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>Monday’s events spill out of you like a sieve covering a split arm
>Every rule of your personal beliefs you broke – every painful detail of having to be in the presence of pure, unadulterated cringe – you lay before your only real friends… and Sam…
>The pact with Vanessa behind the school
>The daring rescue of Sam (Alex fills in on his perspective)
“But get this,” you say with a light sneer, “Vanessa ‘trusts’ me. She thinks that we’re all just itching to get behind the wheel of this Spirit Halloween van headed for a cliff.”
>A fire burning in Mike’s chest forces him lean forward on the table, bending its stained hardwood construction with the lightest of touches
>Conversation pauses as the table literally shifts beneath you
>All eyes turn to Mike, as he utters two words:
>“Lydia Penferth,” he growls. “Her and her merry band of vampire cheerleaders ambushed me today while I was taking a piss.”
“Classic move,” you say under your breath
>Mike’s burnt-out eyes flick over to you in acknowledgment
>Sam – a living sonar – scoots a little closer to you in his chair, and unconscious feeling of potential safety blossoming inside him
>It seems the only one not paying attention to the minutia is Alex, who casually strolls across the hardwood kitchen to your fridge
>“You talking about the lioness from my gym class last year?” He says, throwing open your fridge like a wolf tearing into a bloated carcass. “Yeah, that bitch is a total class traitor. She has a Che shirt but doesn’t even know the man’s face that’s printed on it. TOTAL FRAUD”
>“Comrade Alexi, the equal distribution of Anon’s dad’s liquor is an inalienable human right,” Mike says with a sigh
>“You know Anon’s dad is a supporter of the resistance,” Alex says, as if it was assumed you all shared collective ownership over liquor you’re not even old enough to buy
>He plunges his hand into the fridge and liberates as many of your dad’s beers as he can, which he sets in front of each of you at the table
“I hope you both realize I’m keeping a tab on how many beers we need to replace before my parent’s get home,” you grumble, hand automatically closing around the silvery cans of piss water your dad buys
>Sam’s response to alcohol is to turn his attention to his feet dangling beneath him
>Ah, but there is yet a growing well of courage within this young rabbit
>“I-Is she s-s-scary looking with lots of m-m-m-metal in her f-f-face?” He squeaks as he turns his head up, worried eyes flicking between the three of you
>Lingering longest on…
>…
>With an annoyed blush, you ask if Sam knows Lydia well
>He gives a light shake of his head as he trains his gaze on the sweating, silvered can of beer on the table in front of him
>“I k-know her… s-s-sort of… L-Last F-F-Friday she c-cornered me in o-o-one of the bathroom s-stalls. S-She a-a-asked me i-if I had seen…” he trails off into realization, his eyes splitting wide, lower-jaw quivering as the realization condenses on his tongue
>The three of you lean forward
>You don’t notice or realize it, but you’re crushing the absolute life out of your beer can in anticipation
>“T-The r-red b-book,” he turns his eyes over to you, as if looking for permission to share his story
Something doesn’t sit right with you about Sam’s story
>Earlier, Vanessa said that one of her little retards had lost the red book…
>…in the GIRL’S bathroom
>Specifically in one of the stalls, behind the toilets
>Why was Sam in the girl’s bathroom?
>…
>He’s not some kinda… creep… right?
>Lusty, abused gayboy you can handle, but creep lurking in the girl’s bathroom is another thing
>“Yo, bunny,” Mike’s impatient voice, like curdling milk on the stove, breaks your rumination. “You were saying something about that yellow cunt?”
>Also, Sam is still looking up at you, studying the lines and contours of your palce face, the same way an artist may observe a volunteer subject
>Nah
>No way. Sam’s not that type of guy to creep on girls in the bathroom
>He’s like a flat beer, the one some asshole shakes so hard you think it’s going to go off like a grenade in his hands
>But when you pull Sam’s tab, you get a sad metallic click, and the final bubbling gasps of any carbonation clinging to life in there
“Didn’t you say you found the red book in a bathroom stall, Sam?” You probe, hoping to prompt Sam into engaging with Mike, who stares daggers at the rabbit
>Sam nods in response, a shock of dark brown hair sweeping across his head as he turns his attention to Mike
>“S-S-She asked m-me if a-anyone left the b-b-bathroom w-while I wa-was-” he chokes off his admission before it can escape his lungs
>You all lean forward in anticipation
>“C-C-Cleaning it…” he says, exhaling a gasp of anxious breath. “A-A-A-And the way she l-l-looked s-s-s-scared m-me so I… d-did what I d-d-do w-with my d-d-dad: I s-s-said the f-f-first thing I c-c-could think of and s-s-said ‘n-no.’”
>Alex slaps the table in a triumphant drum pattern, a howl of excitement slipping out of him as he throws his head back
>Reflexively, Sam shrinks back into his chair at the sudden noise
>“Thatta boy, Thumper. Give them no quarter, for you shall receive none!”
>Sam’s lips form into something akin to a nervous smile
>“Sam,” Mike says from across the table, from behind a thoughtful pair of folded hands. “When you say the way Lydia looked scared you… was it the piercings?”
>The bunny’s eyes flicker in your direction for a second – like someone contemplating swimming back to shore, or to face a bold new challenge and a wave that could drag them away
>The gesture is brief – Sam’s eyes linger for just a few seconds, until he addresses Mike, looking him in his heat-tempered eyes
>“N-N-N-Not re-really that. She s-s-smelled d-d-different. L-Like old ex-expired hamburger a-a-and c-copper wire th-that my b-b-brother and I c-c-could sell f-f-for money.”
>Mike nods along
>The rabbit pauses and swallows the knot lodged in his throat
>“S-S-She ha-had a l-l-look in her eyes…” he trails off, staring at Mike
>Mike, for all his angst, is still somewhat intelligent
>Like a coiled snake he lashes out – not with anger, but precision
>“Like mine?” He says in a low growl
>Sam, unable to tear his eyes away from Mike’s own, can only nod
>Like in some kind of…
>…vampiric trance?
>Your eyes flash between the two
“You’re not- Mike, tell me that you’re not one of-
>In a snap his neck turns to face you, and you can’t help but screech back a little in your chair
>Now you know how Sam feels
>“’Them’? Shit, Anon, I oughta slap your shit for even implying that,” he growls, heated voice simmering like someone just stoked his anger with gasoline. “You’re the one who made a fucking PACT with a prey animal magnetically attracted to buckshot!”
>Sam winces, stung at the prey animal comment
>Your fists tremble on the table, feeling like they’re made of concrete too heavy to lift
>And you better hope you can’t – because Mike’s hair trigger and your cowardice are not working together
>You try to restrain your urge to verbally (and physically) assail your ‘friend’
>And though you have a blessing of evil from Vanessa – one that has let you bypass your cowardice up until now – you realize…
>…these two dipshits, hell maybe even Sam…
>These aren’t just your friends right now
>They’re all you have
>Because mom and dad aren’t here right now to bail you out of this one
>And if you TRULY believe in your words… about pacts and demons and magic…
>…you have no other choice but to move forward and strike out against evil…
>…not alone
“Mike,” you breathe, trying to ease your tone. “If I still know you – and I think I do – you hate the goths more than you hate… Gloria. And I think even Hitler ranks beneath Gloria. I KNOW you’re on our side.”
>Your friend crosses his arms across his chest and shoots you a cock-sure smirk. “The goths are Hitler-tier; that youth group flunky will always be my GOAT, Anonski.”
>You sigh, exhaling all the tension you strangled between in your tightened fists
“Alright – let’s talk.”
