ã€ŠThe Chilling Adventures of a Teenage Dirtbag: The HOSTã€‹


 Chapter One: Lord of the Flies

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    Her eyes fluttered open, and above her, a strange sun blazed with such intensity that it made her squint in painful protest. She found herself in a meadow, waist-high grass brushing against her legs as she walked, her hands gliding across a sea of gold. The rough stalks scratched at her bare legs, and the damp soil squished between her naked toes. This place was beauty beyond words, an ethereal dreamscape that was intangible by design, a subconscious construct meant to fulfill a deep yearning. Yet she could feel it all, every blade of grass, the sting of every pebble underfoot. These feelings would linger like shadows in her mind''s-eye, but it was all destined to fall apart. No matter how hard she fought, every detail slipped through her grasp, grains of sand tumbling through the hourglass of her conscious mind.

    "Come to me," the words filled her head, carried on a warm breeze that caressed this place. Each syllable flowed down the hills and across the golden plains, right to her waiting and wanting ears.

    Up ahead, a rustic cottage sat atop a hill, nestled within the loving grasp of a small grove of purple trees. Weightless, she sailed on the wind, drawn by those words; they pulled her closer and closer until she saw a shape, a man, the man who inhabited her dreams. His gravity was irresistible, like the Earth''s pull on the moon. But like everything in this world, she could never hold onto him, the details she could never remember... just the feeling, a feeling that lingered in the back of her mind, he was ever-present.

    As she drifted towards the small cabin, a delicate leaf on a warm summer breeze, its old frame growing out of the soil, mixing with the trees around it, they pulsed and radiated with an ancient power. As she approached the threshold, the cabin''s gnarled door opened, welcoming her...

    She looked up into the sky and thought to herself, "This just won''t do." Her words echoed out into this world of hers, each whispered word mixing with the fabric of its reality. White clouds took shape, billowing and blowing, rolling like waves, their light fluffy forms turned gray as they filled with moisture. One by one they merged, forming a blanket that blocked out the rays of her strange sun... until the entire sky was dark and gray. Within that angry darkness, a distant rumbling, like a long-forgotten giant roused from its endless slumber. Thunder growled louder, tumbling across the sky. The clouds let loose, and a gentle rain fell, each droplet pitter-pattering across the dry and thirsty leaves of the grove. The water followed the lines and veins of the leaves, falling across their skin and down onto the old roof of the cottage.

    "That''s more like it!" she thought to herself. This was her world after all, and she would shape it to her desires. Everything here was a manifestation of her subconscious, that which she did not like could be molded with but a thought.

    Standing in the rain for a moment, letting it run across her skin, a perfect summer rain, its warmth covering her, tracing every line of her body as it made its way between her toes and into the cool soil. Suddenly, hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her through the threshold and into the cottage.

    Dimly lit, the cottage seemed eternal, an extension of the forest itself. The furniture grew from the floor, roots forming the legs of the chairs and tables. The ceiling glowed with the light of a million fireflies, forming an ocean of joy as they danced and played together, casting their golden light to the room below. Her wet skin carried the golden hue of the dancing fireflies, giving her a heavenly aura. The gentle pitter-patter of rain on the old roof and the beating of her heart filled the quaint room.

    His hands slid over her skin like a warm wind, comforting, gentle but full of primordial power, it encompassed her, warmed her, exciting every part of her. Her every nerve is on fire, filling her with anticipation. Insidious words pulled at her soul, ethereal in tone, too perfect for this world.

    "Give yourself to me,"

    The words danced across her brain, firing every neuron. Igniting her passion, a fire burned hot within her. Her skin glistened with the golden glow of the dancing fireflies, imbuing her with a celestial aura. The gentle patter of raindrops on the timeworn roof, accompanied by the rhythmic beating of her heart, filled the quaint room.

    His hands glided over her skin like a warm breeze, both comforting and powerful, evoking primal sensations that enveloped her and stirred every fiber of her being. Every nerve was on edge, suffused with a fiery anticipation. Seductive whispers crept into her soul, ethereal in their perfection, too divine for this world.

    "Submit to me," he murmured.

    The words ignited her brain, setting every neuron ablaze and fueling her desire. A fire raged within her, driving her towards him.

    His hands moved to her shoulders, and with a gentle tug, he freed her from the sheer white dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The dress slithered down to the floor, exposing her body to him completely, vulnerable yet breathtakingly beautiful. His hands danced like shadows over her flesh, igniting a fierce passion that consumed her.

    Beep, beep, beep, beep...

    "SHIT, time to go," and just like that, the world fell away, bit by bit. She could hear a faint "Nooooooo!" as the darkness of the dream world melted around her, giving way to the stark light of the tangible world.

    "...it''s 7:58 in the a.m Pitchford Cove and this is your main man, Rockin Ricky Rialto, bringing you the greatest hits of ''84. It''s currently a chilly 55 on this fine Monday morning," his smooth hollow voice slid from the tinny speakers of her trusty Sanyo boombox.

    "Oh Rockin'' Ricky, you sure know how to get a girl going," her chuckling laughter bounced off the walls of her small oasis.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Sitting up in bed, Palmer dug at the krusty sleep that had built in the corners of her eyes. The bright rays of the morning sun burned through the cool fall air that filled the room. She must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night. Her small RCA TV still playing in the background, sleep had taken her prisoner as she watched Dr. Morbius''s Midnight Monster Madness.

    "Monday... dammit!" Palmer sighed.

    "I''m not mentally prepared for school today!" she thought to herself. She flung her blankets off and threw her small legs over the edge of her bed. Tiny feet dangling in the dead dangerous space between the bed and the floor, bait just begging to be eaten by whatever creatures that lurked in the blackness that remained from the night before. In that instant she imagined a dark twisted hand as it crept toward her vulnerable feet, exploding from the darkness to grab her, yanking her down into the void.

    She shook her head. "Get a grip kid... Probably something to do with all that Dr.M before bed!" she chucked to herself.

    "... Jitterbug... Jitterbug..." the Sanyo on her bedside table blaring out the newest hit from WHAM. She jumped away from the imaginary crooked hand and into the E. T slippers that stood an ever vigilant guard against the hordes that waited under her bed. They were warm and fuzzy guardians.

    She shuffled over to the mirror, assessing the damage the night¡¯s slumber had done to her. Looking at herself standing there, so plain, so ordinary, never impressed with the reflection staring back at her. Thick blonde hair, a lion''s mane framing her symmetrical yet plain face. Those eyes of hers, green eyes, like creamy Jade. Those perfect eyes drifted down, off of her slightly boney shoulders hung her Iron Maiden world tour shirt. It was her absolute favorite shirt... given to her by her Dad. It was an oversized baseball-t, emblazoned with the image of Eddie, the skeletal mascot of the band. His boney hand smashing through the Earth, fist clenched in a defiant "FUCK YOU" to all the people out there, you know, the ones who think the music is "too loud". The words "WORLD PIECE TOUR ''83" scrawled across the bottom. She really loved that shirt, its offensive nature distracting from what laid underneath. It was her shield, armor against an invasive world she never quite felt part of.

    And then down to her bare slender legs, smooth and young¡­ They yearned to run, but she had no interest in the organized sports that would allow them to reach their full potential. Finally, down to her feet, which were covered in the stupid vacant look of everyone''s favorite alien.

    She chuckled again.

    She spun around, bopping to the music, the effervescent bubbling energy of youth exploded from within. "... when you hit that highhhh..." George Michael''s voice filled her room. She scanned the cluttered floor for her favorite pair of Levi''s. ¡°There you are,¡± The ragged old denim laid in a heap beside her hamper. She stepped into them, feet leaving the warm comfort of E.T''s brain box and into worn blue legs, she reached down, sliding the jeans up and over her ass. Pulling on some socks and her old trusty pair of high top Chuck''s once white, now a dingy version of their former self... scrawled with the names of bands and all kinds of obtuse doodles. Her go-to way of escaping when she needed to drift away... like on that damned bus... which, she thought to herself.

    "I''m gonna miss, if I don''t get my ass in gear!"

    Palmer''s bedroom looked like a tornado had ripped through it, just one giant mess, piles of crap everywhere¡­ Or at least that''s the way it appeared to the untrained eye, despite what Mom ¡®n Dad thought, she had way more important things to do than clean her damn room. She knew where everything was, that pile in the corner, that¡¯s where her assignment for English was. See¡­ organized chaos.

    Blasting into the hall, she awkwardly struggled with both her school bag and her ever-important headphones. Juggling these two things simultaneously proved a challenge as her bag knocked pictures off the wall while she ricocheted down the hall. She imagined she was making the sound of a pinball machine as she bounced from one thing to the next. Clipping her Walkman on her pants, the pocket frayed and worn from constant use; she hit play, that simple little button, unleashing the raw energy within. Maiden filling her ears, guitars screaming, she flew down the stairs, grabbing her brown-bagged lunch which was sitting on the front hall tree.. slapping her little brother across the back of the head as she went. Her mother yelled at her as she rocketed by...

    "Palmer, you need to be home for your brother after school, and I mean it," her words barely registered, the syllables of parental orders bounced off the fury of Bruce Dickinson¡¯s powerful scream.

    It doesn''t get much better than this; she thought to herself. "... Midnight... Midnight..." the music taking her away, lifting her.

    She couldn¡¯t help but notice how beautiful it was this morning... cool, crisp air biting at her bare skin. The leaves of the trees looked like fire, reds, and oranges, swaying in the gentle breeze, trying with all their might to hold on. Some lost that battle, falling to the sidewalk below. Covering and blowing down the sidewalk, her "Chuck''s" parting the fallen leaves, she registered the dry rustling, but it was more felt than heard.

    "Two minutes..." the music screamed in her ears. Driving her on, the music gave her the purpose she needed to cope. Their stop was up at the next intersection, she could see their bus meandering across Elm right now on its way to their stop. Palmer looked back at her brother, what an idiot she thought to herself. Tommy was trying to get his lunch in his knapsack, the brown paper bag had ripped, its contents spilled to the sidewalk below. Tommy''s fresh crisp apple bounced across the hard concrete, developing one disgusting bruise after another. He gave chase, his awkward feet kicking it further from his grasp. Salvaging what was left and tucking it into his bag he trudged forward.

    "C''mon you little snot," Palmer called back.

    Palmer had just started grade 11¡­ A Junior at Pitchford High. Tommy, her little brother, a Freshman. Neither of them were the "Cool" kids, but at least Tommy had found fellow "Nerds'' '' to group up with, safety in numbers was a reliable strategy. Palmer found more comfort in her music and movies, they were reliable, she could trust them, Dr.Morbius and his macabre monsters. The classic movies playing down at the Colonial Theater. But like all the loners of this world, she had to deal with the idiots and the bullies, the predators... the "Steve''s" and "Ben''s" of the world. So every single morning she stepped onto that god-damned bus, and the routine started all over again.

    She had made it, looking back she saw Tommy stumbling along, despite his shuffle, he''d get here just in time. Staring down the tree-lined street of Elm she saw the bus. It''s yellow form getting closer... stop by inevitable stop. Its old brakes creaked and screeched their protest with every pick-up. The trees from both sides of the street met in the middle above the street, like connected fingers, forming a red and orange canopy. Leaves fell like embers to the dark asphalt below. Kids spilling onto the bus with every stop, clambering for their own space, their own haven. Desperately searching for a seat. Their stop was one of the last, so like musical chairs, their options diminish with each passing screech of those brakes.

    Palmer called back to Tommy,

    "Move your ass kid, the buss is here,"

    With a final creak and screech... the bus lurched to a stop, the giant yellow torture chamber, a mobile lawless zone, where the strong preyed on the weak... it halted directly in front of Palmer. The warm air from the engine wafting up into her face. The smell of rubber and burnt oil permeated the air, filling her nose, replacing the fresh cool morning air with its harshness. The doors strained and broke apart, the rubber seal split, releasing the chaotic cacophony of screams and laughter from within. Looking down at her was the pilot, the captain of this Ferry of the Damned. He was a creepy fellow, adorned in an old grimy green and red sweater, he seemed to enjoy the chaos, reveling in it. He shone a crooked smile at her...

    "Goooood morning Palmer, welcome aboard," his raspy voice bridging the gap between them.

    "Morning Fred," Palmer called up to him as she took a step forward, lifting herself into this "Lord of the Flies" world. She reaches down and cranks her Walkman to full, Maiden blocking out the noise.

    "Here we go again," she muttered to herself.

 Chapter Two: The Bus

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    Palmer clutches the handrail and hoists her dread-filled body into the bus, taking oversized steps one at a time. As she enters, she spots Fred, the creepiest bus driver on the face of the planet, his thin greasy lips flapping. She imagines the completely inappropriate comments flowing from the depths of his putrid soul, but luckily her music drowns out his voice. He''s like her own freaky ferryman, taking them all down the river. His crooked grin suggests that he feeds off the fear and chaos all around him.

    Scanning the long aisle of the bus, she looks for a place to sit, feeling the humiliating burn of Fred''s lecherous eyes on her ass. Gross. The stale, unwashed smell of the bus and its passengers punches her square in the face, a twisted mix of B.O. and vinyl. How can it possibly smell this bad so early in the morning? The best thing Fred could do right now is haul this monstrosity through the nearest car wash with all the windows down. It might be the only way some of these gremlins would get a bath this century.

    Tommy barges past her, making a beeline for his little tribe, a secretive boy-coven already chittering amongst themselves. He regales them with tales of his latest dice-rolling victory while pulling from the dark depths of his schoolbag a tattered D&D Monster Manual, cradling it reverently in his hands. It''s a sure sign it has borne many glorious imaginary adventures

    .

    "Watch it, ya little toad!" Palmer yells after Tommy, a little pissed that he snagged the last seat, well, the second last seat.

    Here''s a punch-up and grammar fix for the text:

    That''s the thing: there''s always one available seat. And that''s beside Gordie - or Lard-ass, as everyone lovingly refers to him. Gordie''s a senior, a lump of a kid who clearly doesn''t give a damn. He''d let his hygiene deteriorate to the point where not a single kid would go near him; his own personal shield. Palmer had been stuck beside him from time to time, and despite the smell, if she was being honest with herself, Gordie was a pretty sweet kid.

    Palmer started making her way down the aisle, dodging spit balls and projectiles made of scrunched-up homework.

    "Jesus," she muttered.

    There he was, the ringmaster of this three-ring circus on wheels, Ben-fucking-Trammer, Captain of the football team, and one of the biggest assholes she''d ever had the displeasure of knowing. He''d been a thorn in her side as long as she could remember. They''d all been saved from his daily nonsense¡­ that is until the dipshit went and lost his driver¡¯s license. Ben was currently entertaining some of his cronies with what she could only imagine was a hellishly embellished victory story. So engrossed in his own bullshit he hadn''t noticed her yet. She hurriedly slumped down into the open seat, cracked vinyl squeaking in protest.

    "Grumpy again this morning, Palmer?" Gordie''s nasally voice was barely audible over her music. "Here, have one of my gummies... they''re really warm and soft. They''ve been in my pocket," he offered.

    She said coolly, "Nah, I''m good, Gordie... got a headache - that time of the month, you know?"

    Gordie quickly turned away, eyes straight forward, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of her private parts bleeding. Gordie was so damn predictable.

