks, her hooves clacking anxiously on the floor as she sneaks a glance behind her >At you >“Do humans mate for life?” >Be Mike Sapone >And MAN you gotta take a leak >The first floor men’s room and women’s room are both closed. Figures that only the second floor men’s is open >The construction seemed to come out of nowhere >So you practically sprint from English class, down the hall, telling the straggling teachers that you ‘Gotta piss like a racehorse.’ >Which is not wrong, because when you finally hit that urinal, you feel like you’re chipping the porcelain >Feelsgoodman.jpg >You do your ritual, which involves taking a deep breath, looking around, then looking back down >Huh >The bathroom is empty >Well that’s always nice >Oh wait, no it’s not >There’s a twiggish gray wolf… slumped in the corner right behind you, by the trashcan, arms folded in his sleeves, his yellow eyes unblinking and shot open with panic, covered in highlighter-colored flyers for the Spooktober Fest >At least, you see him in the mirror >Weird, but he might be looking at something else, so you try to ignore him >You finish up, zip up, and turn your head towards where the wolf should be >You should ask him if he’s okay. He looks… Kinda out of it >You open your mouth, fingers pinching your zipper “You like what you se-” >But the corner is vacant >Just the trashcan, standing alone in the flickering darkness >You look back to the mirror >There’s not just the wolf there, there’s also four cheerleaders — an otter, a possum, a white rabbit and a badger, all in their skintight maroon-red uniforms, frilled skirt clipping at their knees >One of them is moving silently towards you, smirking, eyes bright red with rabid intensity, smiling and practically slavering at the mouth >You jump back when you feel something tugging at the back of your shirt >You spin around ”Get the FUCK off me!” you shout >There’s nothing there >Then you hear the sound of paws scraping across the floor >Everyone except the wolf is moving >You try to keep your eyes on at least one of them but >N-NANI!? >They’re fast >You spin around in all directions >Left >Right >Stumbling backwards but bumping into something or someone you can’t see >There’s nobody here! Why can you only see them in the mirror!? >Did someone drug you? >You’ve gotta be high right now >Alex probably sold you some bad weed >This is his fault >”Please stay,” the badger hisses, her voice low and sharp like her fanged mouth. “We’re so hungry. We’ve been waiting for something tastier than Louis to walk through the door.” >”Yeah!” The white rabbit joins in. “Louis is so…. Ugh. We want something sweeter to snack on!” >Nope >That rabbit has fangs where she shouldn’t >You are getting the FUCK out of here >Gotta get the fuck out of here and beat the SHIT out of Alex for this >You lift your feet to run, but feel something heavy pulling down at your pants >And then you see them sheer down the middle, the fabric shrieking as invisible claws easily rip through them… >… And into your skin, blood springing from fresh wounds >You kick forward and hit nothing but empty space >Someone is laughing >Someone with a booming and deep voice >A voice you swear is right in your ear >”Where are you going, Mike? You don’t think you’re going back to class, right? We all know you don’t really give a shit about class.” >Oh Jesus, you recognize that voice from your English class >Lydia Penferth >You look back into the mirror >She’s there, a towering anthropomorphic lion, tight-fitting black clothes, hair dyed bright purple, eyes colored in with what looks like an unnatural, feverish glow >She studded her face with piercings >Metal hooks in her ears, nose… >… Studs and rods bulging out of her angular and feminine face >Her lips are practically ringed shut and her massive, fuzzy ears are strung together with a thin metal chain >But the worst of it all is the way she’s standing >She makes her 6’0” look like another extra foot with the way she’s curled her body up over yours >Without a little restraint, she may as well be drooling on your face >She plants two paws on your shoulders >You can feel their impressive weight kneading into your muscles, as if she was tenderizing you, like a slab of meat >”You know, I bet these girls wouldn’t give you a second glance if they weren’t under my control. They’re such horrible people deep down, wouldn’t you agree?” >The cheerleaders circle your shivering body, their fangs glistening, mouth’s frothing with hunger >They must not be able to hear Lydia >You keep your eyes focused on the mirror, watching the circle of cheerleaders tighten around you ”You’re awfully cocky for a woman about to have her jaw broken,” you say >You tighten your fists, feeling blood boiling in the pit of your stomach “You hurt me and I swear—” >”I don’t think it’ll hurt. Well, it might. Having your soul drained from your body can’t be comfortable. I just wish it didn’t have to be you, or that weirdo over there with all the bugs crawling through his hair.” >She nods towards Louis, who looks about as useless as a discarded doll right now “What do you mean? Then let me go you stupid razor mouth bitch.” >You feel the fine needles of her claws pinching at your shirt fabric >”We don’t want to hurt the nobodies. Or anyone without a shred of social cred. But we also can’t have you running off now, darling.” “The nobodies?” >She smiles, or, what looks like a smile behind all the metal coating her face >”You, that wolf over there — people who don’t mean shit to anyone but a few people. Or people who don’t mean shit to nobody at all. I mean, the kids with no sort of pull in any social circles. Yeah, to be fair, you’re all going to go soon, but it doesn’t have to hurt if you don’t fight it.” “And I’m not good enough to matter?” >”Oh, I’m sorry baby. You know I always liked you — still gonna suck the soul right outta your body — but you don’t pull any weight in anyone’s social circle. Hardly even your own little pond with Anon and Alex and that weird rabbit.” “Pull huh,” you nod your head several times, ignoring the piercing bite of her claws and the ear-rending shriek of fabric being slashed open >Just a little longer. You clear your throat and search the open air for a distraction “Maybe we can cut a deal?” >She pauses, claws weighing into your bare flesh >”Well… You might have something I want. But it’s a long shot.” “Social pull, right?” >Her laughter is a lion’s roar. ”Lets face it. You missed your chance to have that.” “I never missed my chance. I gave it up. I don’t want it.” >”Oh sure you did. You’re such a bad boy… you don’t want the fame or the glory at all. You’re just too cool and edgy to be in high school huh?” >One by one her claws sink into your skin, pulling your body downward >It takes everything you have just to remain vertical >You’d have an easier time breathing underwater >The cheerleader’s watch the sadistic spectacle, eyes feverish with feral hunger and need >Whatever consciousness they have left seems replaced with only a rabid desire to feed >Or to fuck >You do notice none of them are wearing the traditional spats >But that begs the question of why they were in the men’s room- >”God this is FUN!” Lydia shouts, her sadism on full display >You can hear her in your ear, but it doesn’t sound like the sound is coming from in the bathroom >And neither is the ragged breathing of the cheerleaders >Isn’t the women’s restroom next to the men’s room? >The first floor’s was closed, wasn’t it? >They had to be in there, or… or something. You just need a way out >Or a way to stop them from maiming your dick and/or your soul >Panicked, your split eyes flick back towards the mirror where your assailants are visible >The mirror >Mike you geni- >You bend your knees to the bite of her claws and stifle a pained groan >Fuck >This isn’t good. She rests her chin on your shoulder, driving you even further down >The minute you hit the ground, you know it’s gonna be curtains for Mike muthafuckin’ Sapone >Lydia only confirms this >”When your body hits the ground, Mike, I’m gonna watch you suffer. But no hard feelings, babe. Like I said, this is more about liability than hatred.” “Oh fuck off, you like this,” you grunt. >”Well, you’re not wrong.” >The *tap* *tap* of blood splattering on the ground draws your attention >You’ve got seconds, maybe, to execute your genius, well thought out plan “S-So, back to our negotiations…” you try to keep your body rigid, but all it does is build tension in your lower legs >You need to buy a little more time >Your mind spins through all the possibilities while your mouth stammers, fighting back pained screams >”Right, I almost forgot. I know you don’t read, but have you seen a little red book lying around here?” >A little red book? >Your mind spins through all of the memories you might have containing ‘little red books,’ and it’s shockingly brief >Except for one recent memory >Sam had a book just like that >You’d sell out that gayboy in a heartbeat, but you know now Anon has it >And soon they will look for it >”Tik-tock, fleshy.” She presses down. Your spine bows forward, giving you a great view of the bottom of her muzzle >You blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind “I’ve seen it! I know what you’re talking about! A little red book with weird writing inside, yeah! I know it! But you have to let me go first!” You cry in desperation >Some of the pressure releases >”Bullshit, you’re just trying to save your soul.” “NO! I mean YES! But I see your point now. Fuck normal, well-adjusted cunts. Fuck ‘em! Just let me go first!” >You tighten your fists again as the pressure continues to evaporate >You try to stand a little taller >She pushes you back down >”You’re not in much of a position to negotiate right now, babe.” >You hope this works >You suck down a gulp of air and lock your sights on her bottom muzzle, a stud poking through her thin, brown fur “Right, right. I don’t have any social pull. But I know who has the book. You remember Sam?” >”Garlen? That brown Mini-Rex?” “They’re all Rabbits to me. You can’t miss him. Short. Same clothes everyday. Messy fur. Dark brown fu-” >”You mean he’s got it?” >She tenses her hold on you “FUCK! MAYBE!” >She arches her legs and tries forcing down harder >”Nah, you’re full of shit, Mike. I shoulda known your dumb ass would say anything to get out of this.” “I am dumb,” you squeal. “And I don’t have any social pull…” >Now is the time >You bend your legs, ass nearly hitting the tile floor >Lydia’s horrible smile grows >The cheerleaders hiss and claw at the empty inches in front of you and behind you “…But I’ve got a lot of PUSH!” >You explode upwards, your legs decompressing like a mine >All those years of gymnastics paid off >The top of your skull slams into her lower jaw with such force that she yelps and stumbles backwards, ropes of crimson blood and spit thrown from her red maw >Free, but with the cheerleaders pressing in on you now that their handler has been temporarily incapacitated, you jump backwards towards a urinal >You know you have little time. The cheerleaders hiss and grab at you, claws bared. One them lunges forward on all fours, skittering into the urinal next to you >You face the mirror, ready to watch as the cheerleaders descend upon you like locusts >Well Mike, you’ve made it this far >What’s seven more years of bad luck? >Despite the gnawing pain in your legs, you hit a dead sprint in the small distance between the back wall and the sink mirror >Hands unseen grab you by your loose shirt fabric, but you run like your soul depended on it >Not out the door— >(you’d never make it) >—But forward, at the mirror >With a bound and a leap, you curl your body into a tight ball and become airborne, a human cannonball >Your eyes slam shut as you watch yourself hurtle towards the bathroom mirror >There’s the sound of glass shattering, a body thudding off the sink, and then tumbling from the sink onto the filthy tile floor >And then a scream from next-door — a pained cacophony of one animal forcibly ejected from a reality warp, and four cheerleaders now likely unconscious from the severing blow that was your entire body colliding with their tunneled portal into the men’s room >Your eyes open to a shattered mirror, shards of the reflective glass littering the sink >And a whole lot of blood coating your upper body, dampening your shirt >But you know time isn’t on your side with this one >You don’t even think about going to the other bathroom and beating Lydia within an inch of her life (because let’s face it, she’d win that one) >And that wolf that they likely victimized and then brought to the women’s bathroom is as good as dead as far as you’re concerned >Snapjaws can fend for themselves better than you can >You scramble onto two feet and leg it out of the bathroom, past the women’s restroom, and down the hall towards the stairs >You white-knuckle the railing as you throw your body into a turn. Your wild flight comes to a halt when you crash into someone you didn’t see >A red fox >You stumble forward and brace yourself against the railing >The fox sits up, shaking off the hit >It’s Jenna Orthorn >”Mike? Why are you sprinting down the stairs?” She asks, quickly scrambling to her feet and doing the ‘gotta pee’ dance >She goes white when she sees the trail of blood running down your side >”JENNA. DO NOT GO TO THE BATHROOM ON THE SECOND FLOOR!” You spin around and leg it down the stairs. “JUST GO PEE OUTSIDE OR SOMETHING!” >You leave one of the few anthros you really actually like on the stairs in a daze, her head cocked to the side as you practically evaporate in a blur of blood and torn clothing >A well-dressed rhino tries to stop you by virtue of your name, but you keep sprinting down the hall >Class was almost over, and so the halls were beginning to swell with kids, making your escape both easier and yet more challenging >The few times your grateful for more students in the hall is when you care about them the least >Alright Mike >Make it to your car >Or find Alex and Anon >… >Fuck it, you can call them late- >You blur right past a group of cheerleaders, who suddenly rise to their feet with mechanical alertness to your presence >You swear you see their eyes glowing with lust and hunger >Oh God >One of them is a cheetah >Be Anon again >And, fuck, there’s finally a question >Vanessa sits up in her chair for once, body locked straight forward on Mr. Bolm, who looks unbelievably overjoyed to have an actual question from Gloria >”Actually, that’s a great question, and I’m glad you asked! Do humans mate for life?” he repeats, eyes eagerly scanning the sea of pimply, teenage faces for- oh god, no, no >Look somewhere else you old f- >”ANON!” He brightens, turning to write the question on the board. “Pop quiz for my brightest student. Do humans mate for life?” >You become acutely aware just how piercing everyone’s stares suddenly are >Especially Vanessa’s >With a curious interest, she taps on the desk, cocking her head to the side, a smile gathering on her black lips >Fuck “Well, that’s… That’s the ideal, I think. I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before-” >A few hushed whispers from the class cause you to start sweating >Well shit, you kind of know how Sam feels >Every time you get nervous, you always look for a distraction “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Bolm?” >To the sound of barely restrained gasps and your own heavy breathing, Mr. Bolm turns around, a stung look on his face >”Yes, I have,” he says. You see a flash of light from the ring on his finger >”I was in love for a long, long, long time. They say you only get one person in life you truly love. Or at least for humans this is true.” >But his expression doesn’t match up like you thought it would >It looks like you just diagnosed him with stage four cancer, or you informed him his best friend was dying- >Oh god >His wife is dead, isn’t she? >Isn’t that perfect? >Vanessa can no longer hold back her laughter as the bell kicks itself >Mr. Bolm does not dismiss the class he only stares defeated at the floor >The class dismisses itself >You’re the first out the door, muttering a red-faced apology at the isolated figure that is now Mr. Bolm >”Hey Anon, wait!” >Vanessa is right behind you >Damn, she moves quick >You step into the stream of students >Vanessa grabs your arm >God she’s cold >Like, ice cold >”Great answer. How did you know that Bolm’s wife left him?” “L-Lucky guess?” You shrug, not feeling any less like a complete fucknugget >It suddenly dawns on you: this is her >The woman who might be responsible for everything >“God.” she starts laughing like she’s not potentially involved in some dark ritual. “He’s such a fucking sob. He’s probably just upset he can’t pull any teen pussy now that his wife is gone. ‘Oh no my wife had an affair oh noooooo.’” >She looks at you, suddenly serious, the laughter evaporating from her face. Her black lips go slant, and her green eyes flick upwards into your face from beneath heavy eyeliner >”Don’t you just wish everyone like him, all these well adjusted, thoughtless fucks, were gone? Or at least punished?” >Yep >She fucking done it, Anon. She is no longer a hapless victim >She’s at least some pawn in this entire mess ”Punished in what way?” >She pauses, studying you with pursed lips >You stand alert, but only out of fear >Satisfied, she nods her head slowly >”Any way you want, Anon.” She nods to something further behind you >Oh, it’s Harold, a North American Black Bear >His arms shudder as he balances a high stack of percussion instruments >He’s a band kid, and nice enough. You had gym with him once >Surprisingly good at doing hurdles >You look back to see Vanessa drawing a small black book out of her bag >Your heart tightens up into a little ball of anxiety >Oh god, she really is behind all this. ‘Brothers, black and red.’ >’The Book of Wrath’ >”We can do all kinds of things to shallow and awful people. Doesn’t that sound nice?” >She spins open the book and nips at her finger. A small dot of blood appears on the tip >She then smears it onto a messy page >The drums practically explode out of Harold’s arms like a cluster bomb, shotgun-spraying in all directions >Harold gets blown on his wide ass by the force >By the time the bear can sit up, he has two punks on him, both humans, twisting his collar up, screaming in his face >The crowds look tense >And not because they’re about to witness a hate crime >But because the ones still recovering from the barrage look pissed off at Harold and each other >In fact they all look ready to commit hate crimes against each other “What the-” >”I told you. We have all kinds of ways to turn them against each other,” Vanessa says, closing the book, wearing a terribly satisfied grin >It shuts with a heavy *THUMP* “Is that why everyone seems so on edge lately? That book?” >”No,” she says, shoving the book back into her bag. “Not just this book. How about we talk about this somewhere more private?” >Your feet tap against the concrete >You agreed to meet her at the loading dock behind the school after three >The loading dock is empty except for the memories of you, Mike, Sam and Alex climbing the broken ladder >Speaking of, you whip out your phone and start tapping out a message to the two of them ‘Vanessa is the one. We need to’- >”I knew you’d come, Anon.” Vanessa emerges from the shadows of the loading dock, reeking of nicotine >Two other goths are at her side >One human — A male >And the other an adorable lil’ rat >Who does not look all that adorable smoking on a cigarette that’s nearly 1/4 of her size >Okay, it’s a little funny though ”Right, I’m… I’m here.” >The other two step towards you >”Hang on. Anon’s not one of them,” Vanessa halts their advance >Exchanging suspicious looks, they step back towards Vanessa’s side >You notice she’s got The Book of Wrath open in her palm >”Anon is one of us. A misfit — on the inside and outside.” >Cringe >God this was a mistake >You should just leave right now >You shouldn’t even be at school >You should be trying to get Alex and Mike together to save Sam… >… However you’ll do that >”Do you believe in magic? Curses?” >Oh, you always hated Harry Potter “… I don’t know what if what know is true anymore. I guess I’m open to the idea?” >The rat flicks her cigarette at your feet and looks up to Vanessa >”How about a demonstration?” She says, her voice far deeper than it has any right to be >She cuts into her thumb with her teeth and presses the bloody thumb into the pages of the book >God her sharp little bangs that cover only of her eyes are just too adorable- >You jump backwards as the cigarette pops and fizzes like a firecracker >From its bubbling ashes, a terrible shape arises, the shape of a beast, rising from the small light, billowing up out of smoke and ash, a cherry-red heart of flame beginning to glow >It lets out a scorched roar, breathing nicotine and flakes of ash >It’s nearly twice your size in a matter of seconds “Holy fuck!” You jump back as it reaches for you with an ashy hand >Vanessa wheezes, sweat beading down her face >No longer able to control the smoke-beast, she slams the book shut >With a billowing puff, the beast becomes wisps of smoke, fading into the atmosphere >You feel like shitting yourself >God you’re such a coward >”See what we can do?” She says, looking winded, but satisfied. ”And we can do more than just that.” >”Have you seen the moon lately?” the human says >Oh shit “That was you? You can control the moon?” >He nods in satisfaction. ”We could, until Kate lost the other book.” “Kate?” >”Winslow,” Vanessa says. “Kate Winslow helped us set this week in motion, but then lost the Book of Rite in the bathroom.” >Just like the book said — ‘The Book of Rite’ that is >God this is too much to take in all at once >You feel like you’ve been drugged >You hope they don’t notice your whole body trembling >”We just need it to the complete the final rite on Friday. Along with a few… other things.” “Final rite? Other things?” >Vanessa smirks >”Remember what I said about punishing every normie, Anon?” >Normie >Heh >She continues as you struggle to move your mouth >”What better way to punish the normies than to have them punish each other? Once Friday rolls around, and we have our pure virgin and our book, we can finally return this world to a primal form of madness.” “Primal madness?” >”You read a lot. Ever read Lovecraft, Anon? Think of violent, Eldritch madness, with a little bit of Twilight thrown in there for good measure. All the people that take their sanity for granted, their social status… They’ll be at each other’s throats soon enough.” “So why are you telling me this?” >There had to be an ulterior motive >You back up, aware that you’re being clowned >”Because you’re not one of them. You and your friends somehow are able to exist outside the petty spheres of high school cliques: The nobodies.” >Oh >So they’re awfully trusting. That’s a good thing “Gee, thanks,” you quip, sarcasm dripping off your syllables >It hurts because it’s true >”But we need your help. You’re close with Gloria Duchene, right?” >You blush at the idea “Close? No, I wouldn’t say I’m close with her. More like she’s been fawning over me (no offense) ever since she got to public school.” >”Right!” Vanessa says. “Her weird human fetish is exactly what we need. Well, that and her virginity.” “WHAT” >The goth’s start laughing >”Calm down Anon, it’s not what you think. We just need pure, virgin blood to continue the ritual.” “So you want me to… NO, I am NOT having sex with-” >Vanessa laughs even harder >You take a step back, face burning >”We don’t want you to fuck her either. What you do with her is your own deal. We just need her for the week. So, will you help us? Bring her to the gym tomorrow for lunch. We’ll be waiting.” >Help bring about Eldritch madness like in a badly written teenage drama? >Help THESE cringy idiots? >Who the hell do they think you are? >Why would anyone want to help them complete a dark ritual? >Sure you hate Gloria, but even you wouldn’t betray her to them >Well, on second thought, it’d have to be a good enough reason… >Your eyes flick towards the broken ladder again, and all you can think of is Sam, languishing under his father’s ‘care’ >…Which you think you’ve found >You clear your throat “Vanessa?” >This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done >The doe perks up at the sound of her name, her pierced ears twitching >Who knows if it will even work? “I’ll help you get Gloria.” >You’re going to keep your knowledge of the other book a secret >One last ace up your sleeve, just in case >Right now though, that doesn’t matter. The book is irrelevant. Because you have another chip you can cash in: Gloria “But in exchange — right here, right now — I want you to make me brave.” >The goth’s exchange confused looks >”Brave?” The rat asks “Just… Don’t ask.” You stare directly at Vanessa, eyes begging “Can you do it?” >She studies you, the trusting look gone from her face >You can physically feel your armpits getting wetter >God DAMNIT you’re such a coward >First it was college >Then it was this whole situation >And now you’re cutting a deal with the enemy >To what? >Save a kid who, up until last night, you couldn’t care less about? >Are you gay? Is that why you’re doing this? >You shake your head, ignoring the piercing stares of the goth’s >You’re not gay, not even a litt- >”Fine.” Vanessa says. “Hold out your arm.” >You don’t even question her until she draws a razor from her bag >Somehow you’re not surprised she keeps a razor with her “Y-You’re not gonna stab me, right?” >She shakes her head and grabs your elbow to steady you >Her fingers are ice cold >That’s not natural >Well neither is getting your wrist cut but Vanessa Doermuth to get magical, Eldritch courage to save the life of your friend, but you’re pretty much ready to abandon reason at this point anyway >Wait, did you just call Sam your friend? >The knife glides cross your wrist horizontally, leaving a budding red slit. >Blood trickles out >She then takes your hand, twists your arm, and holds the book beneath your dripping wound >You watch in silence, heart racing, as a page in the black book becomes soggy with your blood >The goth’s are all smirking, and you swear they’re about to start chanting ‘one of us, one of us, one of us’ >With each drop of blood, you feel your heartbeat getting slower and slower >You no longer evade the goth’s eye contact, but meet them head on >Vanessa seems to notice, and a smile spreads across her lips >”You feel It, Anon? The rewards of being on the right side.” “I feel it, Mr. Krabs.” >”What?” “Nothing.” You withdraw your wrist, letting your blood drip onto the concrete. “Are we done?” >Vanessa nods >”You should be all juiced up and ready to go. Just don’t forget our promise, Anon.” >You turn your back to them, car keys already dangling from your fingers >Man you feel cool >You feel confident, unafraid to piss them off >But your mind feels sobered, fresh, not without forethought “You’ll have your goat tomorrow,” you say, making for your car >”Good!” Vanessa calls after you. “Because if you fuck us on this, our deal is off!!” “Like I said, I’m going to help you. But first, I have something to do.” >The parking lot is chaos, but you don’t mind. You maneuver cooly around hormonal, potentially magically cursed teenagers >You flip your phone out of your pocket and ring Mike >You get his answering machine >Huh, you can normally get him >You ring up Alex >Anyone to help you with what you’re about to do >”Y’ello?” Alex’s sleepy voice crackles through on the other side of the line “Alex? You free?” >”No, I’m at work. But yeah, I can do whatever. What’s up comrade?” >The sun was just beginning to set on you, diffusing like a drop of amber into the gathering dusk >An unnaturally cold wind whips across the car, carrying a handful of leaves against your windshield >Though the skies were clear, it looks like a storm is fast approaching from the west “I’m coming to pick you up. We’re going to rescue Sam.” >You are Sam >And from the single window of your room, you watch the leaves of fall drop into the breeze, one by one, like little parachutes of autumn >Your hips, butt, back and arms sting and are peppered with welts >You tug your hoodie up over them in the filthy bathroom mirror while Dad snores loudly on the couch, the TV at an ear-aching volume, especially for rabbits >You’re used to it by now >Through your chestnut brown fur, you can see the strips of the belt, swelling up like bruised fruit. You poke a tender one on the gentle feminine bow of your hips >You recoil at the prodding >Yeah, you really did it this time >You really hurt dad’s trust in you >His croaking voice from last night was in your dreams >Anon was there, and so was Jacob >Jacob hated most humans, but he was using his bat to protect you from your dad. Anon kept you shielded from your mother’s whip-like tongue >His slick suit and tie were getting slashed to bits by her razor-sharp claws while dad and Jacob squared off over the bat >In real life it was the other way around >Dad and Jacob seemed to understand each other in a way — they spoke the language of booze and biting words, always stuffing down an injustice or sense of indignation with more anger into their caustic guts >And when the anger became too much, they surrendered to the amber crutch >In the dream though, dad opened his mouth, and spit a train at you, sending it down tracks of invisible light >You could hear both him and Jacob calling you “Unwanted”, and then Jacob yelling over the shriek of the horn, “COWARD!” >You tried to get Anon to move, but he had to protect you from mom >And so you jumped out of the way of the train too soon >Anon wasn’t fast enough >And then you woke up in a cold sweat, dreams still heavy on your mind like lead balloons hanging overhead — threatening to crash >It must have been around 5 a.m. when you started drawing >You drew until the sun came up and dad roused you from your work >He told you that he’d call you out sick >Which was a lie, you knew, but it didn’t matter >It was probably just to let the bruises and welts from last night heal and scab over >The drawing helped speed things along >Back in the mirror you strip off your hoodie, down an old, old pill — An estrus blocker >And then another — a scent mask >Whatever kept you from ruining Dad’s life any further >You grab your brother’s old hoodie from the dirty tile floor and carry it to your room with all the tenderness of a mother >You’d do anything to repay Dad for your brother >You are Anonymous, and you’re idling your car on Sam’s street >”So this is your plan?” Alex says >You had a great plan; Alex was just being a piece of shit >Your car hums and sips on gasoline, shuddering in failing sunset as you cruise down Sam’s neighborhood >”Is Sam even 18?” “Probably?” You reply, unsure of the rabbit’s age >”Jesus, I’d have moved out from here if I was him,” Alex says, resting his head against the cool glass window, his hair tucked beneath his beanie “Well it’s not that easy to just up and leave these sorts of places.” >”Yeah, not with the forces of capitalism pressing down on all sides.” “Don’t make this about capitalism right now, dude. I need to focus. And I need you on your A-Game. Can you do that?” >Alex sits up, flashing a confident grin >”Are you seriously asking me, of all people, if I can break out the charm and lead a person on while we kidnap their son?” >Actually, yes, you are >But you’re in the shit now, no turning back. Not with Mike suddenly ghosting you >Just you, Alex, a gay anxious rabbit, a violent alcoholic rabbit, and a serious criminal offense hanging over your very-not-a-minor-anymore head “I should never doubt you. You’ve managed to stay employed at the Shop N’ Save.” >”Gainfully so. I even got my coworkers to start calling me Comrade Alexi.” >You can’t help but smile a little but, even as you approach Sam’s rundown old lot and kill the engine a few doors down >Both you and Alex step outside into the brisk air >The lingering smell of industrial sites, trash and train smoke hits your nose like… well, a train >You and Alex make a sour face >”What the hell is that?” He clutches his face and pinches his nose “Factory runoff,” you say, tucking your hands into the pockets of your slacks and making for Sam’s house >”When I’m in charge every one of these polluters will hang from the last rope’s they sold.” >You are Sam >You check to see if Dad is still asleep on the couch >The soft rising and falling of his chest and the volume of the TV tells you he’s out cold in another stupor >Almost happy for Dad’s unconsciousness, you zip to your room, being careful when you shut the door >The bag of old comics sits untouched where you stashed them last night before Dad came in >If he found them… >Your body shudders at the thought of Dad finding out you’d been hiding your brother’s old comics and baseball bat under your bed for six years >There’d be hell to pay >But as you quietly push the door shut, careful to leave just a tiny crack open so you can hear your Dad’s movements, you feel a sense of giddiness you haven’t felt for a long time >Your body is achy from the whooping, sure, but as you settle down on your bed, crack open a Hurricane Jones book, you can almost shut your eyes and be in Agora, the birthplace of the most fearsome superhero on earth >Your eyes watch as the last rays of autumn filter lower and lower on your carpet, giving way to the procession of dusk >Your stomach rumbles >You’d rather wait out the hunger than wake Dad up with noise in the kitchen >It’s safer when he’s asleep >”So all I gotta do is fool this poor, downtrodden soul for just a few minutes?” Alex says >He’s sitting alert in the front seat of your car as you idle down the street from Sam’s house “Right. Don’t upset him, don’t try to go inside — just waste his time. I’ll get Sam out of there and into the car, and you’ll leave, walk down the street, and we’ll pick you up. Just like that.” >Alex flexes his long, spindly arms forward, knuckles cracking like little twigs in the process >”Nothing I can’t handle, Anon. I’m a natural-born leader of people.” >Leader of this fist into your face if you don’t get out there >”Five minutes?” He quips, shaking his body out, stretching his acting muscles “Five minutes. This will be quick. Quicker than that. I promise.” >You summon a few deep breaths for courage as you stand at the gate of Sam’s house >Well, gate is more like an exaggeration. It’s really just a twisted chain link fence encircling the dilapidated yard >There’s a shattered concrete path leading up to the sagging, one-story home, its white paint long since gone; its windows spider-webbed with cracks >It’s a sad place to be, no matter who you are >Hard to believe that just a few nights ago you were scared shitless about being here, and now all you can think about is your next move >Did the pact with Vanessa work? Are you really about to do this? >You feel for the handful of screws, nuts and bolts in your pockets as Alex saunters up to the door >Can Alex do this? >Guess you can’t be a coward when you’re an idiot >You duck your body and quickly post up against the wall of the house while Alex raps at the front door >Rather loudly too >You know you don’t have long to pull this off, so you dash to your right, finding the side yard a safe refuge to catch your breath >You may have grown a pair, but you’re still out of shape >You turn your neck upwards >There’s a window set above you >You hope this is Sam’s >You wheel back into the dirt and withdraw a screw from your pocket >Bouncing it up and down, you hold your breath, listening for the front door and for Alex’s schpeel to begin >You don’t feel the familiar knot of anxiety like you should >Your breathing is even and slow >But you do release a held knot of air when you hear Alex say: >”Good evening sir. Can I talk to you a moment about our lord and savior Karl Marx?’ >Whipping back your arm, you pelt the window with the screw >It thunks loudly off the side of the house, your aim that of a one-eyed blind man >All confidence and no skill >You try another one >It bounces off the bottom right corner of the broken glass window with a loud *peck* >God this better be Sam’s window. You’re going to give this at least one minute >You hope that Alex can keep Sam’s dad busy >You try another one, which lands dead-center >Be Sam >The sound of heavy knocking at your front door sets your heart off against your ribcage >You drop your comic book and grab Jacob’s bat, cautiously peeking out the door >It could be Mom coming back, or one of dad’s brothers, here to ‘take care’ of Dad >You squeeze the bat’s handle, trying to remember Jacob’s instructions about breaking a rabbit’s legs >Dad has begun to move around now, and he doesn’t look happy that someone’s woken him up >The knocking grows more urgent as dad shuffles to the door, clutching his head and ears >He’s already hungover >Which means he’s got the devil in him >You force down your anxious squeaks as you watch him throw open the door >”Good evening sir. Can I talk to you a moment about our lord and savior Karl Marx?” >Missionaries? >Out here? >The voice sounds familiar, but you can’t decide why >The sound of something heavy chunking against your window nearly sets you off >You fight back another squeak as your dad turns to look towards your cracked-open door >The missionary (or whatever he is) increases his speaking volume to an unpleasant level, especially for rabbits >”I CAN SEE BY YOUR ABODE, SIR, YOU’VE BEEN WRONGED BY A LOT OF PEOPLE!” >Your dad twists his ears in pain >”Shut the FUCK up for a second! Jesus Christ you pink faggot, get off my doorstep before I- >”AH BUT SIR!” The missionary continues, loudly, “DON’T YOU MEAN /OUR/ DOORSTEP?” >Another *thunk* rocks your ear drums >Something hits your window with force >Be Anon >You’re going to try one more time, and then go around back to the other side of the house >You give a solid throw >The window pops open >Sam appears in the empty portal, his shaggy hair parted at the center, exposing the bruised-fruit color underneath his sleepless eyes >The loose screw rockets dead-center towards the window >Where Sam is just beginning to say something— >—Until the screw blasts Sam on the nose, knocking him from the window and back into the house >Jesus fucking Christ >You sprint towards the house and throw yourself up towards the window, grabbing onto the ledge and hoisting yourself up >You can do approximately one pull-up in gym >You should have asked for super strength AND confidence >Grunting as quietly as you can, you hoist yourself up, over the ledge and through the window— >—Where you tumble through, falling flat onto your face into a disgusting shag carpet >You pull yourself up on shaking arms and see Sam standing against his bed, a baseball bat pressed against his chest with one hand, the other using his long sleeve shirt to stem the blood pouring from his twitching nose >This is the first time you’ve seen him in a pair of badly fitting jeans and a vastly oversized gray long-sleeve t-shirt >His signature gross hoodie is resting at your feet >Sam’s whole body shakes something awful, and you can see the shock in his eyes >He looks like he’s about to cry, out of either pain or confusion >”A-A-Anon?” He squeaks >He lowers the bat a little >You start to say something, but can’t find the right words >You need something cool, something to make him calm down “What’s good, money?” >Sam steps back, toppling onto his messy bed as you rise you to your full height >Your eyes snap around the room >It’s… >Wow >You know that scene in A Beautiful Mind where the guy’s wife finds that shed that’s covered in paranoid writings and drawings? >That’s what Sam’s room reminds you of >Its covered wall-to-wall with drawings of superheroes and supervillains >”Why are y-y-you h-here?” Sam says in an urgent whisper >His free hand twists his ears “Get your stuff. Quick. We’re getting you out of here.” >He pushes his shock of brown hair from his eyes >”W-What?” ”Come on, you don’t have a lot of time!” You quickly start grabbing clothes off his floor, >You can’t help but notice how big all of them are >They’re probably hand-me-downs >And it’s clear they haven’t been washed since being ‘handed down’ >”W-W-W-Wait, I c-can’t go,” he says, on his feet, grabbing things from your hands. “I h-have to s-stay h-h-here.” “Why? Your friends are trying to save you right now. Both Alex and I are here to rescue you, so grab your shit, and come with me-” >”N-No!” He squeaks, frantically rushing around, grabbing at the stuff you’re trying to keep from him. Eventually you leverage your height against him and hoist his clothes above your head >He jumps at you, his legs granting him impressive height >But it’s not enough >”Dad says I-I’m n-not allowed to have friends. D-D-Dad says I don’t have any-“ >You set your jaw hard “Then what does that make me?” >Sam stops jumping at you >He looks stung, but more confused than hurt “Can’t you see what your dad is doing to you? He’s warped your brain so badly that you’re your own prisoner.” Sam shakes his head, sending his bangs whipping around in a tight arc >His ears would go too were he not clutching them in an anxious fit >”H-H-H-He’s not! H-He’s making s-s-sure I don’t h-hurt anyone else! He’s l-l-looking out f-for me…” >You drop the clothes onto the floor >Sam’s eyes slam shut, and his shaking is even worse than before >You can hear his dad shouting from the hall, something slams, followed by more shouting >Alex, you think >Just hold out a little bit longer >Be Alex >You don’t know how much longer you can hold this guy’s rapt attention >He looks a lot scarier than you thought he would >Built out, shirt stained with oil and grease, hard lines creased on his rabbit face >He eyes you with annoyance and hatred “ALL IM SAYING IS THAT WERE THE PRESIDENT OUSTED AND REPLACED BY A SUPREME LEADER, WE’D-“ >”A supreme le- LISTEN SHIT HEAD! I fought for this country specifically so you pink faggots can say this stupid shit, do you understand that?” >He turns around, his hand heavy on the doorknob, staring at something down the hall >You stick your foot in the door right as he slams it >You stifle a yell ”S-SIR, PLEASE WAIT, I JUST WANT TWO MORE MINUTES!” You say, taking care to say “two minutes” as loudly as you can >You hope Anon can hear you >Sam’s dad spins around, fire in his eyes, his jaw set in a hard line >”Get the hell out of here before I kick your stupid pink ass down the street!” He yells, forcing the door harder against your shoe >Oh god this hurts >You push against the door >You were NOT going to let this man continue to think incorrectly and continue to oppress himself >Sam’s dad snarls and wraps his hands around your shirt collar >”ARE YOU DEAF!?” He yells, trying to shove you >You grip the rusted brass knob for dear life and push hard >”I SWEAR I’LL KILL YOU!” He screams, his throat raspy from years of smoking >You think this might be assault, but something inside for you says that he’s got proper grounds to be shoving you ”PLEASE, I UNDERSTAND YOUR PLIGHT SIR! I TOO WAS ONCE A GENTLE WORKER, ALIENATED FROM MY HUMANITY BY LABOR-“ >The rabbit lets the door open, his focus no longer on you >He’s squinting at something else inside of his house >Oh no >Be Anon again >And now you think you made a mistake >You hear Alex yell something about two minutes >Which it might take you to escape >This whole thing was a bad idea >You mean, really, trying to break into someone’s house and willingly kidnap Sam? >What part of you thought this would work? >A harsh voice echoes from the hallway >”I SWEAR I’LL KILL YOU!” >You look down at Sam and back to the window >Sam can only stare at the floor, blood seeping from his nose >You sigh >Well you trie- >”I’ll go with you,” he says >Wat “You’ll go with me?” You repeat, not believing the words coming from Sam’s mouth >”Y-Yes,” he says, his voice choked with confusion and uncertainty. “Y-Yo-You’re my friend a-a-and I trust y-you.” “GREAT!” You thrust a fist into the air, catching yourself before your voice reaches a noticeable pitch. “Grab your stuff and let's go. And make it quick!” You say, already shoving clothes out the window >Sam scrambles around, grabbing as many things as he can >This mostly involves him running around the room and snatching drawings off the wall and shoving them into his backpack “Sam, no. Clothes and toiletries only,” you say, noticing him trying to force a large paper bag into the backpack >He’s wearing a frantic look on his face as he tries valiantly to cram the parcel into his badly packed bag ”Come on, come on, let’s go!” >You grab the baseball bat near the bed and hold it up >Sam panics when he sees you holding the bat >“W-Wait, g-give me t-t-t-that!” >For the first time in your new friendship he grabs something from you forcefully >The bag splits open, its age finally ripping asunder against the zipper of the backpack >Glossy-faced comic books spill all over the floor, their covers blooming in a circle around the bag like a shiny flower >Sam’s eyes shoot open, but he doesn’t drop the bat when he goes to start collecting the comics, making it an inefficient labor “God damnit!” You hiss >It’s like Sam is completely ignoring everything in the room except that bat and those comics “Let’s just go!” You clap your palms around your head in frustration. “We’re running out of ti-” >The sound of heavy footsteps pauses all motion in the room >VERY heavy, and angry footsteps >Making their way to the door >Sam looks up towards the noise, his eyes shot open with panic, his mouth frozen in a scream “SAM, GO!” You chuck his old hoodie out the window and step forward, trying to put yourself between the door and him >The door hurtles open, smacking loudly against the wall, leaving a sizable dent in the wood paneling, where several other dents of similar force are pressed into the wall like little craters >Sam’s dad stands in the doorway his fists curled into tight balls, his eyes blood-red with whiskey heat >”Sam you little bitch, what’s going on in he-“ >He scans the room, his eyes flicking to you >And then down to Sam, who still has his hands frozen halfway in his bag >His dad leans forward and glowers: >”You son of a bitch,” >You can see the muscles in his legs tensing up >Being that he’s a rabbit, you REALLY need to make this fast >Or he will >”You break into my home, you try to rob me?” He slurs, his voice piercing and sharp >His eyes flick down to Sam, who has pulled his backpack up against his chest, hugging it like it’s a life preserver >And he’s sharky waters now >”And you…” he seethes, a near feral growl rolling out of his chest >”This was your idea, wasn’t it? To let your faggot friend back over here and rob us…” >He starts forward >”After all I’ve had to do for us — After all you’ve done to this family…” >His trembling hands stretch out towards Sam >Sam let’s out a panicked squeak, both his hands on the handle of the bat >He swipes it to the right… >… Catching his dad on the wrists with a louder-than-you-could-believe *thunk* >Your jaw unhinges as you see Sam, his eyes glued shut, his face twisted up in panic, waving the bat from side-to-side like an over-sized fan >And his dad — a look of shock plastered across his aged face — looks at his knuckles, which glow red with pain >You shake the scene from your head and focus back on the situation >There’ll be time to digest Sam’s actions later >Now is the time to run “SAM!” You shout, grabbing him by the ears >You tug hard and he falls backwards >With a tremendous effort, you try to whip him back towards the window >It doesn’t work, but he gets the message >In half a second, Sam’s already crawled out the window, his poofy tail disappearing over the ledge >You hear him crash into the dirt below >He’s safe >And that’s all that matters- >-And then he does something you wish, for the rest of your life, he wouldn’t have done “A-A-A-Anon!” He cries >Your heart hurls itself against your ribcage >You can see the look of realization on his dad’s face >It goes from pure shock, to glowing rage >”SO YOU LIED ABOUT YOUR NAME?” Sam’s dad’s face twists into a horrible smile. “But you fucked up. Because now I know.” “Sammmmm,” you call behind you. “Go find Comrade Alexi…” You try to remain calm and take a small step backwards, towards the window >He starts laughing. Real, painful, rib sucking, hateful laughter >”I never wanted to kill a man like I want to kill you, man!” The words explode from his mouth in a spray of spittle and whiskey heat >He lunges forward, his powerful legs exploding underneath him >He covers the distance fast, even for his inebriation… >… Which you suspect is the only reason you’re able to jump back in time >Your hands grope behind you, finding the ledge >Your brush up against the hard surface >You don’t look >You throw your weight behind you, tumbling headfirst and backwards out the window >Your eyes shut as the ground rushes up to meet you- >But you never feel the ground >Instead you feel a bone-crushing vise around your ankles >You cry out in pain and look up to see a furry hand clutching your ankle, and Sam’s dad halfway out the window himself, straining to hold on to you >”Get back here, you coward!” He grunts >His other hand shoots around your ankle, and you can feel his unkempt nails biting into your skin >”You fucking window jumping co-“ >Your other foot seems to have something to say to that little statement >Without your mind’s consent, your other leg smashes into the rabbit’s face >And you drop like a stone into the dirt and dry grass >You land on your back with a loud ka-thump, staring up Sam’s dad as he peers out the window >His shape disappears as he bolts for the front >Sam is still there, gawking at the spectacle of you kicking his dad in the face >The only thing you can think of is escape >You’re on your feet in the space between heartbeats >But Sam won’t move >His whole body is locked up >Useless rabbit-loaf! >You grab his tender wrists, squeeze hard, and break into what amounts your version of a sprint >Sam tails behind you, legs stumbling and struggling to gain footing >He wraps the bat in his hoodie and presses them against his chest ”ALEXI!” You scream, throat scalded and hoarse ”ALEXI GET TO THE CAR!” >You look behind you to see Alex in a dead sprint, powerful legs pumping, arms wheeling as his lanky body brings itself closer to you with each stride >And behind him >A pair of crooked, chestnut brown rabbit ears, trailing in the wind, the sound of rabbit-feet pounding into the loose Earth >A train whistle blows somewhere >The rustbucket is so close >Sam finally finds his footing and keeps up with you easier than before, though he still lags, attached only by your solid grip on his soft, fuzzy wrists >The contrast is something to marveled at, but now is not the time >But you can't afford to carry his weight right now >You let go of Sam and break for the door, keys in hand >It feels like it takes forever for the lock to go, but when it does, you throw yourself into the seat, jam the keys into the ignition, and twist like your life depended on it >Sam is next >You grab him by his t-shirt and tug hard >He slams painfully against the open door, but gets the hint >Your body clearly understands nothing but survival >You pull the little rabbit on top of you and shift into reverse, the bunny’s weight against your legs, his feet blocking your view of Alex >Alex, GOD DAMNIT! >Alex is in a dead sprint, but Sam’s dad is hot on his heels >”ANON!” He screams >”DRIVE!” >Sam is still trying to sit up >Your hands fly onto the wheel, but your foot hovers over the pedal >You can’t just leave him, can you? >The gap between Alex, Sam’s dad and the car becomes even smaller, and the voice in your head tells you to leave now to make sure you can get away >Sam throws his bat and hoodie into the back, his legs now jutting out the door >You need to move >Your feet press down on the accelerator >YOU NEED TO MOVE! “ALEX!” You cry >But you don’t need to say anything else >Because he does exactly what you’d expect >Alex bounds forward, and with a tremendous leap, he throws himself on top of your car… >… Right as a pair of angry hands snaps at the empty space where he used to be >That’s all the excuse you ne- >Sam’s dad smashes into the hood of the car, his mighty stomp crumpling the metal where he lands >FUCKING RABBITS! GOD DAMNIT! >That's a $1,000 repair job! >You stomp down on the accelerator >Your car peels off, but the rabbit remains attached to your hood, holding on to the open door frame— >Reaching for Sam >Sam screams and grabs onto your leg as his father tries to pull him from your moving car >Jesus fucking Christ! >Sam’s father is clearly not intimidated when you hit 25 miles-per-hour >In fact, his face only grows more strained — excited even >His eyes split wide even as his floppy ears begin to trail behind him like streamers >You can feel Sam slipping from your lap >You anchor him by grabbing his wrist, being sure to keep one hand on the wheel >Alex, who is still on the roof, flattens himself against the top hood, fingers dug in to the rails where your top rack storage would go >He’s fairly secure… you hope >Sam, however, is already halfway out the door, and no matter how fast you go, Sam’s dad only seems to get closer to raking his son off your lap and onto the street >Unless >You recall driving across town >How the rustbucket is so top heavy >You grit your teeth >Summon a deep breath >Block out Sam’s screams >And crank the wheel to the right as hard as it’ll go >The car squeals in protest, its rubber wheels screeching as you throw the ol’ girl into a tight spin >Sam’s dad goes tumbling off the car hood and onto the raw pavement >You slam on the breaks, and Alex rolls forward onto the hood of the car as well with a loud metal *thunk* >He recovers quickly and dives in to the back seat, shouting something about your ass and how he’s going to kick it >But you can’t take your eyes off Sam’s dad >He’s motionless in the road, his body splayed out like a discarded doll >Oh god >Oh god >He’s dead… >Sam squirms in your lap, lifting his head from where he’d buried it in your leg >”I-I-I-Is he gone?” he stammers >You don’ know what to say >’Yeah dude I just killed your fucking dad’ might sufice >How do you even broach this? Do you need to call the polic- >Wait >No >You see his body start to move, slow and dazed from the impact >With a great effort he sits up >Smeared with blood and gravel, his face is set in a hard line, all sharp angles carved out of his fine bones >There’s no shock there, no pain >He levels his gaze at the front of your car, squinting from the blood that trickles into his eyes >His amber eyes lock with yours >And suddenly you’re a little kid again; weak; afraid; scared >But not alone >Calmly you bend Sam’s legs, >You turn the car around, breaking his dad’s steady gaze >That invisible conversation you’ve had for what felt like hours >All the language you can make out of looks >In the rearview mirror you can see Sam’s dad stand up on two unsteady feet and glare down the dark street at you, his eyes flashing in your rear lights like angry candles >Sam sits up and looks behind the headrest, fingers anxiously dug in to the old and shitty fabric… >… And begins to shake when he sees that his dad is up on his feet >You calmly press down on the accelerator and point the car deeper into town >You have a long road ahead out of the slums >No turns >In the distance a train rolls on >You don’t take Alex home >The car ride is quiet and uneventful >The street lamps come on early >It’s not even late, just dark >And the moon is so cold and big in the sky >Another full moon >You may be braver, but that doesn’t stop a knot from twisting in your stomach, thrashing around like a headless snake >That moon has a cause, and it has an effect >So what did you accomplish today, other than a few felonies? >You shift your eyes briefly from the road to the rabbit in the seat next to you >He’s not wearing his seatbelt, and you don’t have the energy to tell him to do so >He’s curled tightly into a ball, his arms forming a tight link around his twiggish legs >He keep his head down, his hair a shut curtain over his face >Without his hoodie on, in that awkwardly sized gray long sleeve and jeans, he looks almost naked >You can see more of him, the way clothing hangs off him like a sheet, his bird-like body only a thin and fading line against the drape of the fabric >You can’t imagine what he’s going through — what he’s been through >He looks malnourished >And somewhere, deep in a pit in your heart, where hope once lived, you begin to see that you’ve made a grave error in trying to save him and the world from what’s about to happen >You flick the blinker on and turn into your driveway >It begins to sink in >You’ve sealed someone’s fate >”So, sleepover then?” Alex says, flashing a tired smile from the backseat >You nudge Sam “Hey. Dude.” >He looks up and pushes away his greasy hair >His eyes are bloodshot, stung by tears “We… We uhhh. This is my house.” >He looks forward >”Oh,” he says distantly, still sniffling a little >Alex unbuckles and leans into the center console >”Because I’m not going home tonight.” “Yeah, what about your parents though?” >”Fuck the oppressors. After this evening, I just want to kick back and drink some bee-“ >He glances at Sam, but he doesn’t look like he’s paying attention >”Some sodas. Or something.” >You silently thank whatever God there might be for Alex’s save >Probably not a good night to get wistfully drunk >Sam clears his throat and rubs his eyes eyes with his sleeve >He looks from you to Alex a weak smile hanging to his lips by one finger >”S-Sodas?” He says softly, though you can still hear the ache in his voice “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a soda before, dude.” You try to put a little pep in your voice >Sam’s ears shake from side to side >There’s a little more color back in his cheeks >His voice still shakes >”I-I-I h-have. J-Just not many of t-t-them. O-O-Or-“ >You pop open the door >”Well, come on. Lets get some dinner. And maybe I can wash your clothes?” >Sam glows beat red and hides his gaze in his lap >But you can see how big his eyes are >F-Fuck >You shake your head free of The Gay(tm), sucking down cold air >It just occurred to you how deep your pits are soaked >You need to change >And… >You glance at your phone >No missed calls from Mike >Maybe you should give him a ring >You are Mike MUTHAFUCKIN’ Sapone >And you gotta keep moving >Your eyes nervously flit around the neighborhood as you bank into a turn, your car gliding under the streetlamp like a wraith >You grab the spot where Lydia’s claws held into your skin >It hurts, but the bleeding was fairly minimal >You considered going to the hospital, but you don’t think that’s a good idea right now >You were followed a good distance once you made it to your car >And you can’t trust anyone right now, not while the moon is out in full >First evil vampiric cheerleader encounter and it was hardly sexual >You’re pretty sure you’re going to run into werewolves at this point >In fact, you’ve decided to run over any fangmouths you see >But that won’t happen >You’ve been doing loops around this random neighborhood for what feels like an hour >Covered in sweat >Hair matted down with moisture >Head aching from where you rekt Lydia >Eyes heavy with sleep >Body… >…Strangely warm and feverish >Just keep doing loops, wait until it gets dark >Just keep moving >And then what? >Go home? Wouldn’t they know where you live? >Do they? >God you don’t feel good >How long as this car been on the ‘E’? >Are you even moving? >You feel like you’re going to be sick >You pull over, kill the engine and throw open the door >Your body seizes up and forces its contents out >But nothing comes >Its just your body retching and lurching out of the car underneath the street lamps of some foreign neighborhood >You try forcing your body to stop heaving but to no avail >Your stomach is colliding against your ribcage and it hurts >Your back and shoulders hurt >Everything hurts >Even your eyeballs >Your vision is going dark >The idea that something isn’t right has long since been replaced with the firm, unshakeable knowledge that something is REALLY wrong >An image of you receiving your diploma flashes in your head >And it slowly becomes ethereal, fading away like smoke against the sky >You reach out to grab one tendril and anchor it to the Earth >But it slips through your fingers >And your vision collapses >As your body hits the sidewalk >Be Anon >You open the door to your room and motion for Sam to enter >But he doesn’t >He stands in the entryway, hands folded in front of him, twisting his body as he peers into the dark space “What? He’s not here dude. Remember? He’s back at your old house. Probably,” you laugh. “Probably wishing he lived in a place like this.” >You snap on the lights, part of you expecting to find Sam’s Dad in wait >But it’s your same old room >Same old desk, same old computer, same old unmade bed and messy, low dresser >The floor is a minefield of dirty clothes and loose sheets of paper ”Go on, I’ll find my old pajamas while you change.” >You almost nudge him forward, but hold back >”I-I-I can’t…” he says, looking up at you with a worried expression >”D-Dad said I’m n-not allowed in a b-b-boys room.” “What? Why would he say that? Now come on, lets go.” You push him inside, very quickly done with being tender >He squeaks at your touch and jumps forward into the room, gaining impressive distance >Rabbits. Fucking rabbits, man >Sam glances around your room, his eyes lighting up as he glosses over the little bookshelf in the corner >”Y-You have a b-book shelf?” he says “… Yeah, I have a bookshelf. What’s so cool about that?” >Sam presses his fingers together when he sees you waiting at the door >”I-uhhh I always wa-wanted a book shelf in my r-r-room,” he says >Oh, right. Makes sense. His family was a buncha cunts and probably wouldn’t get him one >You sigh. You’re not sleepy, but you’re tired “You can go look if you want.” You point towards the shelf. “I think I’ve got old copies of Superman on the bottom shelf.” >Sam’s eyes go big >”S-SUPERMAN!?” He catches his palms over his mouth before his voice hits a high note that…only girls can hit… >Well he is a super feminine boy >With an oddly androgynous face >Hmmmm >You shake your head >”S-Sorry,” Sam whispers >You turn to go find your pajamas >You think you left them in the kitchen >Nobody has been home for a few days >Not like anyone is gonna tell you otherwise >You are Anon, a high school bachelor, after-all “Just get undressed before you start reading the comics.” >Sam’s ears shoot up to the top of his head >”W-What? A-A-A-A-A-Anon I-“ >You shut the door >You’re a patient man, but not that patient >Why is he being so weird about this? It’s not like you haven’t changed in front of Mike or Alex >Speaking of… >You pull out your phone and call Mike again >It rings, but terminates in his voicemail “Fuck,” you whisper, stepping into the kitchen, where Alex has parked himself >He’s spoon-deep in a bowl of cereal, the fridge door still open >”How’d it go with your boyfriend?” He asks, the spoon hanging from his lips like a metal cigarette >You point your phone at him “What did I say about that? What did I say?” >”I can’t remember, but I think you came out to Mike and I at a burgershack. You’re…You’re at least bi, right?” “NO!” >Alex sets aside his cereal and leans over the table, a templetive look on his face >”Listen, Anon. I’m not Mike. I’m not trying to tease you here. But you gotta face facts…” “I know you’re not Mike.” Your groan echoing off the low ceiling. “Because you’re my retard friend Alex, whose last two braincells are trying to tell me I’m gay, which I’m not.” >”You need to be honest with yourself. I support you and Sam, dude.” >You feel like you just got punched in the gut >You and Sam? “ME and SAM?” You exclaim >”Well that’s what it looks like!” “It’s not what it looks like. It NEVER is!” >”So why were you so hell-bent on saving him today?” Alex folds his hands over each other >…. >You didn’t think ahead this far >Very few times is Alex ever able to get an edge on you >FEW TIMES >You swear this will not be one of those times >But you did make a pact with the literal enemy in order to commit a felony in order to have a very obviously mentally ill gayboy have a forced, extended sleepover with you “Listen here motherfucker, I am not gay. Alright?” >And that’ll do it, you think >The smirk across Alex’s face says everything “What do you want me to say? That I feel…” you lower your voice to a harsh whisper “… responsible for him? That maybe since him and I are such cowards deep down I might be able to at least save him?” >Alex tilts his head >”You’re a coward? Since when have you been a coward? You could be the leader of the next intellectual movement to abolish property. You know I’ve read your writing-“ >You open your mouth to tell Alex everything >How you made a pact with Vanessa >And will sacrifice Gloria to them so they can complete their dark rite >But you say nothing >You catch yourself before you can ruin another friendship >You’ve already lost Mike >You don’t need Alex thinking you’re a traitor >…But you’ve practically signed his death certificate and gotten him involved with a psychotic drunk >You clutch your head and fight down the screams >”Anon? Are you having an epiphany?” >You shove your finger at him “LISTEN! I AM NOT GAY, I AM A COWARD, I AM NOT GOING TO DIE, AND NEITHER IS SAM!” You step forward, “And I swear to God, there will be no gay shit tonight. NOTHING!” >You knock on the door to your room “Sam? I couldn’t find anything in your size, so I figured you could just wear my pajamas for the night.” >You wait for a response before knocking again ”Sam? You dressed?” >You jiggle the knob a bit >Just let him know you’re not trying to get in, but you want to make sure he’s not naked >No response >With your old pajamas in one hand, you twist the knob and enter >God this better not turn into one of those embarrassing cliche things where you see him naked >Oh >He’s not naked >In fact he’s still dressed >And he’s still cruising through your comics >He’s even taken the liberty of using an old English paper of yours to sketch in the margins >For the first time in what feels like a long time, you see him smile >Feelsgoodman >As quiet as you can, you whisper: “Hey, you like my essay on Frankenstein?” >The rabbit sits up, looking around as if forgetting where he was >His eyes find you, and his smile folds into a nervous line >“S-Sorry. I-I’ve never… uhhh ... been in a r-r-room this big b-before. I g-got distra-distracted.” >You tell him it’s okay, and throw your old dirty pajamas at him >He squeaks as they drape off his head and cover his soft features >Hnnng “Just come out when you’re ready. I’m gonna heat up a pizza in the oven.” >You shut the door, red in the face >Fuck, you need to do something manly, like… fight Alex or Mike or something >…And find the promised sodas… >You crack a beer in the kitchen and get Alex to shotgun it with you >That’s right >Drink down the confusion >How can a boy be so feminine? It should be against the laws of the natural world >You slurp down the can in record time >Pushing down everything that happened today >And a little bit of something else >Alex isn’t competitive but even he tries to match your pace >But you are a pace he cannot match >You belch loudly and groan >Fuck that felt good >”A-A-Anon?” A shy voice behind you draws your attention >Sam is in the hallway that runs along the kitchen >Wearing your pajamas >The bottoms are too big for him, they nearly slip off of him >Were they not strapped in place by the tender bow of his hips, they’d be around his ankles >The dirty white t-shirt is draped over his upper body like a tent, but it does the job >”Hey Sam, are those Anon’s clothes?” Alex looks at you wearing a sly grin >God you just want to punch him sometimes >Sam draws a deep breath, his trembling slowing as his chest expands >”Y-Yeah,” he still says weakly, avoiding eye-contact with Alex >You crumple the beer cans on the counter, hoping Sam doesn’t notice what the cans say >Again, you don’t think beers are a good thing right now, but you need to drink away the confusion “So, you want something to drink? Pizza’s in the oven. I’m gonna go wash your clothes,” you say >He looks somehow… at peace >The tired glassy look in his eyes folds into a vague comfort, tinged by only a little anxiety at being left alone with Alex — Your friend who is not Sam’s friend but you pretend he is >You retreat to your room, leaving a few root beers and Dr. Bepper’s out on the kitchen table for Sam >He’ll be fine >The filthy clothes he wears day in and day out are too big for him, you think, as you shove them into the washer >The hoodie >His jeans >His shirt >… His boxers… >All of them are at least your size, if not bigger >You add plenty of detergent, even some bleach for good measure >Lord knows when the last time they were washed >You drop the lid on the washer and pace back into the hall >You’re gonna have to get this kid some new clothes eventually >Back in your room, you take a second to catch your breath >You just need a few moments to collect yourself >The shakes haven’t hit yet, but you think that might be the beer >Or that evil pact you made with Vanessa >Fuck, you can’t believe you did that >You grab the red book off your dresser, pushing aside a drawing Sam had left there >You notice it’s left open to a random page >Looks like he was doing more than just dra- >You flip the page >One of Sam’s superheroes is in the margins, right next to hundred-year-old spidery scrawl >He’s a human, standing tall, robed and garbed in what looks like priest vestments >Corded with muscle and sinew, the priest’s body bulges through his robes a little bit at the sleeves — but the rest of the costume remains loose and scholarly >In his right hand is an open book >And atop his head is a short pointed hat >Oh, he’s some kind of wizard, or wise man >You read the name of what you assume is one of Sam’s characters >Jesus Christ kid, you could have at least written your name in cursive— >—“Anon, The Brave and Wise.” “Anon,” your mouth forms the words but your somewhat sobered mind keeps them from coming out of your mouth >Oh >Oh dear >Your heart does flips >Blood rushes to your face >Oh god oh god >This is cute as hell >You’ve never seen yourself as a superhero, let alone “wise and brave” >This feeling, right now? >This is The Gay(tm) >It’s — It’s not your problem if Sam has a crush on you >After all you just daringly rescued him from an abusive alcoholic >You draw a few fortifying breaths, mind mulling over what’s happening >It feels like a block there >You flip the page idly >A softly written header catches your attention >”To cleanse the body and soul” >Initially you think it sounds like new age shit >But you know this book is no joke… >You mark the page with a scrap of paper and make a mental note to come back to it >It’s only 8:30 and your thoughts are coming in at a sluggish pace >When you shut your eyes you don’t want to open them again >Did you have homework? >Aw fuck it >Before you turn the book shut, your mind wanders to another idea >Sam might have wanted to know what was so special about this book >After all, it was there in the chasms above the school >And you… You want to know more about this thing that Vanessa has going >Well, you have time to do some light reading >The pizza is in the oven and the washer is going >Sam is just going to have to deal >You are Alex >And you’ve known that Sam was a bit odd >But man, it’s not even your house >This is just ridiculous >“C-C-C-Can I have t-this one?” the rabbit asks you timidly holding up a Dr. Bepper, pointing at the label >”U-Unless you w-wanted it…” he lets his sentence nervously die, the pleading tone in his voice plain and clear >You level a concerned gaze at him “Yes…?” >He flashes a smile for a second as he pops the can open with his fuzzy little fingers >Sam takes a few light sniffs, his nose wrinkling at the sharp smell of Dr. Bepper >Your concerned gaze continues to be more concerned “You ever had a Dr. Bepper?” >The rabbit shakes his head, throwing down strands of hair across his face “Well it’s kind of… Hm… You know when you eat spicy food? It’s kind of spicy.” >He takes a slow, savoring sip >His eyes go wide as the first of the sacred nectar touches his tongue “See? It’s spicy, like the indignation of a worker alienated from the fruit of his lab-” >”It’s g-g-good!” Sam squeaks happily >He sets the can down and pulls his (Anon’s) pants up higher on his body >God they’re so comically big on him, it’s a wonder how they even fit >Probably the fact that he looks kinda girly just based on skinny he is >You draw a long sip on a root beer >Sam continues staring at the can of Dr. Bepper, sneaking looks at you >You stare at him, confused “Are you done?” >He deflates >”W-W-Well don’t you w-w-want any?” “What? No. I’ll just get my own. That one is yours. Gross rabbit spi-” >The rabbit then shakes his head a bit, shutting his eyes in the process >“T-T-That’s m-mine?” He asks, as if he can’t believe himself. “We d-don’t h-have to s-s-share?” “Yes. That’s yours.” >With trembling arms, he grabs the Dr. Bepper off the table and loudly begins to slurp >Lol what the fuck >Ordinarily you’d insist that it was ‘OUR’ soda, but you don’t want to share his gross rabbit spit >You’ll allow capitalism, just this once >Sam’s eyes narrow and his nose wrinkles as he loudly slurps >When he’s done, he gingerly sets the can down and belches at glass-breaking volume >Good lord, you’re amazed he’s still standing >His face glows red as he points his eyes to his feet >His floppy ears drip down his forehead and across his face >”S-S-Sorry,” he whispers >The gentle *beep* of the oven causes him to jump a few inches into the air >You guess the pizza is done >You are Anon, and you are sitting uncomfortably close to Sam on the couch, eating pizza >Alex is rifling through your shelf of movies >The TV is on but nothing is happening >Sam eats in small bites, but none-the-less has already consumed two pieces of pizza and is halfway through his third >”Lord of the Rings?” “Too long.” >”James Bond?” “Too violent.” >”Batman: The Dark Knight?” “Too sca-” >Sam sits up, a slice of pizza still dripping from his face >”T-That one!” He exclaims >And then, as if suddenly embarrassed, he looks at you, the want plain across his face >“I-I-If that’s okay?” “You ever seen The Dark Knight? It’s really good, but it’s pretty intense. I don’t think you’ll like it,” you say >”I-I can take it!” He asserts >Sam could not take it >He spends the whole movie clinging to your arm so tightly you can physically feel blood returning to it once Batman dashes off into the night for his final scene >Alex, being the beautiful, wonderful, intelligent, radiant retard that he is, keeps looking over and flashing you thumbs ups >You sneak in a middle finger at one point and try to scoot away from Sam, but (consciously or unconsciously) he follows you to the other side of the couch >God fuck >You spend the entirety of the movie with an extra 90-something pounds clinging to your arm >”Well that was fun,” Alex says through a yawn. “How about we watch another one?” >The wind outside had begun to pick up >It’s 10, still too early for bed, but you’re all tired >Maybe one more and you’re good to go “Sam, can you do another one?” >He is laying down partially in a nest of Dr. Beppers, clinging to your arm and staring in abject shock as the credits roll across the screen >You start trying to shake him loose >To which he complies, sitting up straight, sending his pile of cans scattering “I don’t think Sam has another one in him.” >You nudge Sam playfully, but secretly hope you’re correct >You’re starting to feel the weight of sleep pressing on your whole body “Only thing he’s got in him is eight or nine Dr. Beppers,” you snicker >Sam does not respond >The credits roll across his glassed eyes “Sam?” >You jam an elbow in his side >He immediately shakes his head, ears loudly whipping and slapping against the sides of his skull >”Is that a no?” Alex says, raising his eyebrow >”Yes!” Sam shouts, no longer shaking his head, but twisting his ears >It seriously looks like he’s going to tear them off >”So, no movie. Got it,” Alex says >”N-NO! Y-Yes! Movie!” “You sure? You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.” >”I-I-I’m not, I-“ >”The Joker probably just freaked him out. Heh. Wanna know how I got these scars?” Alex does his best imitation voice of The Joker >Which is truly, truly terrible >”N-N-No!” He shouts again, his body sinking into the couch >He draws a fortifying breath >”I’m not scared! T-Th-That was the f-f-first m-movie I’ve wanted to s-se that I’ve been able t-t-to…” “Watch…” You whisper >Sam’s home life hasn’t been good, but depriving a kid like him of superhero movies ought to be a crime >”A-A-All we have I-is- o-old movies we g-get out of garage s-s-sales,” he says. “D-Dad always picked th-them.” >Alex holds up a copy of Mulan >”You ever seen this one? It’s like a superhero movie.” >He eyes the title from the couch >”N-N-No. Can we?” >He looks up to you like a little kid asking his dad for something >What the fuck “Y-Yeah,” you stammer, not sure how to handle someone so chronically deprived of entertainment staples like Disney films. “You think you can handle this one? It’s about a war I think.” >”Y-Yeah,” He says, sinking into the cushion >The nest of cans crinkles beneath him >Once again, Sam could not take it >During The Dark Knight he looked drawn in and obsessive >During Mulan, however, he just looked incredibly uncomfortable, especially during the big gender reveal scene >He squirmed anxiously, even drawing his ears over his eyes at one point >The movie gracefully concludes and you breathe a sigh of relief >And not just for Sam’s sake >It hurt watching him squirm and kick his legs in anxious fits >What hurts more is your insides >You feel like they’re at war with each other >Heart versus brain >Versus… Well, your other, smaller brain, dangling between your legs >Sam’s PJs nearly slip off his lithe body >You can see the bare of the top part of his hips, the soft fur that begs your touch >It was like that the whole movie >At credits end, with Alex nearly passed out in his chair, you slip into the kitchen >FUCK >You splash some cold water on your face, feeling the sting of reality dripping off your feverish skin >Anon, control yourself >… Maybe it’s just been awhile since you’ve fapped, and so you’re turning prison gay >That and Sam is such a feminine guy >You’re not into that, right? >E-Even if you were gay, that’s not bad, right? >You grip the edges of the sink hard as you draw air deep into your lungs, trying to calm yourself >It’s also midnight, so it’s bedtime >You’ve had a weird, intense day, so you just need to sleep to figure shit out tomorrow >Tomorrow >Your heart sinks in your chest >You remember the promise you made to Vanessa? >You know, the one where you betray the trust of someone and aid in a dark ritual? >The promise of snakes? >Yeah >You gotta go to school >And then there’s Sam and Alex >Are they going to school too? >You can’t call the police about Sam’s Dad >You’re technically fugitives, or at the very least, you’re all at risk of getting fucking killed >In more ways than one >FUCK >FUCKITY FUCK FUCK >You shake your head >You just need to go get your sleeping bags out, clear some space in the room, and catch some sleep >But first, Sam and Alex “So the plan is straightforward: I go to school, Alex goes to school. Sam, you stay here. It’s safer…” >The rabbit looks uncomfortable with the idea of ditching school. He starts threading his fingers together “What? What’s wrong?” You say, some suppressed anger coloring your voice. “It makes the most sense.” >”I just…” “What? You just what, Sam? Your dad will look for you at school.” >”I know!” He squeezes his ears. “B-B-But If I miss mo-more school I w-w-won’t gradua-” >”BULLSHIT!” Alex smacks his couch hard, sending Sam at least six inches into the air >”This institution is BULLSHIT! When will we stop treating work and school like factories! Students aren’t machines! Sam, you should stay home.” >You want to cry out of frustration >Or kill Alex >You frantically look between the two >Alex looks genuinely upset and ready to be strangled (by you) >Sam looks like he’s on the verge of actual tears >You really don’t know what to do here >Provided this all goes fucky, Sam will get taken by his dad, and then you’ll all go mad in the end anyway >But if your non-existent plan succeeds, you’re going to be depriving him of his GED, which is basically the bottom of the barrel for working at any establishment >Either way you’ve ruined his life “Alex, do you work tomorrow?” >”No. I’m shackle-free.” “Perfect. Sam.” You point a finger at the bunny. “You will come with me and Alex to school tomorrow. Do you understand?” >He nods sheepishly >”Why… Why are we even going to school tomorrow?” >Well, Alex, you see, I made a pact with Vanessa, to sacrifice an innocent goat tomorrow for their evil ritual >This, of course, is all kept to yourself >But you promise yourself that at one point, you will tell all of them what’s going on >You’re sure Mike would want to know, if he were here and not off fucking around like he probably is “We’re going to school tomorrow because...” >Come up with something >Come on >Do it, retard “Because…” you look at Sam, his amber eyes shining behind his shock of hair >They’re trained on you, waiting for an answer, expectant and honest >You wouldn’t lie to those eyes, right? “Because Sam needs to graduate!” You declare, to no applause, only tired and confused looks from Alex >Except Sam >Who is absolutely, positively, could-not-be-more-obvious blushing >He stares straight ahead, locking eyes on absolutely nothing, putting his anxiety in his fingers, which dig uncomfortably into the couch >You can see his mouth working, but nothing comes out >Alex raises some eyebrows at you and winks >”Anon, now’s your chanceeee,” he whispers, pointing a sly finger at Sam’s couched hands >You shake your head furiously >The rabbit hasn’t noticed a thing, and is now trying to hide his shock behind his hair, falling in thick strands over his face “Listen, I just want to make sure Sam graduates. And I also have some research to conduct at school tomorrow with this whole ‘book thing.’ This is PURELY a scouting mission. There is NO subtext. NONE.” >”Surrreeee…” “Fuck off Alex. It’s not like I’m going to go to classes anyway.” >”SURRRRRRRREEEEEEE….” >He winks at you >”Not gonna go to classsessssss….” >Oh come on, there wasn’t even a reason to draw that out >”T-Thank you A-Anon,” Sam squeaks up. “B-But my d-d-dad will be l-looking.” “Right. I’m thinking that you try and stick close to me. We’ll pick a place to meet between and after classes. He’s not going to come right into class and snatch you. And if you see him, just…” >You think >What can Sam do >Your eyes wander down >His waist barely fits into your pants, but the way his legs are… >He could probably get some good distance, not to be speciest or anything “Just run, okay? As far as you can, as fast as you can. Rabbits are quick, and your dad is a drunk old fuck.” >”J-Just r-r-run. Got it,” he says, if only to reassure himself. He looks at you with some degree of determination. “O-Okay! I’m gonna r-r-run as hard as I c-can! I’m good at r-running,” >”That’s really speciest of you, Anon,” Alex says to unlistening ears >Yeah >This is gonna work out just fine >Jusssstttt fine >You weigh your options >Tonight feels like a minor victory, but the rest of the week… >That’s up in the air for all of you >You know one thing for certain: you need to figure out something before Friday >Friday >The night of the Spooktober Fest. Undoubtedly the goth’s target >Why? Because they took an ‘angry-at-the-world’ phase and turned it into an entire personality >Sure, you’re angry at people too. You’ve always been an outsider to everyone, but you’ve done nothing about it >Never wanted to ‘get back’ at anyone >Except the goths, those cringy faggots >What a week this is going to be >You turn your thoughts towards your group “I gotta be honest with you guys,” you start. “There’s some REALLY bad shit going down at school. I’ll tell you more once we get a hold of Mike.” >”Like libertarian wasteland bad?” Alex says “I’m not sure I can picture that, but picture the worst thing you can, and then that’s about it.” >”But the ROADS!” Alex smacks the couch. Again. “Who will build the roads when water is privatized!?” >Sam lurches forward, his heart pounding at the sudden noise >Alex continues ranting about the evils of the ‘free’ market >You breathe a sigh of relief as Alex quickly reverts back to his old ways >As tried and true as he always ways >In all of this, you have one thing on your side, for better or worse: >Your friends >You decide to all go to bed after midnight >Before that, you grab Sam’s freshly cleaned clothes, and you swear they’re like five pounds lighter >You’re going to force his gay ass to shower tomorrow before school >On your way back you grab two sleeping bags “Just like a sleepover,” you say to Sam as you roll out his sleeping bag on the floor of your room >All of your dirty clothes are pushed to the side in a pile “I haven’t done this in a longggg time,” you say to yourself. “Pizza, soda, sleeping bags, movies... I feel like a little kid all over again,” you chuckle >Sam wrinkles his nose as he glances around the room >“I-I-I’ve never ha-had a sleepover before,” he says. “I-I’m not u-used to them.” “I know. There’s a million things you haven’t done or seen that just blow my mind.” >The rabbit flashes a weak, regretful look at you >”S-Sorry,” he says, voice paling against Alex’s snores >Passed out in his clothes (sans shirt), Alex is sprawled across his sleeping bag >His bag is unzipped completely >It’s little more than a blanket to him “What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault you grew up in such a bad environment with such a shithead for a father.” >You pause in unzipping the sleeping bag >Sam shuffles his feet a little >”I-It’s always my f-f-fault. I d-d-don’t even know why y-you’re being so nice to me…” “It’s not always your fault dude. You can’t control who you’re born to.” >You sit up and stretch “An old friend of mine used to say you get two families: the one you’re born into, and the one that you make.” >You point a finger at Alex, who lays shirtless and splayed out across the floor, barely on his sleeping bag anymore >”He might be a dumbass communist supreme, but he’s my friend. And Mike might be an asshole, but he’s also my friend. And they’re both family.” >At least, you hope that your friendships can withstand college >People change >You think… >Maybe you’ll change when they all leave you behind? >”S-So…” he clears his throat. His feet thump against the floor, though the rest of him seems paralyzed >”Does that m-m-make me your f-friend?” >Yes? >No? >Gahhh, you don’t know what to say. This was largely just an impulse move spurned on by your newfound courage >Well, time for another >You nod your head “I guess so. We’ve known each other for a while, right?” >His face lights up and his foot pounds the carpet to a tempo that could shake houses >Alex only snores louder, as if he were trying to outdo Sam in a noise competition >”D-Dad says I’m not allowed to h-have friends… H-He says I’m only going to h-hurt them a-a-again.” “Fuck what your dad thinks.” You start back on his sleeping bag and unzip it all the way down. ”He’s just a lonely old bastard.” >Sam says nothing, he just watches with fascination as you unzip the sleeping bag >”T-T-That’s for m-me?” He says, as if he was confused >His eyes glow and his nose wrinkles >Oh, wow. He’s probably never been in a sleeping bag before >You explain to him how to use it like he’s some kind of little kid, before he happily hops in (heh, hops) “Gnight everyone,” you say >You kill the lights >The last thing you see is Sam looking up at you, his eyes glowing, cute pink nose wrinkling, the look on his face probably the most contented and safe-kept you’ve seen him wear >”A-A-Anon?” “Yes?” >Alex’s snore reach a noisy crescendo, but you think you can make out what Sam is trying to say >”T-Thank you. Y-You’re my f-f-f-f-friend too.” >FUCK >The Gay(tm) is strong tonight >Well, tonight nothing will happen. It’s going to be a kosher night, no hotdogs >”A-Anon?” >You roll over in bed >”I-I can’t s-sleep.” >You groan, your eyes still glued shut >Sam is just a dream, you say to yourself. A voice in the dark >”I-I-It smells so strong in h-here,” he takes a sharp breath “So what do you want me to do?” You ask >A very apt question indeed >Your room smells how it smells. Who cares? >You weren’t expecting having any anthros in your home, so you didn’t do any cleaning, or even consider that his nose is insanely sensitive “You can sleep out in the family room on the couch…” you grumble >”Eep!” Sam squeaks like you’d just stepped on his tail >”B-B-B-But-” >His stuttering reaches a frantic pace, even if it’s beneath a whisper >Oh Christ you know what he’s trying to do >Not tonight lil’ gayboy “You take my bed,” you say crawling from under the sheets in just your shorts — no t-shirt >Sam shields his eyes >Rabbits must have great nocturnal vision “I’m going to take your bag. Deal?” >You end up sleeping on the floor next to your bed in Sam’s sleeping bag >You think you hear Sam softly breathing, the gravity of sleeping pressing dreams into his head >Or he’s just turning ever so softly, uncomfortable in your flannel sheets with all the fur he’s got >Something is awry >Whatever, you don’t care. Sam can deal with it >You can’t do everything for him, now can you? >You are Mike MUTHAFUCKIN’ Sapone >And there is a faint little voice in your ears right now, though its distance is indeterminate >In fact, it could be miles away >Or it could be right up next to you >Everything is so dark >”Mike?” It says, its voice sinking to a worried octave, still lacking masculine weight >You smile — at least you think you do >Whoever this voice belongs to must be pretty >”Mike? Can you hear me?” >It sounds louder now >VERY close >A hand is on your shoulder, shaking you awake >When your eyes finally do open, you’re staring up at a silhouette cast in the fire of street lamps and the moon’s behemoth size >Long, conal nose, ears that rise like sharp angles on the top of the head >Orange fur >White strip that travels under a muzzle and down to the chest >”Hey! Do I need to call 911?” >You know that voice >It’s… Oh fuck “Jenna?” You sit up quickly, and the sharpness of the world collapses into black stars that suck at your vision >That was a bad idea >But, maybe out of spite, you remain vertical >Jenna Orthorn retracts her hand >”God Mike, you scared the hell out of me. What are you even doing out here?” “I’m going to kill the vampires,” you mumble and shove your body to your feet >You wobble, unsteady, as if a gust of wind could dislodge your footing and send you crashing against the hood of your car >Your body feels as hot as it did before “What are you doing?” You step back, bracing your fists for a fight “Are you one of them?!” >You lean back into the light of a street lamp >”One of them? You’re outside my house you weird-“ She stops, her jaw going slack as you stray into the light >”Oh my God…” Jenna grabs at your shirt >Its largely scrapped in the back, but the front has good bit of dried blood on the front >Surprisingly, you don’t fight back >You don’t feel worried about her, and you can’t place why >”Mike…” She stares, her brain still processing “Vampires did this,” you breathe, not sure of what you’re saying. The world looks funny, and you feel REALLY warm >”Vampires?” Jenna draws her face up, her eyebrows arched and mouth slightly agape >”Alright. Vampires. I get it. Stay there. I’m going to call an ambulance. You tell me about the vampires and the werewolves, okay?” >She draws her phone out of her pocket and begins to dial “No,” you say, staggering forward. “No. No werewolves and no vampires.” >You grab the phone out of her hand with surprising ease >Her eyes glass over with fear >And you see fangs, for the first time in the four years you’ve known Jenna >”MIKE! Give that back!” She snarls >You don’t fight her when she snatches it from your grasp >You just stare, muttering, brain cranking at warp speed to find out your next move >And what is your next move? >You need to see someone >Someone you can trust >And it has to be tonight >You have no idea if you’ve been followed, if you can even trust Jenna, if the feverish feeling is from the scuffle today in the bathroom or not… >”Just… Stay where you are. I’ve got first aid training and a basic kit in my house. Please, Mike. Just stay right here, okay? Don’t move.” >Stay where you are? OUT IN THE OPEN LIKE THIS?! “I can’t!” You cry into the night. “I’m being hunted! What about that don’t you understand Jenna?!” You lurch forward, knocked unsteady by your own cry >Now you see >She’s one of them >This evil vixen must be working with Lydia and Vanessa >And now you’ve got her alone >Or vice versa >GOD IT’S HOT >You scan her like a hungry wolf, settling on the fuzzy nape of her neck >It looks especially- >Oh no >NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO >She takes a brave step forward, though her tender, delicious arms are trembling >God fucking- You are not allowed to become a vampire >You clutch at your head as pain shoots through your temples >You look up at the moon and feel a hot flash come over you like a rush of sharp wind >That moon is way too big and way too close. This is not natural >None of this is natural! >”Give me your keys, Mike.” >She extends a shaking palm >Instinctively, you reach into your pocket “Why? Don’t you trust me? I’m just a little drunk. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” >”You’re not drunk,” she says quietly, almost hurt. “I’d be able to smell it on you. There’s something wrong with you.” >You shake your head ”Well, alright, you got me. I’m just turning into a vampire is all,” you reply unceremoniously, like it was just another casual fact about being Mike Sapone >Jenna thinks it’s anything but casual >”STOP SAYING THAT! STOP WITH THE VAMPIRE STUFF! YOU’RE SCARING ME!” >The sound of her voice is sharp against your ears >When did they become so sensitive? >You’re running out of time >You need to get the fuck out of here >You step towards the car >She steps forward >You’re going to go to Anon’s house— >You take another step >She takes another step >—Whether or not that faggot wants you there >He’s got to have something that can help you >Jenna clasps her paws together and mirrors your pace >You eye her claws, though thin and bone-white, you are undeterred. You don’t think Jenna has it in her to claw you >You take another step and put a hand on the car door >She places her hands over yours with a sharp snap of her wrists >Your eyes turn downwards, marveling at the way her small, trembling hands rest on your own >Such small hands >A snarl crawls out of her chest, and you meet her narrowed gaze >Her fangs are like gleaming little daggers, wet and glistening in the light >Would she have the guts to maul you over this? >Mammals like Jenna don’t hurt people >You don’t have time for this >You scowl, grab her wrist and pull — hard >Her face twists up in pain as you pry her away >Though it hurts your heart, you don’t stop until you’ve pried her off entirely >With a shove, you push her back from you >She stumbles, but does not try to stop you any further >Just lets her body hang in the dark, defeated and slack >”What’s wrong with you?” She whispers. “Why don’t you accept help?” >You slide into the driver’s seat and start the car, praying that there’s enough gas left to find Anon’s house from here >Jenna does not look up >You pull up alongside her and open your mouth, but nothing comes out >What do you say? >’Sorry I’m becoming a bloodsucking freak and I need to see my weirdo friend whose weirdo book might be able cure this’? >There’s a stone in your stomach >Something about her defeated look, the way her dress falls off her tired body— >—It makes you feel really guilty “Come talk to me at school tomorrow. I promise I’ll tell you more then.” >That seems like enough >You start to push on the accelerator but stop just before you edge out of earshot ”And for FUCK SAKE, do NOT talk to any cheerleaders tomorrow. Just… stick to yourself this week at school. Do you understand?” >She raises her head >Her green eyes are almost glowing >”Promise me you’ll tell me?” >… >… “Promise.” >Your feet find the pedals and you coast off into the night, swallowed quickly by the absence and silence of a suburban photograph >You don’t know how much gas you’ve got left, but that needle has been on ‘E’ for awhile, but there’s no way in hell you’re stopping for gas >The moon feels like it’s watching you >And with every headlight that cleaves into the leftmost lane, you duck your head behind the wheel a bit >A distinct chill sets in your gut, slowly blossoming there and spreading outwards like the tendrils of a some vine >You check the dash clock, having lost your phone on your flight from school >It’s a little after 11:00 >You are Anon >And this is gay >This is so gay >He had to have planned this >Not a few minutes after you’d fallen asleep on the floor, Sam had rolled off the bed and basically onto your stomach >His head now rests in the crook of your elbow >His ears draped over your arm >And the rest of his body splayed out across your chest >He breathes easily and calmly, his eyes shut tight >And you can’t help but feel how soft he is >Not as bony as you’d imagined — and yeah, he’s built like a bird, but there’s something about this that feels okay and natural >Maybe it’s the way he smells >Or the thinness of his arms and legs, all the weight of him placed in his midsection >Something about this feels right, like you want to protect him from everything bad in the world >But you know it’s so wrong “God fucking damnit…” you hiss, trying hard to wriggle out from underneath him >You try moving his arm, and you treat the whole thing as if he were made of glass >In the moonlight his face tenses up in pain as you touch him >Must be a dream, or he’s used to being hurt in his sleep >Well, fuck >Guess you’re stuck here >You just hope to God Alex doesn’t see this >Sam’s ears start to jitter and twitch >He sits up with a sudden gasp >And then looks down >His eyes split wide >His face instantly explodes in a blush >You can feel how hot his breath is on your face >”A-A-Anon?” He stammers. “W-W-What are you d-d-doing?” “What are YOU doing?” You almost have to shake your head >How can he be so oblivious to everything? >How can YOU be so attuned to all of this? HMMMM? >”I heard a l-l-loud noise and and and a-a-and I w-woke up h-here” “No I meant about you being on top of m- Wait, did you just say you heard a loud noise?” >You jetpack up into a sitting position >Your unwanted bedmate slides into your lap >Ordinarily, you’d care, but not right now >You glance around the moonlit room, ears suddenly perked >A noise? >Sam scampers to his feet, clutching his own ears out of stress >There’s a loud clatter in the kitchen >Alex sits up abruptly and pulls his beanie off of his face >There’s only one thing in your head: Sam’s dad >You don’t know how he found you, but he did >On two shaking feet, you stand up >Sam’s baseball bat is in the corner of your room >You retrieve it and nudge Alex awake as quietly as you can >Sam cowers behind you, his ears twitching wildly with each crash and scraping sound >Chairs moving >Things falling over on tables >Hissed swears >Heavy breathing >Moving towards the door >You see lights come on, and a voice croons: >”Annnnonnnn.” >That scraggled, throaty voice. It has to be him >You twist your fingers around the handle of the bat and stand in front of the door, ready to strike >The nob starts to turn >Your heart jumps >Sam squeaks and hops backwards a bit, putting some distance between you and him >Alex is standing off to the side, wielding your alarm clock like a heavy stone >The door creaks open, cool air rushes in >You hold your breath >And then once you see the outline of someone in the door, you let rip a yell, and jam the bat forward towards what you think is the midsection >There’s the sound of sucking air, and then the metallic *piff* of fingers on the bat’s broad-size >You push harder but can’t seem to make contact with anything solid! >”What the fuck!?” You hear, and finally that voice sounds close enough to be recognizable “Mike?” >”Anon? Did you just try and stab me with a baseball bat?” >He wicks the bat from your shocked grip as the lights go on in the room >Alex chucks the alarm clock at Mike’s head >Where it bounces off, sending him stumbling >”Die you capitalist pig!” He cries >You have to physically restrain Alex from leaping onto Mike and killing him “ALEX! ALEX! Stop! It’s Mike!” You cry >Alex’s body goes slack and he looks back at you >”I know, but he abandoned us,” he says with some hurt in his voice >Mike stumbles into the room rubbing a spot on his forehead >”I didn’t abandon you retards. I lost my phone and got attacked by vampires.” >”A likely story,” Alex replies >”It IS! Look at my clothes!” >He turns around and reveals the bloody gashes etched into his skin, and his peeling, gray shirt “Jesus Christ, Mike, what happened?” >He grunts in pain, and you notice his legs are trembling >”No time to explain what happened. I need your help.” >His eyes, beginning to glow with an unnatural aura, settle on the red book on the nightstand “I- I don’t know what you want me to do!” You exclaim >You’ve moved the research into the kitchen table, where you assess Mike’s fate under a singular kitchen light >The rest of the house looks impossibly dark >You spin through the red book, looking for something that might be able to help Mike >But you’re hindered by the old, spidery handwriting, its thin pen demanding of a light >It’s interesting, but full of weird, esoteric things that elude you >Writings on the nature of hell >Explorations in time and space ”There are ghosts of other times and world that walk among us. They are as if we are not. And we are as if they are not-“ >Mike paces back and forth in the kitchen >”That’s not going to cure this bullshit, Anon. Look for something about vampires.” Mike demands “Hey, I’m going as fast as I can. You need to chill out.” >”I CAN’T CHILL OUT!” Mike clutches his head in frustration >”I DON’T WANT TO BE A SPARKLING VAMPIRE FAGGOT, I WANT TO BE HUMAN!” >Sam is useless. During the chaos he simply clutches his ears, trying to turn down the volume >Alex is not as useless >In fact, he’s pacing alongside Mike >Like a starved tiger in a cage >”LISTEN!” He grabs Mike’s shoulders and shakes him a bit. “Quit yer bitching. You are NOT going to be a vampire for the rest of your life. If anything, we can go to a church tomorrow and have a priest lift the curse.” >Mike shakes his head. “This isn’t a videogame Alex, a priest can’t just cast ‘heal’ on me.” >Actually >You squint and rattle off a line >He can >That old header you found earlier? “To cleanse body and soul”? >You start to read aloud “Men of cloth are men of the curse, oaths taken in darkness and the shadows of the Earth. One in the same, though they share no name.” >”Does that thing only rhyme?” Alex asks “Sometimes.” >You continue reading “Two flowers to be plucked form soil: The devouring plant and the plant of purity. Lay them at a crossroads under pale dawn. Until carriage passes, be not free of other-worldly blight.” >”…. What?” Alex and Mike both look at you, as if expecting a translation >You shake your head >You’re not a machine, and you don’t work like that >And if you were a machine you’d be a shitty one >”Very helpful Anon, good find, good find. Now we just need to find this FUCKING DEVOURING PLANT AND THE PLANT OF BEING A PURE FUCKING UNHELPFU-“ >Alex smacks the kitchen table hard >Sam squeaks >”Shut the fuck up Mike. Just… Shut the fuck up.” >Mike clenches his fists, stares at Alex, and lets out a slow ball of hot air from his lungs >A moment passes, and the wind batters the house from outside >It almost sounds like someone is trying to get in. >”I’m sorry. I’m panicked. Anon.” Mike looks at you with a nod. ”Sorry. I’m being a dick. I’ve been a dick about this whole weekend.” “It’s alright,” you say. “I’ve been a useless coward up until now.” >”Up until now?” Mike says. “No offense buddy, but you haven’t done anything yet.” >You glance around the kitchen >All eyes fall on you, Mike’s from across the polished wooden table, Alex’s alongside his, and Sam’s just near the tall entryway that leads into the kitchen — the threshold of inclusion >Everyone is here, or where they should be >You roll up your sleeves and bare the scar from where Vanessa cut you “I have some things I need to tell you.” >So you spend over an hour detailing what happened on Monday >Everything that you did >The pact, rescuing Sam >And everything that Vanessa said to you >How she ‘trusts you’ >Mike tells you his side >The clocks in the kitchen all glow with the same times >1 a.m. Becomes 2. >2 becomes 3 >Sleep is no longer heavy on your eyes >You disobey its gentle push that ordinarily drives you into bed by 11 or 12. >In fact, you feel alert as the clocks glow at 3:30 a.m. >And you know you’ve fucked yourself out of sleep because outside the birds are starting to chirp >And you hear something howling >Probably the wolf family down the street just waking up >When all is said, and you think you’ve got everyone on the same page, you get up to make coffee as Mike and Alex both sip on beers >Sam has another Dr. Bepper, which he sips on throughout the rest of the night >”Jesus Christ, what did we get ourselves into?” Mike asks, crumpling his can >You no longer care how many beers you all go through while your parents are gone. Beer is irrelevant in the apocalypse >”I can’t believe they just… trusted you like that, and agreed so readily to give you powers.” Alex says >Mike squints, his eyes beginning to redden with blood and exhaustion >”Yeah, it sounds too easy. Too good to be true. Are you sure they’re not just using you?” “No. I’m not sure. They could be using me.” >”What do you mean you’re not? You might have played right into their hands! And for what? To save Thumper over there?” >Mike tosses a weak thumb over his shoulder, towards Sam “Stop calling him that.” You rise from your chair. “Sam is our friend. And I learned more about their plan. It’s a win-win for us, you fucking dickhead. Plus we’re getting rid of Gloria.” >”Well, there is that,” he says, half sarcastically. “It’s just… I’m going to be one of them pretty soon, and I’d rather not. Does that make sense to you? Does it bother you at all? You weren’t the first to jump at stopping this bullshit, you know.” >Yes >But only because you’re his friend do you swallow your words >He already sounds like one of them, and that enough should be reason to start shouting >So full of anger and hatred towards others, feeling so deprived and robbed of things owed >You restrain these words behind your lips, and instead try another tactic “Mike. I’m sorry, okay? I was doing what I thought was best. Just like you were when you came over here.” >(Thinking he’d been followed, no less) >Even through the sheen of sweat on his face, you can see Mike soften a little, like melting wax >”I know. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just…” >”Scared?” Alex says >Mike nods >”I feel it more each second. It’s like I’m watching everything I’ve wanted get swallowed up by this edgy, edgy darkness. Like I’m drowning and trying to breathe water. I don’t want that.” >His voice begins to shake >”Every moment I feel more and more pitiful, more angry at things out of my control, more… what’s a good word that’s not hateful?” He asks you >”Retarded?” Alex cuts in “Recalcitrant,” you correct him >Mike nods slowly >”I feel more and more retar- recalcitrant. And you two are starting to look drinkable.” >”Majorly gay,” Alex nods, looking at you. “But Anon is gay too, so it’s okay.” >You can’t decide if it’s out of fear, or anger, but he’s REALLY turning into an edgy drone >Just like one of them >”I refuse to accept the situation at hand. But I feel so helpless… I’m worse than Sam.” >”Yeah, he is kind of useless,” Alex casually asserts. He digs his hands into his pockets, eyes finding his shoes >Well that was uncalled for >You notice how Alex isn’t looking at you anymore — only Mike has the balls to meet your displeased gaze >His eyes have an unnatural glow to them. Through his clenched teeth you can see his fangs beginning to bud, like little tiny daggers >Mike’s knuckles go white as he coils up everything he has inside of him >“So I’m asking you as a friend — as my longtime best friend. Help me. Please.” “So we need a devouring plant and a plant of purity,” you frantically scroll through search results on your computer >’Plant of purity’ ”There’s like a billion results and a billion different names for a plant of purity,” you say >Outside the sky is beginning to lighten, a glowing blossom of amber light that chases at the fleeting darkness >Your room smells like sweat and bodies and the faint reek of blood from Mike >You’ve been up all night with nothing to show for it except a seriously fucked circadian rhythm >Mike’s been pacing, Alex sleeping, and Sam? >Well Sam looks pretty contented right now to be reading old superman comics >But you’re starting to worry about him a little >He said awhile back that he feels warm >When you felt his head, it was true >You flick through the results on your computer and try to keep your friends off your mind. You need to focus >Another question is coming up: >Are you even capable of doing this ritual? That’d mean you’re cursed, right? Because you sure as hell aren’t a priest >And that means Vanessa didn’t just grant you bravery >She also cursed you… >Maybe her book can ONLY curse, hence why it’s called The Book of Wrath, you dummy >God you’re gonna kill her when you get the chance >But now is not the time to dream of murder >”Isn’t sage what people use to purify their houses and shit?” Mike grumbles from the far end of the kitchen. He crushes an empty Dr. Bepper can with his foot >He’s been pacing back and forth like a caged tiger ever since you started your research >Grumbling to himself, displeased with circumstances (and who wouldn’t be?) “I think so. Do you want to try sage?” >Mike leans over your shoulder, and you can feel the sheer heat pouring off of him >It feels like you’re standing next to an old furnace >”What else does it say?” he asks, eyes glazing over from the volume of text on your computer screen >”Baby’s breath, daisies and white lilies…” >Sam lifts his head >He’s been silent up until now, sitting in a high kitchen chair and reading, looking like an overgrown rabbit doll that had been left there by some toddler >”D-D-Daises and l-l-lilies?” He repeats, just loud enough for you and Mike to hear him “Yeah, those two. And sage,” you say >”O-Oh. We h-have daisies and l-lilies at s-school. They’re in the g-garden by the p-parking lot.” “Great! We can use those two for our purifying plants,” you say. “Man, this book is really nice. Shame that once those goth bitches find out that we’ve got the other book they’re going to eat us alive.” >”Speaking of, which one is the devouring plant?” Mike says. “Because that sounds vague as hell, and I’m getting itchy over here.” “Devouring plant…” you begin scrolling back through the list of sacred flowers and plants >Nothing comes up — not that you really expected anything. ‘Devouring plant’ is such a shitty, vague hint >There’s like… no plants that devour anything, except maybe the venus flytraps >You remember a freshman project that you had to do in Mr. Bolm’s room with those things >You were studying plant ecology and evolution >…. “Sam?” >Sam perks up a bit >”Can you still get us into school?” >He shakes his head >”I-I lost the k-key at my h-house,” he says. He weakly looks to you, then glances away quickly. “When A-Anon picked me u-up I think I dro-dropped them.” >”Of course you lost it, Sammy boy,” Mike grumbles. He turns to face you.“Simply out of masochistic curiosity, what were you thinking with the school, Anon?” “It’s a stretch, but there are venus flytraps in one of the biology rooms. A devouring plant, right? I figure it might work if we can get in early and swipe one while nobody is looking.” >”I see, I see…” Mike shifts his gaze to Sam again. “But you lost your keys? Isn’t there a morning janitor who could let us in?” >Sam tucks himself into a nervous ball >”Y-Yes, but s-she’s already mad at m-me for lo-losing my keys already,” >Mike slowly paces over to Sam, a wide, shit-eating grin playing out across his face >The rabbit squeaks a bit and scoots back in his chair, sensing ill-intent pouring off the vampire fledgling >”I-I d-d-don’t thi-think she’ll g-give m-me more k-k-keys! And…” he drops his voice, “s-s-s-she scares me.” >Mike puts two gentle hands on Sam’s shoulder and presses him in for a hug, that grin frozen on Mike’s face >”Thanks for helping us Sam. You don’t know how much this means to me.” >Sam’s arms spread out, unsure of himself what to do with the appendages >You can see they’re shaking something awful >And a part of you feels a little jealous that Mike is hugging Sam so tightly >The gay part of you >”Bu-But I didn’t d-d-d-do anything!” He squeaks uselessly >Mike squeezes Sam so hard the rabbit gasps, letting out the last of his stored up oxygen in one desperate fit >”Not yet you didn’t,” Mike says, warmth dripping off his voice. “But you will.” >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. Hehe.” >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!” >Stella whips her head behind her >The badger freezes, and then jams a finger in Sam’s direction and snarls >”Sam, you stay far away from that crystal, you hear me? You’re not a level six Lazer Lotus. You touch it and I’ll have your ears hanging on my wall, Thumper!” >You writhe in Stella’s grip like a worm on a hook “We don’t want the crystal you insane bitch, we want the plant!” >”Right, right. But you were just taking my hidden crystals with you. You can’t fool me, goon. I’ve studied under the great master Roger Pernberry. Your mind-zog won’t work on me.” >Sam hesitates >”I-I just-“ “Sam, listen to me.” You sound desperate and depleted. “The plant. Grab that plant, and run as fast as you can-” >”Listen to me, cottontail. You take another step forward towards that crystal and you are FIRED, you hear me? You gonna listen to this deep-state FUCKO?” She shakes your arm. “Or your fucking boss? Who have you known longer?” >You try to stand but are forced back to the floor >Stella tightens her grip >Sam’s is shaking as he desperately tries to summon to mind a decision >”SAM!” Stella snarls another demand at him >You eyes slam shut >Ordinarily, you’d just bend the knee and give in, admitting to being CIA, deep-state, ZOG, whatever >But now you’re just thinking about how to get out of this crazy badger’s grip >A wild idea comes to mind >You could bite her >YES >BITE HER >You unclench your rather pathetic jaw to crunch into whatever part of her you can get your teeth on >But you don’t need to >You drop wordlessly to the floor, Stella no longer holding you in her greasy vice-grip >”BETRAYED BY MY OWN MIN-WAGE EMPLOYEE!” Stella shrieks in disbelief >You open your eyes just enough to see a light, chestnut colored blur ripping down the hall >It’s Sam >And by the sound of Stella’s sheer dismay, he’s got the plant too >The badger’s hefty form plods after the rabbit, who easily outpaces Stella like it was nothing >Jesus Christ >Your heart is pounding; blood flooding your face >He actually did it >The absolute madman >You are Sam >And you just fucked up >Your heart is pounding in your throat, and that’s not from the exertion or from sprinting >You’ve just pissed of Stella something awful, as evidenced by the fact that she’s literally frothing at the mouth, eyes terrifically wide and full of predatory desire as she scrambles after you >You’ve just got to get this plant to Mike >He’ll know what to do, right? >Right? >God these hallways feel long >Stella can’t outrun you, sure, but you get the feeling something isn’t right >Ordinarily there’s at least ONE or two students who are here by now >And yet it’s silent as a graveyard, save for the mad scramble that you’re currently winning >You just fix your eyes on the distant lunchroom, and the doors at the very end of it that will lead you to sweet, open pavement, and then to Mike >And then what? >”I SHOULDA KNOWN YOU WERE DEEP STATE, SAM!” Stella’s rapidly fading voice reaches your tender ears ”I’ll get you, Thumper- who the hell are you punks?” >You throw a quick glance over your shoulders >Stella is no longer behind you >You skid to a halt >The plant you were carting nips at your fingers aggressively, but you can’t take your eyes off the empty hallway >Where the hell did Stella go? >Silence screams back at you >And then… >A hellish chorus of deep, throaty growls rises towards you, sending your heart racing >To your finely tuned ears, it sounded like… nothing you’ve ever heard before >Deep and feral, yet with a sustained cadence to it, like someone pulling a very unpleasant note on a cello for too long >Something about that sound makes the adrenaline spike in your veins — invokes that primal drive to flee >It’s almost the same noise you heard in the annals of the school on Friday, just lower and more controlled >You take a few plodding steps backwards, eyes never leaving the spot where Stella once was >Your eyes are drawn to the end of the hall by a sudden flicker of something dark at the end of the hall >It’s there for a moment — and then it’s gone, like a stroke of lightning >That hellish choir begins again >Welp, time to run >You start forward, but come to a quick, skidding halt while the sound of something ancient and evil grows closer >It’s almost as if someone were driving nails through your wide feet, sticking you to the floors >You’re so close to freedom, and yet… you can’t move your legs. Can’t force yourself to turn around and look away >It’s like trying to start a car without any gas in the tank >You look down to see that your legs aren’t even trembling >That horrible, low, gurgling noise is getting closer, like banshee-shriek of a train hurtling towards you >Fuck >Why can’t you move? >You thrust your arms forward to try and propel your body in a direction — any direction >The motion serves to thaw the ice in your veins just a little bit >”A-Anon?” You weakly call out, finding it a strain to raise your voice above a tired shout >You look around >The lockers >The doors leading to rooms >It all seems so normal >Except the end of the hall stretching away from you, like a point infinitely vanishing on the horizon >Just staring makes you dizzy >”Hey!” Mike’s voice behind you doesn’t make you jump >In fact, you feel a strange sense of calm wash over you when you turn around to face him… >…Who is standing about 10 feet away from you, still as stone >The booming growl, like a wave breaking, retreats as Mike appears >”M-M-Mike, I-I’m glad it’s y-you,” you breathe a sigh of genuine relief, even though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t like you >Mike says nothing for a few anxious seconds, and then smiles >”Me too.” >He takes a light step forward “H-Here.” You extend the venus flytrap forward. “A-Anon got the p-plant, but you h-have to help me f-find him, we got chased an-and I lost him back the-there.” >Your friend freezes in place, just a few feet away from you now >His arms slacken at his side as he curiously cocks his head, like a child encountering something new for the first time >His mouth moves, but his words aren’t audible — even to your ultra-sensitive hearing >”Sam?” Mike says at last, a mechanical cadence in his voice >Alarm bells are starting to ring behind your eyes >Something isn’t right >You take a cautious step backwards, only to find that Mike remains rooted in place, his head still curiously on a tilt >”Sam? Is that your name?” He repeats, sending shivers racing up your spine, as if a cold finger were tracing lines into your back >Something in your heart is telling you to run >You throw a quick glance over your shoulders, and with your freehand you unconsciously begin tearing at your ears >The hallway seems to positively loom ahead, almost going vertical at its end >That had to be a trick of the light >Or you’re hallucinating something awful >Whatever it is, you desperately need it to stop >”Sam, you okay there?” Mike is closer now >You swear to fuck you’d have heard him move >”You’re scaring me, dude,” he says, a familiar tone snaking back into his voice, though it’s colored by a very subtle flatness that sounds positively inhuman >It’s that same kind of cock-sure attitude that he’s always got, but it seems… misplaced >Wrong >Out of context “Y-You’re scaring me!” you squeak, taking a wide step back. “M-Mike? Please s-say something?” >”I can’t, Sam.” >And then he starts to laugh >Or, it would be laughter if there were any noise coming out of him >Instead, his body twists and writhes as if he were in a fit of tremendous hilarity >He soundlessly flexes and keels over, face reddening and contorting with strain >And then he halts entirely, eyes locked on you with robotic and mechanical precision >Your legs feel unlocked now, but they’re still heavy with tension and fear >All the muscles in your powerful legs coil up for flight as your amber eyes search Mike’s for something familiar >It’s like looking into two polished stones >They do nothing but reflect back at you >Whatever this is, it isn’t Mike >You turn on your heels, feeling the tension in your leg explode — launching you forward like a bullet shot out of a gun >You’re surprisingly slower than you thought you’d be >It’s like there’s 50 pound weights strapped to your thighs >Heart hammering in your chest, you strain and struggle, fighting for every yard you gain >All to the sound of that hellish call ringing in your ears, deafening the inner voices that ordinarily whip you into panicked flights >’Mike’ is still standing where you left him, an isolated figure in the middle of the hall, alone, no longer even watching you; his gaze fixed on something else in front of you — something you can’t see >Or can you? >Another flash of darkness at the end of the hall >This time you catch some definite shape to the rapidly displaced light >Tall and angular — nearly as tall as you — but drawn with sharp points that seem defined even in the fleeting glimpses you catch of it >It’s like smoke contained only by a thin, ephemeral line, in the shape of a… large dog of some kind? >It’s gone when you try to focus on it >And so is Mike >Gone in a flash, almost as quick as he appeared behind you that first time >It occurs to you that you are suddenly making quite a bit of progress careening down the hall >You skid to a halt >Down the hall is /not/ where you want to go right now >Not with that… thing… down there. Whatever it is >You bank a hard-as-you-can right down an intersecting hallway… >And find yourself staring at something familiar >You’re somehow in the same hallway you just came from >Turning behind you to look only reveals the same hallway /again/ >Same look, same lockers, same shine on the floor, same distance to the end… >You half expected to see ‘Mike’ there waiting for you again >This is some Twilight Zone shit >Try to remain calm. You’re just stressed and maybe got turned around >Right? >Turning back to go the way you came only puts you in the same hallway again >It’s like being trapped in a maze of mirrors — every direction and turn looks identical >You race on down the hallways, trying doors as you go >None of them can be opened, not even with the set of keys Stella gave to you — a fact you don’t understand >Did the locks change? >You try banging on the doors — first cautiously — and then with frantic need to escape, to run, hide, to find somebody who will tell you everything is going to be okay >A protector >Anon, Mike, Alex, an adult, your older brother even >Eventually you slump yourself against a locker, feeling the very real chill of bare metal against the nape of your neck >The venus fly trap has stopped writhing so hard now >Now it just lays flaccid in your grip, the shiny emerald bound in its roots >It feels like there’s a rope around your neck, tightening the budding knot in your throat >No >Don’t do this here >Your eyes sting with tears >God damnit you coward, you crybaby >Quickly, you rub your eyes with your sleeve, shooting glances down each end of the hall, checking for foot traffic out of habit >”A-Anon?” you say, straining above a whisper >”Anyone?” >Silence answers back >Nobody is there >Not Mike, Alex >Especially not Anon >Alone again >Nobody around for you to burden >Nobody around to hurt >Just as it always should be >A low, simmering growl prompts you to your feet, instantly banishing any lingering feelings of worthlessness >That shape — the dog on all fours — blinks into existence near the end of the hall, but just close enough for you to gain some kind of outline or indication of its composition >You see a sharp body with ears like knives, lean and starved, shrouded in dark mists >The strange dog has a tight and angular face, though you can only see the outlines through the thick fog pouring off its body >A pair of bright yellow eyes glow back at you through its shadowy cloak, obscuring the fine details of its snarling jaw >Though it sounds like its growling with something ancient and evil, its mouth doesn’t appear to be moving >To your relief, it doesn’t move towards you >It only watches as you begin to shake and tremble like a leaf caught in a high wind >Like the pathetic rabbit you are, you press your body up against the locker and squeak pitifully under the strange beast’s predatory gaze >Its shape is more of an ashen outline, but you can see just how skinny it is >Hungry, perhaps? >With another growl, it flashes into nothing right before you, as if it were suddenly deleted from existence >Ringing silence sings in your ears now >You can only hear the blood pulsing in your ears, the rapid drumbeat of your frantic heart pounding in your chest >You shut your eyes and try to think of sleepovers and Dr. Beppers and movies with Anon >What would Samurai Outlaw — hero of your own creation — do right now? >She’d probably throw her hood up and hunt down that strange creature >Like a hero >You try to stand up straight, but your legs are shaking too hard >And besides >You’re no superhero >You’re weak >And pathetic >“Sam?” >That voice >God you haven’t heard it in years >It’s so familiar >When you open them again and see the source of that painfully familiar voice, you drop the venus fly trap at your feet ”J-Jake?” >It’s him, almost the same as you remember him >A tall, lanky rabbit with your dad’s face and eyes, yet younger and less jaded than your father, stands before you >Dark circles pool under his eyes, and his eyebrows are sloped inward, betraying any kindness you might have been able to find in him >”Sam, what the hell are you doing?” He asks, smoke trailing from his lips as he speaks >He raises a glowing cigarette and gives it a quick puff >”You hiding again or something?” >His words stings just like they did all those years ago >”Thought I taught you better. Taught you how to look out for yourself. You’re not going to let everything I did for you go to waste, right?” >That familiar tightness seizes around your throat as tears spring to your eyes >Not now >”Are you crying?” Your brother bends down to eye level, and you can’t help but notice the way he doesn’t cast a shadow in the sterilized light of the hallways >His face contorts with anger >”God damnit, Sam. It’s been years and you’re still the same little crybaby you always were. I can’t believe you’re going to fucking lose it right here.” “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry, I c-can’t h-h-help it.” You try wiping your tears away, but Jacob catches your wrists, pulling you painfully away from the lockers that had served as your anchor to reality >His vice-grip around your wrist feels very real, even if you can’t understand how or why he’s here >He drags you to the middle of the hallway >You try digging your feet in to the slippery linoleum, but Jacob only pulls harder “P-Please stop!” You plead, feeling like a doll tugged along by an angry child. “Y-You’re h-h-hurting me!” >”Good.” Jacob says with a heat to his voice. “Don’t want you getting soft on me.” >All it’s missing is the whiskey reek >”You know Sam, you’ve caused a lot of people a lot of hurt in these past years. I thought I could make you strong, but I realized something.” >He stands you in the center of the hallway, fingers digging painfully into your shoulders, rooting you in place despite your fierce desire to run away >”Deep down you’re a coward. A burden. Dad was right about you.” >A train whistle blows >”You’ve always been a burden to our family, to Mom, Dad, and even me.” >You shake when you see that glowing orb of light emerging from the farthest end of the hallway, looking like a shining golden nail >A nail that’s speeding towards you >The heavy body of a train appears at the end of the hallway, carrying its singular light like an angry torch as it trundles forward >”This time you’re going to get it right,” Jacob says, his voice mechanical and cold >The train whistle shrieks again >There’s the sound of steel racing forward, hundreds of metric tons of power and kinetic energy on the move, gliding across a floor without any tracks >”Hold.” Jacob commands >You feel his grip on your shoulder disappear >”Wait for it.” >You couldn’t disobey, even if you wanted to. Your entire body seizes up with fear >The train is so loud now that you can barely hear Jacob >”HOLD.” >And then… >Everything goes quiet as the rush takes over your head >It’s not even a conscious decision at this point >It was autonomy that forced your feet >You hurl your body off to the side and crash against the lockers with the train still bearing down, not even anywhere near you >Jacob turns to you and his expression is so cold, sterile and hollow that you can’t look away, as if he’d frozen your eyes on his own >His eyes that reflect nothing >And even though everything is still that same, horrible frequency of pure silence, you can hear Jacob as clear as glass shattering on a quiet day >”That’s no dodge, you fucking coward.” >The train collides into him >He’s gone in a wisp of smoke, vaporized into the ephemeral >All that silence is gone with the sudden explosion of blaring horns and careening steel as the train blurs past in a smear of darkness. >The train rolls on until your eyes slam shut and you clap your palms over your ears to stifle the noise and banish the sight >The train is gone when you at last venture to open your eyes >Slowly you work your hands away from your ears >…Silence, save for the sound of sneakers pounding on the floor in the distance >You shake your head a few times as if to shake loose a dream >A very unpleasant dream >That’s what everything was, right? Just a dream? A hallucination? >The venus fly trap writhes at your feet, and it nips at your furred fingers as you lift it up >The sound of sneakers against the floor is getting closer, but you don’t feel like you have the strength or even the drive to lift your head >The words of your brother bounce around painfully in your skull >”Deep down, you’re a coward. A burden.” >It was just like it was back then all those years ago >”That’s no dodge, you fucking coward.” >Even the face he made? >That flash of anger and then the icy-stillness of his features? >It was just like a smoldering flame ready to be kindled >You could have sworn it was dad >You’d cry if you could (like the wimp you are) but you feel too badly-shaken to do anything but point your eyes to the floor and try to evade the mental anguish >Welp >Hopefully whoever is racing down the hallway will just put you out of your misery >”SAM!” >A familiar voice; a light in the darkness of your thoughts >”SAM! RUN!” >It’s Anon, racing around a corner, coming directly towards you >And the sound of heavy feet against the tiles tells you Anon isn’t alone >You are Anon, and you are about to shit your pants >Not because you actually need to shit, but because you’ve never had to run this far and this fast before >Every foot you place haphazardly and in front of the other sparks sheer chest-driving agony >After Stella took off after Sam, you tried to find an alternate route to get back outside the school >All you heard was the sound of wolves >And man >You had a guess what that meant >See, with all the dumb, edgy, Twilight-tier shit happening at school right now (including witches, Eldritch horrors and vampire cheerleaders), the feral howl of wolves could only signal one thing to your sleep-deprived mind: >Werewolves >And then you heard Stella go down hard and fast, like a fat Santa Claus plummeting down your stairs at the tender yet inquisitive age of 9, followed by a few less-than-jolly expletives >Who those screams belonged to, you couldn’t tell. You just kept running, those shrieking whimpers echoing off the empty walls of the school and chasing at your heels >And now here you are, feet churning under you, throwing paranoid glances over your shoulder >They’re not cowardly glances, and this isn’t a cowardly flight >Cowardice would be hiding somewhere, ignoring your mission >Your mission? >To find Sam and get the hell out of here >That mission is drastically accelerated when you hear a howl rip through the school >Maybe a wolf student got to school earlier than you expected, and it’s not actually werewolves? >But then you hear another howl >And another >And they’re just down the hall >You throw another glance over your shoulder >Three hulking masses are closing the distance behind you in a matter of seconds >Oh fuck >Bulky werewolves, rippling with shreds of clothing and corded muscle bear down on you, their fur dark as night, eyes bright as blue sapphire, are scrambling down the hallways after you >Fucking just… >Perfect >You dig into your flimsy, un-athletic body and beg of it just a few seconds more of cardiovascular agony >You are granted your wish (not without protest) and your pace quickens >You know this is all in vain >They’re going to catch up to you and feast upon your innards >If you were Mike you might try to slow down and fight them >Or, if you were Alex, you might try to befriend them and lead them on the path towards glorious revolution >But you’re Anon, and you’re running, and… >You have no plan, other than to keep running >Times like these you wish you were born a cheetah, or a rabbit like Sam, then maybe you’d stand a chance at survival >What are humans good for anyway? >Thinking and cooperating? >Fat load of help that’ll do you >All alone, you’re wolf food for the apex predators of the school >You dash around a corner, shoes squealing and streaking across the polished floors >The werewolves, being… well, fucking huge, and less dexterous than you, slide past like a bunch of drunken ice skaters, tripping and tumbling over one another, their mouths wet with frothing madness >And alone, at the end of the hallway, like a little brown smudge against the auburn of the lockers, you see Sam in his hoodie and baggy jeans >And at his feet >The venus fly trap >That cotton-tailed faggot actually did it >You open mouth, a smile contending with your desire to scream ”SAM!” A yell bellows from your lower stomach, and it rings with impressive clarity and volume >You think you might be a good singer if you live through any of this >Sam looks down the hall at you ”SAM! RUN!” You say, not so much commanding as you are pleading >”A-Anon?” He jumps to his feet ”JUST RUN, THUMPER!” >That time you were commanding with your voice, and you’re not sorry for even a second >That rabbit, that little fucking bunny who you hated so much in the past, scoops up the venus fly trap and pounds down the hallway without a moment of hesitation >You guess he is good for some things, namely running away >You can only hope he finds the door and gets the fuck out of the school before the wolves do… >And they are so close now >So close you can smell the wet dog on them >One of them reaches for your legs with its heavy, dumb hands (though appropriately decorated with razor-sharp claws) >These lads must have been footballers, because DAMN they thicc >In a quick blur of motion you move to the right — just enough so that the werewolf grabs onto empty space… >…And it trips, having lost its footing >That’s one down — for now >Just two more to go >No problem right? >Problem >A maniacal shriek forces you and the wolves to a halt >What is this, a cartoon? >”Oh my GOD. You glow-in-the-dark, CIA niggers! Thought you could sick your Russian bio-wolves on me, didn’t you? Thought you’d get away with my power crystals?!” >That voice sounds like it’s coming from all directions >But especially… >Above you? >”Well you’re in the jungle now, human. I can smell the ZOG on you.” >Oh fucking god damnit >It’s this crazy bitch again >Stella explodes from the ceiling, her face sufficiently painted in strange, spiraling patterns, dropping like a sack of wet concrete, her arms spread wide, claws glistening in the pale light >Streams of froth seethe out of her shivering mouth as she descends upon her target like the world’s shittiest spider >She lands ungracefully behind the wolves, only to continue cackling like a madlass >You see she’s stripped herself down to only her underwear >Fat and fur spills out over the waistband of her camouflaged panties >The only proper piece of clothing on her is her useless earrings >”Come here, you little fucks!” She swipes dangerously close to the wolves, who whimper and back up towards you as if Stella posed a threat to hair and tail >”You ain’t seen strength like mine. BEHOLD, THE POWER OF ROSE QUARTZ!” >She shakes her head violently, the heavy stones dangling from her ears becoming tiny wrecking balls >Jesus Christ she’s even crazier than the werewolves are >It occurs to you (with all the speed of a Xan’d out tortoise) that this is your chance to run >And take it you do >In silence, that is, thankful for the janitor’s unhinged madness, because when you look behind at the scene of unfolding carnage, you catch a fleeting glimpse of her football-tackling one of the enormous werewolves onto her clean, clean floors, and then ripping into him with her claws >Oh god, that sound is horrendous >It’s the sound of meat rending and carnage and fur ripping from its follicle and the panicked yelps of a dog whose intestines are in mortal peril of being evicted from its body >You swallow hard and keep running, acutely aware that only two werewolves are on your trail versus three >And then there’s Stella, after she… finishes with the poor football player-turned-werewolf >Gotta play this smart >You’re nearly outside now >You can see the lunchroom and the carnage that the wolves undoubtedly left behind >And just nearby, sweet, sweet salvation, shining with the glowing light of the day, like a quest item in a video game: >The door to the parking lot, etched into the glass walls of the lunchroom >You can almost TASTE the cold air rich on your tongue >Naturally, because life loves raw-dogging you in the ass, you don’t power through the door with infinite grace, but rather crash through the door as a werewolf barrels into you, its hulking arms crossing around your midsection in a kind of death-hug >You’re fucked now >You are farmer Alex >You are un-alienated from your work by capitalism as you happily rip white lilies from the school’s communal garden >You glance over to the massive, white pile of flowers sitting nearby and decide ‘Yeah, that’s enough.’ >In fact, you’ve torn nearly every white flower out of the garden >Gathering up a handful, you start the trek across the open parking lot to Anon’s car with a bit of a merry skip, where Mike is impatiently waiting, despite having been told to wait by the lunchroom doors >His car is the most recognizable one because it’s a dented piece of shit with a collapsed front hood >And one of the only ones in the parking lot >God this is taking awhile, and it’s pretty fucking cold out here >You aim your head towards the lunchroom doors >Wonder when they’re going to get back? Surely it can’t take that long? >Like a dam bursting, Sam explodes through the doors at break-neck speeds >You wave to the rabbit, but the look of sheer terror on his face says your efforts are a waste >His heavy feet pound into the black grit of the empty parking lot as he shoots on over to Anon’s shitty car at the far end of the lot >Hm >Moments later, Anon tumbles through the lunchroom doors, a rather steroid-driven looking wolf clinging to his midsection >That doesn’t look like any wolf you’ve seen >Looks like a wolf crossed with a muscle-bound body builder >And all the tattered clothes make you think something FUCKY is going on here >Hmmm >Anon is screaming and trying to pry the wolf off of him as the hulking beast starts pulling him back into the school >Hmmmmmm >A SECOND wolf tumbles out the door, tripping over Anon, landing a good five feet away >HMMMMMMMMMMMM >In a daze, it lumbers to its feet and glances around the parking lot for prey >Its sapphire-blue eyes, burning with feral need, settle on you like two heavy and malevolent orbs >HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM >You are Anon >And you are NOT going back into that school >The werewolf’s feral claws rip into your suit jacket as its tightening grip squeezes the air out of you >This furry FUCCBOI will not consume your delicious flesh >Not today >You’ve got a goat to fuck over, some cringe goths to fuck over, and a bunny to fu- >Wait >NO, NOT THE TIME FOR GAY >You kick and thrash your legs, forcing all those gay thoughts into the bend of your knee as your leg explodes directly into the jean-padded crotch of the werewolf >You strike gold >Or more appropriately, jewels >The werewolf yelps in pain as your dapper shoe SMASHES into his tender nut sack, forever cucking him out of pups >Like a snare, his grip instantly fails, and you’re free again — and on your feet in a few painful seconds >You check to see if the snapjaw bled you >That’d be another kick in the dick for him >Though he striped your beautiful suit jacket with holes, the werewolf never punctured your crisp, white dress shirt >The beast hunches over in pain, whimpering and gagging on what must be post nut-annihilation-nausea >You scowl and tighten your fists with all the blood, annoyance and anger you’ve got inside of you >Which, compared to Mike, is not a lot >But it’s enough for you to do what you’re about to do “Herrrreeeee doggy,” you say with snarl and smirk. “Be a good boy and bring your pretty face to my fist…” >The werewolf raises its head, and for a split second you lock eyes >This might be someone you know, who you never had problems with >Could even be that they had no choice but to undergo lycanthropy >Is this really the right thing to do? >Fuck it >You belt the werewolf in the fucking face so hard that the regret hurts more than your swing >Bone crunches beneath your hands and pain explodes like a live wire running up your twiggish arm >JESUS your hand hurts >The werewolf stumbles to the side in a slow, almost drunken stagger >He doesn’t fall, but slackens, just barely standing upright, a thick thread of drool sloping down from his open mouth onto the cold asphalt >You shake your open fist like it was on fire >God that was painful >You think you struck bone >But Anonymous? >That was so god damned cool >you wish someone had seen- >The werewolf stands tall, straightening its back like it was bending a steel rod >A savage growl booms from its chest >Its jaw drops open like a leaden weight, revealing a row of bloody teeth >The werewolf starts forward, very slowly, trembling with hate >Anonymous, do you think its mad at you? >…Perhaps… “Mikkkkeeeee? Sammmm? Alllexxxx?” You call out, taking slow steps back >Now is a perfect time for someone to come and rescue you >But Alex sprinted inside, drawing the other werewolf with him >Maybe a little bit of cowardice is a good thing? >You want to run, but you don’t have to anymore >In one massive swing of its burly arms, the werewolf catches you in the chest, sending you sailing through the air like a badly dressed superhero >Unsurprisingly, you don’t stick the landing, because you land flat on your back, even rolling several times because God hates you for masturbating too much >The asphalt doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would >What stings more is the shame >You manage to sit up, but perhaps that was a mistake >The werewolf is closing the distance between you and him, something close to a smirk playing out on his face >Welp, this is it >You’re going to get mauled to death out here “Listen, listen. I don’t know what they did to you, but you don’t have to do this to me. You can still walk away from this.” >The werewolf issues a hateful growl “I know you’re in there, whoever you are. I’m sorry I socked you in the face.” >Silence >Well, diplomacy was worth a shot >Your hands dumbly search the asphalt for something to use as a last-resort weapon >A rock >Some glass shard >FUCKING ANYTHING COME ON >You come up with a good, fist-sized chunk of asphalt that looks like a burnt potato >This will have to do >Man, fuck what you thought before >You are NOT going to die out here >A very shameful part of you is thankful for the courage buff that Vanessa gave you, because it enables you to do otherwise dumb things like attempt to fight a seven foot tall werewolf with a rock “Come closer you knife-eared mutt, I’m going to make you choke on my coc- I mean, rock.” >And those might as well be your last words, as the wolf bears down on you, its jaw flying open to rend your flesh >But they aren’t your last words >Your car smashes headlong into the werewolf, yeeting that bitch through the air to a symphony of collapsing metal, pained yelps and squealing rubber >The werewolf lands rather unceremoniously 10 or so feet away, crashing to the earth like a leaden mannequin and sleeping like one too >The driver side windows of your car rolls down >Mike MOTHERFUCKIN Sapone is sitting at the wheel >Sam is in the back, leaning out >”Say the lines, Thumper.” Mike commands, eyes glued dead-ahead like a total badass >”O-Oh!” Sam squeaks. “G-Get in f-f-faggot, we’re s-s-aving-” >Impatient, Mike cuts him him off >”We’re saving the world. God damn you, Sam, you ruined this for me.” >”S-Sorry,” Sam replies >Mike turns his eyes on you >They’re REALLY glowing red >Oh fuck >”Well? Are we going to do this thing or what?” He barks. “Sam, scoot over back there. Anon, get in.” >You don’t have time to think about the damage that’s already been done to your car >You don’t want to >Because there’s something — or someone — missing from this equation “Where’s Alex?” >You are Alex, a once happy-go-lucky teenager now sprinting around the lunchroom as if your life depended on it >The werewolf may be big, and he may be fast, but he’s also dumb as hell, much like yourself >You feel on equal footing >By using a lunch table, you’re able to stay out of the beast’s grasp >But it’s only a matter of time before the other one that got Anon comes in and enslaves you with his hot werewolf dick “I know that you’re mad right now, but we’re not enemies,” you say as slowly and as clearly as possible, though all you do is come off condescending and chiding >Maybe logic will work on the werewolf? Surely some part of him must still understand what you’re saying >The werewolf only snarls in dim acknowledgment of your human-mouth moving up and down >That’s a start >You keep your feet moving around the tight circle of the lunch table >If this guy were smart he’d lunge over the table and grab you, but he’s not the brightest bulb in the crayon shed, as the expression goes >So he’s perfect for you “You probably feel really angry right now — have you ever stopped and asked yourself why you’re so upset? You’re upset because you’ve been wronged.” >The wolf comes to a halt >His head tilts ever so slightly with the distant recognition of words and logic, striking like lightning on a very, very, very barren field >"You’re being used. Can’t you see that? Used like the lowly idiot that you are.” >At the utterance of the word ‘idiot’ the werewolf tries again to reach across the table and rip your ‘smart’ mouth off your face >You swiftly duck his swipe, bending your lanky frame in a game of mortal limbo “But I understand your rage! I get it! I’m being used too! We’re all being used and abused by the system. My system is one of economic and social oppression, and yours is… well you’ve likely been turned into what you are now by a group of nefarious teenagers. Essentially the same thing. We are comrades.” >’Comrades’ >The werewolf ponders those words with an expression of understanding >Maybe you’ve actually gotten through to him? >The realization causes a smile to grow on your face >You stroke your shitty, patchy beard and push your glasses up against the bridge of your nose like an anime protagonist >Fuck, you probably look so cool right now “We’re all trapped in the belly of this horrible machine, and the machine is bleeding to death. Why must we fight?” >[The Dead Flag Blues intensifies] >The werewolf nods very slowly, its ears flattening against its skull in submission >Holy shit >It’s actually working >You might actually have gotten through to someone — unlike those poor, shackled souls at the Shop N’ Save >SOMEONE UNDERSTANDS, THIS IS THE- >Just then Mike cracks the werewolf across the back of his head with a rock, sending the beast tumbling forward >He crashes face first onto the table, eyes shut, tongue drooping out of his mouth >Unconscious as people’s slavery to capitalism >You are Anon again, and you just watched Mike knock a werewolf out with one solid blow to the head >Sam cowers behind you >Mike spits at the werewolf’s body, which looks like a massive, muscled carpet laid out across the table “Nice hit, Mike,” you say >Your friend scowls >”We don’t have time to fuck around in here. Let’s go,” he says, anger creeping into his voice >Mike turns and heads for the door, haphazardly throwing the rock behind him >As if he’d aimed it like that, it knocks against the skull of the wolf with ease >You decide it’s best to leave before Stella comes in and finds you >Lord knows it will be ugly when she does >You shudder at the thought of what she’s doing to the poor werewolf she caught from earlier… >…Or where she might be hiding… >…And what clothes she’s wearing now, if any at all >Sam stops in the doorway, raising one ear like an antenna “Hear something?” You ask >He nods >”Laughing. A-And growling. S-Something is moving around in the w-w-walls.” He glances behind him >You put your hand on his back and guide him outside “It’s probably that crazy janitor. Let’s just get outside. We’ll be safe out there,” you say >”I f-feel safe with y-y-you,” he says, a weak smile playing across his lips. “I’m not w-worried.” >A rush of blood hits your cheek >You turn your head and look straight (heh), evading his puppy-dog eyes >Fucking hell, he must know how gay he sounds and acts >There’s absolutely no way he’s not aware of this, despite how socially retarded he might be >Why is this playing with your heart so much? >”Get moving, Thumper,” Mike commands, already a good five or six feet ahead of you and Sam. “Because the sun’s about to come out and I’m starting to get hungry.” >The four of you stand at the road leading in to the school >A few cars trundle on by in the glowing dawn >You’re flipping through the red book, trying to find the passage about purification that you found the night before >The sleeplessness must be getting to you, because you really, seriously cannot find it >Mike is staring at the rising sun as it grows in the east, saying nothing >C’mon Anonymous, this is what you’re good for >Books ‘n shit >Oh god oh fuck >You’re going to fuck everyone over since you can’t find this stupid fucking passage that you read last night >Something about laying them at a road or something? >Fuck it >You grab the (now dead) Venus flytrap and a handful of white flowers and shove them at Sam “Here. You’re fast. Run out in the middle of the road and lay these down. Can you do that?” >”W-Why me?” He squeaks “Because I told you to and we’re going to run out of time. Now go!” You bark >Sam shoots off, pausing only for a second to check for cars like a good boy >The road is clear >He sets down the bundle of plants in the middle of the street, taking great care to arrange them in a neat pile “Sam, you don’t need to do that. Come on back.” >”S-Sorry!” He calls >He looks left >And then right >And then freezes >A car is speeding down the road, going wayyyy faster than it should be >”C’mon Sam, just hop on back,” Alex says >Sam doesn’t move >Instead, he stands upright, hands shaking with tremors >Wtf >Move, Sam “Yo, Sam, come on back!” You call >It’s almost as if he can’t hear you >surely the car will slow down >… >It continues its pace — even accelerating >”Yo Thumper! Get out of the way!” Mike calls >”Yeah, dude, come on. Let’s go!” Alex tries stretching his voice but his words work as well as Mike’s >The look of sheer tension and terror frozen on Sam’s face tells you something is wrong >Something is very wrong >You’re not sure that the car is going to stop >And you have no idea why Sam isn’t moving >You briefly contemplate running out there and grabbing him >But you don’t have to >Sam practically tosses himself to the side of the road >The car rolls on by about 10 seconds later, softly plowing through the delicate pile of plant material Sam had assembled >Well that was needlessly dramatic >The rabbit darts over to your side >He’s breathing hard and trembling all over “What the hell was that, Sam?” You say with a fury in your voice >This dumb ass might have gotten himself killed “Are you fucking suicidal?” >”I-I-” he takes a few steadying breaths. “I’m s-sorry. I g-guess it’s just s-s-s-s-something that happens.” “Something that happens? You freaked the fuck out of me. Don’t do that again. Ever.” You say, distinctly aware of how angry you sound as the words leave your mouth >You hope your concern is bleeding through more than the displeasure, and that Sam understands >”S-Sorry… My b-brother and I-” ”Your brother? You have a brother?” >The bunny nods and turns his eyes downward, letting the shag of his long-ish hair obscure his eyes >”Y-Yeah, Jacob… Ca-Can I tell you ab-about him s-someti-” >Mike grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you hard, rudely cutting off Sam >”DID IT WORK!?” He demands >You peer into his eyes, still shaken from Sam’s little stunt >Your friend’s eyes still glow red — in fact, they’re glowing even harder now >Evidently, it didn’t work. Because you fuck up everything >You sadly shake your head “I don’t think it so?” >Mike freezes >”So you mean I’m trapped like this?!” >His face tightens into a snarl, jaw set in a hard line >He grips your shoulders tight, you being his only anchor to reality (and his past, “stable” life) “M-Maybe? Maybe I read it wrong?” You stammer, trying to pull his hands off of you >It’s possible you misinterpreted the actual cure from the Book of Rite >You needed more time to look! Mike rushed you! >”MAYBE?!” Mike repeats, nearly hysterical >When he talks you can see his fangs. They look like little needles in his mouth >God, it’s surreal to see such features on humans >You’re used to it on anthros, but not people >”Maybe isn’t good enough, you fucking retard!” He gives you a shove >You scowl >You should shove him back >FUCK this guy, man >You try to do nice things for him and he throws them back in your face >Remember on Friday how he acted like a fucking cock? And then Sunday? And then this morning? And then he basically ditches you and shows up expecting you to fix his problems!? >Maybe it was your newfound courage >Or you just lost your temper >Or even cowardice — and thus self-defense >Whatever it was, it caused you to shove Mike back >And it feels good when you do >He stumbles backwards a bit into Alex’s arms >”When did you grow a pair of balls?” He says with a snort >His hands tighten up into fists >”Let’s try that again,” he says, starting forward. “Because something tells me this isn’t the real you. Deep down you’re still the same old bitch you’ve always been.” >Oh shit >It’s on now >Scrawny as he is, Alex does a somewhat admirable job of trying to hold Mike back >But he can only restrain Mike for a few seconds >Good >You don’t want any easy hits on this faggot >You start forward >Alright Anonymous, time to break something precious >You stop >Something pulls at your shirt, much to your annoyance >When you look down, Sam has his little fists knotted in the fabric of your white undershirt >He’s twisting it hard >Through the thick tangles of his unkempt hair, his shining amber eyes look up into your own — not through you, or around you in some cunning attempt to evade you out of anxiety >Every muscle in your body comes to a screeching halt >Your fists open up like springs to a bear trap, releasing all the pale tension in them >Why? >You want to fucking kill Mike right now >But Sam looks like he’s about to start crying or something >God damnit, fuck this little cottontail >Always running when shit gets real >Always forcing you to bail him out >A burden to you >And to everyone else >Unwanted >So why can’t you just brush him off like the weak little mammal that he is, and go knock Mike’s fucking lights out? >Why can’t you move? >Just move >MOVE, DAMNIT! >You don’t have to move at all >Mike does that for you >A feisty uppercut lodges itself beneath your chin, sending your eyes upwards >And even though it’s nearly morning >You swear you can see the stars — more clearly than you’ve ever seen them. As if they were right in front of your face >So this is what it feels like to have your lights punched out >Feels surreal >Like you didn’t even feel Mike’s hit >Your feet move backwards, knocking Sam on his ass >You swear you’re going to fall >But you don’t >You only taste blood >And the sweat >And you only feel the heat >And the cortisol >And that warm blood rush which takes over your head >You launch yourself at your best friend, swinging as hard as you can, aiming for any part of Mike that you can get your hands on >He dips backwards, evading your blows, his vampiric agility ever the more apparent when he ducks underneath one of your wild rights >Jesus Christ, this is some anime shit >Fuck it >Time to use… That >And by that, you mean you basically throw yourself at him, tackling him to the ground >While he may be fast, not even he could evade such a cunning move like throwing your dumb fucking body at him >Good job Anonymous, you’ve got him no- >Mike shoves you easily onto your own back >Well this isn’t good >You can hear Alex and Sam shouting something, but it’s all muffled and distant >They might as well be a thousand miles away >In fact, everything feels and sounds like its a galactic mile from the side of the road where you’re fighting your best friend >You don’t really feel it when Mike mounts your chest and throws haymakers at your face >You can feel his fists bounce off your cheek, jaw, nose, skull, shoulder, but it’s all so removed from how it actually feels >Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion >You can even see his muscles coil with each strike >So why don’t you fight back? >All you can do is look up at him, his eyes shining with fury and vampiric rage >Is it still Mike? >The Mike you drank beers with on the school roof? >Who you did hood rat shit with after school? >Who you told Gloria to fuck off with? >Is it still him? >… >Are you even still you? >Two hands grab Mike by the shoulders and pull him back >It’s Alex >He’s yelling something, barely restraining Mike with all of his spindly strength >You don’t move >You don’t even think you could right now >Sam’s face appears above yours, blocking out the fledgling sunlight >His mouth is moving, and he’s assuredly talking, but you can only focus on his ears >They droop downwards like his hair, nearly touching your face >You unconsciously reach up and catch one by the tip >What are you even doing? >You’re not sure it even matters >Mike must have gotten you good in the head >You stroke Sam’s ear as blood leaks into your mouth from your nose >A FURIOUS blush rises on the rabbit’s face >He closes his eyes and tries softly to pull away, saying something about stopping and about being worried about you >This dumb fucking rabbit might not know it, but he’s your only anchor to reality right now >Heh >Figures >You get in one fight and you pretty much zone out while Mike wails on you >A smile crosses your bleedings lips >Somehow, you knew it’d end up like this >The world becomes sharper and clearer as each stuttering heartbeat pounds in your chest, ripping you from the dream and back into reality >”MIKE! FUCKING CHILL, DUDE!” Alex shouts >”Chill?” Mike says with a sharp laugh. “Why don’t you try to chill out when you’re turning into a vampire because your ‘friend’ can’t do anything right, let alone save himself?” >Sam’s eyes are huge, like chips of amber the size of your fists >They’re honestly… kind of beautiful >You don’t have the strength to fight the gay thoughts right now, so you just let them happen >Maybe it’s the daze of getting your ass kicked >Or maybe it’s the spell put on you by Vanessa fading >But despite your shattered interpersonal relationships (and nose)… >…Down and out on the side of the road… >...Looking into Sam’s concerned eyes? >It all feels right >You sit up to the sound of a car horn blaring >Jenna Orthorn is pulled up, her van blocking the bike lane >You hear hear her car door slam shut, the sound concerned footsteps approaching >”What the hell are you guys doing on the side of the road!?” >She sounds hysterical >In an instant she’s at your side, pushing Sam out of the way >Sam collapses to his knees, useless and fighting tears >”What the hell happened to you?” She says, poking and prodding with medical precision. “Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve got a first aid kit in my car. Just lay back down… And try not to move.” >She looks over to Mike, who is no longer trying to charge you like an angry bull (no offense to bulls, obviously) >He just looks sullen as he stares daggers into the ground, his features hardened into a scowl >”Mike?” Jenna says, caution working its way into her voice. “Did you…?” >YES >YES HE DID, YOU ORANGE BITCH >Your lips, however, remain sealed >Mike looks up the vixen, and you swear you can see lightning in his eyes >”Take care of him,” he nods at you. “Because he can’t take care of himself. Or anyone else.” >Oh you assfuck >He narrows his gaze at the vixen >”Today, 3 p.m. I don’t care what class you’re going to be in. Come meet me around the back of the school, by the loading docks. We need to talk.” “If you can last that long.” You spit, flecks of blood flying out of your mouth >Jenna pales, though that’s not easy to see beneath her fur >”What happened to you, Anonymous?” She says. “You look like you got attacked by wolves.” >You nod ”Yes, and no.” >Do you single Mike out? >Tell Jenna the truth? >She’s a really nice girl >She doesn’t need to be apart of this >Mike doesn’t say anything — only stares coldly and calmly at you, before turning on his heels and walking down the road towards town >Jenna and Alex call after him, but he doesn’t respond >He just keeps walking down the side of the street with white flowers blowing softly in the autumn wind behind him >They blow across Sam like massive snowflakes >One lands softly on his hoodie >He plucks it off and holds it delicately in his palm — cradles it with both of his paws like it might shatter >”What the hell happened out here? What’s going on?” Jenna says as she pads you with bandages >You lay back down and close your eyes “I’ll let Mike tell you everything,” you say, no longer caring if Jenna is involved, who gets hurt or how the story is spun >Everything is fucked anyway, and it’s only Tuesday >Besides, people will be arriving soon >You’ve got your end of the bargain to keep with the goths >But frankly, you could care less about how this all ends >Hell you might even join those edgy freaks and really get one over on Mike >He, who only cares about graduating and leaving you all behind, can go fuck himself >Jenna moves you all to the parking lot so you’re no longer bleeding out on the side of the road like a possum who played in traffic >Alex is talking quietly to the fox >His looming figure bends over the rather small vixen, having to nearly crouch to get within earshot >You just hunch over and let the blood from your nose drip out onto the asphalt like someone turned on a red faucet in your skull >Jenna looks distraught, Alex looks somehow worse — not a look you’re used to on the happy-go-lucky communist >At least Sam and Alex and Jenna haven’t betrayed you >Jenna leads Alex over to you >You’re covered in bandages >”Anon?” Jenna begins. “Alex and I think you should go and find Mike.” >No >Fuck that guy >He can turn into an edgelord vampire all he wants “Can’t,” you say, which is only half the truth. “Besides, he’ll be coming back to talk to you later, won’t he? What’s the point in me cutting school to go and track down the guy who just kicked my ass?” >”Kicked your ass? What are you talking about?” The fox inquires >You shrug your shoulders and stand up. “I’ll explain later. Or maybe Mike will. It doesn’t matter. Sam.” You point at the rabbit “You’re following me until lunch. And then