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>A tremendous, unearthly roar forces your eyes back open
>The air becomes bone dry and cold in a snap. A strange fiery light spills into the long corridor, as if beckoning you to follow to its source
>You four gulp down air as if you had just been held underwater 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, something grabbing onto a frayed thread
>“H-H-Hey!” he squeals, falling flat on his face
>He’s yanked further down the hall, his nails clawing into the uneven concrete for something to hold on to
>On instinct, you lunge out towards him and wrap your fingers around his thin wrists
“Guys! Help me out here!”
>The loudest sound you’ve ever heard practically deafens you before your friends can respond
>Sam slides further down the hall, and he tugs you along with him
>Alex grabs at your ankles and tries 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 the four of you are strung along down the hall, linked like a human-bunny chain
>You are all four hauled into a fairly large room, where it becomes clear the events center on Sam, who’s suddenly flung up into the center of the room
>You heroically let go of your grasp on him lest you get pulled up into the air as well
>The rabbit dangles, suspended over a concrete basin in the middle of the room
>“H-H-Help!!” he yells, flailing in the air, desperately reaching towards a stone altar with a basin in it at the center of the room
>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 flies out
>The rabbit comes crashing down into the stone basin beneath him, landing face first
>The book hovers in the center of the room, its pages turning and flipping, glowing with a pale, phantasmal aura
>Then, there’s an explosion of blinding, fiery light
>And when you can see again, you look around
>Strange writings are plastered across the walls
>Symbols
>Poems
>Numbers
>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…?
>Symbols that look like death and destruction
>Symbols that look like power and control
>And then at the center of the room, two numbers appear on the wall, scribbled in fire, more prominent than anything else
>The number thirty-one
>A titanous rumbling in the earth beneath you shakes you out onto your back
>A deep, throaty roar follows, one that shakes the entire building and forces all of you to clap your hands over your ears
>The echo persists, your pained shouts lost to the beast’s deafening roar
>After a few seconds, the roaring flitters out into stunned silence
>You cautiously crack an eyelid and glance around the room
>The red book, which was once floating in the air, drops harmlessly onto Sam’s head
>Feeling safe, Alex and Mike push themselves upwards, legs trembling
>Then, they scan the walls
>Bathed in the warmth of dim light that seems like it has no source, nobody says a word
>You all just stare at each other, slack-jawed, as the fiery writing on the wall demands your attention
>Sam heaves in silence, his ears pulled tight over his face in fear
>You think he might be crying, which is 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
>Schizophrenic writings and symbols cover the walls. But dominating all the etchings, claw marks, and paint, is a massive ‘thirty-one’ that burns against the largest wall,
>Traced in a flame
>Thirty-one
>You study your surroundings as you try to steady your breathing
>The closer you look, the more things make sense — at least a little
>Some of this writing is familiar; it looks a little like what’s written in that book Sam showed you today
>There are words here, too. Words like ‘Drain’ and ‘Desire’ burn as clear as red flame
>Other words like ‘Rage,’ ‘Rape,’ and ‘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 thirty-one makes you pause
>Because it’s a name you know
>And it’s a name you hate
>‘Doermuth’
>“Anon?”
>The sound of Alex’s voice makes you jump
>Mike and Alex are both on their feet, though they hang on to one another, in a bid to keep upright
>Sam sits against the stone altar, 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, squinting as the light wanes
“I have not one fucking clue. None at all.”
>”I’d like t-t-t-t-to go h-home please,” Sam says, voice shaking
>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. It comes 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 look down at Sam
“You alright Sam?”
>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, and offer 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 ninety-something pounds of him stumble into you
>You wrap your arms around him to stabilize yourself, and to keep from being knocked over
>God damn, this kid is bony as hell. He must have an eating disorder
>Yet… 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 backwards towards the basin
>Being a rabbit, he rights himself with ease
>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?” you stammer
>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, fills the room
>You raise an eyebrow as you spot 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 and acceptance
>He must have hit his nose when he fell into the basin, which now has a substantial blood stain on it
>With the bleeding stopped, the little worry in your heart eases
>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
>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 quickly dwindle 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
>The walls are filled with shelves, which display sporting equipment, football pads, and old event signage
>Someone pulled the Spooktober Fest signs into the center of the room, ready for use next Friday
“I think this is the equipment room, the one attached to the gym…” you wonder aloud
>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
>He stumbles into the equipment room and throws open the double doors to the gym
>”Found the way out!” he calls behind him
>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 your shitheap car and Alex’s bike are all still where you left them
>Alex props his bike up, but doesn’t get on it right away. He stares expectantly at you, waiting to move
>“So…What now?”
>A chill wind blows, and you can feel exhaustion 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 as he sails 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 draws on it, not looking at any of you, just letting the pathetic thing hang out of his mouth as he peers down the hill at the city
>A dark wind blows
>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
>He doesn’t respond
“Mike, we’re going home, okay?”
>Silent as 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 scowls, eyes bloodshot, face twisted up with something beyond malice
>“Just give me a second, okay? Fucking Christ, you’re so needy. All the fucking time.”
>Ouch
>You can feel that warm blood rush hit you as well
>Your heart races, you open your mouth
>’What crawled up your ass?’ — is what you’d like to say
>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 does is startle him, causing a scrap of paper to fly from under his hand into the wind’s pull
>“N-NO!” he throws down his notebook and pen, and digs into a full-on sprint. He vanishes into the darkness that the streetlamps could never penetrate
>Suddenly, you’re worried
>Very, very 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
>The wind swallows your sad voice
>No response
>You clench your fists, white-knuckled with panic
>You just need somewhere to put your anxiety. You can’t deal with this right now — this entire night fried your nerves
>Just before you cut a path down the hill into the darkness, you see a brown rabbit emerge out of the black, his head down, a balled-up piece of paper in his right hand,
“SAM WHAT THE HELL!?” you shout as he marches past
>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 snarl
>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 in confusion, still trying to make out the beginnings of the features he sketched under the fragile light
>“I-I-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 actual tears
“Why are you apologizing? You don’t have to apologize. I just… did you just draw this? Like, in those five minutes where I was talking to Mike?”
>The wind cuts into you again. This wind shouldn’t be here. The forecast never called for this
>Sam 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 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
>He’s 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
“Do you want a ride home, Sam?”
>“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, whether you want to or not.”
>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 entire ride is silent, and 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 on the curb. He mumbles a slurred ‘thanks’ on his way out
>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.”
“Why? Don’t all the houses in this cookie cutter town look like this?”
>Sam shakes his head
>”N-N-No. N-Not mine.”
>Ah, that’s a good point
“Speaking of your house, mind telling me how to get to yours?”
>He sits up straight in his seat and nods his head
>Still, you go slow through the neighborhoods, your car passing quietly underneath the orange street lamps
>You let Sam sightsee at the expense of your sleep
Oliver Hart
Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.
Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall