#ourwordcraft

[ourwordcraft]

The Theory of Constellations (Excerpt)

✶The Theory of Constellations✶

As we were were picking our way through the crowded street of Corfield Avenue, my grandmother delivered some rather dreadful news.

“We’ll be visiting the Emporium before we get home, dear. Hope that’s not any trouble.”

Dread found its home in the pit of my stomach.

The briny air stung my nose as I inhaled sharply. I cast a rather agitated glance to the old woman. “You know I hate going in there. What’s the point?” I couldn’t help the whine penetrating my tone.

“Why are you always such an angry child? It’s not wise to act this way; you never know when I’ll be gone.”

She smiled; I set my jaw.

We made our way to the Emporium, much to my dismay. I did my best to avoid the obnoxious tourists as they shuffled past. They were all the same, really: a fannypack attached to their protruding bellies, a camera dangling around their sweaty necks, a cone of Vanilla ice cream clutched in their fingers. In short, they were akin to stranded sheep stumbling in the hot summer sun. It was simply hilarious, but I didn’t laugh; grandmother was watching.

A little bell above the door announced our arrival as we filed into the Emporium. My sandals slapped against the checkered blue and white tile; my skin was quickly refreshed by quick bursts of cool air. If there was one good thing about the Emporium, it was the air conditioning. That was about it.

I let my hair down and it transformed into its natural state; a frizzy, copper beast. My grandmother searched the store for Miles. I took the opportunity to gaze at the oh-so-interesting sea creatures lining the store.

The Emporium wasn’t as neat and tidy as it sounded. Tanks of all sizes were crammed into the tiny shop, full of varying sea creatures that had to spend the rest of their unfortunate lives bobbing along inside the containers. I leaned forward, inspecting a seahorse that was wrapped around a strand of seaweed. It turned its head to me as it rocked. If seahorses had expressions, boredom would’ve been the one etched across his face. I didn’t blame him.

[ourwordcraft]

words plucked from teenage angst

my stomach is burning just like my eyes  and i know that doesn't sound a bit romantic but i'm dying inside

[ourwordcraft]

Midday

  This place is lonelier than I imagined.

Cardinal and apricot leaves crunched under my feet as I shifted my weight, my arms crossing as I narrowed my eyes on the landscape in front of me. The farmland was quite quaint, far smaller than countless others I had seen in my life.  Desolate would be a suitable synonym. The place was stark, empty; save for the one worker tirelessly sinking his shovel into the earth, and the black cat sitting at his feet.

How can one be so...unaware of the world around him? So unaware of bad luck? The man continued tilling the soil, going on as if the cat wasn’t even present. As if I wasn’t watching. I twirled the scythe absently in my hands, trying to calm the anxiety pulsating within me. Doubt always crept in before I slaughtered others. Usually the emotion was brief, something I could swat away with an eye-roll or a steady intake of breath. But today it lingered, taking refuge in my very bones. Thoughts coiled around me, tantalizing me with their sickening dread. Would he even put up a fight? Would it hurt?

I paused. Do you want to make him hurt? 

I set my jaw, placing one foot in front of the other until I had crested the hill. I couldn't afford to think about it. At least not now.  Just do what you came here for. It won't take long. Just do it.

I approached the farm, crossing over the thin dirt road. I didn't bother to look for traffic; the road was just as empty as the farm itself. I leaned against the fence in front of me, nails biting into the alabaster painted wood as I prepared myself for the kill. I mapped it out in my head, what I expected to happen. I would ask the stranger a few questions, questions that were daunting, startling. Perplexing. With a shake of his head and an odd look on his face the man would shoo me off, returning to his work, muttering about just how crazy and foolish I was. I'd grow as silent as the air around us. Then as he bent over to retrieve his fallen shovel I'd slice the scythe right across the back of his neck.

A clean cut. A fatal one.

I tucked the scythe behind my back, hands holding it steady as I readied myself for the inevitable. Yet, just as I was about to announce my arrival and start the intricate process of his death, the man surprised me. He spoke.

