Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     — Is your father pushing these beliefs on you?

  He asks this question as if it means nothing – as if he didn’t just get punched in the middle of his porcelain face last time he inquired the other about that very same person. Although you couldn’t really call the previous time a regular and serious question more so than just a roast, you’d think he would have learned his lesson. He seemingly never does.

     — Just because my dad is a preacher doesn’t mean he owns me! I’m my own person.

  The words coming out of his mouth felt so fake and automated that he couldn't help but grimace immediately after saying them and he felt lucky for having this dirty, scribbled-all-over door between them. There were so many layers of shiny, cheap paint trying to cover up the drawings and curse words that it looked perpetually wet and felt kind of gross too – if he were to be honest, everything was grossing him out at that moment. He wanted to get out of there and run far away so bad that he was looking for any distraction possible and over-analyzing every millimeter of the tiny stall, pretending everything he saw was new even though he spends time inside it almost every day. It felt pathetic just like everything else did that day. He felt pathetic from the moment he heard Sal’s voice and it sent him into a cold sweat more than the fact that someone, no matter who, was gonna run into him crying on the floor of a bathroom stall itself. The fact that listening to his voice felt like someone was pressing a cube of ice into the back of his neck and the cold water was dripping all the way down to the base of his spine, and it somehow felt very cold and very hot at the same time.

  But maybe he was right! He’s absolutely not just a child of his father, or else he wouldn’t put himself in such a humiliating situation in the first place. That twisted view of the situation brought some kind of comfort to him.

     — Well, you seem so unhappy, man. Are you sure your dad isn’t putting too much pressure on you? I bet it's tough being the son of such an intense man.

 “I don’t think someone who asks me if I ‘kiss my daddy with my tongue’ really cares about that”

     — You have no idea what it’s like.

  He wanted to say the first thing that came to his mind, but that’s what came out instead. Although he is very hard to deal with (and he knows that), he’s also aware of how saying this would be hypocritical and most of all, unfair. You’d guess that months of relentless bullying without any response or clap back would, indeed, end up in a very disrespectful joke sometime. It was just a matter of time and he could understand that, but not admit it – much less say it out loud.

     — I’m sorry, man.

  That one caught him off guard. Now what the hell was that guy saying sorry for? When Travis finally comes to terms with the fact that he might have been insufferable to the other, he shows himself to be worried about him and apologizes. It’s baffling and almost enraging. So he chooses to interpret this as some kind of pity instead.

     — Don’t be sorry for me, Sally Face. I don’t need your pity.

     — We don’t have to be enemies, you know that, right?

  The thing with having your nerves on the surface of your skin at all times is that you can’t ignore the things you feel. The direction this conversation was going was making his heart hammer in his chest so hard that he wondered if the blue headed boy could hear it from the other side of the door, that maybe being partially blind made his hearing super special or something. Or at least he guessed being partially blind is part of the mess going on behind that mask since he seemed to wear a glass eye that was just a bit too big for his eye socket, and it made this one eye stay in place no matter where the other one was staring, in an uncanny way. Uncanny might be replacing mesmerizing in that occasion, but that's another weird can of worms. Or maybe he just had a lazy eye, which was even stupider.

     — I think under all of that anger, there’s a good dude who’s afraid to be himself.

  It feels like the walls of the stall are closing in and the vague gross smell of the place is getting more unbearable, along with the low yellowed headlight that flickers every now and then and makes the room look a bit green, and the lack of windows in it. Now it felt like Sal was trapping him inside this toilet, and it all made him feel like he was being chased off and, somehow, defenseless. Not even his height that towers a whole head and clavicle above the other boy – he found that out yesterday, in the one and only occasion they were close, which just happened to be right before he tried to cave his face in down the middle – could give him a sense of superiority. This dude sees right through him as if his body was made out of glass and the ribs and the heart were right there inside of it for everyone to see. And even if everyone could see it, he can see it clearer.

     — If you ever need someone to talk to, or if you need to get away from your dad for a while, you can hang out with me.

  That pulled him back from the thousands of trails of thought he was going on at once and brought back his sense of reality at least a little. Hanging out? What could possibly be nice about hanging out with the guy that made you and your friends feel bad about existing the whole year? What could possibly be nice about hanging out with a weird and off putting, way too tall of an 18 year old with acid yellow hair, sticking out like a sore thumb? He felt like he would somehow attract more attention than any of the others, even if they were the so-called “freaks” – so-called by him, who cried every other night about being scared that he just might be the biggest freak among them. Hell world.

     — …Why- Why are you being so nice to me?

 That’s when he finally said the only thing he could think about. Why is Sal Fisher, out of all the people that could come at him with a savior complex, decided to do it. Why this man – well, kind of? – that probably has a very fucked up and twisted story to tell about that smooth two toned face that’s held together by four leather straps and some bits of tape of his, and why he keeps his dirty blonde hair religiously painted bright blue every single day. He could only tell he’s blonde because his lashes sat above those striking blue eyes (or that striking blue eye) looking like a layer of dust sitting on top of an old doll – which he only noticed in the same day, the same day he made one of the most stupid decisions of this life and for the one punch he landed in that guy he got another on his eye, and 5 belt slashes landed on his back. Why is this one peculiar person that he decided to annoy to no end, and has so much else to worry about – like people that behave like him, for example – standing outside this bathroom stall trying to pry out of him why he’s so bitter, and offering shelter for when he finally decides to tell him that and stop feeling this way. He had everything he could possibly want, his friends love him to the end of days and are way more well-resolved than Travis, but he still wanted to have this. He wants to have him , safe, inside of his home.

     — I don’t think you’re a bad person, Travis.

  And he knew him so well without even knowing him that he wondered if he was that easy to read or if he was being stalked, although there is no way to stalk someone’s feelings and thoughts – unless he’s been pulling tarot cards about him, or asking someone to do so, now that would be freaky. He knows that group likes to mess with ghosts – which he learned his whole life are just demons in disguise trying to seem alluring to humans – and doesn’t doubt they dip their toes in some activities of the sort. Ashley looks like she would do something like that. He knows him so well that he’s reassuring him about insecurities he doesn’t even actively think about, but certainly has, ten minutes into their first real exchange of words.

  Well he could only give a little bit of respect back at that.

     — You know, I don’t really hate you… or your friends…

  For the first time, it was honest.

     — I didn’t really think so.

  And for the first time somehow Sal also knowing that all his hatred was a game of play-pretend didn’t surprise, or scare him.

     — I- I guess-

  He hated how stupid and weak he sounded now and how he couldn’t impose any more power in this spot, but pressed on.

     — Well, I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.

  Despite how precarious that whole situation felt up until now, finally saying that had him letting out a breath of relief. For the first time he felt like he was doing something good, for the first time not a mirror of his father and for the first time putting a brick on the road to something better, whatever that thing is. And simultaneously it felt very real and very scary, that facing the truth the way it is and not seeing people in black and white is harder than being reactive all the time.

     — That means a lot to me. It really does. Thank you. – Travis could hear the ruffling of fabric as Sal stood up to leave soon, the boy had sat on the floor to hear him a couple minutes back since this conversation stretched itself far longer than the lunch break and he probably felt tired. He felt a bit bad about that. – And what I said about being here for you if you ever decide you want a friend, I meant that.

     — Don’t push your luck, Sally Face!

  Travis himself stood up from the toilet lid planning on leaving soon, and it creaked – he sure wouldn’t like to accidentally crack it from sitting on it for so long and break school property – or at least if he did, he wouldn’t let anyone notice it was him. Even if he was the only one who really used that stall, being this far back. This weird conversation has gone on for long enough and he already felt the urge to establish some sort of fake and shallow self-respect by being passive-aggressive.

     — Okay, now scram so I can have my alone time. And, uh…

  The awkward silence installs itself back on.

     — What?

     — Don’t tell anyone about this or you’re dead!

  He immediately realized how dumb he sounded and grimaced again. Old habits die hard.

“Why are you threatening him again right after apologizing? Are you 12 years old??”

     — Er, I mean, just don’t tell anyone about this. Okay?

     — I won’t.

  He finally let out a long breath after hearing the blue pair of converse squeak their way out of the room against the filthy floor, and the click of the heavy door. He was alone again.

  And being alone again warranted that he was gonna remember why he went there in the first place. To cry. To cry because for some reason that day decided to be so, so miserable, and in that day the weather decided to be a bit chilly and he decided to wear a long-sleeved shirt under his magenta sweater, and the thick seam of the cuffs of both the shirt and the sweater were conflicting with each other and making his skin itch. Because he decided to wear two things on the upper half but only half a thing on the lower (a jean short) and now he felt half too hot, half too cold. Just like the imaginary ice cube melting down his back when he thinks about Sal, which was precisely what he was thinking of when writing that desperate and sinful now crumpled up letter beside the bathroom’s trash can that he just remembered existed, and was now back in a cold sweat wondering if Sal did see it – and read it – or not. He hoped with his soul that he didn’t, but he hoped with his heart that he did.

  Being alone again also reminded him of how his mental troubles weren’t the only ones to bother him, as his swollen purple, green and yellow eye hurt so bad that he could feel it throbble to his heartbeat, and he also persisted on ignoring how his vision from it was blurry since then . His stinging back rubbing against the shirt also did not help anything at all. If anything could save this day it was his favorite lunch of the week, which just so happened to taste rancid today and in all of the last few weeks, wrapping it all up. It was all great and dandy. The bucket of icy cold cerulean blue water he just got thrown at him didn't numb him long enough for him to forget that hell awaits him back home, walks, talks and has a surname. That just happens to be the same as him.

“Maybe if I face the things that terrify me head-on they won’t have so much power over me”

  His life took all of the weird turns possible ever since the incident , but most of all – ever since he moved into Nockfell. Being shot in the face sure does a number on anyone but he soon learned how to swallow that lump on his throat, – or at least not think about the lump every second of the day – however that wasn’t the case for all the other odd and unexplainable things that followed it up in the years that came later.

  First comes their new home itself: Addison Apartments – The cozy and cheap opportunity to start a new life which creaks like a wooden house even though it’s a full blown apartment building made out of concrete and brick; has thick air inside as if it didn’t have any windows (it does), and has green mold all over. It gave off the feeling that the very structure of it wanted to talk to you in some kind of “Monster House” fashion and some parts of it have been constantly under renovation all those years, which would be just fine and probably caused by an ordinary reason like money, yet somehow it felt weirder than that. But besides all of this, Sal decided that the place just felt like that because the whole town felt weird with it, and tried to accommodate himself to the surroundings. His senior year self isn’t too sure if he would do what he did at the time ever again but he applauds the bravery that 14 year old Sal had to, very determinedly, greet every single resident of the building he just moved in – regardless of how weird and/or off putting they were because he knew he himself was too, at first – while wearing “The Most Ugly Prosthetic Of The World” (name coined by himself at the times he was feeling like dog shit) – and his traditional crooked blue pigtails with the beige bald-headed looking roots peeking out. “Teenage personal style blindness” might be real after all but his young adult self just decided that this “(whatever) blindness” thing is simply a stupid useless internet gimmick to make any and everyone feel ugly he managed to catch up on in the few times he used social media – which he doesn’t like very much at all – and any form of self expression is valid in this age bracket, specially taking into consideration he still wears his pigtails most of the time; just lower down his neck and doesn’t have motivation to keep his roots and what he has left of some eyebrows perfectly blue all the time either. Also considering that he was too focused on not letting his dad worry about his inside troubles at the time (and still to this day), he had decided that worrying about how his daughter got her face blown off and now she didn't just not have one anymore, but was also no longer a daughter overall , was enough by itself.

     — This will be our new beginning. We can finally leave what happened in New Jersey behind us now…

  He knew much too well that Henry has an incredibly hard time touching on any subject regarding him now. That everything feels endlessly confusing and utterly hopeless but this tiny odd apartment somehow brought a spark of hope to the man’s face, so who was he to put an end to this? He couldn’t afford to put another gray hair on his dad’s head, for he was much too young to have any more than five of those or so in Sal’s opinion. So he didn’t answer.

     — Why don’t you go explore the building and make some friends while I finish unpacking?

  That was all he needed to just get out of that room and that perpetually uncomfortable palpable thickness in the air for a moment. So he did just that, exploring every single thing, way more than he intended to and in a way that may have no end in sight.

  Other than his own mother, Lisa might be the sweetest woman Sal ever had the pleasure of meeting. Her tired eyes never fail to come across as thoughtful and caring, and he can safely say he’s grown to be very attached to her; And it didn’t take long – from the very first time they interacted he knew for a fact that if he could trust anyone in that odd place it was her.

  And the very first time they interacted was, too, the first of many times he would get way too involved in the weird events that take place in this city.

     — So, do you know anything about what happened in 403?

  If Sal were to list his flaws, morbid curiosity would be up top. He knew that too well but, simultaneously, couldn’t say no to the urge to investigate every thing that seemed out of place. It gets worse when you move into a small town and there isn’t really much to do yet outside of unpacking, and there won’t be too much to do anytime soon either. He thought to himself he was screwed, by the way things were going and feeling he would probably end up investigating the entirety of Nockfell.

     — It’s a shame you and your dad got this crummy first impression. I promise things aren’t typically so gruesome around here… Poor Mrs. Sanderson… – Lisa looked genuinely pitiful about whatever happened inside those walls, but Sal was convinced she would regard anyone else just as dearly in this situation, so she probably wasn’t close to the woman.

     — Who's Mrs. Sanderson?

     — Oh, never mind that. Best not to set your mind on such dreadful things.

  It wouldn’t be that easy to untangle this mystery, apparently. He simply decided not to bother Lisa any longer with that, she probably has too many unpleasant things to worry about already, being this building’s handywoman for over a decade. Talk about a place with plenty of things to fix…

     — Is this building haunted? 

     — Sal, sweetie, I’ve been taking care of the Addison Apartments for a long time and I’ve never seen any ghosts or goblins – that’s just people’s overactive imaginations. Too much sweets and scary movies, if you ask me.

  Lucky her, he’s been here for a day and already feels the chills that creep down his spine when he passes by some places; He can only imagine what type of fun “dreams” he’ll be having from now on, but maybe he could be a bit optimistic, he has a lot to learn from her.

     — Is there anything to do for fun around here?

     — Ya know what? I have a son around your age, I think you two would get along great!

“Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, Sal ”

  Larry, Ashley and Todd were the very few people that convinced Sal that when his dad said that, it was honest.

  It all started with Larry. On top of Lisa’s incredible personality, she’s responsible for him meeting his absolute best friend: her son. Things clicked fast, they are two SS rate weirdos – although from different categories, per se, it was enough for bonding over. Who else would, before anything else, compliment his prosthetic? It never happened before at least, but he guessed things change. Maybe everyone was just lame back in New Jersey.

“You’re a complicated dude, aren’t you, Sal? You’re pretty strange. I like you, we’re gonna get along great.”

  He’s a kind-of-crusty kind-of-clean metalhead who has a great hand for painting anything that comes to his mind or is described to him, no sketch beforehand, just feeling. He likes to listen to window-shattering music and luckly for him, as stated by himself, his apartment has no windows so he can do that whenever he wants and Lisa allows him to. After that first ever conversation of theirs, he never asked Sal about personal things out of the blue again, unless prompted to or if the subject was brought on by him – he never seemed scared of using the priviledge of being taller and looking crazy to scare people away if they got hostile towards Sal and he never looked bothered about seeming obxinous or stupid when correcting people that misgender his friend – to Larry, people are simply what they tell you they are, no matter if they look enough like that for you or not. That he could never be thankful enough for.

  All of his friends were the building blocks of his music taste but Larry was up top, the love he already had for electric guitar riffs only grew over these years of convivence and his hability on his own grew with it, practice really does make perfect. He was – and still is – the best audience possible, he would cheer on even the weirdest combo of notes because some talented singer could probably make that work in their song someday. He also liked to play guitar, only the acoustic one – he said he got it from his dad – but he didn’t aim for perfection like Sal did; He just played whatever pleased his ears and that wasn’t a complicated feat to achieve. He guessed that, like with Lisa, he also has a lot to learn from Larry – even more than he already did.