    And with that, she knew she''d have nothing but peace for the rest of the ride. Gordie clearly hadn''t paid attention in health class, considering "it was that time of the month" almost every single day. A wry smile painted her face.

    Palmer knew Gordie had a soft spot for her... he always had, always offering up some form of treasure from the bottom of his sweaty pockets. She was the one thing he liked more than whatever he was ferreting away in there. It probably had something to do with the fact that she didn''t call him Lard-ass all the time like everyone else.

    "Not hard to look like a pearl when you''re in an ocean of shit," her thoughts oozed self-deprecation. Her deep-seated fears permeated her being; they always betrayed her, never allowing her to see her true worth.

    Out of nowhere, Palmer''s headphones were knocked off her head, and she heard his voice... that fucking voice.

    "Palmer, there''s my favorite girl..." Ben said.

    Speaking of shit, she thought to herself¡­

    "If it isn''t his highness, Mr. Trammer... tell me, what have I done to earn this honor," disdain dripped like snake venom from her every word.

    "Palmer, my girl... don''t pretend you don''t want it," Ben said, eyeing her up and down.

    "What do you want, Ben?" Palmer said curtly.

    "Your panties on the floor of the ''Stang," he said confidently.

    "Well there''s two issues here... A: Your daddy took your ride because he found you and Matty Ryerson drinking topless together¡­"

    With that remark Gordie spit out whatever was currently in his mouth all over the seat in front of him. Half chewed food crawling down the back of the seat.

    "And B: We all know you have a two inch dick and that just won''t work for me," her words laced with bile. Her confidence grew with every stabbing word.

    He and his cro-magnon dickweed cohorts had been spreading rumors that she was a slut, so she thought to herself, may as well own it.

    "A two inch dick?... ME?" he questioned awkwardly, voice slightly cracking.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    He fought to regain his composure, clearly her words had struck a nerve.. maybe hitting a little too close to home. His retort slithered from his mouth like a snake.

    "Even if it was, I can still lick the crumbs outta a Pringle can..." he exclaimed as he licked his thin lips.

    Before she could react, he threw himself over the seat, pushing her head forward and dragging his rarely brushed tongue up the length of her neck.

    With that, he jumped back up, arms thrust into the air as if he had just scored a touchdown. Palmer''s confidence was shattered instantly. He got her... he always did. Desperately wiping at her neck, she could feel his bacteria crawling all over, down into the pores of her skin, deep into her bloodstream. She felt gross. The kinda gross that you can''t wipe clean. She fucking hated him.

    "Fuck yes¡­ Did you see that shit boys?" Ben shouted triumphantly.

    "Where were you on that one Gordie?" Palmer''s voice was quiet and hollow.

    "I''m¡­ I''m sorry Palmer," Gordie responded meekly. His embracement and shame turned his gaze to the passing houses.

    Palmer''s eyes fixated on the graffiti-covered seat in front of her. She returned her orange sponge headphones to where they belonged, back to blocking out the madness of the world around her. Palmer''s mind was reeling, Iron Maiden''s epic instrumental from "Losfer Words" blaring in her ears. Her anger was swelling inside her like a fucking ocean. Tight fists smacking her thighs, the music and her emotions twisting together. Her eyes drifted across the back of the seat in front of her until she found the words TRAMMER RULEZ¡­ "Trammer rules?" she scoffed. Palmer''s hatred for Ben flooded her mind. Her anger focused her mind like a laser. She noticed a small rip start to form, the fibers of the vinyl seat slowly coming apart at a molecular level. Thread by thread, the vinyl stretched and cracked under some unseen force, slowly striking out his heinous graffiti tag. When the impossibility of what she was witnessing registered deep in her gray matter, it stopped as quickly as it had begun.

    She reached forward, her fingers probing at the edges, studying the small tear. Palmer intended to determine if what she had seen truly just happened or, like so many things in her life, was it just a figment of her imagination. It definitely wasn''t the first time she''d hallucinated something like this. Her fingers felt the frayed scar, and she recoiled. It''s real... It''s really real. Her body reacted to this truth as though she had just laid her hands on a live wire.

    "What the fuck?" She muttered to herself.

    She shook her head. Unable to process what had just happened. She looked around... no one else had seen it. Maybe it''s in her head, just a hallucination. Delusions were nothing new to Palmer. Her dreams and the things that live within filled her world, even her waking world... from time to time.

    "Maybe I''m losing it, my marbles are ready to spill out all over the place," she thought to herself. The thought scared her more than anything.

    Mental illness was nothing new in her family. Her deepest fear was losing sight of that fine line between her dream world and the really real world that surrounded her.

    "But who''s to say which one is the real world?" she questioned. Isn''t reality based off of perception. What you perceive to be reality, IS your reality. Her mind started to spiral, this was dangerous.

    Trying to distance herself, distract herself, dissociate, she started focusing on the other graffiti. The funny jokes, the scathing insults. She even noticed one about herself, she rolled her eyes and kept moving. In big bold jagged letters, the phrase,

    "ROONEY EATS IT!!!"

    Stood out above all the rest. "Clearly scrawled with passion," She chuckled to herself.

    "What exactly does he eat?" She wondered... Clearly the author wasn''t a poet. But one thing was certain, the only thing that unified us all... the Losers... the Nerds... the Jocks... the Outcasts... the Rich kids¡­ they all hate the teachers. And Rooney, well, Mr Rooney rules the roost.

    And speaking of roosts¡­ the bus screeched and lurched to a stop. Some kids fell out of their seats, while others smashed their heads off the spongy, grimy seats in front of them. Palmer braced herself as Gordie''s bag fell to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. A bottle of YooHoo rolled forward through the bus, clinking off seat posts as it went. Everyone around her scrambled, and she looked up to catch Fred, that fucking prick, smiling his crooked smile. His raspy voice announced to his children:

    "We have arrived... please place your trays in the upright position and make your way to the front of the bus in an orderly fashion, if you will. Thank you for flying the not-so-friendly skies with us today, and please enjoy your stay!"

    They all got up, like a herd of zombies from a Romero flick, shambling forward bit by bit as they disembarked. The kid in front of Palmer slammed his arms off the seats on both sides as he went, each hit a sticky thwack, thwack, thwack... how she hated this part. The slow inevitable death march. She could hear Ben calling from the back of the bus:

    "Move your fucking asses, my people are waiting!"

    She shook her head and shuffled onward... thwack, thwack.

    Finally, she was beside Fred. She turned to him and said, "Nice driving, Freddy... you should win an award," her words thick with sarcasm.

    "Thanks, kiddo. You have a great day now..." every syllable is creepier than the last.

    She rushed down the stairs into the brisk, bright morning. The light was so bright and vibrant, the way only morning light can be. Before her was a sea of pubescent chaos. Everyone was fighting and scraping for their slice of this ultimately insignificant pie. Groups huddled together, cheering and greeting one another, gathering their strength to tackle the day ahead. Some were talking about their homework, some about last night''s episode of Who''s the Boss, and others regaled the events of B.A. Baracus and the rest of the A-Team''s latest mission. While others were just trying to figure out how not to get shoved in their lockers for 3rd period.

    And there it was, above it all... Pitchford High, her home away from home. A grim red-brick gothic monstrosity, its blank, unseeing windows and limestone pillars a testament to austere times when men who wore suits testified to the stern importance of education with a capital E. A hundred-year-old place where young boys and girls had been disciplined by elders and haunted by tradition.

    Palmer moved through the crowd, a solitary being, making eye contact with some and avoiding the judging gaze of most. The stares had become commonplace - some warm, others awkward. She would hear the odd whispered word as she passed, typically things like "weirdo" and "freak." They didn''t faze her much now, rolling off her slick back. She just kept moving, her mind wandering, thinking back to the events on the bus.

    "What the hell was that?" her thoughts taking her a million miles away.

    Bam... books flying through the air. Palmer had walked right into Laurie Strode, one of the Queen Bitches of Pitchford High, sending her books spilling to the ground.

    "Oh, fuuuucck¡­" she thought to herself. This day just keeps on getting better.

    Laurie hated Palmer with a passion. She and Ben Trammer were THE couple... who the fuck knows why she puts up with that idiot

    Maybe her thoughts on high school mating were formed from movies like "Sixteen Candles," where the cheerleader had to be with the quarterback. An elevated high school status is all she could be getting out of that relationship, especially if she has to deal with Ben''s "little" friend. The attention Ben threw Palmer''s way drove Laurie absolutely nuts, so, of course, Laurie made it her mission to make Palmer''s life as miserable as possible.

    "What... the... hell!" Laurie yelled out as she watched her books slide across the ground.

    She spun around and saw Palmer standing there.

    "Of course, it just had to be you," Laurie''s words lashed out like daggers.

    "Sorry, Laurie, I didn''t see you standing there," Palmer¡¯s sheepish apology seemed to anger Laurie further.

    "Didn''t see me? Didn''t see me? What, I don''t exist to you? Everyone else here sees me. They want to see me," confidence pushing her forward.

    Turning to her friend Becky, "You see me standing here, don''t you?" Becky''s laughter emboldened Laurie.

    "Get her, Laurie¡­" Becky chided while blowing a giant Hubba Bubba bubble, popping it as if to add an exclamation mark to her statement.

    "Well, what can you expect from a stupid slut," Laurie shot. Her jealousy, barely perceptible but clearly present.

    "Not today..." Palmer said defiantly, trying to regain her confidence. A confidence that proved to be a slippery thing. She wants it, craves it, but for her, it was just so damn elusive. At the end of the day, she didn''t hate Laurie or the others like her,

    Palmer knew they were all just fighting for their place. There was a definite pity there, she empathized with their desire to fit in. But knew it would never happen for her.

    BBBBBDDDDDDDDDRRRRRRIIIIINGGGGG

    And as if on cue; the the sound of the first period bell erupted, it was a joyless and repulsive sound. The chaos of the crowd halted. The dinner bell had been rung, the doors of the school swung wide, like a giant mouth waiting to swallow them whole.

    "Saved by the bell... this isn''t over Palmer, not by a long shot," Laurie exclaimed.

    "God... I hate this fucking place!" Palmer thought to herself. As she marched up the stairs.

 Chapter Three: Pitchford High

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    The Cove, a nickname given to this gothic monstrosity, was a moniker coined by the kids who walked its storied halls. It was a giant living thing, its sprawling structure, the body, the winding hallways, its limbs. And within those halls, its lifeblood flowed to and fro, and the chaotic energy of its students gave it voice.

    Palmer had just narrowly avoided an extinction-level event with the head cheerleader. She brushed it off and climbed the stairs leading up to the school. This place always made her feel uneasy, these god-damned stairs reminded her of a giant tongue, splayed out into the yard. The zombie shuffle had begun again; they all mindlessly shambled up, step by step into the Cove''s waiting maw.

    She crested the stairs, marching through the main doors. Before her stood the main hall, still as intimidating today as it was on her first day of school. Its scale reminded her of her insignificance, as though it were designed to evoke this emotion, each brick pushing down on her. Palmer had always heard rumors that the original architect was a madman, some weirdo named Shandor, Ivo, or Ivor Shandor. The hall was lined with lockers, lights hung evenly spaced down the hall, its black and white tile floor extended as far as the eye could see. An orange and black banner hung across the expanse of the hall, advertising the coming Halloween dance, expertly branded as the Monster Mash.

    "The party planning committee nailed it out of the park again. Their creativity knows no end," Palmer mused.

    Halloween decorations adorned the walls; paper spiders and tissue paper ghosts were everywhere. The school, the whole town, went all-in for Halloween. It was the only thing Palmer loved about Pitchford Cove; All Hallows Eve was the one time of year that monsters could walk amongst them, even if they were just kids wearing rubber masks. Despite thinking that the name was unoriginal, she secretly wished she could go to the Monster Mash. The image of a grand Halloween ball danced through her mind; everyone dressed in gothic finery. She imagined herself dressed head to toe in black velvet and intricate lace, like some kind of twisted Disney princess. But she knew what would actually happen, and that image made her chuckle. Trammer and his troglodytes spiking the punch, Mikey Walsh dressed like Ray Stanz stumbling from the gym with spiked punch dribbling from his lips as he desperately searched for a receptacle for the vomit that was making its way up from the depth of his stomach. Stef Steinbrenner dressed head to toe like the Material Girl.

    Her mind wandered with the possibilities. Bauhaus pumped from the auditorium, the DJ spinning Bela Lugosi''s Dead, its twisted melodies spiraling down the old halls, filling every nook and cranny. Kids undulated to the unorthodox beat, a rhythmic sea of pubescent angst. The costumes and movement were like an ancient pagan ritual, designed to pierce the veil between the living and the dead. She drifted deeper into her fantasy, sailing down the halls. Deep in the shadows that painted the hallway, clawing and scratching spirits tried with each mad strike to break through, their twisted faces taking shape with each passing minute. The twangs and ticks of the beat reverberated off the tile walls; the old bones of the Cove hummed with an ancient power.

    "Undead, undead, undead."

    The chanting repeated over and over like the words of a forbidden incantation. The skulking dread echoed over the ticking rhythm. Now she was part of the crowd; she could feel its energy deep inside, her spirit mixing with the dark energy.

    "Undead," the word flowed around her, binding her. She floated above the crowd, spinning and sinking deeper. She looked down into the depths of the crowd, the rainbow lights dancing across the ocean of bodies. The crowd opened, like a whirlpool, flowing around a focal point. In the center of it all was her body, dancing, roiling to the beat. Suddenly, she was slingshot back inside her own body. The crowd parted, and she saw the shadows moving like liquid across the dance floor. An inky black mass coalesced, and a large black body rose with a blank, expressionless face. A desiccated hand raised slowly, beckoning her.

    "Come to me," the words pulled at her very soul. That voice, she knew that voice.

    "Palmer... Palmer... Palmer¡­ MISS STOKES!" Her name pierced the reality of this fantastic realm, shattering it all around her. The shards of her dream world started to melt away. Suddenly, she found herself sitting in Ms. Stillwater''s English class.

    "...what the fuck?" she thought to herself incredulously. "It''s third period, how could it be third period?" she questioned.

    "Yes... yes, Ms. Stillwater?" she stammered, confusion written all over her strained words.

    "Well¡­ we''re waiting, we are all waiting on you, Ms. Stokes!" Stillwater was not a patient woman, patient was not a word that would ever be associated with her. And right now, she appeared to be on the edge of a full-blown meltdown. Her eyes narrowed as the countdown began.

    Her classmates laughed in support.

    "QUIET!" Stillwater spat.

    BBBBBDDDDDDDDDRRRRRRIIIIINGGGGG

    "End of the period... Thank, Christ. Man, I love that fucking bell today," she muttered under her breath, paying close attention to the decibel rating of her words. There was no way she could risk them reaching Stillwater''s old ears.

    "Ms. Stokes, I''d like you to write me a small paper on the importance of respecting one''s class..." Stillwater droned on.

    The old PA system squawked to life. Clarke Devereaux''s voice now tinny and hollow as it passed through the old speakers. "Attention: the party planning committee meeting is being moved to room 237. Mr. Torrance will be taking attendance... Be there... or be¡­ square."

    "What the fuck is happening to me... first the buss, now this!" her thoughts reeling. She grabbed her shit and fled the class before Stillwater could attack.

    She weaved through the hall, desperately trying to piece together what the hell had happened. She''d had daydreams before... who hadn''t. But losing three whole hours.