"Hello?" His voice was warm, surprisingly warm. Much warmer than the sun beating down on us like an open oven. It was a different warm. It was welcoming, it was friendly. It was terrifying.

"H-hello. Hello," I stuttered, clearing my throat.  I scrambled to regain my composure, to slam shut my mouth and wipe the alarmed look on my face. A thump from behind me made me flinch. I grabbed for the scythe, waiting for the familiar shape of it to grace my palms. Instead I grasped at empty air. My gut tightened. I flicked my gaze down to the ground; the scythe flashed up at me, winking, almost. 

 "Oh. Are you here to work?" The man's voice greeted my ears again, like a gentle melody. I carried my stunned gaze over to the stranger's face, eyes trailing the smile there, his eyes locked on the weapon presented so harmlessly in the grass. "Not sure that scythe is going to be of any use, though, since we're just planting seeds." He straightened up a bit.

"'We'?" I blinked, gaze shifting around the silent and otherwise unoccupied field. He's not alone? 

The man smirked, lifting his shoulders up in a shrug. "I suppose you're not here to help, then." A few locks of bronze hair fell into his face as he bent over, shovel biting back into the soil as he returned to his work. "My name is James, by the way. Not sure if that matters, though."

My hands trembled as I scooped the small scythe up from the ground, dusting it off with shaking fingers. He's making this so much harder. 

I sucked in a breath, preparing myself, willing myself to kill. I'd have to bypass the vague questions. He was already distracted, all I had to do was make the cut...

I stepped forward, yet a flash of black fur beneath me made me pause. The cat from before rose, emerald eyes peering up at me. It's tail swayed slowly, as if moving in tune to the gentle purr that emanated from it's charcoal-colored body. It stood between the man and myself, as if daring me. Questioning my motives. 

I don't have time for this! 

With a gentle prod to the gut with my shoe, I nudged the cat away, clearing the path. I stepped forward, my eyes tracing over the stranger’s back, the way his shirt shifted around loosely as he worked on, completely absorbed. I gripped the scythe so tightly between my fingers they turned bone white; I set my jaw.

One.

I lifted the scythe, sucking in a steady stream of the humid August air.

Two.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the swing, readying my body to partake in the gruesome action.

Three.

I swung forward. I opened my eyes, just a hair, just a peek, a timid peek--I wish I had kept them closed.

The man was livid; it showed in the simmering coals of his eyes, dark brown and burning with anger. And he wasn’t dead. Dear god, he wasn’t dead. My eyes trailed down the length of the scythe, my heart beating sporadically. The blade was lodged inside the wooden part of the man’s shovel, so close to his neck. He held it tightly, his grip firm, decisive.

“I…” I started, eyes watering as I tried to begin my plea. My plea for mercy, my plea for forgiveness. Yet the fiery stare of his eyes closed my mouth.

Another blotch of black dashed across my vision. I glanced down. Within moments I felt the scythe being loosened from my grip. No! This...this isn’t right. This isn’t how this is supposed to work…

The cat quickly darted off. My gaze remained transfixed on the ground; from the corner of my eye I spied the shadow of the scythe as it bled into the dirt, inches above my head.

The blade tore through my throat. A clean cut.

A fatal one.

[ourwordcraft]

Inferno-Prologue Excerpt

Prologue 

“I swear,” a low, coarse voice cut through the silence, “I saw him. Through the window.” The hushed voices grew louder, indicating that more than one intruder was present. “He’s in here. He has family. Buffoons like that always stay behind.”

There was a sound of chuckling, a sinister vibration that made the blood in George’s veins start to ice over. He breathed in quietly.

“We’ll start in the next room over.” George could almost feel the slick smile on the stranger’s face. “There aren’t many places to hide. After all, this is a peasant’s abode, eh?” A chorus of laughs and snorts clouded the atmosphere.

A thump.

The laughter halted.

The air around George felt heavy, as if someone had dropped a thick quilt around his shoulders. All hope he had possessed was quickly eroded away.