Alex. Understood?” >”What? Why?” Jenna asks again, sounding dismayed “Again, everything will be made clear to you soon.” >”Why won’t anyone tell me anything?” She says with a groan >You pat your chest, making sure the red book is still in your inner pocket >You can feel it there like a heavy, flat stone, despite how small and thin it is >You hate this fucking book >You hate yourself for getting involved >Alex salutes you as you walk past >Sam follows quickly behind you, leaving Jenna alone at her car, visibly confused >The day plods along slowly >You’re counting the hours, minutes, seconds, until your lunch period >T-minus one hour until you have to do the unforgivable >Talk to Gloria Duchene >Lead her into the gym >And then >Well, you don’t know what’s going to happen to her >But you can’t help but feel this tiny tinge of… rot in your stomach >That must be guilt >Just the thought of giving her over to the goths makes you cringe and presses that sickly feeling deeper into your guts >And you can’t believe you actually care about a person who honestly gives you the creeps like Gloria does >Well something similar did happen to happen to you and Sam, right? >Christ, why do you get all the weirdos? >You have Sam attend class, but tell him to meet you outside at the first floor bathrooms every 30 minutes. It’s a system that lets you check in on him while you’re still ‘present’ in class, though that’s a gross misuse of the term, because really, all you’re doing is throwing glances towards the clock or towards the door in English class >Sam should know where you are in case there’s trouble >What if his dad shows up out of fucking nowhere and caves your skull in? >He did look really pissed off after you… you know… >Ran him over with your car? >God damnit, get a hold of yourself >You’re safe here, in large numbers, among students >Well, what if he pulls Sam out of school? >Then what are you going to do? >Worse yet, he knows your name >Fuckity fuck fuck >What class is thumper in? An art class, right? Advanced drawing? >You’re going to go check >You just want it to be lunch already >And also for everyone to stop staring at you >To be fair, you look like an absolute mess, what with your suit jacket torn, your clothes ruffled, the dried blood on your nose and lips… >You stand up abruptly in English class, and Mrs. Felix, with whip-crack speed, addresses you >”Mr. Anonymous? Going to the bathroom again?” She says sharply >You nod in reply >”Drink less coffee next time,” she says dismissively, before quickly jumping back in to the existentialists, her mouth moving a mile a minute >How anyone keeps up in her class is a fucking mystery to you >Guess that’s fennec foxes though, right? Little balls of energy >You almost say ‘speak for yourself,’ but just shrug off the misplaced ‘advice’ >In the halls you have to do everything you possibly can not to break into a sprint >And the halls feel awfully empty, save for the occasional cluster of students >You notice yourself catching venomous looks from others >Mostly it’s coming from jocks, especially anthros, and ESPECIALLY anthro wolves >Big, hulking animals that make you look like a little emo twig in comparison >Not that you’re emo, you remind yourself, power-walking to the first floor >Emos don’t power-walk >Were you not in public you’re sure they’d tear you in half >But not while you power-walk >There’s no honor in that >You’re nearly to the stairs when a shape lunges in front of you, blocking your path >Naturally, because you’re a jittery, anxious bastard, you nearly piss yourself >In fact, you let out a pathetic little scream >”Anon!” >No >Not now >You see curly horns >An over-zealous crucifix hanging proudly against her heavily conservative denim dress >Fur white as pure snow >A Long conal snout, big, judgmental eyes accented by a pair of thick-rim glasses >Yep >Gloria Duchene >”Are you going to the bathroom?” she asks, leaning in uncomfortably close >Bitch what the fuck does it look like you’re doing? >You swear you can still smell the communion wine on her — or is that perfume? >What’s the difference to her anyway? “Yessss….? You reply with a deep, deep groan >Gloria, who is about as socially conscious as Sam is, doesn’t seem to pick up on your annoyance >”Well, do you have a hall pass? You know I’ll have to writeeeee you upppp.” “A hall pass? Since when is that a thing?” Your tone is incredulous >She wrinkles her nose and smiles, her heavy eyelashes fluttering like they each weighed 20 pounds >She grabs a hold of your hand, and you die a little inside when you feel how sweaty she is, even with her fur absorbing most of the moisture >”Don’t worry, Anonymous, I’ll escort you. If the principal sees me with you, he’ll let you go without a spanking.” >Somehow that explains so much — the spanking part, you mean >She drags you back towards the second floor bathrooms >You wriggle free of her grip, much to the stubborn goat’s dismay >”Oopsies, you slipped!” >She grabs you even tighter, ringing your slender wrist >You dig your heels in and grind to a halt “Please stop. I’m trying to go downstairs — and I don’t need you help,” you beg of her, hoping that her god will take pity on your accommodating soul >”Nonsense,” she balks. “You need me (and I need you).” >She whispers that last part, but you can still hear her well enough >If there is a God, he is not with this thirsty-ass goat right now >Goats are stubborn, but damnit, you’re a human >Have a little pride in yourself and your species! >What is mankind, the crafty ape, good for? >Well, being crafty >time to bust out the… craft…? “Gloria, Gloria, listen to me. You listening? I was thinking about you today.” >The goat sucks in a massive gulp of air before her mouth flies open >”YouwerebecauseIwasprayingaboutyoutooand-” >She’s practically tripping over her own tongue >Go in for the kill, buddy “Yeahhhhh, I was thinking about you!” You shoot her some finger guns in a bad attempt to look and act cool. “In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to eat lunch w-” >”YES.” She tugs you in close by your shirt collar >You can physically see how moist she is, which is an ugly, ugly sounding sentence >Sweat beads off her forehead, sliding through her short fur only to be lost in its tufts, never to complete its journey to the floor >”YES WE CAN EAT LUNCH TOGETHER, DARLING.” >Glad to see she’s so eager >Or are you? >You are about to sacrifice her to the goths >That familiar feeling of guilt settles at the bottom of your stomach like a sour stone >You do your best to smile >Oh, you sneaky dog, such an actor now >Fuck face “G-Great. Let’s eat in the gym though, okay?” >”The gym?” She cocks an eyebrow “Yeah. Less people. It’s uhhhh-” You start to sweat >Fuck, why is this happening to you? “It’s just a more relaxed environment,” you lie >You lying liar >You lying faggot coward >Wait >No, that last part was also a lie >You’re not a cowa- >”Well… if you say so. Lunch time at the gym? Got it!” >You breathe a sigh of relief when she skips off, doing a quick twirl mid air, sending her skirt spinning around her dainty legs >You at last free yourself of the horny (heh) goat and flee down the stairs >God damn, she’s really, really, really forceful today. Is she starting her heat or something? >Don’t female anthros take pills and wear scent masks for that sort of thing? >Maybe she forgot hers this week this week? >Or it’s got something to do with last Friday, the moon, the goths, and all the weird shit happening around school >Speaking of weird shit, when you peek through the windowed door to the art room, you see about 15 empty seats. In fact it’s just Sam, the teacher, and an odd assortment of theater kids and stoners (sitting on polar opposite sides of the room) >Sam looks even more isolated in the middle of the two factions, as if he were dividing them >Judging by the horrible looks the two groups are sharing with each other, you get the feeling that Sam isn’t the source of the animosity or division >Something else, more supernatural, is >You breathe a heavy sigh of relief >Thank fuck he’s saf- >A sharp pencil sails across the room towards the stoners >Then a few erasers >And some rulers >And then exacto knives >The stoners retaliate by leaping from their seats — mostly a group of humans save for an odd skunk — and throwing themselves towards the opposite side of the room with all the suddenness of a sloth >A scrap breaks out like a summer storm — that is to say, suddenly and violently >The teacher, a rather thin doberman, bares her fangs and jumps into the fray, desperately fighting to separate the teens before they murder one another >Sam seizes up at the sight of the melee >You throw open the door >Sam turns his head, sees you standing in the door like some kind of hero (despite the fact that you really fucking aren’t), and bolts towards you, pausing only to grab his drawings >He’s unable to stop himself in time, sprinting with some kind of madness and wild abandon >The thin little rabbit collides into you with the force of a thrown pillow, though it does send you stumbling back >God damnit, this is like the second or third time this has happened >You wrap your arms around him to steady yourself and him, as both of you are in danger of falling and making this significantly more gay than it already is >Eh, the gay doesn’t bother you as much anymore >But falling might >Sam looks up at you with his bright eyes, like shimmering pools of molten gold >You can see the panic and fear behind them, but you also recognize the comfort and relief that now colors his expression >”T-Thanks A-Anon…” he squeaks >Instinctively, you reach a hand down and stroke back his ears, run your fingers through his matted and greasy fur >God it feels good to comfort and protect him >Before you realize what you’ve done, Sam lets out a contented sigh >”W-What are you doing?” He whispers, nuzzling into your touch. “I-I like it.” >You instantly drop your hands to your sides >Fuck, what WERE you doing? >You scratch nervously at the back of your neck while a blush scours your cheeks “I-I don’t… Just ignore that. The important thing is: you’re out of there.” >the rabbit nods, letting his bangs cover his face once again >You’re tempted to just punch him in the face in order to prove your heterosexuality, but you could never do that to him >And his big, puppy dog eyes, glowing like chips of amber completely disarm you >”Y-You w-w-wanna see my d-drawings?” He asks, moving the subject autistically to what he’s been working on >No concern for the obvious violence now taking place in the room behind him >You can hear the want in his voice >Frankly, you’re glad that he’s gotten the courage to speak to you directly and not in whispers >You can’t help but smile a little “Of course I do. But not here. Let’s get somewhere safe.” >’Safe’ is hard to come by these days >It seems like everywhere you go there’s some angry clique glaring at you >But the jocks themselves seem especially pissed >As you and Sam walk down the lower hallway, where you were chased by werewolves not but a few hours ago, a group of scantily clad cheerleaders pass by you >Both are anthros, one being a curvaceous pig, the rounded pink skin of her thigh accented by the red and white top stretched tightly over her well endowed body >Her shirt clips just beneath her substantial breasts, and you’re sure by the boner you’re wielding that she’s in violation of several dress codes >Yet you can’t help but be drawn to her, almost as if her eyes are hypnotic >She flashes a cute wink and a smile, and then you see it: the shimmering red in her eyes, the narrow filed points of her teeth >She’s just like Mike is >You can’t help but gawk like a fucking idiot because the smaller of your two heads is doing a lot of thinking right now >”A-Anon?” Sam squeaks up >You shake your head of lewd thoughts >You’ve been caught, but who cares, right? “They’re real pretty, huh?” >You jab the bunny with your elbows >If Mike were here he’d talk about how he thinks they’re beautiful but would never fuck an anthro… >…Which he seems to talk about a lot >Sam casts a glance over his shoulder >His ears perk up quickly in alarm >He must have noticed the vampirism too >”Y-Yeah th-they’re gorgeous h-haha.” >He looks up at you, his eyes begging for approval >”D-D-Do you think they’re h-h-hot, Anon?” He pauses, hands gently pulling at his ears. “I-I mean f-f-for m-mammals?” >You hum in thought “I mean… I guess so? That pig is pretty thicc, right?” >Sam makes another obvious glance backwards >You grab his ears and steer his head forward >Maybe he isn’t gay after all? He’s just… supremely awkward, as usual ”Hey man try and be subtle when you’re checking a girl out, okay? You’re gonna get us called perverts,” you say >Sam lowers his head in shame, finding comfort and safety in staring at the floor >”S-Sorry t-t-they’re so…. H-Hot? H-Ha.” >The way he says it sounds extremely forced and uncomfortable and you want to ask him if he’s gay or not, because now you’re confused “Hey Sam…” You rub the back of your neck and fix your gaze down the hall, scanning for any signs of potential danger “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…” >Here it comes >Absolute truth >And maybe more confusion on your part >The moisture under your arms and the heat radiating from your stomach to your face tells you you’re nervous >Which… shouldn’t be happening. You were supposed to be brave, courtesy of Vanessa “Are you-” you cough a bit, as if choking on the words themselves >Anything to prolong the question, right, you coward? >Wait, ‘you coward?’ >You’re not allowed to be a coward >This is clearly just a fluke >Okay, deep breaths >Out with the question >You look down at Sam… >…Who has pulled the collar of his ratty hoodie far away from his wiry neckline, and is peering down at his chest “Dude, what are you doing?” >The bunny shoots his head upward, and almost instantly grabs at his ears, twisting them like they were throttles to a tiny and pathetic dirt bike >”N-N-N-NOTHING!” He squeaks, his face flush with crimson >What… >Why is this such a big deal? >Oh god you just want him to stop freaking out >It’s really not a big deal >Not like he has tits or anything >Maybe gyno? You’ve never seen him without his hoodie “Okay, okay, I believe you, man. I believe you. Just chill-” >”I swear I-I-I wasn’t l-l-looking I-I mean c-c-comparing my-myself I-I- mean-” His words fire off at a mile a minute and you only catch a few >You know, if he didn’t stutter like a fucking madman, he could maybe be a rapper >Beats being a janitor >And GOD he’s really wringing those ears out now >Alright, time for an intervention “Look, it’s fine, just-” you forcefully pry his hands away from his ears, but you take care to squeeze them softly. “You’re going to hurt yourself. Crush my hand if you have to crush something.” >Sam, trembling, gives you a tight grip — you can’t tell if he’s excessively weak or holding back >”T-Thanks…” Sam whispers in a shuddering breath >You ignore the cuteness and keep walking down the hall, your face pulsing with heat and embarrassment >You know how this looks to everyone, and you do catch a few giggles from a few human preps who pass you by >You try to pay them no mind, but Sam obviously notices >He squeezes your hand a little harder, using his other free hand to clutch at the drawings he wanted to show you >Just gotta get you and him somewhere safe >And you don’t… >…Don’t seem to want to let go of his hand? >It’s so small and gentle in your comparatively huge hands >Sam has an artist’s fingers — delicate and nimble >You can feel them threading your own >Fuck, he’s probably gay, and you really want to let go of his hands, but you can’t — not now >Or could it be that you don’t want to? >You come to a stop eventually, wandering out of a dream >Huh, did you hold hands with him all the way down the hall to the lunch room? >… “Alright Sam, let me see those drawings,” you say, already trying to forget your extremely gay waltz down the hall >You slump against the wall near the cafeteria, nervous sweat running down your face, underarms completely soaked from the self-conscious anxiety >Somethin’ ain’t right, you think in a vaguely Texan accent >Sam scoots over to you across the dirty floor, crumpled paper in hand >Kinda gross… who knows when the last time these floors have been cleaned since Stella went apeshit? >Speaking of, the lunchroom looks spotless >Which is alarming to think of how fast and strong the janitor must be to have flipped over all those tables back to their original configurations >Sam doesn’t seem to notice >Or care >He just prattles on about his drawings with sheer joy written across his face >”T-This one is a superhero na-named S-Slayer,” Sam says, unfurling the paper and spreading it out on the floor >’Slayer’ is a somewhat short, stocky human with spiked brown hair and piercing green eyes >He wears a tight leather jacket with spikes and has what looks like a heavy… rifle? Of some kind slung across his shoulders, clearly meant to obliterate fools >Huh >He looks a lot like Mike >Not to mention the fact that these are really, really good drawings >Like really good >Or maybe you’ve got low standards? >”H-H-He kills m-monsters,” Sam explains, excitedly pointing to features on ‘Slayer’ (no relation to the band, unfortunately) >”H-His Obliterator g-gun can take out bad guys i-i-in one s-s-shot, b-b-but he’s also got a s-short temper, and is k-kinda mean. S-So he’s an ant-anti-hero.” >Next is ‘Charmer’, a fair-skinned human who is dressed in a sharp suit (not unlike your own), with an admittedly suave smile. He’s got a well fitted fedora (lel) covering his face, leaving only his cheeky smile visible >If you had to guess, you’d say this guy looks like a gangster of some sort — an old timey mobster who speaks with a Boston accent as thick as clam chowder >Charmer is apparently a natural-born leader and uses his social cunning to influence others >Kind of ironic that Sam is drawing socially conscious characters, but you keep that rude little comment to yourself >”T-T-The next t-two are a duo,” Sam says, nervously withdrawing a carefully folded scrap of paper from his pocket >He spreads out the drawing, and you read the character names out loud “Anon the Brave and Wise.” Your eyes flick to the next line “and Samurai Outlaw.” >Holy shit, it’s you >You’re not wearing your signature suit and tie, but instead what looks like priest robes, with a hastily scribbled red book in one hand >You’re posed like you’re delivering a sermon, or reciting a powerful spell >And to the right of you is a hooded figure with a pair of wide rabbit ears raised like two antennas >Though the face is obscured by the hood, Sam has taken the time to color in two pairs of golden eyes, peering out of the darkness of the cowl >In her right hand, Samurai Outlaw wields a simple baseball bat as a weapon >You look to Sam, who says nothing, only shyly smiles and digs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, perhaps in a dignified effort to keep himself from stress-pulling at his ears “Sam… Is this us?” You ask, even though you really have no doubt in your mind who each character is supposed to represent >”I-I u-used you all f-f-for ref-reference,” he says, slowly folding each drawing back up, instead of crumpling them up into unintelligible balls like he did before “Of course — I don’t know why you wouldn’t, but why would you call me ‘Brave and Wise’? I’m neither of those things.” >”B-Because y-you- I mean, h-he is! H-He’s brave and s-smart and c-c-caring and h-handsome and k-kind!” >Your heart catches, and a deeply sour feeling hits your stomach like you swallowed a dumbbell >You’re only brave because of a spell >Yet another thing you keep to yourself >”I-Is that alright?” Sam asks after noticing your silence >Frankly, you’re speechless “I-I’m sorry,” he says, his expression crumbling like a pathetic little sand castle against a tsunami >It was like watching a very happy balloon suddenly have all its air let out >He starts tightening up the drawings between his trembling little fingers >You shake yourself back to reality >Fucking hell Anon, say something, because Sam: >A) is a fantastic artist and >B) has all the spine of a jellyfish “Dude, wait. Hold on.” You place your hand over his. “Please don’t throw those out. They’re really, really, really good.” >The little rabbit brightens up >He pushes his free hand through the mop of his hair, and you can see something rare: >A genuine, beaming smile >Not shy and hidden behind his scraggly fur >But really big and bright, like it’s about to fall off his tender and feminine face >It sends your heart fluttering >Fuck, it makes you feel good to make him feel good >The next words escape your lips without any prior thought, and when they’re out in the open, you don’t even care “Can I have your drawing of me? To keep?” >The rabbit blinks a few times >Silence >And silence >And more silence >”Wh-What?” He stammers suddenly, voice rising to a high, girly pitch >He looks like you just asked him to reverse entropy or something impossible >Or on a date — both of which are impossible(?) “Can I keep your drawing?” You repeat, not even fighting the words as they leave your lips >”You want to ke-keep one?” He parrots back, sounding unsure of himself “Yes, dude, I want to keep mine. I mean, if that’s cool with you. If it isn’t, it’s fin-” >”YES!” He squeals with far, far too much falsetto to be a boy (or he just has a great singing voice) >He leans uncomfortably close to your face, and you can see just how red he is — and how much sweat is saturating his fur >”I-I want y-y-y-you to h-have it!” >He’s practically yelling at this point, drawing significant stares from everyone around you >You kind of jerk yourself back a bit >Sam has no idea how close he really is, because he’s propped himself up on his palms and his leaning into your face like he’s trying to kiss you >Talk about overreacting “T-Thanks, dude,” you stammer back, glowing red yourself >Sam is still in your face, breathing hard, staring intently at you — almost through you — with his big amber eyes that nearly glow against the tangles of his chestnut colored hair >People are starting to stare and whisper >You slip all three pieces of paper out from his grasp and into your back pocket, but he doesn’t seem to notice >Well, you’re sufficiently uncomfortable, and your meager social reputation is probably compromised >Whatever, who cares? >And maybe you’re not really gay after all >In trying to put your eyes somewhere that isn’t on Sam, who is practically frozen in place, sucking down hot gulps of air and taking shuddering yaoi breaths, you flick your gaze to the clock >Oh shit >It’s nearly lunch, and you’ve got an appointment with some cringe in the gym >You tell the rabbit to wait by the doors to the gym, which are double-wide, windowless affairs down a hall adjacent to the lunchroom >Gloria sees you approaching and smooths out her skirt >Fuck >She waves enthusiastically, a lunch box swinging in her free hand >Her horns gleam in the light, and her fur is slicked back with moisture >Fuck >She looks like she actually got all gussied up for you >It makes you feel even more guilty >You press on regardless of how much of an awful human being you are >You need this strength to defeat the goths >Their courage spell, charm, hex, whatever >You’re going to turn it against them >But as you approach the goat girl, you feel a pit open up in your stomach, and your heart catches in your chest >God, here’s that old familiar sting of regret again >You don’t feel fear, but you do feel guilt? >Puzzling >”Hi ‘Nonny!” She calls, and you cringe at the word ‘nonny’ >She sours at the sight of Sam, and at that alliteration >”Oh… Hello, heathen,” she says dismissively >You grab Sam by the shoulder and pull the bunny in tight against your side, forcing on the biggest possible smile despite the warning in your heart “Hey Gloria! So I take it you’ve met Sam before.” >Sam shrinks into his hoodie >”Sam and I have been lab partners for three years in every God-hating science class we’ve had at this institution. She smells bad and won’t come to my Bible study.” >Sam stiffens up as the last syllables hit his sensitive ears >Panic fills his expression, going from shy anxiety to pure unbridled fear >‘She?’ >Gloria rolls her eyes and crosses her arms >”Never mind. Will Sam be joining us?” She says, her tone begging for a ‘No he won’t’ >You paint on an even wider smile — one so big that your cheeks are actually starting to hurt >Holy fuck you don’t know how much longer you can keep this up, and a part of you is starting to look forward to betraying her to the goths >Just like Judas betrayed Jay-Z-us >Does that make you Judas? >Well, this obnoxious, overly-Catholic goat is certainly no Jesus “No, Sam was actually just going back to class.” >Gloria’s eyelids flutter and her expression floods with warmth and cheer >”Oh goo- I mean, DARN,” she says, her barely disguised relief more obvious than the crucifix roped around her thin neck >”Well, Sam, thank you for escorting ‘Nonny back to me. Don’t want to be late to class!” She informs him >Gloria grabs you by the hand roughly and spins you around so your back is facing Sam, who stands there, helpless >”S-Sorry,” he squeaks after you. “Have a g-good l-lunch!” >You can hear the hurt in his voice >If only you could tell him what’s going on >Would he hate you? >Hell, you hate you >He probably wouldn’t have an opinion either way >You steel yourself before entering >Take a fortifying breath, Anon >Everything is going to be okay >You tug on the doors >They open up, but not without astonishing effort on your behalf >Is it just you, or are you feeling weaker? >It’s just nerves, you swear >Right? >The door slams behind you and Gloria with finality, locks clicking without warning >One by one the lights flicker on, illuminating only small portions of the gym at a time, sterile light reflecting off the polished hardwood floors >Gloria squeezes your hand harder >”Anon? What’s going on?” >You hear a cackle >And then a low, simmering growl >It’s a sound so ugly that Gloria claps her hands over her ears >You’re inclined to do the same >Whatever it is, it’s not of this world >The last overhead light — in the center of the gym — blinks on >Vanessa is there, as well as a lanky human and a crotch-height rat anthro >They’re all decked out like Halloween never ended, or they listen exclusively to The Cure, which is an insult to Robert Smith for having to be associated with these dorks >The horrible noise stops >And something — something otherworldly and strange — appears next to Vanessa >It looks like a massive dog, crouched on its paws, wreathed in a continuously radiating fog >Two yellow eyes burn back at you through the thicc tendrils of smoke >You can’t take your eyes off it >Gloria thrusts her cross necklace forward like a holy shield towards Vanessa and… that thing… >The strange beast flinches and wavers, shrinking back a little >”Get behind me, Anonymous!” She shrieks >You don’t move >What the fuck is wrong with you? MOVE >Vanessa only laughs harder >”Oh Gloria, how I’ve missed tormenting you, you adorable little sacrificial goat.” >Ignoring every word that comes out of Vanessa’s mouth, Gloria starts forward >”Get OUT of here you degenerate. ‘Nonny and I are going to have lunch. Shouldn’t you be smoking sin sticks out behind the school?” >You at last will yourself to take your place behind Gloria >Somehow you feel safe here, despite being a good six inches taller than she is >The doe scowls back at the goat >”And shouldn’t you be on your knees in front of a priest, sucking out some forgiveness?” She retorts >Gloria, fearless and stubborn as she is horny (HEH- Not now you fucking degenerate), continues forward with slow, plodding steps, as if she were battling against hurricane-force winds >”I will be tonight! I’ll be confessing my sins for and praying for you lot to repent!” She cries, obviously missing the sexual overtones in Vanessa’s retort >”I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Vanessa smirks through her piercings >What the fuck are those in her mouth? Are those… >…Fangs? >”You see, the Behemoth is only at half of its strength. But, now that Anon here has brought us everything we need, well… even I have no idea what this thing is capable of.” >Vanessa draws the Book of Wrath from her side bag and flips it open to an earmarked page >She nips at her thumb with her fangs >She smothers her bloody finger against the page >’The Behemoth’ shrieks loudly in that godforsaken tone and blinks out of sight >Fucking hell that’s scary >Gloria turns around to face you, her face a mix of puzzlement and hurt >”Nonny, what does the degenerate mean when she says ‘you brought her everything she needs’?” >You open your mouth to speak, but no words fall out >You feel your throat start to tighten >As well it should, you goddamn filth >”Anonymous?” She asks again, taking a step away from you, the realization hitting her like a pop-fly hits a little leaguer: hard, and in the face >She lets her crucifix fall weakly against her chest as she continues to search your eyes for an answer >”Why?” >What must be the Behemoth, that feral dog wreathed in smoke, blinks into existence behind Gloria >She turns around and cuts loose a furious ‘BAAAH!’ >It must have been instinct, because Gloria would have never put her head down on her own — her horns gleaming in the warm lights of the gymnasium >But she did >She bolts forward with wild abandon, hoping to ram the beast >For its hulking size, the beast was quite nimble >It blinks out of existence, forcing Gloria to charge through a wall of rapidly dissipating smoke >But maybe Gloria’s target never was the Behemoth? >The goat just keeps sprinting, horns down, ready to shatter bones >A feral, animalistic scream rips from her throat >Vanessa’s eyes go wide >Oh my god >You can only watch in amazement and slight horror as the goat tears forward like an angry white comet, her skirt flowing behind her like a meteor’s hot tail >In a panic, the doe quickly spins through her black book, turns to a blood spattered page- >The other two goths fly to the sides to avoid getting their ribcages shattered >Gloria goes flying uselessly into the air, as if lifted into the ceiling by God himself, just inches away from the flinching doe >She flails helplessly like a leaf caught in the wind, or a worm dangling on a hook >”YOU COWARD!” She bleats at Vanessa >She turns to you, her arms still spinning and grappling for something to hold on to >”YOU KNEW, ANONYMOUS! YOU KNEW WHAT THEY WERE GOING TO DO!” >You shrink back into your suit jacket like a gigantic pussy >Just being called out like this is something that’s going to be deeply etched into your memory, right where all those memories of your 9th birthday party fester, immune to therapists and drugs alike >”I TRUSTED YOU!” >And yet you still cannot speak >You can’t even say you’re sorry >You, Anonymous >Are a fucking coward >Vanessa looks like she just ran through a car wash with how sweaty she is >She spins the black book open again and starts tracing lines with her finger >The Behemoth blinks back next to her >”You STUPID MUTT!” She swats the beast as hard as she can with the book. “I almost got crusaded!” >Its head rears back as the blow clocks into its snout, but it doesn’t yelp or even make a sound >”You still can’t control it?” The only other human — a poorly dressed and pale young goth says. “I thought you said you should at least be able to command it without the sacrifice!” >”It doesn’t fucking matter, Reese! Because we’ve got what we need right here! After the sacrifice is complete I’ll have more control over the Behemoth than ever.” Vanessa motions up to Gloria, who is currently spinning upside down. “This is perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better catch, actually. So just shut your dumb fucking mouth.” >Gloria’s crucifix necklace slips out over her head and dangles from her curled horns >”Without the power of God, you won’t win this, you sick degenerates. The fires of hell await you!” >Her crucifix at last slips from her horns and clatters to the ground with incredible weight, sounding like it was made of lead as it hits the shiny wooden floors >The Behemoth shrinks away from it, a grumble low in its throat >Vanessa only laughs — either at the helpless goat or at the pain of her ‘pet’ >”You know, sweetie, that’s what I like so much about you — you’re just like everybody else. You never change. You’ll never beg for compassion from me because you’re too damn stubborn, which is going to make this all the more pleasant.” >”That’s where you’re wrong,” the stubborn goat fires back. “People can change! They can repent their sins and they can change! You ever heard of a little diddy called… oh, I don’t know… THE ACTS OF CONTRITION?” >You notice that even when she spins your direction she avoids looking at you >Understandable, considering you literally betrayed her >Bleh, you deserve it, you lying, evil bastard >”I doubt it.” Vanessa replies with ice in her tone. “Nobody changes. Now, you’ve said quite enough for today.” >She slams The Book of Wrath shut >Gloria screams as she suddenly drops out of the air >You reach forward, as if to catch her >But you never move from the spot you’re helplessly rooted in >You little bitch >Gloria screams >And then collides with the ground >The next thing you know you’re at her side, shaking her uncontrollably, trying to wake her up “What the hell did you do to her!?” You scream at the doe, who looks vaguely concerned at either what just happened or at how you’re reacting >”You’re overreacting,” she says, though there is a questioning tone in her voice. “She’s… she’s probably just unconscious.” >She snaps her fingers and stares down at her companion, the rat, who darts forward and throws her head onto Gloria’s chest, listening for a heartbeat >There’s a moment of silence and a span of time where you don’t even breathe >Oh fuck >You… You killed this gir- >”She’s still breathing, and I can hear a heartbeat,” the rat says, raising a thumb into the air. “It’s faint though.” >Vanessa lets out a held knot of air >You nearly collapse into a stressed-relieved pile >”Good!” She says. “I didn’t want to kill her. Now, fetch her, Anonymous.” >The fuck did this bitch just say? “I’m sorry, but what? I’m done, right? I did what you wanted.” >Your tone is somewhere between pleading and outraged >Vanessa smirks a knowing, shit-eating smirk at you that you want to punch off her face. “Not quite. You might have noticed you’ve been acting like a total pussy for the last few hours, right?” >Oh no >Was it that obvious? >You nod, ever so slightly, a bead of sweat sliding down your forehead >The smile on Vanessa’s face grows even wider >”The curse is wearing off. I’ll need to reapply it. But this time it’ll be stronger than it ever was. Once you help us, that is.” >I’m sorry but did this bitch say it was a curse? >ANON, THERE SHOULD BE ALARM BELLS RINGING INSIDE YOUR HEAD “N-No. I… I…” You start >The smile on Vanessa’s face collapses into a scowl >A pair of fangs slide out from her lips >”You know we trust you, right? You know a lot about us — what we’re doing here, what our plans are — and with the Spooktober Fest so close, and our goals nearly in sight… you aren’t turning your back on us, right?” >She opens The Book of Wrath again >The Behemoth blinks in next to her >”Because I really like you. Of all the obnoxious cunts at this school, you’re the only one who seems to get what it’s like to be an outcast,” she says, a slight smile returning to her face. “And you always will be. People don’t change. I like that about you. I like who you are.” >The Behemoth growls, and you clap your hands over your ears >She motions towards the beast weakly >”Though if you did decide not to help us, I can’t say for sure I have total control over the Behemoth yet. It has gotten away from me more than a few times this morning — roaming the halls, doing fuck knows what.” She raises an eyebrow. “Do you catch my drift?” >You swallow hard and nod >You fucking pussy >You find yourself back in the clustered annals of the school, which run like tangled veins above the gym and ultimately onto the roof where you spent your Friday night, Gloria’s crucifix stuffed into your pocket hastily >You have the goat slung over your shoulder, her useless weight threatening to drag you down to the floor >And fuck, it’s so hot up here still >It feels like a smokehouse or sweat lodge >Why would anyone willingly hang out up here? >You jerk on your collar with one free hand >”Hot, isn’t it?” Vanessa glances back at you “Well, if you consider heat stroke-tier hot-” you sheepishly reply back, out of breath >You shift Gloria’s dead weight on your shoulders >Vanessa’s gaze finally leaves yours >You’re starting to get the feeling that she might not trust you >”Stick with us, and maybe we’ll even juice you up so you can carry even more dead weight next time.” >As if there will be a next time “T-Thanks,” you reply in a wheeze >The Book of Wrath glows with unnatural light, serving as a kind of flashlight for your unwilling trek >You can’t help but feel watched — hunted — by the Behemoth, which flashed out when you entered through the secret door in the gym’s equipment closet >Lord knows where it is now or what it’s doing >Does this count as a hostage situation? >You try to make small talk with Vanessa, but she only wants to talk about other stuff — in particular, how much she hates everyone >See, to Vanessa, everyone is a normie (excluding a few people: yourself, Mike, Alex, Gloria, Jenna and Sam) >Oh, and Louis, that one gray wolf from English who always has bugs crawling in his fur >Everyone else is stupid cattle who hates her >You almost point out that she’s an entire bitch, but you keep your mouth shut >What the doe fails to grasp is that her victim complex is completely fucking obnoxious and if people hate her, it’s probably because she thinks everyone else does and acts like it >A real self-fulfilling prophecy >You’ve never exactly had many friends (three, if you’re counting Sam now), but somehow you didn’t turn into a bitter cunt like she did >Do her ‘friends’ even care as much as she does? Or are they just dressing for the part? >”And people don’t change,” she concludes. “They’ll always be scum. Frankly so will you and I, but we’ll at least be in control finally.” >You have to slap yourself in the back of the head to keep your eyes from rolling back even further into your skull >It’s going to be a long, hot walk in the annals of the school >Somehow, even in the gloom up here, you’re starting to get a sense of familiarity. You guess you’ve done this before and the light from the book (seriously, you’re so far beyond questioning shit nowadays) doesn’t hurt >You feel you’re near the room with the altar and the weird writing on the wall >Or maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that you still have the red book with you >It might help guide you- >Wait >You pat your breast pocket >SHIT >The red book IS still in there >The book they NEED to complete this ritual >Shit fuck shit shit shit fuck >Anonymous, you absolute fucking idiot >You clench your jaw in anger, wishing your neck was between your teeth so you could gnaw your stupid head off >You’re sweating by the time you reach the ritual chamber somewhere between the gym and the roof >And it’s not just from the exertion >How long do you have before they figure it out? >The room is just as you remember it: a semi-large concrete square with a stone basin at the center, lit with an unnatural pinkish glow despite there being no source of light >There’s a smearing of dried blood in the basin in the center of the room from where Sam fell and hit his nose, but otherwise, the basin is clear >The walls are schizophrenically covered in etchings and bizarre marks, most notably a large ‘31’, signifying SOMETHING is going to happen on Halloween >You swallow hard >Okay, Anonymous, you’ve done as they asked >Now you need to find a way to slip the fuck out of here without being caught or stopped or searched or… >You shudder >…Made to join their cult >Not that being a complete traitor ISN’T cringe, obviously >Vanessa stands before the altar and draws a small razor out of her bag >Of course she has a razor >She jerks her chin at you, hair falling over her face >”Bring forth the offering, Anonymous. And then stand beside me.” >Her voice is commanding >With stuttering heart, you obey >The way you see it, you’re kind of fucked and should just play the part until you craftily think of something >The two other goths under Vanessa’s command step back and block off each entrance “What are they d-doing?” You stammer, your heart stumbling with sudden concern >Your fear is apparent, and this seems to please the sadistic doe >”There’s something we need to talk about. But first, the ritual. Lay the goat on the altar.” >You hesitate “You’re not going to kill her, right?” >The doe laughs >”And spare her from all the fun that’s coming this Friday? No, no. She’s just going into a long, unnatural sleep. Think of it like a coma. Thanks to this little book here.” >She pats The Book of Wrath harshly >How can you trust her words? >Oh, that’s right, at this point you’re being held against your will now — her trust is irrelevant >And you’re also back to being a gigantic puss since their curse wore off >A puss who signed a pact with these weirdos >You meekly tell yourself this a spy mission >That’s right, you’re gathering valuable intel on them! >A-After all, you didn’t like Gloria anyway >Despite how incredibly guilty you feel, you’re glad for what you’ve done >Awww fuck, you know you’re full of shit and you ain’t proud of anything >You’re scared as hell right now and deep in enemy territory >You might fight back if you were Mike (who you’re starting to miss right now) >But you’re not, you’re- >”Anonymous?” Vanessa says through clenched teeth. “You want us to juice you back up?” >You nod weakly >You might need a little courage here for what’s coming next >It could help you beat them >”Lay the goat down,” she commands, her tone clipping on the last syllables. >You heap Gloria onto the altar after another moment of hesitation >She sinks neatly into the large stone bowl >Almost like a little bed for her >Vanessa grabs a hold of her wrist in one fluid motion, and gives Gloria a rather large horizontal slash across the wrist >Blood sops into her fur, stymieing the flow at first, and then it all pours out in a steady trickle around her >You rub your hands nervously “You swear you won’t hurt her?” You lurch forward, but step back as you catch a hostile glare from Vanessa >”I PROMISE she won’t die — yet. God, you’re acting like you’ve got a crush on her or something.” “I don’t it’s just- I don’t want a murder on my hands and-” >You’re cut off by the Doe’s harsh laughter >”You really don’t seem to get it, do you? Nobody is going to die, but nobody is going to be the same after Friday night. Everything is going to be irrelevant, and you, me, and everyone else in this room right now? We’re going to finally be the ones in control, watching while everyone suffers.” >”What about Lydia?” The she-rat asks. “She’s not here.” >Vanessa, pushing Gloria’s blood stained body onto the floor with a grunt, takes a moment to gather herself and wipe a wet smearing of blood onto The Book of Wrath >”She’s on a special assignment in town right now. But rest assured, she’ll have her place in our new paradise. You all will.” She sweeps her eyes around the room, lingering on you >You lift the goat out of the basin and try carrying her over to a wall so she can rest… somewhat comfortably… >”You don’t need to waste your time with her. She shouldn’t be able to feel a thing. Now, come watch while I put the collar around our new pet,” Vanessa says >You rise to your feet “You mean that THING? The Behemoth?” >The doe flashes a fanged smile >”Yes, that ‘thing’, when at full strength on Friday night, will be capable of turning this world from mundane to beautiful, beautiful madness.” >You cringe internally and externally >But this is the kind of information you came here for, so you press on despite your increasing fear that you’re trapped in a bad teen movie or book “And what… exactly is it?” You ask >Without looking at you, Vanessa replies, “It’s a lesser god of some kind. It was summoned last Friday night — though we’re not entirely sure how. Without the other book and a blood sacrifice it couldn’t have been brought here. That just tells me that someone else has it.” >She frowns >Gee, who could be holding onto the other super important book? >”This puts our whole operation in danger,” she says “Danger? How?” >”The Behemoth is loyal to the holder of The Book of Wrath, but with both books it can be undone. Kate fucking Winslow lost the Book of Rite, a red book, in the girl’s bathroom at some point and never found it again — and whoever has that book began the ritual last Friday. Thankfully, we do know the beast is loyal to me — kind of. All we need now is to invoke the ritual and I’ll have greater control over it. That should make finding The Book of Rite easier. And then this whole glorious enterprise can commence now that we’ve got the blood of a pure virgin.” >A smile presses onto her lips >”I love having control over things. Over people. Don’t you?” >Fuck no you don’t >You’d like as little control over someone as possible >Still, you nod firmly in agreement, trying the best you can to play the part of sadistic edgelord while you rack your brain searching for a way out of this mess >Pleased, Vanessa turns her attention to The Book of Wrath >The pages begin to glow with an unnatural light as the blood dries and disappears into the pages >The book vibrates with increasing intensity before slipping out of the doe’s slick grasp and flying into the air above the stone basin, where the shallow pool of blood begins to bubble >The writing on the wall begins to glow. The occult symbols shimmer and burn as if they’d been traced in fire >This is it >You can sabotage this now, grind the whole damn thing to a halt >Do you rip it out of the air and try to get out via the roof? Push the others out of the way and escape to the gym? >What about leaving Gloria here? >It’s not like you can haul her with you in a daring rescue — you’re weak as hell >The ground start to shake >Alright, it’s almost show time. How are you going to do this? >How can you d- >The book drops uselessly into the blood, and a horrendous, ear-rending scream can be heard echoing throughout the halls >You clap your palms over your ears >Vanessa and her rat friend collapse to the floor in balls of pain, trying desperately to drown out what must be an extremely high frequency screech only audible to anthros >As the earth-shaking noise subsides, you’re left standing in the dimming glow of the room, lit partially by the walls as they shine with singed carvings >Vanessa throws herself upon the altar >”What the fuck is this shit?!” She screeches, quickly raising The Book of Wrath out of the shallow pool of crimson. “Why didn’t it fucking work?!” >Wat >It didn’t work? >IT DIDN’T WORK! >You did it! By doing… absolutely nothing? >The other two goths approach the altar looking dismayed >”What do you mean it didn’t work? How can you tell?” >"The Behemoth… It should be right here… I should-” she opens to book and flips to an earmarked page >She dips her finger in some of the blood and smears it across the tea-colored paper >The doe looks around anxiously, and after a moment of stunned silence, she screams >”FUCK!” >She throws her head down against the stone basin, teeth grating against one another in fury >You take a step back, silently relieved >This crazy week is over >Friday’s bullshit will never come to pass >It takes everything you have to hold back a smile >Alex and Sam are safe >As for Mike? Fuck that guy, but you can’t be angry right now >You can only feel elated >Everything is going to be oka- >”What the fuck is that?” Vanessa lifts her head >Her eyes narrow in on a dried bloodstain left on the inside rim of the basin >It’s Sam’s bloodstain, caked on from where he fell and conked his nose on Friday night >”That’s blood,” she snarls. “That’s someone else’s blood!” >She opens The Book of Wrath, scrapes a little dried blood on her fingers and makes a strange symbol on the pages of the book >The blood saturates into the page and then fades into nothingness >The unnatural light in the room flares up and flickers like a fire suddenly stoked with gasoline >And then there’s a hissing sound >You all turn to the wall directly adjacent to the altar — the source of the noise >A new name is burning brightly on the wall >’Samantha Garlen’ >It was a dark and stormy night — except it was day time, around noon, and though the skies were the color of wet concrete, the narrator was full of shit and it was not raining >And you are Mike Sapone >Mike Sapone, an angry manlet turned vampire, who has two things running through his mind at this very moment: a desperate lust for blood, and a sharp mental pain that his future is draining away right before his eyes, much like the blood that’s draining from this dog’s neck >That’s right, you’ve got a dog by the neck >A family-looking mammal, evident by his beer gut, his slightly graying (otherwise wonderfully golden) colored fur, his too-big-for-him polo shirt and goofy cargo shorts >As you plunge your fangs into his quivering neck and get a mouthful of fur, there’s an explosion of hot salty blood in your mouth >The anthro dog struggles, but you’ve been imbued with a Twilight-tier strength, making you one mean motherfucker >You bite extra hard, secretly hoping that you sever an artery or something >He shudders, his eyes roll upwards, and he droops helplessly in your grasp >It takes you only a little bit of your newly found strength to keep him from collapsing onto the bathroom floor of the Burgershack >Poor bastard was just washing his hands when you ravenously descended upon him >You suck hard, feeling your belly fill and grow, hot with blood >Something inside of you goes slack >You can feel your muscles start to relax and thoughts slow from a manic bullet to a contented wisp of smoke >God, you’re not proud of what you’re doing, at all, but you were so hungry — feral, almost >You drag the still bleeding golden into the stall, shut the door, and… >Eww… >You crawl out underneath the divider and back into the bathroom >You wipe a smear of blood from your lip with the back of your hands as you stare into the mirror >You’re pretty sure only you can see yourself in the reflection, because that dog didn’t even seem to care that you were standing right behind him with ill intent >Your emerald-green eyes, alight with a red glow, stare back at you >God you’ve changed >Your already pale skin is even paler now >Your eyes are sunken in, bags underneath them the color of bruised fruit >You lips, were they not soaked in hot blood, are nearly blue >And despite all the transformations, you’re still pretty short and kind of stocky >Somewhere some muscle grew — the muscles you used to clock Anon, of course >Thinking back on it makes you feel like shit >But you tell yourself he’s the one responsible for all of this >This… thing you’re becoming >It’s not you >What’s it matter anymore anyway? It’s you now >It’s not you >No, it is you, and you’re going to be like this forever >It’s not you >You’re going to be trapped here in this podunk fucking town for the rest of your life, just like Sam and Anon, who can’t sack up and leave >It’s not you >It’s not you >It’s not you! >You throw your fist into the mirror, as if you could strike the ‘you’ on the other side and obliterate him >The mirror shatters, glass shards flying downward in a glinting rain >You catch only little bits of yourself in the showering glass — a fractal image of the whole Mike Sapone >Somehow, in the scant seconds that you see yourself reflected back in the falling shards, there’s a young man there, bright green eyes, healthy, warm skin, and someone tall and well-dressed standing next to him >Anonymous, and you, standing side-by-side >Then the image is gone when that glass clatters into the sink, and time sets back upon itself >When you look down at your trembling pale fist, the richness of your blood contrasts with ghastliness of your skin >You can’t help but laugh >You really have become an edgelord now >And in all of your laughter, you don’t even notice the tightness of your throat, the stuttering of you heart beat, or the tears cutting down the caked on grime on your face >You swiftly exit the bathroom just as a pup — fur as gold as his father’s — skirts past you, probably looking for his dad >Next, you stop at a convenience store for some pain killers >Your head is killing you >And so are your bloody knuckles >So many noises fill your ears >Everything seems to have been raised to painfully sharp levels >You can hear the dead drone of the music overhead and pick out every single instrument and every note >You can hear the cooler’s fans kicking on, chilling some drinks >You swear you can hear the harsh blood of the female cheetah at the counter flowing in her succulent veins >It takes a tremendous effort on your part not to launch yourself over the counter at her and feast >You shove the little packet of pills into your pocket, scanning the ceiling for any security cameras >There’s at least three, so you stuff an extra few into the waistband of your jeans and throw your shirt over them >Who gives a shit if you get caught, man? >Nothing matters anymore >You convince yourself you don’t feel nothin’ >You’re going to live out the true edgelord vampire shit >Fuck college >You can’t go >Fuck getting out of this town >It’s not going to happen >Fuck everyone and everything >All they’ve ever done is let you down >”Ahem.” >You turn around >The cashier is standing at the end of the aisle, impatiently tapping her feet, arms crossed over her dark blue vest with a pin on it that says “Have a great day!” >She does not look like she’s having a great day >She’s old, with stress-lines pressed deeply into her skin, a sizable amount of pudge gathering around her hips, waist, arms, thighs, etc etc >She couldn’t be more than 35, but she looks at least 60 >60 and pissed >”You need some assistance robbing my store, sir?” >You don’t know why you say what you say next, but you don’t care “Actually, that would be great. Could you get me a pack of smokes, snapjaw?” >The cheetah’s face twists up into a snarl >”You little shit. This store is my livelihood. Put ‘em back, skinnie” “Why?” You take a small step backwards >”Why? What do you mean ‘why’? Stealing is wrong, and if I let one more shoplifter out the door corporate is going to fire me. Put. Them. Back.” >You flinch >Sure, feeding on that retriever was one thing — you had to, or you’d probably die. And you didn’t hurt him or really cost him anything >But this was ruining someone else’s life >F-Fuck this town, right? G-Going to raise hell >The emergency exit sign glows behind you like a beacon >The cashier’s body tenses up for a chase >The seriousness of her threat is made all the more apparent by the way her jaw falls open, revealing a jagged set of teeth, yellowed with years of smoking and poor dental hygiene >Fuck it >Fuck everyone >These pills may not be worth dying over >It’s the general principle of the thing that moves your legs right out the door >The emergency exit screeches in protest >And it really does screech, as the fire alarm explodes in protest as you bolt out the door >The cheetah clamps her hands over her ears, but manages to push on after you >Oh hell >You leg it out around behind the store, knocking a few trash cans down as you make your less than daring escape >With your vampiric powers, your body seems to absolutely FLY across the asphalt and down the smoothed sidewalk >You pass Halloween decorations and seasonal costume stores that blur together in an orange and black smear >You throw a glance over your shoulder >She’s still behind you, but losing steam quickly as years of habitual smoking and poor eating habits literally destroy her career at the convenience store >Ignoring the sudden pangs of guilt now rising in your stomach like acidic floodwaters, you keep sprinting, the sidewalk now curving up into a hill, pressing its slope into your lungs >God damnit >You stand atop the hill panting, the chase long since over, the cheetah long since collapsed in an exhausted heap onto someone’s lawn, bawling and begging for you to come back >You may have incredible, super-human strength, speed and agility, but even you get tired and guilty >And to be honest? You feel like absolute shit right now, physically and emotionally >You can never go back there, and that was where you and Anon would get slushees after school >And this neighborhood that you’re now in… >…It’s so perfect >The houses are neat and prim, large and well-kept >The lawns may be yellow, but the paint is unmarred by the seasons, the windows are clean, there are new cars in the driveway and carved pumpkins garnishing every porch >Not to mention all the fake cobwebs and skeletons strewn across the dead grass >This is where suburban families live >Families like that golden retriever you attacked >They wake up at orderly hours — some at dawn’s first light — and they hoof it to work and then back >They eat quiet and healthy dinners and are in bed by 10 >They are silent in their contentedness >And where are all the people? >Where is everyone milling around, visiting small shops, attending ragers, skipping class? >Everywhere you look it’s void of life >Just clones of clones of houses and not a soul on these pristine sidewalks >It’s just you in suburbia, the lone phantom, haunting the hoity-toity part of town… >Here forever, or until you work up the nerve to kill yourself >You’re burning every bridge now — with town, with Anon, with Jenna, Alex >How many until you set fire to the one you’re standing on, Mike? >All you ever wanted to do is escape this shitty town and live a new life with new people and new friends and do… >…Something that matters “FFFFFFFUCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!” You shout into the uncaring clouds >The sky answers back with the distant rumble of scattered thunder >You wander around the neighborhoods to sulk, and you don’t see a single person the entire time, except one >A very sickly and greasy looking brown rabbit pulls up next to you in a beaten, rusted old car that looks like it was salvaged from a scrapyard >The window rolls down slowly with a painfully loud squeal >The rabbit glares at you, as if studying you >You study him back >Damn, either you’re speciest as fuck, or this rabbit looks insanely familiar >A tiny bit like Sam? Maybe it’s just the species and the fur color >Like that’s all the same, but the face is only lightly similar, without the button nose and trembling whiskers and androgynous cheeks/jawline >Unsatisfied, he scowls and peels off down the road, out the neighborhood >He looked like he was hunting for something >You shrugged >Probably a weirdo >You wandered the town >Saw some little shops you’ve seen for the trillionth time >The costume store which you don’t care about (Halloween can fuck off right now) >A dentist’s office where you got your cavities filled three years ago >The liquor store — surprisingly you’re not in the mood to drink >A few fast food chains >A boutique and coffee shop combo >You contemplate going in to steal something but decide against it >You’ve already stolen from enough small businesses >You park yourself on a bench in front of the store >Maybe it’s time to knock over a bigger store? You’re hungry, and not for blood >Though you could go for some type A right now >The Shop N’ Save is just a short walk away >Plus Alex has always encouraged you and Anon to take a ‘proletariat’s discount’ whenever you’re there >You stand up from the bench, stretching out your stocky body >Despite your new super nature you still get sore >The door to the coffee shop opens to the sound of a cheery bell, drawing your focus >Lydia Penferth, purple hair and jingling with piercings galore, steps out, five cheerleaders flanking her >Lydia is sucking down on a large black coffee, while the cheerleaders are double-fisting frozen, syrupy coffee beverages >”Just like I was saying, getting your nipples pierced doesn’t actually hurt that bad. At first it’s painful, and then it’s over,” Lydia says, though her language is obscured by the sheer volume of piercings in her full-lips >Her voice sounds like she’s trying to talk with a swollen tongue >”We’re so hungry…” one of the cheerleaders whines >She’s a human, tan skin and shimmering blue eyes, her russet hair tied back in a ponytail >”You don’t want blood… What do you want? More coffee? Shoulda known you vapid hoes would want the frappuccinos.” >”Cock, souls, ANYTHING!” Another — a horse — cries at her master >”You’ll have your fill once Friday rolls around, bitch. You airheads remember we’re on a mission to-” >Lydia turns her head forward >Directly at you, eyes bulging forward “-Find Mike Sapone.” She smirks at last >You don’t return the gesture >Your muscles tense up to fight >Lydia spreads her arms as if to hold her horde of succubus/vampire cheerleaders back from bum rushing you >”Don’t run just yet, Mike. Not that you could get away this time.” “You don’t think so? Wanna take a bet?” You say >”No. I can see what my girls have already done to you. Your gift — it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” >You hold up your pale arms to them “You have a weird definition of beauty if you think this is beautiful.” >”In time you’ll learn to find beauty in negative spaces. Like the hole in your chest where you heart should be.” >You can’t help but laugh “Real fucking poetic, Simba. I always thought you weren’t paying attention in our English class.” You start clapping. “Bravo. Well, now that you’ve effectively ruined my life, why don’t you come at me by yourself — no help from your little gang — so I can show you the extent of just how far I’m willing to go.” >”That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. Girls, stand down.” >She lowers her arms, and the hissing group of cheerleaders drop to a coordinated knee >”You look good, Mike. Full of anger and hate — and rightfully so. You’re not happy in this little shit hole, are you?” >You can’t help but nod >”Nobody is. You think these fucking people like living here? It’s like living inside a boring sitcom. All we’re missing is the canned laughter.” >She takes a small step forward >You don’t move out of spite >”There’s no going back to your old and shitty life. Not that you’d even want to, right? I can smell the fresh blood on you. I can see it burning behind your eyes. There’s no way out.” >The excitement in her tone is palpable >Lydia does actually have a point. Anon’s cure didn’t work. And though you’re still working through it, your dream of leaving this town behind is pretty much dead >”Join us,” she says. >You cross your arms across your chest, coldly turning her offer over in your mind >“You don’t have a place without us, can’t you see that? And once Friday rolls around you’re going to want to be on the winning side. If only you knew what was going to happen you wouldn’t hesitate.” “So why not just tell me now?” >Lydia straightens her spine and nods affirmatively >”I owe you at least that.” >She summons a deep breath, letting a smirk shine through her face of gleaming silver hooks >”Once the Behemoth is at full strength, and the night of Hallow’s Eve rolls around, we’ll turn this world upon its head. Think about it: a world of hedonism, vampirism, lycanthropy, debauchery — It’ll be like a constant rager in a college town. Drinking, sex, partying and general anarchy.” >Sounds… not bad >You guess if the world has to end with them in control, wouldn’t you want to be on their side? >Shit is hopeless now anyway >”At the end of all things, don’t you want something to hold on to? What do you say? Join us?” “Wait, ‘Samantha Garlen?’ Isn’t that Sam’s last name?” You grasp onto the altar for support, legs trembling but you can’t place why >Oh, maybe that’s why >Vanessa looks PISSED >It looks like she’s got lightning in her eyes >She completely ignores you and spins through the pages of The Book of Wrath, malcontent seared into her expression “Does Sam have a sister or something?” You ask weakly >”That BITCH!” Vanessa shrieks, your question hardly even a blip on her radar. “She’s the one who fucked with our ritual, and you know what? I bet she has The Book of Rite with her at this very moment!” >The doe carefully scrapes the last of Sam’s blood off the rim of the stone basin and sprinkles it onto the Book of Wrath’s pages >”Well we’re going to find out exactly where this cunt is. And then…” She looks at you, a wildness in her eyes. “Finish what she started.” >You clear your throat awkwardly, because you’re not sure what to say >You’re almost never sure what to say >Especially to maintain a ruse as elaborate as this >”Samantha. Garlen.” She commands, turning her attention back towards her vengeance >A cloud of ethereal smoke plumes up from the altar, as if there was a fog machine hidden inside >Heh, that’d be pretty cheesy >Inside the smoke an image forms out of light and sound, and when it becomes clear through the haze, your heart stops >You see Sam, outside the gym. He’s on his hands and knees, bending over a sheet of paper >He looks so enamored he doesn’t even notice the crowds of people waltzing past him >Someone throws a wad of paper at him >It bounces harmlessly off his head >Sam pays it no mind, the little autist is too absorbed in his drawings >”That can’t be right,” Vanessa steps back, shock plain on her face as the dark eyeliner “Isn’t that Sam Garlen?” >Her eyes flick over to the wall where ‘Samantha Garlen’ is still burning with orange flame >”I don’t understand…” She gawks >Neither do you tbh >”Something has to be wrong with the book,” the human goth, Reese, says. “Because I have science class with him. That’s a boy.” >”Pffft, hardly,” the rat goth says. “We’re in the same cooking class and I swear he makes even the guys there blush. Maybe there’s something wrong with the book?” >You start inching towards the entrance >This might be your only chance >”SHUT UP! THERE CAN’T BE ANYTHING WRONG WITH THIS BOOK!” Vanessa booms, her face a bright scarlet, lit up with agitation. She brushes her hair out of her eyes. “We need his blood /and/ the book now to finish things.” >”And to stop them,” Reese says calmly >Good to note, as you sneak level: 100 out of here >But you can only make it so far before Vanessa notices you out of the corner of her eyes >”Don’t think I don’t see you over there, Anon,” she says coldly >You freeze in place, as if you’d suddenly been thrust into a lone spotlight on a very dark stage >A sadistic smile replaces Vanessa’s enraged face >Fucc >”You spend a lot of time around that rabbit, don’t you?” >You groan inwardly because you know what’s next “I already brought you Gloria. I’ve done what you asked. What more do you want from me?” >Vanessa’s smile only brightens >”Isn’t it obvious? We want Sam — he’s the one who has a part of our little puzzle: the book we’ve been hunting for. You’ve been a good boy for us, you’re right, and for that we’ll juice you up to make it easy.” >”Yeah,” the rat snivels. “You’re the one who should… you know… bring him to us like you brought the goat. Just lure him in with some carrots or something.” >”There’s not a question of whether or not he will,” Vanessa snaps, silencing the rat. She turns all roses and sunshine in a split second, testament to her manipulative personality “He’s going to do it. Right ‘Nonny’?” >The next words come out of your mouth heavy as stones >You instantly wish you could pluck them out of the air and stuff them back in your mouth >Fuck, you’re full of bad ideas today “No.” >The doe freezes >”What do you mean ‘no’? HE HAS THE FUCKING BOOK WE NEED.” “N-No, he doesn’t…” you stammer weakly hoping to buy some time and divert attention away from the fact that the book is L I T E R A L L Y in your pocket right now “That faggot hangs around me all day, every day. D-Don’t you think I would have known if he had your- I mean, our book?” >The doe stares venomously at you >”Just do as I say and bring me that fucking rabbit,” she seethes >Oh, so that’s how you wanna play it, princess? >Can’t manipulate people so you’re going to act all pissy? >Well you can be pissy too “I said ‘no.’” >You compress all of your fear into tiny little balls that you squeeze into your fists >Are you a bad enough dude to take on three of them at once? >The Book of Wrath flips open, and your fists unclench with inborn weakness >Guess not >”Now I see… Now I see… You’re trying to protect him, aren’t you?” >Yes, you are. God damnit, you are. You’re not going to play this game anymore >You’re not going to be manipulated by this cunt “I told you, he doesn’t have it. And there’s no way Sam’s smart enough to know what to do with it if he did have it. He’s not anything special.” >Vanessa grinds her teeth >You swear you could see dust and smoke coming out of her mouth, like an angry truck sputtering oily black fumes >”You’re not listening to me. You’re going to bring me that rabbit. Or we’re going to bring him here.” “What do you even need him for? You’ve got the goat — I don’t get it,” you say, pretending not to notice the way the goth’s eyes are lighting up with an other worldly glow >The doe sighs deeply, a vein bulging through the short shag of her fur >”I’ll level with you, because I like you, and I think you’ll see reason. What Sam did, somehow, was complete a vital step of the ritual we were initially trying to complete: he unleashed the Behemoth. The ritual is going to happen whether or not we’re in control of it on Friday, meaning every one of us is in fucked… unless….” She stresses the last syllables. “Unless we have the book and Sam. We can’t control the Behemoth — or the ritual.” >Wew that was a word salad >Vanessa sounds like she’s barely restraining her anger >Are they saying EVERYONE is now fucked because of Sam? Unless they complete the ritual? >So basically, unless they’re in control of it, they’re going to be drawn into endless madness and debauchery? >Do they… actually have a good point? >They ARE the only ones who can stop anything from happening >You already fucked Mike over with the cleansing rite, how can you expect to know how to stop a world-ending ritual built upon ceaseless madness and a weird dog… thing…? >Christ >Your hand flies to your chest — to the book, that covers your heart >Vanessa’s eyes seem to light up >”Got something there?” She says inquisitively >What do you do? >Do you join them? >It’s all so fucking hopeless >You remember the way you didn’t roll over and die when that werewolf was about to gore you? >Yeah, that was some bullshit. You only felt that way because these freaks juiced you up good >You’re back to being a coward >And then, of course, Mike ran over the werewolf (with your car, you might add) >What would Mike do right now? >God you wish he were here >Mike would fight for you >You… you need to fight >”Grab him.” Vanessa commands >The goths make a move towards you >The red book flies out of your pocket >You open it and clutch a handful of pages, threatening to rip them out of the binding >You… You’ll tear ‘em up, you fucking swear, and ruin everything for everyone >You’ll trap everyone in eternal limbo “BACK UP!” You cry >You feel like crying in terror right now >The goths halt in place, brought to a standstill by the fact that you might actually do it >This was your plan? >As if reading your mind, Vanessa spins to a certain page in The Book of Wrath. She uses her fangs to tear into her thumb >Hot blood drips from her furry fingers onto the page >She looks at you with an evil smile. ”I should have known you had it with you. You’re smart, Anonymous.” >Actually, you’re a huge idiot. All you did was forget it was in your pocket >”But, I guess this is where our friendship — and you — end.” >The Book of Wrath glows >You feet an intense heat in the center of your chest >OH FUCK >You start pulling at the pages of the book in a mad attempt to destroy it- >You go flying backwards, back into the darkness of the hall, out of the room >You sail through the darkness for a good distance before colliding painfully with the concrete floors >The daze hits you hard >If you could see right now in the darkness, you’re sure you’d be seeing stars >Well, you’re not dead… somehow >You stagger to your feet >”God DAMNIT!” The doe shrieks, her voice hoarse and clipped from the effort. “I should have known I couldn’t kill him while he has the book…” >Your ears, even with their dull human capacities, can hear two pairs of footsteps coming >One: The sound of heavy black boots — human >And the other: the sound of small claws skittering across concrete — a rat >You take off with the red book in the opposite direction, diving into the darkness of the tunnels >Vanessa’s obscenities ring off the walls with decreasing clarity as you delve further into the steaming darkness >God you wish you had night vision right now >It’s not fair that anthros get night vision and enhanced hearing and smelling and all this other bullshit >While all you seem to have is sheer luck and a knack for pussying out at the right times >The tunnels twist and turn and dive, and rusty pipes hang over you the entire time like heavy copper clouds >Christ, you can’t believe that these maintenance tunnels are completely devoid of light >GOD THE SMELL >It’s like rotting corpse gas invading your sense >And how does anyone see up here? >You get a bright idea >Emphasis on the bright (heh) >You draw the Book of Rite from your pocket, swab some blood from the inside of your mouth which still hasn’t healed up, and draw it on the page >God you hope this works >The book lights up with an otherworldly, pale light, throwing your shadow on the low walls of the tunnels >Holy shit! All you did was flip it to a random page >You press your nose to the book and try to read the thin scrawl “And be a light in the darkness, volumes thin.” >You fold this page over >Who knows, maybe you’ll get to use it again somehow >Now all that’s left is a long, steamy journey through the tunnels >When you at least descend the stairs into the gym’s equipment room, you’re close to heatstroke >You pause a moment among the old football helmets and half-deflated dogeballs, breathing hard >Your head spins and you jerk on your collar, releasing the hot air that had accumulated under your clothes >Hopefully the goths are still lost up there >You felt guided by a certain… sense, while in those passages >You turn the red book over in your hands >It has long since stopped glowing >Maybe it was the book guiding you out somehow? >Your eyes adjust to the darkness >You can see all the Spooktober stuff right where it was when you first came up here >No, wait, there’s more >Fake skeletons, fake cobwebs, plastic pumpkins, strobe lights, industrial fog machines… signs and streamers and a punch bowl that is most definitely going to have a lot of alcohol in it by the end of the night >An image of Sam creeping around the Spooktober fest springs to mind >God, he wanted to go so bad >And now that you know why, you feel immensely guilty for passively turning him down the first time >Your heart aches >Sam >Oh God >You hope he’s still waiting outside the gym like you told him to >You press the supply room doors outward and sprint across the gym for the first time in your life >He’s still there, you reason with yourself >There’d be no reason for him to leave >NONE AT ALL >Unless he was captured >You quicken your pace despite the exhaustion >You WILL protect that dumb fucking bun >Be Mike again >You’re standing a good 20 feet away away from Lydia Penferth, after she just offered you to join her >Well? >What’s the call, chief? >The world’s about to change — and not in your favor >The lion’s eyes go soft for a moment >”I know this is hard for you. What I’m asking isn’t easy, but nothing worth doing is easy to begin with. I mean, what would your weirdo friends think?” “I don’t care what they think. At least, not anymore. Fuck ‘em. And fuck everything else too. Fuck this whole town,” you say with finality >”That’s what I like to hear from you.” Lydia raises her head a bit, and you can see her many chains and piercings sway with her. “That’s the Halloween spirit.” “Fuck Halloween too. All I wanted to do was smash some pumpkins and drink some beer and now I have to be this… thing-” >Lydia cuts in >”You can do all of that. We’ll even help you! And after Hallow’s Eve comes to pass, there will be more drinking and debauchery than you could ever dream of!” >That does sound… tempting, eternal hedonism and all >You recall a discussion in Anon’s car last Friday where you proudly (and drunkenly) announced your intent to ‘berry ur dick in some fine wimmin’ or something to that extent >Lydia’s offer is starting to make sense. You could probably do well if you joined them >IF you joined… you’d know everything >You’d know Anon has the Book of Rite with him, that he’s planning on stopping things >You were too, at one point >Before Anonymous let you down and shattered your dreams >Before you turned into this… this fucking… thing >This shadow of who you once were… >…This edgy faggot who hates everyone and everything like some kind of bad Sonic OC >What happened to ‘doing something that mattered’? >NONE OF THIS SHIT MATTERS ANYMORE >A dark wind blows, and you can feel it roll across your paled skin, prompting goose pimples >Everything feels so much sharper now that you’re a vampire >You hear minute details, like blood pumping in someone’s veins >The gentlest breeze lights up a million different nerves on your body >Your vision is impeccable — you can see that slight smile playing on Lydia’s pierced upper lip >You’re the ultimate badass now >A perfect predator >A killing machine, if you so wanted it >But you don’t want it >Right now you want only one thing >And that’s to break every finger of the hand that dealt this to you https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PvyBKSmQ_g&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=12 “You know, I haven’t exactly enjoyed being a vampire. It’s actually kind of ruined my life,” you say calmly. “Not sure how you all have done it for so long. Can’t go to college, can’t leave this town, can’t go anywhere that’s not within five miles of a blood bank…” >”Well, it’s only been since Friday,” Lydia says with a fabricated air of humility. “I have no idea how far I can push my new powers. But come this Friday, I’ll find out.” “Bet it’s impressive.” You kick at the sidewalk >”You know, we could… learn… together. Push one another day in and day out, becoming the strongest that we could possibly be. I know you’ve always had a lot of strength — you nearly broke my jaw on Monday. Together we can become even stronger.” >You frown ”Stronger than Vanessa?” >Lydia smirks as her purple hair blows evenly across her face >”If we become strong enough, we might not even need her. Me and you, Mike. Think about it. Nobody above us. Not even the Behemoth.” “I have thought about it,” you reply, forcing calm and even syllables into your words, cheek muscles fighting back against a force so indescribably powerful that it could make nuclear weapons look like firecrackers: >Your cock-sure smile, in this perfect moment >”And?” >You lock eyes with the lion, their unnatural feverish glow steadily rising in intensity and luminosity >They await your answer with decisive hunger “I’m not in to furry bitches,” you say >And you can no longer refuse the smile spreading across your lips >A cold gust blows a vacant plastic bag between you two >”Guess you’re not gonna come quietly over to our side, huh?” >You spit again on the cold cement “Guess not.” >”I see.” >Lydia straightens her spine, her massive form seeming to grow larger and larger >Muscles ripple underneath her black shirt >A hungry growl crawls up from her throat and sends shivers through your whole body >Her eyes blaze with fiery red intent >”I’m sorry it has to end like this, Mike. I gave you the chance to join us willingly.” “You did,” you say as you stiffen your own spine and tense up your body. “It was a generous offer, but I don’t think I’d fit in with you all anyway. I’ve been itching to re-locate your jaw since Monday.” >For a moment, nobody moves >You know, you really can’t take a juiced up lion-vampire-succubus-thing and her five minions, right? >But you sure as hell can try, can’t you? >Nah, that’d be dumb. You’d get mauled and SUCCed to death >Now might not be the best time for bravery >You crack your neck >The air is heavy with cold moisture — it bites into your pale flesh >”Scared?” The Lion says with a razor smirk, her mouth made nearly indescribable by piercings >You shake your head “Not scared. Cold.” >But you are scared >You’re actually terrified right now >You need a way out >Like >Now >You’re reminded briefly of Anon on the ground in the parking lot, reaching for a weapon to clock the werewolf with, instead of bumrushing him with his fists… >…Which you’re about to do (the bumrushing part that is) >Thankfully your better judgment catches you as your leg muscles tense up, ready to explode forward like a compressed mine >What would Anonymous do? >Anon would probably run right now >You shrug your shoulders in what might be the lamest standoff exit ever >Spinning on your heels, you tear off down the sidewalk, past all the little shops and houses >Towards where? Where are you going to go? >You’re going to the only place you have left >The Shop N’ Save >Muscles pounding >Concrete shuddering as you force earthquakes into the sidewalks >Your legs burning, seared with lactic acid >Cars whistling by you >Cold wind blowing stray leaves into your face >There’s a storm coming >Above you >And behind you >You’re out of breath when you tumble through the automatic doors of the Shop N’ Save >Humans and anthros dodge out of your way, jockeying groceries in their swinging arms >You don’t have the time nor the inclination to apologize to them, because you narrowly dodge a furious and powerful lion swipe at your chest >Lydia caught up unsurprisingly fast >Her glistening claws go wide, tearing into a Moose’s plastic bag, freeing nearly a dozen oranges >They tumble to your feet >”You’re really going to drag this out in front of all these people, aren’t you?” She roars, taking another swipe >You duck this one just like you duck responsibilities — with ease and grace >Someone from the assembled crowd moves to grasp the furious lion — a human teenager in a boyscout uniform >He gets one arm on the lion before being completely swarmed by ravenous cheerleaders >They tackle people to the ground indiscriminately, gnawing at their sensitive and exposed flesh >”Coward! Hiding behind people!” Lydia wheels around, her