    "How is that even possible?" she questioned.

    She passed the office on her way to her locker. The communication board, covered in posters, like the leaves of a tree¡­ rustling as students rush back and forth. But today a crowd gathered¡­ All eyes on Mrs. Wheelberg, or Grace as she insisted the kids call her, as she tore one inappropriate poster after the next from the board. One crumpled poster fell at Palmer¡¯s feet, she reached down and unfurled it, flattening the devastated edges to return it to its former glory - apparently someone had plastered numerous Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter movie posters all over. The posters showed the title scrawled in dripping blood, with Jason''s mask on the ground, ringed by a pool of blood, a terrible knife through his right eye. Written on the poster: Tonight... only at the Colonial.

    "That would be so awesome!" she thought to herself as she moved down the hall. The walls of the hallway were covered in posters and decorations, rustling as the crowds rushed by. She rounded the next corner; another crowd gathered around a familiar spot. This time¡­ the gathering huddled around her locker. As she approached the crowd dispersed. As it split and diffused her locker slowly came into view, the word "SLUT" written unevenly in black marker down the face of her dented locker. Instantly her shoulders slumped, the breath knocked from her lungs by the invisible sting of four black letters. At this point she had grown accustomed to the whispers and looks but the accusation of that word¡­ Well, she couldn''t help but feel its power.

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    "Could this day get any better?" she questioned.

    Taking her gym uniform from her bag, she bundled it up and spat on the isolated corner. She scrubbed and scrubbed in a futile attempt, the black stain, this Scarlet letter stared her in the face. She hadn''t done anything, it''s all so fucking stupid. She slammed the locker with her fists in frustration, spinning¡­ she throws her back against the locker, sliding down. With a subtle defeated thwump, she lands in a heap on the floor and buries her head in her hands. Salty tears drip through her interlocked fingers as muffled sobs echo down the hungry halls. Palmer sat there for a few moments, desperately trying to compose herself. One after the other, dragging the rough sleeves of her denim jacket across her tear soaked cheeks¡­ adrift in a sea of self depreciation the distant sound of laughter snapped her back back to her cruel reality. Looking up she saw Laurie and her friends down the hall, laughing and whispering. Laurie''s face, covered with a wicked smile, proud and victorious. Yet in the moment she saw Palmer''s tears there was a hint of remorse, a glimmer of shame¡­ shame for what she had done. But like all glimmers it was fleeting¡­ Laurie and her little coven spun as one, cheerleading skirts fanning out as if they had choreographed it. They marched away, hips swaying, their movements had their own cadence. It''s amazing what jealousy will make young minds do.

    <hr>

    Palmer sat on the bleachers, munching on her lunch, as the football team practiced below for their upcoming game against the Haddonfield Huskers, the ancient enemy. The sound of Billy Idol''s "White Wedding" reverberated in her skull, drowning out the world around her. She gazed out at the sky, which had turned dark and gray, as if her mood had infected the world and snuffed out the light. The anger she felt towards Laurie and Becky seemed to permeate everything, and death seemed to be creeping into the world, its fingers slowly draining the life from all living things.

    Despite the grayness of the sky, the trees still blazed with fiery oranges and reds, as if desperately holding on to their last bit of life. The remaining greenery seemed to be trying to escape, with its lifeblood pooling in the far reaches of the leaves, creating vibrant hues against the cold, restless sky. It was like a beautiful painting that foretold the impending dread of a cold, empty winter. The colors were ferocious, almost defiant, in the face of death, and Palmer couldn''t help but feel a sense of awe at their resilience.

    Palmer looked down at the players running drills, little ants running coordinated attacks. "Why was this so important to them?" she thought to herself. Its importance couldn¡¯t be denied, it was everything, their whole world, little toy soldiers out to destroy the armies of rival fiefdoms. It all seemed so weird and funny to her. Thundering against one another, a fight for dominance within their own little tribe. One always rose to the top, and there he was again... their chief. Trammer and his buddies high-fiving one another, rehearsing their victory dance. What had they been victorious at? Well, she had no idea. The thought of that made her chuckle. They all started removing their helmets, the sweaty faced cavemen all snarling and cheering. Slapping each other''s asses in some homoerotic dance. And there, standing beside Ben was his number two, Glen Lantz... his brunette hair was coiffed to a degree that made it immune to the effects of his sweaty football helmet.

    "It''s probably full of that Farrah Fawcett hair spray," she thought to herself, chuckling again.

    The only thing he loved more than his hair was his car, an old cherry red wreck that he spent his days and nights trying to restore. Glen had boyish good looks, but the man inside was bursting to get out. He was strong and fast. The wide receiver, he blazed across the field, hands strong and sure. Palmer was transfixed, her gaze laser-focused. Glen looked up as if sensing her eyes upon him. Stranger eyes met for a split second and Palmer looked away, blood rushing, cheeks turning rosy red. An awkward wave crashed over her and she nervously started to gather her things.

    "Why?" she thought to herself... he has never been nice to her. Always Ben''s number two. Always along for the ride.

    "It''s in his eyes!" she thought.

    "WHITE WEDDING..." the rebel yell rang in her ears.

    She sailed through the rest of the day. A vacant ghost, her mind elsewhere, the classes blended together. Mr. Torrance was his normal zany self in Math, ranting about the universal constant of numbers. Mr. Spengler droned on in Science, talking about spores, molds, and fungi. Then there was Sex Ed, taught by Ms. Peterson, her fire-red hair, body molded from clay by Venus herself. Her class was a very popular elective for many of the kids, boys full of lust, girls full of envy. She stirred emotions across the spectrum. Above all else she made the topic accessible, her humor breaking down the walls that made the topic typically so uncomfortable. The kids worshipped her, she was a fucking legend at the Cove.

    Palmer switched off... body and mind on autopilot. She knew she couldn''t mentally handle this day and she was done with it. Whenever possible she lost herself in her music. She strolled across the yard as the waiting squadrons of yellow transports patiently waited for their occupants. There he was again, patiently waiting for his children, Fred''s leering gaze fell upon her... clearly, he wasn''t looking at her eyes.

    "Fuck this! And FUCK him!" she blurted.

    In that moment, Palmer made a snap decision to walk home, determined to avoid Fred and his menacing yellow vehicle. She quickly found Tommy in the line, informing him of her plan to walk. His response was lackadaisical, as he told her that his buddy Lawrence was coming over to play Nintendo in the dimly lit wood paneled basement. She didn''t really care, so she shrugged it off and walked away.

    As she strode past the front of the bus, Fred gave the horn a little chirp, causing her to jump in surprise. It was his way of reminding her that his eyes were still on her, and she couldn''t shake the feeling of unease that came with it.

    She threw up her middle finger in protest.

    She worked her way across the street and down the sidewalk, the chaos of the schoolyard started to fade, the sound dying away, the distant laughs of kids walking home still audible over the quiet of the neighborhood streets.

    The decorations were everywhere, Halloween was quickly approaching and the town was yearning to celebrate. As if they were appeasing some ancient God, paying homage, their reverence painted across their lawns. Pumpkins lined walkways and stacked on staircases, some still waiting to be sacrificed, others already carved, displaying their horrified anguish. Their insides had been removed, roasting slowly in ovens across the neighborhood, the smell of their organs filled the night air. It was quite morbid when you actually sat and thought about it. But that was the point... In the end, it was a dark night, when the monsters in us all came out to play.

    Palmer reached down and pressed play, the tape started to turn, music traveled through the cord to her waiting ears. Thriller pulsing in her ears...

    "How fitting," she thought to herself.

    She danced down the street, the worries of her day deposited in the concrete below¡­ disappearing with each effortless step. She thought about Ben and Laurie, they''d be there tomorrow, no point worrying about them now. They seemed insignificant compared to the questions that raced through her mind. Questions she couldn''t possibly answer, but she knew deep inside¡­ felt it in her bones. That''s when those answers did come¡­ They would change her world forever.

    "Isn''t that a rosy thought, not even a little ominous!" she joked to herself, trying to lighten her thoughts.

    "Thriller.. thriller night!" she bopped along. Once again she lost herself in the moments that passed, probably far too many moments as it took her forever to get to her destination.

    She skipped up her front walkway, their yard not nearly as decorated as the others, a stark contrast in comparison. Two lonely pumpkins sat atop the newel posts at the top of the landing leading to her front door. She blasted through the door.

    "I''m home ya little booger!" she called out.

    She could hear the electronic boops and beeps bouncing up the basement stairs. The sound of a digital dirt bike revving too long in the red.

    "Goddammit!" she heard Tommy yell.

    Opening the fridge, she retrieved some day-old leftovers. Throwing them in the oven she danced around until they were ready. She could hear the sounds accompanying the varied highs and lows of Excitebike through the basement door. The minutes passed as the sounds wormed their way through her head.

    DING.. the oven''s timer reverberated.

    "They aren''t going to die from starvation, so my work is officially done!" She retrieved the grub, shuffling it from hand to hand like a Hot Potato. She sent it sliding across the countertop. It spun down the surface of the counter, squeaking on the tile as it slid, coming to a gentle stop.

    "Tommy, Lawrence.. chows on the counter. Get it while it''s hot! Ya snooze ya lose ya little bratt!" her offering bounced down the basement stairs. The 8-bit light from the TV danced across the rec room floor. Palmer heard some grunts in response. "Good enough for me!" she thought.

    Up the stairs, she went. She straightened and fixed the pictures she had disturbed earlier this morning. She stood before the gate to her little kingdom. It was decorated with all forms of adornments, band logos, happy face stickers, Papa Smurf, Gremlins, and that little Mogwai.

    "God that Gizmo was cute!" she thought to herself, a smile crossing her face. She even had a thing for Stripe! Those damned bad boys.

    And more important than anything else¡­ a giant sign that read,

    STAY OUT!

    Palmer turned the handle and crossed the threshold into her domain. Instantly she felt better, she felt secure. She threw herself onto her bed, her stress melted away. Warm and safe. The stress of the day had been too much for her, her eyes heavy, the gravity of the events pulling down on her eye-lids. She reached over and pressed play on her Boombox. The haunting melody of Don''t Fear the Reaper drifting through the air, the melody wrapping around her. She was fighting the inevitable. Thinking about the "paper" she had to write for ''ol Stillwater.

    "Baby take my hand¡­"

    And with that, she was gone.

 Chapter Four: The Colonial

    <hr>

    Everything is black¡­ a cacophony surrounds her, begging her to open her eyes. Lightning flashes, illuminating the skeletal fingers of half dead trees which formed a cage all around. Thunder erupts with a blast so loud it causes ringing in the quiet moments between blinding strikes. Crying and moaning, desperately running towards a lonely cabin, rain falling over its old bones.

    Something grabs her hand, startled, she nearly jumps from her own skin¡­ turning, she sees a teenage boy, his voice full of false bravado. "What''s the matter Laurie, too scary? C''mon, it''s just a movie!" The boy laughed. She hears a familiar voice respond. "Ben, please¡­ honestly, why do you have to be such a jerk? Like really,"

    The gravitational pull of dread tugs at her senses¡­ The ethereal edges of this reality come into focus, she now realizes it¡¯s a movie theater, she sees shadowy outlines everywhere¡­ The audience, their heads framed by the strobing light of the screen. Strangers lean against one another, distant screams, and callous laughter.

    Her eyes forced back on the screen and she sees a young girl screaming...

    "Tommy, get the hell outta here!"

    A waterlogged and decaying slab of meat closes in... the girl slashes wildly at her attacker. Crisscrossing strikes with a worn machete, its ragged edge slicing the monster across it''s barrel chest. Labored breathing escapes through the holes of a worn and yellowed hockey mask, the only protest, the only reaction to what should be grievous pain. The monster falls like a great oak onto the young woman, forcing her down. She struggles with all her might to fight it off, slapping and clawing at the immovable monster.

    "JASON!"

    She feels a beating in her chest¡­The familiar feeling of a pounding heart, but strangely she knows it''s not her heart. It''s happening again, she''s trapped, an unknown passenger. The world around her shrouded in a soupy fog, she wonders... if I can just focus¡­ Can I hold onto the details? This has happened before, but nothing like this¡­ This was different.

    "JASON!"

    The scream shatters her focus¡­ yanking her back to the screen. Pulling her back into the reality of the vessel she was a passenger in.

    The young girl, drowning in the unbearable mass of this nightmare¡­ her strength waning when suddenly it stops. Recollection halts its relentless assault. A name¡­ it''s name¡­ the killer slowly rises, an uneasy calm washes over it¡­ driven by supernatural purpose. The music takes an eerie and unearthly turn making her feel like she''s trapped with this girl¡­ both of them drowning in fear.

    The monster turns and focuses on a small bald boy, sparse patches of hair, dark sunken eyes. This visage creates a somber recollection in the monster.

    Her host grabs the arms of her chair, she can feel the anxiety gripping her with its black tendrils. She feels everything her host feels, every emotion, every pain. She hears Ben say "c''mon he looks so stupid..." as if trying to reassure himself that it''s all just a movie. She senses contempt deep inside.

    As her focus turns back to the screen she hears the boy say "remember Jason¡­ don''t you remember?" The killer closes in, shadows sliding across the wet pale yellow mask.

    "Remember Jason!"

    The hulking maniac reaches for the small, bald, and sickly looking boy... the young girl rises behind the hulking monster, wielding vengeance in the form of cold steel. Anxiety''s grip starts to loosen as her hopes rise with the girl. The young woman attacks with a maternal fury... striking at the beast with its own tool of vengeance. The machete slashes. The mask flies free. As the killer spins to face her, the soft light of the cabin washes away the murky shadows that paint the killer''s face¡­ revealing the twisted abomination underneath. A face molded like clay by years of pain.

    The audience gasps as one, their cries and cheers echoing through the darkness. Fear takes hold as they watch in horror, seeing the girl drop her only hope, the machete rattling as it hits the ground. She recoils as the monster''s true face is revealed, the sickly-looking boy jumping down as the music crescendos. The tension is palpable as the audience watches on, each one silently begging the protagonist to survive.

    The girl screams, "no... no... no!"

    Her stammering declaration of objection, a physical manifestation of a mental negotiation. Desperate to hold the shattering walls of her reality together as she stares into the twisted face of a nightmare made of soggy decaying flesh. A nightmare who''s unbelievable existence pounds on the fabric of her reality. Looking into the eyes of the impossible, her walls start to crumble as does her ability to fight¡­ The boy grasps the weapon, the monster sensing danger spins to confront the mirror image of itself from an almost forgotten time. The nightmare reaches toward the boy, it''s fury looking to snuff out this weaker version of itself, a faint hint of sadness and recollection in its long dead eyes.

    She feels sadness, a pity for the twisted monster.

    The boy strikes. A cold wet thud fills the darkness of the theater. The machete strikes hard and deep into the gnarled face of the killer. The creature continues to move toward the boy, determination driving it forward¡­ The darkness erupts, the screams are deafening as the audience cheers.

    Fear grabs her tight, Palmer feels everything her host feels. Unable to control, only to sense the events unfolding.

    Ben, screams "Yeah, take that you fucker,"

    She sees the monster stumble once more, driven by some dark instinct, one more step before it falls. It crashes down onto its own tool of vengeance. The immense weight of its own body gives the weapon the drive to cleave deeper into its own twisted face. Jason¡¯s vulnerable head slides down the length of the blade, slicing and rending his face in two.