“...Looks like they’re making it even more easier for us tonight,” the voice continued, dripping with satisfaction.

The noise of boots shuffling hurriedly away drifted to his ears. George felt his arms trembling, the muscles shuddering. He crashed to the bottom of the chimney, sides blossoming with new found pain. He held back the groan in his throat, tightly clamping his lips together.

Empty. The room had been vacated.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, hands trembling at his sides. His eyes caught the last vision of flame from one of the torches before it whisked away. He bent over, catching his breath, panting hard, before a sudden realization cleaved into his mind.

They were heading to the attic.

Muffled, feminine screams punctured his ears, joined quickly by a yelp of a man. George scrambled forward, mouth hanging agape. He knew what was happening.

But he couldn’t stop it.

Thump.

Read Inferno here

[ourwordcraft]

Below-Prologue Excerpt

Prologue

The petrified look in his eyes was back again, and I knew from it that this would be our last moment together. Covered in blood.

It made sense, in a grotesque sort of way. It wasn’t safe to be with him. He was a criminal; he could be hanged, or sent to life in prison, and I knew I would only make another prime suspect. My gut and heart resisted, but my mind knew it was true. I would have to run away. Pondering it only amplified the whispers in my head, the murmurs slithering inside of my skull.  Someone will be bound to unravel our secret, or stumble upon the corpse. They’ll find him, hunt him down. They’ll send him straight to the gallows, they won’t give a damn how cruel or vicious your uncle was.

As I glanced up to Theris’ sorrowful gaze, it only justified those thoughts.

Next, they’ll come for you. It won’t be hard, you never were much of a hider. You can run all you want, but you’ll be found out soon enough. You’ll be ruined. Your name a common topic of gossip, laced with fear.

I shoved the thoughts from my mind. A trembling feeling washed over me, shuddering my very bones. There was no one to run to, no safe haven to stake a new home at. My brother, and my now deceased uncle, were the only family I had known. The streets would be my kin, my friends. Or so I hoped.

And so, as the evening light trickled into the blackness of the night, I fled the decrepit house. There were no tears as I left, no tight embraces. Only silence. Armed with the fear cramped in my gut and a small pack of food slung over my shoulder, I tore into the recesses of the streets. And I felt my brother watching, jaw set firmly, as the last remaining tie to his family vanished into the gloom.

Read the full prologue here:

[ourwordcraft]

roads are like arms

remember that time  I played your music instead of sleeping to keep  me from screaming at the flecks of dirt inside my mind  that remind me more of myself than anything  your music reassured me that I was alive and able to breathe  in and out, slowly, to the notes of the song  to the notes of the song that reminded me  that I was worth more than a boy  I'm worth more than a boy that uses me just  to have a laugh and tells me I'm hot when I am ice cold  and hiding in alaska because I don't belong in summer  when he's there looking for more snowflakes to burn  you shouldn't burn snowflakes,  all they want to do is fall quietly  they want to fall but they don't want anyone to see how  they fall or what they're falling on, becuase they  fall into oblivion before you can notice  well usually they do, but sometimes a boy will catch them and burn them  so he can laugh and make himself smile the only way he knows how to.  it's hard to make yourself smile if you're him and don't understand  the nature of snowflakes.  but your music will pull me down a road  i'll walk along it happy to forget about the tears I had just cried  and I'll stop at all the potholes admiring how they line the road  and all the grass growing in the little cracks  the yellow lines breaking them all up  did you know that roads are like arms?  they carry suffering with them and are  scarred in ways that is both natural and unnatural  they're essential to you and I's relationships  yes, our relationship is built up slowly by roads and arms  inching us closer and closer until we are too close to touch  and all I can do it look at your face and wish that  you'd noticed how the roads are like arms  and how they'd both made our relationship as real as it can be  (which is to say, as real as my heart or as real as your  gorgeous eyes that I can see as I stand this close)  I wish I wasn't this close, I wish I was close  enough to touch, to hold you in my arms and kiss away your  tears that are sure to be there sometimes, maybe  you could even hold me? you did say that  you were better than the boy who burns snowflakes  but that doesn't mean I am better than just a snowflake  that needs to make that boy happy before he does something  stupid to himself and I blame myself  perhaps it is best if I let him? it's only one snowflake  among one million, what do I matter compared to the life of one  boy who's life has gone terribly wrong and the only release he  has is burning snowflakes that aren't worthy of kisses?  besides  it's not like you would  really miss the way  the roads and arms built up the hope that  you could someday love me because  we both know that's not the case  because you're somewhere far away playing your guitar  and thinking of beautiful girls who resemble  the fairies and mermaids of disney movies  while I only resemble an ugly stepsister who  tries and tries to get the guy  but falls short because the  shoe is too short and she is too selfish  to even care that it belongs to another.  and you, you are peter pan  you are everyone's dream  why would you even look at me?  this writing is rambling  it means almost nothing but the words keep coming  and I can't stop them because I don't know what to say  so I say everything.  and I am a rose, but who likes roses?  roses have thorns, and they die  dandelions are beautiful, and they fly away  roses are nothing compared to all those beautiful dandelions that surround me.  now please if you remember anything about me,  from the way I breathe to the way my perfume smells  or the shade of my eye or the taste of my lips against yours,  remember that roads are like arms,  and that is what makes them beautiful enough to have held up our relationship against the tornado.  remember my love, that roads are like arms.

