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>”A-Anon?”
>Fucking hell
>Sam
>You groan and roll over in bed, your eyelids as heavy as leaded curtains
>”I-I can’t s-sleep,” the bunny squeaks
“Go back to bed, bunny,” you whisper, one foot in a dream, the other in your dark, sweaty bedroom
>Sam is part of that dream, you say to yourself. A voice in the dark, begging for someone
>”I-I-It smells so strong in h-here,” he takes a sharp breath. “I’m n-n-not used t-t-to it…”
“So what do you want me to do?” You say through a tired groan
>A very apt question indeed, Anonymous
>Your room smells how it smells. Who cares?
>Nothing you can do now
>Besides, you weren’t expecting to have any anthros in your home any time soon, so you didn’t do any cleaning, or even consider that his nose Sam’s nose might be drunk on your old laundry and sweat
“You can sleep out in the family room on the couch…” you grumble, pulling the the sheets back up over your head
>“O-On the couch? O-O-Outside?!” Sam squeaks like you’d just stepped on his tail “B-B-B-But-”
>His terrified stammer reaches a machine gun clip
>Somehow he’s managed to keep his panicked ‘reasoning’ below a whisper
>You just barely hear Sam hiss the words ‘y-your b-bed?’
>The covers come off in an instant
>Oh Christ, you know what he’s trying to do
>Not tonight lil’ gayboy
>Not tonight
“Sam,” you hiss in the dark
>Sam squeaks and stop mumbling to himself
“You take my bed,” you say as you crawl from under the sheets in just your shorts — no shirt, as is usual
>A shield of fuzzy palms and your old night shirt cover Sam’s virgin eyes from your unimpressive form
>Rabbits must have great nocturnal vision if he can see you in the dark enough to have to cover his eyes, you reason
“I’m going to take your bag. You sleep in my bed. Deal?”
>A moment of silence passes, only the sound of Alex’s ratcheting snores punctuates the space between words
“Sam?”
>“D-Deal!” Sam declares, dropping his virginity defense system, stealing one look at your semi-naked form sitting on the bed, before vaulting onto the mattress
>He snuggles in your covers, drawing deep breaths through his twitching nose
>Scent
>Anthros
>Weird
“Well, if you’re all cozy…” you say as you drop to the floor onto Sam’s sleeping bag. “Gnight, Sam.”
>Sam’s reply is gentle, swimming in the calm waters of peace
>“G-G-Goodnight, Anonymous…”
>You end up sleeping on the floor next to your bed in Sam’s sleeping bag
>Next to you, Sam draws soft, patient breath, the gravity of sleep pressing dreams into his head
>It’s peaceful at first, just to have all your friends in a room again (sans Mike)
>Sam squeaks a bit as he dozes – almost like he’s being hit in a dream – but does not wake up
>The bunny tosses and turns in your flannel sheets, probably roasting from the fur he wears beneath his pajamas
>Something…
>…something’s wrong…
>Should- should you wake up Sam from his nightmare?
>You want so badly to shake him awake, hug him, comfort-
>NO
>NONE OF THAT
>Sam is an adult male – a man at this point. He can deal with his own fucking bad dreams
>You can’t do everything for him, now can you?
>AND YOU’RE NOT GAY, OKAY?!
>You are Mike MUTHAFUCKIN’ Sapone
>And there is a faint little voice in your ears right now, though its distance is indeterminate
>It could be miles away
>Or it could be right up next to you
>Everything is so dark right now, and it’s not like your can open your eyes
>“Mike?” The disembodied voice says, sinking to a worried octave, and yet still lacking masculine weight
>You smile — at least you think you do
>Whoever this voice belongs to must be really pretty
>Her voice is like autumn; like the smell of leaves and rain
>“Mike? Can you hear me? Oh God, Mike, please wake up!”
>The voice is louder now, more resonate than before
>A hand claps you on your shoulder and tries to shake you back to consciousness
>“Mike! Can you hear me?!”