    She hears herself whisper "oh god!" As she sees the carnage unfold. The eye and face of the killer twitching as the weapon claims its own master... she can''t bear to watch and turns away looking down into the darkness.

    She hears Ben say to himself "How in the fuck did they do that?" And chuckles at his own incredulity.

    Her stomach turns... She leans into Ben and whispers "I''m leaving!" He responds with a cold retort

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    "Your loss babe!"

    She turns and races into the darkness. The dim lights at her feet guide her to the safety of the lobby. She sees the cone of light from the projector dancing above her head¡­ cutting like a saber through the smokey darkness. The beams'' bright elegance perverted into a dark dance; beauty turned to nightmare by the twisted mind of some unknown director.

    They emerge through the swaying doors into the lobby, clerks attentively cleaning and getting ready for the sea of people about to emerge from the theater behind her. She feels her heart start to slow as familiar sights and sounds replace the gruesome horror she had just witnessed.

    In the background, she can hear "When doves Cry" softly playing over the lobby speakers. She focuses on the familiar lyrics in a vain attempt to wash away the darkness.

    "Dig if you will¡­" the lyrics fill her thoughts. Easing her racing mind.

    As her vessel''s body moves, the two glide through the lobby, Palmer soaking in the details all around her. The movie poster for Ghostbusters hangs on the wall, featuring the iconic image of the ghostly "No Ghosts" logo. The scent of freshly popped popcorn fills the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of candy and the tang of soda. The chatter of attendants mixes with the soft murmur of the coming attraction playing on a nearby TV screen.

    Through the hazy veil, she tries to focus. What¡¯s happening... More importantly, when is it happening? Had this already happened or was this a glimpse of something else?

    The lobby is bathed in a pale orange glow, illuminated by flickering Jack o'' lanterns that leer at her through the darkness. Spiders and crude decorations hang from every surface, and she notices a poster advertising a Monster Movie Fest featuring the classic Universal Movie Monsters, their iconic images reaching out to grab her.

    It''s all about the details.

    The Colonial, she''s at the goddamned Colonial... of course! How could I be so stupid? Recollection striking hard, bringing this nightmare into the starkest focus.

    Her eyes scan the dimly lit lobby, a young girl is at the cash behind the concession stand. Above her the low hum of neon lights buzz, casting their harsh light out into the void. She looks bored. Blowing a huge Hubba Bubba bubble, it expands¡­ Bigger and bigger until the gum is almost translucent, with nothing left to give it lets out a POP, the breath that gives it life spilling out as it limply deflates over the bored girls cherry red lips. Bits of gum sticking to her plump lips, a sure sign she''s been chewing the same piece for a long time. The floor was perpetually sticky, she could feel its gentle tug on her new sneakers.

    Through the darkness, they see a dark shape. A familiar cold washes over her. The black tendrils of fear return, grasping at her. She feels the heart inside her chest start to thump again. Pumping blood and fear through her body. She knows that shape, they''ve both seen that shape before.

    Her head turns and nervously looks at her watch, the face reads 10:35, it''s the 24th.

    Details.

    The doors to the lobby burst open as a group of rowdy kids stumble in, their laughter and cheers filling the once-quiet space. The chaos spreads to every corner of the lobby as they push and jostle each other, high on the thrill of the horror movie they just watched. As she looks up, she realizes the ominous shape she had seen earlier is gone, disappearing into the night.

    Her eyes frantically scan the crowd looking for a friendly face.

    She spots Ben chatting with his friends and grimaces as he grabs at his face, mimicking the horror they had just witnessed on the screen. "Why do I put up with this idiot?" the thoughts of her host reverberate in her mind. She couldn''t agree more. With her newfound clarity, she recognizes Ben, Ben Trammer... and that can only mean one thing... "I''m Laurie," she realizes with a jolt. "Sweet baby Jesus, I''m in Laurie''s body,."

    As she navigates through the swarm of people, her slim frame barely noticeable amidst the chaos, they finally reach Ben. But he barely acknowledges their presence, too engrossed in trying to impress his friends. "I would''ve kicked that guy''s ass, bro," he boasts with false bravado.

    Details, it''s all in the details, she notices he''s wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and an orange and yellow team jacket. An emblem of a wild boar with its tusks wrapping up both sides of its snarled snout. The Razorbacks. Their school mascot.

    They all move towards the doors. Everyone''s talking about the movie they had just witnessed. Ben yelled to his buddies "he''s definitely dead this time, no way he''s coming back!" "Not this fucking time!" "NO WAY!" They all laugh.

    They burst through the grand doors of the Colonial, into the chilly night air. The bright lights of the marquee slice through the darkness, casting an eerie glow on everything around them. She shivers, feeling cold and isolated as her eyes scan the darkness for any signs of that familiar danger.

    Once again, she catches a glimpse of the shape in the distance. It looms in the darkness, so dark that even the night can''t contain it. It''s always there, lurking, watching. A feeling of unease washes over her.

    Her body pulls at Ben, Palmer hears a meek voice say "it''s 10:30, I need to get home, and I''m really scared!" Ben, annoyed that he''s not the center of attention anymore, looks down and says "babe¡­ C''mon, it''s only a movie!" "Well I need to get home, my mom is like, totally gonna kill me," he responds coolly... "well you''re going to have to call yer folks, I''m going to the park with Glen and the boys to down a coupla brews,'''' Without waiting for a response he pulls her in and gives her a wet sloppy kiss, a kiss he''s sure is the greatest kiss that''s ever been bestowed on Laurie¡¯s lips... and just like that, he turns and walks away. Yelling... "see ya, tomorrow, babe!" "Let''s go boys!" "These brewskies ain''t gonna drink themselves!" He barks to his minions.

    "What a fucking asshole," contempt-fueled words run through her mind. "What am I supposed to do now?" The crowd is already starting to dissipate, the chaos dying away as the night reclaims its stillness. She scans the darkness, but the shape is gone. Its hold on her remains.

    Across the street, they see a payphone, it''s low humming illumination, a lighthouse calling her to safety. Laurie rummages through her purse for a dime to call home. "I can''t call, they are going to totally kill me!" "I''ll be grounded for a month! All for that idiot and this stupid movie!"

    Her thoughts raced. "Mission to Elm, It''s only a 10-minute walk!" Her inner voice argued with her better judgment. Fear of punishment won the day and she hurriedly set out down the lonely street. Laurie holds herself tightly, bracing her body against the cold, dark night. Unbeknownst to her, the shape emerges once again, a spectral force sliding from one shadow to the next, far behind her.

    As they pass car after parked car, the reflections in the windows create little movie screens, replaying the events they had just witnessed. The hockey-masked killer, stalking his victims one by one. And in the next window, the shape continues to haunt them. They shake their head, trying to regain composure, and whisper to themselves, "Laurie, get a hold of yourself. It''s all in your head!"

    She focuses on what''s real, staring down at her own feet. Singing in her head

    "Wake me up before you go-go¡­¡± The words trailing off into the cold night.

    Her mind drifted to the coming Halloween dance.

    As she walks, minutes pass and an uneasy feeling grips her, like cold fingers of strange eyes on the back of her neck. She hurries and dares a quick peek over her shoulder, and there it is again - the shape, standing on the other side of a tall hedge, only perceptible due to the street light a couple of houses beyond. Terrified, she turns down the next street. Thinking to herself "I''ll cut down Roxbury, sneak through the Freeling''s yard, and bam, I''m home."

    Fear pushing her feet faster and faster. She looks back again to see the shape sliding away.

    "Don''t worry Laurie, you''re almost home..." she whispers to herself, a vain attempt to reassure her racing mind.

    Faster and faster... house after house. Finally, the Freeling''s house. "I just have to cut through and I''m home," She squeezed between the old Station Wagon and the perfectly manicured topiary, she hears Boomer, the Miller''s dog, growling barks sending out a warning to the neighborhood. Boomer¡¯s guttural alarm sounding out mere feet from where she shimmied. Nervously she looks forward, into the darkness at the side of the house. "This is it... you''ve totally got this!" she slides into the shadows... swallowed whole by it.

    Moving forward she sees her house. A calm washes over her, that calm only home can provide...

    "I made it, now that wasn''t so bad, was it?"

    The night sky opens its dark jaws momentarily, revealing the stark white moon behind.

    She looks to the right and sees the window of the door leading into the Freeling''s garage, the light of the moon reflecting and drawing her attention... Laurie sees herself reflected in the cold glass.

    Palmer, the passenger, sees herself as well, their two faces become one, layered over one another. She sees the absolute terror in Laurie''s face, a cold blank wide-eyed fear. Then her eyes focus and she sees what Laurie sees... the shape emerging from the darkness behind them. The black cold shadow of death. She sees its blank face... it''s empty eyes. Those empty eyes... always the same. Lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll''s eyes.

    It reaches out and swallows them both... unable to move, unable to speak. Its hand covers her mouth, strong like a vice, cold like the night itself. Her end has come, she sees the glint of a savage-looking blade. The light of the moon reflecting off of it for a brief second. The shape draws the blade''s edge across her neck. The cold steel sliding through her neck like a hot knife through butter. So deep she hears the sound of the knife scraping against Laurie¡¯s spine. Her warm blood flowing over her soft skin. Without a sound, the shape is gone.

    She falls to her knees... seeing her home. She crawls as her life flows from the wound in her neck. She sees her father waiting up for her, pacing on the front porch, smoke from his pipe wafting up into the night. A worried look on his loving face, coffee in hand, another on the table for her. A loving father waiting for his girl to return.

    She reaches out¡­ trying to call for her Dad. "Daddy, help me!!" Her mind screams but nothing else¡­ no words¡­ no screams. Nothing but the subtle gurgle of her last breaths mixing with the blood bubbling and foaming from her neck. Her vocal cords slashed completely, perfectly.

    She falls to the ground and the darkness takes her.

    Palmer wakes from the nightmare... grasping at her neck, her own neck. She was back in her body but the fear still gripped her tight. The pain is so real she can''t speak, she can''t scream.

    She looks at the clock... it''s midnight, the 25th... It''s too late, I''m too late. Still grasping at the pain in her throat. Tears sliding down her face. As the sadness overcomes her.

    "Laurie, Jesus... Laurie," as if saying her name aloud will call her back from the darkness. Maybe it WAS just a dream¡­ hoping her reasoning would change what she knew, what she feels to be true.

    Out in the cold dark night, the moon was once again swallowed by the black fingers of night. They shattered the stillness of Pitchford Cove, ringing out like the mournful cries of lost souls.

    The night erupts, the sirens heralding the shapes return.

 Chapter Five: Aftermath

    <hr>

    Stunned and motionless like the dead, Palmer lay there struggling with her own mind. She couldn''t wrap her head around what had just happened. But this was not her first brush with the surreal. Vivid dreams that defied explanation had always been a part of her life. Dreams so strange, so impossible, that they left her questioning her own sanity. And yet, there were moments when she would wake up knowing things she shouldn''t. She could see through time, she could sense what was hidden behind closed doors, and there wasn''t a single Christmas where she couldn''t guess what was under the tree. She knew all of Tommy''s dirty little secrets, and it disgusted her to no end. But this... this was different. This was too real, too painful. She was there, feeling everything as if it were happening to her. Or was she? Was it all just a figment of her imagination, a trick of her own mind? Nothing made sense anymore. "There''s no way that happened, it''s all in my head. It has to be."

    The events of her "dream" slithered back into her conscious mind like a pack of rabid dogs, tearing at her sanity. The feeling of cold steel across her neck, the sound of her own blood gurgling from the wound... It was too much to bear.

    "Oh god, Laurie... you were a bitch, but Jesus you didn''t deserve that!" she muttered to herself, her voice trembling with fear and disbelief.

    "Maybe it didn''t happen... maybe it was just a dream. All of it... just a bat-shit crazy, fucking dream!" she repeated, the words falling from her lips like a desperate prayer. "The sirens, probably just a coincidence. Maybe just a car accident... Dr. Mixter had a few too many and yeah, just a simple, everyday, run of the mill fender bender. Or maybe someone broke into Old Man Vincent''s Drug store," she continued, her mind grasping for any shred of logic or reason. But deep down, she knew the truth.

    Palmer reached out and turned the knob of her little RCA television, the harsh click of the dial echoing through the room. The cold plastic and glass body sparked to life with a slight pop and fizzle, instantly turning into a window, a portal to the outside world. The image of Dr. Morbius in his macabre dungeon of terror splashed onto the screen, the mad doctor introducing tonight''s feature presentation with an eerie grin.

    "Not now Doc!" she muttered.

    CLICK - CLICK - CLICK

    Palmer''s desperate flipping through the channels had only brought her closer to the inevitable. Each click of the remote felt like a jab to her already rattled nerves. It was as if the universe was conspiring against her, taunting her with every colorful display of mundane programming.

    But when Channel 6 flickered to life with those foreboding words, she knew it was all over. The breaking news was a grim confirmation of her worst fears. She felt a gnawing sensation in her gut, a darkness taking hold.

    As she turned up the volume, the voice on the screen seemed distant, almost drowned out by the thumping of her own heartbeat. The warning repeated like a mantra, each word hammering home the severity of the situation.

    "... police are advising everyone to lock their doors and windows. This is a public service announcement. No details have been released, only that the public are being advised to again, I repeat, lock all your doors and windows!"

    Palmer ran to the window and saw the flashing lights a couple of streets over. "Right where Elm would be!" she thought. She saw lights coming closer, the red and blue lights painted across the sleepy houses. A police cruiser turned down her street, creeping slowly down her block, house by house, searchlight shining up and down the street. Piercing the darkness that shrouded the once peaceful neighborhood. She still clung to the faint hope that it had all been a terrible dream.

    Her bedroom door blasted open. Palmer almost jumped out of her skin.

    "Palmer!" Her mom''s voice, nervous yet sure, said. "What are you doing out of bed?" her question, a vain attempt at painting normalcy over the current situation.

    "Have you not seen the news or all the lights?" Palmer shot back, shaken and angry that she was pretending that nothing was wrong.

    "I know sweetie, your Dad is downstairs making sure everything is alright¡­" the sound of her voice, it was so warm and soothing. ¡°Back to bed with you, everything will be alright in the morning!" her tone was so insistent, a concentrated effort to convince both of them.

    But... They shared the same feeling, that things were going to be anything but normal from now on.

    Palmer''s mother glided towards the bedroom window with an otherworldly grace, reminiscent of a gothic specter from an old Hammer Horror film. The distant streetlights illuminated her blonde hair, which framed her angelic features. Her slight figure, barely visible under her white nightie, seemed to blend into the shadows. Palmer had seen pictures of her Mom at 16, and they could have been twins. With a click of the remote, the TV flickered off, the image collapsing into a single bright dot of light. The TV continued to hum, residual energy coursing through its circuits and capacitors.

    Palmer retreated under the covers of her bed, and her mother''s presence enveloped her in a childlike comfort. Despite being well past the point where she needed to be tucked in, Palmer''s mother instinctively tucked her in, as if they both needed the reassurance of the gesture.