[ourwordcraft]

The Trunk - Chapter 2

(Authors note: This story is unfinished, and I am not sure if I should continue. If you want me to continue, please send me a message/ask in the OurWordCraft ask box addressed to "L.S." Thanks for reading.) 

Kasey was still shivering when she met Jonah, Matthew, and Sophia at the basketball court behind school. It had finally stopped raining that afternoon. The sky was gray like slush and thin clouds drifted over the mountains. Sophia's hands were deep in her pockets of her coat, watching as Matthew chased a muddy basketball as it slammed from the hoop onto the concrete. Jonah was trying to snatch the ball from him. 

"I thought you weren't coming." Jonah finally said, a smug look on his face. "you're a bit late. What made you decide to come?"

"I'm here to prove you wrong." Kasey answered. The cold seeped into her skin and instantly made her uncomfortable.

Jonah just shrugged and picked up the ball again. Matthew and Jonah played basketball while Sophia tried to talk to Kasey about something normal. Kasey mumbled a few quiet "yeah's" and "right's" until Sophia stopped talking all together. 

Megan finally appeared fifteen minutes later, crossing the field towards the woods. Jonah motioned them to follow. "It's about time. We'll wait until she gets farther enough away, and we'll go in right after."

"And she goes to the woods every day?" Sophia asked.

"Yep." Jonah said. "It's too hard to go in after her without being seen, but if we follow her and stay out of sight, we'll find out exactly where she's going."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Let's just get this over with."

They walked through the field and approached the woods. The trails were muddy and the ground was strewn with soggy brown leaves and sticks. The telephone wires that were crisscrossed over the town, trapping them in a wire cage, disappeared as they walked through the thick tangle of trees. Their shoes crunched on leaves or sank into the wet mud.

In the distance, they spotted Megan. They made sure not to be seen as Megan swam into their vision only to vanish behind two trees and appear again two minutes later. She never stopped walking.

They followed her until she stopped abruptly. They all froze into place. Kasey and Matthew hurried and crouched below a fallen tree trunk while Sophia and Jonah sat on their hands and knees in the dirt. Their breathing quickened and they waited. Kasey could hear Megan's footsteps stomping down the trail. Her hands brushed against the rough bark, shaking as she waited for Megan to catch them. Her breathing felt like it was being dragged out of her, her face bright red.

Megan stopped and turned around, only to see a squirrel darting up one of the spindly forest trees. A moment passed and she continued walking. Kasey breathed in a sigh of relief, and they all stood up to follow again. It seemed like Megan was luring them deeper and deeper into the woods until the trees blurred together.