  All of the mystery solving also started with Larry; One of the first things the two discussed was “What’s up on 403?”, and the boy just happened to have the answer for that. But he didn’t have enough of an answer to put an end to the whole thing, so for the first time of many, they immediately got to work.

  Cassandra Sanderson got her head and neck split open all while Larry hid inside her bathroom, behind the shower curtain, shaking like a leaf and heard all of it – the only chance Sal ever had to “see” her she was wrapped in a barely white sheet, with two growing large dark red and brown stains where the blood dried on it – and the killer from the record picture didn’t look anything like her actual murderer. If the two were going to wait for anything big to really settle the suspicion that something is horribly wrong with this city, that made it – because more scary than a murder taking place inside the walls of your building is the thought that all of the officers you saw investigating the case vanished without a trace days after, and have no record of even existing at all.

  Todd was just the best guy around for a lot of things – he is smart, intellectual, stores knowledge about many things and subjects and is definitely the person for when you realize you, for some reason, need answers about something completely random or entirely specific. If he doesn’t know what you want yet he’s gonna research it and remind you of it along with the answer days later, when even yourself already forgot about it. He’s also a bit of an artisan sometimes, – people don’t usually expect manual work and nerdy dudes to be in the same equation but he says any knowledge is good knowledge and he must know at least a bit of it all – having made several interesting modifications to Sal’s, Larry’s and Chug’s things to make them multi-functional. Maybe he also got all this work for himself so that he’s never bored at home, he says he has the kind of agitated mind only weed fixes – even though Sal thinks he looks like the most chill dude among all of them – and he hates the smell of it, even smell-proofing his room from the rest of the house in which his parents have all kinds of fun activities involving this very thing. Sal honestly has no idea how you even smell-proof a room, but that's an impressive and useful feat, taking into consideration how he agrees that weed does smell rancid – especially when you only have half of your nose’s cartilage.

  Although anyone would be quick to expect Todd to be skeptical, Larry said he was a good option for Sal to discuss the ghosts he supposedly knows live in the Addison’s building with, so he went and did just that.

     – Do you believe in ghosts?

     – I believe in paranormal occurrences and the possibility of consciousness enduring beyond death.

  Sounds fair enough for him. That’s when Todd transformed Sal’s “ Intendo Switch” into some kind of spirit box-esque device with some chunkier batteries and a scanner antenna; Said device would become absolutely pivotal in his journey into the “paranormal” side of Addison’s, which to him was just normal and a regular side of life. It was present and palpable, just like the meat of the living itself. Who would be him to ever doubt that life keeps going far beyond our vision, after quite literally living through death in a way that made sure he would remember it every time he looks at himself in the mirror before a quick shower? If he often has trouble believing he’s living, he couldn’t possibly doubt the living dead.

  What could even be said about Ashley… She has fascinated him from the moment he first saw her and kept doing so for the whole almost 4 years they’ve known each other. Sure thing Larry is his closest friend and almost brother, but life has different types of closure and the kind he has with Ash makes him feel like there’s a warm summer day happening inside his stomach and her eyes are the grass field under it. It is true that Sal has a hard time differentiating friendship from whatever else but he only ever felt this way towards her and this very odd feeling has been stretching itself for the entirety of high school. Something just clicks between them and he can imagine how even if they met back when they were kids they would probably be the notorious girl best friends of class that are seemingly tied to each other, the way people never see them apart.

  Apart from fascination, he knew to recognize her many talents and unique abilities. She’s Larry’s childhood friend and his artistic counterpart, amazing at graphite and colored pencil illustrations while he masters the acrylics and oils. Not very rarely they take on each other’s pieces to finish them, or experiment with stick-and-poke or machine tattoos on the other’s bodies – Larry was definitely more of a machine-powered guy but Ash knew how to handle both really well for a beginner. He could only trust her with her amazing dexterity for everything from opening a pickle jar to eventually doing his testosterone shots for him, but he had yet to mention that to her another day. She would probably agree.

  Not everything is sunshine and rainbows and Sal always had a deep rooted fear that, for some stupid reason, if any of the people that found him interesting and/or endearing found out he looks “like this” they would just recoil and rewire their impressions of him immediately. But he also wasn’t surprised when neither Larry or Ashley – the only two people besides his dad and the medic crew that did see what he looks like, and gizmo of course – did that, and instead pulled him for a hug and called him an utter idiot for even considering that an option.

  Which brings him back from his disassociation daydreams to the present moment. The reason Ash even did see his face was because that happened a day ago, and what the fuck did that and the conversation from five minutes ago even mean from now on? He had great physical trauma and a number of procedures done to his face but he also never considered that he’d be punched someday, much less on top of his prosthetic, but he should have seen that coming. You fuck around and find out, unless you’re Travis Phelps – the school never lets him “find out” enough seeing as that punch didn’t even render him a couple days off class. But Sal also knew that he “found out” much at home, later, from the way he looked almost disfigured when he showed up to algebra this morning. This of course didn’t even begin to justify the way he acts and the things he says but sure is an insight into the thick, hard-wired roots of this tree. He did say that morbid curiosity is his top flaw and he wasn’t just gonna sleep on how Travis Phelps, preacher’s son, spends a good some of his lunch breaks dirtying his tidy clothes on the bathroom stall floor crying about God knows what and how that crumpled letter beside the trash can also seemed very strangely connected to this odd and weird situation. He couldn’t make any solid connections yet, – much less now that he has another worm from the big can that is Nockfell to think about waiting for him in the school lab – but he would spare a piece of his mind to think about that later.