face tightened in unbridled frustration >She seems to be upset that she can’t control her ‘flock’ “You got the wrong guy, honey. I’m not a coward.” You swiftly bend down and grab an orange off the ground >You shear it in half with only a tiny bit of your strength, exposing the citrusy, sweet meat of the fruit ”I’m not a coward. Just an asshole.” >You lunge forward, practically jumping into Lydia’s slavering maw >Your arms push ahead of you, an orange-half in each hand >You dig the oranges into Lydia’s widening, eye-liner-caked eye sockets >For good measure you even twist a little bit, really smearing that juice in there >Lydia fucking SCREECHES and then gives you a pained shove >You stumble backwards, falling right onto your ass >The lion drops to her knees like they were made of lead, her hands darting to her now inflamed eyes >Now’s your chance to run! >You rise up to your full height and prepare to bolt out the door >But the cheerleaders appear at the flanks of the lion, blocking your way back out into the parking lot >You sigh >Fucking hell >You turn on a heel and sprint deeper into the store >What’s the plan here? >Just run until they swarm you? >You can’t possible take all of them >Fuark brah, you’re in it now >You blur past helpless shoppers, spinning with strange grace around them in the crowded aisles >The horde of ravenous anthro cheerleaders, on the other hand, acts more like a wrecking crew >They mow down everyone in their path, unleashing mad cackles and frustrated hisses as they practically scramble atop one another >You manage to lose them by diving over a knee-height meat cooler and hiding behind it >The sound of their parting hisses sends your heartbeat over the edge >You feel like you’re going to pass out >And now you’re trapped as they tear down each aisle, hunting for you >God DAMNIT >You can’t take them all >And Lydia is probably up by now, looking for you, ready to eat you alive with bloodshot and swollen eyes >So this is where it ends? >Trapped in the fucking Shop N’ Save? >All alone, burned every bridge over troubled waters >Your throat tightens and you wipe an embarrassing tear from your eye, feeling hot and angry >You’re not scared or sad that you’re alone… >…You tell yourself >Your ears prickle with the sound of light footsteps sprinting your way >Well, it’s over, they found you >You stand up, prepared to fight for your life >Though your body is tense, your heart’s not as strong, and it catches with the thought of your impending demise >But when you see the source of the noise your jaw drops >A thin, orange vixen with a stripe running down her fur and into her green sweater, is waving her arms, a phone glowing in one hand >Her green eyes shimmer in the light, looking like two of the emerald beacons of hope >She practically throws herself at you, wrapping her arms around your chest >Her worry physically squeezes the air out of you ”Jenna?” You cough >”Mike!” She squeals. “We finally found you! God am I glad to see you!” >The slender vixen motions for you to drop down behind the cooler >You and her both crouch low, out of sight >”We’ve been scouring Ranchview looking for you,” she struggles to hide the excitement — and volume — of her voice “Who is ‘we’?” You ask, concern rising in your voice. “Wait, fuck that, I don’t care. You can’t be here. It’s not safe.” >”We know, we saw you on the run outside. You looked graceful. Like a gazelle,” she says with a shit eating grin ”Oh fuck off. Just get out of here before they see you with me. You’re in danger just by being with me.” >But she doesn’t hear you. The fox presses her phone against her ears, which are folded back against her skull >”I found him. We’re in the meat section. Can you steer them away?” She asks >Her ears shoot upward in excitement like broad orange blades >And you thought Sam had big, goofy ears >”Got it. We’ll wait for the signal.” Her fingers swipe across the screen, ending the call >Signal? >A familiar voice crackles over the store PA system >”Mike, get out of the snack aisle! They’re heading right for you!” He SCREAMS convincingly into the mic >Oh my fuck >It’s Alex >And you’re nowhere near the candy aisle >You peek up over the meat cooler >Red-uniforms blur towards the other end of the store >The cheerleaders hiss and cackle, thinking they’re about to have you cornered >There’s some rumbling on the mic that pierces your ears, followed by a familiar sound. >One you’re so familiar with that you groan >Yep, it was Alex on the PA system alright >He played this song to DEATH freshman year https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U06jlgpMtQs&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=16&t=0s >”Alright, let’s go!” Jenna shoots to her feet and grabs you by the wrist >Oh no you don’t >You’re not getting rescued by a 5’5” vixen who you’ve got at least 60 pounds on >You take off, dragging Jenna behind you like a doll being dragged from a moving car >Perhaps you’ve only got a fraction of a second to make it out the door to safety >But you’re not leaving without Alex >Thankfully that commie dumbass finds you… >…By running into you with a nearly FULL shopping cart as he emerges from the baking ingredients aisle without warning >The thin metal of the cart catches you in the side, sending you stumbling >Thankfully you let go of Jenna so you don’t accidentally yeet her across the store >”COMRADE!” Alex cries, leaning over the shopping cart >You suck air, barely holding back the urge to wring your friend’s thin neck “Comrade Alexi,” you wheeze. “You doing some shopping right now? Because we gotta GO, you dumb bastard. Rabid cheerleaders-” >”We’re just getting some supplies,” Jenna brushes herself off and hops into the cart like a little kid, ignoring your candid use of the ‘r word’ >What the hell is going- >The pungent smell of garlic ASSAILS your senses >You wince, fighting back vomit in your throat >You look into the cart and see the entire bottom half is covered in raw white bulbs of garlic >Jenna is rubbing her bare fur with a clove >Mike is doing the same thing >There’s also two water pistols, a super soaker, and a pack of water balloons pressed into the back of the cart ”The fuck is this shit?” You cry. “You guys getting ready for a pool party!?” >”No time to explain!” Alex hops in and takes his seat in front of Jenna. “It’s the fox’s plan!” >You can hear the cheerleaders shriek in frustration at not having found you — which only means they’re about to start scouring the store >And then a lion’s roar sends you into a panic >Oh good, Lydia is back >A human’s voice crackles over the speakers as the music clips in and out before returning to ear-shattering volume >”Attention shoppers, we’d like to apologize for the annoyance. Alex Mullen,” the voice says slowly. “I WILL find you once I figure out how to stop this.” >Alex just raises his middle fingers to the sky >”Sic semper tyrannis!” He cries defiantly >You’re all dead >Two cheerleaders — a cat and a horse — appear at the far end of the baking ingredients aisle >They surge forward, directly at you >And man, they can cover a lot of distance quickly >”PUSH!” Jenna cries, directing a paw forward, right towards the cheerleaders >Wat >You shrug >You’re all about to die anyway, so why the fuck not? >Utilizing your vampiric strength you easily spin the cart so that the front is pointing down the aisle >The fully loaded cart feels nearly weightless to you >Alex rises up on shaky legs >He plants one foot forward on the edge of the cart and levels a menacing finger towards the rapidly approaching cheerleaders (His other hand he uses to firmly affix his beanie to the top of his head) >Comrade Alexi cuts loose with a yell >”FORWARD UNTO DAWN, COMRADES! TSSSSUUUUUUUU!” He howls >Jenna claps her hands over her ears in pain as the soviet anthem reaches ear shattering volume, as if in response to Alex’s deceleration >You grit your teeth, sharing only a fraction of Jenna’s anguish >Fuck it >TTTTTTSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUU >You don’t expect them to move out of the way >And they don’t >The cart flies down the aisle, propelled by your sheer determination to blow right through these cringy fucks >And blow through them you do >The cheerleaders slip underneath your cart as you bowl them over, their bodies acting like little demonic speed bumps >You bank around the corner, threatening to hurl Jenna and Alex overboard >Shoppers dodge like you were an oncoming car >You might as well be, with how fast you’re going >Aisles blur together in a multi-colored smear >Somewhere along the line, Alex manages to grab a bag of Halloween themed chocolates off one of the shelves, but then drops it >But you don’t slow down, not for a minute >Hot on your heels are the cheerleaders >Like red, horny little comets, they sprint after you >And you can feel them gaining as you speed across the produce section >Despite how strong you are, this cart is still dragging you down >But you’ll be damned if you’re going to abandon your friends >You squint hard at the double-wide main doors, muscles and lungs burning with equal intensity >You’ve done enough running today for the rest of your life >Jenna turns around, bouncing a garlic bulb in hand “What are you doing!?” You shout, trying to compete with the Soviet anthem now on repeat, and the hushed swears of the store manager whispering underneath the song >You look behind you >A human cheerleader with auburn hair is grabbing for you, swiping just mere inches away from your shirt >Her fingers are now more like claws than they are dainty, manicured fingernails >A garlic bulb beans her in the center of her forehead >The cheerleader tumbles gracelessly to the ground, yelping in agony >”TAKE THAT YOU PRISSY BITCH!” Jenna says as she prepares yet another bulb for flight >You can’t help but smile at the idea of Jenna swearing >That gives you that extra push to explode out the front doors… >…To freedom, leaving the Soviet anthem — and the cheerleaders — behind >The little rush of dopamine you get from having ‘escaped’ doesn’t last long for two reasons >1) You don’t have a plan after this, because loading up Jenna’s car and escaping would probably take too long >2) Lydia Penferth, having somehow located Jenna’s minivan, has already ripped the hood off and is tearing savagely into the various components of the engine >Jenna gasps, as well she should >That van was worth at least $500 >It may even be shittier than Anon’s car >”That’s my car!” She tries standing up, a garlic bulb in hand >You force her back into a sitting position >Lydia, slick with black oil and brackish fluid, starts to laugh when she sees your makeshift tank >Her eyes are bright red — and not from any vampiric magic or rage >From where you blinded her with some DIY mace >”End of the line, kiddos. You’re not going anywhere.” she announces, starting forward. “Mike, I’m gonna enjoy hearing you squeal.” >It was Alex who spoke, looking completely non-threatening with his massive legs tucked against his chest to save room in the front of the rattling shopping cart >He balances a garlic bulb in his right hand >”I ain’t a good shot, but that doesn’t matter when I’ve got all this ammo,” he motions towards the cart. “I think you’d better quit before someone ends up smelling like an Italian dinner.” >A frustrated growl slips out of the lion’s clenched teeth >”You’re a coward. You’re all cowards. Come and fight me — no weapons,” she says >”We may be cowards, but none of us are morons,” Alex retorts, not realizing that he himself is a moron. “Now if you don’t mind, we’ll be leaving in one piece.” >Lydia raises a pierced eyebrow. “In a shopping cart?” >”It’s more of a chariot,” he says >”So this is the crowd you keep?” She looks at Alex, Jenna, and then to you “These are the homies, minus two,” you reply >”Won’t be a very fair fight, six on three,” Lydia says with a smirk >”Six? Can you not count?” Alex says with a slight laugh >A feline hiss from behind halts his idiotic laughter >The three of you turn in unison >The five cheerleaders have all assembled behind you >They’re all trembling — but not from the cold air which you heave into your lungs >But from anticipation >Who knows what burns in their blood, other than hunger and lust for your mortal souls (and likely Jenna’s virginity)? “Not even going to fight fair, are you?” You bark >The lioness has only to point to her still bright-red eyes to make her point >Ah yes >That was clever, though not at all fair >She snaps her fingers >”Goodbye, Mike.” >And nobody moves >Or, at least it feels that way >You see, everything happens at a glacial pace when you’re a vampire >The lioness’s army lunging at you >The way Jenna and Alex dive for garlic bulbs, coming up each with one in hand >Slow and as smooth as molasses >Nobody is going to come and save you now >You’re all mutually in the shit >And right when the lioness’s jaw drops to issue a declarative roar, is when you shove the cart forward as hard as you can >Right at that sand-colored bitch >And you know, deep down, that Alex and Jenna have a better chance of escape than you do, by a suburban mile >The cheerleaders pounce into you, like a flower whose petals are blooming inwards >Alex and Jenna careen into Lydia, and the lion spreads her arms in anticipation >You compress your body, right at the knees, building an absurd amount of force in your lower half >And you dive forward, after the cart, right as the cheerleaders begin to pile on to you >You’re not graceful, because your last-minute dive turns into an awkward roll, but it’s enough to earn you some distance >The rabid cheerleaders collapse inward in each other in frantic heap, right as the shopping cart crashes into Lydia >The lioness makes a disgusted face as she comes full contact with a well-placed bulb of garlic, courtesy of Alex >It’s not enough >There ain’t no laws against stealing shopping carts and pushing them halfway across town >And if there were, you don’t care >Through a combination of sheer luck and well-placed garlic bulbs, you and your crew managed to leave the cheerleaders and Lydia in your wake, somewhere along the road, stirring in the wind like beaten flags >Now you push your ‘chariot’ aimlessly up a steep road, sucking in lung fulls of cold >The air is scented with sweat and garlic (two very unpleasant aromas), and the lingering scent of Jenna’s cherry blossom perfume >No longer being pursued, Alex and Jenna walk behind you while you struggle the cart up the hill against the steadily mounting wind >Bright orange maple leaves slap you in the face, reminding you that you’re in the shit now >On the plus side, their sharp colors contrast quite nicely with the steely-gray skies looming overhead >If you were Sam you’d probably try drawing this scene >All of you struggle-pushing a cart uphill, silhouetted against the darkening gray skies, orange and light brown leaves billowing in the cold >Your current state is less than poetic or artistic. You suck down frigid air, sweat stinging your eyes >Frankly, you need a rest >After your Vietnam-style ‘tactical retreat’, you’re sweaty, exhausted, your nerves are fried, and you’re getting hungry >Not just for blood, either ”Where are we even going?” You call behind you >Jenna is quick to answer, though she appears just as exhausted as you are without having done anything but walk up this steep hill >Her sharp ears are pasted against her skull, likely to guard against the wind >”The old church,” she says, pausing to take a labored breath >Despite fox’s nimble and cunning nature, Jenna Orthorn is as nimble as a freight train >Though she’s got the cunning part down >The old white oak door church would be a great place to lay low… >…Provided you aren’t somehow prevented from going inside, which would present a number or problems on top of genuinely annoying the piss out of you >The old church was built some time ago, its age evident in the flaking, egg-shell colored paint and its lean wooden construction. >There’s also a white steeple housing a rusted bell — though its chimes have long since gone quiet >The train tracks are just down the hill, where freighters roll by in the night >You’re not sure why people slowly stopped coming to the old church >Perhaps because it was on top of a massive fucking hill? >Or because it’s an old and unpleasant reminder of the town’s heritage, sharing more in common with the poor, stooped houses of Ranchview’s outskirts than its landscaped and gentrified center >Now only teenagers come up here on ‘ghost investigations’ or to drop acid >Sometimes both >You veer off the main crossroad once you’re on top of the hill, to a more narrow, one-lane affair that dives further to right, terminating at the old white oak door church >Its parking lot is small, decrepit, and unsurprisingly empty >The sight of the church makes you gag >The closer you get, the more nauseous you become “I-” Your sentence is cut off by a choking feeling tight in your throat >Between the garlic and your proximity to the church’s towering crucifix, etched in stained glass, you can’t go any further than the parking lot >It would probably take a lot of exposure to the church to get closer >But you would, over time. No fucking way are you going to stand out here “God, fucking- guys, I can’t do this.” You shove the cart forward >It coasts harmlessly across the shattered, weathered blacktop >”So it’s true then, isn’t it?” Jenna remarks softly, watching the cart traverse the uneven pavement >Her voice has no tone other than exhaustion >”Alex wasn’t lying about the vampires, the werewolves, the moon, the ritual. It’s all true?” “What more proof do you want? You just saw Lydia Penferth make a snack out of your engine block. We just got chased halfway across town by a bunch of demonic cheerleaders. Look at my eyes for fuck sake!” you cry >Why are you so angry all of the sudden? >There is no need to be upset >”It just… goes against every natural law, every scientific principle, and just plain common sense. I’m struggling here.” >She marches past you and plants herself on the concrete steps leading up to the white oak doors >”We’re all struggling,” Alex chimes in. “You, me, Alex… Anon and Sam to be sure.” ”Anon and Sam…” you hum their names like an old song you know >God, you really kind of miss them both right now >Anon’s ability to generally keep up with you >And… You guess Sam’s social retardation >Especially the way it flusters Anon >Those little pieces of your past life? You want them back >Jenna narrows her eyes at you >”Mike… What happened between you and Anon? Last time I saw him he was bruised, beaten and bloody.” >Your eyes pass between Jenna and the crucifix she’s sitting under >The sight of the cross makes you wince, but when your eyes pass over Jenna… >You feel calm >Even tranquil ”Why did you come looking for me?” You ask >Her posture is stiff and serious >”Because I was worried about you,” she says softly. “You were acting so strange for so long… I couldn’t stand the thought of you sulking… in so much pain…” She points her eyes towards her feet. “You’re so reckless, and I was so scared you’d hurt yourself-” >Even from your short distance you can see her eyes shimmering with tears, like glassy green pools >You can only stare like some star-struck idiot >Was she actually crying on your behalf? >”All of us were worried about you. Even Anon,” Alex says with a type of weakness. “Remember on Monday night? He kept trying to get a hold of you. Why didn’t you just pick up the phone?” “I- I lost it when I was running away from the Lydia-” you stammer >Jesus, you feel like you’re on trial right now >You… really fucked up, didn’t you? >”And when you came back to Anon’s house, and you scared the hell out of us, you should have seen Anon’s face when he first saw you. He was so relieved.” >Yeah, you really fucked up >You hurt a lot of people — physically and emotionally >And maybe financially, since you practically cost that poor convenience store clerk her job >”Answer the question,” Jenna commands, still unable to look at anything but her shoes. “Did you hurt Anon?” >You can hear the knot in her throat as she fights tears “Yes,” you say, without a snarl, without anger, without contention >Just honesty >You instantly feel like you’ve got a hole in your chest “I did. We fought, and I kicked his ass. I thought he could cure me — stop me from becoming a vampire — but he didn’t. And I lost it.” You flick between the vixen and Alex >Alex gives you a hard stare >You don’t like seeing him like this. It’s not his natural state >But you deserve it ”I hurt him. And I’m sorry,” you continue. “I wish I could take everything back, but I can’t. The damage is done. The damage is…” you trail off, casting your gaze skyward into the featureless clouds >The damage is done >The wind rips through you all like you were full of holes >You’re all cold — the chilled air sapping your warmth >But nobody speaks. You all just sit there, shivering, waiting for someone to say something >It feels like there’s nothing to say >At least, not until the lone anthro among you, her voice resolute despite the tears splitting down her fur, opens her mouth >”Don’t apologize to us.” She extends her phone out to you. Her face is hard, not out of anger, but determination. “Apologize to him.” >”Anon, y-you’re hurting my h-hands,” Sam whines >You don’t care >You really don’t care >You’re never going to let go of this faggot >Which is what you tell yourself, as you drag him down the hall >You keep throwing glances over your shoulder >Why didn’t they follow you? >You highly doubt they got lost in the tunnels >Oh god oh fuck >Your heart skips a beat as you mull over the possibilities of what they could be cooking up “What’s your next class?” You demand sharply, trying to distract yourself and focus on the task at hand: >Protecting Sam >”Sc-Science?” Sam stutters. “R-Room 185.” “Good. I’m going to wait with you,” you say resolutely >”Why? I-I don’t know if the t-t-teacher will be o-okay with tha-that.” He sounds like he almost doesn’t want you protecting him, which is weird “Science with Mr. Bolm?” >”Y-Yes-” Sam starts, but you cut him off >No time for his whimpering “Good. He knows me personally. He’ll be okay with me just hanging out in the back.” >Your attendance score be damned. You can miss class, you’ll take the GPA hit for missing math >Hell, you didn’t even have your backpack with you >You left that in the car >What’s the point of even going to class this week? >”I-Is everything o-okay?” Sam says. “Where’s G-Gloria?” >You toss another glance over your shoulder >Nobody but other students behind you >And jocks >Two, to be precise >One human, rugged dark hair and a wood-carved face >And a gray wolf, his fur bristled with rage, ears flat against his skull >Both stereotypically decked out in red letter jackets >The swing of their arms, the synchronization of their steps- >You’re just being paranoid, you assure yourself >Yet you can’t help but move a little bit faster than before >Justtttt being nervous, this is totally normal >They’re walking to class, is all >”Anon, I t-t-think those g-guys want to talk to u-us,” Sam says >You look over your shoulder again >Just paranoi- >Oh fuck >How did you not notice it before? >The two jocks’ eyes are bright blue, like glacier cores had been drilled into their skulls >They narrow hateful glances at you, and it’s only then do you see that the human has a dark bruise on his cheek >It’s swelling up like rotten fruit >Ah yes, your knuckles still ring with pain from having clocked that werewolf in the face >Well, it’s time to run now, isn’t it? >Your muscles tense up, and internally your nonathletic soul groans in agony >You’ve done so much running already >You’re tired “Sam, when I say run, I want you to start sprinting as fast as you can down the hall, okay?” Your voice is barely beneath a whisper >Sam’s ears twitch like two sensitive antennas >”O-Okay,” he says with a bit of resolution. “I tru-trust you.” “Good. On three. Ready?” >The bunny nods and pushes his hair back with his free hand “One.” “Two.” >Suddenly there’s a commotion as no less than four students descend upon the pursuing jocks >It’s a group of punks >How can you tell? Well, they make it obvious >They’ve got ‘teenage rebellion’ practically patched on their studded denim jackets >And it’s all humans >With fury and energy, the mowhaked gang of students leaps out from the shadows and swarm the jocks like ants >Two punks per hulking body >Eight pairs of fists and eight pairs of kicking, stomping boots swing wildly >The jocks roar with frustration, but pry off the skinny vegan anarchists and begin pummeling them >A crowd quickly gathers around them, obscuring your view of the fight >Anonymous, this is the PERFECT opportunity for you to make an escape >And escape you do, by calmly walking Sam to class >When you get to the door, you realize that your hand is still interlaced with Sam’s >Feeling a little more than gay, you gently untwist your fingers from his and smile “See? Safe and sound. Now, let’s get in there-” >You pause as you feel your phone weakly pulsing in your pocket >A phone call? Right now? >The caller ID reads ‘Jenna Orthorn (Fox from Science)’ >Ah, that’s right, you had a project with her earlier in the semester >You slide to answer and put the receiver your ear You mouth to Sam, “I’ll meet you inside.” >The bunny nods >He lets out a huge knot of air held in his chest >Relief is plain across his features as his shoulders slump and head droops, lacking tension to keep it stiff and rigid >The rabbit quickly opens the door and slides inside, letting it shut behind him >You’re not exhausting him, are you? >Like, he’s not tired of you, hopefully? >Ah fuck it. He owes you big time for saving his life (even though he has no idea you did) >You clear your throat “Hi Jenna. This is Anon.” >”Anon?” A male voice crackles on the other end of the line >Your heart sinks in your chest >You know who this is >”It’s Mike.” >What do you say? >I mean, really, WHAT DO YOU SAY to this guy? >You don’t say anything for a few moments, your mind spinning at a thousand miles-per-hour, mulling over every possible dialog choice >A few hours earlier this guy was kicking the shit out of you >NOW he calls you? >So, what do you say? Something to really hurt him “Hi Mike.” >Ah, that’s right. You’re still a pussy, so you settle for neutrality in your response and tone >”Hey man… How are you doing?” Mike replies with a VERY awkward pause in the middle of his sentence “I’m doing… Not great. I hurt all over. And I think I’m being targeted.” >Mike laughs a little. “You and me both, dude.” >There’s a long gap where none of you speak >You only listen to him breathe over the phone >”Listen, I called to tell you something, and I want you to know this time I really mean it.” “What do you mean this time?” >”Just… Shut up for a second. Wait, no, don’t shut up. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” >There’s a long groan on the other end of the line, and then the sound of Mike taking a large, fortifying breath of air >”I called to tell you I’m sorry for kicking your ass.” >You shake your head in confusion >That’s only barely scratching the surface of what a cunt Mike has been to you recently “Annndddd…?” You trail off, hoping he takes the hint >He does not take the hint >”And what?” He replies with genuine confusion in his tone >You scowl, and it feels good, even though Mike can’t see you “What do you mean ‘and what?’, dude? You’ve been an absolute, self-centered dickhead this entire time. How do you NOT see that?” >”I- I know. I was getting to that, fagtron. This isn’t easy for me.” “I don’t care if it’s not easy for you. My nose STILL hurts,” you say with an audible sneer >And Mike audibly winces >”I got you good, huh?” he says in defeat >Got you good? Bro, he FUCKED you up “Yeah, you could say that. So… Where’s the rest of my apology, bitch?” >Mike summons another deep breath, and then begins slowly >He’s never been good with words, or articulate >”This afternoon I thought my life was over. I didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything. I was angry, and stupid, and I hurt people I cared about because of that. But you know what? I fucking need you guys. I need you, and Alex, and Jenna, and… Is Sam with you?” >You shake your head “He just went to class.” >”Well tell your boyfriend that I need him too. I need you guys to be my friends.” “He’s not my boyfriend god damnit, and I am not gay.” You grind your teeth >Now isn’t the time! His voice drops to a submissive whisper “We’re still friends though… right?” >Surprisingly, despite the pain radiating all over your bruised and bloody body, you have an answer for him almost instantly >That’s hardly even a question “Of course, dude. You may be a fucking asshole, but we’re still friends.” >”Thanks, you big faggot.” >You missed this. A smile starts tugging at the corners of your lips “And we’re going to put a stop to this shit, aren’t we?” >”Shit yeah we are.” >You break out in an even wider smile “And we’re gonna get you to college, right?” >”Right!” >”And you’re gonna fuck some prime freshman poon?” >”Fuck yes man, and you’re gonna tap that bunny’s sweet, sweet ass.” >Your smile collapses like a star at the end of its life >You have only thought about sex with Sam a FEW times “Mike, when I see you next time? I’m going to punch you in the face. I want you to know that,” you say >Mike laughs on the other end of the line >”I think that’s only fair,” he says >Mike ends the phone call by telling you he’s waiting at the old white oak door church >You agree to meet him there after school >You sigh heavily and take a moment to gather yourself >No matter how vulnerable you are out here, the weight off your shoulders outweighs that vulnerability >GOD you’re glad to have patched shit up with Mike >And you have so much to tell him and Jenna and Alex >So much has changed >You push down those lingering feelings of guilt at having left Gloria with the goths >Push it down into a little ball in your stomach that you’ll surface later >You promise to yourself that in some way, shape or form, you will rescue her >Alright, show time >Just make sure Sam is okay >You open the door to Mr. Bolm’s class and slip inside, posting up against the closed door >Almost in unison, the class turns their heads to face you >Mr. Bolm, stretching his arms to reach the top of the whiteboard, directs a questioning glare your way >’Biological Diversity Week!!’ is written in huge bubble letters in the center of the board >”Mr. Anonymous?” He looks like a shocked gopher >You wave shyly to the class “Hi Mr. Bolm… class. I had a free period (which is a lie), so I thought I’d just audit this class for a day,” you say, blushing from the sudden and direct attention >The teacher, still bewildered, says “That’s… fine, I guess. Just so long as you don’t distract any students.” >You nod and take an empty seat next to Sam, who sits in the back, near the window >Just like an anime protagonist lmao >He shyly waves at you before returning to his present task of scribbling on a loose sheet of paper >It’s hypnotizing to watch him draw, but not hypnotizing enough to distract from the knots of anxiety tightening around your lungs >You can feel every eye on you, sharp and piercing and judging >Well, to hell with them, you say to yourself >All that matters is protecting this bunny >Mr. Bolm carries on >”As I was saying earlier, humans don’t have heat cycles like most anthros have. Hence why we don’t need to use estrus blockers. And our noses aren’t as sensitive as a herbivore’s, so we don’t need scent masks either. So from everything, it may sound like humans have little in the way of natural talents, but that’s just not true. Remember how I said that humans are crafty and cooperative?” >He turns around excitedly to face class >Someone coughs and you swear you could hear crickets chirping in the distance >All the exuberance drains from his face >He coughs, tugs nervously at his collar, and carries on as admirably as he can after getting shot down >”Anyway, humans are often said to be crafty. Researchers have noted our ability to be a cooperative group, even when circumstances should prevent it. That’s not to say other mammals don’t cooperate, but a human’s natural state is to… cooperate?” >He weakly smiles at the rhyme. Guess he’s making his own fun at this point >”Moving along then… relationships! Fun stuff, right? Now, let’s just make this quick and dirty: most species mate for life. No species eats their young. Interspecies relationships…” >Sam drops his pencil >His posture stiffens up, and he directs his attention towards the front of the class >”… Are uncommon, but possible. They will rarely yield offspring. Hybrids are not possible — they’re one species or another. We don’t know how this is possible, but we’re working on uncovering the reasons behind this miracle. Science!” >Mr. Bolm pauses, as if awaiting a response >More crickets >You’ve only ever given a passing thought to interspecies romance >Like in the hall, when you saw that stacked sow >It’s not something you’re OPPOSED to, necessarily >after all, you’ve been battling mysterious gay urges for Sam this entire week >Shouldn’t that count for something? >What you end up doing is tailing Sam around school — sneaking into his classes or waiting outside like a lost puppy >You don’t care how creepy it looks or how awkward the judgmental looks from the other students make you feel >You have to keep him safe. Now more so than ever >Vanessa and her merry bunch of morons want Sam to complete the ritual after he fucked it up the first time >You need him — and the Book of Rite — to stop it >(Also, you’d like to keep him safe, but that’s besides the point) >Your head is on a swivel as you scan the hallways >Hell, you even do quick sweeps of the classrooms >The only thing you notice is the incredible hostility between each of the school’s various cliques >Tension so thicc you could cut it with a knife >Teachers and security staff rush around the halls like firefighters, extinguishing brawls and hauling mammals off >You’ve seen humans and anthros alike pulled into the admin office, some even wearing bruises and bloody noses >There’s always been a tension between the various groups here, but never like this >The tension before was a kind of soft animosity, traded only in harsh looks and rumors — seldom in fists and claws >You anxiously scratch as the back of your neck as you stare down the clock mounted in the hallway outside of Sam’s last class: history >Hurry up >Hurry up! >When the doors click open, and the bell finally rings, the floodgates open >The hallways become a fast-flowing river of multi-colored bodies, all of different shapes and sizes and species >You imagine Sam getting lost in the hormonal tempest, his big goofy ears the standing up like a shark fin narrowly breaching the surface of the open ocean >You’re thinking so hard about all of this that you don’t even notice when the little rabbit appears next to you >”Hey Anon, you w-w-wanna see my draw-” >Your heart jumps up in your chest, and, rather shamefully, you gasp >Which causes Sam to gasp >Very manly, Anon >Guess a bit Sam is rubbing off on you >You groan at the idea of becoming an anxious, stuttering mess >You look down and see the tiny rabbit, swimming in his over-sized and crusty clothes, clutching a handful of paper, looking somewhat shocked >”S-Sorry,” he says >He sounds sad >But you can see a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth from behind his bangs >Oh, so he thought it was cute and funny that he scared you? >You should do something back to him… >… Or just let him enjoy his moment >It’s really… kinda nice to see him smile… >… And to see him confident enough to do stuff like that >“I didn’t m-mean to scare you. I ju-just wanted to show y-you my drawings.” >Damn, this kid is an artistic machine >He probably just does the minimum amount of classwork to maintain his GPA and keep his job and spends the rest of his time drawing >Wonder what he’s going to do after he graduates high school >… And what about you? >You shake your head, drawing a curious look from Thumper >Not the time to have this conversation with yourself, Anonymous “I do want to see your drawings,” you start. The little bunny’s expression lights up. “You can show me in a bit. We’re going out.” >”W-We’re what?” “Not like that. I meant we’re just leaving and going someplace else. Shit, you knew what I meant. Don’t do that to me.” >”I-I don’t know what I d-did!” The bunny squeaks >You put your hand on his shoulders and bend yourself down to his level “Sam?” >You bring your face uncomfortably close to his >Your friend tries flinching away from you, but you easily hold on to his slender, malnourished shoulders “Don’t not-not talk back to me.” >”…W-What?” “Now that we’ve got that settled, c’mon. We’re going to meet Mike and Alex and Jenna somewhere.” >And you take him by the hand >And dive in to the moving sea of bodies >Not moving too fast >Because you don’t want to lose him >Your car is where you left it >Or, more appropriately, where Mike left it >Badly parked >And you know it’s yours by how shitty it is >Paint peeling >Windows spider-webbed with cracks >Visible rust >One of the door panels is unfurnished >Oh, and the massive indent on the front hood where Sam’s father stomped on your car yesterday during the rescue >It sticks out like a moldy, rusted sore thumb >The chilled air clings to your skin, and the heavy skies that hang overhead like slabs of wet concrete herald storms >It’s surprising that thunder isn’t rolling like a freight train overhead >Didn’t the forecast call for rain? >You look about the parking lot as you climb into the driver’s seat >Nearly empty >Just like your soul lmao >You don’t know whether to be grateful or furious that Mike left the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition >You submerge those thoughts in a bath of stomach acid as you survey the lot, feeling hunger gnawing at you >Cars drift in and out >Anthros and humans pour down the sidewalk like lines of ants >Sam, unrestrained by his seatbelt, presses his nose up against the dirty window glass >”C-Colors…” >His voice is a soft wisp >Though you’re on a hill, the leaves of fall have managed to drift upwards on the iced wind >They bluster on by like fish being pulled on invisible lures “You could probably draw that,” you remark >”I’m n-not very good a-at anything other than f-f-figures.” “Bah, don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll get you some crayons and a good piece of construction paper and you’ll be set.” >The bunny wrinkles his nose at you as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips >Guess your joke sailed right over his head >Ah well >Your car hums to life, sipping on a meager stock of gasoline >The rustbucket is a thirsty girl, so you’ll have to hit a gas station at some point >You’re about to take to the main road and head to the white oak door church when Sam gasps >You turn your head to the passenger seat >Sam is frozen, staring out the window, shivering “You okay, dude? Forget something inside?” >”T-That car.” Sam pokes the cold glass with his little finger. “I-It looks like my d-d-d-dad’s.” >You unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over his shoulder >All you can see is a few students wandering the lot, and a couple cars >One of them being a shitty, rusted sedan (like yours) with dark windows >Its headlights burn against the muted gray light of the afternoon, but it doesn’t look like there’s anyone inside “You sure? This is a student lot. There’s about a million shitty looking cars around here.” >Which was only partially true >A lot of the suburban kids had nice, new cars that gleamed like polished coins >And though you were suburban, your parents provided you with a real piece of shit that has nearly killed you twice >… Not that you’re complaining >A free car is a free car, right? >The rabbit shakes his head >”M-Maybe. I-I don’t know.” He swings his head to face you. “C-Can we leave?” >Something about the car is making him nervous >Well, it’s starting to make you nervous too >Retard, what if Sam’s dad is checking the school for his son? He must know Sam works after classes “Right. Off to the old white oak door church.” >You quietly press on the gas and coast down the hill, out towards the main road >Sam clutches his drawings close to his chest >You roll into the small parking lot of the church >Ah yes, you’ve been here before, mainly with Mike and Alex to ‘hunt ghosts’ when you were younger >You never found any ghosts but you did burn a couple thousand calories on the bike ride up the hill >What? >You were a little chubby back then >Because you were… bulking…? >It doesn’t look like anyone is outside except Mike, who sits, shivering, on the concrete steps next to an overturned shopping cart “Yo fagtron,” you lean your head out the window >Mike stands up and flips you off >Ah, glad to see you two are back to normal “Where is everyone?” >Your voice rises over the mounting breeze >”Inside!” Mike returns >His voice booms like he swallowed a microphone >Must be the vampire powers >”Someone left one of the doors unlocked around back.” >He stands up and walks over to your idling car, throws open the door, and then hauls himself into your backseat >”Hi Anon.” He kicks the seat ahead of him, eliciting a sharp, feminine gasp from Sam. ”Hi Thumper.” >Yep, Mike may be a vampire, but he’s still Mike “Hey asshole,” you fire back >”Ahhh it’s good to be back to the old days of casually insulting one another-” “-Until it explodes into violence,” you say, cutting Mike off >”Yeah. I missed our toxic dialogues.” “Strangely enough, so did I.” >Sam leans over the center console >”Y-You two are m-mean to each other,” he says, hair falling over his eyes >”We’re mean because we love each other,” Mike leans forward and blows a kiss at you. “Anon is my bitch.” >Alright, you can’t help but smile at that too “If anything you’re my bitch. Always stealing my beer, bumming rides off me. I’m your sugar daddy.” >Sam looks completely lost >And you’re sure as hell not going to explain this to him >You clear your throat and try to steer the conversation somewhere more productive “So where’s Alex?” >Mike stretches out >”Jenna and Alex are inside the church. Turns out someone left the back door unlocked. Lord knows what they’re doing in there.” >Yeah, he actually does. It’s his house “So why aren’t you inside?” >Mike scowls and points to his glowing eyes “Oh. Right. Sorry again about that.” >But your apology is not weak this time, nor is it scared of Mike Sapone’s anger >It feels like you’re talking to him as an equal for once >”I’m still getting used to everything. You know, the nuances of being a blood sucking edgelord, but it turns out I can’t actually enter the church. Holy ground and all that good stuff.” >”M-Mike,” Sam speaks up. “Ha-Have you…” >And then he trails off, shyly looking up to you to distract himself from Mikes annoyed scowl >”Have I what?” >”Y-You know…” Sam tries again >”Oh. Blood.” Mike folds his arms across his chest and looks directly ahead >Not at Sam, but through him >This seems to frighten the little rabbit >”I don’t want to talk about it.” >Sam shrinks into his clothes >”S-Sorry.” >The vampire sighs deeply. “No, it’s fine. I just don’t want to talk about it. You two should get inside though, Comrade Alexi and Jenna are waiting for you. Or maybe you should all come out here. I don’t know.” “Why is Jenna here?” You snatch the keys out of the ignition. >Mike kicks his feet up onto the center console and shuts his tired eyes. “Because she saved my life.” >His ordinarily short, spiked hair is ruffled, his green eyes look bloodshot and red (even through their otherworldly glow), and his skin looks bruised and bloody >And especially pale >He’s practically snoring already >”By the way, I’m going to stay here for a hot minute. It’s starting to get dark and cold outside and I’m sick of being in the fucking wind.” >Yeah, he’s is probably done for the night >You want to ask him about Jenna, but you don’t bother >All will be explained later >Probably >Hopefully >You slip in through the back of the church, Sam at your heels >You’re grateful for the warmth >The wind sharply slams the door shut behind you >Sam jumps nearly a foot into the air, >You know he’s your friend and all, and he’s got… issues… >But it’s like every little thing sets him off, and- >”ANON!” Alex hops off the altar with a shout >You also jump a little >Alex throws his arms around you >Sam looks on in dismay, and maybe a little of jealousy >Sensing this, Alex detaches from you, bends his massive, 6’2” lanklet frame over and practically lifts the five-foot-nothing rabbit into the air >”And Sam! Sam! Sam!” He bounces the rabbit like a baby >Sam, of course, struggles but eventually gives up the fight >”Calm down there, Alex,” Jenna says, rising from a pew in front of the altar >Her tail fans behind her, and the smile plastered across her face says she’s happy to see that you and Sam are still alive. ”They just got here, give ‘em some room.” >She smooths out her knitted green sweater, ears folding against her skull >Alex sets Sam down gingerly and pats him twice on the head while muttering “pat pat” >Sam winces with each assailing pat >You don’t know what to say >You feel like you just got ran over by a truck full of emotions >Mike is back on your side >Alex is alive >Jenna is here too >And Sam is safe “I think I need to sit down for a second,” you say as you lean into a polished, creaking pew >It squeals with age and protest under your meager weight >Sam hops up next to you, his drawings still in hand >You don’t really mind him tailing you anymore >It’s just the signals from Alex that you can’t abide >Alex winks suspiciously at you >You raise your middle finger to him in response >Witnessing the exchange, Jenna rolls her eyes. ”Another thing nobody will explain to me, right?” >”We’re trying to help Anonymous see that he’s gay,” Alex offers >A rush of blood hits high in your cheeks >”Y-Y-You’re gay?” Sam says with a weak voice >He almost sounds heartbroken >That’s… not what you expected “God damnit, I’m not gay!” You plead. “Jenna, I swear I’m not.” >She shrugs >”It doesn’t bother me if you are. I’ve got a gay uncle. It’s not a big deal.” >GOD DAMNIT >You throw your hands up >You don’t need this shit right now “Can we just… Not talk about this right now? SO much has happened and changed since I last saw the both of you. I need to talk to ALL of you as soon as possible, so we can get a plan together.” >”A plan?” Alex remarks. “What happened to wanting to stay out of this?” >A heavy breath of air escapes your lungs “We can no longer hide from this. And frankly, I’m fucking done running away from things that scare me. You understand?” >Alex issues a crisp salute >”Sir!” >Alex is like an obedient child sometimes >Stupid, well-meaning, optimistic, but above all, he has what Mike doesn’t: >Loyalty >But you can tell that something has changed with Mike >In a good way >Your eyes turn to Jenna “This is your chance to walk away. I won’t hold anything against you if you don’t want to involve yourself. Hell, I’m not even sure you’ll believe the kind of shit that I’m about to tell you.” >It’s true >How the fuck could anyone believe this shit? >You could present all the evidence that you have >The aggression at school >The vampire cheerleaders >The werewolf jocks >The size of the moon >The sudden absence of Gloria Duchene >The Book of Rite >The Book of Wrath (once you get a hold of it) >Mike MOTHERFUCKING Sapone’s current state is evidence enough >ALL of this, and it wouldn’t be enough for anyon- >”And let you all hurt yourselves? Nah. Plus I think I involved myself already,” she says, a dissaproving hand on her hip >”H-How?” Sam squeaks up >”Lydia Penferth ate my car,” she replies >Her lips part and you can see the rows of her meticulously cleaned fangs >You shrink back against the pew >Damn >She kind of reminds you of Mike >”Welllllll alright then,” Alex says, trying to ease the tension in the room. “What say we all take a jaunt on over to the rust bucket and Anon can let us in on what he’s discovered?” >Oooh, jaunt. You like that word >You’re proud of Alex >His dumbass is learning bigger and bigger words >Probably all the books you’ve been forcing him to read >You give a disparaging look at the double-wide white oak doors behind you >From the stained glass windows, crafted in the shape of a cross that loom over the wooden altar, the blue light of dusk is pouring through >It’s going to be cold as hell you tell yourself >But you go anyway, because this shit is important >You rap several times on the window >Mike wakes with a loud snort >He looks about, shaking the dreams from his head >When his eyes settle on you, he nods twice and reaches for the lock >This car isn’t big >It’s rusty, smelly, and gets terrible gas mileage >But damnit, you’re starting to grow attached to its flaws >The cracked windshield >The bent-in front hood >The raw passenger side door which lacks any kind of upholstery >This little battlewagon can fit five people, albiet uncomfortably >Mike crams himself in the middle seat in the back >Him and Jenna are practically ontop of each other >And you can see Jenna looks flustered by the whole situation >Lol nerd with no experience with the opposite sex aside from her slut brother >Alex spreads his spindly legs wide like an asshole >He probably has no idea what he’s doing or how much room he’s taking up, he’s just stretching his legs >Sam gets the privilege of sitting in the passenger seat next to you >He’s distracted by his drawings that he never got to show you >You glare at him until he stuffs them into his hoodie’s pocket >You’ll look after this, you promise to yourself >You don’t enjoy seeing him so sad >Alright, the gang’s all here >So, do you- >”Can you hurry up?” Mike says. ”Fur is hot and I’m basically using Jenna as a coat right now.” >”You’re WHAT!?” Jenna says with a gasp. “You so are not. You’re the one rubbing up against me!” >”I dunno,” Alex says with a dopey smile. “I think both of you would make great coats for each other.” >Mike slugs Alex hard >”Hey, don’t hit him!” Jenna says, catching at Mike’s arm >Mike looks about ready to turn and hit the vixen as well >To your surprise, he lets his hands drop into his lap >”Sorry,” he grumbles >You can’t help but crack a slight smile >Just like normal. Alex is a dumbfuck, Mike is an asshole >And you like Jenna. She’s smart but doesn’t put up with Mike’s shit >But now is not the time for this >Now is time for… EXPOSITION >The sun slips behind the mountains, small trails of golden light shining through the overcast >Blue dusk had long since settled over everything, smothering the world in a shade above black “So just to recap: Vanessa and her gang of retards have the ritual in place and ready to go. They just need this here book-” you hold the red book out to the passengers in the back, though you doubt any of them can see it in the darkness. “-and Sam to finish things.” >”Okay, easy,” Mike claps his hands. “We don’t give them either the book or Thumper.” >You frown “Unfortunately we also need Sam and the book to stop the ritual and banish the Behemoth. Oh, and from what I can tell, we’ll have to do it at the altar that we all saw on Friday.” >”I’ve got a question,” Jenna cuts in. “What is this Behemoth?” “Dunno,” you say. “It’s some kind of old god that they say can bring the world to chaos-” >”-And debauchery and hedonism,” you and Mike utter in unison. >You throw him a confused look >”Lydia Penferth tried to convince me to join her side earlier today. She told me the same shpeel. I blinded her with oranges.” >”Impressive,” Alex says >”It- It-” Sam tries sitting up in his seat >Damn, he’s actually contributing >It’s enough to make you smile >Ordinarily he doesn’t speak unless spoken to >”It makes you s-s-see things that a-a-aren’t there, I s-s-saw you my brother,” Sam says, almost ashamed >You’ve been meaning to ask about… Jacob? Was it Jacob? Maybe after this >You clear your throat to dispel the melancholy mood settling over the vehicle’s occupants “So like I said. We’ll need to bring Sam and the Book of Rite with us on Friday, sneak into the gym, and… I’ll read up and figure out a way to undo all of this. But I know for sure we need Sam and the book.” >”We could…” Jenna starts, before her words collapse into a series of thoughtful hums >”We could get costumes. I mean, the Spooktober Fest is a costumed event. Plus the goths won’t be able to tell it’s us if we’re all dressed up.” >There’s silence, almost as if everyone is still digesting what you said >Sam squeaks up again >In the mounting darkness, you can see his hands go to his ears and tug at them softly >”W-What about my d-d-dad?” >Ah yes >The crazy, abusive, dangerous, alcoholic rabbit who is probably still out hunting for Sam right now >You hadn’t even thought of him >He’s a rogue element >A dingo in the daycare >It’s not like Sam can avoid school >If he misses any more class his chances of graduating are slim >And you will not fuck his life up anymore than you already have >In the darkness, you shrug, hoping nobody can see your complete ineptitude >”What’s so scary about Sam’s dad?” Mike asks >Ah, that’s right. He never met the guy “Bruh, Sam’s dad is-” >”Deeply misguided,” Alex cuts in >…. “You could say that.” >Or you could call him what he really is: “Sam’s dad is a violent drunk who’s out hunting for us.” >Silence >”You mean, like, right now?” Mike asks. “As in, he’s driving around looking for us? To do what?” >Sam pulls anxiously at his ears >Reflexively, you snatch his hands with your own and give them both gentle squeezes “H-Hurt me,” Sam says. “Last time I r-r-ran away my d-d-dad burned me and b-beat me,” >Jesus CHROIST >He BURNED Sam? >You remember the way he stomped on your hood and caved it in >Fuark >Somehow the goths seem less threatening than a psychotic rabbit >You guess you’ll… cross that bridge when you come to it? “He knows my name and my car, but I think we’re safe here. Nobody ever comes to the old church.” >You only get silence in response >… >Probably wasn’t a good enough answer “Well shit, what do you want me to say? I don’t have a plan. If we stay here, we’ll likely be fine .” >… >”I bet I could take him in a fight,” Mike remarks >Well probably not >But okay “Sure thing, buddy.” >Your sarcasm is nearly physical >Mike folds his arms across his chest, poking Jenna in the boobs >He doesn’t seem to care, but the fox does >She strains away from the human, only gaining meager ground >Sam squeezes your hand anxiously >And for a good minute, nobody speaks >You all just saturate in the revelations >Marinate in their weight >SEETHE in their- >Alright that’s enough >Alex, thankfully, says one word >But it’s enough to get you all to pile out of the car and into the fresh air (it was getting kind of musty) >”Fire?” >Ah fire, mammal-kind’s oldest friend? >You love fire? >It’s so… mesmerizing? >Calming? >Hot ?>And apparently Alex loves fire too ?>… Maybe a little more than you do ?>He rushes around like a madman, collecting sticks and twigs for kindling while you drag some old logs up from the surrounding area? >You throw them all into a tight pile in the center of the parking lot like the world’s worst boy scout? >With the wind gone and the light faded, you rely on your cellphone’s weak camera flashlight to cut around in the darkness of the barren fields surrounding the church? >And your car’s cigarette lighter to start the blaze >You heap everything you’ve gathered into a loose, brown assortment in the center of the empty lot “Last thing we need is to burn this whole place to the ground,” you say, pressing down on your car’s cigarette lighter. It sinks neatly into its slot >”At least something on your car works,” Mike remarks “Hey, it gets us around town. You can complain when you’ve got your car back.” >The vampire saunters back over to your crummy pile of sticks and logs grumbling something about getting his car back and driving it up your ass >Par the course for Mike ?>You press the red-hot lighter into the pile of grass and twigs, hoping you can get enough heat going to catch the bigger sticks? >Shit? >All it does is burn through the dry grass, the flames curling the brown plant matter into a charred crisp ?>At least the wind is down to a pathetic limp? >You hunch over the pile with the lighter, its heat renewed by a second trip to the car >You press the lighter down once more into the brittle grass >And you fail once more to create fire? >Everyone is standing around, waiting for your shitty little pile of twigs and dredged up logs to spark up and become…? >…Anything other than a puff of smoke ?>”Good job there, Ranger Anon,” Mike says?“You wanna do better? I’m trying my best here.” ?>You feel the Book of Rite like a flat, square pancake in your breast pocket? >Maybe? >Hmmm?? >With the book open you find a broken piece of glass in the parking lot >Probably the leavings of some irresponsible teenagers coming up here to drink? >Sam looks on with alarm as you delicately trace the broken glass across your skin? >You hesitate, still forcing the glass into your skin? >C’mon Anon, just do it? >You even found a page about starting a fire ?>It’s simple shit? >… Simpler than curing Mike’s vampirism, which you so beautifully pulled off last time? >You suck in a lung full of cold air? >How does it go again?? >”Down the street not across the lane,” Mike says, as if he were reading your mind? >”Mike!” Jenna slaps him on the arm, her claws extended, leaving score marks in Mike’s exposed skin? >”Hey! What the hell was that for?” Mike says in protest >He rubs at his arm, but produces no blood -- just scratch marks ?>You shrug?>You know he’s wrong anyway? >That’ll get you killed? >”Please b-b-be careful,” Sam says? >He nervously tugs at his ears ?>God damnit you’ll stop him after this? >He’s like a child sometimes, you swear >Kid is going to tear his ears off? “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I’m a professional.” >”Professional emo,” Mike remarks, and gets another smack for it ? >You smile at Sam, which calms his nerves a bit? >Well, here goes? >The longer you drag this out the less likely you are to do it ?>Just ?>Fuckin’? >DO IT ?>Don’t let your dreams be dreams? >The glass stings as it cuts across your wrist? >Your veins open up slightly, and a small trickle of blood drips out? >It lands on the page you’ve set down at your feet? >In an instant the fire blazes up, throwing heavy shadows across the blacktop and against the fading white of the church? >Jenna, Sam and Alex all clap? >Mike is still too busy rubbing at his arm to notice?? >Like slavs, you squat on your hams near the fire, feeding sticks into the unnatural blaze? >Both you and Alex and hypnotized by the tendrils of flame that lap at the sky? >Above you the moon hangs like a massive stone, ready to drop at any second? >Another night with a full moon? >Another night closer to Friday? >Your phone’s clock reads 11:30 p.m. on Tuesday? >You look over to Sam, who, despite his heavy, ratty clothing, is shivering against the fire? >It’s still a cold night regardless, and there’s not a lot of meat on his bones to keep him warm? >He’s a hungry skelly? >Do you… do the thing?? >You know, what you’ve seen in all the movies? ?>…? >You slip out of your torn blazer and drape it over Sam’s trembling body?>He looks up at you in bewilderment, as if he couldn’t believe that somebody was THIS kind ?>You’re… not? You’re not kind? >Goddamnit you’re a coward and you’ve been a dick to him for so long? >You just can’t stand to see him so cold and forgotten about ?>”Thank you,” he whispers, his voice broken by the snapping of the fire ?“Don’t mention it.” >You hope nobody notices >Everyone is too busy with each other or the fire >Alex stares into the fire, his eyes reflecting its light and little else >The lights are on, but when there’s fire, nobody is home >Mike and Jenna are sitting side-by-side, leaving just a few precarious inches between one another ?>You can feel the heat of the fire on your face? >This was a good idea? >And hey, it’s close to Halloween ?>Sam doesn’t really have much holiday experience? >Hell, you’d be surprised if he celebrated any holidays at his shithole of a home? >How do you give Sam a more authentic, festive experience?? >…? “You guys wanna hear some scary stories?” You probe >Damn, scary stories? You’re all legally adults >Why would anyone want to hear scary stories? ?>”Hell yeah man, been a long time since I heard any good ones,” Alex says. “The specter of capitalism was a lot less frightening than I thought it’d be.”? “That’s just a concept from The Communist Manifesto,” you remind your dumbass friend? >”Ah, yeah. That book was good. Not at all scary though.”? >You sigh >You love Alex but he’s helpless without you? >Sam pokes at you?>”I-I want to h-hear a scary s-s-story.”? “Alright, Thumper, you want a scary story?”? >You crack your knuckles? “You’ll get a scary story.” ??>By the time you’re done, Sam is huddling up next to you, wrapping himself around your arm and shivering? >His amber eyes sweep around the darkness that surrounds your dwindling fire, searching for something ?>A horrible monster ?>The man with the hook for a hand, waiting to gut little rabbits and hang them in his basement ?>You can only fight a satisfied grin? “Scary, huh Sam?” ?>The rabbit shakes his head violently? >”N-No…” he says, fighting the tremors in his voice ?“C’mon, it’s okay to admit you’re scared. That story used to scare me a TON,” you assure the gun-shy rabbit? >His trembling slows a little? >”Y-You get scared?”? >BOI, if only he knew what a coward you were at heart? “Yeah. I do. Probably more than you think.” ?>The fire snaps and hisses, and you see its lapping flames reflected in Sam’s huge eyes that stare back up into your own ?>He looks so… spellbound?? >Your heart goes doki doki? >You’re so caught up in looking into Sam’s eyes that you didn’t even notice that Mike grabbed your car keys and popped open your trunk? >But instead of driving off like a dick, he wanders back into the firelight with Sam’s baseball bat leaning easy on his shoulder ?>In his free hand he’s got a few dusty old beer bottles by their necks ?>“You know what’ll take your mind off Anon’s shitty story?” He asks ?>Sam clings tighter to you? >”Some batting practice.” Mike smiles, his fangs visible as they bite into his lower lips?? >You and Alex throw more sticks into the fire >Alex with joy >You, with reluctance. Sleep is starting to weigh heavy across your whole body >What a fucking day ?>The fire’s light stretches further, painting your tall shadows across the empty blacktop? >You sneak concerned glances at Mike and Sam and Jenna? >Sam is standing a good 20 feet away from Mike, his two small hands wrapped around the base of the aluminum bat that once belonged to his brother? >Jenna huddles over him, adjusting his grip? >”Okay so, hold it like this,” she says, sliding Sam’s hands a little further up the metal cylinder ?>”And when Mike throws it, I want you to pretend like you’re swinging THROUGH the bottle. Got it?” ?>”G-Got it,” Sam stammers. “H-How do you kn-know all of this? You’re li-like a genius.”? >The vixen laughs ?>”Genius? No, I just played softball for eight years. I’m as unathletic as they come.” ? >”Well I’ve never played a sport. You guys ready to see the shittiest throw you’ve ever seen?” Mike asks, a dusty beer bottle in his grip ?>Jenna steps away from Sam, leaving the bunny an isolated figure in the fringes of the firelight, accompanied only by his shadows? >Mike steps into his throw, hurling his arm forward, his body following with a controlled burst of power? >You nervously watch the bottle sail through the air towards Sam? >The rabbit pulls his arms backwards, bringing the bat with him, his body tensing up like a compressed spring? >Sam’s follow through is smooth and clean? >The bottle explodes in the air in a shower of amber glass? >You breathe out? >Were you holding your breath? ?>Sam’s shoulders slump forward as he relaxes his grip on the bat? >Mike’s jaw drops open? >”Holy shit Thumper, did you used to play baseball or something?”? >Sam holds the bat in front of him, astonished at his own capacity to demolish glass bottles? >”N-No I never pl-played a sport. B-But I w-w-watched my b-brother smash up old cars w-w-w-with this bat…” he trails off, eyes finding yours, as if asking for approval >You nod slowly >Vandalism is badass? >Mike readies another bottle? >”Alright dude, this one is coming in hot. Last time I went easy on you. No mercy this time.” ? >Sam jumps into a ready stance, lifting his shoulders, raising the bat high, glancing at the positioning of his fingers and adjusting according to Jenna’s instructions >The bat wobbles with uncoordinated grace >It might be too heavy for him? >Mike doesn’t wait for a signal ?>He lunges into a merciless throw ?>The bottle goes hurtling forward without grace, turning end-over-end in the firelight… ?>… And becomes a million tiny fragments when Sam swings through it? >Jenna claps her hands loudly. ”Nice hit!” ? >Jesus fuck, no kidding? >You don’t want to be on the receiving end of that any time soon? >Sam’s eyes crack open ?>He looks around at the little glittering fragments that catch the firelight ?>”I-I did it?” He says, questioning himself? >”You crushed it!” Jenna squeals in excitement? >Mike looks… defeated. He squanders a scowl and throws his head towards the fire? >”Nice hit,” he grumbles ?>Sore loser? >You’re just relieved that Sam didn’t get hurt ?? >The fire reduces itself to a weak smolder? >The beer bottles are all gone?>You, Sam, Alex and Jenna watch the smoke drift up into the sky and then disappear against the moon? >Everyone is shivering? >Even Sam, who is wearing your suit jacket on top of his hoodie? >”So…” Mike starts. “I’m going to be sleeping in your car, right?” He looks towards you as he suffocates embers with his heels. “Because inside the church is no-go, and I’m sure as shit not sleeping outside.”? >Well, he’s already got your keys, so why is he asking your permission?? >Ah, maybe he’s just trying to be nice? “As long as you don’t drive off in the middle of the night,” you warn him, though you know it’s not going to do any good? >Still, you issue the warning as a kind of formality? >The rest of you end up back inside the church? >Your eyes are as heavy as water though, and the warmth of the church isn’t helping? >You feel the gravity of sleep pulling you down ?>Jenna and Alex post up on pews, pillowing their hands underneath their heads? >You sit down, the old pews creaking under your weight? >You’re going to stay awake as long as you can, watching that back door ?>Sam hops up on the seat next to you and leans his heavy head on your arm ?>Is it just you… or is Sam being insanely affectionate lately? ?>All this touching and grabbing and boldness directed at you makes you feel… something… in the crispy ashes of your heart ?>He’s just being so nonchalant about this, almost like it’s a normal thing nowadays ?>The creaking of the pews steers your attention away from the rabbit cuddling up to you? >It’s Jenna, sitting up, her eyes half open, nose in the air, twitching? >”That smell…” she mutters, looking around the church in a daze? >She settles on Sam ?>The bunny doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes already failing against sleep ?>”Couldn’t be…” Jenna mumbles, narrowing her vision, brows furrowing ?>She hums in thought, and then says something beneath your range of hearing?>She lowers herself back against the pews? >You try inhaling deeply through your nose? >*Snifffffff sniffffffffff (my dear)* ?>Only a slight mustiness ?>It smells kind of sour, like sweat ?>Well, it’s not like any of you have showered in a couple days? >And you don’t even want THINK about the last time that Sam bathed ?>Do anthros give themselves tongue baths?? >Ewwww ?>You shake your eyes open? >Oh the places your mind goes when you’re nearing sleep’s door ?>You reach your arm around Sam and pull him in tight? >The bunny doesn’t tense up or squeak ?>Instead he nuzzles in against you, cooing softly? >You look down ?>Yep, he’s definitely asleep ?>”Y-You smell so g-good,” he whispers ?>…? >Okay so he’s not asleep ?>He must be in limbo between slumber and lucidity? “T-Thanks?” You offer back ?>What the hell are you supposed to even say to that? ?>Guess that was good enough, because he doesn’t reply ?>You can hear Alex snoring loudly a few rows over ?>Alex has no qualms about where he’s sleeping, as per-usual >You lay your head against the back of the pew and try to get comfortable? >Your eyes flutter shut ?>And sleep is within your grasp? >But then a train horn forces Sam up, which forces you up? >Down at the bottom of the hill, behind the church, a freighter screams on by in the night, its horn pulling away ?>Sam’s posture stiffens with fear, and you can feel his grip on your arm tighten? >It’s just a train, no need to get so worked up? >Is what you want to say?>But instead you say nothing? >You just pull Sam tighter while the train rolls on?? >A few minutes later it passes in the night, leaving silence in its wake?>Sam slowly relaxes himself, his body and muscles slackening into the crook of your arm? >You pull him tighter against you, trying to comfort him ?>”S-Sorry, I-” “You don’t have to explain,” you say (and try to resist making an egg joke)? >A yawn escapes you and you lean your head back against the pew ?>Sam snuggles up against your side, still shaking in little tremors that subside into the soft rising and falling of gentle, controlled breaths leaving his lungs? >You let your eyes fall shut? >You stare at the pinks of your vision, fighting against the always-on overhead lights in the church? >But eventually you can no longer pay attention to anything? >It all falls away? >Alex ?>Mike? >Jenna? >And finally, Sam? >Just leaving you, drifting off to sleep >You are Sam >Jacob was 18, you were 12 now >But he still couldn’t get dinner right, leaving you to do the cooking (as usual) >You didn’t mind one bit >You liked it “Y-You gotta measure the m-m-milk properly, or else it’s w-w-watery,” you say, watching your older brother eyeball a glass of milk >”This would be easier if we had measuring cups,” he says with a groan, resting his head down on the table >A bottle of amber whiskey isn’t far from his grip >He looks older now, more harshed by the world >His brown fur is frayed and unkempt, growing wild >His body is trimmed of fat and now lean with muscle >He stopped going to school >He started drinking and smoking more in its absence >Fighting more >And dodging trains more too, when he lost a fight, or when he couldn’t get a hold of his nerves >You’ve been going with him usually when mom and dad fight, or dad gets too drunk >You’re scared out of your god damn mind every time >And yet you went to feel the safety of distance from you and this house >To have your brother buy you comic books at the gas station (some he buys for himself) >You stand above the stove, elbow noodles roiling in the scalded pot >Whenever mom and dad weren’t home, you could breathe a bit easier “R-Ready with the b-butter?” You kill the flame on the noodles and hoist the heavy pot off the stove with a great effort >Your thin arms shake under the weight >”Sure,” he sighs, uninterested, a half-finished cup of whiskey at his side. His head is on an easy swivel as he scans around the kitchen, already forgetting what you asked him to do >You rest the pot in the sink and drain the water, using a fork to try and keep the noodles from slipping down the drain >Mac and cheese was what you made when you made dinner, and that was only if you ate >Most of the money went towards rent, then dad’s drinking, mom’s smokes > Jacob stole anything leftover to buy cigarettes or something else to drink >On the plus side, you’ve gotten great at surviving off one meal a day, and learned to save your free school lunch for when times were especially lean >You might have been a coward >But you were resourceful >Jacob eats in silence, his glass of drink filled up yet again for the third time >You can smell it on him >He talked little, just stared absently, eyes clouding over with dark thoughts, the angular features of his jaw set in a hard line >He reminded you too much of dad >But he wasn’t as cruel as dad or mom >Jacob was hard sometimes, but you knew it was only because he was trying to give you something >Self-reliance >”You ever seen dad’s old gun?” He asks, suddenly, his plate barely touched >A dumb smile goes across his face “N-No. D-D-Dad has a gun?” You say >You hated guns >They meant death >”Of course he’s got a gun, Sam. From when he served in the war. ‘Member all those stories he told us? I think he stole it too.” “R-Right,” you say to your plate, keeping your eyes down out of sudden anxiety >”Sam. Look at me.” Jacob says >You look up >And look down the barrel of a pistol >A black hole of nothing, encased in cold steel that gleams like clean silver >Jacob is smirking, his fingers teasing at the trigger >”BAM!” He screams, pressing hard >You shriek >The gun clicks uselessly, its magazine spent and chamber void >When you finally look up, Jacob is howling with laughter >”Come on Sammy, did you seriously think I loaded it?” >You try to stammer out a response but feel your throat tightening, tears springing to the corners of your eyes >God damnit >You coward >You utter fucking coward >Get a hold of yourself >Jacob stops laughing when he sees your face >There’s a flash of anger behind his eyes >One that reminds you of dad >He sets the gun down on the table >It’s loud and heavy, and you know it couldn’t weigh more than a pound or two, but it sounds like it weighs a ton >”Jesus, Sam. It was only a joke. Are you seriously going to be a bitch about this too?” “I-I-I don’t-” >”You’re such a little baby. It was just a fucking joke.” >Now the tears come >You can’t control it >You cry at everything, don’t you, you big baby? >Jacob’s face flashes with anger — and he holds that anger for a few seconds — until his exterior falls apart like ice met with a flamethrower >”C’mon…” he nudges your arm >”You’re bigger than this, right? You’re a tough kid.” >You jerk your head back and forth, ears flopping side-to-side >Your short, unwashed hair follows your ears “I-I’m n-not. I’m s-s-sorry for… I got so sc-scared.” >Jacob looks lost >Though his expression hardens back into a stoic, almost cold stare, the slight frown pursing his lips says he’s still unhappy with your tears >And why shouldn’t he be? >It wasn’t loaded >Amazing though, isn’t it? The first thing you do when confronted with anything frightening or dangerous is to cry >And now you’re making life hard for everyone — just like you always have >Like the burden you are >Those words ring loud and clear in your head >Burden >Burden >Burden >”Sammy?” >Jacob is standing up now >”Do you hear that?” >Your ears twitch >The sound of metal clicking, locks turning, like the sound of nuclear missiles bursting from their silos, screaming across the sky >”Fucking shit. I think it’s dad,” Jacob says >You stand up too, the old and shitty chair squealing in protest against the horribly dirty tile floors >Heavy, drunken footsteps approach the kitchen >Your dad stands in the opening leading to the family room, looking leaner and more feral than before >His dark brown fur is tossed, unwashed, and scraggled >He’s wearing an old, dirty work shirt stained with oil, heavy, baggy work pants and boots >There’s a fresh bottle of Jack in his hands >His eyes coldly scan over Jacob, reflecting nothing >When they linger on you, you swear you can see lightning in his eyes >His eyes flick towards the table and narrow on the old pistol >You shiver a bit >That look only meant hell >”Dad-” Jacob starts >”Shut the fuck up,” he commands, eyes still fixed on the gun >Jacob tightens his fists >”Is that my gun?” Dad says with a simmer in his voice. “You been in my room?” >He turns his eyes on you and steps forward into the kitchen >”Hey, bitch, you been fucking around in my room?” He asks you directly >Your legs start to quiver, and a rush of adrenaline hits your system >It’s almost instinctual at this point — the terror >The fight or flight or freeze >You always freeze or flee >Both a mix of cowardice and learned behavior on your part, you figure >Dad looks ready to fuck you up something awful >You open your mouth to stammer an apology, but before you can start speaking, Jacob cuts in >”It was me,” he says with finality. “I found the gun. Not my sister.” >Jacob sneaks a look at you, and it’s so full of coldness and determination that you could swear it’s like looking at dad 15 years ago >Why? >You can understand that he hates you, but you wish you knew why? >Is it because you’re always hiding behind him? >Even now what separates you from your dad is a few feet of table and the muscular, feral frame of Jacob >”Don’t protect her,” Dad snarls. “Don’t you dare protect that fucking burden. You hear me, boy?” >”I’m not protecting her because it wasn’t her, you old fuck. I found the gun.” >Dad turns his snarl onto Jacob >”You’re talking a lot like a man. Watch your fucking mouth.” >Your brother doesn’t move >Doesn’t even flinch >”I’m a man now,” Jacob says >His voice comes out in a whisper >So quiet you can even hear your dad’s ragged breathing >”Got something to say?” He sets the bottle down on the counter to his right >He’s tender with the whiskey >Just not with anyone else >Not even mom >Jacob purses his lips and throws his gaze to the side >Dad stomps forward >”I said: you got something to say, faggot?” >Your brother cocks his head forward, staring straight down dad’s gaze >It’s like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun >”I’m a man now.” >Dad smirks >That devil smirk… >”Oh you’re a man? You’re gonna act like a man, you smart mouthed little shit.” >You close your eyes and wait for the violence to come >Nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your chest >Something clatters onto the table, stirring your nerves >And not just one thing >Several things, all bouncing off the table >Heavy, and metal, with a dense weight >Like little stones >You open your eyes >There’s a few bullets littering the table, gleaming brass in the kitchen light >”You’re a man? Take those bullets. Load that gun,” Dad says >Dad knocks the lid off the bottle of whiskey and throws it back for a dirty swig, saturating his fur >He smelled of oil and smoke, and now of his old friend Jack stain him >Jacob is already loading the gun “W-Wait!” You squeak. “J-Jake, don’t!” >Your pathetic pleading falls on deaf ears >You know he can hear you, he just doesn’t seem to care >Jacob loads the magazine into the pistol, cocks it back with a mechanical *click*, and levels it at his Father >Dad just smiles >”I won’t even move,” he says, taking another swig >Jacob is breathing hard, the strain on his face coming out in creased lines and furrowed brows >”C’mon, do it. Prove you’re some kind of man. Put one right between my eyes.” Dad says >And then he starts to laugh, but you don’t hear it >Everything goes quiet >The buzz of the light bulb above you >The sound of whiskey running down dad’s throat >His laughter >Jacob’s heaving breaths >Even your own heartbeat >All of these are thrown into a quiet abyss >Jacob’s fingers twitch >Your eyes slam shut instinctively >There’s a concussive blast that explodes against your eardrums, shattering the stasis >And you know what happened without even having to open your eyes >Dad casts an easy glance above him, at the bullet hole punched in the door frame >”I thought so. You fucking coward.” >Jacob’s whole body is trembling >Hot air rolls in and out of his heaving chest >Sweat dampens his fur, and you can smell the scent of gunpowder and smoke >He lowers the gun, slowly, like it weighed 50 pounds even >In one swift, angry movement, dad reaches forward, snatches the gun from Jacob’s shaky grip, and… >There’s a flash of silver as the butt of the pistol smashes across Jacob’s jaw >Your older brother, your guardian and protector, leans against the table for support, whole body still shaking with adrenaline and pain, blood funneling from his nose >”Don’t you EVER go messing with my shit again, you hear me? You ain’t no man, so don’t go acting like it.” >Dad quickly drains Jacob’s glass of whiskey >As if you were an after thought, he forces his attention on you >”Got something to say to me?” >You notice you’re doing a whole lot of staring and nothing else >Do you have something to say? >Should you apologize? >You didn’t really do anything wrong, right? >Jacob flashes a vulnerable look at you, his eye rapidly swelling, blood threading down his fur from the corner of his lips >There’s a silent plea in his gaze >Laid out and desperate “N-No sir. I-I’m s-s-sorry sir,” you stutter >Jacob’s eyes fall shut >”God, just listening to you talk pisses me off. Fix your damn mouth. Y-Y-Y-Y-You retard.” >”I ca-can’t he-help it-” “You’re just trying to piss me off now, aren’t you?” >No! You just… >You don’t know what to say! >Maybe it’s better to say nothing? >You open your mouth to speak but force it back shut >God you hate yourself >God you hate yourself >God you hate yourself >God you hate yourself >”Get the fuck out of here,” your father commands. “And take your pussy brother with you.” >Jacob struggles to his feet >He gives Dad a savage, bloody scowl >And then turns to face you, hate carved into the lines of his face >He grabs you by the wrist, tears leaking from his eyes >”C’mon, let’s go, Sam.” He yanks at your fur, sending pain shooting up your arm >Jacob leads you out of the kitchen like an impatient boy pulling a small puppy on a leash >It’s probably best not to resist right now >You throw one quick glance over your shoulder >Dad is sitting at the table, gun in one hand, bottle in the other, a pack of cigarettes budding from his oil-stained shirt pocket like they were white flowers >You know where you’re going >Even in the darkness, you can tell by the familiar tracks in the shattered pavement where Jacob is taking you >He does this all the time >When he’s angry >Depressed >Upset >Had a bad fight >Lost a bad fight >A train roars in the night like an invisible, incomprehensibly large animal rolling over in its sleep >The lights flicker out over head; most of them don’t even bother to come on as Jacob drags you away from home >Some time passes before he speaks, his voice tinged with fury >”What the FUCK Sam. What the FUCK is wrong with you?” >You say nothing, only swallow hard, like you understand >Best to just let him talk before you make it worse >”I mean, you could have said something. You could have done something. I- I don’t know! All you do-” He tenses his grip on your wrist >You squeak in pain as his his coarse fingers ring your wrists, pressing marks into your flesh >As long as he gets out his anger safely with you, it’s for the best >”-All you do is stutter, and