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 his 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 mammals. 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, 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 shit hole — 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
The Leaves of Fall Act 1: Co-Conspirators (Part 4)
You've never really 'fit in' with the heavily divided Ranchview High School crowd. Jock, Goth, Prep, Cheerleader, Nerd... you were never any of these. But as Halloween approaches, strange things start happening, and a dark ritual begins with the finding of a curious red book. It's a race against time for you and your friends to stop a group of students from ushering in an age of darkness, and to also figure out just what the hell is wrong with that rabbit.
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About this version: originally, The Leaves of Fall was split into two pastebins to compensate for the length of the story. Given that pastebin has chosen to censor this story for ambiguous reasons, it will forever be stored here and on AO3. This new version contains spelling, grammar and content fixes. Please understand that the content is all the same as the earlier versions minus some sentences being changed and fixed up. I cannot stress this enough: no new content has been added. It's my hope that this is a cleaner, easier-to-read version of the story.
Cover: https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q
Sam (drawn by Akella of /hmofa/) https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT
Fan art collection: https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv
Accompanying playlist (WIP): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J
Alternative link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078
Total word count: 147,552 words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About this version: originally, The Leaves of Fall was split into two pastebins to compensate for the length of the story. Given that pastebin has chosen to censor this story for ambiguous reasons, it will forever be stored here and on AO3. This new version contains spelling, grammar and content fixes. Please understand that the content is all the same as the earlier versions minus some sentences being changed and fixed up. I cannot stress this enough: no new content has been added. It's my hope that this is a cleaner, easier-to-read version of the story.
Cover: https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q
Sam (drawn by Akella of /hmofa/) https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT
Fan art collection: https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv
Accompanying playlist (WIP): https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J
Alternative link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078
Total word count: 147,552 words
5 years ago
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Estimated reading time
13 Minutes
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