Chapter Text

  Sal usually speeds down the halls when he’s walking by himself; Ash and Larry say he behaves as if he’s being chased by a wild animal when they’re not with him, which is kinda funny. But this time he was walking much slower, so as to not trip on his feet while he re-reads the letter he picked up from the floor and pocketed before leaving. One side of him was saying he should have left it there – better yet, actually throw it inside the can, which he supposed was the original goal of whoever threw it – because if the person intended to throw that away, and the end was all scribbled over like that, the contents of the letter were probably personal and meant to never be read. But the other – the morbidly curious kinda mischievous one – told him that it had no signature so he had no way to associate it with anyone; Besides, if the person was that scared of someone reading it they would have made double sure it was inside the can, and maybe burned it too. He took the second one. He also chose to distract himself with this instead of the elephant in the room because that was a more private, personal elephant and he couldn’t get to the lab telling everyone about it like he usually would with anything else. He would have to digest that situation by himself, later – at least for now.

   “The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m crazy about you. I think you’re amazing!”

  The leaning handwriting with the little circles for periods and the words not touching the top or bottom line – he remembers Todd commenting one of those days how some people say those are signs that the person writing is anxious. It’s not scientifically proven, though, so he automatically disregards it. Still interesting. If true, whoever wrote that is very anxious and passionate – when was the last time he saw a teenager say they are “crazy” about someone? 

   “But I know these feelings are wrong. It’s not the way a boy should feel. Shame swallows me whole.”

  That’s what gets him the most. He tries not to be too much of an overthinker, (but fails if his bottles of medicine say anything) but some things were just clicking too well for him. And he can only imagine this whole thing has to feel incredibly miserable, miserable enough to… Leave the cafeteria and cry on the floor of a school bathroom stall? “Stop making assumptions” the other side keeps saying. Maybe he should listen.

  “My father would kill me but I can’t live in his shadow forever I just…”

   “Just because my dad is a preacher it doesn’t mean he owns me! I’m my own person.”

  But it was getting so hard to not tie those knots.

  When he finally turned his attention back to his path he was face to face with the lab door. Well, can’t ignore the plastic bag of gross bologna sitting on his other pocket forever, after all.

     — What took you so long? We were getting worried that Kim might have killed you to make more bologna — Larry put his hand on his chest and made a fake sigh of relief, which got a giggle from Ash that was resting her head on her elbow and twirling a strand of hair between her fingers on the table further away. Todd was sitting on a stool beside her, just staring and waiting for Sal to say something.

     — I got Ash’s cam and took a picture of the birds that live on that one tree outside, since it said on Kim’s file that she used to be an amateur photographer and keeps feeding those birds, I figured she has some kind of interest in them. I was right, she looked happy to get the picture and didn’t mind giving me more bologna — he pulled the plastic bag from his pocket with pinched fingers as if it was toxic, slowly — …After I told her we wanted to know more about it because we just like it soo much y’know…

  Todd stood up from his stool to grab the bag, leaving a disgust-faced Ash behind.

     — Did she tell you anything else about it?

     — She said that it’s made by Mrs. Packerton, “100% beef directly from her family’s farm”. — he made air quotes while repeating the description Kim gave him — Don’t know why I have trouble believing that last part.

     — Whoa, no way, dude. She lives in the apartments, how can she make her own lunch meats?

  Larry was asking the real questions, Sal never really stopped to think about how odd Mrs. Packerton’s behaviour is until now.

     — Oh yeah! I forgot she lives there. I hardly ever see her, I’ve probably seen her in the building twice since I moved there and that was almost 4 years ago…

     — She tends to return at late hours, I believe that she keeps multiple jobs. Teachers don’t get paid as well as you may think, so it’s fairly common. 

  Sal wonders if somehow Todd got access to the footage from the new cameras Terrence installed in the building, or if he just knew that because he pulls all-nighters sometimes. Whatever it may be, Todd knows a lot of stuff without a quick explanation and that tends to be very helpful, so he wasn’t gonna ask about that.

     — However, when Mrs. Packerton is home, she makes quite a lot of noise. It’s very peculiar.

  At this point the whole situation was only getting weirder and weirder, which was no surprise since it began involving the Addison’s Apartments, that was bound to happen. Ashley finally spoke up, seemingly ready for action.

     — So what do we do? Should we ask Packerton about this odd side business of hers? — She looked at the boys with her big questioning eyes. Ashley was probably the most straightforward person among the four, if there’s a call for action she’s the first one to take it, and she doesn’t like to “tiptoe around things” (which is what they do all the time, according to her). She also thinks that their apartments are “just weird as hell” and states that she won’t believe any paranormal story of the sorts until a ghost materializes before her eyes. She doesn’t sustain her witchy look much, the purple clothes, eyeshadow and the waist-length hair are just there because she likes them, not to make a statement. — Or are you boys going to do your whole detective thing?

     — Heh, I don’t know, what do you think, Sal?

     — Let’s do a little snooping before going to Packerton. — He stood straight up again, no longer supporting his weight on the table behind him and took a deep breath — I don’t like the way this is playing out. If something nefarious is going on, it’d be best not to let her know that we’re looking into it.

     — Agreed. 

     — Good call, Sally.

  The girl also stood up now, seemingly agreeing with the “tiptoeing around” for once. It was a very strange situation indeed, and the build up for it all didn’t look much better taking into consideration the wave of crime going around the city, the disappearances of kids and teens all around. It all felt too uneasy and any care was best to have.