>When your eyes finally do open, you stare up at a dark silhouette, one cast in the fire of street lamps and the moon’s behemoth size against the stars
>Long, conal nose, ears that rise like sharp angles on the top of her head
>Orange-and-white fur
>A stripe of white that travels under her muzzle and down to the chest, disappearing at her neckline, where she wears an…
>…an emo band shirt called ‘Rites of Spring’
>Shocking – you didn’t think SHE cared at all about music
>“Oh Christ, you’re finally awake. Hey! Hey Mike! Do I need to call 911? M-Maybe I’ll call just in case-”
>You know that voice…
>Frantic, feminine…
>…foxy…
>It’s… Oh fuck
“Jenna?” You jolt up into a sitting position, and the sharpness of the world collapsing into black stars that suck at your vision
>You clutch at your head, which God pounds on with a mallet
>The suddenness of your movements was a bad idea
>But, maybe out of spite, you remain vertical, if only to punish yourself, God, and the fucking goth kids
>Jenna Orthorn bends down, her face twisted up in pain and fear
>“You scared the hell out of me, Mike. What are you even doing out here? Do you need any help?”
“Sorry, Jenna. I’m going to kill the vampires,” you mumble and shove your body to your feet
>You wobble as you land, unsteady under your own power, 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
>“Mike, you’re drunk – just sit back down, okay?”
>Jenna puts her claws gently upon your shoulders, attempting to usher you back to the asphalt
>You swiftly brush the fox’s gesture aside
“What are you doing?” You say as you take a step back, bracing your fists for a fight. “Let me guess, Lydia got to you, too. You’re one of them, aren’t you?!”
>You stumble back into the light of a street lamp, now throwing artificial fire across your body
>“One of them? I saw your car parked outside my house at like midnight you weird-” She stops, her jaw going slack as you stray into the light of the street lamp
>“Oh my God…” Jenna starts forward, towards you
>“Your- your clothes… your neck!” She cries
“What are you-”
>You look down at your torso to see your shirt in ribbons, skin and blood gouged out of you by the vampire cheerleaders you narrowly escaped
>You clap a feverish palm against your neck
>A smudge of fresh, wet blood comes back on your hand
“Lydia…” you snarl, body pulsing hot with blood
>Jenna – fearing more for you than for herself, approaches, feeling your shirt
>Feeling your bloodied skin
>Surprisingly, you don’t fight back against her
>Something about her gentle, caring touch puts in some kinda…
>…trance
>That is to say you don’t feel worried about her, and you can’t place why
>“Mike…” She stares, her brain still processing everything
>“I’d say you got into a car wreck and earned a concussion, but your car is- well, it’s fine. What happened to you?”
“Vampires did this to me,” you breathe, not sure of what you’re saying. The world looks funny, and you feel REALLY warm right now
>“Vampires?” Jenna draws her face up, her eyebrows arched and mouth slightly agape. “What do you mean by ‘vampires,’ Mike?”
“Fucking vampires, snapjaw!” you seethe
>Jenna flinches as you draw out the syllables on your slur
>“Lydia and her little retarded gang of cheerleaders tried to attack me. But I outran them,” you say, starting to chuckle. “That’s right. Nobody turns Mike MUTHAFUCKIN’ Sapone into a creature of the undead.”
>Jenna looks like she’s being stabbed as you go on about the supernatural, logic and common sense so far removed from your explanation that you begin to think maybe – maybe – you did get a concussion from Lydia
>When you’re done, Jenna nods tersely and flicks out her phone, punching in a few numbers
>“Alright, Mike. Vampires. I get it. Psychosis can happen at any age. Stay there. I’m going to call an ambulance. You tell me about the vampires and the werewolves while we wait for help.”
“Nope,” you say, stagger forward. “No way am I going to let this happen – I’m not going to allow the cops or the EMT to keep me from graduating this year!”
>You snatch the phone out of Jenna’s hand with surprising ease
>Jenna’s eyes glass over first with shock, and then panic
>And for the first time in the four y ears you’ve known this vixen, you see her flash her fangs at you
>“MIKE!” She snarls, “give that back!”
>It catches you so off guard that you don’t fight her when makes a nimble vertical leap snatches it from your grasp
>Ultimately, your next move was a mystery
>You stopped the help ‘help’ – but you’re making Jenna worried
“Maybe you’re not one of them?” you mutter, watching Jenna examine her phone
>You 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 truly trust Jenna, if the feverish feeling is from the scuffle today in the bathroom or not…
>The vixen takes a cautious step backwards towards her home
>“Just… stay where you are. Have a seat. I’ve got first aid training and a basic kit in my house that I’m going to go get. Please, Mike. Just stay right here, okay? Don’t move.”