They reached the cabin some time later. It looked like someone had built it themselves. It was a squat, sad-looking wood house with a caved in orange roof. Megan had to duck down to enter through the front door. When they were sure she wasn't watching, they began to walk towards it.

"What do we do know?" Kasey asked Jonah.

Jonah pointed at the house. "We'll look in the window."

Kasey hesitated at first, but she took several steps towards the cabin until she reached the window. The others made sure not to make any noise. They all crowded by the round window, peering inside. The cabin was poorly lit except for the glow of a pale yellow lamp that sat on the floor.

Inside, there was a red rug, old chairs, stacks of newspapers, and a pair of old running shoes in the corner. Megan sat on the floor next to a large trunk with thick leather straps. Her hands were shaking furiously, but the rest of her body was dead still.

"What is she doing?" Matthew whispered. Kasey looked closer inside until her breath fogged on the glass.

Megan's hand shook even more and then she collapsed, her body slumping to the floor. That was when Kasey ran inside.

She thought she was having a seizure. Kasey sat on the floor of the dusty cabin and held Megan's head up, which is what her dad taught her to do when he had seizures. She made sure she wouldn't hurt herself as her body seized and flailed.

Jonah and the others entered the cabin last.

"We need to perform an exorcism on her." Jonah declared.

"An exorcism? Are you kidding me? She's sick, not possessed." Kasey argued, still holding Megan.

Sophia looked like she was about to cry, holding her brother tightly in the doorway. Matthew's face was white.

Jonah tried to approach Megan, but Kasey yelled at him.

"You are not going near her!" Kasey said.

He remained undeterred. "I will send you back to hell, demon!"

The cabin door slammed shut behind them, and all the windows crashed down and locked into place. Sophia cried out in surprise.

"You can try." A voice said. It took Kasey a second to realize that the person speaking was Megan, her eyes, now bright green, were shining as bright as ever.

Megan grinned, standing up and shoving Kasey onto the trunk with inhuman strength. Her back slammed against the wood, the sharp edge digging into her back. She fell to the ground and groaned in pain. The others, including Jonah, raced to the door, which no amount of strength could open. Sophia began to sob, sinking to the ground. Megan's head whipped around at her. 

"Don't cry." Megan spat at her, looking down at Sophia with disgust. "We haven't even started yet." 

Sophia let out a small choking noise, and Megan began to step towards her. Her angry eyes burned like cigarettes.  

"No! Megan!" Kasey called out. 

The boys stood frozen in the doorway, paralyzed with fear. 

Megan's face twisted in glee as she turned to face Kasey. "Not to worry, Kase. This will be over quickly. I'm going to kill them, and then I'm going to kill you."

She lifted her hands up, and muttered something Kasey couldn't hear. Suddenly, Kasey's insides burned and a painful itch ripped through her body, like a hot fire poker scraping her skin. The smell of her own burning flesh made her gag. The pain became excruciating, someone was laughing-

Kasey weakly called out Megan's name, screaming it, until she felt herself growing dizzy. The world around her shifted and blurred. She still heard Sophia screaming as she blacked out, and Megan's face as she stood above her, her footsteps echoing in her ears.

"My name isn't Megan." It said. "I'm Abigail."

  They called her a witch. That horrible, ugly word had been scrawled on her parents' barn and spewed from the lips of Abigail's classmates. It seemed like everyone knew about her and the things that she did when no one watched. They accused her of conjuring spirits and putting curses on her enemies using ancient magic. She wasn't evil, not at first.

It started when they killed her cat. It was a Sunday afternoon when Abigail heard loud cursing from the backyard, thrashing, and then the strangled hiss of Truman, her cat, that echoed through the house. She looked around for her parents and her older brother, Isaiah, but they hadn't returned from the store.

Abigail ran outside, where she saw Zeke and Jonathan Harris, two brothers who lived down the road. They were Abigail's usual tormentors, the ones who called her a sinner and a witch. She was sure they were the ones who scrawled "WITCH" in black on the side of their barn, but had no evidence. Zeke's hands were stained with something red and sticky. Abigail remembered Truman's hissing and the curses.