    "Get some rest, I''ll see you in the morning," she said as she disappeared through the door out into the darkness. The door closed gently behind her and just as it was about to shut it popped back open. A familiar head popped into view. His glasses reflecting the light coming from the window, Palmer chuckled at his messy black hair. "Night kiddo!" her father''s voice made her feel safe. He made a funny face, scrunched it all up, and stuck out his tongue,  he always made her smile.. and just like that he was gone and the door gently shut, it clicked as it latched into place.

    Palmer laid there for what seemed like an eternity. The events of the day running through her head over and over, question after question occupying every thought. Eventually, she drifted away. Sleep, that elusive mistress, always taunting with her seductive embrace. She comes for us all, in the end.

    Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep... her alarm droning on and on. Beckoning her back from the night''s embrace.

    "...it''s 7:58 Pitchford, and this is your main man, Rockin Ricky Rialto, bringing you the greatest hits of ¡®84,"

    She pawed at her Boombox, she wasn''t having any of Rockin'' Ricky''s shit this morning. Palmer slowly rose and shambled down the hallway to the bathroom. Palmer pulled back the shower curtain, the metal rings scraping on the old tarnished curtain rod. Fine blonde hairs on Palmer''s arm stood up.  She reached down and turned on the water, it burst forth with a whoosh, splashing on the porcelain tub.

    She removed her top, pulling it over her head, revealing her naked vulnerable form. Even though she was alone, she felt shy and nervous, quickly jumping behind the privacy of the shower curtain. Water, still on the cold side, shocked her body as they came into contact. She took a deep breath in, bracing herself from the cool water. She let out a little yelp. The water started to warm, the molecules dancing together, it fell over her like rain. Her mind drifted back to her dreamworld, that warm summer rain running over her body, it was a nice distraction from what had been occupying her mind of late. But her visitor carried with him a darkness that always left an unmistakable stain on her¡­

    Bang, Bang, Bang... startled, Palmer started to panic. She reached for the shower curtain, pulling it close like a vinyl shield, she heard the door open slightly. Embarrassed, she retreated further until she was pressed against the cool tiles that surrounded the old porcelain tub, convinced that the unknown intruder could already see her.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Palmer''s mother''s voice pierced the hazy fog of the bathroom.

    "Palmer, what are you doing in there.. you''re going to be late for school! Are you okay?" The words hung in the fog, drifting through the misty air, waiting to be heard.

    Collecting herself, Palmer called back in a shaken mousey tone. "Yeah mom, I''m done, I''ll be down in a minute!"

    Palmer''s mother closed the door, the bathroom was hers again. She quickly washed, scrubbing vigorously, trying to shake free the feeling of grime and darkness that had taken hold of her. The water symbolically washing it away, she pictured it circling the drain and disappearing. She pulled back the curtain and stepped into the misty bathroom, the cold tile floor uncomfortable on her small feet. "Back to reality!" she thought to herself. She wrapped a black towel around her flawless body, leaning on the vanity, she tried to regroup. She reached forward and wiped the water from the vanity mirror, her emerald eyes reflected in the soupy depths before her. Palmer almost didn''t recognize what was staring back at her, her familiar green eyes started to swirl and change, creamy Jade turning to a murky black. Shocked, Palmer jumped back...

    "What the fuck is going on?" she thought to herself. "Overtired, yeah¡­ that¡¯s gotta be it, I''m just overtired¡­ a nice and simple explanation... it''s all because of that fucking dream!"

    "PALMER!" she heard her mother calling again.

    "I''m COMING!¡± Palmer yelled back in response. ¡°Jesus, Mom¡­ Have a cow why don¡¯t you!¡± She muttered under her breath.

    She gathered her things and moved into the hall, the crisp air of the house hit her hard. She could hear "Crystal Ship" by the Doors echoing through the house, the haunting song sailed the currents of the air down the hallway.

    She quickly got ready. Same old clothes, suiting up into her armor, it''s just another day¡­ trying to convince herself. She marched down the stairs, her brother rummaging through his shit, a tiny goblin feverishly sorting through his secret horde of treasure.

    "What does he have in there?" she thought to herself.

    Palmer''s mother stood there, her blonde hair shining in the morning light. She was radiant, always shining despite the gray mundane world around her, she was a beacon. Today was no exception, Palmer could see the murk of the morning light through the elliptical transom above the front door. Its gloom-filled her with a foreboding. The world outside seemed to be mourning, a thick fog blanketing everything.

    "Palmer, are you sure you¡¯re okay?" her sweet caring voice called out. "I''m going to give the two of you a ride this morning!" Her motherly instincts taking control, a subconscious need to guard her children.

    "Is that my girl I hear?" her dad''s voice calling down the hall, a friendly beckoning. She marched down the hall into the kitchen, it was a symphony of smells and sounds, a place where family and love came together in perfect harmony. The oven was alive with the sizzle of breakfast, the radio filling the air with melodies that danced around the room. Palmer''s father sat at the head of the table, his face hidden behind the morning paper, but his love and warmth radiated out from him like a beacon. When he finally lowered the paper, his face broke into a wide, stubbly grin. "How''s my little Palm Tree this morning?" he asked, using one of the many nicknames he had for her. He always said that the palm trees on the beach were one of the most beautiful things in the world, something so vibrant and alive sprouting from the dry and unforgiving sand. And she, his daughter, was his little miracle, a living embodiment of that beauty. It was silly, but it always made her smile, a deep, fulfilling smile that spread through her like sunshine on a cloudy day.

    "I''m doin good Pop!" she responded. "Any word about what happened last night?" Palmer asked her Dad.

    "No, not really... I''m sure it''s nothing to worry about!" always trying to protect her. "I''ll be around today, going to do some work from home!" he said. She knew he had to be nervous about something though since he wanted to be so close. He looked at her from across the table, as if sensing her worry. He lowered the paper "Kiddo, are you... okay? You know you can always talk to me!" he said... she truly felt like she could, but how could he understand what had been happening to her. "It''s all so impossible!" she thought to herself. She looked into his green spectacle-covered eyes. They were gentle yet strong, they shared those same eyes, yet she hadn''t found her strength yet. Palmer started to open up, preparing to open the locked doors that kept her secrets hidden away.

    "Dad... I..." the words starting to take shape in a whispered tone. The locks of her hesitation clicking and releasing.

    "Palmer... it''s time to go grab your stuff! The train is leaving the station," Her mother called down the hall.

    "Shit, dad... I mean shoot, time to go... I''ll have to take a rain check on the ol'' heart to heart," She grabbed some toast and shot up from the table, bumping it slightly. Her father reached out to secure his coffee, it sloshed back and forth in his #1 Dad mug.

    A look of slight disappointment crossed the old man¡¯s face, his eyes betraying a hint of sadness. Their heart to hearts had been few and far between lately, a byproduct of growing up. It seemed like only yesterday when they would spend hours talking about everything under the sun, but now, with each passing day, their conversations have become shorter and more superficial. He missed those days when she was still his little girl.

    "Anytime kiddo, just remember, you''ll always be my little Palm Tree!" he said lovingly. And at that moment he noticed her wearing the Maiden t-shirt he had given her... he dropped one corner of his paper and flashed her the devil horns. "Kick some ass out there today kiddo!" his words punctuated with a sly wink.

    "If only I knew how," she thought. But it made her feel good, his faith filled her with hope.

    "You know it, Pops!" calling back as she spun and rushed down the hall. Munching on the perfectly toasted slice of Wonder Bread. Mom and Tommy were already walking out the door, out into the gloomy fog filled morning. The mist, so thick, it seemed to almost swallow them up, they had already begun to disappear, black forms drifting away into nothingness. The smokey tendrils of the fog started to creep across the threshold into their warm safe home. Palmer rushed forward, anxious to stop its intrusion, she hesitated for a moment, then stepped across the threshold into the mist. Pulling the old door closed behind her, it slammed, severing the intruders off from their source, they withered and dissipated into nothing.

    The morning was eerily still, the fog hung heavy across the neighborhood. As a result of the cold night mixing with the warm light of the day, its dark presence hung heavy on the world, billowing darkness refusing to let go. Palmer heard the engine thunder to life, shattering the still morning. The AMC Eagle Station Wagon roared, exhaling its first breath, blowing the billowing darkness further away. The oil pushed through its veins, a trusty iron steed, preparing to transport them safely to their destination. As she walked around the hood of the car, the great steed''s eyes opened, light piercing the morning fog, Palmer could see her shadow painted across the mist.

    She opened the door, a slight creak was the only sound, her mother and brother laughing about something. Palmer sunk into the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt across her, she engaged it with a satisfying click.

    "Alright...  and we are off!" her mother said playfully.

    "It''s about time!" Tommy chirped from the back seat. Driving his knee into the back of Palmer¡¯s seat.

    Palmer looked back and Tommy was staring at her; his beady eyes glaring, his comment was directed at her. The radio was droning on, some ad for Lebay¡¯s Used Car Emporium¡­ ¡°We get it Crazy Al, nobody beats your prices,¡± Instinctively she switched the station, Palmer could hear her mother muttering in vain protest. The speakers erupted with the familiar voice of Rockin'' Ricky.

    "... greatest hits of ¡®84," that voice, the stereotypical radio DJ, like if you looked up disc jockey in the dictionary, there he¡¯d be¡­ Rockin¡¯ Ricky. "It''s a gloomy morning drive Pitchford. Danno, our local weatherman somehow missed this fog, it was supposed to be a beautiful morning out there in ¡®Ol Pitchford Cove," Palmer could hear the muffled sound of him rummaging through his desk. "...the local P.D wanted me to reiterate, report any unusual activity and above all else, stay safe out there," his voice taking a more somber tone. "Seriously guys and gals, Rockin'' Ricky wants you to play it safe out there... up next, we have a double shot of  the Cars, starting it all off with Stranger Eyes... next on the Rockin'' Ricky Morning Show"

    The rhythm took hold of Palmer, its thumping beats reverberating through her body. Synthesizers moaned like a chorus of ghosts, their otherworldly wails stirring something deep within her. Ric Ocasek''s distinctive voice slithered its way through the melody, like a snake weaving through the grass. Palmer''s foot tapped uncontrollably, her body swaying to the music.

    As the car rolled through the quiet streets, life began to stir in the homes around them. Doors creaked open, and children spilled out onto the sidewalk, clutching backpacks and lunch boxes. Parents trailed behind, their faces still heavy with sleep. Palmer watched them with a sense of detachment, feeling as though she were observing them through a thick fog.

    Her breath fogged up the window, and she traced patterns with her finger, lost in thought.

    "What would school be like? Maybe she''d get there and Laurie would be her normally bitchy self, sitting like the queen of homeroom." optimism took over. "It really was all just a dream!" she thought hopefully. She noticed a couple of officers talking to a group of parents up ahead. She imagined they were talking about the neighborhood watch, regurgitating the typical Halloween safety speeches, don¡¯t eat any opened candy, blah, blah, blah... As the wagon zoomed closer, the huddled group of parents and police came into line with her finger, this alignment brought her doodle into focus. A pair of eyes staring back at her¡­ Palmer swiped at it, erasing all evidence of the strange doodle''s existence.

    ¡°...I need your touch," Ocasek''s voice hauntingly called.

    The AMC Eagle soared down the road, its brakes groaning and squeaking as the wagon started to slow down, headlong into destiny. Palmer''s eyes turned forward, peering down the road ahead of them, into her future. There was congestion up ahead, pedestrians crossed the street, and cars slowed to a crawl. "We''re coming up on Elm!" she thought, her heart growing heavy, her veins swelling with each beat of her forlorn heart. Traffic slowly cruised down the road, and despite not wanting to look, she had to. As they came into line with Elm, she craned her neck to get a better look. She saw what remained - a couple of police cruisers, black and white, with their red lights perched atop, swirling and diffusing into the foggy morning air. Police tape cordoned off the area, but one of the lines had broken, and its tattered edge flapped in the wind, eerily blowing it into the street. A crowd had gathered, their dark silhouettes standing like ghosts, silent witnesses to what was coming.

    The dots connected, one point after the next until the reality of what she was looking at ignited her consciousness, her eyes shot forward. Trying to process the sight. Her stomach sank, she reached up and felt her throat. Palmer''s eyes wide, staring blankly ahead. She was shaken, her lungs filled as she gasped. She knew without a doubt, there was no more pretending, no more denying.

    "Palmer, it''ll be okay!" her mother''s voice, small and distant.

    She felt her mom''s soft hand touch her arm, pulling her back from the edge.

    "It was all real... it wasn''t a dream!" Palmer said coldly.

    "What the fuck is happening?"

 Chapter Six: The Passenger

    <hr>

    The AMC Eagle glided through the neighborhood, its windows splashed with the warm glow of autumn leaves. Palmer gazed out at the peaceful scenery, lost in thought. Tommy and their mother''s playful banter seemed distant and far away, but their raucous laughter cut through the fog and brought her back to the present moment. Her eyes scanned ahead, and the Cove''s imposing presence filled her view, drawing in kids and school buses like a gravitational force. It was a massive, black hole, devouring everything in its path.

    As they approached the Cove, the Eagle began to slow down, navigating through a sea of kids and buses criss-crossing the street like ants. Yellow buses lined the road, their doors opening and disgorging students into the yard. Palmer''s mother carefully guided the car through the chaos, like a ship navigating treacherous waters. Finally, a gap appeared in the traffic, and she seized her chance to unload her precious cargo.

    "There ya go guys... now both of you have a wonderful day. I''ll be back to pick you up after school,"

    "Ya mom," Tommy muttered. His door was already open, rushing out towards his huddled minions. The car door slammed behind him, the clang and rattle of metal punctuating his exit.

    Palmer sat there for a moment... The music from the Rockin'' Ricky show filled her ears.

    "Ms. Stillwater," she thought to herself... " Dammit, she hadn''t finished that stupid assignment," the realization lighting the fire of anxiety within her. All the madness of the last couple of days, her dreams¡­the bus, everything, it all raced through her mind, scattering her thoughts. Her heart raced, the pace of her breathing quickened. The thought of needing that stupid homework assignment seemed like such an irrational worry, but Palmer was trying desperately to cling to normalcy, to cling to what she knew to be true, to be real. Then out of nowhere, she felt her mother''s hand on hers, that gentle touch, it grounded her. That anchoring touch was followed by a soft and soothing voice.

    "Palmer... Hunny¡­calm down, everything is going to be okay. You''re stronger than you think... You''ve got the best parts of your Dad and me. Whatever is bothering you, you can rise above," her words resonated... cutting through her scattered thoughts, anchoring her. A mother''s instinct was truly an amazing thing, she knew exactly what to say, and when to say it. Palmer reached over, placing her hand on her mother''s. Everything just started to slow down.

    "Thanks, Mom¡­ I''ve got this," she said. Her confidence grew by the second.

    "What other choice did she have?" she thought to herself.

    She patted her mom''s hand, sealing the silent pact that they had just made. The fact that Palmer wasn''t going to give up... that she was going to get through all of this. She put her trusty headphones on, reached down and pressed play... Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees filling her ears, a smile crossed Palmer''s face...

    "I''ve got this," she thought to herself.

    Palmer stepped out of the wagon and she looked back at her mom while shutting the door. Palmer couldn''t hear the words, but she could make them out, clear as day¡­ "Love you!" Palmer smiled in response.

