Chapter 1 Christian
CHRISTIAN
“Look, just because you don’t believe in demons, doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Kaleb snarks as he carries the box of books across the stockroom.
It’s late, far later than I normally work, but I could really use some extra cash this month so I volunteered to stay late for the monthly stockroom clean out.
I don’t really mind staying late, it’s not like I have anyone at home waiting for me besides the monsters lurking under my bed and in the back of my closet.
Kaleb is good company as well. He’s the type of outgoing, charming, and charismatic guy that I wish I could be more like.
With his shoulder-length chestnut locks and glowing smile, he’s the type of guy that other people notice.
I am the complete opposite—my pale-blonde hair and petite frame usually allow me to hide in the unseen background of any situation.
It’s part of the reason I love working at the bookstore, I can blend back into the recesses of the rows of books and escape to far-off places through the pages.
“Don’t tell me you really believe in all that paranormal stuff?” I ask him as I take a box full of extra copies of the latest fantasy flop—that the owner ordered way too much of—into the very back, bottom corner where they can gather dust in peace.
“I can’t believe you don’t!” He scoffs as he continues to sort and move boxes. “Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before? Something strange or off that you can’t quite explain reasonably?”
Only the ghosts that haunt my nightmares.
“Nope. I guess I’m just not worth haunting,” I reply with a huffed out laugh as I continue to organize.
The basement where the bookstore keeps all the extra stock is damp and dark. I absolutely hate it down here. I may not believe in demons, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still get freaked out by a creepy ass basement.
A man in his twenties, scared of a dark basement. Get it together, Christian.
“You gotta stop talking down about yourself, Christian,” Kaleb admonishes.
He’s not wrong, I am harsh on myself and he has told me more than once that I need to make sure I am treating myself with the respect I deserve.
I can’t help it though, I use self-depreciation as a defense mechanism.
“Besides, ghosts and demons don’t give a shit if you believe in them, they’ll haunt you anyway. ”
I’m not sure I believe in ghost stories like the shitty autobiography of a family living in a haunted house that we found in the stockroom which got us started on this whole conversation.
But I do believe in evil, in darkness. I experience it every night when I close my eyes.
Sleep paralysis induced insomnia is what I’m officially diagnosed with.
They can call it whatever they want, I know the truth.
And the truth is far more terrifying than stupid ghost stories.
“Sure, whatever you say, Mr. Tough Guy,” I joke as I open another unknown box of books that needs to be labeled.
“Hey, I may be buff,” he flexes his arms to demonstrate his point, “but even I don’t fuck with that shit. Like Ouija boards and shit. Nope, hard fucking pass.”
“Oh, come on, you know that stuff is fake. It’s just people moving it and pretending they didn’t.”
I’ve only used an Ouija board once when I was a pimple-faced preteen.
It was at the one and only party I went to in middle school.
Back when I still thought maybe I could be into girls, I was invited to a party at Cindy Erickson’s house and decided I couldn’t turn down that invitation.
She was always kind and pretty, so I went.
I ended up leaving with hot, angry tears running down my face and the sense of dread following me the entire way home.
They’d all messed with me, pretending the spirit board had said it wanted me.
It even went as far as to spell out my entire name, including my middle name.
I have no idea how those asshole wannabe-jock preteens figured out my full middle name, but apparently the lengths kids are willing to go to in order to mess with the ‘nerdy kid’ is pretty fucking far.
I still have nightmares about that party.
Clearly, a part of my subconscious isn’t willing to let the humiliation go.
Kaleb’s phone ringing loudly pulls me from my thoughts, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the basement. I look around the room, it looks considerably better than when we started organizing a few hours ago. It will never be perfect, but it’s better.
“Yeah babe, that sounds good,” Kaleb says into the phone, clearly talking to his girlfriend. I’ve met her. She’s cute and skinny and blonde. Together they make a picture-perfect couple. “I’ll wrap up here and head over.”
Hanging up the phone, Kaleb dusts off his hands. “I’m going to head out, man, gotta pick up my girlfriend. You want to walk out together?”
I squint through the low light of the dying bulbs that illuminate the space. There’s only maybe a handful of boxes left to be labeled and organized. I’d rather get the job done instead of having to stay late a second night.
“Nah,” I tell him as I crouch to grab one of the boxes thrown haphazardly on the dirty cement floor. “I’ll finish up these last few and then head out. You go on without me.”
“You sure?” he asks with hesitation creeping into his tone. “I don’t want to leave you to walk home alone this late.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him with a wave of my hand. “What’s going to happen to me on a walking trail on a random Tuesday night? Slip and sprain my ankle? I live three blocks away, I’ll be fine.”
He sits silently for a minute, bobbing between the balls of his feet. He might be a bit of a pretty-boy who's here mostly for the Manga section of the store, but he’s a good guy at heart.
“Go on,” I assure him. “Your girlfriend is waiting for you.”