"What have you done this time?" Abigail said cautiously, stepping towards them.

Zeke, the oldest brother, had the most blood on him. It stained the knees of his dirty jeans, splattered on his white shirt. His arm was behind his back.

They wouldn't answer her.

"I said, what have you done?" Abigail said angrily. The fear and anger that she felt boiled like hot water under her skin. Jonathan was smiling like he had a secret, looking to the grass, which Abigail noticed was smeared with blood. That's when she saw her cat, Truman, laying on the ground between Abigail and the Harris brothers, stretched out like he wanted to be petted. His fur was matted with blood and his throat had been slit.

"No!" Abigail sobbed. She realized that behind Zeke Harris' back was a small pocketknife.

She had never wanted to hit anyone so hard in her life. Jonathan grabbed her and held her hands behind her back. She tried everything she could to escape, but Jonathan just held her down tighter.

"I am so sorry, Abigail. It was feral. It needed to be put down." Zeke said. He gave her an evil grin.

"You are a liar!" she yelled at him. She fought out of Jonathan's grasp, hoping to get a good swipe at him, but Zeke only stepped back towards Truman's body.

"Truman had never hurt anyone!" Abigail cried. She laid down next to the cat's bloodied corpse, stroking his fur and sobbing. The word "witch" burned in her mind. When they stopped spitting and cursing, they began laughing at her, soaked in her cat's blood and crying over his body.

They were still laughing when she snapped their necks.

She didn't even have to get up to do it.

  After they found the bodies, Abigail told Isaiah about what they did. She was already a sobbing, red-faced mess, but the constable assumed that she had been horrified to discover the mutilated bodies of the Harris brothers, and she was still traumatized from it. When they finished supper and her parents left for bed, she told her brother what she had done.

Isaiah's face glowed in the lamplight, and they sat in the attic to talk in private. Abigail even showed him Truman's corpse, which she had carried with her in a basket, kept comfortable in a pile of blankets. She planned on burying him under one of their juniper trees in the front of the house, but first she needed to show him what Zeke and Jonathan did.

"What did you do to them?" Isaiah asked. His face held no emotion.

Abigail began to cry again. "I did not mean to hurt them. They slit Truman's throat, they killed him. I had to do something."

"Their necks had been snapped, they were killed instantly. Was that you?" Isaiah asked slowly, almost looking betrayed.

"They slit Truman's throat and laughed! They threw dirt in my face and called me a witch. I did not mean to hurt them, but I was so mad." Abigail pleaded. "please do not be angry with me."

"How did you do it? Jonathan and Zeke Harris are two years older than you, they're bigger than you." 

Abigail put her head down. "I try to control it, but it always goes wrong. I hurt people."

"What they say about you is it true?" Isaiah asked sadly. "You're a, a witch?"

In the darkness of the attic, Abigail could see his face crumple in grief, his shoulders slumping. What quickly appeared as sadness and disappointment morphed into red-hot anger on his face. He didn't go into his rages unless he was bleary-eyed and drunk,  but other times he became violent for no reason at all. She was scared of these times. 

"Yes." Abigail said.

Isaiah stood up, and Abigail pleaded with him. "I do not want to be a witch! I have tried to hard to hide what I am but nothing can stop it. I am powerless to put an end to this curse. Please forgive me!"

She begged for his forgiveness until her voice gave out. But he didn't listen. When his fist connected with her cheek, the blow knocked her to the ground. A cruel laugh escaped Isaiah's lips, something Abigail had never heard before. Darkness consumed her, she couldn't see, she thought she had gone blind-

He beat her until she stopped crying, stopped begging. Abigail wanted to hit him back. But if she unleashed her powers, she would kill him. She would let him kick and curse and hit her until he was done, and then she would be forgiven. 

When he stopped, Abigail was laying on the floor, crying weakly. Isaiah stood over her, his face still red-hot and mean. His lips were turned into a disgusted scowl, like she was a dirty rat scavenging for food under the floorboards. He picked her up, and she was too weak to move. Abigail thought he was going to take her downstairs, but he turned to the family's old trunk at the back of the room.