cower, and hide, and wimp out, and let shit happen to you! And then to me! We’re supposed to be on the same team here, and all you fucking do is keep your head down.” >You stumble in trying to keep up with his pace >The houses thin out as grass and weeds overtake the pavement >Soon the stooped houses disappear entirely, leading only to empty warehouses, unused plots, and industrial refuse >That train horn booms in the distance, as if it knows you’re coming >”Well!?” Jacob yells >You can hear the heat in his voice >You’re almost glad you can’t make out his face in this darkness >”You gonna say something? Or are you going to keep your mouth shut like you always do when shit gets tough?” >And what can you say now, after you’ve yet again hurt your brother and fucked things up? >Good going, Sam >You had this one chance to stand up for your brother and for yourself, and you let it go >You shake your head and stay silent >”Well you’re not going to pussy out on me again. Not this time,” Jacob says from behind clenched teeth >Past the quarry >Over the river bends >Bridges >Sheds >Warehouses >Where there are no houses >Where the fields spread out even further and the stars creep out from behind clouds >You know where you’re going >Closer now >Your heart starts to hammer when you see the tracks laid into the ground >Jacob drags you down into the old pit where the train runs through, tunnels on each side >A horn blares — it’s close now, but it’s even worse because you can’t see it >He pulls you onto the tracks, gripping you by the ears >It must be instinct, because you try to sprint away >This is the way it’ll always be, you guess — you cowering and running >Your older brother was too much like Dad >He grabs you by your dangling ears and yanks hard >You scream in pain “Jacob!” You pull desperately at his hands “W-We don’t need to do this! P-Please let me go!” >Your pleas fall on deaf ears as you’re dragged onto the ties >You’re just watching for smoke in the moonlight now, sweat beading down your forehead, saturating your fur >”Shut the fuck up and stay there. You understand me? Don’t move. Not even an inch. Not until I say so.” >His words make you shiver >”One god damn inch too soon and I’ll break your legs.” >He shouts above the oncoming squeal of the train, your sensitive ears twitching at his hot whiskey breath >Your brother steps away from you, leaving you upright on the tracks, facing the opening of the tunnel >And you can see a spot of light, like an angry nail in the darkness >Growing larger >”You will not move. Not until I tell you to.” >The train whistle shrieks as the ground rumbles >”HOLD YOUR GROUND! IGNORE EVERYTHING ELSE BUT ME!” >Prove yourself >Prove your bravery >Grow the fuck up, Sam >Your brother is saying something else to you over the shuddering sound of steel barreling forward, but you can’t hear him >Everything goes quiet >The engine is roaring forward, that train shot forward like a bullet aimed right between your amber eyes >There is only you and that train >It’s so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of it >Everything is deaf, muted, blunted, a galactic mile away >Just you >And that train >The rush takes over your head, like a flood of adrenaline and blood pounding in your ear to the speed of locomotive engine piston rods >You can feel your legs again >You can hear your heart hammering in your delicate ribcage, pounding war-drums in the crevices of your skull >And you can hear Jacob at last >”Holllddddd!” Jacob shrieks over the worried blare of the train’s horn >YOU CAN FEEL YOUR LEGS AGAIN >”Holddddd!” >Don’t move >MOVE NOW! >”HOLD!” >MOVE! >The train blasts out of the tunnel, its horn screaming in panic as its brakes squeal and struggle to halt 200 tons of steel and coal-fired velocity >”HOLD!!!” >Your fear sends you toppling from the tracks onto the cold, hard dirt >You hit the ground face first, and then you just lay there as the train rumbles past you >You’re frozen in panic and pain >You don’t want to move, you don’t want to be alive >You want the thrumming beat of your heart to stop altogether >Then you look up and see Jacob towering over you, that devil-look etched into his face with his father’s hands >”That’s no dodge, you fucking coward.” >The train rolls by in the night >It’d take miles for it to come to a full stop Act 3: Something That Matters https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3IvQjtNp5I&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=19&t=0s >Wednesday morning >Your eyes crack open >You feel Sam against you, his form is as familiar as your own clothing at this point >WOW he feels warm, even through your clothing >Like a little ball of magma clinging to you >What time is it? >You check your phone >It’s only 6:30 a.m. >That explains the lack of light showering in from the crucifix-shaped window >You have another hour-and-a-half before school >You stretch out delicately as Sam shifts, his leg kicking, snared in a dream >Dawww >Usually when one of your friends falls asleep on you, you feel mildly uncomfortable >But this is not like one of these times >It just feels right to have him next to you >Alex snores away like a bulldozer crushing a field of glass bottles >You’re about to shut your eyes again when you hear someone moving around on the old wooden bench >You turn your head >Jenna is up and moving, smoothing her sweater, running her paws through her unkempt fur >She must not notice you, because she starts licking at her arm, smoothing it out with her thin, pink tongue >You wonder what it’s like to groom yourself with your tongue >It’s like always having a brush on hand! >Part of you wants to try, but the lucid part of you knows how disgusting that would be >Jenna turns to start on her other arm and bends her neck low to reach her thin wrists >When your eyes meet >… >You swear, you can almost hear the little voice inside Jenna screaming with shame >The vixen glows beet red >She tries to play off her grooming as her smoothing out the fur on her arm, briskly running her paws across her fur, back and forth >Ruffling and un-ruffling >”Morning…” she whispers, still glowing red “Were you just-” >”NO!” Her voice rings out in a thin staccato, fueled by embarrassment >She catches herself quickly and claps a palm over her muzzle >Sam shifts his body and mumbles something you can’t hear >Whatever >Not a big deal. You’ve been caught picking your nose plenty of times >Jenna points to the exit doors of the church >Immediately you know what she wants >Untangling yourself from Sam is more of a challenge than you expected >You worm your way away from him, trying to get him to lean against the back of the pew instead of on you >Gravity has other plans >The bunny slides downward, his head landing directly into the crook of your lap >…Right on your- >Yeah >You flush red and stifle a frustrated groan that swells in your throat >Fucking hell >Now what do you do? >You look to Jenna, desperate for help >But the vixen is fucking useless >She’s bent over, fighting the giggles >You can hear each one of her fits pop inside her mouth like little balloons >Foxes and their gekkering >You blush even harder as your eyebrows slope downward into a viscous scowl >Which makes you just look constipated >And makes Jenna laugh even harder >When you get out of this you swear you’re going to tell everyone she still licks herself to groom >Don’t most mammals grow out of that? >Whatever >You still gotta get Sam off >… >OF YOU >Not ‘off’ >Fuck >You slowly, very slowly, slide his head over your thigh >You plunge your hands into the tangles of his hair and fur, holding him in place so when you slip out from under him, his skull doesn’t smack the hardwood of the pews >He feels INSANELY hot to the touch >His body radiates warmth like a tiny little engine >If Sam were an engine, he’d be a dirt bike or something >You bite your lower lip >Shit >What if he’s getting sick? >With all of this going on, the last thing you need is a sick bunny >Before school you’ll go to the store and get him some medicine >But he NEEDS to be in class >You’re not going to ruin his life and get him expelled for absences >You’ve already ruined his life in one way >If he makes it out of this alive, you’d rather not have it ruined academically >Here goes nothing >You gently lift his head >Slide out underneath him >And then lay him gingerly back down on the pew >As if he were made of delicate glass >That dumb little bun just curls in on himself and doesn’t seem to even notice you’re gone >When you stand up, you have to brush off the stray strands of Sam’s fur >Uselessly doubled over on herself, Jenna is now gasping in the quiet air as she chokes back laughter >You swallow the knot of shame that’s lodged in your throat >Keep it together, Anonymous >Burn that image of her licking herself into your retinas >Jenna is still laughing as you two slip out the back doors, but once you’re outside in the brisk air, she stops >She gives you a very inquisitive look, one of her eyebrows raised in confusion >She inhales deeply through her nose >”Hold still,” she commands, before- >What the hell? >-Putting her nose on your side and sniffing >You flush red grab her by the ears and pull her away like she was a clingy toddler “What the hell are you doing?” You demand >Jenna takes one last whiff before pushing your hands off her sensitive ears >”You smell like a female in heat.” >Wat >”I smelled it last night,” she continues, oblivious to how uncomfortable and confused you are right now. >Must be instinct >“But I can’t figure out why… I’m not even close in my cycle, and even if I were, I take estrus blockers.” “C-Could be anything!” You assure her >But you’re really only assuring yourself >You have absolutely 0 idea why you’d smell like a female in heat, but the idea that you reek of something like that frightens you >Who knows how you’ve smelled this entire time? All throughout high school even? >Like a sex-drunk bitch, walking down the halls, dragging a trail of pheromones off of you? >Christ “How do you know it’s a… female’s scent?” You say, holding onto a modicum of hope >Jenna shakes her head >”Oh, no, I’m sure of it. A female in heat will be pretty noticeable. It smells a little bit like sweat or onions, only more…” she looks to the sky, as if the words were written in the fading darkness “… more sensual, seductive? Like a perfume you really like.” >Oh >You can’t say you’ve smelled anything in the church other than the lingering wisps of incense — charred and aromatic, burning your nose, but in a pleasent sort of way >”I must just be losing it. After all, I’m fighting vampires and werewolves with you guys, right?” Jenna shrugs her shoulders. “And unless you’re secretly a girl, then I’m just imagining things.” >You manage to smile a bit >Who would pretend to be the opposite sex? Like LMAO what would you gain from it? >Only an awkward weirdo would do that “I promise you, I’m not a female in heat,” you assure >the vixen nods >”Yeah I thought so. Shame though. I think you’d look cute as a girl. Anyway, plans? What are we doing?” >Ah yes, plans >You’ve been /so/ good at making and implementing those >Shit, you were just planning to run to the store really fast and get everyone some breakfast >And Sam some medicine >You tell Jenna, who volunteers to stay behind and wake up Alex >”I just wouldn’t go to The Shop N’ Save down the hill with Mike. I’ll explain later,” Jenna assures you >Sure, whatever >You’re long past the point of needing explanations for things >Though Mike is still asleep in your car >You wonder if he’d be up for a ride this early? >Afterall, it’s still dark >And cold >And Sam has your jacket still >You wrap your arms around your shivering body and stride towards your car, your chattering breath disappearing in wisps of steam >Upon investigation, you don’t find him in your car >You instead locate him a little bit down the hill, taking a leak on some low scrub brush >Probably also taking advantage of the fact that nobody /ever/ comes up here >Except your gang of degenerates >And the occasional group of punks to get drunk or trip acid >”Can I get some privacy here?” He asks, speaking to you with his back turned >He must have heard you coming “Sure, just a quick question: I’m going to the store. Want anything?” >His stream halts abruptly with ringing clarity >I M P R E S S I V E >”The Shop N’ Save?” He says, stressing the words >You clear your throat >It’s kind of awkward having to talk to him while he’s obliterating this bush >Yet, you soldier on “Yeah, Jenna told me not to take you down there-” >He raises his hand as if he were unpausing the conversation and starts peeing again >”Yeah, she’s got a point. If you’re getting food, bring back some donuts and maybe some Halloween candy. Peanut butter cups’ll do.” “And what do we say?” >All he has to do is say please >You don’t like being ordered around, especially by him >Instead he says the wrong thing >”I’ll pay you back. You know Mikey’s good for it,” he says, bending his neck around so you can see his smile >And the fangs that push between his teeth >You’re reminded that he still owes you like a whole six pack “Not what I meant, dude. Try asking again.” >His smile collapses as he sighs >You can even see him do a quick eye roll >”Shit, right. Sorry. PLEASE would you get some donuts and Halloween candy?” “That’s better.” >You wring a smile out of your minor victory >Shit if he just asks nicely you’ll get all kinds of candy for him >You grab your keys, plug your phone into your cigarette lighter which hosts a charging plug, and soon you’re off, traveling on barren roads under lightening skies >Brilliant orange sunlight strokes the clouds, tracing them in flame >The little shops and the houses lay dormant and dark, save for the occasional parent meandering to their car for their morning commute >Still plenty of time to get to school after breakfast, and you could use the solitude right now >You’ve always been introverted, as evidenced by your small squadron of friends and relatively brief social interactions >Or you’re just a boring, shy, coward >Nah, you’ve got a lot of positives >You’re patient >You flick your turn signal on and coast into the Shop N’ Save’s lot >You’re brave >You slide easily into a parking space, given that there’s practically nobody here this early >And you’ve got this kind of wisdom that only years of introversion and observation can cultivate >It’s not street smarts, but you do think you’ve got a good head on your shoulders >You’re gonna make it, brah >Walking into the Shop N’ Save, you’re assaulted by colors like you owe them money >Namely orange and black >There’s plastic pumpkins on a big pile of hay at the front >Halloween streamers run the length of the candy aisle, which is completely stocked and loaded up with massive packages of chocolates and sweets >Fake plastic skeletons hang their feet on top of the shelves, and for a fleeting moment you’re reminded of the fact that there is a skellington inside of you right this very moment >v v v v spooky >Anyway, the pharmacy is closed, but there’s still plenty of over-the-counter pills to go around >You can’t help but notice the ‘feminine care’ section is picked clean >All the scent masks >All the estrus blockers >Completely gone >Well, you didn’t come here for that stuff >You swipe a bottle of pain pills off a high shelf >Turning over the bottle, you see that it also advertises itself as a fever reducer >There, this’ll set Sam straight >Heh, ‘straight’ >You still never found out if he was gay or not… >… Or if you are at this point >Too bad you chickened out >Not like it matters anymore >He only makes your heart beat a little faster >And you only care a lot about him >Y-You’re just good bros >With the peanut butter cups, donuts, a gallon of iced coffee, and medicine for Sam, you cruise on back to the church just as the light begins to hit the roads >It drains through the retreating clouds, washing everything in a delicate salmon-pink >You take your time getting back to the old church, slowing down as you take a short detour through a couple of neighborhoods >The houses are all strung up with cheesy decorations like fake graveyards and glowing plastic jack-o'-lanterns >To be honest, you fucking love Halloween >It feels like the border between the living and the dead becomes thinner right around the 31st >And with all the grass and leaves dying, you can totally see how your ancestors would have thought this was a sacred time where magic abounds >Unfortunately, given all that’s happened… they weren’t entirely wrong >But hey, some good has come of this >Mike is your friend again, maybe more so than ever >You’re going to save the world >Alex is still Alex >Jenna is on your side >And Sam >You got to know that little faggot who you used to hate, and you found out he’s a lot braver than you think >He’s just a good kid in crappy circumstances >You almost wish he was here next to you, enjoying the scenery >He probably doesn’t celebrate any holidays because of his shithead father >Your stomach ties in knots >His dad is still lurking somewhere >Hunting you and his son >Like some kind of primitive animal stalking its prey >The thought is enough to make you floor it back to the church >You all sit on the caved in hood of your car, munching down on the sickly sweet donuts, watching your chilled breaths disappear into the lightening sky >Every bite tastes fills your mouth with pillowy dough and semi-sweet chocolate >Sam holds his donut in front of his face >He cautiously sniffs it, his pink nose twitching as he drinks in the rich scent of freshly fried dough and glazed chocolate >Alex laughs, sending bits of mushy donut onto the pavement >”Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten a donut before,” he says, taking a large, messy bite out of his own >Sam looks at Alex, his mouth forming a soft and nervous frown >Which says everything >”JHESHUS CHRISHT” Alex says through mouthfuls of donut >You pat Sam on the head, lightly digging your fingers into his oily fur “Just try it, dude. I promise you’ll really like it,” you say, ignoring Alex’s obvious wink >You don’t care >You’re going to comfort this lil’ bunny while he has his first fucking donut ever >You almost feel like you should be recording this >Like a baby’s first steps >As you lightly scratch at the skin beneath Sam’s fur, his leg starts softly kicking >Almost like you found some kind of button connected to his stout haunches >And even though everyone is looking at you, you don’t care >It’s cute as fuck the way his powerful legs pound into your door >Sam opens his mouth and extends a rounded edge of the donut past his teeth >He takes a meager bite >Almost instantly his eyes shoot open with glee >Then he takes a huge bite out of his chocolate frosted donut, chewing thoughtfully and savoring the taste >When he looks up into your eyes, their bright with pure affection and adoration >As if he was silently singing praise unto you for introducing donuts into his lowly existence >Y-You too >You stop scritching his fur and instead draw an anxious hand to the back of your neck >Those big gooey eyes make you all gooey inside too >You don’t even want to LOOK at Alex right now >But you can’t help but look over >And yeah, his eyebrows are shooting up and down, his face painted with an expression that says ‘You gonna kiss him?’ >But it’s Jenna’s confused glare that catches your attention more >She’s staring in disbelief right at Sam as he mindlessly hews off hunks of his donut with his quick moving mouth >Jenna’s nose twitches like mad as she sniffs at the air >Her head tilts to the side in astonishment >What is so perplexing about the way Sam smells? >You can only smell damp earth and the cold coffee… >…Which Sam is now taking massive swigs of >Oh boy caffeinated rabbits >Jenna shakes her head in disbelief and focuses her attention back on her half-eaten donut >”Thanks for the food, Anon,” Mike says, leaning back onto the hood with a cup of coffee in hand. “It’s been way too long since I had proper food, you know?” >Proper food >Lol “Don’t mention it. And hey, if you need blood-” >”Pass,” he waves a vacant hand at you >You can’t help but feel slightly offended >”I’ll be fine for a while longer. Besides, your blood probably tastes terrible.” >Okay now you’re actually kind of offended “Implying there’s good tasting blood?” >Mike just stares off at the empty space >”I’m sure there is, dude. I’m not really all the way into this yet.” >He looks pretty zoned out >Or angry >But not at you >Like, his future is basically over >And he seems to know it >But a part of him — a part of you — wants to fight for that future >And you can feel it >School drags on with all the urgency of a stoned turtle >You spend most of your time pacing outside of Sam’s classrooms, checking inside every so often to make sure that he’s okay >Almost always he’s near the back, idly doodling on a loose scrap of paper or staring out a window >How the hell this kid makes any passing grades is beyond you >You guess that if you had to put up with the shit that he does back at home, school would be pretty low on your priorities list as well >You’re just thankful that he doesn’t have any classes with any goths >And that his dad hasn’t come to school yet >You feel like a helicopter parent >You spend the few minutes you have not stalking Sam fraternizing with Jenna, Mike and Alex, who all rode with you to school >And are damn sure leaving with you. No more running away separately >The plan, you all decide, is to head to your house after school and get some supplies and hang out there versus sleeping in the church >Your half-baked ‘plan’ seems to be the only thing with some semblance of stability >Because your fellow students sure as hell aren’t acting like shining beacons of peace, tolerance and stability >All the fighting and violence you saw yesterday? >It’s only escalated >The hallways are no longer fast-moving streams of hormonal bodies, but are giant moving clusters of mammals surrounding fight after fight, fur flying into the air and claws rending into flesh >When two groups pass each other, it’s liable to end in friction >Like two gears moving in opposing direction >You just try and stick to yourself as the hours count by, as teachers rush bruised and bloody students to the nurse’s office, and as the administrative staff grows increasingly worried that they won’t be able to weather this storm >By the time school ends, you’ve nearly been jumped twice just for being a human >Or not belonging to any social cliques >And every time a rival group jumped in to save you — not that they intended to. They just happened to have a bigger problem with the group that was assailing you than you than they had with boring, lonely old Anon >Primarily, it was jocks who targeted you, looking more and more feral with each passing moment >The humans were starting to grow facial hair and unsightly body hair, rippling out of their cliche letterman jackets, shearing the red and white fabric >They’re getting taller and bulkier too, shoulders pulling outwards more with muscles bulging underneath their skin >And the other mammals? They’re starting to look more wolfish — their ears are coming up in points, their snouts are narrowing into aggressive muzzles >You observe all of this as you plaster yourself against the wall outside Sam’s classroom >The bell rolls over and kicks itself as the proverbial floodgates open up >Students pour out of open doors in great throngs, but all too quickly there’s more skirmishes between the different groups of mammals >Sam wanders out of class (last, again) >Your hands shoot out and find his own before he can register what’s happening >He gives a startled squeak until he realizes it’s your own hands that are pressed into his “God damn, kid. What took you so long?” You say, tugging him down the hall >He evens up the pace and falls in line next to you >”A-A-Are you mad at me?” He says, looking up at you >You slink past a pair of ugly looking punks by pressing yourself and Sam into the lockers >The colorful group of mammals — mostly hyenas and weasels — pass by without incident “No, just… you know that there’s people out there who want to hurt you, right?” You say >Okay maybe you’re a little upset >He was taking this whole thing too lightly, you feel >”S-Sorry,” he says pointing his eyes to the floor >Sudden pangs of guilt wash over you “I just want to keep you safe, is all.” >You’re filled with determination >Your march is bold, proud, determined… Your face says “DON’T FUCK WITH ME OR MY BUNNY” >And nobody does >Not even when you pass Vanessa >She just stares after you from behind a black veil, her eyes sunken in from all the eyeliner and sleeplessness >Swallows of black coffee and cigarettes hold her body aloft >She wouldn’t risk an attack in the open, would she? >After all, her two most important targets are right in front of he- >Ah >Mike joins you at your side >That’s why she hasn’t attacked yet >Mike look especially pissy today, his eyes simmering with the desire to belt someone in the face >And then Jenna falls in beside him, her head on a cautious swivel >She steers your walk down an even busier hall that leads out to the parking lot >Not the direction you’d take, but hey, you’re not going to complain >It’s fairly roundabout, but anything to keep the bun safe >Alex casually brings up the rear, his gaunt form looming over the group >”Same plan?” He says “Same plan,” you acknowledge, still glaring straight ahead >When you get outside, you see that the parking lot is absolute chaos >Cars dart in every direction — almost as if they’re trying to ram one another >But you’re not playing this game >Not even when an SUV nearly clips Mike >Your short, stocky friend, reaches out his hand… >…And scrapes into the SUV’s paint, peeling up the metal like he were a human can opener >Jesus Christ >That’s some real vampire shit >Mike only scowls as the driver lays on the horn and stomps on the brakes >”C’mon kiddies, everyone to Anon’s shit beater,” Mike says, casually strolling towards your car, paying the driver he just clawed no mind “Well fuck you too, buddy. You can walk,” you say sarcastically >”Bet I’d still beat you there,” Mike replies >You all pile into your car, just like this morning >The sun was already starting on its way down, shooting godrays across your dashboard “Anyone need the heat?” You say >Mike climbs up in the passenger seat >”Not when I’m here,” he jokes >hurrrr durrrr >But he might be right, >You look behind you, and everyone is crammed so closely together you can’t help but assume that they’re trading body heat >Alex is sitting in the center >Jenna and Sam are at his flank, looking incredibly uncomfortable >Especially Sam, whose pink nose is wrinkling in earnest >He probably smells something really strong, because his face is once again pulsing with a blush >Maybe Alex farted… >No, because Jenna is squinting at Sam, processing something wordlessly >You just remember you forgot to give Sam his medicine >Well, when you get to your house, you’ll remember >Because everything will be as it should be, and you’ll finally get some reprieve >Everything is not as it should be >Ohhhh everything is far from that >Let’s start with your kicked in front door >It sits in two splinters, loosely suspended on its hinges >”It could be the wind,” Alex observes quite dumbly >No, it was not the wind >It was someone with huge, powerful legs >Or… something… >Moving into the house, there’s more shit that’s fucked up >First off: everything is in disarray >Tables and chairs knocked over >Couches on their sides >Jesus Christ someone had to be really strong >Or really mad >To do this >The TV sports a massive hole in it that’ll cost you your non-existent college fund >The fridge is open and food is everywhere >And >You sprint to your room >It’s completely destroyed >Everything is upside down, smashed, or seemingly tossed against the wall >That includes your PC “Muh rig,” you whisper, staring down at the shattered and snapped silicone pieces >”I’m just going to assume you don’t normally live like this,” Jenna observes with suspicion, speaking low. “So it looks like someone knows where you live.” “Right,” you say, bending over a torn sleeping bag from the night that Alex and Sam slept in your house. “So, we’re sure as hell not staying here until Friday. Take what we need — extra clothes, money, beer…” your eyes quickly sweep over Sam, who is sniffing at the air. “Soap…” >”Speaking of soap,” Jenna cuts in. “I want to shower.” >”Same,” Mike agrees >You’re dumbstruck “My house just got broken into and trashed and you want to shower… here… now?” >”It’s not like they’ll come back. They already broke in and didn’t find what they were looking for,” Jenna says, kicking at your tossed up bedsheets. “Besides, I have something I want to test.” “What did you want to test, if humans bathe with their tongues?” You fold your arms across your chest >Jenna blushes >”Oh fuck off… I just want to test something with Sam. You go get him to shower.” “Is this really urgent? Like, do we need to do this now?” You hiss >Mike is already stripping off his clothes >”You two have five seconds to get out of here before I’m naked,” he says >Jenna’s neck turns on a dime >Her blush only strengthens when she sees Mike’s half-naked body struggling to get out of a pair of jeans >Sam comes rolling in to the room with a Dr. Bepper in hand >”W-What’s going on in he-” >You shield his delicate little eyes from the sight of Mike’s stocky, shirtless body >Nobody deserves to see that >Jenna squeals and slaps Mike on the back >”God damnit, put your clothes back on until you get to the bathroom!” She cries >Mike lurches forward from the blow >”Jesus! Claws!” He wheezes. “Fucking snapjaw!” >You gasp >Sam gasps >Jenna snarls >”What did you just say?” >”I-” Mike struggles his shirt back on his head. “It just kind of slipped ou-” >Jenna growls deep in her chest and bares her fangs >”Go shower, Sapone, or I’m going to bite your dick off.” >”I’m going, Christ. Watch the claws next time!” He hobbles through the doorway, past Sam, his pants still barely on >You lead Sam up to your shower, grabbing a towel from your room >He’s still slurping on his Dr. Bepper >”W-Where are we going?” He asks as you flick on hallway lights “Jenna thinks it’s best if everyone gets a shower in,” you grumble, clearly unhappy with the decision “It doesn’t look like whoever fucked up your house did anything to the bathrooms, strangely enough >Sam pales >”S-Shower?! I-I-I don’t need to s-shower or b-bathe with yo-” >Wew lad “Slow down there buddy, you and I aren’t showering together. You’re showering by yourself. And yes, you do need a fucking shower.” >Man, you’re awfully pissy >You run the water in your bathroom “There’s shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap,” you say, pointing to all the dark blue bottles lining the shower floor “Oh, and this is for you. You’ve been burning hot since this morning,” you practically throw the little pill at him >”W-What is this?” He squeaks “Just take it,” you sigh. “I’m going to go keep watch. You know how to use a shower, right?” >Damn >You’re REALLY pissy >The bunny nods, clearly hurt, >His greasy bangs fall across his eyes >You shut the door on him as the hiss of the shower starts up >You slide backwards with a tremendous sigh. “Fucccck,” you mutter as you lean into the door >You were hoping to be able to spend the rest of the week here, where there’s beds and bathrooms and showers >But now either Sam’s dad or the goths know where you live >They could have easily got your information from the school >Or followed you one day >Or >Bleh >It doesn’t matter >If your information is compromised, then so is everyone else's’ >There’ll be no holing up at Jenna’s, Mike’s, or Alexi’s >Nope, just more nights at the fucking church >Jehsush Chroist >You are Sam >Oh shit oh fuck oh fuck >It smells like Anonymous in here >Every breath you take coats your lungs in his scent >Your insides are starting to feel hot and confused, like balloons knotted together >The illustrious human musk — kind of sour, masculine, spicy, is your drug >You’ve been addicted to it ever since you met Anon >Or maybe it’s just him? >You run your hands through your long-ish hair >You are really, really greasy, and you do need a shower >But the whole room is spinning something awful >You quickly down the pill Anon gave you >Maybe you are getting sick? >Or… >Worse… You’re in your cycle >You gasp, but that only serves to put more of Anon in your lungs >Being in heat right now is absolutely not what you or anyone else needs >Christ, why are you such a burden to everyone? >Even Anon seemed pissed off at you >You jump 10 feet into the air when you hear a light rapping on the door >”Yo, dude, are you going to shower? Because I have to go after you,” Anon says, his voice tired and uninterested “Y-Yes!” You stammer, shucking your ratty hoodie and whipping it onto the sink >“Good,” Anon says with a flatness to his tone. “Just don’t clog the drain with fur.” >”R-Right!” >You tug on the waistband of your pants with hesitation >Your eyes flick over to the door >As quiet as a mouse (though they’re not that quiet, in actuality. One of your neighbors was a mouse and she was up all night ‘squeaking’ most night) you jiggle the knob and find that the lock holds >Unlike back home >But you’re not thinking of /that/ home. You don’t live there anymore >You finally lose the pants >And there you stand, in the mirror, wearing a stained white undershirt and a pair of old boxers >Your meager breasts stand like little bumps against the thin white fabric of the shirt >You delicately palm them and wonder why you even have them? >You’re still a woman, you know that much is true >You’re just not a good woman >You could never make Anon- Y-You mean, any man, happy >So why do you care so much? >The most feminine feature you posses, you think, is your hips and thighs >Because of your slender, delicate frame, your prominent haunches look simply ridiculous >Even as emaciated as you are, your thighs are rounded and powerful, nature-built for sprinting and kicking >Put all of this in one body and you’re like a badly cobbled together art project >Your proportions are all wrong >You lift your shirt just a little bit, blushing all the while >Here goes nothing >One a quick motion you jerk your shirt off, tugging it over your long ears >And there you stand, again >A brown Mini-Rex rabbit, wearing nothing but her boxers, blushing furiously >It must be the scent of Anonymous in here that’s throwing you off >You shake your head again to try and loosen your… urges… >But it’s no use >Maybe a shower will help? >Building a curtain of steam, you take probably longer than you should under the rinse >But… >… You actually got to shower for the first time in a /long/ time, and that feels like heaven >You look into the fogged mirror, wiping aside a layer of mist with your paws >With your fur freshly scrubbed, hair shampooed and conditioned and laying in thick, wet strands across your face, you feel… >…Cute? >Pretty? >Oh god >Are you pretty? >No >This is just the heat talking >You’ve n-never been pretty >You’re just a dumb useless rabbit >Still >When you lean in closer, you can’t help but feel a gentle tinge of heat come into your cheeks >You drop your slender, rounded shoulders and summon a deep, misty breath >With unsure eyes, you scan over your body, lightly twisting your long, floppy ears that hang down like two useless snakes growing from your scalp >You let a wandering finger trace their pink insides before smoothing the fur out across your face >Your nose and whiskers wrinkle at your own gentle touch >You run your hand through your hair and push it back >It’ll dry soon >Now, it’s time for the real moment of truth >You close your eyes and slowly exhale a knot of nervous air >The towel drops in a damp pile around your feet >You’ve done it >You’re totally naked >You haven’t been totally naked in… >… Well it’s been a long time >With appraising eyes and wandering fingers you scan over your still sodden body, its fur matted down with warmth >You have a thin, almost emaciated midsection that draws down from your upper torso >Dotting your chest are two pink nipples, suspended on your two palmable breasts, hanging softly above your quite visible ribcage >Your bones are delicate and fragile, almost hollow >Like a bird’s >You travel down further to where your waist pinches in >And then bows out again gently with noticeable exaggeration >Set back powerfully are your haunches, which meld into your rather apparent thighs >And between them… >You shiver as you brush a finger over your sensitive clit >… Is the pink slit of your sex >You’ve never known how to feel about this, since girls aren’t tough, and vaginas aren’t either… >… Is what you tell yourself >Jacob wanted you to be tough >Dad wanted you to be his son >But you couldn’t be either of those things >You don’t feel like a boy — you know you’re not >No matter how hard you try, you can’t make it happen >You can only pretend for Jacob’s memory and Dad’s approval >You’ve done it for so long that you hardly know your feminine side. But it’s there, lurking beneath your sensitive skin >And you don’t feel brave >You just feel like a weakling >So you pretend to be someone you’re not, so you can be strong >Just like Jacob would have wanted >Still… >You give a quick spin >Your poofy tail flairs out, and you catch a quick glimpse of your naturally padded buttocks >Glutes from all the running and from what nature gave you >And that’s just how rabbits are built, you guess >Oh God >Your face flushes as you think back to the cheerleader who absolutely M O G G E D you in the hallways yesterday >D-Do you honestly compete with her? >Better question: do you think you do? >God, deep in your tiny, fluttery little heart, you hope so >But you’d never admit that >Nobody finds you attractive >Anon is just so nice to you since you’re his friend >Yeah >You’re friends >You don’t have feelings for him! >Even though being near him makes your heart start to race >And when you’re with him all the noise in your head just goes quiet >It’s like nothing else matters >He’s handsome, and kind, and brave, and you’re so glad he’s your… >… friend >Oh who the hell are you kidding >He’s you knight in shining armor, Jesus fucking Christ >Your knight in shining armor bangs loudly on the door, sending you 10 feet into the air >”Yo Samuel. Sammy. Sammethy. You done in there?” “J-Just a minute!” You scramble to throw on your clothes >And you check one last time for hair in the drain >Thankfully, you managed to scoop all your loose trimmings into the trashcan >You don’t want to offend Anon >After all, he’s probably not used to having anthros in his house >You and Jenna need to set positive examples >You open the door and slip on out, fully clothed, but still damp >A trail of steam follows you >Anon looks up at you, his trailing his eyes from the red book suspended in his palms over to you >You nervously brush your hair out of your eyes “I-I’m done,” you say >For whatever reason you feel extra self-conscious, just standing there in the hallway, still wet, wearing some crusty old clothes >Anon studies you with interest before slapping the red book shut and loosening his tie >”Lookin’ sharp, kid. My turn.” Anon slides past you, and you just stand there like some kind of gawking idiot >“I promise I’ll be quick,” he says >The door slams with a *WHOMF* and the hiss of the shower can be heard not long after >You… You don’t know what to do now >You’ve always waited for someone to tell you what to do and where to go >Your eyes scan the hallways, lined with shattered family portraits >You bounce a little on your heels >What now? >Ah >Wait >Doesn’t Anonymous have a comic book collection? >Oh my fuck he does >You bound off down the hallway, using your nose to sniff out Anon’s room >Finding his is easy: It’s the one that smells the most like a mix of sweat, cologne and human musk >The smell hits you like a massive wave, and in an instant, you’re dizzy >You steady yourself on the doorframe >Your head swims through the musk, drawing your legs into a mechanical trot through the doors >Unwashed clothes are strewn about the floor like land mines of pheromones >Wew >You can hardly think straight >And it’s by sheer luck that you manage to wander over to Anon’s book shelves >You find the comics, but you’re barely reading >Mostly just sitting there with an open copy of Superman, rubbing your thighs together absentmindedly >It might be time to admit your heat is getting to you >… >Nah, you’ll be okay. You can control this >Anon casually strolls into the room wearing nothing but a towel >[Thigh rubbing intensifies] >You squeak loudly and shield your eyes with a copy of The Man of Steel >Anon jumps back >”Oh FUCK, dude!” His hands fly to his waist >He tightens the towel around his midsection >But your eyes still creep over the top of your hastily constructed visual barrier to catch a glimpse of his bare, hairless chest >”What are you doing in here?” He asks breathlessly >You can’t tell for sure, but is his face going scarlet? >You forget to answer >You’re just… >Staring >Possibly drooling >Anon snaps his fingers >”Yo, dude. I need to change. So just like… turn around or something.” “W-WHAT!?” You practically shriek >Anon looks at you with an expression of confusion >”I’m going to change. In my own room. Is that not okay with you?” “Y-You mean like you-your’re g-going to b-b-b-be naked?” >A moment of silence passes >Anon blinks a few times and droops his shoulders >”I mean… yes. I planned on it. I’m not wearing anything except this towel right now.” He pats his hip >You can’t help but watch the whole thing, eyes wide >come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a naked human before >Sure you’ve seen shirtless humans (briefly), but never… >Oh god >Your heat is so fucking bad >This is bad >Anon, oblivious as fucking usual, turns around and starts grabbing underwear, socks and a pair of jeans from his drawers >”I-” you stand up, still shielding your eyes with a copy of superman >Just put down the comic >C’mon >His back muscles are probably so hot >Maybe the towel will slip off >And maybe he’ll turn around >And maybe he’ll say to you: >’Sam, I want to make sweet, gentle love to you.’ >OH GOD WHAT IF HE DOES GET NAKED WITH YOU IN THE ROOM >HE STILL THINKS YOU'RE A BOY >You open your mouth to stammer out an apology, but the sound of heavy, damp fabric hitting the carpet makes your heart stop >He did it >He’s naked >”Turn around a sec,” Anon says quite casually >You oblige, absolutely GLOWING RED in the face >Quickly you drop the comic and start tugging painfully at your ears >Stupid >Stupid >Why did you think you could just WALTZ right into Anon’s musky room and start going through his shit? >Stupid >Well, he doesn’t seem to care too much, so maybe this isn’t entirely a fuck up on your behalf >Maybe he’s just really mad at you and he isn’t showing it >Oh god, he’s probably so mad >Well good going fucktard, you fucked up something else >Dad was right >Still clenching your ears, you (very stupidly and impulsively) turn around and begin to apologize profusely >…Which was the wrong move >Anonymous, bare-chested and in a pair of boxers, stands in front of you, one leg shoved down the length of his pants >Your eyes meet >And for a brief second, nobody moves >You’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating >Anon is glowing red, his mouth working like he’s trying to say something >You slut >”Sam?” “Y-Yes…?” >”Are you gay?” “…I g-guess not.” >Anon slips his other leg into his pants and hikes them up to his waist >He studies you >”…Because if you are, I won’t judge you.” >You don’t realize you’re breathing hot, sultry breaths >Or that you haven’t taken your eyes off of him >Or that you’re gently rubbing your thighs together “I…” you start to answer, but Anon interjects impatiently >”Would you… just… turn around, or something?” >… >Ah, right >You blink yourself back to reality >You turn to face Anon’s bookshelf in shame while Anonymous throws on the rest of his clothes >”Do you feel better?” He asks in a concerned tone >What? >NO! There’s a fire in your heart! >…A-And between your legs “Wh-What do you m-mean?” You ask, because you’re curious >”From the fever. You were burning up this morning. Thought I was going to have to pretend to be your dad and get you out of school or something.” “O-Oh.” You nervously dig your feet into the carpet >He thinks you have a fever >Can you imagine if he really knew the truth? >You clutch your ears tightly >He can never know >Nobody can ever know what a weak bitch you really are “Y-Yeah, I f-f-feel a lot b-bett-tter. T-Thanks for the m-medicine. B-Besides I-I don’t think I-I have an-any more s-s-sick days left.” >”Christ,” Anonymous says. “Did your dad keep you home a few days?” >You struggle to keep your eyes forward >All you want to do is turn around and drink in Anon’s unremarkable body >Sure, he’s not ripped >He’s just… an average build, slightly tall >But to you, he’s your superhero >He’s your Man of Steel >Geeze, humans must take awhile to get dressed >”Sam?” Anon asks again “S-Sorry. I w-was t-thinking. Yeah I-I got sick f-for a week an-and some d-d-days I just ca-can’t go to sc-school. T-T-T-Too much g-going on a-a-at home.” >”With you and your dad? Where’s your mom in all of this? And your brother? You mentioned you had a brother, I think.” ”Mom is…” your eyes fall to the copy of Superman at your feet >Your courage seems to drain out through your toes >No >You’re brave, damnit >You promised Jacob you’d be brave and strong “…Gone. I d-don’t kn-know where s-she w-went. Dad said s-she ra-ran away because of me and Jake.” >Anon hums In thought >There’s a quick hiss as he applies a shot of cologne to his chest >The sweet, slightly bitter scent hits your nostrils instantly >It’s pleasant and sharp, and your nose seems addicted to it >”Jake… is that your brother?” ”Uh-huh.” >”Were you two tight?” “W-What?” >”Sorry. Were you two close?” >Your heart catches in your chest >Yes, you were close >But at times, you were distant >Jacob was your protector, your guardian angel >He tried to teach you how to be strong >How to defend yourself >Stand up for yourself and others >But he had too much of Dad in him >Too much bitterness swallowed down like each hard pull on Dad’s bottles >Too much vitrol, spite, choking on it at times >He’d turn against you sometimes >Other times he was downright psychotic >But you knew it was always done out of a desire to make you tougher >Like an Indian Summer, he wouldn’t be around forever >And he must have known it, somewhere deep inside of him, where the whiskey rotted his guts >You only helped accelerate that >When you… >You know… >On the tracks- >”Dude!” >Anon drags your hands away from your ears, his heavy fingers ringing around your slender wrists >”You’re going to hurt yourself!” >Your eyes crack open >Anon has your hands forced against your sides before you even realize what you’re doing >For the first time in years, pain rings dully in your ears, like a pulsing heartbeat >”Christ almighty, kid. You scared me.” “S-Sorry,” you squeak helplessly. “I-I didn’t m-mean t-to do it. I j-just th-thought of my-” >”Brother?” >You nod >”You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was so hard for you.” >You squeeze your eyes shut again, and all you see is Jacob’s worn face, eyes sunken in and smoldering with anger, like Dad’s >He haunts the pinks of your eyes and the space behind your skull >The image of that day on the tracks comes rushing back to you, and your legs start to tremble >God DAMNIT! Jacob didn’t die so you could continue to be a coward! >You aren’t alone anymore! You have people that care about you >People that love you >The fact that you’re even in a friend’s house right now is proof of that >Your trembling subsides into little tremors that you press into the carpet >You suck in some of the cologne-y diffused air >Here goes nothing >Time to play all of your cards (except, obviously, your most important one) “M-My brother is d-d-d-d-dead,” you say, exhaling the tightness of your chest on the last syllables >Anon tightens his grip, as if anticipating another anxiety attack >You slacken the muscles in your shoulders and arms >Like some kind of scared animal injected with morphine, your tension stymies >”I had no idea. I’m sorry,” he says, after a silence that drags on for far too long >His grip comes loose as he feels you go soft >You inspect the scarlet rings pressed into your skin encircling your wrists >Nothing you can’t handle >Strange, this time it was done out of concern, and not out of rage “I-It’s okay. W-We were cl-close, b-but i-it was f-four years a-ago,” you breathe out, still not able to turn around and face Anonymous. “I-I need to g-g-get over i-it already.” >”Shit, right before you started high school?” “Y-Yeah. T-The summer before…” >You wait for another question, but only feel Anon shifting behind you >You feel two pairs of gentle, stiff arms slip around your scrawny midsection >Anon pulls you against him, into a hug >You can feel the rigidity of his whole body against yours >The sharp angles of a boy, the arc of his body bent over yours >The gentle fabric of his shirt >The coarseness of his jeans digging into your back >You take in a whiff of his cologne, his clean-smelling deodorant, his freshly scrubbed hair and skin >Your legs go weak, and you dissolve backwards into your friend >That’s right >You’re safe >He’s your friend >”You know?” Anon’s voice is deep and scratchy so close to your ears >You like the way it sends shivers up and down your body >Like little veins of electricity >You even like the feel of his chin digging into your shoulder flesh >You just like… him >”For all the shit you’ve gone through, you’re really strong.” >Your heart sinks in your chest ”I-I-I d-don’t th-” >”It’s true,” he says in a low, gentle voice, sending more electricity coursing through your nerves. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.” >How can he say that, after what your cowardice did — what it continues to do to people? >But you thank him meekly anyway, hoping he never lets go >You are Anonymous >And there’s a trillion things you pretend not to notice, as you buckle your seatbelt >You pretend not to notice how wet from the shower everyone still is as they pile into your car >You pretend not to notice all the doe-eyes Sam is making at you as he buckles into the passenger seat >…Though you secretly like it >You pretended not to notice (or care) when Mike and Alex come out of your house with armload of beer and Dr. Beppers >You just want to go >Because you’re pretending not to notice the rusted sedan down the block >The one that’s been idling there for some time >”Everyone done pillaging my house?” You ask, sounding annoyed and slightly nervous. “Because I’d like to get a move on before Dracula over there bites my dick off.” >”C’mon baby, you know I’m good for it.” Mike massages the shoulders of your seat. “Besides, you know Comrade Alexi will give us a proletariat’s discount to get more.” >”I think I’m fired,” Alex says, quite unconcerned “Was it me?” You ask >Alex shrugs. “Nahhhhh I haven’t showed up in a couple of days.” >Mike’s smile is brighter than Jenna’s chance at making Valedictorian >”Awwww hell yeah man, I didn’t know you were on the schedule. Nice going,” Mike says >”Also when we rescued you, I may have attacked my boss.” >”Alex, I’d kiss you right now if it wouldn’t make Anon jealous,” Mike says >You sigh and pretend not to notice Mike’s bullshit as you put the car into gear >You do NOT have time for this >Nor the fortitude either >As you slip out of the neighborhood, that rusted sedan follows, but turns left when you go right >Must have just been someone lost >Still… >As you drive you can’t help but see that rusted sedan everywhere as you sail down the main road and up the hill >It’s just never right behind you, at least for long >Always turning out of shopping centers and then breaking a hard right down unassuming neighborhoods, and then popping up again somehow >You roll into the church’s cracked lot, the sedan an even distance behind you >Everyone, carelessly, piles out of the car >The sedan pauses on the road running past the church >Alright something is going on >Something you really don’t like >Sam is fast asleep next to you as everyone else piles out >You nudge him with your elbow >His eyes delicately flutter open “Hey.” You lean over and whisper in his ear. “Stay down, okay? Don’t sit up. Not for any reason.” >He looks around impulsively, and then, meeting your eyes, nods >You lean back in your seat as well, keeping an eye on the crossroads that lead into the church >The rusted sedan rolls on by without interest >You try to make out who might driving, but the windows are so dark that it only just reflects back your shitheap vehicle like a fun house mirror >It only serves to make your car even more awful looking >Apparently uninterested, the rusted vehicle continues on down the road, and then down the hill, until it disappears and melds into the rest of traffic >At last, the car disappears in a cloud of dust down at the end of the road, tanking down the hill >You lean up fully and stretch your arms >Sam follows your lead >You swear you’ve seen that car once before, but you can’t place where >… >It’s not unlikely it was just trying to get to the opposite end of town while avoiding traffic >That’s what most of the cars who pass by the church are doing anyway >”W-What was that?” Sam asks >His seatbelt comes undone with a janky *click* >The belts are old and probably do more harm that good at this point “Probably nothing,” you admit. “I’m just being paranoid.” >And maybe you were >”O-Oh.” Sam looks around >His hair is feathery and soft looking when its washed >It falls across his face like a wispy spools of brown thread >If he didn’t look feminine before… BOI, now he does >He looks like he’s got something he wants to say as his mouth does that thing where it half-opens and half-closes, accented by little murmurs >”Th-Thanks for letting m-me s-s-s-shower and fo-for listening to m-me back there,” he says in his strongest voice. >Ah, straight to the point >He’s getting bolder >You like this new Sam >And liking him makes you smile “Don’t mention it,” you say as you undo your own seatbelt >It’s already starting to get cold in the car as the sun slopes downward in the western sky “C’mon, let’s get inside,” you say, popping open your door >Mike is waiting patiently on concrete steps to the church “You gonna crash in my car again?” You ask, fully ready to launch the keys at him >He nurses a beer >One of your dad’s beers, you might add >Ah well, everything is fucked anyway. Dad’ll understand. >”Sam?” Mike jerks his chin up at the rabbit. “Can you go wait inside with Jenna and Alex? There’s something I want to talk to Anon about.” >Sam looks up at you, as if seeking approval >You nod and flash a quick smile “They don’t bite,” you assure him. This seems to do the trick, as the rabbit hesitantly leaves your side and makes for the back of the church >You and Mike watch him disappear into the dark >”He’s got it bad for you, dude.” >You sigh deeply “That’s what everyone keeps saying, but Sam tells me he’s not gay. I don’t know what to make of it.” >There’s a long pause >And then the sound of a train rolling by down the steep hill punctures the night and presses little earthquakes into the dirt >”Well, look. We’re not here to discuss Sam’s sexuality — or yours either.” >You flip him off, but his reaction is steady and cold, never taking his eyes off you >”I’m just wondering if I need to stay at home. Sit this out.” “What? Mike Sapone does not sit things out. Whatever happened to breaking every finger on th-” >”Do you think we’re safe here?” He interjects “And I mean, do you think that whoever or whatever fucked your house up… knows where the rest of us live?” >You shrug “I suppose it’s possible, if they found my house. That information is at the school anyway.” >Mike sucks on his beer. The top of the bottle comes loose from his lips with a hollow *piff* >”Do you see what I’m getting at now? Shit… If they hurt my bitch of a sister, I…” >He squeezes the bottle >It explodes in a shower of amber glass as it pops like a cheap balloon in his vampiric grasp >”Shit,” he says without urgency, watching shards fall from his loose grip “Happen a lot?” >”More than you’d think. I’ll get another one later.” >He sighs and levels his gaze out at the car and at the crossroads >C’mon Anonymous. Say something… >…Helpful “I wouldn’t worry about it. If they’re not attacking us in the hallways — or if Sam’s dad isn’t seen running around the school — then it’s safe to say they won’t go after us so boldly. My house was ideal because nobody was there.” >Mike leans back on his palms >”You think they were looking for something?” “…Or someone…” you add, and you know Mike knows who you’re talking about >Sam’s insane father >Don’t want to rule out any possibilities >”Fucking hell,” Mike runs a hand through his freshly scrubbed hair. “You know Thumper is a liability to us now, right?” >Liability >The word makes him seem like he’s a burden to you and the entire group >But he’s not >Sam is more than just dead weight to you >You wince at the utterance of the word, but keep your composure “It really doesn’t matter whether or not someone is looking for him. In fact, this is the best case scenario,” you reason. “If he wasn’t here, he’d be with his shit head father, or captured by Vanessa and her merry gang of retards.” >Mike snorts with laughter >”God, they are fucking cringe, aren’t they? Like, it’s 2019 — who the fuck is still a goth?” “Talking a lot of shit for someone who is literally a vampire,” you shrug >”Ah, right.” Mike examines his pale flesh >In the dusk you can better appreciate the way his eyes shimmer with a predatory glow >”I think I’m getting hungry,” he says at last >You take a cautious step backwards >”Relax, fagtron. I’m not going to attack you. But I do need to figure this out.” >Still, he might… eventually “What if we got some good, bloody beef or something? There’s a butcher at the Shop N’ Save.” >Mike deflates at the mention of the store >”Can’t really go back there. I think it might be a little unsafe for me.” >Christ >Where can you go? “Well, what if I went? Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow or Friday?” How long do you think you can hold out for?” >”Long enough,” Mike stands up, his shoes scraping against the concrete >He stretches out wide >”I’m not helpless. If I need to, I’ll make a ‘shopping trip’ down to the town.” “If you could avoid spawning new vampires, that’d be awesome,” you say, folding your arms across your chest >”Fine, fine. But let’s speed this along. You know Mikey ain’t patient. Now…” he holds his open palm out and clears his throat. “If I could PLEASE have your keys, that’d be great. Guess I’m spending another night here.” >You fish your keys from your pocket and drop them in his waiting hands >”Thanks man. Beats sleeping in the gutter.” “No less than you deserve,” you add with a half-chuckle >He shoots you some dismissive finger guns and starts walking over to your car “Hey, wait. One more thing,” you call to him >Mike doesn’t bother turning around to address you >”Want a goodnight kiss?” “You’re… you’re with us, right? Like until the end?” >This time he does turn around >He looks at you, a fire glowing behind his eyes >”Until the very end, fagtron. They took my future from me. The least I can do is make them pay for it.” >You stand frozen on the steps as Mike stares daggers at you — but you know it’s not meant for you >He turns back around >”Goodnight.” >Inside the church Alex and Jenna are asleep on the floor instead of on the rickety pews >Sam is curled up in a tight little bun-ball on the carpet >Aside from Alex snoring, the church is dead silent >Sam looks so peaceful the way his nose wrinkles and his chest delicately rises and falls as he obeys the gravity of sleep >You can’t fight back a weak smile >It’s good to see him at peace, see his face without tension or worry >A train snores by in the night >It’s so close that you can feel it rumbling underneath the floors >You can imagine the holy water basin at the front entrance of the church is trembling >Sam’s face tenses up and lines appear in his forehead >His legs start kicking softly — almost as if he were twitching, or running from something >You lay down next to him to try and get him to stop… >…You tell yourself >His body tenses up in his light doze >As gingerly as you can, you pull him close to you and feel him tremble against your chest >You feel helpless, just watching him have an anxiety attack in his sleep >God, it’s no fucking wonder he’s so anxious >His dad is insane >He lives in squalor >His brother is dead >His mom is gone >He’s never had any friends >Until he met you >You’re sorry for how you treated him up until now >He didn’t deserve it >Your eyes feel heavy as buckets of water >Even though the carpet is uncomfortable, just holding Sam like this and feeling him safe is a greater comfort than any bed >And the train rolls on in the night >”Unwanted.” >The words fall from your father’s lips like they were 20 tons apiece >His face is stern and hard; carved out of granite and limestone, weathered by whiskey >”And that’s all she’ll ever be. A burden. Hold her arm out,” he commands >Jacob is still >You tremble all over, fear tracing cold fingers up and down your spine >Tears swell up in your eyes, but you can’t look away from Dad’s hard stare >Be strong >Be brave >Your brother puts his hand on your shoulder while Dad sucks on his cigarette >Smoke tendrils — midnight black — wisp up into a cloudless sky and evaporate into the sunlight >”No,” Jacob says, his voice clipping hard in his throat >He’s nervous, standing besides the car, parked at the rail yard >”You don’t need to hurt us. We learned our lesson already,” Jacob says >You look up into your brother’s bruised face >His jaw is set hard and stern — just like Dad’s >His eyes burn with heat and anger >And despite the fear and trembling in his words, he’s still Jacob >He’s still his father’s son >”What’s the matter with you?” Dad rises to his full height, standing at eye-level with Jacob. His ears stick straight up like pillars. “You were always a good boy, not like this runt here.” He motions to you with a half-assed shrug of his shoulders. "First I catch you two with my gun…” he lifts his greasy work shirt up a little to reveal the pistol tucked in his waistband “…and then I catch you two trying to run away?” >Dad jerks his chin to a pile of old clothes, two backpacks, and a gleaming aluminum baseball bat sitting besides his rusted sedan >”You got something to prove?” He asks giving Jacob a hard look >Your brother doesn’t answer >Dad scowls harder, his lower lip trembling as rage boils and churns in his guts >”You think you’re some kind of man?” He asks again >Your mind is cast back to the last time — in the kitchen — when Jacob said he ‘was a man’ >The blow your father dealt him still makes your heart skip >After a silence, Dad bends down to your pathetic height, curving his gnarled spine >You’re just 14, Jacob 20, and even for a girl, you’re small, thin and delicate >You’re trying to be strong, but you can’t help the tears >Dad’s expression is cold >His dead eyes look directly through you >”Roll up your sleeves. Hold out your arm.” >Jacob grips your shoulder tight >You know what’s coming next >Dad holds the cigarette lighter from his car up to you so you can see >Its coils glow angry and red with trapped heat >”Dad,” Jacob starts, looking down at you. “Don’t. She didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who came up with the idea to run away. I made her do it. If you have to punish anyone…” >Jacob’s courage falters as he looks down at the hot lighter, still bright orange >”Punish me. Not her,” he says with a hard swallow >Dad squats down and roughly grabs your thin arm with a fierce scowl, still chewing on the end of his cigarette >He rakes back your sleeve, exposing your thin, brown fur >”Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll get yours. You two wanna act so brave? Thinkin’ you two can just run off?” >You’re shaking something awful >Jacob’s hands dig into your flesh >You try to focus on his presence and not your dad ringing his heavy hand around your delicate wrist >”All you’ll ever be is a burden,” Dad says to you >”Be strong,” Jacob says in a whisper >Your eyes slam shut >You jerk your head to the side and grit your teeth >Dad slams the lighter onto your arm, just below your shoulder >The pain hits you like a fucking train, searing into your fur and then your tender flesh >You can hardly hold back a scream >Your heavy feet stamp into the dirt as dad lazily twists the lighter against your fur >The scent of gravel >Of dust >Cigarette smoke >Of burning fur >You suck these in deeply and let them pollute your young lungs >You want the cancer >Anything to produce an absence in you >Void the soul >Cash the check >How do you disappear completely? >What would Samurai Outlaw do right now? >Dad’s grip on you tightens and an anguished scream rakes itself out of your chest >Samurai Outlaw would fight back >Your brother’s baseball bat >You could make a break for it >You could… stand up for yourself >For Jacob >Move it >Move your FUCKING FEET >Fuck >Your arm is starting to feel numb as the pain resides >Dad releases his vise grip on you >When your eyes unglue, you hesitantly look down at your arm >There’s a ring of singed fur where the lighter was pressed against your tender flesh >Beneath that your pale skin is bright red and oozing blood and pus >It looks boiled over and ugly >You try delicately touching it, but draw your hand away when even the slightest probing sends shockwaves of agony through your body >”Your turn,” Dad says between his smoke >He grabs Jacob’s arm and shoves his sleeve upwards >”We’re not done — not yet.” >A train whistle sounds over head >You stand on railroad ties, facing the tunnel as if it were the barrel of a loaded gun >”When I was your age, my father used to take me out to the tracks and make me dodge trains until I could barely move.” Your Dad takes a long swig out of his bottle >Jacob stands off to the side, watching you with nervous eyes >”And I know you two been out here. I know all kinds of shit you two been up to. Jacob been bringin’ you out here so he can jump ties, just like his old man. But not like you.” >He spits into the dirt and mashes it with his heels >”You ain’t blood.” >You stare straight ahead as a train whistle shrieks in the tunnel >An advancing light begins to burn in the fathoms of darkness >The sun on your fur glazes you in a nervous sweat “I-I’m sorry!” You cry >You’re a coward >The worst kind >Without your brother you’re not even a coward >You’re nothing >A train horn drowns out your pleading >Dad can only laugh in sharp fits >”Everyone’s always sorry but nobody wants to own up to it.” He takes another heavy pull on the bottle. “Now, I want a good clean dodge. No bullshit. No jumping too soon. You may be a bitch but I ain’t raise no cowards.” >Jacobs voice reaches your ears >”You’re not a coward, Sam. C’mon, just like we practiced. One good jump. Then I go. And then we go home. Okay? Just a good dodge.” >You can hear the hurt and worry in his voice >This isn’t like those other times >This is under the eyes of that bastard father. >When you look over, he’s standing next to Dad, his mouth set in a hard, determined line, as if to say ‘I know you can do this.’ >You can feel the ground start to tremble as the train presses little earthquakes into the tracks >It’s getting closer >That small bulb of light is now stretching its limbs >Growing like a beam of sunshine shot through the darkness >The horn blares >The train rolls on >Surely the conductor must see you standing there? >What does it matter? It’ll take miles to stop >Vomit rises in your throat and you start to choke >You’re a coward >A gut-puking coward >The horn shrieks again >You force the vomit back down into your gut >You can’t move >Oh fuck >You can’t… >…Can’t even think straight >The train blows out of the tunnel in a hurricane of steel >It’s barreling forward >”GET READY!” Your brother calls >You can barely hear him >Or the train >You can’t even feel the ground shaking anymore >All you feel is that rush taking over your head >Blood pulsing in your temples >Heart racing in the thin cage of your chest >Knees knocking one another >And always the train racing against the tracks >Draining fuel, chugging thick tendrils of black smoke >Unstoppable… >And the warm blood rush >And your brother shouting “JUMP!” >”JUMP!” >JUMP! >You feel the heat burning off its front, hear the ear-shattering blare of its horn, see the worried face of the conductor >Its horn shrieks one last time >Everything goes quiet >And… You want it to hit you >You want that oblivion >J U M P >With your eyes shut tight, you pretend you’re Samurai Outlaw >And this is your tragic end at the hands of a diabolical villain >But you’re too scared to even die, aren’t you? >Too much of a coward to let this train hit you >And yet, you can’t move >”MOVE!” >Unwilling in life to stand up for yourself >Unwilling in death to die >You’ll exist in a temporary stasis >Just a few simple feet of track between you and oblivion while the train bolts forward, so close it begins sucking air from your lungs >”SAM!” >Jacob leaps… >…Throws his full, protective weight at you… >…Lunges forward, onto the tracks… >…Knocking you to the other side… >…Sending you crashing into the dirt >Your father starts forward, and for the very first time in your entire fucking life, he looks scared >Jacob sits up on the tracks >His amber eyes meet yours with the most worried kindness you’ve ever seen >And all you can see is relief spreading across his face, for just a fraction of a second >His mouth starts working to say something, forming shapes and letters and syllables borne out of love >And, as if he was never there to begin with, Jacob is gone in a storm of steel >The train rolls on >The cops ruled it as a suicide >But you know it wasn’t >When the nice human investigators came to your house, you followed along with what Dad told them >”W-W-We tried t-t-to stop h-h-him,” you stammered, leg pounding anxiously into the air as you sit at the kitchen table >You’ve never been tall enough to reach the floor >You tried not looking them in the eyes. Somehow, you thought, they’d know it was you that killed him >You washed up >You brushed your fur >You put on some of Jacob’s clean clothes (they smelled like him; they made you feel like he was still here to protect you) >Had to look presentable for the officers, after all >You tried talking loudly but your voice only came out in squeaks >And in the back of your mind, sitting at the freshly cleaned table, you can only hear one word on repeat, over and over again, a nauseating carousel of unbridled and unkempt self-hatred: “murderer” >”We’re deeply sorry for your loss,” the investigators say, almost in unison >But it’s not that scripted, forced kind of sympathy either. They exude kindness >One of them claps you softly on the shoulder, his deep blue eyes meeting yours >Those eyes are drunk on starlight and concern, half closed, as if pressed down by the investigator’s heavy, troubled brow >”Listen, if you ever feel like you need to talk to someone…” the friendly investigator produces a pamphlet from his back pocket “…Just call the number down here.” He points to a long telephone number with his pen >You take the pamphlet from him with trembling little hands and look it over >It seems to be about loss and grief >The number is for a free counselor >”The state offers resources to families like yours.” >Your dad’s eyes are hard and set forward on the other officer, who seems to be regarding the kitchen with a modicum of disgust >”So you’re saying he didn’t leave a note?” The other officer asks, curious >”Nope, no note,” Dad returns in a calm breath. “Just up and got himself killed on those tracks” >Jotting quick notes, the officer continues his assessment of your kitchen >”How about his mother?” He holds an expectant breath as he meets Dad’s gaze >”She’s gone,” Dad says sharp enough to cut the officer’s throat. “She was a cheat. Up and left. That’s all that happened.” >The officer nods and mutters something to his partner, still scribbling notes with a free hand >Dad’s eyes flick to the open notepad >A scowl contorts his features. ”What, don’t you believe me? My own son is dead and you’re— you’re-” >”Standard procedure. I just need to document all of this for my report, Mr. Garlen.” He jots a sentence shut and stares with disdain back at Dad >Dad nudges you with his feet >You understand his language >The unspoken gestures >All the language he makes out of violence >He wants you to say something “J-J-Jacob was a-a-always talking about… it… but I n-n-never thought he’d a-a-actually g-go through with… it…” >God, you liar >You’re worse than Dad >You know you got your brother killed >Dad knows >You want to hop up on the table and scream from the heavens ‘YES! I WAS THE ONE WHO GOT JAKE KILLED! IT WAS ME!’ >But you shrink further into your brother’s old hoodie without saying a damn fucking word >The other, kinder officer, nods in approval. “Jesus, nobody should have to go through this. Nobody.” He rises from his seat. “Got everything, Clemens?” >’Clemens’ follows suit >”Yeah, I think that should do it.” His eyes sweep the kitchen one last time. >They linger on Dad, and his mouth falls open, almost as if he’s about to say something >Then his eyes flick over to you, shrunken in your seat, feeling like the smallest thing in the world >He levels his pen towards you >”Actually… Samantha? Can I speak with you in private?” He says >Dad raises an eyebrow >”What for?” He huffs >Whatever semblance of pleasantness he put on was slipping down his face in the form of sweat >The officer gives Dad a hard stare >”I just want to speak to her.” He turns back to you and smiles sympathetically. “Is that alright?” >… >This might be your chance >You could tell this officer everything >All the years of neglect and abuse >All the endangerment >The scars and welts on your body and arms >You could get out of here >But you’d be getting out alone, wouldn’t you? >No Jacob anymore >Not after you killed him >You don’t deserve anything >Somewhere, deep inside, you fight down the urge to go back to the tracks yourself and hurl yourself in front of a train >If only you weren’t such a goddamn coward >Like the bug that you are, your eyes flick towards Dad >His ashen face is cold with hatred >You know exactly what he’s trying to say, all without ever having to utter a single word >’Don’t make it worse for yourself’ >You look back at the officer, who waits expectantly ”N-N-N-No. I-I don’t t-t-think I can t-t-talk a-anymore about thi-this,” you say, throwing your face to the side to try to hide the lie in your eyes >The officer frowns a bit, and then bites down on his bottom lip a bit >”Well, if you ever want to talk to us, you have our card. And if you ever need to… talk… to someone, just call the number on the back of that pamphlet. Okay?” >You can’t even look him in the eyes “O-Okay.” >The two officers turn and thank your dad >”And again, we’re deeply sorry for your loss,” ‘Clemens’ says, before tipping his hat and heading out the front door >It bangs shut, leaving only you and Dad in silence >Dad watches as their car rolls on down the block and disappears around the corner where the streets have no name >He turns to you, and you can see the fire in his eyes >You push back from the table, the chair squealing in protest >”Don’t you run, boy,” Dad says. “Not this time. Not this time.” >’Boy’? >”That’s right, ‘boy’, because you’re going to pay back what you stole from me.” His voice begins to break in a slurred staccato. “You’re going to give me my son back, you bitch.” >And for once in your life, you can see tears welling in your father’s sunken, bloodshot eyes >They saturate his unwashed fur and burn a path down his cheeks >You can’t be Jacob >Jacob was too much like Dad >And you’re nothing like that. But you can use what Jacob learned. You can be tough and strong and brave >You think >Dad advances forward >”You bastard son of a bitch,” he says >You try to stand at your full height and puff out your meager chest >”And you ain’t even my kin,” he sobs loudly >He enters the kitchen and pushes the table aside >”Well, you smarmy cunt. One day you’re going to pay back what you owe. You’re going to pay me back-” his voice breaks. “-One way or another.” >Your eyes shut tight and you tremble, still trying to hold yourself as tall as your brother once was >But you’re not him >You’re not brave or strong or fierce like Jacob >You’re Samantha- no, SAM Garlen >You’re weak, spineless, and you deserve everything that’s coming to you “I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, though you don’t think Dad can hear you through the cloud of rage >Your fingers reflexively clench onto the pamphlet the cops gave to you like it was some kind of life raft in a terrible storm >And then the pain comes >The weak light of Thursday, October 30th, pins warm pink tones to your inner eyelids >You had just strayed into a waking dream, trapped in that purgatory between the full gravity of sleep and waking lucidity >In truth, you hadn’t slept well >Anxiety drove its barbs into you >Earlier in the week it was one distraction after the other >And this whole business happening on Friday night never felt real >It felt like college — some kind of concept people whispered about while staring at the city from a high school rooftop — not an actuality that was approaching >Like a storm on the horizon >But now the sky is swollen and ready to empty its fury >Friday was one day away from rearing its bald fucking head at you >You had: >The Behemoth >The goths >Sam’s Dad >All out hunting for you right now >All gearing up for Friday night >And what did you have? >A shopping cart full of garlic and squirt guns >Oh, and Sam’s baseball bat in your trunk >Speaking of Sam, the bunny is stirring in his sleep, murmuring half-sentences and clenching his body tight >Your heart really does go out to the kid >He’s really had a rough go of it, and all he wanted was to have one actual Halloween >You guess you’ve taken holidays for granted, because they’re, in a way, a symptom of a healthy and happy home life >All this dumb bunny wanted was to have a little bit of what everyone else gets >And now you’ve involved him in some weird cult and put his life in danger >You clutch your head as you feel a wave of guilt come over you, pounding in your temples like railroad spikes >Dear God >What have you done? >All he wanted was one crummy dance with you >YOU DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT SCHOOL OR THIS SHIT, WOULD IT REALLY HAVE BEEN THE WORST THING TO SPEND ONE. FUCKING. NIGHT. WITH. HIM? >Before you can tear any further into yourself, Sam sits up and rubs sleep from his eyes, belting out a yawn >You quickly scoot a heterosexual distance away from him >He doesn’t seem to notice as he blinks himself awake >”M-Morning,” he says, as if in a daze >He might have slept, but it doesn’t appear to have been all that restful >Bad dreams, maybe >”Morning,” you say, making no effort to keep your voice low >You check the time on your phone >Plenty of time to kill before school >Alex is still sawing logs, so you decide to let him peacefully sleep >It’s the least you could do for your comrade after he rescued Mike >Ah, and speaking of- >Your gaze sweeps the church pews >Jenna is weirdly absent >You check the bathrooms (even the boy’s room) and she’s still missing >Shit >Did she ditch you guys in the middle of the night? >…Would you blame her? >You mean, you can understand the betrayal >She’s involved now and had no good reason to be, other than wanting to save Mike >Not like he needs saving anyway >He’s not helpless anymore now that he’s partially given up on his future >He’s drunk on that dumb, reckless nihilism that tends to infect people bereft of their hope and means of escape >You and Sam slip out through the fire exit ‘round the back of the church >Your lungs tingle as you fill them with frosted air >You stand outside the church and watch as your your breaths disappear into thin clouds of vapor >Sam makes like he’s blowing on a cigarette and pushes a steady knot of warm out from his chest >You both watch it ascend and join back up with the clouds >He looks up at you, giggling a little >You smile despite the chill >Wrapping your arms around your midsection and shivering in your thin fucking baseball t-shirt (good choice, idiot), you pace towards your car (parked like you’d gotten three margarita’s deep behind the wheel last night) >You get about halfway across the parking lot when the sight of a busy fox-tail sticking out of the rear driver side door grinds your legs to a frosty halt >Wat >You hear Mike’s husky voice echo: “Hold it still, you’re getting it all over the upholstery.” >Jenna replies: “I’m trying, but you’re shaking. Just… okay, hold on. How about now?” >You don’t know why you did this, but you assume a crouched stance, evenly distributing your weight across your body >Stealthy, like a fox (just not Jenna) >”A-Anon-” Sam calls after you >You hush Sam with a finger against his lips >Jenna’s ears twist in your direction like a pair of antennas honing in on a signal >Her tail, ordinarily swishing back and forth, freezes up, standing stiff and alert >”Someone there?” Mike asks from inside the vehicle >God knows what the fuck they’re doing inside the car >YOUR CAR >Jenna slides herself out of the car very slowly, her back facing you, fingers wrapped around her left wrist, as if she were pressing upon a wound >You can guess her back is turned because she’s blushing >Do vixens blush beneath the orange fur? >She’s still wearing the same green sweater and pale blue jeans, but with her tail plastered between her legs, she looks more like a kid who just got caught looking at her christmas presents too early >”Anon?” She says, slowly, her voice trembling, stumbling and striving for the courage to say- “It’s not what it looks like?” You offer >Mike slides easily out of the vehicle >He wipes his palm across his mouth, and then onto his pants >He evasively turns his head to the side and peers into the car? >Why do they both look so guilt- >”A-Are you okay?” Sam lurches forward. “Y-You’re b-bleeding…” he says in a low voice >He weakly aims a finger at Jenna >She still doesn’t turn around >The vixen tries hiding her left wrist behind her body >”I’m fine,” she blurts, her posture stiffening up to its full, pathetic height. “J-Just go back inside. Nothing to see here-” >Bleeding? >IN YOUR CA- >Oh, bleeding >You’re not a total idiot >You look towards Mike in disgust >Mike shrugs, still not meeting your gaze >”She offered, I was hungry. I don’t see the problem,” he says, sounding almost embarrassed “Oh fuck.” You take a small step backwards. “Does this mean you bit her? You sucked her blood? Is she going to turn into-” >”Eww!” Jenna spins around, fury printed onto her features (and a touch of blush). She clutches her left wrist, but you can still see the blood seeping through the cracks between her claws >”He didn’t /bite me/. I cut my wrist and… and…” her blush only reddens, like hot coals whose smolder had been stoked with gasoline >Mike sticks his tongue out and points to it >Ah, that makes some sense >He… licked her arm >Which is disgusting, but logical >Sam is the first to react >”T-That’s so sw-sweet,” he stammers. He looks up at you for entirely too long, as if to ask ‘would you do the same thing for me if I were a vampire?’ >You make a disgusted face and flick him lightly on the nose >He shrinks back from you >Jenna, on the other hand, seems less than thrilled. Still wearing her blush, she explains that Mike is an asset to the team and he needs to be taken care of >You only buy that a little >You suspect that there are some ulterior motives at play here, but don’t want to dig too deeply “Well, if you’re all done bleeding into each other’s mouths, why don’t we wake Alex up and start talking about a plan,” you declare. >”Fine by me,” Mike says, look very satisfied with both Jenna’s embarrassment and his satiation >Alex is already up and eating a balanced breakfast of yesterday’s peanut butter cups >He waves as you enter >”Ahoy comrades. Care to share some breakfast with me?” >Sam bounces forward, all too excited at the idea of having candy for breakfast >Christ, he’s like a little kid >Just wait until you guys go trick-or-treating… >At some point, either before or after you stop Vanessa and The Behemoth and… Sam’s Dad… >Your heart sinks to same depths as it did this morning when you were contemplating everything stacked against you >But if Sam has those thoughts, they don’t seem to bother him >”C-Can I h-have one?” he stutters, bounding down the aisles of the church, his words miles behind him >Alex cocks back his arm and fires a wrapped chocolate at Sam’s head >It donks off his forehead and lands at his feet >The bunny is undeterred >He skitters to a halt and pounces on it like a starved wolf, shucking the candy’s foil in visceral carnage and plopping the little chocolate nugget into his mouth >…Kid really likes sugar >He doesn’t notice everyone staring at him until he stands up to find all eyes turned towards him >He swallows nervously and forces his hands behind his back >”S-Sorry. H-H-Hungry.” >You manage to drag Alex outside to talk with Mike, which is no easy task >Alex, the little (big) commie is lanky, tall, and has little to protect him from the jagged knife that is the cold, October morning breeze >Now, assembled around your car (again), you pass the bag of candy around, Sam taking generous handfuls and stuffing them in his hoodie’s pockets >You don’t mind >Honestly, you’ve eaten enough chocolate for five Halloweens over >…If you live that long >And that depends on your next steps here >You’ve got a decent idea, but you’re not sure everyone else would go for it >”Anon, you wanna enlighten us as to what our next move is?” Mike says, not with an air of renewed vigor. “Because Alex looks like he’s going to freeze his ideologies off.” >He looks less pale than before, his face and skin touched with color >The blue veins that spider webbed beneath his porcelain skin seemed to have retracted or melded back into the warmth of his body >Guess a little Type A in your system will do that to you >Alex’s body is shaking and spasming with chills, but that’s what he fucking gets for wearing shorts and long sleeves and no jacket (not that you’re any better, you just have proper pants) “Well hey we’re all wearing weather appropriate clothes, that’s not our fault.” >”W-W-Worry not c-c-c-comrades,” Alex says, his teeth ramming together with every syllable, sounding like he was guillotining the words. “I’ve slaved at The Shop N’ Save in worse.” >You nod at Comrade Alexi >He is indeed a brave, dumb soldier “Alright, I’ll try to keep this brief. Tomorrow is Halloween. And more importantly, tomorrow is the night of the Spooktober Fest — when the dark rite, ritual, what the fuck ever, can be completed. And also when it can be stopped. That’s our Death Star.” >”D-Death Star?” Sam says >”Do-Don’t te-tell me y-y-you haven’t s-s-seen Star W-Wars either,” Alex chatters >The rabbit hangs his head in embarrassment >”Jesus Christ,” Mike whistles. “We gotta get this kid up to speed when we’re done.” >”Anon, please continue,” Jenna smiles, obviously not interested in being out in the cold either, despite her fur and sweater >You nod “Right. So we’re going to that dance-party-function-thing. All of us.” >A bright gleam leaps up into Sam’s eyes. ”W-We are?” >Surprisingly, everyone nods in agreement >You expected more resistance than this >Well, to be fair, your plan is extremely basic >With a slight twist “And I’m also proposing that we go in costume shopping after school,” you say, expecting similar agreement >Mike stuffs his hands into his pockets >”Why? I’m too damn old to do that shit still,” he says “Two reasons: one, we’ll have to infiltrate the Spooktober Fest in costumes so we don’t instantly get caught by Vanessa and the others. And two…” >You look down at Sam, whose eyes are shining at the idea of getting to wear a costume >You quickly glance up and hope nobody notices your pleased smile >”…There is no second reason. We just go.” >Well, there is actually a second reason >You’re going to give Sam as close to a normal Halloween as you can get at your age >But then again, your best Halloween memories are only scant recollections of traditional holiday fare — trick-or-treating, dressing up, carving pumpkins — the real memories began when you and Mike and Alex would fuck around, get drunk, play vidya, puke into each other’s sinks and pass out in your basement >Is a storybook holiday really right for him? Maybe a party with kids his age would help diversify his experience >You look down again quickly, and Sam is wearing the cutest, dopiest grin across his effeminate face >Yeah, at least costume shopping will be good for him >Mike seems less than thrilled at the idea >”I’m 18. I’m too old to be doing this crap. What, you wanna go trick-or-treating next?” “We’re all 18,” you say, “and I don’t hear anyone else objecting.” >He crosses his stubby arms across his chest in casual defiance. ”Well, I don’t have any costume ideas. And I want something cool.” >A smile creases your lips >Mike looks like he’s seen something wretched >You dig into your back pocket and draw out two neatly folded sheets of notebook paper >You unfold them — Sam’s drawings from Tuesday — and hold them up for everyone to see, like you’d just found the map to some buried treasure “Sam’s already got costume ideas for all of us.” >School rushes by in an orange blur, and really, you do mean an orange blur >As the administration preps for the Spooktober Fest, everything gets a fresh coat of orange and black plastic varnish >Fake jack-o-lanterns line the hallways (where they remain upright and not filled with trash by the students for a good hour) >Streamers hang from rafters >Someone set up a scarecrow outside the front entrance, complete with a smiling pumpkin face that certainly doesn’t broadcast terror or fear >You have to remind yourself that this is a public school function >Its been neutered of any true culture and color >The only really scary things are the budget cuts this time of the year >The custodial staff (really, just Stella) hauls tables into the gym while volunteer students and teachers and haul ‘sp00ky’ supplies from the equipment room, which include a few gigantic fog machines, some fake gravestones, and even a faux skeleton >Yep, it was going to be a major suckfest, and be about as fun as a school-sanctioned event can be >Though while you’re tailing Sam (again) the whole day, you do overhear a convenient little piece of information outside of Sam’s class >Four preps, humans and neatly dressed with clean sweater and sharp haircut to match their even sharper tongues, are loudly discussing the one thing that high school kids care more about than getting the FUCK out of their hometown: where to acquire tons of alcohol for tonight’s costume party at one of their fancy suburban homes >And this ain’t like your house, no, the homes where the preps come from makes your house look like Sam’s >The idea of a party intrigues you >You’ve never been to one before, at least, put on by kids your own age >Were they as full of debauchery as the movies say they are? >Also, you have nothing really going on tonight other than get costumes… >God, it’s your last year in high school EVER >Why shouldn’t you show up, get plastered and make an anonymous ass out of yourself? >You’ll bring the whole gang >Especially Sam, who has probably NEVER been to party in his life >…Yeah, you’ll do it for him, you lie to yourself >You pen down the address on your hand, and then later transfer it to your phone right as the bell kicks itself and students saturate the hallways >Sam is the last out the door (as usual), lagging behind a particularly mean looking panther jock, buttoned up in his letterman's jacket that screams ‘I peaked in high school!’ >But the large feline pays no attention to you, and instead directs a death glare at the four assembled preps >Ah yes, the two natural enemies of high school life — preps and jocks >One group had money, the other group had brawn >You’re not sure why any of that really matters, but people are superficial >And in a less-than-superficial gesture, the preps fire back at the panther with a few raised middle fingers >”Oh fuck off, cunts,” the panther directs a rolling growl in their direction >You casually step to the side and fold yourself against a locker >You pull Sam against you and shimmy away as fast as you can >This could get ugly very quickly >Everyone is at each other’s throats this week, thanks to Vanessa >One of the preps steps forward >”What are you going to do about it, razor mouth?” >This does enough to spike the Panther’s blood pressure >Yep, time for you to go >You’ve endured enough supernaturally prompted aggression for the rest of your life >With Sam trailing closely behind you (not like he has much choice), you steer your way down the hallway, nudging past students who (appropriately) nudge back >With all the strength your skelly body can muster, you manage to stay upright as you’re jostled to and fro by bodies in motion >Sam seems to have plenty of experience getting knocked around, so he’s a lot better at staying on his feet and dodging wayward elbows >When you look behind you, you see the crowds parting for a teacher and school resource officer (and really, they’re just cops) sprinting down the hall, shoving through throngs of teenagers, heading back to where the panther and the preps were >Guess you were right >It did get ugly >Battered plenty, you’re able to make it down the stairs, to the lunchroom, and then out to the parking lot where the kiss of cold air against your skin is a relief from the sweltering heat inside >Sam seems to agree, as he tugs at the collar of his hoodie with his one free hand, letting out some trapped heat >Strangely enough, you don’t see anyone you need to avoid other than angry students >No goths >No Sam’s Dad >No Stella >Just cars in motion, kids cutting each other off, clusters of teenagers strutting around, looking for something to sate their boredom >On the way to your car, you steer clear of a group of punks, but they only offer ‘fuck you looking at?’ glances from behind the curling cigarette smoke trailing off their lips >You see Mike waiting on the hood of your car like he owns it >Jenna is at his side, talking to him >Neither of them notice your approach >Mike must have cracked a joke, because Jenna slouches in her ordinarily rigid and prim stance >She throws her vulpine head back and laughs from her belly >You think that’s called gekkering for foxes? But you’re not sure >And when she recovers, she absent-mindedly runs her fingers through the fur on the top of her head, twisting it earnestly while Mike prattles on about something you can’t hear >As you approach, Mike throws a quick glance at you and the bun >His cheer seems to drain to a half-smile, as if he were glad to see you, but you had interrupted something important >”There’s the chauffeur and his sidekick,” he says with a weak laugh >He seems… in good cheer “Nice to see you too, Edward.” >”Edward?” Mike tilts his head “Nevermind, you don’t read,” you fire back quickly >Jenna giggles. “Well probably not those types of books.” >She puts a lot of stress on the word ‘those,’ drawing your curiosity “So you read trashy young adult fiction too?” You prod >”I live for it. I’d get The Deathly Hallows tattooed on my arm if I could… you know… see it under all of this fur.” >You internally wince >You can hear your inner elitist yelling: >’Who, past the age of 12, reads Harry Potter?’ >Thankfully Mike silences your inner critic counters by calling you both ‘book reading morons,’ promptly ending the discussion >”Guess we’re just waiting on Comrade Alexi,” Mike observes from the back seat >He’s sitting in the middle seat, squeezed up close to Jenna, who doesn’t seem to mind >Sam is in the passenger seat, as usual “Guess so…” you observe, drawing out the last syllable so you can ease your transition into your next request >Smooth like butter, you can taste the transition on your tongue “….Hey, wouldn’t it be fun if we… I don’t know… went to a costume party?” You propose, your voice stumbling into a pathetic whisper >So much for your initial success with the transition >Mike seems to hear it well enough, though >”A costume party? Like at the school? Fuck no-” “Not at the school,” you interject, before he kills your idea. “At someone’s house. I think it’s happening at Braydon Smith’s place tonight.” >The car is silent, and the sudden guilt you feel burdens you like a millstone around your neck >Really, it’s a selfish request >You just want to go to the party because you’ve never been to one >And because Sam needs to have an experience! A good one! Something that reminds him Halloween isn’t just trick-or-treating and fake fog machines and happy scarecrows >”Will there be booze?” Mike asks >”What? Hell no, count me out if there’s underage drinking.” Jenna crosses her arms across her chest in a pout >Mike issues a snort of laughter. “So you’ll steal a shopping cart and five pounds of garlic, but you won’t drink with us?” >Jenna reddens. “I-I left a $20 at the counter, so it’s alright.” >”Whatever. If there’s booze I’m in. Not like we had any plans tonight.” >Your eyes shift from Jenna to Mike >She frowns >”Well, I’m not drinking.” >”PERFECT!” Mike practically jumps in his seat. “You can be the driver. Anon, Sam, Alex and I will make sure we handle most of the liquor. I’ll drink enough for the both of us.” >You pass a look down at Sam, who seems apprehensive, given that he’s thoughtfully stroking his ears, threatening to tug on them >You do your best attempt at a reassuring smile “It’ll be fun. I want you to have something close to a normal Halloween experience. Okay?” >He flashes a nervous smile >”O-Okay,” he says, but you can hear the mistrust, which sounds like little silvery knives in your heart >Alex arrives well after the rest of the cars are gone >His light brown hair curls down in uneven tangles from his golden beanie — disheveled from exhaustion >And the rest of him is a sweaty mess >His ordinarily pale cheeks look flush with color and exhaustion, and as he limps across the blacktop, you can see that he’s wearing damp sweat stains underneath his long maroon shirt >He throws open the door without a word and grunts his way next to Mike >”Where the hell have you been?” Mike asks >Jenna and Sam both pinch their nose in unison, as if they were following lines from a script >”Ghrisd,” Jenna says, her voice a high, nasally whine. “Ydou reeg,” >”Huh?” Alex says, barely perceiving anything as he throws his head back against the seat >His chest heaves >The vixen unplugs her sensitive nose. “I said you REEK.” >”Oh.” >Alex hears the complaint, but doesn’t seem to register it >You snap your fingers at the poor kid in some attempt to bring him back to reality >It seems to reel him back in enough for an exhausted explanation >”Coach Griswald made me run an extra mile today for calling him a fascist.” His voice comes out in tired puffs >”Nice one, dude.” Mike says >”Ygou woudnd gnow whad fagscism is iv id pud ids bood on ur negg.” Jenna says >Alex rolls against the door panel and shuts his eyes. “Fascist,” he whispers to the door panel, who whispers nothing back but the cold rattle of loose metal as you twist your keys into the ignition >You’ve wasted enough time here >Imagine the most generic Halloween movie soundtrack possible, and you’d have a rough approximation of what’s playing overhead at the costume store >For the first time in what feels like a very long time, you are assailed by corny ghost moans and anything-but-bone-shaking thunder >And the cherry on top? >Squealing bat sound effects that sound like they got ripped from 1960s Scooby-Doo reruns on TV >As the sliding door opens, and all these sounds strike you in one aural gut-punch, you breathe deeply and squeeze your eyes shut >You’re home, back in your memories >You’re a little kid again, trying to find a costume that will draw the least amount of attention because you didn’t know, back then, that you had a crippling fear of judgement >Mike shrugs past you, aiming to get this over with as soon as possible, tossing you out of the nostalgia >Jenna is close behind him, but the glow of joy in her eyes is enough to tell you that she’s plenty excited to be here, and not out stealing things from a liquor store, like Mike had initially suggested >Sam bounces from clothing rack to clothing rack, grabbing packages and pre-made costumes, turning them over in his tiny hands like they were precious gems >From a firefighter to a skeleton to an anime character… he seems immensely pleased by all of it >It’s like he’s been dosed with rocket fuel. You’ve never seen him so reckless and excited >And as you dig through a bin of shitty plastic props and discount costumes, you can’t help but smile >You feel like you’re doing the right thing >You’re sorting aside discount costumes (mostly just wigs with gum in them) when you hear Sam beside you, breathing hard from exhaustion in little wheezes >You straighten your back and look down >The bunny has no less than 10 separate costume pieces stacked high, burdening his already thin arms >”A-A-Anon,” he stutters, nearly out of breath. “I-I-I want to t-t-t-try these on.” >… It’s not like he needs your permission >Oh >Wow >He’s probably been clothes shopping once or twice in his life >Jesus Christ that’s surreal >You take clothes shopping for granted every time you go >Does he… >Need instructions? “Go find the changing room,” you tell him, as you pick a package of cheap ‘priest vestments’ from the refuse of the discount bin >He throws you a confused glance at the mention of the word ‘changing room’ >”W-W-What is that?” >You’re not sure if this is irritating or adorable “It’s a room where you get naked and try on the costumes,” you say, trying to dismiss him so you can find your other co-conspirators >When you got into the store you all fanned out in alternate directions >Except Sam, who clung to you like he was glued to your hip >He really likes hanging around you, you tell yourself >Or he’s getting really touchy >One of the two >Sam looks unsure of his instructions >You groan internally and point a lazy finger towards a hanging sign that says ‘changing rooms’ >Sam fixes you with a ‘I’m sorry’ look, and then bounds off in the direction of the changing rooms, jockeying his stack of costumes >What the hell does he even need those for? >The designs he came up with for himself — ‘Samurai Outlaw’ — couldn’t be simpler: a hoodie, some baggy pants, a bandana, and a baseball bat >Whatever >Let the kid have his fun >You smile at the thought of Sam getting to finally enjoy what you’ve taken for granted for years >You hold the costume you picked — a priest’s robes — up to the light >It’s fairly standard — there’s a picture of a rhino wearing them, and despite the rhino’s size, the long, flowing, cheap cut of cloth hangs off his arms and around his waist in huge swaths >They’re primarily an off yellow, sickly like vomit, with a definite gold stripe running down the center of the piece with two lines branching towards your shoulder, like a ‘Y’ with a spike down its center >They match Sam’s drawing for you >The kid has talent, that much is true >But the costume is a scant reflection of Sam’s vision >In fact, like all Halloween costumes, it’s cheaply made, and the cut is a bit large >You’ll have to go try it on >As you make your way to changing rooms, you pass by Alex >He smirks and pulls the brim of a fedora lower, having tossed his signature yellow beanie aside >His whole body is clad in cheap cloth that’s been textured to look like a striped suit >But you know? The cut is tapered in at the sides and shoulder, so from a distance, he really does look like some kind of 20s-30s gangster >The fedora tho, invokes your inner elitist again >Too much time on the internet >”Nyyeeh sheeee,” he says in the worst accent you’ve ever heard >The utterance of those words causes something physical to seize up inside you “Listen, Alex, comrade… Never say that again like that, okay?” >He nods in agreement >”Save my charisma for Friday. Gotcha.” He winks at you “That’s not what I meant, but aright. Save it for Friday.” >”Was it good?” He asks, already having decided for himself it was Oscar-worthy >You agree with him, in the way that a parent agrees with their child when they say they’re going to grow up to be ‘The President of the Moon’ “Don’t change a thing, Alexi.” >He fires dual finger guns back at you, and you almost wish they were real so you can be spared an encore performance >You can feel a shiver still running up your spine as you pace off towards the changing rooms >If only you were dead >There’s only two available changing rooms >Hmmm >You try the one on the left and get a metal rattle as the lock catches “Sorry,” you say, face going flush with blood >You probably just scared the piss out of someone who is stark naked in there, trying on a slutty ‘nerd’ costume or something >But the response you get back is as empty as your wallet is about to be >There’s sadly no dividers for your voice to carry over >The sound isolation must be insane >These are just closed-in rooms with mirrors pasted onto walls and signs that say ‘changing room’ glued on the windowless doors >Classy >Alright, Sam must be in the one on the left, you reason >Meaning you’ve got the one on the right to try >You find it’s not locked, and you hear no voices of protest as you crack open the door >Good! >You twist the nob and slip inside, snapping off the endless chime of cheap Halloween sound effects as the door shuts with a meaty *thunk* >A distinct, girlish falsetto shrieks behind you >You don’t even think about the consequences of what you do next, because your body moves autonomously >You don’t consider how turning around changes your life almost completely in less than a fraction of a second >So much can happen in the resonate space between heartbeats >A car wrapping around a tree, impaling the driver who held his eyes down at his wheel for one pulse too many >A baby’s first, catching lungfulls of air, and the exhaustive sigh of the mother who was told her son would be a stillborn >The small gap between the barrel of a gun and the temple is one heartbeat across >This is one of those moments >You turn around and behold Sam Garlen, who has one bulbous leg down the throat of a pirate costume’s trousers, and is standing, otherwise, stark naked, all of his clothes scattered around him in a pile >”A-A-A-Anon!?” He shrieks, voice rising and rising in pitch >But his words bounce off your useless eardrums >Your eyes sweep over him, up and down, focusing on absolutely everything all at the same time, soaking in the near-flatness of his chest, the slenderness of his shoulders, but also the play of the overhead light on his body, like he was the lone actor in a very bright spotlight, directing your eyes downward >And downward >Past the pink of his nipples, the meager puff of his breasts, the slender and exposed bones of his ribs (still mysteriously bruised) >Down the tuck of his midsection, pinched inward… >…Which only emphasizes the girlish bow of his hips… >…To the pink slit of his sex, begging for a gentle hand to spread it like a flower that only blossoms in the fall >And then you look up at him, feeling drugged, completely senseless, like your head was a balloon floating away from the stalk of your neck >And then you open your mouth >And you say the DUMBEST fucking thing anyone could possibly say in a situation like this “Dude, where’s your dick?” >He? >He has no? “Are you a eunuch?” You say >Where’s his dick lmao “Sam? Do you hear me? I’m- I’m trying- where is your dick, man?” >Sam isn’t hearing you >His face is pulsing bright red, his jaw heavily slacked downward >Powerful tremors shake through him and dislodge words and thoughts from the hollows of his skull >And even though he looks like he’s just been shot, he doesn’t move to cover himself >And neither do you, because there’s a block in your ability to process things right now >Your eyes mindlessly flick between his bare groin and the way his eyes explode out of his face, and then to a circular scar encrusting his right shoulder, like a vivid burn mark >Your brain is doing the analytical equivalent of 2+2=5 >You open your mouth to ask him where his dick is agai- >Sam plummets backwards like a statue cleaved off of its stand >You watch him crash, unable to will your body to move and try to prevent his oncoming concussion >All it takes is one heartbeat >You hear his skull bounce off the floor with a dampened *pomf* >And you stand there like some kind of leaden idol, feeling nothing but your heart pounding >Looking at nothing but the pile of poofy pirate pants and Sam laying on the floor, unconscious >And thinking nothing except “where’s her dick?” >You drown in the pinks of your eyelids, eyes shut, as if to reset your nervous system >Wow >It’s roomy behind your eyes and above your throat >Lotttaaaa empty space >Maybe the distant echo of your inner-self pounding his head against an imaginary wall >Dunno >Did that really happen? >You bend your fingers inwards, squeezing them into a weak fist >Then you wiggle your toes >You can… move >Yeah >When you open your eyes, Sam is still there in that pile of himself(herself?) >Still dickless >You creep over to him(her?) as if your feet were made of fragile glass >He(she?) still has his(her?) right leg halfway into a pair of canvas-white pirate pants >Your eyes travel upwards from the pants >You know that’s only a distraction from the real investigation you’re trying to conduct >Steeling yourself, you let your gaze settle on his(her?) crotch >… >Yep >That’s EXACTLY what you think it is >You swallow hard, and your mind feels like it’s trying to rebuild itself after being reduced to a chunky, dysphoric slurry >So… the whole time… Sam has been a girl? >He- shit, SHE has kept it under wraps this whole time? Why? “Why the hell…? What’s the point of hiding this?” >You want to wake her up >You want to grab her and shake her and ask why she’d keep this from you, and what it put you through >Instead, you do the next best (and right) thing >Your feet barely touch the ground as you tip-toe to the opposite side of the dressing room, all the while keeping one eye on Sam >She still has shock pressed into the lines of her young face, which looks more feminine than before — less angled and softer at the cheeks and at the jaw >But her eyes are clamped down and her mouth is screwed shut, and, thanks to the her decision to strip bare, you can see her meager chest rising and falling with unconscious grace >It’s like watching a very small and weak balloon inflate and then deflate >It takes everything in you not to try to stir her awake >Watching her fall unconscious was hard enough >But this… this was like standing by, helpless, while a beautiful bird with broken wings struggles uselessly to take flight again >You want to rescue her >But you don’t. You do what you think you should “Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up,” you beg the unconscious bunny, whose eyes scrunch together and whose brow furrows >She looks like she’s in pain >You hover over her, holding her ratty old hoodie >Sweat beads from your forehead and down the bridge of your nose, threatening a high-dive onto Sam’s own forehead >You drape her ratty old hoodie across her rounded hips, hovering over her body like a crane trying to defuse a small bomb >And all the while, you keep flicking your gaze over to her bare crotch and the pink slit that is her sex >You still can’t believe it >You swear, the next time you blink, you’re going to wake back up in your bed on Friday night of last week >And all of this is going to be a dream >There will be no horrible plot to destroy the earth >Mike will be normal >You will have never have fought >Your house will have never been destroyed >You will have never made that pact with the goths >You will have never stolen Sam >In fact >When you wake up, you’ll still hate him… her…? >You layer the hoodie gently across her lower half as she begins to stir >When will you wake up? >You don’t wake up >She does >Little slivers of rusted gold peer up at you, shuddering with dim recognition >Her mouth starts to move, and you freeze, hovering over her, obscuring her in your shadow >”I’m s-s-sorry.” >You take a safe step backwards, face burning with hot blood “I don’t understand,” you say, trying not to look at her. You direct your eyes anywhere but at her >Sam props herself up on her palms, still shaking >”P-Please…” >She makes a spinning motion with her fingers “Oh, right! Christ, I’m such an idiot.” Berating yourself feels like the only sensible thing you can do right now (other than turning around) >You do a sharp spin and face the corner like a child who’s being punished >Sam pulls on her boxers first, then hoodie, and then sweats — none of which are done with anything resembling speed or urgency >Mostly just defeat >”O-O-Okay, y-y-you can turn a-a-around.” The sadness in her voice is almost as powerful as your shame >And your curiosity >When you face her, she’s still the same old Sam you’ve known for years >The Sam who you’ve grown to call a friend >The Sam you care about >The Sam that still furiously blushes when you so much as lay a finger on her >This may be the same bunny, but you can sense a change >So you’ve gotta know now >But first, something very important: “I’m… REALLY sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to barge in on you like that. I though you were in the room next to this one, and… I don’t really have a good explanation other than the fact that I’m a fucking idiot.” >Sam points her eyes downward at her feet >”I-I-It’s okay. O-Or, I m-mean, it’s n-not okay. I do-don’t know. I do-don’t kn-know anything.” >There’s an awkward pause, where you’re staring hard at Sam but she’s focusing all of her attention into avoiding eye contact >Guess it’s now or never “Why?” You say, and you think you know what to say next, but your tongue seems to swell in your mouth >Nothing comes out but stupid noise and the hissing of your throat >She forces her hands behind her back to try and abstain from pulling at her ears >”W-What?” “Why. Why did you keep this from me? Does Jenna know?” >Ah, truth at last >She shakes her head, sweeping her bangs into her eyes >”N-Nobody kn-knows ex-except Dad.” “Just dressing and acting like a guy is one thing, but pretending to be one? Are you trans?” >You pause >Was that the wrong thing to say? Shit >What are you supposed to say when someone comes out to you “Because I swear I won’t be mad at you if you are. I’m just confused. Help me understand.” >Again she shakes her head >”I-I’m not… no… I do t-t-this be-because…” >Her eyes start to blaze in the light, and you can see the frustration pressed into her face >Maybe this was a mistake >Actually, not maybe. This whole thing is predicated on your mistake >Well, you better make it right you fucking moron “You don’t need to tell me-” >”Be-Because m-m-my br-brother is d-dead-d-d-dead-” >Gentle sobs start to clip the last of her syllables “I know. You must have really loved hi-” “Bec-c-cause of m-m-me,” >Wat >”I k-killed him.” >Wow >You felt that one like a lead fist in the ribs >Right about where your dusty old heart shudders and pumps dried blood >She looks like she wants to cry, but isn’t allowing herself to >Not yet >She wipes her nose with a snotty sleeve >Her voice plummets into a hoarse whisper >”J-J-Jacob tried to m-make me tough a-and st-strong- so I could s-stand up for m-myself.” “You ARE tough and strong! With all the shit you go through-” >Now you see something you haven’t ever seen before: >An angry Sam >”GIRLS A-A-AREN’T STRONG!" She blazes, chest heaving. “G-Girls are w-w-weak and I-I have to b-be strong. I-I h-have to b-be strong f-f-for J-Jacob… I h-have to be the s-s-s-son my d-d-d-dad d-didn’t get to h-have.” >She doesn’t strangle her ears this time around >Instead, she tightens all of her anger and remorse and sadness between her fingers and closes her fists around them >You just stand there, feeling limp and useless >And more than that: >Guilty >She looks at you, flush in the face, chest swelling with hot air that she pushes in and out with each ragged breath >You’re not sure if she’s going to start yelling again >But she doesn’t >She looks at you one last time with that fire in her eyes, and then… >She slams her eyes shut — hard >She shakes her head, throwing her dangling ears around violently, trying to dislodge her confusing and conflicting thoughts >Her fingers spread outward, and her body stops trembling, like a rocket struggling to fire off the launch pad >All that’s left between you two is silence, the sound of Sam trying to get her breathing under control >And outside the door, the muffled drone of Halloween music marches a steady beat >Now is the time to say something, because this silence is worse than driving pins and needles into your skin >It’s selfish >You know that? >It’s selfish to want to distract yourself from this pain >Maybe it’s something you need to face, for yourself >For Sam >”I-I’m sorry,” she says weakly. “I d-don’t… I d-d-didn’t mean to s-s-shout.” >Now it’s your turn to sigh >God it’s such a relief >You don’t know if you could handle Sam being mad at you “The only thing you have to apologize for is not thinking you’re strong. God damnit, kid, you’re tougher than me and Mike and Alex combined. I don’t know how you got it in your head that you’re weak… that you need to replace your brother, or anything like that.” >Sam looks wounded, but you carry on “I have spent my entire life up until Tuesday afternoon being a gutless coward. I don’t see myself in you — not even a little bit.” >”B-But you s-s-saved me from m-my d-d-dad. Y-You d-d-did wh-what I couldn’t,” she counters. And it’s a fair counter — if you leave out the fact that you were aided by a supernatural curse >You shake your head “That wasn’t me. Or, it wasn’t the real me. Everything brave and important I’ve ever done has been because I sacrificed Gloria Duchene to the goths. But not anymore. On Tuesday, I made that choice to quit living like a fucking coward.” >You pause, searching for a truth in the vacant silence >You’re not tough >Not an asshole >Not strong >You only know one thing: “I’m scared of everything,” you say with a heavy sigh. You turn your eyes away from her. “Why do you think I haven’t decided on my future yet, or sacked up and picked a college? Why do you think we’re hiding in a church instead of out looking for your dad to confront him? Christ, Sam, there’s a million things I wish I could say to you right now, but they die on their way out. But every day I get a little stronger. Every day I learn more and more what I’m capable of.” >You squat down and meet her height >Her eyes are still and fixed on your own “I keep telling myself, if Sam can hit her dad with a baseball bat, then I can make it through until tomorrow — even if it kills me.” >Neither you, nor the rabbit, say anything for awhile >You stare into one another >And at one point, you swear, you traded brains for a second >And a brain is a private, intimate place >You felt what it was like to have someone wander around in the garden of your thoughts and memories >First violation, then admittance, and then wonder >And you, too, spent what felt like an hour inside of Sam’s mind, uprooting her pain, hearing distant rushes of train whistles felling forests and arcing blows of fists across your tender bone >And then the connection severed >You retrieved yourself from Sam, and her from you, and you tried desperately to memorize all that you had seen or done >Sam must have felt the yank of separation, the cascade of sensory data overwhelming her synapses, because at last she blinked >And then you blink, staring lucidly into one another’s eyes, but seeing more than just your own reflections >Your eyes lock on her lips pink lips — the color of a ripe peach >And you lean forward >She shudders, her eyes falling shut in resignation >Of mind first >Then of body >… >You pull back at the last possible second, your lips a hair’s width from brushing one another >When you open her eyes, her lips are still curled, her eyes still shut >Waiting for you >And you are full of shame >The minute you retreat back into yourself, you feel the immense weight of guilt and shame >Shoulda done it when you had the chance >Coward >No >Not now >Not here >This isn’t the time, nor the place >You’re glad you didn’t >Sam’s eyes flutter open, and you see her flash a look of confusion >And then the shame comes >She throws her head downwards, her shoulders sloping with her gaze >”I-I-” she starts, but you’re not going to allow her to do this to herself >She’s too good of a person, drowning there in her hand-me-down hoodie and sweats, ears lopping carelessly behind her crop of hair that you’ve come to find beautiful on her “Your secret is safe with me,” you say, trying to cut the tension >”It…” she stops herself, uncertain in her next fumbling words >”I-It doesn’t have t-t-to be a s-s-secret anymore.” >Wat?“… Are you sure? You want people to know?” >She hesitates for a moment >And then, drawing herself up with a deep breath, she fixes you with a determined stare >”Yes,” she says, her voice as steady as steel >You gather a sharp-dressed Alex, a Jenna dressed like a bumblebee, and Mike, who has done little more than acquire a slick leather jacket that’s slightly too big for his frame, outside the costume shop >You’re dressed up in your white priest vestments, which are a loose cut of pale-yellow cloth with cheap gold thread running down the center >Beneath that, you have a white robe, and Gloria’s crucifix dangling around your neck >You look like a priest, if the Catholic Church were in a severe budget crisis >”You two done making out yet?” Mike groans. “It’s getting dark and I’m getting hungry.” >Indeed, the sunlight was dissolving away into the blue dusk >People were inside having dinner by now with their families, so the clean-swept sidewalks were barren >Meaning the party was going to be soon >The one you were all crashing >That harvest moon was rising, huge like another earth looming overhead “Quit yer’ bitchin’, my son.” You waggle a finger at Mike, who playfully bites the air around it >Jenna giggles “I helped Sam with HER costume, so it took awhile,” you say, taking care to really draw out the ‘HER’ >You sweep the group with your eyes, looking expectantly from face to face “I said, I helped Sam with HER costume, so it took awhile.” >This silence tastes like need-smarter-friend-juice >They don’t seem to understand >Except Jenna, who cocks her head >The sharp ears on top of her head twitch with curiosity, like a live wire jumping with current >You lean forward >Here it comes >The big moment > >”It took you THAT LONG to get him his costume? What is he going as anyway?” She says >”I bet his costume is really elaborate. Lots of moving parts. Did you cop a five-finger-discount on it?” Alex says >… “Actually,” you start, “you’re not even wrong. The costume was almost free. We just had to buy a little rope for her bat.” >Mike, that pale motherfucker, shivers, and says: “why do you keep saying it like that?” >Bingo “Like what?” >The vampire fledgling folds his arms across his chest >”’Her.’ You keep saying that instead of ‘him.’ Say it right, man. I’m too cold to deal with this.” “Ah, you stupid bitch. Maybe there’s a reason for that?” You prod >Jenna’s face lights up with a sudden alarm >”You’re not messing with us, right?” She says, eyes going wide. “Are you saying what I’m thinking you’re saying?” >You fight to keep the smile growing on your face from betraying your pointless ruse >The fox shakes her head. “You’re just messing with us. Right?” >Her pleading expression and Mike/Alex’s cluelessness is the straw that breaks the camel’s back “Okay Sam, you can come out now!” You call >The bunny totters around the corner of the building, trying her best to keep her hands away from her ears and to keep the blush from overpowering her ‘costume’ “I give you: Samurai Outlaw.” >You gesture towards Sam like she were a new car on a game show >She stands before you all, as short and as self conscious always >Her hood is thrown over her head, with two holes sliced out of the top so her ears can dangle down behind her >And a red bandanna obscures every feature of her face except the amber glow of her eyes >Her brother’s baseball bat is strapped to her back with a bit of rope and cord >Other than that, not much has changed about her >It’s a simple costume, but dead close to her idealized drawing of Samurai Outlaw >”Is that it?” Mike says >You scowl “Don’t you think it’s cool?” You say, ignoring his jab >”I mean, it’s pretty simple, is all. I don’t know why it took you guys so long.” >”I think it’s really fucking cool,” Alex says, encircling the rabbit, who is frozen in the metaphorical spotlight >Too much attention on her all at once, you muse >Jenna is dead-frozen, staring fixedly at Sam >”She really does look… good…” she says, stiff and distant, her mind trying to reconnect its crossed wires >”Awww not you too,” Mike says, now encircling Sam with Alex, like two sharks honing in on a bleeding whale >He’s a little more interested than he lets on, you think >The simplicity of Sam’s design is its main strength >You could see Samurai Outlaw as some kind of urban antihero or something in a comic book >Sam flinches and shrinks away from the prying eyes of Mike and Alex as they comment on how cool the baseball bat prop is >Jenna loudly clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention from Sam’s bare-bones costume >”Sam,” she says, a cautious warmth tinting her words. “Is what Anon says true?” She threads her fingers together and folds her hands down at her waist >The bunny points her eyes down at her feet in response to the sudden question >You open your mouth to spill the metaphorical beans for her- >”Y-Yes. It’s true. I-I-I-I’m a girl,” she says suddenly >The boys come to a sudden halt >”You’re fucking with us,” Mike says, glancing between both her and you. “Actually, you’re both fucking with us.” >”I KNEW I SMELLED A FEMALE’S SCENT,” Jenna says, and the joy of being right gleams in her eyes, brighter than her polished fangs >Instinct takes over, and Sam shrinks back away from the fangs and the claws, holding her bat out in front of her like an aluminum shield >Jenna recoils quickly and mutters an apology >”A-Anyway,” she continues, looking incredibly harmless, dressed as a bumblebee. “I thought I smelled something… strange. But I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. This explains so much.” >Alex looks dismayed >”So wait, Sam, you’re really a girl?”?>Overwhelmed, Sam shoves her bandanna back over her face to hide her blush >”Yes,” she says, behind the cloth. “I-I’m not lying-”?>”Wait, if you’re a girl…” He looks at you, and then back to Sam, steam practically pouring out of his ears >Guess his mind is really cranking >”If you’re a girl… And Anon is a boy… And you two…” >You feel a steady knot of anxiety and embarrassment settle in on your chest >It spreads quickly to your face “Alex… Don’t…” you caution him >…Okay, maybe there’s a little rage there too >His mouth drops open, his smile almost as wide as his face >”ANON ISN’T GAY!” >Strangely enough, he looks to Mike for confirmation >And that fuckass is smiling, nodding, as the realization slowly dawns on him with all the speed of a turtle and the grace of a rhino >”Anon’s not gay,” Mike repeats, more to himself than to the rest of you “I’ve been saying that from the very fucking start; I’m not gay, you goddamn idiots,” you counter, face pulsing red >You almost hate that they care more about you being not-gay than they do about Sam’s true identity >”Sam, you’re really a chick? Like, pussy and everything?” Mike leans forward, smiling like a total shithead >The bunny flinches backwards, and you know Mike’s just doing it to fuck with Sam, but you can’t help but internally cringe on her behalf >You imagine her blush must be the same color as her bandanna >”MIKE!” Jenna cries. “What the hell is wrong with you?”?>He spins around with a wounded look on his face >God you really are glad Jenna can keep him under control >Mike mutters an apology while Alex claps you on the shoulder >”I’m seldom wrong,” he says, “but you played the long-con with me. Good work.”?>You smile at him — a warm smile that you hope communicates how fucking done you are with this whole joke >He smiles back, and deep down, you still don’t think he understands >”Hey,” Mike holds an open palm out to Alex. “You owe me 30 bucks.” >Alex looks down at the pale palm, spiderwebbed with blue veins, and then back up at Mike >”You idiot,” he shakes his head slowly, that smile still warming his face. “You actually think I have any money?” >”Nah,” Mike says, all to casually. “I just like knowing I was right.” “Wait,” you turn to the vampire. “So you thought I was straight the whole time?” >You still feel that warm pulse of shame and blood in your face >”Nah, I thought you were bi. That’s why he only owes me 30 and not 60. You’re not bi, right?” >You answer him with a raised middle finger, while Sam stares holes into the sidewalk >Parties >Why is it that parties are a staple of entertainment for high school (and college) students alike? What is so alluring about 50-70 hormonal teenagers stuffed into a house, drowning in noise and drink? >Because they’re fun, damnit. And you need to experience this. And Sam does too >It’ll be good for you >And that’s what you tell yourself as you pull up to Bradyon Smith’s house, which is in one of the ritziest neighborhoods you’ve ever seen >Cars that cost more than your mortgage choke the gutters for three solid blocks, making your rust bucket stick out like a festering wound on a super model’s porcelain skin >You cut the engine and stare into the dash, trying to find the courage to move >You lost it somewhere between your gas tank’s ‘E’ and red needle inching dangerously close to the pits >Mike pops the door and spouts a sharp and immediate whistle >Jenna and Sam instinctively look over at him, expectant >Despite your anxiety, you can’t help but grin a little >They’re so cute >”These houses make me sick,” Alex groans as he unfurls his wiry body and stands tall in the cold night air >”Everything you see here?” He gestures towards the rows of gated homes, their windows polished and shining with domestication, their exterior paint as fresh as their lawns are green. “All the fruits of oppression. This is what you get when you atomize, sodomize, and demoralize the gentle laborer.” He spits onto the pristine sidewalks for effect “Don’t you live in a neighborhood like this?” You offer, stepping out of your rustbucket >You know he’s got a three-car garage, a house twice the size of yours, and a modest trust fund >He just dresses poorly and bikes everywhere for loosely understood ideological convictions >Alex tips his fedora at you like you were the body pillow he finally convinced his mom to pay for >“I’ve only infiltrated their ranks. How does a virus kill its host?” He pauses, eyes flashing between your collective faces >Impatient, he turns to Sam >”Sam? How does a virus kill someone?” >”F-From the inside…?” >”Precisely!” Alex explodes. “As they say in the Art of War, ‘know thy enemy.’” >He seems to have gotten to know his enemy’s deep pockets well enough >You clear your throat “Save it for the revolution, comrade. We s-still have a party to go to.” >Your voice stumbles a bit, betraying your nerves, as if the tension now spreading across your body could manifest itself in clipped syllables >You feel a delicate, fuzzy hand sneak its way into yours >When you look down, Sam is starting deadhead, but you can still see the blush pressed into her downy fur >Her hand starts trembling, and a reasonable guess would tell you she’s far more nervous about this than you are >Her experiences with alcohol and drunk people until this point have not been… positive >You give her hand a reassuring squeeze, as if to say ‘I’m here for you’ >But what you want to say is ‘We don’t have to go. I’m not sure I want to anymore.’ >The chance you had to back out goes pacing off down the street when Mike and Jenna, walking awfully close to one another, start making their way towards Braydon’s house >Alex jogs off after them, one hand plastered to the top of his skull to keep his fedora in place >He throws a quick glance over his shoulder — back at you — before siding up with Mike >… Shit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAFt9bMoKhs&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=11&t=0s >Dressed in your priest vestments and standing off next to the keg itself, you feel your face burning, and not just from the alcohol >This beer tastes like social anxiety >Teenagers — entirely human in composition — mix and mingle with such grace their sheer normalcy practically tips the last swallow of beer in your mouth when you see a girl in a skimpy ‘nerd’ outfit jam her tongue down Braydon’s throat >You look down at Sam, who hasn’t taken a single sip of her beer >She stares down at her feet, awkward and alone >”Hey,” you nudge her. ”You gonna drink any of that?” >”Y-Y-Yeah,” she says ”Alright. But don’t let this color your opinion of beer — or parties. Both are shit.” >You debate detaching from the wall and wandering back into the crowd >Is there a redemption arc in your future? >…Evidently, there is one in Alex’s future >He sticks above the crowd like a well-dressed beanpole >His hands fly and curve and cut through the air while a rapt (and drunk) audience looks on >They hold their collective breaths while Alex clears his throat >He looks like a proud hawk standing atop as his kill >”All I’m trying to say is that we’re complacent in the slow rape of the environment. I’m just as guilty as you are, people.” >He crushes a red plastic cup in his iron(curtain) grip, spewing shards of plastic and cheap beer about the crowd >And yet, nobody revolts against him >In fact, someone hands him their own beer like a feeble adherent in the presence of the enlightened cult leader >He takes a mighty gulp and hands it back >”Thank you, comrade. These hands-” he holds up his sodden mittens to the crowd for effect. “These are the hands that will tie noose around my bosses’s neck. But not yet. Not until all of you are free from your own bondage. You there!” >He throws an accusatory finger towards someone in the crowd >”You there, dressed like a hotdog! Where do you work?” >”At a coffee shop,” the hotdog replies >”Bah, your stimulant juice only fuels the proletariat. I promise, comrade, we will dismantle your prison brick by miserable brick.” >Someone shouts back at Alex, but the pounding music obscures both the retort and Alex’s reply >You can tell by the smug look on Alex’s face it’s about to get heated >This was a bad idea >”D-D-Does Alex h-h-hate his job?” Sam asks “Yes. And as a bonus, he hates everyone else’s job for them.” >”I-I only w-w-work so I c-can come home late. I don-don’t think I li-like my job very much. St-Stella is-” “Insane?” >Sam nods, sloshing beer. She takes a weak sip and makes a sour face in response >You swap your empty cup for her half-full one “Like I said, parties and beer — they’re both shit. Well, most beer isn’t so bad. I take back what I said earlier. But the stuff they’re serving here? It tastes like piss.” >Sam giggles >”H-How do-do you kn-know what t-t-t-that ta-tastes like?” “When did you get so cheeky?” You say, and you genuinely are trying to be lighthearted this time around >Sam’s response comes almost automatically >”S-Sorry I d-didn’t mean t-t-that.” >Christ >You’re far too inebriated to explain the nuances of your prior statement >There’s so much there, your addled mind muses >You are SUCH a BRILLIANT communicator, especially when you’re drinking >You tug at the collar of your robes, degassing some hot air trapped in the folds >The sheer amount of bodies in this lavish house turns the marble-white walls into a kiln >You’re roasting in your costume, and you’re sure Sam, with the shag of her fur and thick hoodie, is melting even more than you are >Plus anxiety often turns up the heat in a person “Fuck this,” you say, peeling off the wall. “It’s hotter than Auschwitz’s kitchen in here.” >Sam sighs deeply, all the tension draining from her face >”Y-Y-Yeah it is,” she says “Can’t even believe it’s October. All the normie-” >You catch yourself before you complete the phrase >Christ, you’re starting to sound like Vanessa >You cough “I mean, all the people crammed in this room are making it hot as shit. C’mon, let’s go somewhere else.” >You take take another swallow of beer, your head spinning already from the drink >This lavish house, with its top-of-the-line electronics and marble white walls is starting to make you sick “Folllowww meeeee,” you say in a sing-song voice, pushing through a throng of people dressed offensively like cats >They give Sam uneasy stares as she follows in your wake >By this point the stares don’t bother you >You’ll flaunt Sam all you want, and everyone who thinks you shouldn’t be seen with her can suck your entire dick >Wherever Mike and Jenna went is none of your concern >You’re ascending the stairs to try and carve out a little bit of space between yourself and everyone else >Sam labors behind you >You can see the sweat glistening on her furry brow, and you pause halfway up the spiraling staircase >If you didn’t know better, this house could be used to shoot porn in >It just has that vibe, you know? >Maybe you’ve seen it somewhere >Sam joins you at your side, and instead of carrying on further, you grasp for her hands >She’s tiny, but she reaches up to meet your efforts >You don’t even care who sees anymore >You just want to help her, see her grow and change >And it feels good to have her tiny, delicate frame up against you, and you’re starting to get an idea of as to why >At the top of the stairs you finally get what you came for. A bit of silence >The thrumming bass from the music downstairs is like a distant memory, echoing off cave walls and dissipating into senseless noise >You take a look around, sucking in hot air >God you’re still out of shape, and Sam is no better >She rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and throws her hood back “I feel you on that one, sister.” You roll the sleeves on your priest robes as best as you can >She looks uncomfortable being called ‘sister’ >You squint hard in the half-light that cloaks the upstairs portion of the house >It’s just an endless sea of doors, presumably leading to bedrooms or bathrooms >Wait >Don’t people come up here to hook up during parties? >Oh god >You almost consider going back downstairs, when, at the end of the hall, you see an open door >Okay >Good >This is good >The door sways and wavers a bit, as if pulled by some kind of invisible force >To you, that means there’s an open window >And more importantly: a breeze >You and Sam labor down the hallway, struggling under the weight of your costumes and the clothes you’re wearing beneath them >Christ >Just getting to the room is like running a full marathon >When you stumble through the door and into the moonlit darkness of the bedroom, the cold air that kisses your sweaty face makes it all worth it >You raise your head off the floor as Sam stands in the entryway, the moonlight outlining her baggy figure in an other-worldly glow >Two wispy white curtains flank a wide-open window >They stir like captured ghosts as another gust cuts into the room >The room is bone-white and clean, with a single king-size bed in the center and a nightstand to the right of it >Must be a guest room >Wait >You look back towards the window >It leads outside (duh) but it doesn’t terminate into a sheer drop >Instead, the roof extends far outwards beneath the frame >Which means you can… “Hey, come with me. I want to try something.” >That something involves you shimmying out of the open window onto the roof >You crawl out of the frame and plant two palms on the gritty shingles >You notice three things >One: the air out here is free, but it feels like swallowing ice water with every breath you take >Two: the rooftop shingles paint black streaks on your palms and the hem of your priest robes >Three: Above your head, the moon hangs like a fattened guillotine, so close that you swear to God with a good sized ladder you could reach up and tear a hunk off like it was cheap styrofoam >This HAS to be fucking up the tides and the oceans >Full moons for a whole week? Yeah, shit is fucked in coastal towns >You stand up at full height on the rooftop, staring up at the bold moon >It’s hard to believe a bunch of angsty teenagers with a magic book could have this much of an impact on an ancient celestial body >And it’s even harder to believe that a communist, an anxious bunny, a coward, an asshole and one perfectly normal vixen are going to push it back into place tomorrow night >You hear the sound of struggle and turn to see Sam crawling out of the window >With the bone-white light of the moon draped across her like a thin sheet, she looks like a specter >When she looks up at you, sweat kissing her brow, she tries to smile, but the exhaustion is plain enough to turn her smile into a strained frown “Careful now.” You crouch down on instinct. “One good tumble and you’re going over the edge.” >She squeaks and freezes up halfway out of the window >Good going Anonymous >You scared her “That’s just like, the worst case scenario. Let me put it like this,” >You release your grasp on her and lock eyes >You love the way her eyes shine like gold nuggets hit with flashlights in the dark >You love the way they’re so full, like they could hold all of her troubles and pain in there, and blink them away >You love the way she lives life as an art form >You love he- >”Y-Yes?” Sam says. “W-What w-were you g-g-going to s-s-say?” >You must have been staring for too long, lost in the wisps of your thoughts “I meant to say: I may be drunk, but I promise, I won’t let you fall.” >You extend a hand to her >With a slight hesitation, she takes it >Her palms are slick with sweat, and trembling from exhaustion yet you interlock your fingers all the same >With a determined force, you pull Sam through the window >And once again, you don’t know your own strength, or how weak Sam is, because she flings towards you with less-than-acrobatic grace >Thankfully, you planted your feet deep into the shingles, so instead of knocking you down like a holy bowling pin, you lean steady her against you, like a tree in a storm >Which isn’t all that hard, actually >Her body is soft and small against your own, lithe and feminine >You wrap your arms around the back of her neck and pull her tight to keep both of you from rocking backwards and taking an involuntary swan dive into a backyard without a pool >It feels like you might break her if you squeeze too tight, but you can’t help it >Instead, she returns your gesture, wrapping her arms around your waist to ‘steady herself’ >She cinches her body tight against yours >And for a moment, in complete stasis, you two stand atop that rooftop, locked together like two pieces of a puzzle >You can feel her heart hammering against your chest, the heat of her body radiating off her, the catch of air leaving her chest when she sighs into you >She stands on her toes and looks up into your eyes >And her smile is bigger than the moon >”T-Thanks for c-c-catching me,” she says, color high in her cheeks >You instinctively look away, hiding your relief and the embarrassment now pressing color into your nervous body “I told you I wouldn’t let you fall.” >From the corner of your eyes, you can still see her looking up into your face, finding serenity in your soft features and boyishness >You settle on her thin, pinkish lips >Magnets aren’t even attracted to each other this much >You almost lean in and- >Something catches your eye >Something at the apex of the roof >Two lone figures, silhouetted against the moon like two figures on a canvas >One of them has a tail that’s fanning back and forth and a pair of sharp ears perked high into the air >The silhouette couldn’t be more obvious to you >Jenna >And >The person next to her must be Mike and >Oh my god >Your heart leaps into your throat as you see Jenna’s shadowy figure lean into Mike, her predatory face pressed against his >”S-Something w-w-wrong?” Sam asks, still buried in your chest “N-No, nothing’s wrong. In fact…” >The world is just spinning a little too fast >Or that’s the beer >”Y-Your he-heart is beating r-really fast,” Sam coos. “I can h-hear it like a d-d-drum.” >A cruel idea springs to mind >You figure you owe Mike this for pummeling the shit out of you on Tuesday >And really, just in general, for being a calloused ass “Things are about to get better. Follow me, and be as quiet as you can,” you say, disengaging from Sam, much to the bunny’s disappointment >You crouch low and try to distribute your weight as evenly as you can >You even spread your arms to keep balance as you climb up the slope of the rooftop towards its shingled summit, where the lone figures of Mike and Jenna now sit, awash in the revealing light of the moon >Sam is much better at this than you are >She must have more experience being stealthy, because she manages to pass you on your way up >She casts an expectant look over her shoulder >Mike and Jenna don’t seem to be paying attention to anything except each other >And to each other’s tongues >And right when they break apart, staring romantically into one another, you announce your presence with crescendo of claps and whistling >Jenna and Mike both jump almost a solid foot into the air, putting Sam’s jet-pack reflexes to shame >You crawl up behind them both “God, you two are precious, you know that? Just absolutely precious.” >The vixen’s blush is so bright you swear you can her cheeks glowing in the dark >And… >Oh that’s just beautiful >Mike throws his head to the side in a pout >But really, it’s so you can’t see that he’s also blushing like a school girl >”I don’t suppose it’s too cliche to say ‘this isn’t what it looks like?’” Jenna whispers >Your smile widens as you and Sam scoot up next to them and plop down on the roof >Happy now? “Far too late, my dear. And you-” you level an accusatory finger at Mike “-Do you have protection?” >Jenna pales >”P-Protection?” She stammers, shrinking into her bumblebee costume >”Anon, shut the fuck upppp.” Mike buries his face into his palms “I’m serious. I know you don’t pay attention in Biology with Mr. Bolm, but you still have the right to bear your third arm — for now.” >”His WHAT?” Jenna shrieks >”Anon, don’t answer that,” Mike commands you >Well, you’ve had your fun “Awww you crazy kids.” Your tone is mocking. “I’m just teasing.” >”I’m older than you are, you assfucker,” Mike hisses, turning his focus back onto the moon >Anything to distract from the fact that his face is burning red, made all the more obvious by the fact that he’s hopelessly pale now >Whatever happened to not liking anthro women? >Quietly, Sam whispers in your ear: “D-Do humans h-have t-t-three arms somewhere?” >You slap your palm over your mouth >It’s all you can do to keep down the laughter >Sam looks towards Jenna for guidance. The fox — still helplessly crammed between you and Mike — mouths something at the bunny >And now you’re the only one not wearing hot scarlet across your face, as the realization strikes Sam with the expediency of an iceberg https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qbk-xo6Zqs&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=9&t=0s >The four of you fall silent, save for the distant thrum of bass from the house, or the shrieks and shouts of drunken teenagers spilling (or stumbling) out into the backyard >The moon looks so swollen in the sky, hanging above Ranchview as if dangling on a single, translucent thread >A chill gust sweeps past you >You tighten your arms around your body, shivering >Mike and Jenna don’t seem to be too bothered — Mike’s jacket should keep him plenty warm, and you’re sure Jenna’s bumblebee costume is padded >How you wish your were a bumblebee and not a knock-off priest >You feel a bright spot of heat nuzzle up into your side >Sam pressed herself up against you >Your eyes meet for a quick second like flint and steel striking each other >And you’re about to say something >But then you turn your focus onto something behind you >Grunting >Noise >Struggle >A dark shadow crawls up the rooftop >In your addled state you almost scream and hurl yourself forward off the roof to escape >You tense up, ready to explode forward and take that promised swan dive >A cloud rolls past the moon, releasing a flood of white light that strikes the dark figure like a spotlight from God >Oh >It’s Alex, and his arms are loaded with beers >You spin the rest of your body to face him “Yooooo!” You call out >”What is up comrades?” He says with a hoarse grunt. “Thought I’d come join my co-conspirators on this monument to man’s misery.” >He plants himself next to Sam and starts unloading beers from his arms, passing them down the line >Sam takes one and examines it, as if unsure of what it is >You pluck one and twist the lid, releasing a sharp hiss of pressure. It’ll be shitty beer, and you’re already cold and slightly drunk, but moments like these feel right for a brew >Jenna cautiously takes hers and sniffs at it, grimacing at the sharp scent of hops >”So,” Mike says, sitting back on his palm and throwing back his beer. “What brings the great Alexi up to our humble perch?” >Alexi sucks down on his drink and issues a triumphant belch >”My work is seldom appreciated by those who don’t understand it,” he says, as if you’re supposed to know what that means without context >His voice is ragged and strained >He must have been shouting for a good after you and Sam dipped >”I got them too riled up. I swear, they’re about to riot down there,” he continues. “I’d approve, of course, but I didn’t want to be the center of it. Buncha rabid animals.” >You cringe at the utterance of the ‘r’ word, but Sam and Jenna don’t seem to care all that much >”Good work comrade,” Mike says. He sets his empty beer down tenuously on the slope of the roof and leans his head on Jenna’s shoulder. “Sew the seeds of the revolution.” >He sounds a million miles away >Distant, yet happy >The vixen’s head snaps left, then right, down the line of people, her face puffed up and red >When you lock eyes, you see the request for permission in them >You shrug in indifference >She knocks the lid off the beer, and with eyes scrunched tight, brings it to her dark lips >You don’t care what they do or what they drink >You’re too at peace to care >Around you the world seems to erupt in hormonal chaos and drunken debauchery >Social worlds you’ll never be a part of >Things you’ll never do >But you like it better up here with your friends >You feel like a tiny raft adrift on a very large and unfamiliar ocean, and everyone of you is a torch against the darkness >You’ll happily burn for them, together, like one big bonfire >Or five logs leaning against one another in a blaze “Ever thought that this is what you’d be doing your senior year of high school? Fighting the forces of evil for a bunch of people who don’t even know you exist?” You wonder aloud >”Them down there?” Jenna points a finger forward the knot of costumes moving around the backyard. “They know we exist. I think.” “They know, but they don’t care.” >”Gahhh don’t get all emo on us, Anon,” Mike says. “You keep talking like that you’re going to start siding with the goths.” “Bah, never. I’m not that much of a titanic idiot. Besides, I DO care about those kids down there. But I care more about the people up here on this roof. That’s why I’m doing this. And because I’m sick of being a coward, watching from the sidelines, running away from what scares me, hurting who I care about in the process.” >Your mind flashes back to Mr. Bolm and Gloria, both casualties of your cowardice >And then there was Sam >The way you treated her for so long makes you physically cringe >You hope, in some way, you’re setting things right >And not just with her, but with yourself too >Your heavy eyes flick down to her slight, pink lips, curled up in a shy smile >”Awwww we care about you too,” Jenna adds, her voice flush with joy and the beginnings of inebriation >Is this her first time drinking? >”You know what I care about?” Alex says. “Changing things for someone somewhere. I wanna do something that matters. That’s why I fight against oppression in whatever form it takes. Be it at The Shop N’ Save, school, or even at this gathering-” >”It’s called a party,” Mike cuts in. “Just call it a party. And I don’t seem to recall you running for any sort of student office… ever. How exactly do you fight oppression?” >”My existence is resistance,” is Alex’s retort >”I’m with you on doing something that matters, but that was a lame excuse and you know it.” >The communist crusader shrugs and pulls back on his beer again >When all reasoning and logic fails: beer >Beer is a universal language >It’s clear that this isn’t the time or place to discuss thin- >”I-I wan-want to do something th-that matters t-too,” Sam squeaks up. >She drops into a whisper. “I w-w-want to f-f-finally b-be brave.” >You’re a little shocked that she’s actually talking on her own behalf for once, but then, registering her words, you start to nod >Doing something that matters >Being brave >Now those are ideas worth dying for >There’s something to rally behind, whatever ‘something that matters’ is >How do you quantify it? How do you define what matters? >Does it matter? >Maybe you can channel the pervasive energy of an idea or a goal, however nebulous it may be, and achieve something immeasurable? >As if all the great forces of evil and old and adult age were the clear sky, and you, your little group of friends, were the hurricane that would go nameless and uncategorized >You want to do something that matters >You want to stomach everything and keep it down — all the terror, the fear, the anxiety, the shame, the regret, the pain >All for something — and someone — that matters >You want to be brave, like Sam, who has already endured so much pain and hardship, who grows by leaps and bounds and strides every chance she gets >And that’s when you made your decision, settling again on her lips >Two things were happening in that moment: >Mike, Jenna and Alex were staring at you, shocked, their faces practically glowing in the pale moonlight >And you were —consciously or unconsciously — wrapping your arm around Sam’s slender waist, while her words pounded into your skull, in-step with your wild, hammering heart >’Be brave’ >She looks up at you, startled, at first, but she doesn’t draw back when you bend your neck and lean forward >’Be brave’ >Her eyes flutter shut before yours do >She leans up, towards you, drawing on the unconscious muscle memory that teaches birds to fly and fish to swim, to draw her arms around your neck and pull you close >’Be brave’ >Your lips meet hers >Every heartbeat you spend there feels like it could drag on for eternity >With delicacy, you press your lips together >Her fur tickles the tops of your lips >You taste the sweat, the salt, feel the palpability of her slender mouth tight against yours >Before you even realize what’s happening, Sam tightens her arm against the back of your neck, further pressing you two together, breaking the parallel distance that spans separates you from her >It feels… >…Like heaven in her arms >Like wetness and fur, like comfort and grace >And you start to tremble at the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once — the kiss, the alcohol, the night sky, your friends — but to Sam, that’s all a galactic mile away >There’s only you and her: doing something that matters >When at last you pull back from each other (you still shaking; hot air and steam dumping from your mouth), there’s silence >Sam quickly pivots her body to face away from you, but you can see the unbridled joy played out across her face >Her ears stand on high alert, and her little poofy tail is fanning as fast and as violently as a stubby tail can fan >You wipe your lip with the back of your hand, still tasting her on your tongue >That was your… well it was your fir- >”BRO JOB BRO JOB BRO JOB!” Mike howls into the sky, clapping his hands like a madman. He pulls on an imaginary train whistle. “CHOO CHOO!” >He stands up, wobbling on two shaky legs. “Hey, everyone!” His voice booms. “Anonymous isn’t gay!” >”Mike get down! If you fall off this roof I swear to God…” Jenna hisses >Paying her no mind in his addled state, he cups his hands around his mouth for volume and belts out: “SAM GARLEN IS A-” >Jenna yanks him down by the bottom of his jacket >He lands hard on his ass, grunting as the roof practically sodomizes him >”Ow,” Mike groans, sliding down onto the slope of the roof >You scowl at him, still flush, head spinning from the kiss >But you can’t say you don’t deserve it a bit >The whole thing is stupid and silly and sappy >”Hey,” Mike looks up at Jenna. “Thanks for that. I think I had a little too much.” >”Oh, you think?” She replies curtly, her own beer half empty >When they start talking you disengage and focus back on Sam >Sam turns to face you, and her expression gives you pause >She has tears in her eyes, though she’s doing her best to smile >The rabbit scrubs her eyes with the back of her hands >”T-Thank you f-for tonight.” She pauses, as if she’d forgotten what she was going to say. “A-And for e-everything. W-Without you I-I don’t think I-I’d have m-made it t-this far. Y-You saved m-me.” “Nonsense,” you say. “Samurai Outlaw saved herself. And I mean that. All I did was provide some of the grunt work.” >”…I-I d-don’t k-know ab-about that… I-I’m n-not a h-hero. I just d-d-dress l-like this.” >Fuck >What is it going to take for her to believe that she has some worth? >You turn to face the moon again as all five of you lapse into a momentary silence >”Can you believe it?” Alex starts. “Tomorrow is… the day.” >He’s not looking at anyone >His eyes fill with moonlight >”Gonna go to that party and knock some skulls,” Mike says, sitting up, grabbing another brew and leaning hard into Jenna >Unsure of what to do with her hands, she hover-hands over Mike’s waist >And it’s frankly fucking adorable how awkward she is around him >”Y-Y-You thi-think we ha-have a shot?” Sam asks “’Course we do. The goths are a lot dumber than they appear. We’re going to go to that dance tomorrow, kick some ass, and then…” you drag in a deep breath of cold air >”I’m going to go to college.” Mike says before you can finish. “I don’t care what I need to do to lift this curse. I’m going to fuck some shit up and then go to college — put this all behind me.” >You feel your throat tighten >It must be just the cold, right? >He’s not going to… leave you all behind though, is he? >Like, intellectually, you know he’s leaving, but emotionally, you guess it really hasn’t hit you yet that everyone is going their separate ways >”Me too,” Alex joins in. “I can’t think of anything more important. Or anything I’d rather be doing with my Halloween.” He flashes his polished smile at you all >Your heart jumps a bit >”You’re going to school?” Jenna says, looking at Alex like he just said he was pregnant >”’Course I am,” he replies in a slurred voice, deep into another beer. “I’m going to be a politician and FIGHT for the rights of the people.” >Your hands start to sweat a bit >College >Everyone leaving >Ambitions >Plans >Goals >What do you have? >A wild, vague notion, one that scares the shit out of you >The idea of leaving too >You glance down at your beer, see it’s half-empty, and knock it back “I’m going to graduate,” you blurt out, probably a lot louder than you had intended >You feel that familiar knot of anxiety start to coil up in your chest like a cobra “A-And I’ve decided: I’m going to college.” >Stunned silence except for the rhythmic pounding of the bass >Someone at the party squeals with laughter >”Good,” Mike says, matter-of-fact. “Of all the people I know, you’re the most qualified to go to school.” >”I’ll drink to that.” Alex hoists his bottle in the air like an amber torch >You weakly lift yours >Jenna lifts her (second) bottle with Mike >”A-A-And I’m n-n-never go-going back to my dad!” Sam exclaims, thrusting her half-finished beer into the air >What do you say? >Something cool? >Something deep? >Maybe just anything >Spinning around in your head, thoughts firing off in all different directions, you can only settle on one thing: “Here’s to something that matters.” >”It’s easy, Sam. Even I’ve driven a car,” Alex slurs from the passenger seat. “It’s like… like riding a bike.” >”I-I’ve n-never r-ridden a b-” >Alex groans >”What else haven’t you done, breathed air?” >You shoot him a defensive look >Sam sits perched on your lap, her slender fingers gripping the wheel. Your foot rests on the brakes >Your car, the rustbucket, is humming steadily, crammed in between Mercedes and BMWs >Like a pimple on a perfect face “Listen, you’re going to do just fine,” you assure her. “Just take us ba-back to the old church.” >You can still taste the last beers on your tongue, and the sloshing in your stomach makes you wish you hadn’t been so zealous tonight “I work the pedals, you steer. There’s nothing to it.” >”I-I don’t k-know…” she starts, but Mike cuts in from the backseat, his words even sloppier than Alex’s >”Yours is the only one thats sober,” he says >”Hey, I’m sober enough,” Jenna whines. She’s laying horizontal in the backseat, her head in the crook of Mike’s lap. Mike runs a gentle finger through the fur on her skull, causing her ears to fold back >”You kidding? I wouldn’t trust you to even rides a scooter right now,” Mike leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes. “You and me got a good set up back here anyway.” >”Normally I’d claw you for that.” Jenna nuzzles into Mike’s lap. “But this time you’re right.” >”On which part?” >She replies: “Quit while you’re ahead.” >Which Mike does, the crowned champion of the evening >Or, at least of the back seat >You have Sam >And that’s enough >As if to remind your inebriated self of this fact, you wrap your arms around her waist and lightly pull her against you >She squeaks a little, but her typical tremors never come >Even at her boniest, most emaciated, you don’t care about having her weight on top of you >You just need to feel the weight of a single person to anchor you back to earth “Ready?” You whisper to her >She nods and grips the wheel a little tighter >You throw the car into reverse and give a little gas >Sam angles the wheel to compensate… >… And your car goes the wrong direction, scraping into the curb with a painful shriek >Her body tenses up “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” you say in as soothing a tone as you can muster, but your tongue trips over your words and you just end up doing a lot of drawn out syllables “Just angle the wheel the other way when you’re going in reverse.” >She pulls the wheel over and you give it some gas >The car comes free >You throw the transmission into drive and give the accelerator a little gas >You pull away into the night, leaving the pounding bass and debauchery of the party behind you in a swirling trail of loose leaves >Sam is surprisingly good at navigating her way around town, and her steering motions — while labored and cautious — get you out of the the ritziest part of town >She hardly even needed you to navigate the main roads >Her memory is impressive, to say the least >It’s probably what helps her draw so gracefully >The night is slow and cold, the radio low, but the car is a warm little torch carving down the empty roads >And it feels good to have Sam’s delicate body resting up against yours >She feels like she’s made of glass sometimes >But then you remember her running away from her dad, opening up to you, defying Stella, going through ALL the shit that she’s been through in her life >And you know she’s made of sterner stuff than what her bones and mottled fur say about her >For how boring and shitty the party was, the rest of the night turned out to be perfect >Until you got to the church >You should have sensed something was wrong as you piled out of the car >You should have been more alert, but the beer had blunted your already blunt senses >How could you have not seen it there, just in the moon-cast shadow of that tree? >Sam and Jenna sensed it too, but neither of them seemed to be able to place their sudden, hair-raising anxiety >It was just that gut-kicking, involuntary sense that something was here that did not belong >The two exchanged worried glances the second they got out of the car, Sam’s ears high and alert, Jenna’s mouth opening up in a snarl >You ever have a moment, right before something goes horribly wrong, where everything happens in slow motion? >This was one of those moments >You saw Alex adjust his fedora and straighten his suit jacket out, brushing off dust and grit from Braydon’s roof >You saw Mike smile at Alex, his mouth shaping silent words as he pulled his jacket around him >Sam looks towards you >Her face is shock and horror, her body weak lines and frailty collapsing into her clothes like a failing bridge into troubled waters >She opens her mouth to say something >But >Everything went quiet >And then a light shineth into the darkness, spraying your shadows up against the front entrance of the church >Two lights >Old headlights >From an old sedan, wearing belts of rust and cracks on its windshield, as if it shared blood with your own rustbucket >An old and shitty Sedan that Mike had seen before in the neighborhoods on Tuesday >The old and shitty Sedan that you saw in the school lot, that followed you here last night and left without suspicion >The old and shitty Sedan that Sam’s Dad is climbing out of >The silver of a worn pistol flashing in the headlights >And there he stands, alone in the headlights, tall, cut out of jagged angles, his mouth set in a hard, determined line, amber eyes fixed on Sam >His body stirs and sways with restlessness and the tell-tale signs of inebriation >Jenna gasps and takes a small step backwards, her ears folding submissively against her skull >Sam remains frozen, eyes shot wide with something beyond just plain fear >”Who the fuck are you?” Mike says, taking a step forward >Sam’s Dad calmly raises his gun and aims it square into Mike’s chest >Mike retreats a step backwards, and you can see his knuckles whiten with tension >”All of you,” Sam’s dad says, his eyes sweeping the assembled group. “Just stay where you are.” >He moves closer, heavy work boots crunching the shards of glass and gravel into the cold blacktop >Up this close it’s easy to tell just how drunk he is >His body moves in an almost serpentine pattern, but his bloodshot eyes remain fixed and hard >Staring right at Sam >”D-Dad?” Sam sputters as all the color leaves her cheeks in a single moment >”Shut the fuck up,” he simmers. “You don’t get to call me that. Not ever. Bet you thought you were really brave, or clever, running away like that?” >You can see the tears glassing Sam’s eyes as she starts to tremble all over >”I-I’m s-s-s-s-sorry,” she says, though her apology is poorly received >Her Dad’s face twists up into an enraged scowl >”I know you are, you little twerp. You’re always sorry for everything all the time. But you ain’t sorry enough, not yet you’re not.” >Your heart takes a leap into your stomach >Christ, whenever someone says ‘not yet you’re not’ it never means anything remotely good >Especially not now >Sam’s hands fly to her ears, but she doesn’t even have the strength right now to properly grip them >She just strokes them like a child strokes a toy when they’re nervous or scared >”That’s right, squeeze your ears. It ain’t gonna do you no good,” he says, whiskey-rot pouring from his gullet >You desperately want to snake a hand out and hold onto Sam >Instead your eyes flick towards Sam’s Dad >Maybe it’s not too late for diplomacy? >At the very least, you might be able to distract him long enough >Your body goes numb, but you will your mouth to open and your tongue to work >It’s the rudder that steers your small ship into a dangerous hurricane >You summon a fortifying breath >Full sails ahead ”It was my idea to rescue her,” you say. You meet her Dad’s gaze >You see nothing but cold hatred >”I know it was your idea. You think this stupid cunt could ever work up the guts to do what he did on his own? You don’t know how spineless he really is.” He motions towards Sam >Alright, fuck diplomacy >Diplomacy is the last resort of the weak >You feel the anger rising in you like a stoked fire, smoldering in the center of your chest >It burns and races outwards, singing through your nerves and veins like brushfire “She’s stronger than you think she is. Way stronger than you’ll ever be.” >Her Dad’s stare pierces you like a crossbow bolt straight to the chest >”A-A-Anon, p-p-please,” Sam pleads with you. “D-Don’t say a-a-anything.” >You breathe hard >Your courage ebbs and flows like a weak tide >It takes the stars >And the light of an unnatural moon >To whip yourself up into a tsunami >Two forces — courage and cowardice — rage inside of you “What’s with the bottle? Couldn’t face a bunch of teenagers without a little liquid courage, could you?” >With that, you know which of the forces is winning “And that gun. What are you doing with that? You can call Sam spineless all you want, but you’re the one hiding behind that soulless piece of shit.” >Those old devil eyes of his narrow as he draws forth something from his addled memories. >“I remember you,” he says, rather calmly >He takes a massive step forward, his rabbit legs carry him with uneasy grace >Your whole body tenses up >You might be able to grab the gun >It’s within arms reach >Sam’s Dad is so close now >Your heart hammers against your ribcage like a war drum >Your arm starts trembl- >There’s an explosion of blood in your mouth as the butt of the pistol crushes the side of your face >You stumble and nearly fall flat on your stomach, but catch yourself on the pavement, palms pressed into the cold grit >Pain throbs behind your eyes like the ringing of a dull and distant bell >You taste the salt and iron of the blood filling your mouth >You spit a gob of the acrid fluid onto the blacktop, feeling too dazed to move >”A-Anon!” Sam squeals >And yet, she’s still stationary, pulling at her ears >Only her worried eyes offer any kind of help >The coward >”That’s for running me down with your car like some kind of gutless bitch,” her Dad growls, his voice rugged and sharp >The sound of the hammer snapping back on the gun freezes you in place >”I came here tonight to put an end to this rotten bloodline,” he says, leveling the gun at the side of your head. “You ain’t no man, but you sure talk like one.” >Jenna and Alex gasp >You remain frozen on the ground >There’s a hitch in his chest as his breathing quickens >”What’s a few bodies more?” >Your eyes slam shut >So, this is how it ends? Your brains needlessly splattered on some forgotten strip of blacktop? >All 18 years of a life surmised and put to an end with one errant twitch of a mad rabbit’s fingers >To whatever god is out there, you hope they take you into their pearly gates or walled gardens or whatever for trying to stand up for someone weaker than you >Maybe you’ll be reincarnated? >Somewhere, fast approaching on tracks of milled steel, pressing little earthquakes into the ground, a train sings into the night >”S-Stop!” Sam commands >You can hear her dad’s breathing slow, the tension in his chest trickling out with a drunken wheeze >Your eyes flick open and you turn your head to look up >Sam’s shape blocks your view of her Dad >And might have blocked the bullet that would have entered your skull and torn a comet’s tail through your dreams, memories and personality >”L-Leave th-them a-alone. I’m the o-one you want,” she says. “I-I kn-know why yo-you’re h-h-here. T-T-T-To take me back h-h-home.” >She summons a deep breath from the small well of her courage >”I-I’ll g-g-g-go h-h-home with you if you p-promise to l-l-leave them a-a-alone.” >Her voice is steadied and measured, and were it not for her stutter, you might have even thought she was… >…Brave >Silence rings louder than a gunshot, except for the distant train whistle that’ll soon be passing down the tracks by the church >You rise to your feet slowly, just in time to see her Father’s face twist up with horrible, rib-sucking laughter >”You think I’m taking you home? Boy, you’re not going home tonight.” >Sam forces herself to maintain eye contact with her father >”I-I’m a g-girl, d-d-dad. I’m n-not Jacob. I-I can’t rep-replace your s-s-son.” >His laughter stops almost as quick as it started >”Don’t you think I don’t know that?” His voice is a cold whisper that rises into a shout. “YOU CAN’T REPLACE MY SON, BUT YOU SURE AS HELL CAN PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO HIM.” >The train howls again, growing closer, and that devil smirk spreads across his face >”Perfect timing,” he says, sweeping the gun around the group >You swear that grim, devil smirk is going to be seared into your brain for the rest of your life >“Everyone, down to the tracks,” he says >You are Samantha Garlen, 18-years-old, a brown Mini-Rex rabbit dressed in your brother’s baggy hoodie and jeans, with a baseball bat strapped to your back, pretending to be a super hero of your own creation called Samurai Outlaw >Samurai Outlaw is tough >Samurai Outlaw is a loose cannon who plays for the good guys, but by her own rules >Samurai Outlaw is collected and at ease among criminals, being one herself >That is, of course, the character Samurai Outlaw >You are Samantha ‘Sam’ Garlen >And tonight, you die >You feel the muzzle of your father’s old pistol pressed into your back as he marches you down the hill behind the old white oak door church >Towards the set of railroad ties >Your friends huddle together at the top of the hill, helplessly watching as you’re marched to your death >They could call the police, but they’d never get here in time >They could try rushing your dad >But they’d end up getting shot >”There’s gonna be an accident tonight,” your dad whispers. His breath is hot and salty in your sensitive ears, sending shivers up your spine >You know the spine-crawling feeling well >“Going to put an end to you, boy.” >The train whistle sounds off again, and your dad starts laughing as the shakes hit you >”You hear that? That train? I bet you wish you were dead right now, you coward little kid.” >”SAM!” Anon shouts. “DON’T LET HIM DO THIS!” >You’re almost to the tracks now, the gun firmly in the small of your back >You try to keep a steady voice. “I-I-It’s okay,” you call up to Anon. “I-I’ll be okay.” >Your gut sinks with each word >Dad doesn’t seem to hear you >Or if he does, he doesn’t care >That train is so close now >So loud and clear >Gliding down the tracks, snaking around corners and bends, pulling its innocuous cargo down the ties >The apprehension and waiting for death is the worst, part, you think >Death can’t be that bad >It’s everything leading up to it that makes your whole body shake violently >You lift your heavy feet as you cross over onto the tracks >Dad stands you upright >”Remember these tracks? This is where I lost my son. That’s right. These fucking rails, down at the pits where you faggots would go play.” Dad draws out the word ‘faggots.’ “These rails got blood on ‘em. And it ain’t the old rail car yard, but this’ll do nicely. You’re going to pay back your debt tonight. Blood for blood.” >You feel like puking again >Dad towers over you, ignoring the baseball bat pressed against your back >You stare dead ahead, eyes wide “I-I remember J-J-Jacob t-t-too,” you say. “I-I-I re-remember h-h-how he l-looked out f-f-for me, a-and how much-” >What you say doesn’t matter anymore >You’re just speaking to the empty void at this point “-How much l-like y-you he w-was. B-But he was b-better than y-y-you.” >Dad digs the gun a little deeper into your back >”I know why you remember him like that — you were always hidin’ behind him when trouble came ‘round. You always ‘been a burden to everyone.” >He leans in real close to your ears, ignoring the bat strapped to your back >”I bet he hated you.” >You go stiff all over “T-That’s not true…” you say >What if he did hate you? >You always held onto the idea that he had mixed emotions and feelings towards you >But it wasn’t outright disdain and hate >You were a coward weakling, but were you really worthy of his hate? >Your thoughts blur and coalesce together as the train whistle blows again >It’s so close now >”Of course it’s true. He HATED you.” The way Dad says ‘hated’ is sharp enough to cut your throat. “We all hated you. All you’ve ever been is a coward and a burden.” >You struggle against him >”A drain on everyone. You ate our food and slept under our roof. But you ain’t even a guest. Just a liability. And you ain’t got nobody. Not even family.” >He roots in you place with a rough hand that digs into your fur “N-No, I h-ha-have f-f-friends now-” >”THEM?” Dad jerks his head towards the top of the hill, where Anonymous, Mike, Jenna and Alex watch — helpless >”They’re not your friends. They probably hate you too.” “They do-don’t!” You cry in your strongest voice. “T-They c-c-care about me!” >Tears spring to your eyes >You wish you could stop your throat from tightening >Where is your composure? >Do you really want to die like a crying, sissy bitch? >”They don’t like you. They feel /bad/ for you. You’re damaged goods anyway. Not my son, not my daughter, not anyone’s friend. Just my burden. That’s all you are.” >… >He’s right, isn’t he? >They don’t like you at all >In fact, they’ve never liked you >All those moments of cold callousness, avoiding you, ignoring you, all the whispered jokes and idle hatred >The way they treated you >The names they called you >Always looking after you like you were some kind of… >… Burden >Even Anon didn’t like you >Especially at first >But… He saved you from this life >He looked out for you >He put his lips on yours and kissed you like he meant it >From the rotten crevices of your brain — where all the abuse lives — comes a voice, one that’s not entirely your own >’People don’t change.’ >’He’ll take what he wants from you, and then leave.’ >A cold wind rushes past you, and all you can do is gawk into the darkness, staring at that bend like the condemned stares down the gallows >Soon death would come charging around that corner >Unless… “I-I’ll go h-h-home w-w-with you… I’ll n-never ta-talk to anyone ag-agin. I’ll d-d-do wh-whatever you wa-want. J-Ju-Just let go-” your pleading voice is swallowed up by another, closer train whistle >Dad braces his broad back against the wind >”Don’t you get it? You’re not going home. And you’re not dodging this train — not that you could in the first place. I told you: I’m going to put an end to this bloodline. Right here. On these tracks.” >Your body goes cold, and then slackens into his rough grip, like you were throwing yourself into a big bed that you’d never climb out of >So that’s how it’s gonna be? >You feel his own hold on you loosen as he steps back >And then >The hollowed tip of the gun at the back of your head >”Now get down on your knees,” he commands. “Right here, on these tracks. Where you robbed me.” >You obediently drop to your knees >”You miss your brother?” He says. You can tell by the strain in his voice — he does too >”You’ll see him again soon.” >The train tears around the bend, its forward-facing lights throwing yours and Dad’s shadows down the strip of tracks >The conductor rips on the horn >And everything goes quiet >The familiar squeal of the brakes >The train as it rolls down the ties >The blast of the horn >Even the blustering wind >All gone >And soon, you will be too >It ends how it began, you guess >Unwanted >”WHAT WOULD SAMURAI OUTLAW DO!?” >Like a brick through a window, Anon’s voice reaches your ears, scattering shards of quiet all over your addled mind >Things register in your blunted senses: >The train barreling down the tracks >The wind >Your father’s momentary distraction >And Anon >His voice so scared for you, so desperate, scarring his own throat so that he can be heard against the roar of the train and the cut of the wind >What would Samurai Outlaw do? >Samurai Outlaw would rise to her feet despite the wind blasting back her hood, her piercing amber eyes fixed dead ahead, catching the glow like a bowl >Samurai outlaw pours light on everything >Samurai Outlaw would — quick as a whip — spin to face her nemesis, drawing her signature baseball bat as she moves >In one single motion, she’d swing her bat >And she’d swing with years of pent up rage, with the rawness of life singing through her adrenaline-clogged veins >She’d swing as if her very life depended on it, as if her bat could rip galaxies apart and separate light from dark >She’d swing like she was blasting through a thrown beer bottle out in front of a church, surrounded by friends >That swing would connect with hurricane force against her foe’s hand, knocking the pistol from his grip >There’d be tremendous flash of light as the gun went off, barking at the tip with a spray of fire >But the bullet would fly past her right ear, damaging her hearing >That’s exactly what Samurai Outlaw did, that night >And you are Samurai Outlaw >You are Sam again >Your Dad, having just had his gun knocked from his hand, leaps upon you as the ground starts to quake with the approach of the train, like water might shake during an earthquake >The back of your head knocks against one of the wooden ties on the tracks, dazing you >From the corners of your vision you can see your friends rushing down the hill towards you, shouting, waving their arms to try and get the train to stop >But it won’t stop >It can’t stop >And Dad knows this >”IT’LL BE BOTH OF US!” He roars at you, his coarse voice barely above the train’s own clattering >”BURDEN!” His hands find your throat >”THIEF” He squeezes tight, wrapping around you like a noose >Your eyes shoot open as you feel your last breath trapped in your chest screaming to get out >Your tiny hands shoot towards his wrists to pry them away >His grip is too formidable, too practiced and too full of hatred >There’ll be no dodge this time, not from either of you >”COWARD!” >That’s what Jacob used to call you >Coward >What else did Jacob say? >Your mind blurs back as your vision starts to collapse, cold, dark stars clouding the corners of your eyes — oblivion creeping into your sight >Your whole body is shaking, tossed about from the rumble of the train, the adrenaline, and the fear >Spittle starts boiling out of your mouth as your eyes roll upwards >Even with the train bearing down, something quiet — yet sharp — returns to you >Jacob’s voice comes back to you like a distant and fading echo emanating in the back of your skull >Some memory from when you were a child >Filling a sock with gravel >Your brother standing over you with his bat, saying: >>”Even if you’re a girl, you just gotta hit a wolf in the nose, and they’re down. Humans, aim for the shins. That’s all you have to worry about. Rabbits? Right in the chest.” >You pull your formidable legs underneath you as dad presses furious rings into your neckline >You aim your feet upwards… >The train blasts its horn, deafening your other ear >…And rocket your kick upwards, as if you were punting the moon itself >Your blow connects directly with Dad’s ribcage >His grip on you goes slack as his body registers the pain >You pull in gulps of cold air, rejuvenating your body and lungs, feeling as if you’d been drowning inside your own skin >Dad’s lungs suck inward and his face twists up with shock >Then his eyes squeeze shut as his arms bend and shoot towards his chest >Like a giant building collapsing, he drops forward, not unconscious, but stunned enough to give that impression >Still coughing, you roll off the tracks >A final dodge >At the perfect moment >You raise your head — covered in burrs and scrub grass — and look towards the tracks >Dad is propping himself up on his palms, coughing >He turns his head towards you as the full brunt of the train’s headlights hit him, outlining his ragged shape in black and gold >He opens his mouth to speak one final cruelty >And then in a blur of steel and the clanging of horns, he’s gone >As the train rolls on >You hear muffled sounds all around you, feel the cold of the wind against your fur, ripping through you like you were full of holes >All you can do is stare and listen to the sharp ringing that pierces the wall of nothing clouding your senses… >…And stare at the train, winding by in the night, like a great metal snake bound on tracks of dirty steel >He tried to kill you >Your own dad >Strangely enough, you don’t feel like crying >Why don’t you want to cry? >Wasn’t that your own flesh and blood now smeared across the tracks? >Or, at the very least, the man who acted as your flesh and blood >Well, no, you can’t say that either >That devil drunk was no father >You have nobody >Except the gentle hands pulling you to your feet >The concerned, shouting faces of all your friends, the relief so clear in all of them that your throat starts tightening up >They’re hugging you and grabbing at you and speaking to you, but you can’t hear a word of what they’re saying >The world is still ringing >And spinning, too >The world is spinning faster than you could have ever imagined >The stars and the swollen moon become a lighted smear across the sky as your legs tremble and give way >Your eyes glaze over >The darkness takes hold of you >The last thing you see is Anon’s face as he takes you by the shoulders, his face soft as patted butter >And when you shut your eyes and surrender to that darkness, you feel your feet swept out from under you, pulled by the gentle current of the unconscious >You are Anonymous >You are not a strong man >But right now, you could care less about the battery acid sting in your muscles >Or the cold sweat threading its way down your face >It’s a welcome feeling >Because it means you’re keeping Sam safe >She’s resting in your arms as you carry her bridal-style up the hill, back towards the church >Under cold and delicate stars, you watch as her timid chest rises and falls >Her face isn’t relieved >It isn’t strained >The worried lines that often bunch up under the dark circles beneath her eyes are absent >All you see is sheer exhaustion >You can still see the frustrated, angry marks pressed into her throat like a necklace >The red lines of fury >You can even see where his fingers had pressed hard — little splotches of red — as if Sam were molding clay and he was trying to sculpt her into everything he hated >It makes you hate her Dad even more than you already do >Soon those marks would fade from Sam >And old wounds will scab over and heal >But the scars will remain, like a broken jar >You can put all the pieces back together, but it will never be the way it once was >Mike glides up next to you, >You’re too intent to hear him >”Can you carry her all the way up?” He says. “Because if you want…” >His voice trails off “No. I need to do this,” you say to him >Even if your arms strain and burn, you’re going to carry this stupid, brave bun all the way to the top >Mike is silent for a moment, then says: “Police?” >Your answer is quick and short “No.” >”Don’t you think someone will notice that Sam’s dad is gone? I’m no fan of the police myself, but… her dad is dead. There’s a body down there.” “Good. He was a monster trapped in a memory. He tried to murder his own daughter, and then kill himself.” You cradle Sam’s head in the crook of your arms like you would a child “As far as I’m concerned he’s better off dead.” >”You know that was my first time meeting the guy, right?” “What’s your point?” >”He didn’t make a great first impression on me either.” Mike spits on the ground “You should have been there the first time I met him. I about pissed myself.” >You were nearly at the top of the hill now >You were tired, sweaty, and your nerves were burnt to a crisp >Sam obviously had it worse, but at least she was unconscious now and could get some rest >She deserves that >”So no police then?” Mike asks again “We’ll let the conductor call the police — if he ever does. Who knows, there may not be enough of his body even left over to identify. At least, I hope so.” >The police never came that night >And neither did sleep >Alex and Jenna spoke in hushed voices to each other, often rising from their rickety pews to stretch and ask if you were alright >You were alright >You were watching Sam sleep for hours >Mike stood guard outside, wielding Sam’s baseball bat >What was there to keep guard from anyway? Do the goths even know where you are? >Is their behemoth resting in the school somewhere on the night before their ritual can be completed? >Is there someone in this entire conflict that knows peace right now? >Maybe it’s you >Watching Sam, doubled in on herself, not dreaming, not kicking in anxiety, not fighting with demons (real and imagined) >What you felt at first was concern for her >Then, as you laid her on the pew in the front row, like an offering to God, letting the full weight of her being rest, relief washed over you as if it were water from baptismal springs >She was alive >Wanted >And breathing >Alex drops down next to you, lowering his frame with an exhausted grace so as not to wake Sam >”How you holding up?” He says with a tired smile >His voice is low and scratchy, and for the first time, you sense there’s a small touch of nerve there “You know, one thing I never thought I’d be doing last weekend was… this…” you say >”I did.” Alex’s matter-of-fact tone gives you pause “Bullshit, you didn’t know any of this would happen.” >”Well, not this specifically.” >”But I did know we were going to do something important. Something like save the world, and save Sam.” “Alex,” you sigh, exhaling your nervous energy. Sleep was just starting to fall on you — or maybe it was exhaustion? >You look down at Sam, who is utterly conked out on the pew “I’m too tired to play games with you right now.” >”It’s not a game though. I just know we were meant for this. Some people just have greatness running through their blood.” “And you’re saying we have greatness in us?” >”Maybe, I don’t know.” Alex shifts his body nervously >He absently begins chewing on his nails >”You remember when we were on the roof?” He says, not looking at you, but instead towards the altar, sitting high on steps of polished wood “Which time?” You say with a heavy yawn >When is the sun coming up? It’s gotta be close >”The first time. On top of the school. So much has changed since then. You, Mike, Sam, Jenna — even me.” >You close your eyes, fighting sleep >It’s kind of true >Sam — she’s proved she’s made of stronger stuff than what she’s been made to think >That her life is worth living on her own terms >She’s not a bad replacement for her brother, a burden or a coward >And you know that, and somewhere deep inside, she probably does too >That courage will blossom in her, with time, care, and a lot of healing >Mike… he’s kinder to you >He seems to care more about you and everyone else, and especially Jenna >He can’t go it alone anymore and he knows this >Unfortunately his future is still kind of fucked, but maybe something will change tomorrow? >Alex… is Alex >And you >You’re much less of a coward than you were >You can sense an anxious strength in you, and not from the curse that the goths gave you >But from scaring yourself shitless >You’ve also decided you’re going to college, and though the very idea of leaving Ranchview and everyone and everything you know behind knots your stomach, you’ve decided you’re going to do it — you need to do it >The thought of Sam all alone in town, nowhere to go, all alone again while you study in some expensive school’s dorm house, gives you pause >You care so much for that stupid fucking rabbit that the idea of not leaving is a genuine option for you >You really, really, really care for her >You’d tell yourself that you have a crush on her, but you know that’s not true >You honest to God love her >”Yes sir,” Alex says in a tired, dragging voice. “Despite all that’s changed since last Friday, I do know one thing.” >”We are definitely doing something that matters.” >Sam doesn’t wake with the first of the morning’s light >You watch it filter into the church, laying bars of gold across the pews >One of them strikes Jenna directly across the face, who is sitting a few rows behind you >The fox squints, as if in pain, and then blinks herself awake >She shields her eyes with the thin length of her arm >You turn to Alex, who is dozing away >His snores fills the whole church >The way they echo off the high ceilings is vaguely reminiscent of a guttural Gregorian chant >You were restless the whole night, obsessively watching Sam, just observing the careful rise and fall of her chest, just making sure she was alive >You forced yourself to fight through sleep and keep a vigil (though you did take some time to read through The Book of Rite a bit more) >And now the result was a live current of energy singing through your veins >You can feel your heartbeat stumbling in your chest with a misplaced sense of purpose >This happened sometimes — you didn’t sleep and then you’d end up with the shakes, but full of energy and purpose >Still, going into tonight without sleep may not be a great strategy >Well, no sense in fighting it now >Everyone would have to be up soon anyway for school >Sam especially >You don’t want her to miss her chance at a GED >She’s missed enough school already >You go to shake her awake, but stop short, your hand hovering over her >You can see one of the glossy bulbs of her amber eyes — like molten gold in a crucible — peering up at you through the thick strands of hair that fell over her face in the night >You lock eyes with her, still frozen “… Morning…” >”Morning…” she returns, her voice above a whisper, but not by much >She still sounds tired “You… doing alright?” >Fuck >What was that? >She just watched her Dad die >Even if she didn’t like him, she might still have some weird connection to him >Who knows? >And all you can ask is ‘you doing alright?’ >She sits up, stretches, and says, rather flatly: “I-I’m not sure. I d-d-don’t f-f-feel n-nervous. N-Not like I normally do when I-I wake up.” >She turns and fixes you with a clear gaze, thick ropes of her falling across her face >”W-W-What do you think t-that means?” “I… think that’s a good thing?” You say, not sure how to process this or respond >She nods, slow “You look better though. Like there’s a weight off you.” >She doesn’t toss her head to the side in evasion, like she normally would >Her gaze is clear and steady, like she was looking at you for the first time >Her fingers still anxiously drum on the pew, however >”I-I guess? I d-don’t know what t-to feel. H-He was n-no fa-father to me, b-but he was st-still my dad.” >You open your mouth to speak >Do you really think you can help this situation? “Well let me put it like this: do you have any positive memories of him?” >… >She stirs a bit, and then turns her head to stare out the cross-shaped glass window that sits over the altar >”N-No.” She says after a long moment of silence. “I-I tried t-to think of some b-but I can’t. Al-All I ca think of is h-how messed up my head i-is because of h-him.” >You nod in affirmation “Well look, I’m not trying to ruin any fond memories you have of him, but you were effectively his prisoner — physically and mentally.” >”You k-know what?” >She turns to face you >”Y-You’re right. I-I-I’m glad he’s gone.” >Nobody seems to want to talk much about last night, Friday morning >You all sit around in a semi-circle outside your car, which has become something of a morning ritual for you all, a designated meeting post even >Still dressed up in your priest costume, you, fruitlessly, try to get people to start talking “Sooooooooo…” you trail off, unsure of where you were even going to take your sentence. “Today is the day, right?” >Nobody speaks >Guess nobody really knows what to say after last night? >Nobody except Sam >She gathers her arms around herself, shivering in the frosted Halloween air >Above her, leaves drift in the wind in a storm of russet brown, auburn red, and gold >”I know l-last n-n-night was…” >She pauses >”L-Last night w-w-wasn’t e-e-easy.. B-But I wanted to th-thank you a-a-all for being there. A-A-And for being-” >She looks at her father’s abandoned car, drifting into a sharp memory of angled features and coarse hands; of devil eyes and devil smirks, imprisoning her; trapped in the grasp of a memory >Shaking her head, she banishes those thoughts — if only for a moment >You watch her fidget and shake, and know, deep down, she will never be whole again — If she ever was to begin with >”-F-For being my f-f-friends. I don’t t-t-think I would h-have made it l-long i-if I d-d-didn’t h-have any of you.” >”None of us,” Mike chimes in, “would have made it this far without each other.” >… >He looks around, intensely self-conscious and hungover >”But I ain’t doing a group hug thing, alright? That’s not what I’m saying this is.” >”Not even as a show of solidarity?” Alex questions in reply >Mike shrugs. ”Why do we always have to hug and pat ourselves on the back? I get it — we’re all friends now.” >”Then will you settle for a homo-erotic high-five?” Alex raises his arm in preparation for a very hetero palm tip-to-tip >”Alright, but you can’t call it that. This is purely a high-five.” >”Gotcha,” Alex winks at you for some reason. “No homo.” >Mike groans and slaps Alex’s palm as hard as he can >Sam and Jenna just exchange looks, while you, the third wheel, the dick between these two balls, just watch with folded arms >Well this is as close as you’ll get to group hugging >And that’s alright with you >When you roll into school, the place is a madhouse >The five of you stand in the front entrance, wearing your costumes still, slack-jawed like a bunch of mouth-breathing, smooth-brained idiots >The place looks completely transformed, like it was hit by a tidal wave of tacky orange and black decorations, fake skeletons, plastic headstones and of course fake cobwebs that Alex spends a decent amount of time running into >Let’s not forget the “Spooktober Fest” banner adorning the school’s entrance, hanging above you like a massive guillotine >Hand-painted wooden signs adorn the halls, directing students to the gym for the night’s festivities >Some students — mostly humans — are wearing their costumes >Somehow, looking at those signs proclaiming the Spooktober Fest’s ‘outrageous’ activities (punch, haunted classrooms, cornhole, dancing, pumpkin carving) gives you anxiety >Sam, however, is overjoyed with the whole thing, almost like she forgot the whole purpose of tonight >”G-G-G-Guys!” She stammers, eyes wide. “Look how c-cool th-this is!” >She points a stubby finger at the streamers, tracing their lengths through the air like she was conducting a symphony nobody could see or hear >”They do this every yea- OW.” Mike winces as Jenna claws him across the arm, carving gashes into his leather jacket >”Let her have her fun,” Jenna warns him in a hiss >”You know, you’re awfully aggressive for a girl dressed up as a bumblebee,” he says. >Sam is gleefully focused on the streamers, and not much else >You place a hand on her lower-back, and she nearly hops a foot into the air “Sammmmm,” you say in a chiding voice (but you’re being ironic, you swear), “remember why we came to school. So you don’t lose attendance and get expelled. Remember, tonight is the night. Try not to let the decorations distract you.” >Still shaking, Sam meets you with a steely gaze >”R-Right. T-These are all j-j-just distractions,” she says with determination >For effect she throws up her hood and pulls her ears through the holes in the top >”And I hate to break your immersion,” Alex interjects, “but the Halloween season has been commercialized to the point of meaninglessness. When most people think of Halloween, they think of carting around immortal plastic pumpkins filled with name-brand candybars and chocolate harvested off the backs’ of enslaved South American lemur children. It’s a far cry from the ancient tradition of Samhain, which are the ACTUAL origins of-” >”Holy shit, do you need a soapbox or something?” Mike says, still rubbing his clawed arm and grimacing at the deep gouges >Alex looks confused. “Why, do you have a soapbox with you?” >”Never mind,” Mike says. The bell rolls over and shrieks >And, like actors in a play, the milling students turn towards their classes and leave their conversations behind, thinking there would be another day to have them >Thinking: they’ll always have Monday to see their friends again >Or this weekend! >And as you all fanned out in different directions — Jenna and Mike on their way to English down the hall, Alex down the stairs towards the gym, and you and Sam down another hall towards Sam’s own art class — you saw a little flick of something >It was a short burst of smoke that appeared and then evaporated as quick as lightning >At the end of the small hall to your left, with everyone’s backs turned >You saw the formidable shape of a feral dog, larger than a car and twice as fast >And you saw Vanessa, two goths at her side, standing at the end of the hall, their shadows stretching outward like the long reaching hands of death >You and Sam both froze, legs and veins stuffed with concrete >Were they really there? Or were you seeing things? >Sam stiffens up, and her ears jolt upward in alarm >You hear one word that seizes your heart with a pair of calloused, drunken hands >”D-Dad?” She utters >You shut your eyes and hope to whatever god(s) there might be that you’re just seeing things >When you find the courage to open your eyes again, that hallway is empty >But you feel Sam’s fingers — interlaced with your own — clench up tight, cold sweat threading between the two of you like glue >Neither of you look at each other, but you say everything you need to with a good squeeze of your palms >’I’m here for you’ >And that sick, low growl — the sound of something old and feral — fills the halls >Whatever it is, it’s gone now >But it’s out there, and it knows: >Its time is close >You feel a hit of blood enter your legs, warming them, like a block ice met with a flamethrower “D-Did you… See that thing too?” You say, pulling against Sam’s immobile form, dragging her away from the short hallway towards the stairs >You can always take the long way around to Sam’s classroom >”I-I-I’ve se-seen that b-before,” she stammers, her legs finally obeying her >Her voice is frantic as she struggles to put some motion into her legs >You don’t care if you have to drag her like a wounded soldier across a mile of broken glass, you’re getting the FUCK away from that thing and the weird shit you just saw >”D-D-Did you see my D-Dad?” She says as she finally puts her feet beneath her >You two travel down the empty stairs and into the lunchroom together >You’ll take her to class >But you need a minute >You sit down on an available table >Some students still lurk around, probably on their free period “No. I saw Vanessa and her friends. At the end of the hall with The Behemoth? Didn’t you see them?” >She shakes her head viciously, ears swinging with her in a tight arc >”I-It plays t-t-tricks on you. I-It makes you s-s-see things that a-a-aren’t there. L-L-Last time I s-s-saw my b-brother.” >She suffocates the tips of her ears in her grip >Without even having to think about it, you clutch at her hands and hold them in your lap “I remember you saying that. And I remember something similar happening to me. But listen to me.” >Frantic, nearly on the verge of tears, she looks up into your eyes “We’re going to be alright. We can’t let them play mind games with us today. We’ve gotta save everything we have for tonight, okay? Like I said, tonight’s Spooktober Fest is our Death Star.” >Sam looks down at your palms pressed together >You follow her gaze, and can’t help but notice the way your hands fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle that had to spend a few years apart before finding that they completed one another >You feel the warmth pulsing off her little body — you can feel it in the sweat you trade between palms >”Tonight,” she breathes hard and tries to smile at you “Tonight.” You echo her words in the same half-whisper >You lean forward, so close that you can smell your body wash still on her, the scent of her heat billowing off her like a shroud >You want to kiss her so badly, but you know: now isn’t the time >It was time to be strong, for everyone’s sake >For Mike >Jenna >Alex >Yourself >And most of all: Sam “I swear, I’ll never let anything happen to you, okay?” >There’s a slight pause as Sam studies you >She’s not questioning the validity of your words >More so just searching your eyes for something real to latch onto and hold herself to >Finding it, some light where all the shadows divide, she nods and tightens her grip on your fingers >’I’ll never let anything happen to you, okay?’ >The words resonate in your mind as you stand up, pulling Sam with you >You swear to yourself, to everything that you fought for and believe in: >You are all going to be okay. You won’t let anything happen to anyone >Oh how wrong you are >School is utterly pointless >With all the buzz about the Spooktober Fest, classes involve the students pitching in to help set up the school for some sp00ky fun >Which really translates to students hauling in shit from around the school and moving it into the gym >You stick close to Sam, watching from the hallways as she struggles to lug a cheap wooden stockade towards the gym >Why the school has a stockade you can only guess, but you can tell it’s not heavy >It’s probably made out of cheap particleboard from any home improvement store >So you take one step forward, dead-set on helping her haul that- >A foreign hand finds its way onto your shoulder >”There’s my star student. I was wondering when I’d see you again.” >Oh >Mr. Bolm >You turn your back against Sam, though you’re still eager to end this conversation and go help >Mr. Bolm stands before you, dressed up like a wizard >He’s clad in a purple velvet robe, and his receding hairline is hidden beneath a pointed, purple wizard hat >In his right hand he has a gnarled walking stick, probably his ‘staff’ >And in his left is a biology textbook, which functions as his ‘book of spells’ “Hi, Mr. Bolm,” you say, eying him up and down. “Kind of hypocritical for you to be dressed up as a wizard, right?” >He looks taken back >”Why is that? Don’t you believe in magic?” He says with false gruffness to his voice >Wat “I-I mean, I guess so-” >”Nahhhh,” Mr. Bolm says with a slight hissing laugh that makes you feel a little more comfortable around him. “This is what I wear when I play tabletop. I DM for a group of faculty.” >Seeing your incredulous expression, he adds: “Who shall remain nameless.” >Of all the weird and wack shit you’ve seen this week, seeing Mr. Bolm dressed as a corny-ass wizard and admitting that some teachers around school play tabletop games with him is the most unbelievable thing yet >There’s an awkward pause in the conversation >Mr. Bolm LOOKS like he has something he wants to say to you, but doesn’t know how to say it >Guess you’ll just have to cut the silence “Sorry I haven’t been in class,” you blurt out. “I’ve been… really busy with some things around school. And at home.” >Your teacher looks relieved that you started the conversation back up again >”I guess as an educator I’m supposed to chastise you for truancy, but…” he shrugs. “I trust you. Senior year and all that. I remember being in high school as well — all the excitement and energy of 12 years of education all building towards a head. Like the crescendo of a really great song. Ironically, your education seems to matter the least when it should matter the most.” >He holds up his hands in a gesture of humility. “Believe me. I’ve been there. I just wanted to make sure you’re coming back to class. I wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your future.” >If you make it out alive tonight, yeah, sure, you’ll go back to basic biology and shit you’ve already read “Yes sir,” you say, turning back to focus on Sam, who is still struggling with the stockades >She seems to have made almost no progress >Other students — with empty hands — pass by her like she’s not even there >The sight spikes your blood pressure a fair bit >Fucking assholes could care less about Sam >Why? >Well… a week ago you were trying to avoid her like the plague, to be fair >Mr. Bolm clears his throat behind you >”Err, Mr. Anonymous?” >You turn around again, and the expression on your face makes Mr. Bolm pause >”You alright there?” He says apprehensively >”Need to use the bathroom?” >You shake your head and clear the expression from your face “N-No, sorry. Just thinking.” >”Well…” Mr. Bolm drags out the last syllables to a high ‘luh’ like he does sometimes >C’mon you magical fuck, get to the point >Can’t he see that your waifur needs you? >”What I really wanted to ask you about was college. Have you given any more thought to it?” >… >Oh >Right >Yeah, your future >When you declared on the rooftop on Thursday, how serious were you? >The very utterance of the word ‘college’ makes your stomach drop into your bowels >The thought of leaving scares you half to death >But >You’ve done a lot of things that scare you this week >In fact, you’ve scared the shit out of yourself so many times, you’re not sure who the old, cowardly Anonymous even is anymore >Unlikes what Vanessa thinks, people do in fact change >You’ve seen everyone around you change and grow, like the leaves of fall ripening on their branches and exploding with color as the seasons turn over >Every season is built on change >And so are people “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I have thought about school,” you say at last >Mr. Bolm leans forward, eyebrows high on his forehead, nearly disappearing into the brim of his wizard hat “I think I’d like to give college a try. I don’t really… know where, or what, but I know I’d like to go. Like you said, I’d be wasting my time staying in Ranchview.” >The smile that explodes across your teacher’s face almost knocks you off your feet >”That’s so great to hear! Oh my God, I’m so happy you said that!” >A look of relief mixed with joy spreads across Mr. Bolm’s features >He even cranes his neck upward and exhales sharply, forming a tight ‘O’ with his mouth >After a slight pause, he turns his head downward again >”Well, listen. How about next week you come by my classroom after school ends, and we can look at some scholarships together. If you’re worried about cost, don’t be. I know of some GREAT scholarships for STEM students, if you’re thinking of going into the sciences.” >T-Thanks >You feel a rush of blood to the head >This is all moving so fast >STEM? Sciences? Scholarships? >Last Friday you were pretty sure you were going to be staying in Ranchview forever, and now you’re practically picking a time and a place for your old life to end and new one to begin >You feel dizzy “I-I will,” you look at him and try to smile >Mr. Bolm is too overjoyed to really pick up on your shift in mood and posture >You’re practically keeled over in your priest vestments, clutching a locker for support >”Great!” He proclaims. “I’ll see you on Monday!” >Still smiling, he turns on a sharp heel >Thank fuck that’s ov- >”Oh and one more thing.” He turns back on an even sharper heel, his cloak billowing around him like a cyclone of purple felt and velvet >You see he’s wearing pointed brown boots >Man, he really goes all out >”Are you going to the Spooktober Fest tonight?” >Your stupid lizard brain is moving so fast in so many directions that all you can say is: “Yes?” >”Good!” He proclaims. “You kids need to have some fun. This has been the week from hell — all the fights and the vandalism and all — I think everyone is ready for a break, or for the end of the world,” he adds with a laugh. “Let’s just hope it’s the former and not the latter.” >”At least the garlic makes sense.” >Mike folds his arms across his chest >It was a little after 4 in the afternoon >You’re all back at the church now, except for Mike, who is watching from the front doors, which you’ve propped open with a few rocks >Your heart flutters as you watch Alex and Jenna rip open plastic and cardboard boxes containing squirt guns and water pistols >In fact, you pace unevenly up and down the aisles, constantly checking your phone >You need a place to put your apprehension and anxiety >The Spooktober Fest was in five hours >You’ll need to bring Sam and the red book with you deep into enemy territory, secure the Book of Wrath from Vanessa, and undo the ritual before midnight or EVERYONE, not just the ‘normies’ (as Vanessa might say) are fucked >Before everyone goes mad with lust and hatred and evil, all at the behest of The Behemoth >Oh, right >Yeah, that hallucinatory dog-thing that’s lurking somewhere in the school RIGHT NOW probably, uncontrollable by Vanessa since Sam fudged the ritual up about a week ago >”But I don’t get the water pistols. We’ve got an army of goths, vampires, an insane janitor and trans-dimensional monster to plow through, and you’re bringing squirt guns?” Mike says >Well put, Mike >It’s like he can read your mind or sense your anxiety >You even complete each other’s sentences sometimes, like an old married couple >But this is no time for gay jokes >”Quit being such a pessimist.” Jenna stands up with a see-through pink water pistol in her hands. She trots past you, still in her bumblebee costume, to where the baptismal font is, near the entrance of the church >Its waters are still with the powers of purification >She dunks the pistol into the font, its surface shattering like fragile glass >A few sputters and gurgles of air rise to the top as concentrated vampire repellent fills up the pistol’s body >She rips her arm from the font, pulling the pistol up with it in a spray not unlike that of waterfalls that cascade down mountain cliffs in forgotten jungles >The last rays of light that pour in from the cross-shaped window at above the altar strike the water pistol so perfectly that it was like God himself was blessing that little $1 toy from China >”Behold!” She announces. “A blessed water pistol!” >You half expected a choir of angels to open up and shower you all in shimmering and airy harmonies >Instead, Jenna spins on her heels and aims the gun at Mike >”Hold still,” she says, slamming one eye shut as she sights down the length of the ‘weapon.’ >Mike takes a cautious step backwards. ”Wait, hold on. We don’t know what that-” >He never finishes his sentence >Instead, a pathetic piss-stream of water strikes him in the shoulder, though most of it is absorbed by his shirt >And that’s right about when he started yelling >As if he were a smoldering blaze suddenly doused in an ice-bath, steam rises from his shoulder where he was struck >He scrambles and struggles to wipe the holy stain from his shirt, but it only gets on his hands, causing him to scream louder >Jenna throws down the water pistol and dashes to Mike’s side >In his panic (or out of contempt) he pushes her aside >The fox goes stumbling down onto her ass, and lets out a panicked yelp >”Holy FUCK!” Mike says, ripping his shirt off and whipping it to the side >He looks even more pale now that he’s bare-chested, his skin the sickly color of cream cheese >You have to admit: when he first looked down at Jenna, who was sitting up on her palms, you thought Mike might kill her then and there >Instead, he looks down at the burn mark on his shoulder >The whole spectacle is a little… >Gross? >”That was fucking wild,” he says. “I can’t believe that worked so… so… so well!” >Jenna hobbles to her feet >Her bumblebee costume makes her look like a massive, striped marble, propped up on her two thin little legs >”What?” She whispers under her breath >Saying she was relieved and astonished would be an understatement >She looks like someone just pulled her cub from the crumbling wreckage of a burning building >The dark shadow of Mike falls upon Jenna as he turns to face her >Mania burns in his eyes >”That’s brilliant. Do you know that?” >Jenna can only stare on, slack-jawed >Steam rises off Mike into the sky >”I said, it’s brilliant. The squirt guns. Filling them with holy water. Did you come up with that?” >Jenna nods, her eyes still split wide and jaw slack >You feel as if Mike’s words are reaching her, but her concern has overridden everything else except primitive motion >Mike turns his attention towards the remaining water pistols and the large water gun leaning near the baptismal font >His eyes settle on its smooth, bulbous plastic form, painted green and purple (thanks doc) >There’s a huge reservoir in the back for water, and a gimmicky orange pump at the front for, well, pumping water >”I want that one,” he says dimly, like a child with his eyes on candy >”Mike, wait,” Jenna tries to stand between him and the water gun. “You can’t.” >”And why not?” He says, a tinge of frustration in his voice >Jenna motion towards his burnt shoulder. "You’re lucky I only got you with a little bit.” >”Bah, I’ll be careful.” >”I’m serious! I don’t want you doing anything crazy or dangerous!” She growls >Mike is unperturbed. “This is coming from the woman that just shot me with holy water. Right.” >She assumes a defensive stance, barring her fangs and spreading her body wide, claws extended >She’s the fiercest looking bumblebee you’ve ever seen >He brushes past her with ease, however, his shirt in hand, stopping only at the entrance of the church, as if held in place by an invisible hand >Jenna stamps her feet >”God damnit Mike!” >Mike turns his attention to her. “Listen, Jenna, sweetie, babycakes, sugartits, I’m going to be okay.” >In turn, Jenna bows her head, hiding her face >But from this angle, you can see it tighten up with frustration >Her body starts trembling >Oh shit >This isn’t about the water gun >”You better be okay,” she says, her voice struggling against the tightness of her throat >When she looks up again there are tears stinging her eyes >”You better not do anything stupid or dumb or crazy, you hear me Mike Sapone?” >Mike doesn’t say anything back >His brows narrow together and slowly, he nods >”I promise you,” he says, turning to face all of you >”You hear that? These motherfuckers took away my future. I don’t want any of you doing something stupid — that’s my job. I want my future back, or at least some fingers to break. And I need all of you to stay alive tonight, because if the world ends, I’m at least doing it in good company.” >You have to admit, the way he’s looking around at everyone makes you think that he might attack any one of you at a moment’s notice for saying the wrong thing >Jenna scrubs her eyes with the back of her paws >“If you get hurt I’ll fucking kill you.” >Honestly, you’re more surprised that she’s swearing over the fact that she’s crying >Whatever, it’s probably one of those emotional things that are super out of your range >”You can kill me after I kick Vanessa and Lydia’s dreary asses back to hell.” >Alex obediently hands Mike the squirt gun, which Mike hoists onto his shoulders >You can’t help but think back to Sam’s drawings for you all >He really is ‘Slayer,’ as unoriginal as that sounds >You shrug. Guess they fit >You all sit on the hood of your car and suck down on Dr. Beppers, cheap burgers and lukewarm beer >You watch as the sun sets, washing everything in a thin orange haze >Your heart hurls itself against your ribcage, even with Sam sitting next to you on the hood >She seems to be in the same place you’re at, mentally >Or it’s the caffeine? >Her legs kick off against the front-end of the car, and her whole body shakes as she brings the can of Dr. Bepper to her lips >You can feel The Book of Rite in your pocket, heavy and flat like Mike’s sister >Nobody says much as you watch the sun set, counting the minutes as they turn into hours >Pretty soon darkness swallows you all, and the lights in the church flick on, as if God were home for the night >Mike hops off the hood of the car, glowing white with anemia >He’s still holding the squirt gun >He still seems pretty attached to it >”Well,” he says, his fiery-red gaze sweeping the group, and ending on you. “What’s the time?” “7:30,” you say, shoving your phone back into your pocket. >A smile forms on his lips, though its hard to see in the darkness >”Shall we?” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjTTB6yII4o&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=6 >You dunk a water pistol into the baptismal font whose waters never seem to run dry >The pistol gurgles and sputters as it fills >Just for safety reasons, you dunk Gloria’s crucifix (still around your neck) in the font >Sam, Jenna, and Alex string together garlic necklaces from the garlic bulbs Jenna ‘paid for’ on Tuesday >You fill the other two water pistols up as your brain works your confidence over with a lead pipe >Mike’s words echo in your ears >’We’ve got an army of goths, vampires, werewolves, an insane janitor and trans-dimensional monster to plow through, and you’re bringing squirt guns?’ >Would this really be enough? Not to mention the general violence >And >The Behemoth >A stream of water hits you in the face, shattering your anxious wanderings >Mike is standing at the entrance of the church, pumping water at you >”This thing has RANGE baby. You feel that?” “Hey I’m not refilling that if you keep shooting it at me.” You wipe your face down with your shirt >”No worries my possibly bisexual friend, I’m just getting my range down.” “Right, well, don’t do it with me.” >”C’mon, you know you like it when Mikey gets you all wet.” >You flip off Mike and return to your task >Everywhere there’s motion >Garlic necklaces laced around necks (and any extras go into pockets) >Water pistols passed out to Alex and Jenna >And more importantly, beers >Sam totters off to your car, its doors open and headlights on, >They blast against the peeling white paint of the church >She comes sprinting back at break-neck speed, her garlic necklace bouncing against her hoodie >But you see she’s not empty-handed when she returns >She’s got a length of rope and… >Ah shit >Her brother’s bat, in her right hand >”H-H-Hey A-Anon. I-I need some help wi-with this.” She offers up the rope and the baseball bat >You stuff your water pistol into a belt loop under your robes (which really completes the whole ‘priest’ look) and tie the baseball bat around her shoulders and under her arms, securing it to her back >She ties the red bandanna around her snout and throws her hood over her head, shoving her ears through the holes you so graciously cut at the top of her hoodie >She looks up at you, her amber eyes shrouded in shadow, peering up at you from the darkness like two lights in a tunnel >”H-H-H-How do I look?” She says cautiously >You crouch down to her height “You look great, but you’re missing something.” >She yanks down her bandanna >”W-W-What?” You plant a quick kiss on her lips >Just a short one, but long enough so that your taste lingers on her tongue “My luck.” Your voice drops to a whisper >Sam lets out a shy squeak >In an instant, her head is pointed to her shoes >”Y-Y-Your costume is so nice,” she says evasively >Your heart sinks >Maybe that was too soon “Thanks. I like it too, I gues-” >She jumps forward and plants a clumsy kiss on your lips, and lingers there, pressed against you, for far too long >You said it once, you’ll say it again: why do you always attract the weirdos? >When you at last pull apart, she looks distraught, her brows sloping up and her mouth curled down into a frown, slight distress pressed into her features >”S-Sorry.” >… “For what?” >”I c-c-couldn’t think of a-a-anything clever to s-s-say.” >You want to spend forever with her, here, in this crummy old church, shooting water pistols at Mike’s feet, shivering as a breeze sweeps the leaves by like handfuls of confetti thrown to the wind >But forever isn’t in the cards for you tonight >The hours roll by, and your reserve stock of fortifying beer and Dr. Beppers runs dry as you chill by the front doors with Mike >He looks especially manic today, chugging his beer and howling at the moon, which has grown alarmingly fat and red in the sky >He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, catching the last drops of beer >”God, I don’t even care how close to oblivion we all are. I’m just ready to get some revenge and break some knees.” >Jenna appears beside him with a Dr. Bepper >”Here. Try and sober up a little bit. You’re no good to us drunk.” >”Drunk?” He stumbles backwards in one small inebriated step. “Listen, let me tell you something. I fight better when I’m a little bit loaded.” >”S-So d-d-did my d-d-dad,” Sam says to nobody in particular >Mike pauses in his swagger >The cringe on his face says it all >”I didn’t mean it like that,” Mike says, a foreign shame creeping into his whispering tone >”O-Oh!” Sam shakes her head. “N-Neither d-d-did I. S-S-Sorry. I’m just th-thinking about some o-other stuff.” >Right >’Other stuff.’ >The taste of Sam still lingering on your lips offers some insight as to what she’s probably thinking about >You didn’t want the moment to end either >Kissing her feels… right… like how a fish was born to swim, you know? >You stare up at the moon in silence and take a hearty slug of your beer >Liquid courage >And you’re going to need it >Like a pair of well-meaning school shooters, you opt not to park your shit heap car in the now crowded parking lot, but in the teacher’s lot out front >It’ll be a longer haul to the gym versus the student lot, but that’s okay >You might need to make an escape later, and you don’t want to be caught in traffic >Wouldn’t it be bad ass if you guys had a car chase? Like damn, that- >”Anon.” Alex shakes the back of your seat. “Are you ready comrade?” >You cut the engine ”You’re freaking me out man, I feel like I’m about to go shoot up the school or something.” >”Don’t get cold feet on us right now, bunny-boy. We need you to get to that altar with Sam,” Mike says, now more sober than before. “What time you got?” >Jenna checks her phone. ”10:45. We’re cutting it close.” >”Cut it too soon and we’re going to show up before show time and get caught,” Alex offers, one of the few intelligent statements he’s made. “Too late and… well…” >”So, front doors, guns blazing?” Mike says, pumping on his over-sized squirt gun. He rests his hand on the door handle, eager to get moving “If you can control yourself, I was thinking stealth. We really only need to worry about the vampires” >As you rattle off a list of potential foes, your stomach sinks further and further >”…The goths, Lydia, Vanessa, whatever they did to Gloria… The Behemoth…” >If you weren’t nervous before, you were now >Your feet beat into the shitty, carpeted floor of the rustbucket >Sam, picking up on your nerves, wrings her ears like she was trying to squeeze the blood out of them >”A-A-And what d-d-do we do?” She asks, staring dead ahead at the school >Ordinarily you’d say the school was looming in the darkness, but it’s not dark >Not at all >Above the school the moon is pinned low into the sky, glowing a near scarlet red >You’re reminded of the moon in Majora’s Mask, when the celestial body would get closer and closer each day >Publications called it a ‘harvest moon’ >You and your friends knew better “W-When we get into the s-school-” >Shit, did you stutter? >It’s either nerves, or that Sam is rubbing off on you >Or both >You swallow hard and feel for the The Book of Rite tucked into your pocket >It feels loose, so you push deeper down in there >Don’t need it flying out >It takes a few earth-spinning seconds, but you finally put your thoughts together like the broken puzzle pieces that they are >Remember, Anonymous: you’ve changed. People are capable of change and growth >You and your friends are living examples >And yet, here you are, wishing to be anywhere else in the world, wishing to slink away and let someone else handle it >But you are ‘someone else’ >Alex shakes your seat again >”Comrade, are you alright?” >You wave your wrist in a dismissive fashion >If only to try and dismiss the nerves “I’m a-alright. What I was saying was: when we get in there, we’ll need cover from all of you in getting to the gym. Vanessa knows that I know there’s a way to stop this. I imagine it’s going to be heavily guarded by Vanessa’s thugs, and whatever supernatural spookery she can concoct.” >”And you know how to stop it?” Jenna says >You turn to face her, which is a struggle considering you’re still wearing your seatbelt “Both books brought to the altar, and Sam’s freshly drawn blood ought to banish The Behemoth and put an end to this whole thing.” >”H-How fresh?” Sam squeaks at you, her body still shaking >You flash a grim look at her >”Like, straight from your wrists fresh, since it was your blood that ruined the ritual the first time. I found a banishing ritual when I was browsing through The Book a few days ago.” >Sam’s anxious foot-pounding is so loud that even Jenna tries to get her to calm down >Deep breaths, everyone >Remember all that you’ve learned “So you’ll need to go up there with me,” you continue. “And we’ll need cover from the rest of you, whatever that looks like.” >”So like I said, guns blazing,” Mike adds >He seems about the only one excited for this >Or, rather, he seems mad >Which for him often looks like the same thing >You won’t lie, the dark and edgy looks he’s been flashing ever since you were gearing up in the church have been concerning you >You exhale slowly, trying to remember what your therapist told you about anxiety and fear >’Take all of your fear and worry and put it into a little ball that-’ >Bah, fuck it >Your therapist can’t help you at the end of the world >Only you can >”I’m tired of waiting. I’m ready to light this candle,” Mike says >”As am I,” Alex concurs. “The revolution has come to its climax. Once more, friends, to the barricades again!” >”Everyone, just be safe.” Jenna pops open her side door and steps out into the cool air. “Especially you, Mike. I don’t want you doing anything stupid.” >”I’m going to do what I have to do, but I promise I’ll try not to get anyone hurt,” he says in reply >Though you can’t see them, you can tell just by the tone of Jenna’s voice that she’s worried. Their conversation continues, but you can’t hear anything, because Alex is humming the Soviet anthem loudly >He pauses >”Everything be okey, komrade.” >GOD his accents are bad >He sounds like a Bond villain >Still humming the Soviet anthem, Alex exits the vehicle, leaving only you and Sam, and the mutual sound of your feet pounding into the floor >Focus on the moon, dude >Just… chill >You’re a lot stronger now than you were before >Still, what’s with this feeling in your gut? >This otherworldly anxiety as you watch the sky get swallowed by the moon >It dominates the whole skyline, and you swear you can almost feel its gravitational tug, like it could rip you out of this car and suck you into orbit >A shaking, fuzzy hand finds your own >It’s Sam >She’s no longer pulling at her ears, but she still wears all the signs of nervousness as plain as the bandanna tied around her neck >Kicking legs, trembling features, quivering lips flush with blood >Yet her eye contact is impeccable — something you’re pleased that she’s learned >You drink in her glowing amber eyes, searching for courage >”W-W-We’re g-gonna b-b-b-be okay r-r-right?” >You swallow and nod >”R-Right. We’ve all come so far. We’ll be okay. And l-like I said, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” >She breathes out a held breath and squeezes her eyes shut >She tries putting on a brave smile >”Y-Yeah. I-I’m a lot s-s-stronger than I-I was. I’ll d-d-do my best to t-t-take care of m-myself i-in there.” >Mike slaps the hood of the car, causing you both to jump >You’d have hit the ceiling were it not for your seatbelt >His voice is muffled, but you hear him well enough. ”LET’S GO LADIES.” >You and Sam share one last look “Ready?” >”R-Ready,” she says >You unbuckle your seatbelt >Ready >The hallway that leads to the lunchroom (and then gym) presses up on all sides, as if it became narrower in some portions and then wider in others >You wipe your brow of sweat as you lead your gang down the empty halls >The heat snuck up on you at first — a slow and sweaty rise in temperature >You’re reminded of the metaphor about the frog being boiled alive, never noticing a thing >Only, you know, it’s more literal than that this time >And you do notice >”I think the janitor left the heat on.” Alex slumps over a bit as you continue down the hall >”No stopping,” Mike breathes, drawing on the sweaty, humid air >More than a frog metaphor, you’re reminded of last Friday, up in the annals of the school >It was so hot you all collapsed >And you can guess why “God this is a long hallway,” you wheeze >You should have asked Vanessa to make you athletic and not brave >Not that it matters now anyway — that buff left you Tuesday >”Shouldn’t we at least see someone out here? Like in the halls?” Jenna says, leaning up against the lockers in her bee costume. I find it very hard to believe everyone is in the gym right now and STAYING there.” >”After all you’ve seen with us, that’s what you have the hardest time believing?” Mike says >”You’re lucky you’re cute, Sapone.” Jenna half-assedly waves her holy water squirt gun in Mike’s face >It looks like everyone is melting there in the hallways, like plastic army soldiers put to the blowtorch >The gradual rise in temperature is going to do you in yet again >Sam draws her baseball bat and stands alert, taking the lead away from you >”I-I-I-I hear s-s-something,” she whispers >Her whisper is useless >A hysterical voice booms from the ceilings >”OF COURSE YOU HEAR SOMETHING, DARLING!” >You groan >Not this bitch again >”YOU HEAR THE STORM. AND THE STORM IS…” >There’s a rattling behind the group >Ceiling tiles fall and clatter onto the floors like glass plates >And then >Threading down on a line of rope like a corpulent Spider-Man(Woman) is none other than than Stella the janitor >Ah, yes, the crazy crystal badger >The one who assaulted you on Tuesday >She plops down like a sock filled with yogurt, landing unceremoniously in a big pile of fur and psychosis >She’s dressed in… oh god >Like a sexy nurse >How did the spill of her rather impressive cleavage and the deep cut of her shirt ever make it into a school? >Didn’t the other staff see th- >”THE STORM IS ME.” She wheezes and stands upright, arms wide, claws bared >Hands down the shittiest iteration of Solid Snake yet >Thanks Kojima >”That’s right you thieving fucks, I’ve been waiting for you to show your face again.” Even in the darkness you can see her face screwing up with madness, froth dripping from the corners of her mouth >Her rose quartz earrings dangle from her ears, strung up in gold >Her eyes settle on Sam, who shrinks away from her manic gaze like a dog flinches away from beatings >”I should have never trusted you. Your betrayal was revealed to me in a dream, and yet I chose to ignore it. I never thought my own minimum-wage employee would betray me, and yet here I stand, half-naked in a dark hallway on Halloween, prepared to assault a bunch of teenagers.” >She lurches forward, still winded from the titanic effort of sitting upright >”I taught you EVERYTHING you needed to fight off the Glowing Ones, (((them))), Grays- and you threw it all in my face, Sam.” >”Y-You didn’t teach me any-anything e-e-except how t-t-to make c-c-chlorine g-g-gas and e-e-eat crystal p-powders,” Sam blurts as she nervously reaches for her baseball bat >You tense up, and your heartbeat quickens >If you need to, you will throw yourself at this crazy bitch >Sam’s defensive stance does nothing to deter the badger >”You can ignore dreams,” Stella froths, “but you can’t ignore destiny. And tonight, your destiny is-” >Alex steps between Stella and the group, his lanky, striped-suit-clad form like a pillar of sanity in the face of Stella’s unhinged madness >And thank fuck Alex is going to take the hit for this, maybe he’ll belt her one in the- >”I’m sorry, but how did you know about the Glowing Ones?” He says >F U C K >Stella comes to an abrupt halt, and you swear you see her eyes fill with the sharp light of clarity >”How do you know about the Glowing Ones?” Alex presses her, his hand inside his suit jacket, as if her were concealing a pistol >Which isn’t ENTIRELY wrong, you just know what kind of pistol it is >”You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Stella takes a tactical step backwards and assumes a low, combat-ready stance. “Well try all your mind zog on me, it won’t work. I’ve swallowed enough red pills to piss blood.” >”Comrade! Please! We mean you no harm. We are no Glowing Ones, Grays, Jews or anyone else in the NWO cabal.” >Stella snarls in reply. “Exactly what a deep state operative would say.” >Yet she hasn’t thrown her impressively large, scantily clad body at Alex, who is standing firm — the barrier between the gang and Stella >Soon, though >In a matter of seconds, Stella will snap like a brittle twig, and assault Alex >Your muscles ache from all the tension >”I assure you, we are no friends of the deep state or the CIA. I share in your struggles against imperialism and oppression, comrade. Please, lower your claws. We are no enemies.” >The badger hesitates >”Imperialism? What are you talking about?” >Oh God, here we fucking go >Stella does not lower her claws >Or wipe the froth from her mouth >But she hasn’t lunged at anyone’s throat yet, and that’s a good sign >You can only see Alex’s back, but you can tell, just from the context of the conversation that he’s wearing the most obnoxious, holier-than-thou grin >Stella is about to get a crash course in poorly-researched history and conspiracy theories >Actually, wait >This might be a good thing (not only because Alex will finally have someone to talk to who is ‘woke’) >You take a step back >And then another >You tap Sam on the shoulder >She jumps a little, but seems to get the message, and takes a quiet step in sync with you… >As do Mike and Jenna >”Let’s start with the 50s and 60s.” Alex shoves his hands easily into his over-sized pockets, adopting a casual lean. “Ever heard of a little thing called MKUltra?” >Stella gasps. “How did you know?” >WIKIPEDIA YOU STUPID BITCH >She sounds as if Alex is the only other person on earth who knows about the CIA’s actual attempts to devise a truth serum, which only serves to further spike your blood pressure >Ah Christ, okay, now’s the best time to take your leave before you call them both retarded >You turn tail (in Jenna’s case, literally) and throw yourself into a run down the hall, aiming for the gym >Er, it’s more like a shamble in your long robes, but you get the picture >THE POINT IS you’re making a quick getaway, and the gym is so tantalizingly close >You lift the hem of your robes as you break into what could only be called a gallop >Jenna hobbles alongside you in her bumblebee costume, while Mike sprints ahead in a leather blur >H-HE’S FAST >When you look behind you, you see Alex still standing there, explosively gesturing at Stella, while the badger explosively gestures back >You can only catch little shards and fragments of what they’re saying >’Bourgeoisie’ >’The Glowing Ones’ >’Class-Consciousnesses’ >’Muh crystals’ >The stream of weird bullshit recedes into the sounds of your feet pounding against the floor >Alex, the brave solider that he is, will have to deal with Syliva himself >You sneak quick peek at your phone >11:00 p.m. >One hour left >The remaining four of you post up outside the gym’s double-wide doors >From the window slits on the doors you can see… a lot of fog… and a lot of strobe lights >You hear the pulse and thrum of bass-heavy music, no doubt some PG attempts at making a banger a bunch of horny high school kids can attempt to grind to >Not that there probably aren’t shit load of chaperones in there, obscured by the industrial fog machine, waiting in the wings to curb stomp any hormonal urges >Mike places a palm on the door and looks to you >”You guys ready?” He grips his water blaster close to his chest >Come to think of it… >You pat your pocket where the Book of Rite is. You shove it back down >…Yeah >You’re ready >You take one last look over your shoulder at Alex… >Who is no longer there with Stella >In fact, the whole hallway is empty >Oh boy >No time to stop now though, not with the clock ticking >You give Mike an affirmative nod, which is returned to you by your co-conspirator >Jenna draws her water pistol >And the doors open >And… >Chunky clouds of fog roll out and blanket your feet in a slow parade >An impressive wall of sound hits you >First, low bass >Then high shrieks that sound unnatural to you >And murmurs >And the smell of sulfur and and bodies and sweat >Flashing strobes pulse against the obscuring clouds of fog >You can see shapes and shadows veiled behind the wall of mist, but nothing more >Mike steps first into the gym >Then Jenna >And then you >And then Sam, her baseball bat at the ready >You see… almost exactly what you expected >The massive gym has been ‘transformed’ by the concentrated efforts of an insane badger and the school faculty >Long, cloth-covered tables burdened with candy and drinks are pressed up to the side of the gym, each table draped in spiderwebs and spewing gallons of voluminous fake fog from beneath the draped cloths >The center of the gym hosts a DJ table and several sizable loudspeakers >Behind a MacBook, with chunky headphones on, is a rat who looks far too small next to the impressive loudspeakers on each side of the table >You can’t place why, but she looks somewhat familiar >From above strobe lights and stage lights flash and pulse like spotlights on the hunt for someone in the crowd >And surprisingly, there’s a lot of students here >At least, more than you thought >But you can only see their faint outlines as they’re traced against the fog by the pulsing strobes and stage lights >It IS Halloween, shouldn’t most of these kids be out at crazy parties like Braydon Smith’s last night? >Guess only the losers are here >Which makes you… >Never mind >You move deeper into the gym, your only real goal being the equipment storage room against the walls >Mike, very slowly, brings his water gun around the room >”Where the fuck is everyone? I thought there would be more resistance than this.” >”I don’t trust this,” Jenna adds as the four of you make it deeper into the gym >The center of the gym is… too clear >And the shapes in the fog are starting to shift and move, which draw your eye “Just keep moving. Sam,” you don’t look down at her. You keep your gaze spinning around the fog-cloaked gym, watching as the shadows in the fog shift and move. “Do you hear anything?” >”J-Just the music!” She strains to be heard above the thrum of the music. “B-But i-i-it sm-smells like… w-w-warm bodies.” >”No kidding,” Jenna adds. “I can’t get a bead on anything in particular. There’s too much going on in here.” >Well, if they’re here, you wouldn’t know it >They might have done a great job of cloaking their presence from the two anthros in the group >Or it’s entirely unintentional >You just can’t take your eyes off the silhouettes in the fog >They’re all around you as you reach the center of the gym and emerge from another bank of fog >Fuck, you’re already halfway to the equipment room >You approach the DJ table cautiously >The rat pays you no mind >She continues to jam away, bouncing her head to the pulsing electronic music >The music is painful for you at this distance, you’re sure it’s almost deafening for Jenna and Sam >”Christ!” Mike turns around and shouts. “There’s no way it should be this easy!” >”You’re right.” >A voice — too familiar to you — booms over the loudspeakers >Vanessa >The music abruptly cuts >The rat behind the table looks up at you four, her eyes glowing red with fire >Fuck >How did you not see it before? >The rat smiles with a pair of obvious fangs pressed against her lower lips >You know that rat >She was with Vanessa on Tuesday >”We didn’t want to make it too easy for you. But God, are you kidding me?” Vanessa’s obnoxious whine on the speakers; the four of you suddenly under the pointed spotlights >Weapons drawn >”You really didn’t see a trap coming? You seriously thought you’d just be able to waltz in here? You’re dumber than these normie idiots.” >A spotlight shines into the parting fog >And there, in the bright pool of artificial light, is Vanessa Doermuth, Lydia Penferth — the lioness — at her side >Vanessa shrugs in her tight black jacket, a canvas tote bag in the crook of her elbow >”Was this Mike’s idea to just waltz in here? Gah, what a dumb fuck. But people never change, I guess. I’m just disappointed that you’re here with them Anonymous. You’re smart. You ought to see reason.” >Her voice booms over the speakers, and you guess that The Book of Wrath is somehow involved in that little vocal trick >Lydia crosses her arms across her furred chest >The light catches the many piercings that are stapled to her — in her lips, above her piercing eyes, hanging from her ears, the chain dangling from her pointed muzzle >She stares hard, particularly at Mike >Shaking, you answer back “Where’s your little pet, Vanessa? Did it run away on you? You can’t do shit to us. Not while I have this.” >Stupidly, you draw The Book of Rite out of your pocket and hold it up like a token of invincibility >That was your second mistake >Your first was asking about her ‘little pet’ >The doe laughs >”Pet? That depends — which one are you talking about?” >Another stage light fires off, illuminating an empty spot next to Vanessa >There’s a guttural snarl that echoes off the gym’s walls >The Behemoth — all cloaked in pouring mist — flashes in next to Vanessa >It’s nearly triple her size now >It crouches low, as if ready to lunge forward at any moment >Fuck >You literally walked into thi- >Another spotlight next to The Behemoth >Christ what is this? A professional wrestling ma- >Oh >Oh no >Oh no no no no no no >”Hi ‘Nonny!” >Standing in a clearing of the fog, underneath the yellow spotlight… “Gloria?” You say in exasperation >She looks… Actually the same as when you betrayed her >Denim skirt down to her fucking ankles, crisp white blouse underneath a blue sweater, hands folded at her waist, horns polished to a high shine, innocent dimpled face >Only… something ain’t right with the way she’s smiling >You thought for sure there’d be fangs >They wasted an opportunity to turn her into a vampire? >Wack “Wh-What are you doing with them?” You ask >All the guilt of your betrayal comes crashing down on you like leaden weights >”My new friends? Well, after you tricked me and used me for a dark ritual-” her cheerful smile widens “-I found out that, guess what, Vanessa was right!” >The doe flashes you a knowing smirk >”She’s right she’s right she’s right!” Gloria claps her hands together proudly. “I changed my ways, Anonymous. And you should too!” “Changed your ways?” You turn to face Vanessa. “Whatever happened to people not changing?” >Vanessa draws The Book of Wrath and a razor out of her canvas bag >She approaches Gloria >”Oh, don’t worry. People don’t change. Deep down at her core, she’s still a horrible, hypocritical, prissy little bitch. But we think she’s much nicer to be around as a slave.” >Slave? >With a christened smile, Gloria obediently rolls back her sleeve and holds out her wrist to Vanessa >”One last chance to turn over the book and the bunny and join the winning side.” Vanessa pauses, the gleaming razor just inches from Gloria’s pure white wrists >”Sam, Jenna, Anon… you’re all welcome to join us.” Lydia adds. “Except for you, Mike.” >She flashes a toothy grin ”I want you all to myself.” >”Hah, very scary you lanky cunt. Where’s your gaggle of fledglings?” Mike taunts >”Oh, there’s here.” Lydia snaps her fingers >The lights on you grow brighter, illuminating more of the gym >The four of you are surrounded by no less than six cheerleaders — human and anthro — their eyes glowing red, bodies tight