>Stay where you are? OUT IN THE OPEN LIKE THIS?!
>Your knuckles whiten as you ball your hands into fists
“I can’t!” You cry, voice booming with supernatural power. “I’m being hunted down by fucking vampires! What about that don’t you understand, Jenna?!” You lurch forward, knocked unsteady by your own cry. “It’s not hard to see I’m trying to get out of here!”
>Now you see
>She really is one of them
>This vile vixen must be working with Lydia and Vanessa
>The minute she goes into that house to ‘get her first aid kit’ she’s going to dial Vanessa, or Lydia, or any of the goths
>And then all you’ve ever wanted? Gone in a spattering of blood
>But there is the happy happenstance that you’ve got Jenna all alone
>Or vice versa…
>She may have fangs, claws, and a deep ancestral desire to kill small animals
>But you?
>You FEEL different
>Stronger than before
>More sure of yourself than ever
>But…
>GOD IT’S HOT
>You scan Jenna over like a starved coyote, your glimmering eyes settling on the fuzzy nape of her neck
>It looks especially inviting, tender, and easy to bite through
>But maybe you’d be more gentle with Jenna-
>Wait
>Oh no
>No
>NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
>Jenna takes a brave step forward, though her tender, delicious body quivers with fear
>God fucking- this can’t be-
>No
>NO!
>You are not allowed to become a vampire!
>You clutch at your head as pain shoots through your temples again
>Like the realization that you’re unwillingly becoming a blood-drinking, night-dwelling bat-person is a time bomb that just detonated in the hollow space between your ears
“Fucking fuck! FUCK YOU LYDIA!” You howl into the night, pain rending a series of rushed curses out of you
>You look up at the moon and feel a hot flash come over you like a rush of wind
>That moon is way too big
>Feels too close, too – like you can feel its gravity starting to pull on the very skin on the back of your paling neck
>This isn’t natural!
>None of this is natural!
>“Give me your keys, Mike,” Jenna demands in a firm voice
>She stomps in front of you, making her meager stance look fifty feet wide
>She extends a shaking palm
>“Keys. Now. I’m not letting you drive.”
>Instinctively, you reach into your pocket and grip the ring of cold metal slivers
>Grip for protection
“Why?” You snicker, trying hard to hide how much pain you’re in right now. “C’mon, Jenna, don’t you trust me?”
>The fox’s mouth quivers
>“Normally, yes,” she says in a small voice. “But tonight you’re not yourself. I can tell.”
>She turns her vulnerable face up to you, jaw quivering like a dam holding back tears
>Fuck
>Seeing her so scared
>So scared for YOU?
>Time for some soothing lies
>Because a part of you does feel sour when you see her in pain
“I’m just a little drunk and punched up. It’s nothing you haven’t seen out of me before.”
>Tears begin to cascade down Jenna’s facial fur, cutting dark swaths into her russet-colored coat
>Not good enough
>Jenna is smart
>“You’re not drunk,” the vixen says in a quiet, hurt voice. “I’d be able to smell it on you like I can smell it on my parents or my brother.”
>Panic spreads like frost in your veins, and your jaw goes to work before your mind does
“T-That’s not true; I had like eight- no, NINE beers at Anon’s before I drover here and-”
>“There’s something wrong with you, Mike,” Jenna says in a sudden gasp, her eyes wide and fixed on your mouth
>Her chest rises in quick gasps
>Her hands – clawed and ready – quiver in self-defense
>You can tell she’s struggling to hold back a frightened, defensive snarl
>A flash of the fangs
>The Vixen holds her ground, and were it not for your suddenly sharpened senses, you might not know how terrified she truly is
>“You smell like… iron. Pennies. Blood.”
>You shake your head and try to laugh away her assessment
>To minimize it
>To make it feel small to her
>And by extension: to you
“Well, alright, you got me,” you raise your palms defensively, a smug grin spreading across your pale face. “I’m just turning into a vampire is all.”
>Your reply is unceremonious, like vampirism is just another casual fact about being Mike Sapone
>Jenna thinks the idea is anything but casual – and she reminds you vocally
>“STOP SAYING THAT! STOP WITH THE VAMPIRE STUFF! YOU’RE SCARING ME, MIKE!”