Isaiah carried her to the trunk and opened it. Abigail realized what was happening and tried desperately to scratch or kick him, unleash her power, but she was bloody and weak. He shoved her inside, where there was barely any room for her whole body. Her shoulders were hunched, her legs pulled up to her chest.

"It is not up to me to punish you anymore. It is up to God." Isaiah said, slamming the trunk closed. He was going to leave her to die.

"Isaiah!" Abigail screamed. She gathered her strength and pounded on the lid of the trunk with both hands, until her fists ached. Her face was purple-ish and black from all the bruises, the marks from his fists that cloud her face like shadows. The trunk shook as she tried to escape, the air being sucked out of her. Her lip was split open and it bled, stinging her face when she screamed.

She wasn't evil, not at first.

[ourwordcraft]

The Trunk - Chapter 1

They thought that Megan O'Neill was possessed. A kid from school told Kasey he saw Megan drown her dog in the lake, and another swore she saw Megan rip the cross necklace off her neck in the girl's bathroom. She said she tore it off her like it has burned her flesh. The girl said that Megan screeched and hissed like a cat. Kasey was sure that was a lie, even though Megan's cross necklace had disappeared. 

Jonah was the one who started the whole thing. Every day he gathered as many people as he could in the cafeteria, telling stories and spouting theories. 

"It's a demon. It has possessed her and it will not rest until it has caused harm to everyone it touches. That evil thing will chew her up and spit her out." Jonah told them at lunch.

Kasey and her friends sat under the stairs of the large staircase that lead to the cafeteria. Kasey had just arrived when Jonah was in the middle of his daily speech. She sat down and kicked an empty Cheez-It's wrapper on the floor. Their cafeteria was notorious for its dirty floors and garbage scattered under tables, the scratched floors and tables carved with names and drawings etched into the wood with pencil. 

"Yeah right." Sophia scoffed, sitting back in her chair.

"More religious babble? I think that late-night screening of The Exorcist really screwed you up in the head, Jonah. Nothing's wrong with her." Kasey said, setting down her lunch tray and unwrapping her turkey sandwich from the plastic.

"See? Megan is Kasey's friend. She would know if something was up with her." Sophia said.

"Yeah." Kasey lied. She and Megan were friends, but not anymore. Sophia and Matthew still think they're friends, but they have mostly avoided each other. 

People had been talking about Megan for weeks now, and Kasey had no idea what was going on. Two weeks ago Jonah came up with the bright idea that Megan had been taken over by a demon, and the rumors and the stories took on a weird theme: possession. Strange stories floated around her head during lunch, of the time someone heard Megan chanting in a bizarre language, people saying they saw her sacrificing animals, writing demonic symbols on her hands during class. The stories blurred and spun so often it was hard to believe what was true or not.

"You're the one who started this freak show in the first place. You keep spreading these outrageous stories." Kasey accused.

"They're not stories! It's true!" Jonah snapped. 

Matthew interrupted, his tray clattering against the table as he took a seat. "What are we talking about?"

Sophia filled him in while Kasey kept debating with Jonah, who wouldn't budge on the subject. 

"What makes you think that Megan's possessed?" Kasey asked.

Jonah stabbed his straw into his milk carton and took a package of cookies from his backpack. He popped one into his mouth.

"I saw her." He said with a mouthful of crumbs.

"Saw her what?" Sophia wondered.

"I've seen her go to the woods every day after school. That demon inside her can do things I've never seen done. It can set fires and make things appear out of thin air. I've seen it." He continued, hands almost flailing wildly as he acted out his story.

"You were stalking her?" Kasey said, incredulous. Out of all the crazy things Jonah does, stalking was usually not one of them. 

"I was only watching." Jonah answered calmly, like following people around without them knowing was perfectly acceptable.

Matthew shook his head. "That's not good, man. You're acting creepy."