    Confidently she turned away from the car, making her way confidently toward the crowds. Normally she''d be trying to evade Laurie and all the bullshit that went along with that, deep down inside she wished she¡¯d see her, hoping for a little of that nonsense today. The funny thing, normally she''d be dodging people, making herself as small as possible, but not today, the crowd reacted and parted before her. The recent events playing through her head. Like what had happened on the School Bus, how the seat had ripped like that... there was a power inside her. She didn''t need to be afraid of it, she should embrace it.

    "Maybe it''s a gift," Palmer thought, feeling a rush of triumph. "Somehow, someway, it must be a gift. She was different, unique, and finally special." The thought echoed through her mind, filling her with a sense of pride and purpose. "The best parts of her parents," she mused, remembering her mother''s words. "Two amazing parts coming together to make something greater."

    She moved through the crowd purposefully, the faces of her classmates looking back at her. There was Mikey Walsh, then Tommy and his friends... face after face. She saw Ben roughing up Lawrence Cohen, processing things in the only way his neanderthal brain would let him, through violence. Glen was trying to pull him off the poor kid, grabbing at him futilely. By chance their eyes met again, his features always mesmerized her. The way his hair swept across his face, his eyes.

    "Why does he go along with Ben''s bullshit..." she always wondered. Without processing the passage of time, she realized she had been staring at Glen for far too long. Palmer studied his face and at that moment he smiled at her. Her heart raced, barely able to contain herself, she hesitantly returned a shy smile. Suddenly her forward momentum halted, the force knocking her headphones free. Palmer had walked straight into someone, startled, her eyes shot forward, an apology already forming on her lips. Before her stood Laurie.

    Her face was ashen, her eyes vacant and lifeless, devoid of any spark or animation. The vitality that had once defined her had been snuffed out, like a flame in the wind. All that remained were dying embers, barely perceptible in the darkness. Her lips parted, and a guttural sound emanated from deep within her, as if struggling to break free from the confines of death. Palmer stood frozen, unable to move or speak, as the corpse continued to groan and wheeze, its icy breath chilling her to the bone. The groaning grew louder and more intense, until it became a piercing, soul-rending wail, like that of a banshee.

    "YOU LET ME DIE," the corpse screeched. The scream, so loud, so awful.

    Palmer tried to fight, tried to move, but all she could do was shut her eyes. And just like that, as quickly as it had erupted, the banshee''s wail was gone. She could move again, her eyes opened cautiously, peering through the tiniest of slits to ensure the coast was clear. She was standing alone in the sea of people. Palmer felt a hand on her shoulder, terror took hold of her again¡­ ¡°What do you want?¡± She screamed.

    ¡°I just wanna make sure you¡¯re okay¡­¡± She found Glen standing beside her, his comforting hand on her shoulder. They just stood there, eyes locked.

    BBBBBDDDDDDDDDRRRRRRIIIIINGGGGG

    The first-period bell rang out across the yard. Conversations halted, bags retrieved from wherever they had been thrown, the crowd started to shamble toward the stairs.

    "Are you¡­ okay?" Glen asked, his voice sure and strong, between the vowels was a heavy dose of concern.

    Palmer stammered, unable to form words, the best she could manage at that moment was a shy smile. She touched his hand and moved away. Not sure what to say, not even sure what had just happened. She returned her headphones to their rightful station, the baseline of Halloween by Siouxsie and the Banshees strumming in her ears. The music helped her to regain her composure. She looked forward, eyes raising to the monstrous maw of the school, standing amidst the crowd was Laurie again. A patiently waiting wraith. Palmer marched forward, convinced she was just another strange manifestation of whatever was changing within her, or just an effigy of the guilt she felt. Closer and closer she moved towards the specter, she clenched her fists, knuckles turned white around the straps of her backpack¡­ Bracing herself, she moved confidently forward, right past the apparition, her eyes locked with Laurie''s soulless orbs. Palmer took a few more strides and looked back over her shoulder, the empty faces of her schoolmates stared blankly at her. The shade was gone.

    "Well isn¡¯t this¡­ isn¡¯t this is just awesome," she thought to herself.

    The great hall opened before her, she headed to her first period. The PA system chirped to life, a hollow voice droned on about the day''s planned events with a special message tacked onto the end. ¡°The faculty earnestly reminded any students who needed to talk, that Mr. Shoop will be ready and available,¡± Everyone loved Mr. Shoop, so his office would definitely be packed today, for those who actually needed him, and for those just looking to duck outta class.

    Palmer''s next few periods moved forward uneventfully, everyone seemed a little laid back, the normal chaos of the school day was muted. There had been no official statement about Laurie and what had happened, but her empty seat was all the statement they needed, a deafening declaration.

    Lunch had arrived and Palmer blindly walked the halls, she found herself near Laurie''s locker, a crowd had gathered. The whole hallway was packed, she even saw her little brother a ways down, all had gathered to witness the scene. The locker was covered in notes, she imagined they consisted of well wishes, vain attempts by many to curry favor in case of Laurie''s miraculous return. As Palmer passed she made no attempt to add her own message, Laurie''s friends eyed her hard, muttering and scheming amongst themselves.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    "If looks could kill," she thought to herself¡­ ¡°I¡¯d be dead where I stand,¡±

    As she moved further down the hall, she heard the word "BITCH!" ring out behind her, but it didn''t faze her. Yesterday it might have, but today, she had bigger fish to fry. Speaking of bigger fish, Ben Trammer came lumbering around the corner in front of her, pushing through the crowd, his eyes locked onto Tommy, who was blissfully unaware of what was coming. Palmer sensed danger; the theme from Jaws played in her head as she watched him push through the waves of kids. Instinctively, she moved to intercept. Ben shoved Tommy hard, and he slid across the floor, his books flying in all directions. Palmer bent over to help him up, looking lovingly at his round little face. With a nod, he assured her he was fine, and she shot up to face Ben.

    Her heart was racing, but she stood her ground, unflinching as Ben''s hulking frame towered over her. She could feel his hot breath on her face as he leaned in, his eyes narrowed to slits. She didn''t back down, staring him down with a fierce determination that surprised even herself. For a moment, they stood there in silence, locked in a tense standoff.

    "What the fuck do you think you''re doing Ben," Palmer exploded, her voice had never roared like that before.

    Ben stared at her for a moment, clearly confused and shocked by her aggression. He looked over at his cronies, laughing.

    "Anything I want," he shot back. "Who the FUCK is going to stop me? You? You''re just a stupid - little - slut," he grabbed her hard by the arms. She groaned in protest. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Glen''s reaction... he moved to intervene, but unsure of how without upsetting the balance. Ben pulled her close and went to lick her face again.

    "NEVER GAIN," Palmer screamed. She kneed him as hard as she could, right square in the balls. Her knee landed hard and destructively accurate. Funny enough, she didn''t feel much there... Ben collapsed, instead of retreating she stood over him, stunned for a moment by what she had just done. "Maybe the rumors were true¡­" she thought to herself, chuckling uncontrollably.

    As Ben lifted her off her heels, Palmer''s body trembled with fear and adrenaline. The sudden shove propelled her backward, and she flew through the air, crashing down onto the hard tile floor. The impact jolted through her, pain radiating up her spine as she slid across the slick surface. But it was her anger that burned the brightest, fueled by years of torment and humiliation at the hands of bullies like Ben.

    Glen appeared between them, trying to reason with Ben, but Palmer''s rage consumed her. She could feel the floor vibrating under her, and the anger that had been simmering inside her all these years exploded from her palms. The tiles cracked and shattered, and her power reached down into the very foundation of the school.

    At that moment, Palmer was done taking it. She was done feeling small and powerless. She would no longer be a victim of their abuse and shame. With a fierce determination, she rose to her feet, her eyes blazing with a newfound strength.

    Ben and his cronies had given her a reason to fight, and now they would face the consequences of their actions. Even luck couldn''t save them from her power. They would learn that there was a price to pay for their cruelty, and Palmer was more than willing to make them pay it.

    She shot up, crossing the distance in a heartbeat. Glen stood between them, bracing Ben from moving any closer to Palmer. She could see the shock in Ben''s eyes, she''d never stood up for herself before, the odd snarky insult, but he could see she was done with it all, that she had had enough. A slimy smile returned to his face, he had to take control of the situation again and in his tiny mind the best he could muster was another tiny insult.

    "What are you going to do little girl? Look at the two of you, Glen¡¯s here to protect you," his voice made her angrier.

    "I don''t need anyone to protect me," Palmer shot back.

    She grabbed Glen''s shoulder, the moment she touched him, she could sense the concern he had for her. She was aware of what he was feeling deep down, briefly they were connected. Glen turned and looked at her, the look in his eyes told her he could feel her as well. That hesitation gave Ben his opening to push past Glen, he grabbed a hold of her again, bearing down on her like a monster. This time something was different, there was a strength there that had never been before. Palmer grounded herself, just as she did while she was sliding across the linoleum, Ben couldn''t move her, try as he might, she wasn''t moving, she was done moving.

    Ben stood there, dumbfounded, confusion etched all over his face. He looked back, trying desperately to make sense of the situation and see if Glen was holding him. His thoughts mixed with Palmer''s, and she could feel his anger, his confusion, she could see into his mind, his memories of Laurie, deep dark secrets, each one open to her, his mind laid bare. Beneath all his bravado, there was fear, a deep-seated fear that he always kept hidden. And she was going to take advantage of it.

    Palmer started to assault his mind, preying on his weaknesses, rooting through his memories to find what made him feel small, the images of his deadbeat father and the abuse he endured. She grew in power, overpowering him, and could see the dread in his eyes. However, she suddenly heard a voice in her head, and it was Laurie. The sound of it softened her assault, causing her to pause and reconsider her actions.

    "He''s just sad and confused, he feels guilty for letting me go, for not being there for me," the spectral voice echoed in Palmer''s mind.

    Palmer''s anger started to wane, she could see it in Ben, she could see the last time he saw Laurie from Ben''s perspective, her small form standing in front of him, her eyes begging him not to let her go alone. Palmer could feel the shame filling him.

    Palmer could see the specter of Laurie standing beside them, her cold skin, dead eyes. ¡°Palmer let Ben go,¡± the connection severed instantly. As her rage subsided, her thoughts scattered again, self-doubt crawled back, questions muddied her emotions¡­ It was too hard to focus.

    "What the hell is happening," she thought, the potential answer to that question no longer frightening. Admittedly she couldn''t deny that she liked it, and was growing fond of finally feeling powerful.

    "Look who''s the bully now, look how much you enjoyed that, you wanted to destroy him? Didn¡¯t you?" The croaking words of Laurie''s corpse filled her mind.

    The shame and reality of the deceased''s statement shook her. Palmer braced herself, expelling the voice from her mind.

    "You''re dead, you''re not real, get out of my head!"

    The thought blasted the specter apart, shattering into pieces like sand. As its form dissipated, Glen''s face came into focus, standing before her. Palmer could see Ben retreating down the hall, shoving kids as he went, desperately trying to regain control and dominance. He yelled for Glen, beckoning for his number two to come to his aid.

    "Are you okay?" she heard Glen''s voice call to her. Again she felt his reassuring touch on her arm.

    "Yeah, yeah... I''m good!" Palmer noticed their connection was gone. She couldn''t feel anything more than the soft warmth of his touch. But what she felt, what they felt lingered between them, it was palpable.

    "GLEN," Ben yelled down the hall.

    Glen looked back, she could see the hesitation. She could see the conflict in him, but there was an expectation, a hierarchy, he''d risked it by helping her, he''d upset the balance.

    "I - I really gotta go," he said quietly. He gently squeezed her arms. His subtle way of saying ¡°sorry,¡± Spinning, he raced down the hall.

    "Tommy," Palmer thought to herself.

    She looked around and saw him down the hall with his friends. "He''s clearly alright," she thought to herself. As she was looking at him, he turned and smiled at her. It made her feel better that he was alright. She reached down and collected her things, the stares of the crowd still lingered, the gossip had already started, the hushed tone of whispers had already started to travel, mutating, and changing with each retelling.

    Palmer started down the hallway to her next class, her mind wandered, losing herself once more in thought. Palmer could feel something scratching at her, she could feel Laurie''s voice growing inside her mind again. She resisted, pushed it down and away. But it pushed back, refusing to be silenced. Palmer could feel the scratching, the clawing, the whisper growing, the croaking moan of the corpse. It was deep inside her, and it wanted out.

    The whisper turned into a scream¡­ a scream that threatened to fracture her mind.

    "I''m a part of you now," the words were cold, they infected her.

    Palmer turned the corner, staring down the next hallway she stood frozen in terror, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to move, but her legs wouldn''t budge. The lights flickered and went out one by one, and the sound of electricity crackling filled the air. It was as if time itself had stopped, and everything was trapped in an endless moment of darkness.

    Suddenly, a cold, sticky liquid dripped onto her hand, and she recoiled in disgust. More droplets followed, splashing onto her cheek, her arm, and her clothes. The liquid was thick and heavy, and it smelled like iron.

    As the last seconds of the clock ticked away, the darkness engulfed the hallway, and Palmer was plunged into a void of blackness. It was a darkness so complete, so absolute, that she could feel it wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. And then, slowly, the darkness began to give way to a sickly red glow. The light was dim and murky, casting eerie shadows on the walls and the floor.

    It was then that she noticed the rain of blood. The liquid was falling all around her, coating everything in a thick layer of crimson. The walls, the floor, and even the frozen students were all covered in the sticky, red substance.

    "Blood¡­ it was fucking blood!" she cried aloud.

    The walls appeared to be pulsating with the blood raining down upon them, as if the entire world had turned into a throbbing, living, breathing organism. The sound of the croaking, the crackling, grew louder as Laurie, twisted and contorted by the pain of being trapped between worlds, shuffled towards Palmer. The crimson rain seemed to avoid her, as if it was repulsed by her undead form. With each step, her bones creaked and cracked, the sound like splintering wood. Palmer was unable to move, transfixed by the horror before her. The corpse flickered in and out of existence, as if it was caught between two dimensions, until it stood before her, its icy grip clasping her face. Palmer could feel its cold seeping into her, infecting her mind with its putrid thoughts.

    "You - and I - we are one now, the whole world will be covered in blood if we don''t stop him," Laurie¡¯s dead voice filled her mind.

    "You can''t get rid of me... I can''t move on until he is stopped. I''m trapped¡­ what''s left of me is inside you now, help me¡­ help us all," the voice pleaded with Palmer.

    The specter vanished and all the students were staring at her, mouths unnaturally agape, fingers crooked and broken pointing towards her.

    "HELP US ALL!" they roared in unison.

    Tiiiiccck¡­ tiicck.. tick. The second hand was moving again. The hallway bustled with activity once more, the students broke free of the dream that had held them. But Palmer still stood there, shaken.

    "It was all a figment of her imagination, a daydream" she started to reason with herself. She instantly spun around, not wanting anything to do with what''s down that way.

    Laurie''s lamenting face stopped her dead in her tracks.

    "This isn''t a dream," the words blasted in Palmer''s head.

    She collapsed to the floor, her world went black.

    Palmer''s eyes opened, she was back in the hallway but this time it was different. The walls were covered in the faint flickering darkness, the floor, covered in a frigid shadowy mist. The cold all around pulled at her, stealing her light, her warmth.. little by little, swallowing her.