>The harshness of her voice – the cocktail of care and fear she’s swallowed – hits you in the gut
>And in your now-sensitive ears
>You reach forward, almost to comfort her
“I’m not trying to scared you, I swea-”
>She flinches away from your touch
>Ow
>“YOU ARE! I know you are! It’s WHO YOU ARE, MIKE! You and I BOTH KNOW there’s a reason for all this – for why I’m outside at midnight, and I see a human passed out on my sidewalk all sliced up and bleeding – but you won’t tell me the reason!”
>She wipes away a frustrated tear from the corner of her eye
>“You’ll just tell me it was vampires, or ghouls, or goths or something unbelievable-”
“Actually, you’re almost-”
“MIKE!” She barks, killing your smart ass comment in your throat
>The sound of her voice, worried and sharp against the wind, is like needles in your ears, so you clap your blood-stained palms over your skull to muffle the noise
>When did your hearing become so damn sensitive?
>You’re running out of time here anyway
>You need to get the fuck out of Jennaville, off to somewhere you can trust you’ll be safe
>You move to step past Jenna, who blocks the surest path to your car, which sits lifeless on the curb
>You’re going to go to Anon’s house—
>Jenna takes a horizontal step to block you
>—Whether or not that faggot wants you there
>He’s GOT TO have something that can help you get out of this… fever…
>The vixen spreads her arms wide, as if to make herself larger
>Your eyes flick to her claws, and though thin sharp, you don’t find they rise to the level of ‘threat’ to you
>At least, not any more
>Not with how powerful you feel now
>Besides, you don’t think Jenna has it in her to claw you
>You take another step and put a hand on the driver-side door of the car
>Jenna’s fuzzy palm claps over your hand, her claws just lightly touching your cold skin
>Your eyes turn downwards, marveling at the way her small, trembling hands rest on your own
>Like one person with a baseball bat
>Standing on the shoreline
>A hurricane barreling down on them
>Such small hands
>A snarl crawls out of her chest
>You meet her narrowed gaze with one of your own
>Jenna’s fangs gleam like little daggers, wet and glittering with phosphorescent streetlights
>Actually, would she have the guts to maul you over this?
>Even to protect you?
>Mammals like Jenna don’t hurt people, you reason
“I don’t have time for this,” you hiss
>In a snap of reflexes, you flip slip from Jenna’s grasp and grap your hands around your wrist
>Caught off guard, the fox gasps when she feels your terse grip
>And she winces and cries out in pain while you bend her arm away from the car
>You bend, and bend
>“M-Mike!”
>And a part of you REALLY enjoys the suffering of someone who stood in the way of your goals
>Jenna folds onto her knees
>In her pajamas
>Once trying to help you, now forced into pained submission
>She says
>“You’re hurting me!”
>Your grip on her wrist flies open like a bear trap in reverse
>Drawing thick curls of bracing, cold air into your lungs, you lurch backwards, away from your classmate, who clutches at her bent wrist, tears rolling down her face
“F-Fuck…” you say, if only to yourself. Your voice drops low, in an octave you hope even a predator like Jenna can’t hear
“I-I didn’t mean to…”
>Deeply ashamed , 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
“I need a beer,” you conclude, giving your keys a twist. “I need a beer. I need to beat up Sam a bit, and I need to tease Anon, and then I want another beer.”
>The car does not sputter to life beyond telling you:
>You outta gas
>Fuck
>You look out the driver side window
>Jenna still kneels on the asphalt, clutching her pained wrist, her body a sad silhouette in the street lamps
>Defeated and slackened
>Brought low by a friend
>She turns her head when she hears your car door slam, and your feet crunch asphalt
>“What’s wrong with you?” She whispers. “Why don’t you accept help?”
>You stand next to her, but can’t take the weight of looking down at her
>Tears – if you could cry them any more – would have sprung to your eyes as remorse came flooding back into your system
>So, you only stare ahead, eyes fixed on an indeterminate point down the never-ending street, where you must now go
>What do you even say after assaulting a classmate and pseudo-friend?