"You have to stop this. Just because you think she's possessed doesn't mean that you can stalk her. " Kasey said sharply.

Jonah's eyes lit up for a moment. "You guys have to come with me. Once you see what she can do, you'll know I'm right."

Kasey groaned, putting her head in her hands. "That's not what I meant at all."

"No, no, it's perfect. Then you'll know I'm not lying." Jonah said, tossing his wrapper into the nearest trash bin.

"No way. That is not happening." Kasey protested. Once Jonah got stuck on an idea, he wouldn't let up until he had his way. She was already weirded out by his behavior enough as it was, and she didn't feeling like stalking her ex-best friend to see if Jonah was right about his possession theory.

"I'll prove it to you, today after school." Jonah said in determination. "I'll show you that she's possessed."

"What if you're wrong?" Kasey asked bitterly, taking a sip of her juice. She knew she wasn't going to win this one.

"If I'm wrong, I will never follow or talk about Megan O'Neill again." He replied.

Kasey looked over to Matthew and Sophia, who were engrossed in their conversation. Sophia looked like she wanted to say something, but didn't.

"Deal. I'll see you guys after school." Kasey said, getting up to throw her food away. Her appetite was gone. Maybe she would show him that Megan was not possessed, and he would finally stop talking about it. Right now, she just didn't want to deal with anything. 

The cafeteria doors slammed shut behind her, her shoes scratching against the tile floor. She needed to talk to Megan.

    Kasey tried to talk to her right as school ended. Kids poured out of classrooms armed with umbrellas and thick, puffy raincoats. It made it hard to see anyone as she began to walk out of the building. Kasey noticed Megan's army-green coat by the school mascot statue in the front hall, a stone giant that looked so real it could come alive. Megan was facing the giant's wide, gaping mouth and pointed teeth. 

Kasey tapped her on the shoulder. "Megan?"

When Megan turned around, she noticed the wide grin on her face, which immediately disappeared.

"Oh, hey Kase." Megan said. Her dark brown hair was pulled up away from her face, and a thin black headband sat at the top of her head. Megan's face was free of makeup, scraped away to reveal a blank surface.

"Uh, hey. I was just, um wondering." Kasey stumbled, tripped, and fell flat on her face with her words. "how you were doing."

Megan gave her a bored look. "I'm doing good."

"I've heard what people have been saying." She said quietly. "I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"What have you heard?" Megan's voice was tense.

"Not a lot. You should just ignore those idiots and their stories. It will all blow over soon, I promise." Kasey assured her.

"Everyone thinks I'm a freak. How can I just ignore it?" Megan snapped. Her green eyes glowed in anger.

The entire school had emptied except for the office ladies and teachers drifting through the halls towards the classrooms. Three kids were trying to stick crumpled dollar bills into the school's ancient vending machine. 

"Do you believe them?" She said angrily. "Do you think something is wrong with me?

Kasey flinched. "I never said that."

Her hands clenched into fists. "Your friends think so. They're the ones spreading lies about me being possessed. It's their fault."

"It's just Jonah. He's just got it in his head that you're.. " Kasey trailed off.

"Why do you even care, Kasey? We haven't spoken in weeks and now you're being nice to me? We aren't friends." Megan said coldly, her green eyes becoming darker.

Kasey remembered debate team practices and swim meets they went to together, how they walked to the Grab and Go to buy snacks, how they visited Seattle in 8th grade for summer vacation and watched the local theater troupe in town perform every weekend. They used to be best friends, and now, they weren't. 

"That's not true. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." She said. "I was worried."

"Well, you shouldn't be worried about me." Megan replied. "you should be worried about your friends."

Megan's face turned blank again. She turned and left through the front doors of the school without saying goodbye. The only sound Kasey heard after that was the screeching of buses pulling up to the front of school and the dull hum of the school's heater.

Kasey stood there, dumbfounded. She waited for all the buses to leave left and the school to go silent. It wasn't until she left the building and walked out onto the rain-slicked streets that she realized that Megan's eyes were blue, not green.