>You disobey sleep’s gentle urging that ordinarily drives you into bed by eleven or twelve
>The clock on your microwave reads one in the morning when you roll your head in exhaustion towards the fridge
>And soon two becomes three, as the minutes count down to hours, decaying…
>…into seconds
>Folded cans of beer accumulate in a pile of the dead at the center of the table
>Sam has another Dr. Bepper, which he sips on throughout the rest of the night
>Sleep is no longer heavy on your eyes after four
>A cocktail of adrenaline and alcohol pulses in your veins
>You know you’ve fucked yourself out of sleep when the pack of wolves next door starts to howl themselves awake
>When all is said, and you think you’ve got everyone on the same page,
>You get up to make coffee
>Sam declines a cup – probably a good idea
>Mike and Alex are still crushing beers
>“Jesus Christ, what did we get ourselves into?” Mike asks, crumpling his last can of piss water beer with ease
>You no longer care how many beers you all go through while your parents are gone. Beer is irrelevant during the apocalypse
>Alex makes a drunken, unhelpful observation
>“You know how like, Vanessa gave you courage and strength in exchange for Gloria? I still can’t believe they just… trusted you. And that they so readily agreed to give you powers, Anon,” he slurs
>Unlike the resident vampire in the room, your communist friend’s liver has long-since waved the white flag
>Mike squints, his eyes reddening with exhaustion as he turns his narrowed gaze onto you
>“Yeah, you have a point, Alexi. The whole thing sounds way too easy to me. Like it’s… almost too good to be true…” Mike trails off as he aims a finger your way “And you’re sure they’re not just using you for something?”
>You pause
>And pause
>And… you can’t un-pause..
>The exhaustion, alcohol, and now the sudden realization that you may have played right into their black-fingernailed hands hits you like a ball hits a little league outfielder
>Hard, and in the face
>Instead of responding, you flash the thousand-yard stare, and bore holes into your hand-painted ‘Holiday ‘97’ coffee mug
>Everything goes quiet, like all the air in the room suddenly evaporated
>The labored pulse of your heart against your ribs is absent
>Your friends are voiceless, though they holler and gesture at you
>Did you really not read the terms and conditions for that spell, Anon?
>Do you think… that you stand a chance?
>It’s in all this vacuous silence – this sterile, glass cage behind your eyes – that a single noise breaks through
>Like a brick hurled through a window
>“A-A-Anon?” Sam squeaks
>He leans on the table, his yellow eyes turned up at you, still somehow nursing his single Dr. Bepper
>And then?
>You blink for the first time since you sat down with the coffee at this table
“Yes, Sam…?”
>Your leaded words are heavy, and though it feels like you’re not even the one speaking…
>…you move forward
>Alex and Mike explode in their chairs, no doubt hurling demands and accusations at you for ignoring them
>But you can’t hear their rabble
>You only hear Sam’s trembling voice calling out to you, a lifeline no thinner than spider silk thrown to you in the blackened sea of guilt
“W-What a-are you t-thinking about? A-Are you o-o-okay?”
>You grasp that lifeline
“No. I’m not- I’m not okay, actually” you say, looking only at Sam, hearing only the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the rapid, nervous kick of his twitching legs against the chair
“When I agreed to give Gloria over to the goths in exchange for temporary courage and strength, I told them it wasn’t so I could fight back against them. I don’t know if they suspect me. In fact… Vanessa says she ‘trusts’ me. But they’re right – I have no idea how the spell works. But that’s not why I did this, Sam.”
>The bunny tilts his head, his heavy ears dragging behind him
“I did it so I had the balls to potentially face your dad a second time. It was so I could save you.”
>The chair beneath the rabbit squeals
>Sam jolts upwards in his seat, so hard in fact, that he nearly tumbles backwards onto Alex’s lap
>“A-Anon!” he squeals, “Y-Y-Y-You sh-sh-shouldn’t h-h-have r-r-r-risked y-y-y-your l-l-life f-f-f-for d-d-d-d-d–d-damaged g-g-goods l-like m-me…”
>A scarlet blush blooms through the shag of his coat
>But you don’t pay attention to the obviously gay-love yaoi tropes
>You can only stare into Sam’s eyes, such a beautiful honeyed-brown
>“A-A-Anon?!” Sam says as he moves to twist his ears. “S-S-S-Say som-som-something!”
>You drink from the honeyed bowls of his eyes
>You scratch his words from earlier, ‘if you were okay’ – a question that he maybe wished ANYONE would have asked him before – onto the strongest muscle of your heart
>You smirk, and for some reason, you feel like you want to cry
>There’s something… something in your throat
>And the rain of course is making you cry a bit
>You feel young again
>Like a little kid
>With your crush
>Carving both of your initials into a tree trunk
“I just know it was the right thing to do.”
>All at once, the glass cage around you shatters, and the vacuum of silence swells with a storm of anger and noise
>Sam tries to stammer something incoherent at you, but nothing comes out of his throat except the start of the word, “B-Bu-B-Bu-”
>Mike’s sharp staccato cuts through Alex’s protests
>“Are you FUCKING kidding me, Anon? We’re dealing with the end of the WORLD here, and you basically gift-wrap all of our collective assholes to those weirdos… for what?” He points his hateful glare at Sam. “So you could save Thumper over there?!”
>You jolt up in your chair, shaking the table, loosening a few stray beers from the pile of the dead at the center of the dinner table
“Stop calling him that,” you say, venomous tongue gated behind clenched teeth. “Sam is one of us. Don’t you retards get it yet?”
>Alex opens his dumb mouth to retort, but you silence him with a firey glare
>Silence filters in again – only this time, you can hear the soft rise and fall of Sam’s chest in the seat next to you
>You can hear the gentle shifting of the can on the center of the table, like a crumbling effigy to underage drinking
“You guys know what Vanessa told me? She said all of us – Sam included – are the ‘nobodies’ around school. No social pull, no enemies, but also… no friends. People like ‘us’ aren’t even a fucking factor in their little assault on decency, and frankly I find that insulting. What’s worse is she thinks we’d join her willingly. She thinks all the black eyeliner and lipstick she wears is smeared across our hearts already. So she’s leaving us alone… for now.”
>Alex hisses out a held-breath
>“At least we know more about their plans,” he says with a tired shrug
>“Funny… Lydia tried to get me to join their side, too. She was the one to turn me into… this…” he says, gesturing to his pale face and near-glowing eyes
>Fuck
>He already sounds like one of them, and that enough should be reason to get the garlic out
>Mike has always carried hins anger towards others around like a Molotov, and he’s more than happy to light the rag and toss the bottle at any one or any thing who he thinks he needs to rebel against
>Even through the sheen of exhausted sweat on his face, you can see Mike soften a little, like melting wax
>“I’m… proud of both of you for turning down Vanessa and her cronies. Damn proud. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being one of them, I’m just-”
>“Scared?” Alex says, cutting in
>Mike nods in affirmation
>“I feel it more each second. It’s like I’m watching everything I’ve wanted in life get swallowed up by this edgy, morose darkness. Every second feels like I’m drowning and trying to breathe water. I don’t want to feel helpless any more.”
>For the first time in a very, very long time of knowing Mike…
>…his voice starts to shake
>“Every moment I feel more and more pitiful, more angry towards things out of my control, more… what’s a good word for this feeling that’s not ‘hateful’?” He asks, turning to you
>“Retarded?” Alex quips
“Recalcitrant,” you correct him
>Mike nods to both, as two truths are revealed
>“I feel more and more retar- recalcitrant every second. Also, the three of you are starting to look really drinkable right now.”
>“Majorly gay,” Alex nods, looking at you. “Still, Anon is gay, Sam is gay, so it’s okay. The revolution will always be lead by the most retar- recalcitrant people.”
>You can’t decide if it’s out of fear, or anger, but you can’t help but notice how close Mike is to turning into an edgy drone…
>…just like the goths
>“I refuse to accept the situation at hand. But I feel so helpless… I’m worse than Sam,” Mike says, eyes distant, almost… sad?
>“Yeah, the bunny is kind of useless,” Alex casually asserts
>Sam digs his hands into his pockets, eyes finding his feet
>Well that was uncalled for, to be honest
>But you notice how Alex isn’t looking at you anymore either – 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 in his mouth
>The vampire’s knuckles go whiter than they are already, as he coils up everything he has inside of him, as he compresses that rage into something you don’t expect
>“Anonymous, 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 plants associated with purity though,” you say
>Outside the sky lightens, a glowing blossom of pinkish dawn that chases at the heels of the previous night
>Your room is a thick miasma of sweat, tired bodies, and the faint ozone-ish reek of blood from Mike
>The sad part is you and your friends stayed up all night with nothing to show for it except a seriously fucked circadian rhythm
>Mike spent most of the research time pacing around in a circle, like a caged tiger
>Somewhere along the line, the beer got the best of Alex, and he dozed off on your still unmade bed
>And Sam?