>‘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, like you swallowed roadside gravel and shattered glass
>Something about her defeated look, the way her dress falls off her tired body—
>—It makes you feel really, really guilty
“Yo. Come talk to me at school tomorrow. I promise I’ll tell you more. I don’t even know everything myself, but I’m going to find the fuck out.”
>That seems like enough
>You start to push your tired legs forward, ready to stride into the night, a long-forgotten home of yours
“And for FUCK SAKE, do NOT talk to any cheerleaders tomorrow. Just… stick to yourself this week at school. Do you understand?” You call over your shoulder
>You throw a glance behind you
>Jenna’s shape is bent forward, her jagged knife-ears raised in curiosity
>Two emerald–green eyes glow at you
>“Promise me you’ll tell me? Everything?” Jenna squeaks
>…
>…
“Yeah,” you say, smirking confidently. “I promise.”
>Your feet find the pavement one step after another, as the sound of your rushed breathing and movement echoes down the block
>Jenna, still kneeling by your dead car, clutching her bent wrist, watches you vanish into the distance
>You don’t know how much you’ve got left in you to run to Anon’s house from Jenna’s, but you have to try
>The moon feels like it’s watching you
>And with every headlight that cleaves away the darkness shrouding you, you suppress a violent and paranoid hiss
>The chill of the evening settles in your gut, slowly blossoming out from there and spreading up and down musculature like the tendrils of some ruthless vine
>You check your wrist watch mid-stride across a near-empty intersection
>It’s a little after midnight
>You are Anon
>And this is gay
>This is SO gay
>He HAD to have planned for this to happen
>There’s no way
>Not but a few minutes after you, Anon, had fallen peacefully asleep on the floor, mind swelling with heterosexual dreams of classmates in bikinis, Sam rolled off the bed and crashed on top of you like a really smelly, giant teddy bear
>And now his head now rests in the crook of your elbow, peacefully drowsing
>His ears, slightly reactive to sound, lay draped across your shoulder
>And the rest of his body splayed out across your chest like a blanket
>Despite the fact that Sam is a light sleeper, you can’t help but notice how peaceful he seems right now
>Easy breath – not that janky, anxiety-sleep he gets
>And he’s not moving, mumbling, crying, or…
>…waking
>And you can’t help but feel how soft he is given he’s ALL OVER YOU
>The bun is not bony as you’d imagined — and yeah, he’s built like a bird, but there’s something about this that feels okay and natural
>He’s lithe, with gentle curves
>Where one might expect boyish muscle – especially at eighteen – you find deposits of adiposity, even on a rail-thin body like Sam’s
>Or, maybe it’s the way he smells beneath the miasma of unwashed and ungroomed fur
>Or the thinness of his arms and legs, all the weight of him placed in his midsection
>The weight of a single person
>All yours to protect
>Something about this feels right, like you want to protect him from everything bad in the world
>But you know it’s… wrong
>Not in a homophobic way, but you don’t like the conflicting messaging your mind and body give you
“God fucking damnit…” you hiss, trying hard to wriggle out from underneath Sam
>You try moving the rabbit’s flaccid 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
>Even the slightest touch generates some kind of primal reaction
“Must be stuck a dream,” you reason, gingerly laying back down on your pillow
>Well, fuck
>You guess you’re stuck here like this
>You just hope to God Alex doesn’t see this
>You’d never hear the end of it
>Sam’s ears jitter and twitch
>The boy begins to shake with violent pulses on your chest
“Sam?” You whisper, trying to lightly jostle the bunny to reality
>Sam jolts up with a terrified gasp
>And then his gaze turns down to see the crook of your nearly naked body, once his human body pillow
>His eyes split wide in terror
>His face explodes in a hot, shameful blush
>Sam’s hot breath hits your face in a series of stammered questions
>“A-A-Anon” He stammers, trying to crawl away from you. “W-W-What are you d-d-doing?”
“What are YOU doing, Sam?” You almost have to shake your head. “You’re the one who rolled on top of ME!”
>How can he be so oblivious to everything? It’s starting to make you fucking angry
>And 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,” he says, swinging his attention to the bedroom door
“No, no, I meant about you being on top of me! How did that happen, I wond- wait, did you just say you heard a loud noise?”