 Chapter Seven: The Veil

    <hr>

    She knew where she was, but when¡ªthat was a much harder thing to pin down. The hallway was familiar yet alien, as if different versions of itself existed simultaneously. But one thing was painfully obvious: it was cold, so very cold, her breath hanging frozen in the air before her. She braced herself, folding and rubbing her arms, generating and preserving what little warmth she had. That warmth was precious, she could feel it seeping out of her pores, as though this place was consuming it.

    She looked around, the striking familiarity of this place constantly shifting to a strange and twisted doppelganger of itself. A banner for the upcoming dance stretched across the hall, but it shimmered, pulsating as it changed. One moment it was the Monster Mash, the next it was the Harvest Dance of ''54. These changes seemed to happen in waves, rippling down the length of the hallway. The pulsating reminded Palmer of the corded muscles of a snake''s esophagus, flexing as it digests its prey¡ªonly this place seemed to digest time.

    She stood motionless, frozen in disbelief. Her mind tried in vain to make heads or tails of this place. It was like what you imagined existed in the darkness under your bed... It was a version of her world that lived on the other side of some dark veil. A veil that blocked out all light, all warmth... leaving nothing but the shadows of what had been. In the distance, she heard the cawing of ravens, a haunting sound echoing through this void. She searched for the source, peering out into the mist, and then she realized: the shapes were everywhere.

    Fear started to take hold of her, gripping her tightly, fingers tightening around her throat, making it hard to breathe. One of the shapes came towards her, breaking through the fog, passing by her close enough for her to feel it, goosebumps forming on her flesh. Its features came into focus¡ªa kid... it was just a kid. Palmer knew she''d seen that face a thousand times before. It was Johnny Jones, but he was dead, having died in a tragic accident on the football field back in the ''60s. The school and the whole damn community had been devastated; they even created a little shrine, a memorial that still stood to this day in the trophy case. She passed that little shrine every day on her way to the gym. His features were burned into her memory, but to her utter disbelief, there he went, his face cold and gray, but it was him¡ªit was definitely him. Curiosity pulled her forward, and she moved towards another one of the shapes. Another kid... they were all students, or they had been. They moved aimlessly down the hall, their spectral forms barely registering her presence, barely registering anything for that matter. Like this place, the specters seemed temporally unhinged. It was crazy¡ªshe could make out fashions from at least three different decades.

    An uneasiness washed over her. She could feel something else in the darkness, as if she were being watched. Not everything here was oblivious; there was something, something deep in the mist that was keenly aware of her presence. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark shape, moving faster than all the others. Palmer spun, her head darting quickly from left to right, trying to catch a glimpse of what she thought she saw. Whatever it was, it had left a dark, rippling wake in the mist. Fear took hold, and she felt those fingers tightening again, instinctively bracing herself tighter. There was no choice; she had to move on, pushing forward into the cold darkness, not knowing where to go...

    Her pace quickened, one measured step after the next, as she stumbled through the sea of shadowy specters, their blank stares filling her vision. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice echoing in her mind: "Laurie?"

    "Palmer, you have to move¡­ you have to get out of this place; you don''t belong. They want you, and they are so very hungry," her voice pleaded desperately. Palmer hesitated¡­ "What? Where?" As if reading her thoughts, the disembodied voice pleaded again.

    "I need you to move, to get out... you don''t belong here; you won''t be safe for much longer."

    She saw another dark flash, and another¡ªthey were circling, gathering, drawn to her warmth like ravenous moths to a plump flame. An inky black form rose from the mist, another skittered across the ceiling and down the wall¡ªthey were coming for her. They snaked and crawled over the ghostly shades of the students, their blank faces focused on Palmer. Desperately, she moved, stumbling around the next corner. There, in the distance, Palmer could make out a light, flashing and flickering in the darkness. It illuminated the shadowy world around it¡­ the details of this cold dimension came into focus, everything covered in ice. In the mist, she could make out forms, their bodies twisted and tortured, frozen in time.

    She noticed Laurie''s spectral form, waving a crooked hand, beckoning her forward, guiding her to the light. As she weaved through the specters, the light grew brighter by the moment, a lighthouse guiding her to safety through these rocky shoals. The light came from a room, through a frosted glass pane, allowing the light to pierce its membrane into the dark hall. She moved, her pace quickening, closer and closer to what felt like safety... the shapes grabbed and scratched at her, drawn to her warmth, to her light. Grabbing hands turned to swirling smoke as they snatched at her, unable to take hold, some unforeseen power preventing them from taking her. But her presence here was a match struck in the darkness, her light and warmth the only of its kind on this side of the veil... and these creatures wanted it, were desperate for it. As she drew closer to the door, to the light, the shapes fell away, unable to proceed any further. They slinked and slid along the border of the light. She heard their voices echoing through the void¡­

    "Stay with usssss¡­ feed ussss... be one with usss," many voices slithered around one another, speaking as one. Words hissing through the darkness, pulling at her, she could feel their desire.

    "No, she does not belong," a familiar voice, a voice she had heard many times in her dreams. This voice had power, a pull that was hard to resist. She had to know why it was here, where it was coming from.

    Laurie appeared beside her, urging her forward. On this side of the veil, she could see her familiar face, her soft features. In the light, there was no sign of the pain she had seen before. Her face, just a cold and pale version of what it had been in life, was beautiful again. Her soft eyes pleaded with Palmer, begging her to keep moving.

    "RUN," Laurie barked.

    She resisted the urge, the pull of the mysterious voice. She surged forward, deeper into the light, toward safety. But she couldn''t shake the desire to follow that voice, to follow it to its origin, despite its declaration to flee this place.

    Palmer turned and faced the door, the light bathing her cold skin, drawing her inward. She passed through, phasing through the molecules of wood and glass, her non-corporeal form effortlessly slipping into the room beyond. Palmer could make out the ghostly form of a nurse, wearing what appeared to be an old uniform. The spirit moved around the room as it had in life, busy in its routines. For a split second, the warm light filling the room disappeared. She could see an exam table, a dark shape sat atop it. A small and familiar shape, she cautiously moved toward it. The light flashed again, a spotlight emanating from within the head of the form, the brilliant light pouring forth from its eyes and mouth¡­ it was blinding. She was unable to make out any features; it was too intense. She had to look away, down toward the floor... down to a pair of dirty white Chucks hanging motionless. She knew those sneakers, knew every scuff and doodle¡­ "How?" Those were her shoes.

    The light flickered again, her vision adjusting to the darkness, she found herself face to face with her own image. The room faded back into shadowy darkness, the barrier that had kept the formless beings away vanished.

    "She¡¯sss ourssss," the voices hissed again.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    They flooded into the room, across the misty floor, like sharks through shallow water. Some creatures moved up the walls and ceilings, snaking their way in, closer and closer. The monsters had discovered her anchor to the other side, they moved toward her spectral form. What sat on the examination table was not of this world, it was a tangible manifestation of herself in their reality. They moved toward her shadowy tether, intent on severing her connection... trapping her on this side of the veil. The light erupted once more through the eyes of her doppelganger, bathing Palmer''s spirit form and the room around her. The beings closest to the light were shattered, the rest retreated to what shadows they could find, huddling in the cold, they watched, waiting for the light to fade again, waiting for their chance to strike. She could hear their whispers, their chittering voices.

    "This is my chance," she thought to herself.

    She tried to move forward, but she was locked in place. Something was stopping her, something had her. Hands were wrapped around her feet, she could feel the cold icy grip. They had her, she had stayed too long. Her warmth was feeding them, the hands gripped harder, the cold burned her skin. She winced in pain, more hands clasped onto her, they were determined not to let her go. Despair filled her, unable to move, unable to save herself. At any moment the light would fade again and all hope would be lost, the hands would swallow her, trapping her here for good.

    Palmer could hear distant familiar voices emanating from within her, in the light, she heard her name. She heard her mom''s voice, she was desperate to get home. She felt small and scared, like a child. Desperate for help, any help. Within her was the tunnel home.

    "Someone help me," she called out. "PLEASE"

    Desperate, Palmer reached into the light, into that hollow vessel of herself¡­ she pried the mouth open, wider and wider. Stretching and pulling herself in, inching deeper into the waiting maw. The light wrapped around her and pulled her through. She relinquished herself to it, desperate to get home, the light blinded her as she fell into it.

    <hr>

    It flashed again, the light faded, and her vision returned. She was sitting in the nurse''s station at school¡­ her school, her time, her world. She could feel the warmth and light again, she could feel her body. Ms. Alcott was using her penlight to check her eyes, her pupillary response... eyes reacting to that light, finally responding to the introduced stimuli.

    "There she is... how are you feeling sweetie?" her mom''s soothing voice called.

    "What - what happened?" Palmer heard herself question.

    "Nothing dear, you just fainted... you had us a little worried for a second, but everything will be fine, everything will be just fine," Ms. Alcott said reassuringly as she patted Palmer on the side of her knee. "Mrs. Stokes, may I see you in the hall for a moment?"

    Palmer sat there, her mind becoming clearer by the moment. She watched as her mom and Ms. Alcott walked out of the room. The door closed with a clang, the thin pane of glass rattled in its frame. Palmer wondered¡­ "What were they talking about?"

    "Look at me Palmer, look at what happened to me... you have to help free me. You have to help stop more people from ending up like this. He''s still out there. You have to see.. you have to look". She could see their silhouettes through the frosted glass, their body language conveying the concern they both shared. Mom''s head lowered, and she saw Ms. Alcott reach out reassuringly. They both stepped away from the window, leaving Palmer alone with her thoughts. The same old questions raced through her mind¡­

    "What''s happening?" the one question she kept repeating, everything hinged on even a partial understanding. Was she going crazy? Was it all a delusion? She felt a stinging sensation, realizing her legs were in pain. Reaching down, she lifted her tattered Levi''s, both legs covered in faint handprints, each one ice cold to the touch.

    "See, you''re not going crazy¡­ this is as real as what happened to me," a ghastly voice croaked in Palmer''s ear, shattering the silence of the room. That familiar voice, no matter how many times she heard it, was as unsettling as the first time. Palmer hesitated to look in the direction of the voice, unsure of whether or not she could handle the sight of Laurie''s decaying visage.

    "No," Palmer exclaimed, shaken and mentally spent.

    "You don''t have a choice, you said you wanted answers, like it or not, we are in this together now" the corpse croaked at her.

    Palmer refused to make eye contact, instead she stared at the floor, Laurie''s canvas Keds shambled into view. Those shoes had always been immaculate, stark white, but not anymore.  Laurie''s blood had saturated and stained them a dark brown. Palmer''s eyes slowly moved up her twisted body, everything was stained, her cheerleading uniform torn and splattered with the same dark brown, the blood had dried and crusted on the once pristine uniform. Further up her eyes drifted, her neck was sliced wide open, the skin and muscle separating, tendons severed. Her trachea made an awful gasping noise, a moist sucking sound as it tried in vain to breathe air that was no longer needed. Palmer''s stomach knotted, the horrific view causing a nauseous feeling to grow deep inside her. She swallowed hard... pushing that feeling back down.

    "What''s the matter Palmer? I''m not so pretty anymore, am I?" Laurie jokingly questioned.

    "No, no¡­ you look great Laurie," Palmer tried in vain to keep the spirit happy.

    "Don''t fucking lie to me... I can feel myself rotting. The more time I spend on this side, the faster my body will turn to mush. I¡¯m just so heinous..." the corpse attempted to roll its head, punctuating the last word as Laurie would have if she was still alive. But instead, the head shifted unnaturally, Palmer could hear the bones of her exposed spine grind in protest. "Gawd¡­ so for both our sakes, let''s not fuck around anymore - stop being a spaz and help me out... help us both out. I have something to show you,"

    Laurie''s arms reached out to Palmer, grabbing both sides of her head. Cold fingers slid inside her. Palmer''s world evaporated, light replaced with darkness, warmth with a dead cold. She stood in a black void, emptiness surrounding her... slowly, shapes began to manifest, birthed from the darkness. A field of rolling blue fog, a twisted and ancient-looking oak tree crawled up from the dark earth, its aged and weathered branches sheltering a singular spot. The ground ruptured as various marble headstones sprouted from deep within the earth. A mausoleum sat off in the distance, guarded by two macabre hooded statues. A crude altar had been erected, formed from the jagged stone of a shattered tombstone. The surface of this crude altar was covered with half-melted candles, just below the surface of the stone were faintly glowing pagan runes, circling a rather ordinary brass bowl. Four pedestals evenly spaced ahead of the altar, each with a brass bowl of its own. Palmer moved forward, curiosity driving her onward; she needed answers.

    She defiantly marched towards the altar, passing the brass bowls, she could see each held a severed heart, four bowls, four bloody hearts, all faintly thumping in rhythm. An unearthly mist rolled across the dark grass of the cemetery, cascading down the hill, rolling and flowing over the grass and around the ancient tombstones, pooling at her feet. Beneath the mist, she could feel the ground begin to rumble, a strange energy building. The doors of the mausoleum cracked open, the ancient stone doors scraping as they slid wide. A violent thunderstorm of black feathers erupted from within the crypt. A seemingly endless wave, their velvety feathers filling the sky. They raged and cawed at one another; the Wild Hunt had come to steal the sky from man. Many took roost within the arms of the ancient oak, glassy eyes staring directly at Palmer. From within the storm of feathers, it stepped, haggard and thin, skin barely clinging to alabaster bone, a pitiful version of what used to be its human form. The shape she saw in Laurie''s dream¡­ it was unmistakable, the same blank face and black eyes staring right through her. In one hand, it held a savage blade; in the other¡­ blood flowed freely. A crimson line followed in its wake. It slithered its way to the altar, behind it she could see two bodies huddled within the mausoleum. As it neared the altar, the glow of the runes intensified. It placed what was in its hand into the empty bowl, tossing the knife

    Onto the altar, blood splattered across Palmer''s legs. The shape began to chant, the chant echoing throughout the graveyard, other hissing voices joining, quiet and distant at first, the cawing of the ravens filled the empty night. The bowl flashed in front of her, and she retreated. The bowls all around her flashed, all alight with a rolling blue flame. The rumble beneath her feet intensified, a blood-red line ripped from one pedestal to the next, crisscrossing on the ground beneath her feet. The lines intersected at the altar in front of her, forming a burning star on the ground, a pentagram. The earth cracked and started to fall away beneath her, fearful, she jumped back, landing on her butt. Shadows began to spill through the hole, the chanting growing louder now, she could hear it flowing out of the gaping crevasse. Those shadows were familiar, the cold was familiar¡­ formless shapes started crawling and slithering forth through this newly formed gate.

    "Thisss world is oursss now... we are free!"

    A doorway had been ripped open between the worlds. Specters and ghouls began rising from their graves, a blue fire erupted from within the cracks all around her. Her world was burning with cold, dark flames.

    Palmer stared in horror at what was unfolding before her. She blinked, and she was back in the nurse''s station. Laurie''s dead face stared blankly at her. The wet suction sound started in her throat, the words clawing their way from her depths out into reality.

    "That is what you have to stop¡­ he needs five hearts before midnight on Halloween... the festival of Samhain. He just needs four more!" Laurie''s dead arms lifted her shirt, her chest split wide open, her heart, once strong, young, and pure, was gone, ripped away while it was still beating.

    The door to the nurse''s station opened... Ms. Alcott walked into the room followed by Palmer''s mom. They were oblivious to the rotting corpse in their midst. They passed right through it, and as their physical forms touched it, Laurie fell away.