>Well, Sam looks pretty contented right now to be reading the old superman comics
>But you’re starting to worry about Sam, just a little
>He said awhile back that he feels ‘warm’ and kind of ‘faint’
>You scared the dick off him when you felt his forehead, but he wasn’t lying
>You flick through the results on your computer and try to keep your friends off your mind. You need to focus
>Another question comes up:
>Are you even capable of doing the ritual that the red book ascribes for curing things?
>Specifically, you have to be a ‘man of the cloth’; and you sure as shit are not religious
>And that means Vanessa didn’t just grant you bravery
>She also cursed you somehow… if this all works?
>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
>Now is not the time to dream of murder, for there will be time to put Vanessa and her friends against the wall
>“Anon!” Mike says, pausing mid-step
>You roll your head backwards to face Mike
>“Isn’t sage what people use to purify their houses and shit?”
“I think so. Do you want to try sage?”
>Quicker than you can even track, Mike stomps over to your desk, and leans over your shoulder
>You can FEEL the heat and blood lust pouring off of him
>It feels like you’re standing next to an old furnace
>“What else does the internet say?” He says, eyes glazing over from the volume of text on your computer screen
>“Baby’s breath, daisies, white lilies…” you rattle off
>Sam lifts his head from an old volume of Superman
>He’s been silent up until now, sitting next to your bookshelf and reading, looking like an overgrown doll that had been left there by some toddler
>“D-D-Daises and l-l-lilies?” He stammers, just loud enough for you and Mike to hear him
“Yeah, those two. And sage,” you say with a sigh. “But I don’t think those are in-season at the plant nursery around town. We’d have to find them growing wild.”
>“O-Oh. We h-have daisies and l-lilies at s-school. They’re in the g-garden by the p-parking l-l-lot. The b-b-b-biology teacher s-s-s-sometimes grows th-them out of s-s-s-season to teach s-s-s-students about h-h-horticulture.”
>A smile breaks across your face
“That’s perfect then! We can use those two for our purifying plants,” you say. “Man, this red book is really nice. Shame that once those goth bitches find out that we’ve gotten a hold of it they’re going to eat us alive.”
>“Oh, right. Speaking of, which one is the devouring plant?” Mike says, “because that sounds vague as hell, and I’m getting itchy to visit the Red Cross.”
“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
>….
>It’s worth a shot
“Sam?”
>Sam perks up a bit at your voice
>“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 in shame. “When A-Anon picked me u-up I think I dro-dropped them i-in my r-r-room.”
>Mike cuts loose with a deflated sigh
>“Of course you lost it, Sammy boy,” he says. 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 or two of the student’s ‘experiments’ while nobody is looking.”
>“I see, I see…” Mike shifts his gaze to Sam again. “But you said you lost your keys? Isn’t there a morning janitor who could let us in?”
>Sam tucks himself into a nervous ball and nodes very slowly
>“Y-Yes, but s-she’s already mad at m-me for lo-losing my keys o-once already…”
>Mike, beaming with joy, paces over to Sam
>“Oh, really? So all you to do is… ask?”
>The rabbit squeaks a bit and scoots his back against your bookshelf, sensing ill-intent pouring off the vampire fledgling like a wild animal can smell a predator
>“I-I d-d-don’t thi-think ’ll g-give m-me more k-k-keys!” he squeaks. Then, he drops his voice low, in an embarrassed whisper. “S-s-s- 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
>Sam’s entire body goes rigid, frozen in abject terror, shock, or a cocktail of the two
>“Thanks’ for helping us, Sam. You don’t know how much this means to me,” Mike says, chidingly
>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!” the bunny squeaks, his protests useless
>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.”
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