>You jetpack up into a sitting position
>Your unwanted bedmate slides into your lap with a squeak
>Ordinarily, you’d care, but not right now
>Now is time for action
>You glance around the moonlit room, all senses keyed in to the slightest disturbances
>A noise, Sam says?
>Could have been the howling wind
>The rabbit scampers to his feet, clutching his own ears in a childish stress ritual
>Something – something metal – clatters in the kitchen
>A gruff, dark voice somewhere in your house cuts loose with a feverish curse
>“FUCKING HELL!”
>Alex sits up abruptly and pulls his beanie off of his face
>“The fuck was that?” He says, looking between you and Sam
>There’s only one thing in your head
>Your mouth forms the words ‘Sam’ and ‘dad’ in the dark
>Alex’s eyes split open, and with some drunken stumbling, he manages to stagger to his full height
>You don’t know how he found out where you live, but he did
>On two shaking feet, you rise
>Sam slips off of you, terminating in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor
>The baseball bat Sam brought with him is in the corner of your room – you can see the moonlight tracing its outline in gossamer light
>Your fingers fall onto the handle of the bat
>Drawing from memories of little league tee-ball, you choke up high on the bat, ready to swing into Sam’s dad for the fences
>Sam takes his place behind you, his ears twitching wildly
>The sounds of a drunken rhinoceros stomping about your house come to you from under the door
>Alongside a dark, hateful voice:
>“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!”
>You can tell by Sam’s frightened little squeaks Sam is living the sum of his nightmares
>In the dark, dinner chairs squeal to the side or clatter onto the floor
>Place settings hit the wall
>Hissed swears find no response from any of you in the blackened crevices of night
>Strained breathing approaches…
>…moving towards the you
>Lights flicker on in the house – a shadow claws its way into your bedroom from the other side of the door
>Sam has to contain his terrified squeal with both palms clapped across his mouth
And in the dark, a voice croons:
>“Annnnonnnn…”
>That scraggly voice; the one with the ashen throat
>It has to be him
>You choke up higher around the bat and shuffle to the door
>The nob jumps as the old brass tumblers struggle to unstick themselves
>Your heart throws itself against your rib cage
>Sam squeaks and hops backwards, an effort to put as much distance between his dad and him
>Alex, however, looms off to the side of the door
>In his hand: your alarm clock, still plugged in, glowing red with a face that reads twelve-thirty.
>For some reason, you’re reminded of Cain slewing Abel, the way Alex holds that alarm clock
>And then…
>…the door creaks open, cool air rushes in
>You hold your breath
>Every muscle in your upper body tenses up as two years of little league batting practice activates in your neurological circuitry
>The outline of someone appears in the door,
>You cut loose with a barbaric scream and jam the bat forward, like a spear
>What…? You were never good at sports
>Your strike connects with a metallic *piff* as you force a gust of air out your attacker
>You push harder teeth ramming together as you drive the bat forward
>And then you hear something that forces you to stop
>“OW! Christ! What the fuck are you guys doing!?”
>That voice sounds recognizable now?
“Mike?”
>You slacken your body just a bit as Mike pushes your weapon aside, stepping into the rom
>“Anon? Did you just try and stab me with a baseball bat?”
>You let the bat clatter onto the floor in disbelief
>The very second Mike steps into range, Alex descends from the shadows like a schizophrenic’s daylight hallucination
>That brave, stupid commie bastard racks the alarm clock on the top of Mike’s skull, sending the manlet to one knee
>“Die you capitalist pig!” Alex cries, lording over who must think is an intruder
>You rush to physically restrain Alex from leaping onto Mike and killing him
“ALEX! ALEX! Stop! It’s Mike!” You cry, trying to restrain the lanky kid
>Mike rubs the welt on his skull, wincing
>“Yeah, you fucking dipshit! That hurt! Why’d you-”
>Alex brings your alarm clock down onto Mike’s head again
>The alarm clock shatters into pieces of plastic and PCB
>Mike collapses onto the floor
>Sam has sequestered himself in the corner of your room, curled up into a ball
“Goddamnit dude, I said he’s one of US!”
>“I know,” Alex says, hurt in his voice, “but he abandoned us.”
>“I didn’t ABANDON you retards. I lost my phone, and I got attacked by vampires. I ended up at Jenna’s place, and-”
>“A likely story,” Alex replies, crossing his arms across his chest
>“It’s not a story you fucking flagpole. Look at my clothes. Look at all the blood!”