“Alright, thanks, man. I’ll catch you on Thursday,” he says with a smile. Tomorrow is my day off, another reason I agreed to stay late tonight.
“Drive safe,” I holler as his pounding footsteps take the stairs two at a time.
I hear him moving around on the floor above me as he gathers his things. After a few moments, the sound of the door closing echoes through the empty space, leaving me alone in the darkness.
The night air is cool and crisp against my heated face as I step out of the door of the bookshop.
The last few boxes didn’t take me very long to sort, but they were really heavy.
My skin is covered in a light layer of sticky perspiration.
The fall air against my sweat-slicked skin is refreshing.
Locking up the door to the shop, I take a deep inhale before walking down the front walkway and toward the alley that leads to the back of the shop.
The storefront is right on the main street of our small Northeastern town, but the walking path that runs along the creek out back cuts through the trees, providing a shortcut to my small apartment.
As I walk through the alley to head toward the back of the shop, I catch sight of the brightly colored trees of the woods beyond.
The vibrant yellows and oranges are a stark contrast against the darkness of the night sky.
I’ve always loved fall. It’s cozy and comforting; and for someone as pale as I am, a break from the sun and heat is always pleasant.
My messenger bag is slung over my shoulder, and with each step the body of the bag hits lightly against my corduroy-covered thigh.
I savor the calm quietness of this moment to myself, allowing my shoulders to hang loosely without the usually constant tightness of anxiety.
“Hey faggot!” a voice calls from off to my left.
I swing swiftly toward the sound. My heart lodges uncomfortably in my throat with the sudden scare.
I thought I’d been alone, completely unaware that someone else was out here at this time of night.
My eyes adjust to the shadows, allowing me to make out five tall figures slinking from the darkness of the building down the street. Fuck.
As quickly and calmly as I can, I make a dash for the cover of the trees.
Without stopping or slowing, I reach one hand into my messenger bag, desperately feeling for the sharp metal of my keys among the books and papers nestled inside.
The thundering sound of footsteps from behind has me quickening my own steps.
“We’re talking to you, fag! Get the fuck back here!” one of them shouts. His voice sounds close, too close. I’m not going to be able to outrun them, they’re too fast.
Fear grips my chest as I break out into a full-on sprint.
Ripping my keys from my bag, I throw the strap over my head, letting the heavy books fall to the ground with a thud.
My heart pumps rapidly in my chest, threatening to rip through my ribs as I run as fast as I can.
Just a little bit further. I’m only about a hundred yards from the tree line.
Once I’m out of the open, I can lose them among the twisted branches and falling leaves.
I can make it. I have to make it. I push my feet to move quicker, desperate to escape the monsters behind me.
Suddenly, the wind is knocked completely from my lungs as a hard body hits me from behind, shoving me to the ground.
Rough gravel scrapes at my skin, leaving a stinging burn across my cheek and forearm.
I groan in agony as the initial shock fades into searing pain.
My attacker doesn’t relent; his firm body presses me ruthlessly in the harsh ground beneath us.
“Caught us a fucking fairy, boys,” his cold and merciless voice growls in my ear. “Let’s see if we can teach him a lesson about how real men act.”
The shadowy figures looming above me chuckle at the taunt. The others circle around us, cutting off any hope I had of escape.
What the fuck do I do? Fight back or take the blows and hope they get tired?
Meaty fingers slide into my hair, twisting my pale waves roughly. Stinging pain radiates through my scalp as my head is ripped back. My neck strains in discomfort to try to accommodate the way my head is being pulled.
“Fucking freak,” one of them barks before spitting on my face. The warm, wet saliva drips down my cheek slowly as their cruel laughter rings through my ears.
Suddenly, my head is swiftly shoved back down to the ground.
The force of my face hitting the hard ground below causes an instantaneous burst of blinding pain to radiate through me.
It feels as if I’m on fire. But soon the fire melts into throbbing, radiating pain.
The metallic taste of my own blood fills my mouth.
Just as a choked sob leaves my lips, the pressure on my back abruptly relents.
“The fuck?” I hear one of my attackers mutter above me as I greedily suck air into my lungs.
The sound of whimpering from above me causes me to slowly flip to my back as I start to regain my ability to breathe.
It takes my mind a minute to wrap around what my eyes are seeing.
Above me stands a figure cloaked in shadows.
Their face is hidden by the pulled-down hood of their black sweatshirt.
Even in the darkness of the night, I can tell that they’re huge as they tower above the cowering men who moments ago were hurling hate at my back.
Their large gloved-hand is wrapped firmly around the throat of the man who’d moments ago been on my back.
My attacker kicks and flails in my savior's hold, but it’s no use—he’s a small predator that’s found himself clutched in the jaws of a much larger beast. When the hooded figure speaks to the man in his clutches their words wrap around me like smooth smoke, sending a shiver shooting down my spine.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing to my human?”