     — Alright, why don’t you and Larry go check out Mrs. Packerton’s classroom while the teachers are on break? Todd and I will finish testing this bologna.

  The tiny grimy piece of meat sat inside a petri dish in front of the two.

     — Exactly what I was thinking. Okay, we’ll be back.

  Tiny glass bottles with herbs, bones, crystals, runes and sigils. If the woman wants to be into witchcraft as a hobby, let her be, but why’s it all gotta be hidden in a secret compartment under a locked drawer in her school desk? And how does that tie in with her loud late night activities, and her questionable cooking? Sal’s mind was speeding with all these questions. Todd didn’t find anything chemically odd with the food, although of course you couldn’t attest for it all in a school lab, so that didn’t help them much. So they decided to dig deeper. But that would be an investigation for another day, they decided they had sneaked around doing questionable things enough for the day and both Larry and Todd had other things to do, so Sal decided he and Ash could just hang out for the rest of it.

  He messaged her asking when she would be done with babysitting her brother, and she said that he could come over after 5 pm. So as the school day was over the three went home by foot, and each to their respective apartments.

  When he got home his dad wasn’t around. Henry usually wasn’t around all that much since he got admitted to an office job in Nockfell and stopped working from his computer in home office of his old job in New Jersey everyday, to instead work in-person. Sal knows how depressing a 9-to-5 can be, especially an office job, but he came to the conclusion that it would probably be best for his father and the man’s troubled mind. Any time alone at home was time to remember things you shouldn’t and wonder what’s to drink in the fridge, for a man that has no hobbies and unresolved trauma. He says Sal shouldn’t worry about him, that he’s fine, that he wasn’t even there when it happened and that he “doesn’t have any kind of complex relationship with his body to ‘fix’”, like Sal does, so there wasn’t a need to spend more money with another therapist in this home. Dr. Enon told him he has already fought that battle long enough, and that he should focus on himself more instead of attempting to put the whole world in his arms, because his father was that: His dad, and not his son. He tried.

  He locked the door and went to his room, his very own fortress of comfort with art littering the walls and pieces of his friend’s all over it. His windows have no curtains, he thinks that if there's one good thing about living here is that he has sunlight coming from his room’s window everytime the clouds let it, and he loves the sun and the moon. His dad tells him he’ll never be able to sleep properly if he insists in not having any way to prevent the sun from waking him up everyday at 5am by shining directly on his face, and also the moonlight lightening up the whole room at night. But he likes it this way.

  He let his bag beside his bed, got rid of his blue converse and stripped of his black hoodie and red jeans, – here comes the time to wash his comfort outfit again, sadly – then hung his binder on a hanger by the window to get some air. Say hello to the old and very loyal friend “Dull Ache in The Ribs”. That’s a problem for future Sal.

  He got rid of his prosthetic and let his eye rest in a cup of saline in front of his mirror. He wouldn’t wear it again today, he decided. He stared at himself in the mirror briefly and realized it really was time to touch up his hair, there was a good inch or so of blonde peeking through and the rest of it was starting to green out. He doesn’t like it when it does that even if it’s inevitable, he wished his hair would just sprout blue from his head every time and stay this way.

  He scrubbed his scalp throughly, the drier the hair the better the color picked up. He wondered if Travis’ hair looked like that because it was his choice, like Sal did with his, or if there was something else behind that and the straight press. His hair has looked religiously the same since freshman year: Untoned bleach pressed straight and gelled to the side. It was odd, but he couldn’t call it weird to have an unnatural hair choice if that’s exactly what he does, too. But what was odd about it is how his dad was the kind of preacher to tell women that if they cut off the dry ends of their hair they would go to hell for “modifying the temple God gave them” or some bullshit like that, yet allowed his son to look like this. It seemed like it wasn’t something Kenneth approved, more than actually told him to do. Or did it himself. Travis wasn’t white, that bit was obvious, and his skin and hair color also didn’t come from his pale sick-looking naturally blonde father so for him to have this painfully artificial straight blonde hair in his head was notable. He thought about how he, and everyone else, has no idea what’s made of Travis’ mom. Is she dead? Did she leave? That was either a very well-hidden story or another “case of Jim Johnson”. But it’s none of his business.

  He put his fried unconditioned hair up in some very high spiky pigtails to get it out of his face, and went on to apply his prescribed lotion to the right side of his face. In the days he forgot it or just didn’t have the motivation to do so, his face felt tough like leather, and hurt every time he attempted to smile so he tried to be consistent with that, at least. He then stuck a disposable eyepatch in front of his eye socket to prevent it from drying out in the wind, since he decided to go to Ashley’s house by foot. He transferred all the things he thought he might need from his backpack to his tote – a black cotton bag with a hand-painted white Sanity’s Fall logo in front of it that Larry and Ash gave him on his last birthday, she sewed the bag itself and he painted it. It was his favorite accessory. He then wore his classic “don’t care if it stains” attire; A very oversized white shirt written “I ♡ Nockfell” with a gym bra under it and some patched up wide leg jean shorts. Great.

     — I’m glad we could hang out today to lighten up this weird bologna-induced mood and also I’ve had enough of so many nerdy words for now, — She quickly walked up the stairs to the second floor of her house, where the rooms were while Sal trailed behind her and opened her door, inviting him in. — What even is a Staphylococcus Aureus??

     — …I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.