with strain and tension >They look like hounds waiting for their master’s call to swarm their prey >Mike brings his super soaker around the gym >”I already told you, I ain’t joining you crazy bitches. You stole my goddamn future.” His fingers slip around the trigger. “So try something. I dare you.” >”I’d love to, really baby.” Lydia steps forward- >”WAIT!” Vanessa shrieks >Silence as Lydia freezes in place >”We haven’t heard from the leading ‘man’ yet. Anonymous? Spare your friends here? Give up the book and the bunny?” >… >You really can’t win this one >And time is running out >You’re outnumbered, outclassed and outdone… >…That’s what the old you would have said >But Vanessa is wrong >People DO change >And you’re not a coward anymore, despite the shaking in your voice and the tension in your throat “Get fucked you evil bitch.” >Vanessa’s eyes harden >”So be it,” she says >In one quick motion she slashes the razor across Gloria’s wrist >A waterfall of blood spills out… >…Which she catches on an open page of The Book of Wrath >Gloria starts to shake and shudder >She keels over in agony, dropping to her knees >Her sweater and blouse rip at the back as her shape grows larger >And taller by at least five feet more >And bulkier (is swole the right word here?) >Until her whole fuzzy body ripples with muscles and her clothing is but stray scraps adorning her white fur >Heh, you can her tit- >Her eyes glow bright red as they settle on you >”’NONNY!” She growls >Her voice is at least several octaves lower than it should be >She stomps forward as the spotlights follow her >”YOU BETRAYED ME, ‘NONNY.” >Oh >Well, fuck >You shove the Book of Rite into your pocket >Vanessa snaps The Book of Wrath shut. ”Be a good little girl and bring me the book and the bunny, okay Gloria?” >But with the way Gloria is moving, you don’t think she intends to do anything except break your neck >Vanessa doesn’t seem to care. She turns to Lydia >”They’re all yours. Just don’t kill Sam.” >The lioness roars with pride and snaps her fingers twice >The cheerleaders snap to attention like trained soldier >”Alright you cunts, have at ‘em. Just leave Mike.” She starts forward, parting the fog as she moves. “He’s mine.” >All six cheerleaders converge in a single moment, most of them opting to leap forward like feral wolves >”God, FINALLY.” Mike unloads a blast of holy water into the face of a pig cheerleader >She makes a horrendous, high pitched squealing noise and crashes head-first into Mike >Mike goes down hard with the anguished swine on top of him >Still wearing her cheerleading uniform, she clutches at her face as steam pours from her sizzling flesh >In the middle of pitched battle, you can’t help but smell… bacon >Makes you kinda want breakfas- >Suddenly you’re in the air as Gloria’s brawny fist wraps around your midsection and squeezes you like a stress toy >You swear you can hear something snapping >”You’re lucky I’m so gentle ‘Nonny,” Gloria bellows >Well given that you think she cracked a rib, you don’t think that’s entirely true >The goat turns and starts walking you towards Vanessa, who waits with The Behemoth at her side >You struggle and kick valiantly, but with your water pistol tucked safely in a belt loop beneath your robes (and really, it’s not like you could harm Gloria, of all people, with holy water) you’re defenseless >Christ on a fucking cracker how did they already win? This is so unfair >You turn around and peer over Gloria’s shoulder >Mike and Jenna are back-to-back, fending off no less than five vampire cheerleaders by themselves, blasting holy water in wide sprays >Jenna’s garlic necklace and bumblebee costume might keep her safe, but Mike is straight up raw dogging it >You can see that even the tips of his fingers are starting to burn from stray splashes >Well, everyone’s fucked now- wait, where’s Sam? >There is no Sam right now, but there is Samurai Outlaw >The hooded hero dashes in front of Gloria with her baseball bat drawn, bringing the hulking Goat to a halt >Samurai Outlaw’s chest heaves — both with nerves and exhaustion >From scared amber eyes, she peers up at you like a mountain climber might look up at a perilous summit >With curiosity, Gloria reaches for Samurai Outlaw, but the bun jumps out of the way >”Sam?” Gloria asks, her voice deep as a canyon. “What are you doing?” >Samurai Outlaw rips down her red bandana >”S-S-S- GOD DAMNIT s-s-saving the world,” she yells, so that Gloria can hear her above the yowls and screams of the cheerleaders >Gloria scowls >”Only one person can save the world, and His name is Jesus Christ.” >The goat sweeps her free arm at Samurai Outlaw, but the bunny propels herself upwards into the air >Gloria’s meaty arm passes harmlessly underneath the rabbit, who stomps back onto the polished wooden floors with a massive *thud* >”Heretic!” Gloria’s cry vibrates in the hollows of your chest >She stomps her huge feet >The whole gym seems to quake in sharp bursts >Samurai Outlaw falls onto her ass, momentarily dazed >Taking advantage of Samurai Outlaw’s temporary immobility, the goat lifts one massive foot to stomp the hero out like a bug >But the bun is quick to scramble up to her feet and hop (heh) out of the way >To add injury to insult, Samurai Outlaw grips her baseball bat tight, pulls it behind her shoulders, and swings for the fences… >…Though Gloria’s leg happens to be in the way >Maybe that was the point >The bat collides with the goat’s shine bone, resonating with a mighty and metallic *THUNK* >Your captor roars with pain >Gloria keels over, eyes squeezed shut, her grip on you loosening >Now’s your chance >You start to pull and wriggle yourself free, feeling less like a worm on a hook and more like a fish in a loose net >Samurai Outlaw swings with two more rapid bursts, the bat colliding into Gloria’s shin bone like a freight train >And right as you get free and tumble onto the hard gym floor, Gloria kicks out her wounded leg, punting Samurai Outlaw across the gym >She CRASHES into a table, knocking the whole thing over and falling limp >But you’re okay >Kind of >The fall dazed you, but Gloria looks more stunned than you are, which is a blessing >”God damnit you stupid mutt!” Vanessa cries. ”Grab him!” >You turn to see Vanessa smacking The Behemoth, who cowers next to her >What the fuck is this >”Why won’t you do as I tell you!?” She screams >The beast finally budges, its ephemeral ears folded backwards >It takes slow, plodding steps towards you, like it was dodging land mines >Why is it not lunging at you and attacking? >What the fu- >Ah >You feel Gloria’s massive, gaudy crucifix against your chest >That’s right. The power of Christ compels it >You breathe a sigh of relief >The behemoth won’t get near you >And Vanessa can’t use The Book of Wrath on you when you’ve got The Book of Rite with you >All was going as well as it could >Until you feel a dark shadow eclipse the spotlights now shining holes into you >You look up >Oh >Well >Fuck >Vanessa looms over you, hands on her hips, the canvas bag with The Book of Wrath in it resting on the gym’s floor >Completely unattended >Holy fuck >Your eyes flick between Vanessa and the bag >”I’ve gotta do everything myself,” Vanessa growls, her fangs boldly exposed >You jump to your feet and throw a quick punch at Vanessa >This time you’re not going to get your ass kic- >The doe expertly catches the thrown fist and pushes it back, the look of boredom and annoyance on her face never crossing over into strain >God, you must really be weak >Or she’s juiced up with a curse? >Whatever it is, she uses her new strength to her advantage… >And belts you one in the face >Actually, more like in the nose >Bright lights fading to darkness >Your vision explodes; white rods and cones >You feel (and hear) bone crunching as the doe’s strained fist collides with your pathetic — now bloody — human nose >And back you go, a few stumbles >And yet you remain standing >Even with your fists raised like a boxer >Oh the things you learned from anime >Blood gushes from your nose >”That was a solid hit,” Vanessa cocks a pierced eyebrow. “How are you still standing?” >You spit some accumulating blood out of your mouth “Because I hate you.” >You lunge forward and ACTUALLY manage to catch the doe by surprise >You deal her a sucker punch in the gut >She’s a lot bonier than you could have imagined >She keels over with a massive *huff* as you push all the air out of her with your fist >Fuck, gotchu, you bit- >Venssa’s arm swings wide at your throat >And it’s only dumb luck that you bend backwards >And thank fuck that you did >Because you catch the metallic glint of a razor blade flashing in the spotlight >Just inches from your neck >”Fuck,” Vanessa growls low >Her eyes meet yours. “Lucky dodge.” >You came just inches away from having your throat slashed open >And all you can ask is: ”Who brings a razor to a fist fight?” >”Yo, Vanessa!” >A voice, faintly familiar- >Awww fuck >A spotlight lights another goth — Reese, that ghostly pale, black-haired goth boy — with- >SHIT >-With Sam slung over his shoulder >Reese is standing by the door to the equipment room, ready to move >Vanessa grins >”Guess you lose this round, ‘’Nonny.’” >The way she says it is most definitely mocking >But you know why she’s choosing that name now >The ground shakes >Gloria roars behind you >You spin and see the gigantic goat glaring down at you, her face red with pain after Sam(urai Outlaw) thwacked the shit out of her leg >You try backing up a bit, but you know your efforts are in vain, as Vanessa is behind you by just a few feet >Caught between a rock and a hard place? >Guess you could always try… diplomacy? “Gloria…” you start, not sure where you’re going to take this >Fuck dude, you better think of something, because the only thing between you and certain death is the book that both Vanessa and Gloria want >You hear a lion roar, right as you open your mouth >All three of you look towards the source of the noise, and see Mike up in the air, hoisted above Lydia Penferth’s head like a trophy >He swings a stubby arm at her valiantly, but can find no purchase with his free hand >Jenna, on the other hand, is barricaded behind a few tables as the vampire cheerleaders press in on all sides >She manages to drop one of them with her holy water pistol, but there are still four left >And she only has so much ‘ammunition’ in the tank >And Alex? >Absolutely nowhere to be seen >Maybe he’s still in the hall with Stella? >Who fucking knows anymore >Everything is fucked now >Honestly, you should just give up the book at this point >You came in with a shit plan and got dunked on >But one thing first >You turn back up to Gloria and try to find the judgmental (yet blindingly innocent) goat behind her angry eyes >You hope she’s still in there somewhere, like some good girl piloting an out-of-control meat-mecha “I’m sorry for lying to you on Tuesday and using you as a sacrifice. What happened to you is my fault.” >The hulking goat looks… wounded? Hurt? >”W-What?” She stammers “I said I’m sorry. This is all my fault.” >She shakes her head and takes a hulking step backwards >”’N-Nonny?” She huffs, conflict as plain on her face as the confusion. “What are you saying?” >And then you do something that maybe you should not have done >But it felt right at the time >You unwind your (Gloria’s) crucifix from around your neck, piling up the gold chain and massive wooden cross into your palm “This is yours. Remember what you said about people being capable of change? In the gym on Tuesday? You were right — and I’m trying to change. I’m sorry, for everything. I was a coward back then, and maybe I’m still a weak coward, but I’m trying to change. Because of you and all my friends.” >The goat kneels down and, with delicacy and surgical precision, plucks the crucifix necklace from your palms >She holds it up to the light while Vanessa looks on, astonished >And then she fumes, “PEOPLE DON’T CHANGE, ANONYMOUS. GLORIA IS STILL MINE!” >The black book in Vanessa’s hands >Then a spill of doe blood >And then Gloria, pained, clutches at her head again >”I’m sorry ‘Nonny!” She cries as she swings her brawny fist at you >You hit the gym floor and cover your head as her first glides right over you >Well that was a good dodge, you think to yourself >Thank fuck she’s so sl- >You fail your perception check and are completely blindsided by The Behemoth who is now free to destroy you as it pleases >The Book of Rite goes flying from your pocket onto the gym floor, where Vanessa retrieves it >Into her canvas bag it goes >”Good dog.” She claps her hands like a retarded seal >”Vanessa!” Reese yells above the chaotic din. “We gotta go!” >The doe looks between you, on the ground with her little pet above you, and then at Reese >She looks disappointed that she won’t get to see you get mauled to death >The Behemoth snarls in your face, as if waiting for Vanessa’s signal to eat your neck like jerky >”Have at ‘em.” She flicks her wrist dismissively, turning her back and making for the equipment room with swift strides, tailing behind Reese who is carting an unconscious Sam over his shoulder >You look up into the cold twisted face of The Behemoth, and though you can barely make out its shape, you know that behind the clouding, ephemeral shroud of smoke is a twisted mouth crowded by fangs >And you know: time is running out >When midnight rolls around, everything will be fucked >And isn’t everything fucked now? >And then something happens that you did not expect >Both you and The Behemoth look over as the doors to the gym explode open >The spotlights fly to the door, and everything stops, like all the air was sucked out of the room >Stella is there, on all fours, frothing at the mouth her wild, psychotic eyes looking in all directions, but never at in the same place the same time >She’s stark naked too, except for the heavy crystal earrings that she’s wearing >And astride the feral badger, water pistol drawn… >Oh god >…Is Alex MOTHERFUCKING Mullen >Gloria and The Behemoth orient themselves to face down the new threat >Alex digs his heels into Stella >She screeches with all the ferocity of someone overloaded with conspiracy theories and alternative facts >The mind-broken badger leaps forward, her sharp claws leaving scars against the polished gym floors >Alex threads his hands into the shag of her fur, and braces for impact as The Behemoth tears off at them >Alex, Stella, and The Behemoth collide in the air, tangling into each other with rabid ferocity, fur flying, claws and maws at each other’s throats >Alex is quickly ejected from the battle and hurled forward >You gasp as the sudden release of pressure on your chest opens up your lungs >Your eyes instantly flick towards the open equipment room doors >Now is your chance >You throw yourself onto your feet, making sure you’re still armed with your water pistol >You take one last look at Mike, who is still in a pitched battle with Lydia >You two lock eyes for a quick second >And he sees the open doors to the equipment room >And then nods at you, as if to say ‘go’ >You nod back, turn on your heels, and tear off, lungs already burning, body aching all over from being beaten so badly already >And you check your phone >The time reads 11:30 >C’mon >You will your body to move faster as you ascend the stairs behind the door in the equipment room >Just a little faster https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxBiDoRtUMk&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=15&t=0s >You are Mike MOTHERFUCKING Sapone >And- >”Looking tired, baby,” Lydia snarls, so annoyingly cocksure “Shut the FUCK UP, Jesus!” You reply >Blood runs down your clawed up arm and drips onto the floor >You pump another blast of water at her, which she dodges with the fluidity of… well… water? >She claws downward across your already burnt chest, shredding your jacket and shirt >Three ribbons of blood blossom where her claws scored your skin >You wince, but issue a deafening blow with the butt of your super soaker, clapping Vanessa across the jaw >The lion is dazed, but there’s not enough time for you to pump another round at her >”Good hit baby, but you think that little bit of plastic is going to stop me?” >She throws her head forward >Her skull crashes into your skull >Light flashes in your eyes >Blood threads down from the top of your skull, blinding you >And then you feel your nose crumple as a tight, closed fist collides with it, sending you to the floor and you onto your back >There’s another explosion of salt and iron in your mouth as blood sprays from your nose >You peek through the blood stinging your eyes and catch Lydia halfway in the air, her arms wide and ready to rip into your neck >Oh god, you’re getting pounced on >You roll >Hop to your feet >And blindly pump another spray of holy water at her… >…Which catches her in the leg >The minute the spray touches her JNCO jeans she starts roaring with anguish >”Mike you cunt!” She screams. “My mom just bought me these!” >She stumbles forward >You frantically pump another spray at her, this time aiming for her head >But thanks to the blood in your eyes, your shot only manages to melt her ears >Hot steam POURS off the lioness as her flesh starts to disintegrate >”I swear to fuck,” she growls, shambling forward, “this time I’m not going to miss.” >She swipes you with her claws >Weakly, you hoist your water gun in front of you in some pathetic attempt to keep her from cutting open your throat >And contrary to her earlier dialogue, she misses >Her claws rend your water gun in half, soaking her all over with the reserve tank of holy water >Particularly in the face >Some of it splashes on your hands >It’s worse than boiling water — it’s like having your hands coated in molten metal >And yet >It’s exactly what you need >Lydia collapses onto her knees, clawing desperately at her melting face… >…Which is now shedding skin and fur like a coat >Though your own hands are starting to burn and melt, you only managed to catch a few drops >You can only watch through your blood-stung vision as Lydia’s face literally melts off, all her piercings sloughing away with the rest of her fur and skin >Desperately, she tries catching them in her paws >It’s actually… pretty disgusting >Still screaming and coughing blood, the bones of her snout now exposed, she tries mashing her melted fur and piercings onto her face >It accomplishes little >”MIKE HELP ME!” She shrieks >”OH GOD HELP!” “I-” >Oh shit >You might have actually killed someone >You leap at her, unsure what to do, only knowing that you want to help >The lion grabs you by the shoulders, choking and gagging >Her claws dig into your skin >”YOU STUPID ASSHOLE!” She gargles. “I’LL KILL YOU!” >She yanks you against her >Her jaw falls open >She pulls your neck into her mouth like you were a chew toy >The horrible gagging noises and chortling fill your ears >Your eyes instinctively slam shut >You can’t believe you fucking fell for her bullshit pity move >God DAMNIT >Welp, you fought your hardest >And your future is over anyway >Time to die >But the sharp pain never comes >Her grip on your shoulders relaxes… >…As she falls backwards, face practically gone >Holy shit >Did she just… >Is she… >Dead? >Breathing hard from the adrenaline, you look down at Lydia’s mutilated and ruined form >Her face is practically skeletal >Yep >She’s gone >Your brush with death makes you appreciate the chaos of the gym right now >The heavy spotlights now rapidly pan between Alex’s battle with The Behemoth and Gloria >And Jenna, still fending off the vampires, dropping another one with a well-placed shot >You cough hard and a spattering of crimson blood comes up onto your partially melted hands >Fuck >You’re a complete mess right now >You can’t breathe through your nose >Your vision is blurred >You’re probably not thinking straight from that blow to your head >Your arm is shredded >Hands partially melted >Chest bleeding >Legs bloody and wounded >You’re ruined >And so is your life >”Mike!” Jenna pokes her head out from behind her barricade >”Get to Anon! We’ll hold them off!” >Alex, who is fighting his own battle with The Behemoth, Stella and Gloria, concurs as he dodges a stomp from Gloria >”GO COMRADE! ONE TIME FOR ALL TIME!” >You stare placidly, slack-jawed, not sure what Alex means, and especially not sure what you’re going to do next >Is there still hope? >The whole school rumbles as The Behemoth shrinks away from Stella’s flying claws >It issues a challenging roar and leaps forward into the badger, rending her fur >They’re right >This is your chance >You haven’t laid yourself to waste for nothing >At the very least, you can get some revenge >Putting all of your resolve and hatred into your quivering legs, you jog towards the equipment room doors >As the sound of pitched battle explodes around you >The ground shakes and trembles as if a switch was suddenly thrown >And your heart sinks when you realize what probably just happened >…The ritual was set in motion >The Behemoth raises its head to the ceiling and issues a triumphant, victorious roar, and then blinks out of existence >The sound of raised car alarms fills the gym >It must be in the parking lot now >A bloody Stella flinches and skitters backwards at the sheer volume >Even to your ears, it’s sharp like broken glass against your eardrums >You don’t slow down >You don’t look back >You throw open the door leading up into the tunnels >And dive right into the darkness >You are Anonymous >And you feel like crying >Like, actually dropping to your knees in a terrible fit of anger and frustration >You’re drenched in sweat and your body is badly bruised and beaten >The ritual started >The books are nowhere to be seen >And neither is Sam or Vanessa >You made it to the altar room, the one all scarred up with cryptic drawings and that burning ‘31’ etched onto the wall >And the basin at the center of the room is filled with fresh blood >Bunny blood >In the ephemeral orange light of the room, you see a steady trail of blood leading your eyes across the room, back into the halls, and disappearing into the dark >Standing between you and that trail of blood is Reese, a goth >The guy who carried Sam up here >He’s roughly your size, though pale as cream cheese. His blue lips look almost suffocated >Black hair drips across his sweat-soaked face “Outta my goddamn way, Reese,” you snarl at him. “I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.” >”Pathetic mortal,” Reese scoffs, showing his bright vampire fangs. “I can’t let you past me. Turn around now.” “Don’t give me that ‘pathetic mortal’ shit, you useful idiot. Step aside or I’m going through you.” >”Sorry dude. Guess you’re just going to have to go through me.” “Reese I swear to fucking G-” >The vampire goth is too eager >He leaps over the bloody altar, mouth wide open, ready to sink his fangs into your neck >You move to the side easily as the useful idiot crashes clumsily into the wall behind you >He turns to you with a growl >”Heh, you’re fast, but I’m faster.” >Actually you’re not fast >That was the easiest dodge ever “Nothing about that was fast at all, but nice try.” >”I guess I’ll have to use… THAT…” >What is this, a shitty anime? >He lunges directly at you, catching you in the midsection and hurling you against a wall >Okay, that one actually hurt, you think, as your body collides with the scarred up walls “Why do you obnoxious cunts have to be so strong?” You rise to your feet, still shaking out the adrenaline and the pain in equal measures >”Because we have been given the gift of speed and strength by our queen, Vanessa Doermuth.” >You draw your water pistol from under your robes and level it at his chest “Bet she didn’t make you immune to this.” >”A water pistol? My queen will be most pl-” >You spray him in the face >”MOTHER FUCKER!” He shrieks, clawing at his cheeks and eyes >The smell of melting skin makes your stomach churn, and you don’t like doing this, but my GOD is your body in pain >You’d drown in morphine right now if you could >So with anger you pull the trigger again and blast Reese in the crotch, melting away any chance he ever had of reproducing >He collapses, legs kicking violently underneath him “I told you, I don’t have time to put up with your shit right now.” >You holster your water pistol in your a belt loop beneath your robes >Every motion and movement fucking HURTS as you grunt your way into the dark hall, leaving Reese to turn to a pile of goth-goo and ashes >You have one singular goal in mind as you follow the trail of blood into the dark: >Find Sam >The door to the rooftop shuts behind you as the raised wind batters it >You stand on the rooftop, the night sky dominated by the moon >And >Standing as a shadow against the titanic moon, is Vanessa >But you don’t care about that dumb hoe right now >Your eyes quickly fall on Sam, who is unconscious near the roof’s edge, laying in a big heap of herself >”You know, her blood is really useful. Plus Reese tells me she’s light as a feather. She’ll come in handy in the new world.” “Reese is dead,” you say, taking a step forward, clenching your fists. “He’s melting right now next to the altar. Don’t you care?” >The doe throws her head back and laughs >The canvas bag dangles in her hands >”You think that’s going to get me to drop everything and rush down there? Nope!” She laughs again, her bright fangs glistening with need. “Reese served his purpose. And so did you! Look at what you brought me!” >She holds up the canvas bag >”Like a good little idiot.” >The sight of that bag is enough to make your heart start to race >All you’d have to do is… somehow beat Vanessa and get both of those books back… and… grab Sam and… do it all before midnight rolls around >Speaking of >A quick glance at your phone >It’s 11:40 >20 minutes until the end of the world >”See that?” Vanessa points up at the red moon. “It’s almost time for the new world, Anonymous. Aren’t you excited?!” >The moon is so close that you swear, if you were good and drunk, you might leap off this roof in an effort to grab onto it >Bright flashes of memory come back to you in lightning bolts of clarity >You can see yourself sitting next to Sam and Alex and Mike on the edge of this very roof, chucking beers over the edge >Bullshitting about lives you didn’t live >You, hiding your cowardice, avoiding the big questions like college and what will become of your friendships after school is over >Taking your anxiety out on Sam >And Sam, still hiding who she is, covering her abuse and neglect with the oversized clothes and awkwardness and a false gender >Sam >Who is now broken-legged and on the edge of the roof, one good shove from oblivion >But Vanessa doesn’t seem to want to hurt her >’She’ll come in handy in the new world.’ >What new world? >You lurch forward a little bit, grunting as you put pressure onto your beaten joints >Vanessa smiles as she sees you approaching >”Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you’re coming towards me?” >Ooh you hate her “I’m not saying the lines,” you say through clenched teeth. “Now get over here so I can punch your lights out you evil bitch.” >”Fair enough.” >She darts forward, head down, eyes forward >This anime bitc- >She plants a strong right foot in front of her, cocks back her arm and swings into your stomach >You manage to block it with your arms >But the bone-shattering force of her hit forces a scream out of you >You swear you’re seeing stars >And she didn’t even have to blast you in the head >Your arm rings and vibrates with pain, but you bring your leg up for a kick >You’re no karate master, but you do manage to hit her in the side >She winces with pain >The ensuing psychotic smile she flashes makes you regret having kicked her >And when she grabs onto your leg, leans back, and starts twirling you in a tight arc, you REALLY regret kicking her >The world becomes a blur >Colors and shape lose their meaning >Everything is just a mishmash of everything, atomized and reduced to smears of motion >Then everything snaps into focus as she releases her grasp on your leg >You’re airborne now, sailing across the roof of the school like a human comet >You skid back to earth, your back scraping on the grit and gravel of the rooftop >When your body comes to a halt, you’re dangerously close to the edge of the roof, and dangerously close to being paralyzed by Vanessa >Why? >Because now she’s airborne and falling fast, her heavy black boots ready to smash your skull and grind your brain into a fine paste >Splayed out on the gravel, it takes a good amount of your strength just to throw yourself out of the way of her killing blow >She lands like she weighs 20 tons >You feel the shock wave of her landing in your palms >You climb to your feet and throw a quick jab at Vanessa >Yet again, she catches your fist with little effort >Still holding your fist in the air she sucker-punches you in the gut >And there, on the rooftop, the final hope for humanity is brought low >You seem to crumple around her fist >All the air is forced out of your lungs as you drop to your knees >You suck oxygen like earth was running out >And who knows, in Vanessa’s new world, maybe that’s the case? >Through all of this, that canvas bag is still in the crook of her elbow >The two most important books in the world, and there they are, in a thin canvas fucking bag, right in front of you >Shaking and badly bruised, you reach for the bag >The doe laughs and bats your arm away like an annoying fly >She all but punches your lights out with an unnaturally wild right cross that sends you skittering across the rooftop >Your eyes snap shut, and you try to pretend that it’s not happening, which has been your strategy for everything in your life that scares you >You try to pretend that none of this is real and that this is all some really bad teen movie, or that you’re trapped in some shitty dubbed anime >But it’s real. It’s all real. Vanessa, the moon, Sam, Mike, Jenna, Alex, The Behemoth >You’d rather get a slap to the face to wake you up, but you can’t choose how things happen >Vanessa starts laughing in that really obnoxious laugh that’s made you hate her for so many years, and you want to tell her to shut the fuck up, but you can’t put your energy into words >”Outnumbered, outclassed, outdone,” she lifts you easily in the air by the collar of your vestments and stares into your eyes. “And here I thought at least you and I could see common ground. I really thought you’d understand. And after all you’ve done for us, I was perfectly willing to let you live.” >Well, here we are >This same tired start where the story began >You on the rooftop, the parking lot a total wreck, you close to death, and everything everywhere a complete and utter mess >Vanessa’s lips curl up into a smile, and the fangs — which a doe definitely shouldn’t have — slide forward >”Unlike people, I guess some things change.” >You never thought it’d end like this. In all the fantasies you’ve had of your demise, death-by-doe was not one of them >Your beaten head rolls back, like your neck was a noddle and your head a bowling ball >You feel swollen all over, wet with blood and sweat “You know, I think you’re right. People don’t change,” you say, struggling for breath >Your gaze briefly flits to Sam’s crumpled body on the edge of the roof, and then back to Vanessa, who is staring so triumphantly back at you through darkening eyes >”Little too late to fly a new flag there, Anon. You missed your chance to be on the winning side.” “You didn’t let me finish.” You breathe hard. “I was going to say I always hated you. I still hate you. Even if I could understand where you were coming from, I’d still hate you. In some ways, people don’t change, because I will always, always hate you.” You take a shallow breath. “But you’re wrong about everything else.” >Vanessa flashes a toothy grin, or some poor attempt at containing her fury — one of the two >”Aww you’re cute, you know that? If I were into humans — scrawny cowards like you — I might think about making you some sort of concubine in the new world. But sadly…” >She lifts you higher in the air like you’re some kind of rag doll >”People just don’t change.” >She cocks her arm back, and in one swift motion, hurls you with unbelievable force >Your back slams against the hard metal door of the rooftop’s maintenance access entryway, a low, hunched over brick building jutting out from the roof >You bounce forward, coming to rest against the door, all the air ejected from your lungs via concussive force >You lurch forward and breathlessly gasp, propped upright by sheer luck >You swear you physically felt yourself going concussed >”You’ll be a coward forever!” She howls, starting forward, “Always creeping in the dark, always running from what threatens your peace. I know your type.” >She towers over you with clenched fists, her blood moon shadow engulfing you entirely >The sound of car alarms blaring draws both of your attention >And then a terrible squealing noise that shakes the rooftop gravel, the sound of The Behemoth raging somewhere >”Can you hear it? Maybe not with your pathetic human ears, but I can. It’s the sound of a human’s spirit breaking. Ooooh we’re so close now to the end now.” >She shivers, but not from the cold and biting wind. Her expression turns soft as she look down at your pathetic, writhing form >“Seeing you like this, down and out, moments away from death, I can’t help but pity you just a little.” “You don’t have pity,” you wheeze, still trying to recover from the glancing blow dealt to the back of your head (which you’re sure is starting to bleed now). “You only have anger and hate for people who couldn’t care less about you at all.” >”You mean those SHEEP in the gym beneath us? Of course they don’t care. And that’s their crime. They’re self-absorbed, self-obsessed, normal, well-adjusted, happy, social and loving, and they always, always will be. You and I are different — that’s why I trusted you. It’s why I thought you’d understand what I had to do.” >She leans in close >”I wanted you to rule beside me, you stupid fucking coward. At least you know what it feels like not to belong.” >Your vision is going fuzzy, but you’re still lucid enough to spit blood and curses “Fuck you, Vanessa. Gloria was right this whole time. People can change. You’re just a sad, lonely doe who never got the message.” Blood and curses fly from your mouth >Did you bite your tongue? >Vanessa shrieks with laughter >Real, horrible, rib-sucking laughter >”Oh Anon, how I wish that were true. Maybe you’d have seen our side of things… saw all these normalcunts for what they are: shallow and selfish. But it’s okay. I’m going to make everything better. We can all be equal in our madness as we tear this world apart, brick by rotten brick.” >JESUS CHRIST she’s insane >You thought she was just edgy and had gone too far, but no, she’s just insane >And cocky too >Villains >Why do they always have to gloat? >You might gloat too if you were her >And you’re about to have reason to gloat >Your hand sneaks beneath your robes, where you keep the water pistol tucked into a belt loop “Some free advice, you crazy bitch:” you say, aiming the pistol upwards under your vestments. “don’t monologue.” >Vanessa recognizes the shape of your holy water pistol beneath the robes all too late >Triumphantly, you squeeze off a few shots that fly through the relatively thin fabric of your fake vestments >Thank FUCK for cheap costumes >They catch Vanessa once on the breast of her skin-tight black jacket >And then again in the face, arms and legs >It’s about as unceremonious as it gets — little streams of water pounding against Vanessa’s arms, legs, chest and face >No concussive heat blast, no triumphant orange muzzle flash to herald her doom >Just holy water in a cheap, 99-cent water pistol >But it’s enough >She flinches and winces as the streams of water strike her >Wisps of steam and smoke trail off her as a bright scars appears where her skin and makeup begin to slough off from her face >And yet beneath the searing flesh, you can see a hateful, devil’s grin >Reminds you of Sam’s Dad >”Very clever you little CUNT.” >You pull the trigger again — and you keep pulling it until her hand grips the water pistol and easily squeezes it into shards, sending plastic and holy water flying in all directions >With skin and fur falling away from her hands, revealing tightly corded and magically cursed muscle beneath, she looks up at her now bloody and raw fist with morbid curiosity >And then with contempt down at you >”You’re still a coward…” she hisses through her fangs >Oh god >Her face is starting to peel and welt up >Still winded from being hurled across the roof, you can do little more than struggle when she grips you by the collar and pulls you to your feet >She pulls back her right arm like a pistol’s hammer being cocked back >”…You brought a gun to a fist fight!” >Her arm explodes forward and hits you so goddamn harm in the jaw that you don’t actually feel it >You feel the blunt force of her bloody fist colliding with your jawbone, but the tremendous shock of pain that normally follows a finishing blow like that doesn’t come >What gets you is the way your body collides with the door, head slamming backwards into the cold metal >Now THAT hurt >But at least she hit you hard enough to knock you from her grasp >Dazed, you can see Vanessa pulling her bleeding fist back again for another killing blow >And it happens in slow motion >For once you’re grateful to have been belted one >The way her arm pushes forward, a comet’s tail of fresh blood streaking off of her now boiling arm and chest and face… >…The way the cars begin flying through the air haphazardly behind her, as if tossed by some gigantic child — but you know that’s the Behemoth’s work as it spreads its madness to the moon and stars… >And it’s in this slow motion that you’re able to duck your head and roll onto your side >The doe’s triumphant fist punches a hole in the door right in the space where your head used to be, all metal shredding inward like a flower’s petals opening >You hit the ground hard, getting a face full of gravel and grime >And maybe a few pebbles up the nose >Vanessa rips her hand out of the door, the thin canvas bag dangling in the crook of her elbow >She bellows a deep, scarred-throat shredding roar, as if she were full of hell itself >But you hardly hear it >Your eyes are fixed on something else: that swinging bag she’s carrying, so tantalizingly close >Without thinking you reach out and- >You get a black boot in the gut as Vanessa roars, the glint of madness long since swallowed by darkness and rage >You can’t even see her pupils anymore — just black stones >Sputtering blood from your mouth, your mind instinctively reels backwards in time, flying at the speed of a warm blood rush >You just want to find a place in your memories that doesn’t hurt >And maybe it’s because you’re on the rooftop again, but you can’t help but find yourself back in the same place you were last week near this time >Friday night, one week ago you- >Another stuttering kick in the gut and you’re sucking air >-You were all on the rooftop drinking and- >Your hands grope blindly against the side of the maintenance access entryway, feeling for something — anything to anchor you to reality >-And you still had beers leftover and- >You fight against the urge to vomit as the doe clutches you by the throat, your airways pinched off in a vise grip >She starts to hoist you in the air, face-to-face with her, spitting blood through her sharpened teeth, face peeling and sizzling, revealing a mask of muscle and raw skin beneath her velvety fur https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQwKWuTrlCY&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=22 >She shrieks in a voice not her own, “I WANNA SEE THE LIGHT LEAVE YOUR EYES!” >>-The four of you elect to leave the rest of your beers on the roof, right next to the rooftop door, making plans to return again- >Your searching fingers find the still full bottle against the side of the access tunnel and wrap around its neck >You feel Vanessa’s second hand cinch around your throat like a vise >She lifts you in the air under her own strength, too fixed on your inevitable suffocation to notice the amber bottle dangling in your right hand >Dark stars all around you >Swarms of unconsciousness bleed in around the corners of your vision, stretching inward like ruthless vines >You’re very still and limp as she chokes the life out of you, and you know: this is your time >Sam isn’t moving over there on the ledge >Jenna, Alex, Mike and Stella are still trapped in the gym >She squeezes your airways shut >She squeezes for everything she’s worth >Everything she’s worked for and built >Everything you’ve tried to undo >And for what? >What was it all for? >For Sam >For Alex >For Jenna >For Mike > >For something that matters >You bring your arm up, the amber bottle shot through with red moonlight; like Excalibur ripped from the lake >Vanessa’s eyes go up, settling on your weapon, its oblong shape reflected in her black pupils like a prophecy from beyond time >With your last moments of consciousness, feeling her bloody fingers pressed tight against your skin, your grip tightens and… >…you bring down your arm down in a hammer-stroke, the bottle crashing sharp against the top of her skull >The bottle breaks into heavy shards and a spray of warm beer, leaving you with only its jagged neck as you fall from Vanessa’s grasp >The doe throws her hands onto her head and screams >You drop like a cinder block into a heap of blood and cheap costume fabric >One last thing though >With the last bit of lucidity you can still scrounge up from your brush with death, you swipe the sharp remnants of the bottle against the taut strap of her canvas bag with enough force to sheer the fabric >It drops against the rooftop, spilling its contents — and the two books — everywhere >You gasp and suck and sputter, struggling to put air back into your nearly-collapsed lungs >The books are just feet away, while Vanessa stumbles backwards, blood cascading down her face from a now bright red gash on the top of her skull >You’d reach for the books but… you just have nothing left in the tank >She screams and shrieks horribly through the pain and… >Fuck >…Lunges towards you >Well, this is all you can do, you guess >You played your last card and you still couldn’t stop her >You’re sorry to everyone you’ve let down >Which is… literally everyone on earth >But more importantly: >Sam, who risked everything for a better life >For Alex who wanted to change the world >For Jenna who… gave up her car? >And for Mike, who ruined his entire life for you >If he was here, you’d scream apologies, beg his forgiveness >But he’s not >You’re cold >So very cold now >Alone >And ready to die >The door to the roof flies open >You weakly turn your head around and squint through your collapsing vision >Standing there in the portal, breathing hard and gripping the frame like a life preserver in choppy seas… >…Is the BIGGEST asshole you’ve ever met… >Mike MOTHERFUCKING Sapone >”You bitch,” he seethes >He starts forward, and you notice his body is practically ruined >No water gun >MASSIVE bloody gashes running down his chest and arms and legs >Blood from his forehead forcing one of his eyes shut >Nose crooked >Hands looking like they’ve been dipped in a vat of acid >He rushes past you, almost like you’re not even there, suffocating on the ground >”You stole my friend.” >”You stole HIS boyfriend.” He jabs a finger at you >He lunges through the air, intercepting Vanessa mid-sprint >”You stole my future!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZbOvE996hY&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=24&t=0s >The pair tangle their limbs together, digging tooth and nail into one another, fighting to stay on their feet >The first one to go down isn’t getting back up again, you know that >Vanessa gives Mike a powerful shove, sending him clunk-footing backwards >She follows up with a wild right that goes wide as Mike ducks it >And watching him move, even all ragged and bloody, is like watching water slip around sharp rocks >He comes up strong, exploding with an uppercut that knocks Vanessa a good inch or two into the air >Though she lands on her back, the doe is far from done >She swiftly rolls out of the way of another rage-guided fist, meant for her face, which explodes into the gravel >And in an instant she’s back on her feet, breathing hard, her face a horrible, bloody mask of what she once was >The Behemoth roars, shaking the entire school — hell, maybe even the earth, you don’t know >Now is your chance >The world is ringing. Everything starts to collapse around you — an avalanche of sensory data cascading in on you all at once: >Mike and Vanessa, tangled up together, near the edge; >Dark stars pulsing and receding in the fringes of your vision; >The feel of the gravel and grit underneath you as you dig your fingers in and pull yourself across the rooftop; >The hammering pain jumping and pulsing through your body, emanating from a bloody gash at the back of your head; >Spinning nausea rising in your gut; >Heart hammering like God Himself was pounding on your ribcage with a mallet; >The sight of Sam aching to her feet; >The panic that rises in you when you see Mike come away from Vanessa as a splattering of crimson is shot up against the moon; >His gurggling shriek and Vanessa’s laughter against your ears; >Everything, all at once: >One time for all time >Your right hand falls upon The Book of Wrath, its gritty black cover reflects the crimson light of the moon >You flip it open to a page — any page — intent on one quick spell to knock Vanessa on her ass for good >You look up >Mike stumbles backwards, away from the rooftop’s edge, clutching at his neck >Your eyes widen as blood spills out between his fingers >He makes horrible, ugly gurgling sounds as he bleeds profusely through the slash across his throat >A razor gleams in the doe’s hands >She turns to look at you, and even from a distance, you can see the proud smile on her face that says, ‘That’s for the bottle.’ >Mike drops to his knees >But you can’t take your eyes off your best friend, who is sharing a look with you >A desperate, wild look, one that says, ‘I’m scared to die,’ and ‘I don’t want to go.’ >But there’s something else there behind his bulging and panicked eyes >Another expression >And it sends your heart plummeting when you lock eyes for the span of a heartbeat, because you know what he’s saying: >’Goodbye.’ >No >NO “MIKE!” Your throat is raw, like you’ve been screaming with your head under scalding water >You know what he has planned >Mike, that asshole, rises to his feet, tottering on the edge of the roof where you once sat and threw beers at the city >He releases his hold on his own neck, and blood comes cascading out like a dam bursting >He needs both hands for this >He needs Vanessa, who is striding forward, towards you, the razor gleaming in her hands >”Now, your turn,” she says in your direction >But she doesn’t get any further than a foot or two >Mike wraps his tired arms around her waist and digs his feet back into the grit and gravel >And starts dragging her backwards >”Get the hell off me!” Vanessa throws an elbow backwards at Mike >But the distance to the edge is short, and he’s long since passed the stage of lucidity >He’s just a body, hauling another body >The last of what he has is wrapped around her waist >All effort and pain and glory between his threaded fingers >If Mike’s heart were anywhere else but his shuddering chest, it’d be between those fingers >He stumbles backwards, hauling Vanessa’s struggling form towards the edge of the roof >Now at the edge >So close >You scream again “MIKE! YOU ASSHOLE!” >He lets one foot slip off, his body suspended in purgatory, eyes to the sky, vacant and yet so full of moonlight you swear they’re glowing >With one final effort he pulls Vanessa’s body tight against his own, takes another step backwards >And then they’re gone >You remain unreasonably still despite it all >Everything has gone hauntingly quiet, save for the rush of blood pulsing through your veins >That you are alive; you hear that loud and clear >You just keep looking at the spot where Mike and Vanessa once were, as if they were going to reappear any second >But they don’t. And the ground rumbles again with an otherworldly tremor again >Your throat tightens up, reminiscent of the pain you felt when Vanessa was choking you out >But this? >This hurts more >Your eyes instinctively flit towards some motion on the edge of the rooftop, just in the fringes of your vision >It’s Sam, struggling to rise to her feet, wounded body trembling itself back into consciousness >Sam >It’s Sam >WAIT >IT’S SAM >Suddenly you're on your feet, having collected the two books and an edge of the broken glass bottle >”Sam!” You call, clutching at your head where the pain is the sharpest >The little bunny can’t stand under her own power >Your sprint across the rooftop >It feels like you’re running the mile all over again >Before you help Sam, you take a masochistic look over the edge of the roof >Two bodies >A pool of blood >Still as the moonlight >It’s a long way down, but you can see Mike’s eyes peacefully resting, his lips just slightly parted, almost as if he were sleeping and would never wake up again >And Vanessa, that horrible bitch of a doe, looks shot through with surprise — eyes bulging, mouth agape >But still and void, just like Mike >Even though she’s pure hatred and evil, you can’t help but feel a little bit of sympathy for her and her ilk >No >Sympathy isn’t the right word >What you feel is pity >That mike had to die, so that you may live- >”A-Anon, h-help me,” Sam wheezes >She’s limping upwards on a badly wounded leg >-You’re not going to waste his sacrifice >You slip your shoulder underneath Sam’s arm and hoist the rabbit to her feet >She nearly collapses against you as her leg gives out again >”S-S-Sorry,” she says, wincing. “T-T-Think it might b-be b-broken.” “It’s alright,” you say to her. “Just hold out a little bit longer.” >You press the books and shard of glass against your breast and stare fixedly at the open door >The one with the hole punched into it >The one leading into the dark >And towards the end >You race through the darkened corridors of the maintenance tunnels >Well, race isn’t the proper verb to use >It’s more like a speedy hobble in the sticky heat >But it’s progress, despite how blurry everything is >And how blurry your thinking feels >Curious >That’s all it is to you >Curious >Certainly not concerning >But you feel that worry like a shard of ice against your bare skin >Pain hammers behind your eyes, and your body feels like broken glass >But time is of the essence, as each labored step through the darkness drags you closer and closer to the altar >Sam is breathing hard, and to be fair, you’re practically gulping air >Christ it gets hot up here >”A-A-Anon, I c-c-can smell blood…” Sam’s voice is a high whine. “I-It’s really st-strong.” >Careful not to drop the books or the slip of glass, you feel the back of your head, and gasp when you feel how wet with fresh blood it is >Christ >”O-Oh God,” Sam shudders. “A-A-Are you al-alright?” “Yes,” you lie through clenched teeth. “Just keep p-pushing forward. I think we’re almost t-there.” >In truth the pain is like a millstone around your neck >Your heavy head and bruised up body want to collapse into the heat, to lay down and succumb to everything >Death is a warm blanket >You won’t allow yourself that comfort >Not yet >The fire-light glow of the room calls to you like a torch in the dark >At the end of the hall, you see orange light slanting around a sharp corner, reflecting off the old copper pipes “I think we’re almost there,” you say as you two hobble into the light >You try smiling at Sam, but a lancing arc if pain drills right down from your head to your feet >You halt in place and grit your teeth, body trembling as little tremors rip through you >”A-Anon-” Sam looks up and gasps. “Y-Your head!” >You again feel the back of your skull >Oh Christ >There’s so much blood >And what’s more, you can feel a terrific gash >”A-Anon we need to s-s-s-stop,” Sam says as she slides out and away from you “We can’t-” Another wave of nausea and pain. “-Not here, not now.” >”J-Just take it easy a-a-alright?” >Her voice is so distant as you check your phone >11:57 >You hear is a dull buzzing sound, like a swarm of locusts in your ear >Those dark stars are back in the corners of your vision, pulling further and further inward >You gasp sharply when they cloud your vision completely, sending them back to your peripherals, the way that a shoreline recedes in the electrified minutes before a tsunami >You can see it now, as the narrow hallway opens up into a low, familiar room >Strange etching and carvings adorn the walls, with a flame-written ‘31’ glowing large and bright like a neon sign >And in the center of the room: the stone basin, still a shallow pool of blood in it >You throw your hands onto the basin’s rim for support as another wave of agony overwhelms you >Your lungs feel like they can’t get enough air >You gasp >And gasp >And gasp >And gasp >Until the color returns to the room, all orange and pink, but tinged at the edges with gray and black >The books and the glass shards fall from your shaking hand >”H-H-Here.” Sam scoops them up and hands them to you. “P-Please t-t-take them, y-y-you’re the only one w-w-who knows what to d-d-do.” >She wrings her ears >You allow the books to fall into the center of the altar, where they are promptly saturated by Sam’s old blood >Fuck >Fuckity fuck fuck >With shaking hands you flip open The Book of Rite, searching for that page about banishing >But Christ, everything is so blurry, and your heart is racing so fast >”An-Anon, here.” Sam holds her wrist above the altar, her sleeves pushed down her thin arms >In her right hand is the jagged slice of glass >Sam locks eyes with you and nods >”T-Tell me w-when.” She steadies her shaking voice >Fresh blood >It has to be fresh >You’ve been staring at the pages for too long >You blink away the dark stars as your blood soaked fingers leaf through the pages of The Book of Rite >It’s here >It’s… somewhere in the middle >11:58 >God, wouldn’t it be poetic to die at exactly midnight? >Your hands are trembling too bad >You’ve lost too much blood >You’re concussed >So just give up the ghost >The world goes gray >And then starts to get a bit darker >How you’re remaining upright is anyone’s guess >11:59 >A delicate furry hand starts leafing through the pages in front of you >And you can see on the pages that same, torturous, spidery scrawl >An old type of cursive written in fragmented pen >And Sam points to a heading that’s faded with age >”I-Is this i-it?” She says >You hear her voice, but she sounds like he’s yelling across a canyon >You read the heading, eyes bouncing around the scrawled cursive >’Banishment’ >A smile spreads across your face — a wild, delirious smile >You look up at Sam >That dumb bunny >That stupid, amazing, lovable, dumb bunny >Your mind shears into two, like a glacier being cleaved in half >You’re not sure what you’re going to say next, but your mouth starts working anyway >You nod towards her exposed wrist and the trembling shard of glass hovering just above delicate fur “R-Remember, ac-across the s-street, not d-down the lane.” >A quick slash >Sam gasping, reflexively clutching at her wound >A steady trickle of blood saturates the page >Light explodes from the old pressed parchments >You shut your eyes and exhale >You’re whipped onto your ass by an other-worldly force >You and Sam both go tumbling down (tumbling down) (tumbling down) >The two books ascend into the air, dripping with blood as their pages spin and explode in fractals of light >You can only watch with gaped maws as the world coalesces and then spreads apart right before your eyes >The ground shakes beneath you as you struggle to stand upright >You are quickly cut down by a series of jarring tremors that are so violent you can feel them in your teeth >So you just lay on your back >Like a dying fish >And watch as the world trembles and shakes as your vision collapses into stuttering pulses >You’re wide awake >You think >You don’t know anymore >Until Sam crawls on top of you >And then you know you’re awake (or at least alive) >Or was she always on top of you and now you’re just gaining consciousness? >Your eyes struggle open >You feel her delicate frame on top of your own, like a heavy feather pillow >It feels like with her there, all the tremors stop >The books fall uselessly back into the altar’s center “Sam?” Your voice is weak and tinged with exhaustion. “W-Why are you laying on top of me?” >You cough out some dust and grit >”Y-Y-You were sh-shaking,” she answers back >But when you look up, her eyes are filled with tears >They streak and cut down her dirty fur in mirrored lines >It’s almost kind of beautiful, in a weird way “Stop crying you big baby,” you say, half-joking >The rest of you isn’t sure what exactly you’re trying to say >”A-A-A-And you’re st-still bleeding.” >To your surprise, she throws her arms around your neck and dips her face against your chest >You can feel another type of tremor: >Sam, shaking against you with heavy relived sobs >”I d-d-don’t want to l-l-lose you,” she cries. “G-G-God p-please be alright.” >You open your mouth to speak, which feels like a monumental effort >Like your jaw was weighted shut >So you don’t talk >Just let the waves of unconsciousness take you, like a small boat being carried out to sea, as your vision goes to gray >Sam is talking again, but you can barely hear her >She sits up and scrubs her eyes with the back of her sleeves >She tries to put on a determined and strong face >”D-D-Don’t m-move. I-I’m g-g-going to g-g-g-get help…” >But when she meets your darkening eyes, her strong front shatters like a dam suddenly bursting >”A-Anon-” she bites her lower lip and swallows the lump in her throat. “P-Please s-s-stay with me.” >You’re trying >You want to live >Because, if nothing else, you have something you need to tell her >”I-I l-love you s-s-s-so much.” >Your mouth forms the words, but no sound comes out: ‘I love you too.’ >Sam spends a few more heartbeats staring into your eyes, before she leans in, plants a faint kiss on your forehead, and then rolls off you >She stands tall (or as tall as she can with a broken leg) and leans onto a carved up wall for support >”I-I’ll b-b-be back, o-okay?” >She doesn’t wait for you to respond, not only because you really can’t right now, but because there’s no time >She hobbles off down the hall, out of the reach of the slowly declining light >The world turns beneath you, as if you were balanced on a spinning top set in motion at the explosive dawn of the universe >And with the last molecules of consciousness now buzzing around you like flies as entropy quashes all motion, a wave of sadness and despair washes over you >It’s not that you’re afraid to die >You’re just afraid to lose her >You exhale https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pfi1UQ_PKQI&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=18&t=0s >… >….. >……. >……. >….. >… >… >….. >……. >……. >….. >… >.. >. >Be Sam >And… >Ow >Everything hurts >Are you made of glass? >It feels like it >Did every single bone in your leg break? >It feels like it >But you keep pressing on, now that all the hot air feels like its been sucked out of the gloomy hallways >Your natural night vision and sense of smell help guide you through the maze of corridors where Vanessa brought you >And soon you start to smell something other than mold and mildew and wet concrete >You smell wet bodies, strong and sharp against your nose >You (carefully) descend the stairs that lead to the door into into the gym’s equipment room >And the closer you get to the bottom, the sharper the smell >And the louder the noise >And screaming >And murmuring >But mostly yelling >It’s like a hurricane in your ears >When you finally stumble into the gym, all the lights are on >And… you swear there was a metric ton of fog clouding everything >Now you just see a chaotic swarm of mammals >Humans, anthros, all mixing together, yelling, looking around, frantic in their costumes >Everyone is out looking for someone or something >The shock of the ritual’s defeat must have sent everyone into a frantic state >Your burning eyes struggle to focus on anyone or anything in particular >It’s just lights and motion >You lean into the door frame and grit your teeth >Another jolt of pain tells you that racing (if you could call it that) through the tunnels and down the stairs was a bad idea “H-H-Hey!” You yell, desperate. “S-S-S-Someone come and h-help me!” >God damnit, Anonymous is going to bleed to death >It’s worse than talking to a wall >People embrace and hug and cry and rush for the doors, but pay you no mind >Hell, even a few of the cheerleaders, color back in their skin, hug and embrace over the disintegrating bodies of their former squad mates >If they remember anything, you can’t tell “HEY!” You shout again with hoarse lungs >And then >Parting the crowds like Moses, is Gloria, barely dressed in a tablecloth >And she’s leading Jenna and Alex and Stella >”Sam!” Alex waves his arms frantically >Relief nearly drops you to your knees in prostration and thanks >That and the broken leg “P-P-Please hurry.” You point a finger towards the not-so-hidden doorway, still wide open. “A-A-A-Anon is up there a-and he l-l-lost a lot of b-b-b-blood.” >It’s times like these that make you hate your stutter even more >”What the hell is that?” Stella says points towards the open door. “I’ve never seen that door before in my life.” >Unlike Gloria, the badger hasn’t bothered to clothe herself >Her wide, yet stacked body moves with slovenly grace as she pounds her feet towards the door >…Followed by Alex and Jenna and Gloria >You want to go with them >You want to make sure he’s safe >But you know you’ll never make it up the stairs again >You’ve done all you can do >And now you wait >Be Anonymous >Are you >Flying? >Yeah >You’re ascending to heaven >You feel weightless, bereft of any earthly tethers >A leaf on the wind “So… I… I’m dead?” >A booming voice echoes back >”You made it little buddy.” >You dun did good this time around >A warm smile spreads across your face >Everything is dark >It feels… good, to be dying >It’s blissful, like a dream >”You’re going to be alright.” >Wat >”ETA to the hospital?” >No >Wait >You’re dead >But you hear voices around you >The whirring blades of a helicopter cutting through the air >The slow trickle of blood piped into your arms through an IV >”Give us 10 minutes and we’ll have him in ICU.” >Your eyes creak open… >…And are filled with sterile, surgical light >A paramedic — a cheetah — leans over you >Her whiskers and nose twitch as she sees you flirting with consciousness >”HEY JOE! HE’S AWAKE!” >’Joe’ answers back: “Right, I’m punching it.” >Your internal gravity shifts forward as Joe indeed punches it >Where are you? >You roll your head >Oh >Oh fuck >You’re in a helicopter, circling above the school >You peer out the open door, vision pulsing as blood fills your sapped veins >You can just make out the rooftop of the school >And the four shapes on top of it, standing still with apprehension >You shut your heavy eyes, stones on each lid >Oblivion feels good >So you should enjoy it while it lasts >Because after this? >There’s so much life to live Epilogue https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tr0j-fSh4Bc&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=19 >You are Anonymous >Warm air >Blue skies of May >Sunshine and the promise of summer >Idle chatter and the nameless sounds of classic rock swell into a noisy current that sucks you down into its depths >You’re sitting at a cheap card table in your backyard, next to Alex, while relatives and neighbors you’ve never met drop by the table and congratulate you, tell you they knew you since you were only knee-heigh >”God, kid, I can’t believe you used to climb the tree in my front yard,” Mr. Harris says, extending a hand to you >Mr. Harris is a human, and meaner than his long, silvery hair let on >He looks like a retired art teacher, minus the glasses and the actual interest in teaching children anything other than that he found them obnoxious “I remember I’d climb your tree and you’d spray me with the hose until I got down,” you say, taking his hand and shaking it >Actually, you’re not even mad >You just wanted to let him know you remember his indiscretions against a 9-year-old >”Well,” Mr. Harris clears his throat and pulls at his collar. “Congratulations anyway. On graduating.” “Thanks!” You say, still shaking his hand. “We’re glad you could come to Sam and I’s party.” >”Oh, yeah. Sure,” he says, curiously eying the rabbit, who sits next to you, wearing her graduate cap >It smushes her ears to the side, and if it hurts to have her ears bend that way, she doesn’t show it >She cracks a shy smile and nods in appreciation at Mr. Harris >”Congratulations to you too, Sam,” Mr. Harris says, with the kind of awkward distance that can only come from knowing a friend of a not-so-friend “T-Thank you,” Sam says, folding her little hands into her lap >When he’s gone, you plop back into your chair >Alex nudges you with his shoulder >”He seemed like a dick.” “You have no idea. That guy used to call my mom and tell her I was harassing his daughter. She was like six years older than I was! All I was trying to do was get her to give my basketball back.” >Sam giggles >”I-I can’t picture y-y-you playing b-basketball.” “Well, I’m not saying I was any good.” You tip the neck of a bottle of root beer back, the sticky sweet nectar filling your mouth with a slow trickle. “I hardly even played basketball. I’d just chuck it against the garage door a bunch. Drove my dad insane.” >”M-Me and my b-brother used to r-r-race against c-cars in the neighborhood,” Sam offers >”Did you beat any?” Alex turns his bottle up and takes a pull >”O-Only when t-they didn’t know w-w-w-we were racing.” “I’m not surprised. Rabbits are fast as fuck,” you add >More neighbors come by to congratulate you before Sam or Alex can respond >This time it’s an anthro family >Lynxes, from down the street >You think you used to play with their son, but you’re not sure >What was their name? >”Hey Anon! Congrats on graduating!” The older, male lynx says >He’s wearing a maroon polo that clashes against his gray-black fur and sharp yellow eyes >They’re full of unrestricted joy >You smile and stand to shake their hands, but your smile must have been a dead giveaway: you can’t remember who these people are >Luckily the older woman to the right of the other lynx, seems to pick up on your confusion >”You might not remember us,” she says, her voice gentle and smooth like a trickling stream. “The Jamisons? This is my husband George,” she pats him on the shoulder. >”And this is my dead weigh- I mean, wife, Meredith,” George says >They both giggle >Fucking boomers >”You used to play with our son Kyle, back in grade school,” George crosses his arms and assumes a relaxed slouch >So you were right to begin with “Oh, right, Kyle!” You say, not remembering anything about Kyle other than the time you pulled his nubby tail and he bit you and then he had to go to a special school for a year “How’s he doing now?” >The family exchange… looks >Oh you know those looks >Discomfort >Guess what you did either fucked him up for life or awakened something fucked up in him. “Anyway, I hope he’s doing well,” you add, trying to salvage the conversation >There’s a slight pause that only the chatter of the party fills >”So, Anon,” the father starts, leaning on the table. “I hear you got a great STEM scholarship to Red Field. Congratulations on that.” >It’s true >You worked with Mr. Bolm, who helped you find some really great scholarship programs for you to apply to >Only caveat is that you have to be in a STEM discipline >Secretly, you were considering English >Still, it wasn’t so bad. Red Field was a short drive from home — no more than an hour >And it was a damn good school >”It’s true,” Alex says, smiling. “Anon here is going to build space communism.” >You can no longer tell if Alex is joking or being sincere >Ever since October his cavalier attitude towards communism… changed >He seemed more at peace with his surroundings, and less revolution-focused, though the notion still haunted him >The father looks at Alex and smiles the smile of a man just trying to be polite >”And you must be Sam,” he says. “Congratulations.” >”No, my name is Alex,” Alex says. He points a finger at Sam who is watching the streamers — red and white, the colors of your school — dance among the branches of the trees. “Sam is the bunny.” >”Oh…” George puts on a forced smile and extends his hand to Sam >The bunny shakes it with a firm grip >”T-T-Thanks, s-s-sir.” >”And uhhh, Sam…? What are you doing after this?” >Sam brightens >”I-I-I’m going to Ran-Ranchview C-C-Community College,” she proudly declares >And speech therapy >Meredith plants her paws over her heart. “Oh that’s so great to hear. Our Kyle is planning on going there in the fall. Your family must be so proud.” “We are,” you cut in, quickly. “We’re very proud of Sam for graduating.” >Sam continues to brighten while the two anthros deflate >”I-I-I’m studying a-a-art and animation. I’m g-g-going to do my m-masters at CAL ARTS.” >The wind seems to shift >And the conversation seems to turn awkward, but you don’t give a fuck whether or not the Meredith and George and their wacko son Kyle think Sam is part of your family >You think it was that blow to the back of your head, maybe >It released all inhibitions >”Well,” George retracts his hand and wipes the sweat from Sam’s palms onto his pants. “That’s really nice to hear, Sam. Ah, look at you three.” He puffs up a bit. “Fine young men. You’ll be raising hell and chasing girls across campus.” >”Ac-Actually I-I’m a w-w-woman,” Sam flashes a bright, innocent smile, one without any sort of ill-will for the well-meaning Jamisons >Meredith looks… confused >”Plus Sam and Anon are dating,” Alex says to nobody, in a short, disinterested puff >Nobody ever asks him what he’s doing with his life >Going to a good school on the west coast >Studying political science >”Nobody cares about Alex Mullen.” He throws his hands to the sky >The Jamisons take cautious steps backwards >Sam is a woman >Anon is dating an anthro >…Whatever the fuck is wrong with Alex >It’s alll too much >”W-Well, congratulations to the three of you. Really. Anon, Sam, we left you both cards in the kitchen. Okay? Have a good day!” George and Meredith turn tail (literally) and disappear into the crowd >You’ve been awfully combative today >You can’t help it >You’re a bit anxious “God, I know this is tradition, but I can’t wait for this to be over. There’s too many people I don’t know or remember.” >”Nah man, don’t worry. It was the same way at my party. Cake big enough for me to sleep on, aunts and uncles from the east coast… I don’t get it. But the money is nice.” “W-W-When do we ge-get to eat c-cake?” Sam stammers >She’s already three root beers deep, you’re not sure she needs any more sugar >You pretend not to hear her >Alex will fill her in anyway >You stare at the banner above your back porch as it sways with the soft breeze >It reads: ‘Congratulations Anonymous & Sam!’ >The whole backyard is gilded in red and white >Red and white streamers, tablecloths, napkins, cups, outfits, cake colors, gown colors >It’s a lot to take in, and that’s just the decorations >There were plenty of people, mixing and mingling and talking over the sounds of your dad’s belly laugh while he mans the grill, or the thrum of music coming from a portable speaker set up on the back porch >Your mom plays hostess, the curls of her golden hair falling in her eyes as she throws her head back to laugh at a story about you wetting your pants in the third grade >Everything is happening at once, dancing around you and Alex and Sam >There would have been four of you if Jenna could make it, but she was busy with parties of her own, and getting set up at her fancy east coast school >You, Alex and Sam trade a quick look as a drunken relative stumbles out the back door to a chorus of cheering >Unspoken looks >The language of friends >Someone is missing from this table >… >”What an asshole,” Alex says, and you’re not sure if he’s talking about Mike or your drunk uncle Richard >Maybe both >”I-I’ll d-d-drink to that,” Sam declares, knocking back another root beer >You and Alex quietly follow her example >You’re going to miss school, in a weird way >Despite how easy it was after Halloween >The school basically coasted you and the gang through after they ruled Mike and Vanessa’s death as suicides >It was all sympathies and A’s once the investigation got through >People you never met coming up to you like they ever gave a shit in the first place to tell you ‘how sorry they were’ >And, actually, you felt that at least some of it was sincere >So that didn’t bother you >What bothered you most was the lack of something that felt like it was a part of you your whole life >Like having a rebellious arm suddenly ripped off >Sure it wouldn’t cooperate some of the time, but it was still your arm >God damnit, you missed that cunt-for-brains >You pull on your root beer in an effort to drown the lump in your throat >”So, when do you ship out, Anon?” Alex says casually. “I’m out start of August.” “Start of August? Jesus, that’s… three months!” >Alex shrugs in his dress shirt and tie >He kept the beanie on as a means of protest >”Can’t be helped, comrade. I’ve gotta go get oriented out there on the coast and get ready to raise some hell.” >God damnit “I move in end of August,” you reply, still slightly angry that you’re losing a month of time with Alex >”Wait, Sam, what are you doing when Anon’s gone?” Alex says >Sam stares straight ahead, watching the banner sway in a warm breeze >She seems… lost in something? >You can guess what it might be >Melancholy >”A-A-Anon’s f-f-family is l-letting me stay with t-t-them f-f-for c-c-college-” “PROVIDED I visit every couple of weeks,” you add in >Your parents took to Sam almost instantly, overwhelming her with love and sweets >Sam, of course, lost her shit and your ‘welcome party’ nearly put her back into the hospital (and this was after the hospital essentially had to reconstruct her shattered leg) >She had been living with you since Halloween, and you’ve loved every minute of it >”That’s a sweet deal. Anon’s mom makes a killer fucking omelet. My best sleepover memories are waking up to her cooking,” Alex says “Yeah,” you say softly. “She does.” >You were going to miss her omelets (mom-lets she’d sometimes call them) >But the omelets are just a smoke screen, concealing what you’re really going to miss: >Everyone and everything >The bright glow of Ranchview in the night, like a jewel crowded with light >The camaraderie >Cruising in your rustbucket under falling leaves >Halloween decorations and birthdays and Christmases where you traded out Sam’s old hoodie for a sweater that nearly drowned her, but one that she hardly ever took off >The familiarity and pace of life >All shot to the moon on a strange and unfamiliar comet >Alex rises from his chair and smooths out his shirt and slacks >”So, hey, Anon, are you and Sam coming to the school tonight?” >He looks like a fucking accountant, not a revolutionary “Yeah, we’ll be there. You still want to go, Sam?” >Sam nods, knocking her tassel into her face, where it swings like a pendulum >”And don’t forget the beers,” Alex adds. “That’s the most important part.” “Right, right. I’ll sneak a few from my dad.” >Alex gives you an affirmative nod, and then another for Sam >And then he doesn’t move >Just stands there, unsure of what to do with his hands >Fuck, when did things become awkward? >It started getting this way when you found out you’d gotten a few major scholarships >He scrubs the back of his skull with his palm >”Sooo… guess I’ll see ya’ll tonight?” “Sure thing man, at 11.” >He throws a thumb towards the doors >”Congratulations again, Anon, Sam. Sorry to abandon you both so soon. I’ve got some things to take care of at home.” “No worries comrade. Go do what you gotta do.” >”Right. Bye then.” >He pushes through the crowd like a forceful beanpole and jumps on his thin bicycle >With a few encouraging *dings* he’s riding down the street, towards home >You lean back in your chair and sigh a deep, exhausted sigh from the pits of your stomach >”W-W-What a-are we d-d-doing tonight?” Sam asks >You flick her tassel, still hanging in front of her face “We’re going back to school, remember?” >”N-No.” “To see him?” >”O-Oh, y-y-yeah. S-S-Sorry I f-f-forgot.” “Don’t sweat it, Thumper.” >Sometime around midnight, you’re climbing up the (fixed) ladder towards the roof, backpacks full of beer >The shiny chrome ladder does not shake or groan when you grip it >Which is reassuring >Alex scrambles over the top of the roof >Followed by Sam, and then you >You point at the stooped access building “So this is where we left the bottles last time.” >”The ones you smashed Vanessa over the head with?” “Yeah,” you say, looking for any amber shards that might still be left over. Wouldn’t that be something? >Like litte fossils >The clean light of a half-moon shines down on you, illuminating your search >You don’t find anything >Still… >You draw a beer from your backpack and place it next to the access tunnels >”Waste of a perfectly good beer,” Alex notes, still shouldering his alcohol-laden backpack “You never know when someone might need this.” You put your hands on your hips >Memories come flooding back >Lots of memories of pain >Of how badly your body was broken >Doctors said you’d had a major concussion, several cracked ribs, and came so close to dying they were already calling your parents about funeral arrangements when you got to the ICU >You shake your head, banishing the thoughts >Though they’d always plague you, you could move on >You could change, because people do change >Just like Sam could change >”G-G-Guys, can I h-have my Dr. Bepper now?” Sam asks, feet swinging off the edge of the rooftop >Well… some things don’t change >You and Alex sit next to her >She quickly grabs the soda from your hands as you pass it to her, and cracks it open with a noisy hiss >You take her free hand and squeeze it affectionately, passing a smile between you two >Alex doesn’t seem to mind or care >He’s got plenty to drink >And there’s an empty spot next to him which has been hounding at his attention >An absence, filled only by the unopened beer bottle that Alex places there on the rooftop >The three of you stare at it, like it was about to start speaking >And hopefully if it does, it’d sound like Mike >But you hear nothing from the tongues of the nether >Just crickets chirping up >The sound of hearty swallows of beer >And then Alex belching >”Ah shit,” he says. “I needed this.” “Same here. After today I just need to be with a few very important people right now.” >Sam squeezes your hand >Finished, Alex chucks his bottle off the rooftop, at the city >You shrug and let yours fly into the darkness, where it shatters somewhere below on the black top >”Y-Y-Y-You know s-s-some has to c-clean that u-up,” Sam remarks >Must be the leftover janitorial training >”True. But this is tradition,” Alex says “Yeah, Thumper.” You playfully nudge her with your elbow. “Your turn.” >Taking one last look at her can of Dr. Bepper, Sam shrugs and chucks her can over the edge >It speeds away into the darkness with surprising velocity >Like a red and silver comet >”You SURE you never played baseball?” Alex remarks >Sam shakes her head >”No. J-Just good at pe-petty crimes.” “Brother?” >She nods and smiles >You’re glad she’s made peace with that part of her life >Or she seems to have >You all seem to have made peace with yourselves in one way or another >”Listen,” Alex says, to the city, to you, to the sky, spangled with signs and stars >”I’m going away for awhile. A long while. But I don’t want to lose touch with any of you guys.” “It’s not like we’re going overseas,” you remark >But you feel an ache in your chest and a budding tightness in your throat >Maybe you would lose touch? >Maybe, like most high school friends do, you’d grow apart? >”Well, even if we do drift in different directions, I want you to remember this spot.” >Draining his beer, Alex throws another bottle off the ledge, already good and drunk “Not sure I’m ever going to forget the place where I nearly died.” >”S-S-Same,” Sam adds >”And the place where we lost our friend,” Alex says >Silence >Not awkward silence, but a longing >Memories replaying against the night sky >Collections of stories unpublished, lives un-lived >Potential unrealized >All we are is a collection of stories, and broken pieces strung together by friends and family >Losing Mike was like having an important page ripped out of your favorite book >Or like losing your brother >Sitting there, on the rooftop on a warm night in May, you remember something you told Sam many months ago: >>“An old friend of mine used to say you get two families: the one you’re born into, and the one that you make.” >Christ >You big softy. You really are going to start crying >You don’t feel the need to hide your emotions around the family that you made, but you still can’t help but pound down your beer >Gotta drink that melancholy into submission “Of course we’re not going to forget this place,” you say, unable to stop your mouth from moving. “And you guys- how the hell could I forget you faggots?” >”You better fucking not, that’s all I’m saying,” Alex says “Sam, least of all. I’m not going to forget you. You’re crashing in my house.” >The little bunny is speechless, but not because she’s been insulted or blindsided like the last time you were all on this rooftop drinking together >But because she’s looking for the right words to say >You wipe the tears out of your eyes >Ahh fuck >You hate crying, but it feels good up here >To be crying with the friends you’ve called family >”I-I won-won’t forget-” she starts, and then pauses >”Forget what?” Alex says, setting his beer down on the ledge >Sam stares at her next can of Dr. Bepper, reading the label >Studying it >In the darkness crickets chirp in a steady, organic metronome >And when she’s finally found those words, she turns her amber eyes to the moon, letting the light fill her and trace her in a glow >She’s ready with her answer >And it’s the only answer you need to or want to hear, one that surmises everything that you’ve done or felt and said >You swallow hard and point your eyes upwards to the same moon that Sam is looking at >”S-Something that m-matters.” >And roll credits https://soundcloud.com/fredo-disco/hey-mike-i-miss-you-man-backyard-version Read the comapnion story "Autumn Flowers" here: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1645232