    But her words still hung in the air. "Four more!"

    Palmer looked straight at her mom, and before anyone else could say anything, she spoke.

    "Mom... I need to go home!"

 Chapter Eight: The Girl with two brains

    <hr>

    The events of the day weighed heavily on Palmer, and retreating to the safety of her room was the only thing that made sense. She had wanted answers, and now she had some. But the more she thought about those answers, the more questions were raised. So maybe they weren''t answers at all, but rather a direction. She knew what she needed to do, or at least what she needed to stop.

    Laurie, or rather the corpse of Laurie, had become an unlikely ally, giving her a glimpse of a possible future - a future she had to stop, or at least try to stop.

    Because, let''s face it, what could she really do to stop that thing? She knew she couldn''t do it alone. She needed more than her new imaginary friend. This whole situation was so hard to accept - it was insane. Take now, for instance; there was a rotting corpse sitting in front of her vanity mirror, poking and prodding at itself in a vain attempt to keep itself together. Palmer could hear the odd splat as a small piece fell to the floor.

    "Gawd!" she heard Laurie call out in disgust. "I''m grody to the max, Palmer... we need to figure this out before I''m just a smear on your floor!"

    "You look fine, Laurie!"

    "Totally grody, Palmer. I''m so sure," Laurie called back, clearly questioning Palmer''s integrity.

    The radio played quietly in the background, a commercial for Larry the Liquidator droning on: "You won''t find cheaper prices anywhere..." The commercial break ended, and the sound of dead air hung in the room for a moment before the rolling sound of an organ blasted. "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" filled the room, and the melody detonated the quiet that had choked the small room, filling it with exuberant energy.

    Laurie''s head shot up, and bones creaked and groaned in protest. She started bouncing to the beat, unable to contain herself. She shot up and spun in the middle of Palmer''s bedroom, her little cheerleader skirt fanned out. Palmer was mesmerized by what she was watching - Laurie''s body moved unnaturally, like some kind of twisted marionette, its strings cut, its body half hanging, ready to snap and crumble to the ground. But she hung on, holding onto her old self so tightly, desperate to be alive.

    "Oh, ma Gawd... Cyndi is sooo toooh-tally tubular,"

    "So here we are again, in my totally hellacious world," Palmer thought to herself as she stared at the decaying cheerleader bopping in her bedroom. It was fascinating - a corpse grasping at a life that wasn''t coming back. As time passed, her old personality manifested more and more. So, here in the middle of her room was a Valley Girl, a Mallrat zombie, dancing to Cyndi Lauper. It was like something from one of Dr. Morbius''s B-movies. No wonder she constantly thought she had to be dreaming. Was it all just a bit of undigested beef, like Ebenezer Scrooge after his legendary night?

    A slight pop punctuated one of Laurie''s spins - her arm had dislocated, and it hung limply at her side. She stopped momentarily to snap it back into place. It was kind of funny in an insane sort of way, and Palmer couldn''t help but laugh. Because honestly, what other choice did she have? She closed her eyes, exhaustion taking hold, the words and melody helping her drift away. The image of Laurie''s spinning corpse played over and over in the darkness of her mind.

    The spinning image of Laurie started to fade, and all that was left was the dark void. She felt herself falling - uncontrollably falling through an empty space. Her mind started to race, and she reached out desperately trying to find some form of anchor. Her falling turned to a sense of floating, and all around her, blocks started to fall - rusted hunks of metal slamming together, creating walls and passageways. She found herself moving through a rusted and jagged labyrinth, and the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of barking. Her head was drawn to the sound of a dog - a distant sentinel somehow aware of her presence. Above her, the moon was a shining pearl in a cold black sea, and its pale blue glow illuminated everything. Clouds, like skeletal fingers, drifted across the night sky.

    "Dammit, I just can''t find it anywhere. If I don''t hurry, Chopper is going to have my balls," the words filled her mind, but they weren''t her thoughts. But she recognized whose thoughts they were.

    "It''s happening again," she thought to herself. "I''m hitching a ride in Glen''s mind!"

    She rounded the next corner, and a dark area opened up before them. Everything was outlined with the pale blue light of the moon. Occasionally, darkness swallowed everything, and the dark skeletal clouds stole all the light for themselves. In those moments, the night was an impenetrable black, but her eyes - or their eyes - had grown accustomed to the blue light of the moon. Above them, she could make out a ramshackle arch made of rusted old cars, all perched precariously on top of one another. She could feel Glen''s hesitation, but they moved forward, gently making their way under, careful not to disturb the house of cards.

    Moving from one car to the next, they frantically searched for something. She recognized this place now - it was Old Man Pressman''s junkyard. It was located on the outskirts of town. She had never seen it at night; in the day, it was creepy, let alone how it seemed now. It was a rusting scrap pile, a graveyard of forgotten and neglected things. She always thought how sad it was - this place, full of so many memories. Beautiful beginnings, tragic endings. These relics, once the focal point of so many of life''s firsts, first drives, first dates, first kisses. Now abandoned to the ravages of time, their once beautifully smooth lines replaced by jagged rust. Their anger at being abandoned, forgotten, manifesting in harsh lines, warning you from getting too close. Only those who loved what they had been, who looked to rebuild what had been lost to time, dared to get too close. Cannibalizing what was left to rebuild, giving life back to the dying and forgotten. Another chance at more firsts. Now that she thought about it, she couldn''t deny the romance of it.

    The longer she spent in this body, the more she could feel it. The more she could feel what it felt, what he felt and thought. She saw their arms extending out before them, inspecting the husks for what was needed - an oil pump. He, they were searching for an oil pump... whatever that was. Up ahead, a particular husk caught her host''s attention - those familiar lines. She could feel his connection to those lines. The moonlight glinted off the tarnished chrome grille; she knew what he knew, excitement filled him, filled them. She knew what she was looking at - it was a ''58 Plymouth Fury. She could feel the memories linked to that particular car - childhood memories of the cherry red paint, red and white leather seats, the way his legs stuck to the vinyl on hot summer days. The image of a man, sunglasses covering his handsome face, slicked-back hair, Chuck Berry filling the interior of the car as it blazed down a country road, dirt clouds billowing in their wake. This car made him happy, that happiness filled her - Glen''s memories, weekend fishing trips with his dad in that old Plymouth Fury. It all came into crystal focus; she could feel his thoughts now and knew without a doubt it was him.

    They closed in on the Fury, flashing it quickly with their flashlight. It was beautiful - she could feel his attachment to the car. Feel his disbelief with finding it here, so many failed expeditions, and here it was. A gleaming treasure in the darkness, they walked along it, tracing its lines with their fingers. It was cold and sleek - time was taking its toll though, but it refused to give in, refused to give up on its memories. Glen reached through the broken window and popped the hood; they rounded the front, fingers probing for the latch. With a sliding click, they heaved, lifting the hood. Metal creaked and strained in protest. The noise shattered the still night; the distant sentinel barked at the disturbance. They paused, frozen in place - the weight of the hood causing the muscles in their arms to strain. Seconds passed, each stretching on unbelievably - fear of being discovered filling them. So many nights, so many hours spent searching, and finally, here it was.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    They set down the flashlight on the engine mount, bathing the Golden Commando engine in light - all 290 horses of it. Finally, there it was - the oil pump. Excitement filled them, their hands prepping and thumbs rubbing fingertips in anticipation, like Indy discovering the Golden Idol. They went to work to remove the pump, laser-focused on the task at hand, his happiness filling her. Frantically, they worked on the last fastener, but unable to move the last ? inch bolt, it held fast, years of neglect gripping it tightly.

    CLANG.

    The sound rang out across the open area, bouncing back off the walls of the labyrinth. She could feel anxiety building inside, their heart rate increasing. Old Man Pressman entered their minds; he had found them and knew they were stealing from him. He would sick Chopper on them, that old junkyard dog was legendary, and many kids over many years had stories of run-ins with that old mutt. These thoughts raced through their minds, clouding their movements. Their hand smashed the engine mount as their wrench skipped off the head of the lone bolt. Pain rushed through them, and their hand throbbed for a moment. They shook their hand in response, as if trying to banish the pain.

    CLANG.

    There it was again, closer this time. They popped their head out of the engine block, neck craning around the metal hood. They peered out into the darkness, their eyes had grown accustomed to the flashlight, and the darkness beyond had become thicker.

    "Hello?" Glen called out into the darkness. The first noise could have been anything, but his suspicion grew with the second.

    CLANG.

    There it was again; they flashed the light around specifically in the direction they thought the noise originated. For a split second, they thought they saw something.

    "Sorry, Mr. Pressman... I can pay ya for the part. It''s just an old oil pump," the unsure little kid inside Glen reacting to the fear building deep within.

    There was no answer, just another clang in the distance. They jammed themselves back under the hood, determined to get the oil pump free. She could feel their determination.

    "I''m not leaving empty-handed," she could hear the words filling their thoughts.

    Squeak, squeak... the bolt sang out as it unthreaded. Another noise; it seemed to be circling them. Whatever it was, it didn''t seem to be hiding its presence. The odds of it being Mr. Pressman faded by the second. If it had been him, they expected that Chopper would have his frothing jaws firmly planted on their ass by now.

    "Whoever''s out there, you better back off," they called out into the darkness.

    "What are the chances, finally finding this damn thing and now someone''s out there, this is bogus. Some dickhead is fucking with me, I gotta motor before Pressman actually shows," she could hear Glen''s inner monologue. With one final squeak, the bolt dropped free, clinging and clanging its way to the dirt below. The weight of the oil pump dropped into Glen''s waiting hand, they angled and twisted its orientation to remove it from the tight space. Finally, it was free, and they stuffed it into Glen''s waiting knapsack.

    "I love it when a plan comes together," Glen triumphantly exclaimed.

    His words rang out into the darkness. They noticed it was unnaturally quiet now, no trace of the noise from before. "Maybe it was just a ''coon," they thought. Flashlight in one hand, the other let the hood drop. It slammed shut, the light from the flashlight illuminated the rest of the car.

    "JESUS!" Glen shouted.

    Standing silent at the other end of the car was a shape, fear gripped Palmer. All too familiar with it and what it was capable of, she knew what it wanted and the danger Glen was in.

    "What''s your damage man?" Glen shouted.

    It stared blankly at them, not reacting to Glen''s show of bravado. It took a step forward; somehow, its intent was clear to Glen. She could feel his adrenaline flowing freely, filling him, muscles tightening. His body shifted to a state of hyperarousal, his fight or flight systems engaged. Youth and immaturity blinded him to the gravity of the situation. Even to Glen, the shape was imposing. It had to be at least 6''4. And that face, cold and blank, something beyond its vacant stare sparked a faint recollection. It moved with fluid grace, the way a predator would move, movements measured and resolute.

    "I''ll mess you up, man!"

    Glen gripped the flashlight tight, flipped it over in his hand, ready to brandish it as a weapon. The light blinked and disappeared, the darkness returned, and for a moment, Glen lost sight of the enemy. Their eyes transitioned to this new state of light. Their surroundings came into focus, and they caught sight of the shape, its form bathed in the pale blue light. It closed the distance, and Glen braced himself.

    Fear overcame Palmer. She knew what was coming, remembered it stalking Laurie, how it mercilessly snuffed out her light. She knew it was unstoppable. For a moment, she saw a glimpse of her prophetic vision: the shape standing amidst the tombstones, the world breaking apart, bathed in cold fire. It had come for Glen. It was going to snuff out his light, slice him open, tear out his beating heart. He was to be its next victim. She couldn''t let that happen. She couldn''t just watch it happen again. She pushed her fear down, anger swelled inside her. She tried to break down the walls that remained, the walls that stopped her from fully connecting with Glen. She smashed at them, assaulting the barrier. She yelled and screamed.

    She watched the shape close in. She begged Glen to run, to flee. She knew he couldn''t stop it. She couldn''t watch him die. She refused to watch him die.

    Glen dug in, waiting to intercept his opponent, readying himself. Planning out his moves as he would on the football field, he was ready to score, he was a winner. Glen still didn''t fully understand what was coming. In the last instant before the two collided, the moon glinted off the cruel-looking blade that the shape held. It reached for Glen. He lashed out, smashing the flashlight across its vacant face. It shattered. The impact barely registered. Fear overtook Glen. The shape latched onto his arm, its vice-like grip causing excruciating pain. It raised the blade, its jagged silhouette painted across the night sky. Glen braced himself for the inevitable.

    "NOOOOOOOOO!"

    Palmer''s primal scream shattered the barrier. Her mind lashed out across the void. It assaulted the shape for a brief moment. Its attack relented. Its iron grip on Glen eased.

    Their minds connected. Glen could feel Palmer, could feel her terror. He saw the shape the way she saw it. He saw it bathed in the blue fire, and knew what it wanted from him. He struck out against the arm that held him and spun, freeing himself from its wicked grip.

    "RUN!" she begged¡­

    He exploded, his muscled legs digging into the earth, pushing him forward. He weaved his way back through the open area, desperately trying to get back through the labyrinth, hoping to lose the shape in there. Retracing his steps back to safety, he looked back over his shoulder, and saw the shape moving forward, closing in on its prey. They reached the edge of the open area, back to the decaying arch, and knew this could be their chance. They weaved through, this thing was like a house of cards, one wrong move could do the work of their stalker. Glen''s pack was bigger this time, the oil pump jammed on one of the exposed bumpers, causing the whole thing to shift. The metal screeched and settled again, and they breathed a sigh of relief. With one more push, they were through. Turning back, she could tell what Glen was thinking. He braced himself, using all his strength, legs pushing against the support of the rickety arch. The cars shifted, metal bending under the shifting weight. The sound was terrible, and the whole thing tumbled. They secured their retreat, knowing the shape would be unable to follow. The quiet returned to the night, and an old hubcap bounced past their feet, rolling and coming to a stop right behind them.

    "Glen, don''t stop now... you have to keep going," she told him.

    "What''s happening?" he called back to her.

    They were both completely aware of each other. Their thoughts mixing, her memories spilling into his mind, his into hers. Communicating with thoughts, Glen saw her vision of the graveyard, what had happened to Laurie, everything. As the moments passed, the thoughts became harder to decipher, and the barrier was rebuilding. Her connection to him was fading.

    Glen kept running, all those years, all those games had forged his legs. He worked his way through the labyrinth, slipped back through the hole in the fence, and out into the safety of the night.

    Their connection faded, falling apart, and she started to drift away from him. The world around them started to fade away, back to the darkness of the void. She tried to hold on to him, still worried about his safety, but she knew deep down that Glen would be fine now, he was too fast to be captured, he wouldn''t be caught unaware again. She could hear him calling out for her. She saw him running in the middle of the black void, running so hard and fast. The image of him faded, dissipating like smoke caught on a warm summer breeze. All that was left was her and the darkness.

    Her room started to take shape, building all around her. The walls, posters everywhere, Laurie''s decaying corpse dancing. Her bed, her body, she fell into it, with a gasp she was herself again, feeling the warmth and familiarity of home.

    "I saw it again," she called out to Laurie''s corpse.

    "Whoa¡­ I''m so sure," Laurie stood dumbfounded, not a hard look for a decaying corpse.

    "Glen¡­ it was after Glen... I saved him... we stopped it!" the words stuttered from her mouth.

    "Tell me everything!" Laurie blurted.