  The two of them erupted in laughter at how unnecessarily fancy Todd sounded at times. After getting a big bottle of hair moisturizer, a tiny bowl, some gloves and a paintbrush and placing it beside her, she sat at the edge of her bed and placed a pillow on the floor in front of her, tapping it to signal for him to sit down. He took off his shirt and folded it, putting it inside his bag, then did like he was told. Even if he wasn’t gonna wear a shirt during this, he still got his stain-shirt because blue dye gets absolutely everywhere like a plague. His baby-blue tile bathroom floor had some words to say about this (it was once white, a long time ago).

  She reached inside his bag and got the little bottle of methylene blue, dumping it all in the bowl along with some spoonfuls of lotion, mixing it all. She reached for the sides of his head, cupping his face from behind him and making him look up at her.

     — Can I take this off? 

  He was a bit confused for a second, then remembered what happened a day ago. Yeah, well, he didn’t actually think about that with the adrenaline of the moment but now she has seen almost all of him, truthfully. Guess he could only get used to it. All the previous times she had done his hair he just kept holding onto his prosthetic with the straps undone the entire time, and if he were to be honest, it was tiring.

     — My face?

  She made a “pfft” sound and threw her head back.

     — That thing isn’t you! Your face is under there, dumbass. And it looks pretty rad.

     — You don’t need to lie to make me feel better, A-

  She slapped his plastic mouth with her hand as if that could shut him up.

     — You do remember what I think about people who don’t accept a compliment, don’t you? — She put up the work to sound fake-angry and very adamant. — I’m fine with you staying with it if it makes you uncomfortable to take it off, but I won’t be fine if the reason is because you think I find you ugly, cause I don’t.

     — Yes, I’m sorry. You can take it off. — He couldn’t help the lopsided smile that crept up along with how his face tingled. That happened every time he supposed he’d be “blushing” under the twisted skin.

  She unclipped the back straps of his prosthetic and slid it off, leaving it somewhere on the bed. She then pulled his pigtails off and began brushing his hair and separating it into sections with her purple claw clips. He quickly got lost in thought as she dyed his strands, humming some song he didn’t recognize. She had a beautiful voice. It didn’t take long until she finished applying dye to all of his head, and put a plastic bag over it. Now they had all free time while it did it’s chemistry in Sal’s head. And his neck, shoulders, chest and eyebrows. He knew blue dye is a plague – although the eyebrows were intentional.

     — I wish I could dye my eyelashes without going blind… 

     — Sounds like you wanted to be a natural bluenette. 

  Her joke got some giggles out of him. But his mind was somewhere else.

     — Did you do something else while we were waiting for you at the lab?

  There she goes again sounding like a mind reader. He leaned and reached inside his bag, pulling the crumpled up piece of paper from it and straightening it up, holding it in front of her face.

     — Read this.

  She squinted and held the paper in her hands to read it better.

     — “we don’t really know each other…” “I can’t stop thinking about you…” hm… — She creased her eyebrows — “My father would kill me…”... Where did you get this?

     — I found it beside the boy’s room trash can. Do you think Travis has anything to do with this?

  The room got silent for a moment as she stared at him with a confused face.

     — Why him? — She looked back at the letter, seemingly re-reading it. Then she looked at Sal, expecting him to say something else, but he didn’t. — You’re asking me if it's from him, or for him?

  Sal just remained silent. He didn’t want to mention the bathroom conversation to anyone, as he promised the other he would, but he really wanted to partially open up about his thoughts to someone else. There wouldn’t be anyone better for the job than his best friend.

     — Alright, you’re not gonna tell me… Got it. — She gave the paper back to him and leaned back in the pillows on her back, against the wall — There’s hardly anything you can’t tell me so I’ll just guess this has something to do with your own notions of honor and swearing to not tell anyone about something even if it eats you inside… 

  He threw his head back and laid on her lap, putting his arm above his eyes and sighing. That was exactly it. She caressed his cheek and looked in the distance, nowhere specific.

     — Look, Sally. I don’t know what happened between you and Travis earlier today – and what that has to do with you thinking he’s the one who wrote that letter, at that – but be careful. I know you sympathize with stray cats but no tragic backstory or complex home life that you might have found out takes off from the fact that he treated all of us, but most importantly you , badly for months. He literally punched you yesterday, and to not say that that was entirely bad since that’s why you even got the courage to be facing me directly now in the first place. — She stared at him and touched the scratch that the insides of his own prosthetic caused on him when he got punched — But he never gave us anything good. I’m not the one to say someone can’t improve at all, but improvement takes real time and reflection, and those things aren’t done in a day. Always put yourself first and remember your boundaries. I’m not gonna tell you to not try to befriend the closeted church boy from school if that’s what you decide to do but I can’t lie that it would be very odd…

  He laughed sincerely at that. She knew how to read him way too well while also keeping the mood light and not forcing him to say anything, or making him feel guilty. She really was a treasure for him.

     — Whatever I decide to do about this, I’m gonna make sure to tell you. — He put his hand on top of her’s — I’m not about to befriend Travis. Not now, at least. I just have a lot to think about and it’s hard to do that by myself, and you know how Larry gets when I mention anything about that to him.

     — Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell them about any of this. And well, if you ever change your mind about telling me about what changed your mind, feel free to do so. I’m always here. — She kissed his forehead, and pointed to his head — Now, we better wash that thing off before your hair falls off.

  He had forgotten about the medicine acting on his strands at this point.

     — You’re right.