>He turns around and reveals the bloody gashes etched into his skin, and his peeling, gray shirt
“Jesus Christ, Mike, what happened to you after school?”
>Mike grunts in pain, and you notice his legs are trembling
>“No time to explain what happened. I need your help,” he says
>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. “I-It’s not like I’ve done this before, alright?”
>You’ve moved the research into the kitchen table, where you assess Mike’s fate under a singular forty-watt bulb
>The rest of the house looks impossibly dark
>You spin through the red book, scanning for something that might be able to help Mike
>But you’re hindered by the old, spidery handwriting, its thin pen demanding of more light and a careful study
>It’s interesting, but full of weird, esoteric things that elude you
>Writings on the nature of hell, that there are multiple hells
>Explorations in time and space and ‘things beyond our stars’
“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 like a caged tiger
>“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, of course. During the chaos he clutches his ears, trying to turn down the volume of the fight
>Alex is not as useless, however
>In fact, he’s pacing alongside Mike
>Like another starved, maybe dumber tiger in a cage
>“LISTEN!” Alex 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. That works, right?”
>Mike shakes his head in anger.
“This isn’t a video game Alex, a priest can’t just cast ‘heal’ on me.”
>Actually…
>Something on this page jumps out at you
>You squint your tired eyes and rattle off a header
“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 Earth. One in the same, though they share no name.”
>“Does that thing only rhyme?” Alex asks
“Sometimes.”
>You read on
“Two flowers plucked form the soil: that which consumes, and purity’s pale child. Lain together on the road, until a carriage blisters by, be not free from other-worldly blight.”
>“…. What?” Alex and Mike both look at you like you said all of that in Japanese, and they expect the subs, not the dubs
>You shake your head a bit as tired thoughts cloud your focus
>You’re not a machine, and you don’t work like that
>And if you were a machine you’d be a shitty one
“I… I don’t really know, but I think we’re on the right track with this-”
>Mike practically explodes at you
>“Oh, we’re ‘on the right track’? Very helpful, Anon, good find, good find. Now we just need to find a plant that ‘consumes’ – whatever that means, and ‘purity’s un-fucking-helpful child’!”
>You lean forward over the book, a snarl working up from your chest
>“Do YOU want to read this fucking thing, mister C-average!?”
>Alex open-palm smacks the dinner table, leaving a concussive blast of noise in his wake
>Sam squeaks, but manages to keep his feet rooted on the kitchen floor
>Alex sighs, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion sets in
>“Shut the fuck up Mike. Just… Shut the fuck up,” he says. “We’re trying to figure this all out together, alright?”
>Mike clenches his fists, stares at Alex, and lets out a slow ball of hot air from his lungs like he’s about to hurl some of the dirtiest insults he can at his friend
>A stretched moment passes, as the wind batters the house from outside, making it sound like you’re in some kind of cave
>Or that someone is trying to get in…
>You turn your attention to the front door, a heavy wooden slab painted a dark brown, ensconced on its flanks by frosted glass windows
>Maybe Mike got in because you mistakenly showed him where your parents hide the spare, but…
>Did he re-lock it?
>“Fuck,” Mike seethes, drawing your attention back to the table
>When he turns his head up at you…
>…his eyes look like they’ve got a light glow to them – a shine, maybe from the lights above
>Or something else
>Your eyes meet for a fraction of a heartbeat before your angsty friend turns his gaze over to Sam
>“I’m sorry, okay? I’m panicked, and I’m 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 today.”
>“Up until now?” Mike chuckles. “No offense buddy, but I’ve yet to see the evidence.”
>You glance around the kitchen, as if expecting them to all disagree with Mike
>All of their eyes fall on you; Mike’s from across the polished wooden table; Alex’s from behind a sweep of brown hair;
>And Sam’s – just near the entryway that leads into the kitchen — the threshold of inclusion, where he’s retreated to
>Now drawn in by the apologies and softer voices
>Everyone is here, or where they should be
>Welp
>Fuck it
>You roll up your sleeves to the elbow, baring the scars from where Vanessa cut you
>Gasps rise up from around the room as your eyes sweep from person to person
“I have some things I need to tell you about ALL of our futures.”
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