Chapter Text

  The wooden door creaked as it opened, and the floors squeaked under every step. When he’s alone he can hear every single noise inside of his house, the old building seems to have a life of its own when the weather gets warmer. Every step of the stairs creaks below his feet when he walks up to his room, passing by his father’s own. If there was one thing he actually felt blessed for was how Kenneth was never home for most of the day, even if that made every sunset feel dreadful from the anticipation of what the night brings. The afternoon sun shines directly onto his bed and desk, bringing some color into his all-white room and making the bed’s wooden frame glow a beautiful shade of orange. He took off his gold necklace and hung it on the single nail that sits on the wall above his pillow, it reflects the sunlight and produces a single sparkle that hurts his eyes. Just another reminder that He’s always watching, if He’s even there – and if He does He saw everything that happened this morning. Is it really orthodox to be more scared of another man made of flesh and bones like every other human than of God himself? Was this man really a good representative of this entity to guide the people of this city towards greater good, even if he puts the wrath of hell itself inside his son’s heart every day?

  No one could hear his mind asking any of these questions, so he did as he always does – Took off his shirt and laid down, under the sun, hoping that as it reflects on the scars that littered his skin and made freckles erupt on it overtime, it could also burn his shame out of him. His fingers feel cold against his face as he covers it from no one, and starts to feel the tears coming back prickling on his eyes and staining his cheeks. He felt that he lost something today, that this one thing that he had to motivate him everyday – Making those people feel bad every morning, to somehow make himself feel better even if it did literally the opposite – Had just crumbled. Sal stepped through the wall of bricks Travis thought he had set firmly between them and sent it crashing down as if it was made of sand, and it might as well have been. He can’t understand how admiring or even liking someone’s presence could feel so much harder than just hating them, and how the mere idea of being a part of their circle made his heart beat inside his throat. Seems that just crying won’t be enough to make him fall asleep this time, so he sits up and walks to his desk.

  As he lightly pulls onto the last drawer under his table and moves it a certain way, the fake bottom of it comes off. There sits a worn out journal, its cover warps up at the corners and the edges of the paper inside look irregular, distorted in waves. Although it has a lot of pages, it’s almost completely full, but it’s all he has. His mom used to tell him that any time he felt complicated emotions that he didn’t know how to deal with, if he put them on paper it would make it easier to understand and/or live with, and she gave him this journal for doing exactly that. It was also on that day that she showed him this secret compartment in his desk. Travis wonders how he never noticed all the signs that his life would turn upside down, but tries to consider how probably no other child at this age would notice, either. He misses her every single day, and he would take all the beatings necessary to be back in her arms and see her face free of all the pain it had in it the last day he was. Being forgotten is being dead, and he promised to never let her die even if he’s the only one keeping her in his thoughts. He remembers her every time he wakes up and the sheets wrap around his arms, he remembers her every time he looks into the mirror and sees his dark brown eyes and brunette eyebrows and the freckles the sun gave him. Maybe the sun is giving him a gift from his mother so he can remember her even more. He remembers her every time he gets under the water and his hair coils back to its natural shape to the best of its capacity after being chemically and literally burned for years nonstop, and it reminds him – even if vaguely – of how her head was full of shiny, voluminous pitch black curls that felt softer than any pillow someone might sell. He looks so much like her but he lacks any of the grace she had – he thinks his thin long body and boney callous hands couldn’t produce the affection she used to show him even if he tried his best. And that’s precisely why he doesn’t.

  No amount of similarity with his mother could spare him from looking exactly like his father when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror after he ran off from punching Sal. The way each crease of their eyebrows creased the same, and the ugly turn-down of the corner of their lips aligned in an uncanny way. He couldn’t get it out of his head and it made him feel such raw disgust that he felt his stomach acid climb to his mouth at the thought. His faltering faith can’t save him from being the son of the preacher, more than actually pushing him more and more towards exactly that.

  So he scribbled and scratched and carved the paper with the pencil, making almost the whole sheet stained with the graphite smudged by the side of his own hand. There rose a figure clutching its chest, which had a gaping hole filled with even more scratches. Sometimes his cluster of emotions looked like tooth-aching sweet poetry, and sometimes like something horrible and incomprehensible. Today was one of those days where the latter wins.

  When almost the entire paper had turned black, he got his pencil-shaped eraser and blanked out lines among the black background, “drawing” in reverse. He let his thoughts trail off and his hand did whatever it wanted, for hours. What appeared in the end was a still-view of the sea full of waves. He stared at it for a while but concluded he couldn't make sense of what it all meant this time, so he closed the journal and took it back to its place, locking the fake bottom of the drawer back in place. The sun was setting down.

  The sizzling of the food on the pan slowly came to a stop; Meanwhile he brought all the plates, cups and cutlery to the table. He folded the napkins and carefully placed them just beside the plates, to then place the little slabs of wood in the center of the table, and the food on top of them. He prayed the whole time that Kenneth would be late for dinner but he’s never late , so those efforts showed themselves to be fruitless, like the man himself said other times before. 

     — Why are your hands gray? 

  They had just finished their food, and his hands were still extended on top of the table. He looked at them and realized he forgot to scrub them better after he finished drawing, so there was still graphite staining. Now he looks like he doesn’t care about his hygiene while cooking their dinner, and he wants to shrink away from the table.

     — I was doing the algebra homework earlier. – He quickly placed his hands on his lap, hidden under the fabric, as if hiding them would change the situation or help convince his father quicker.

     — If you stain our tablecloth, you better make it look brand new before I notice. – Travis felt his piercing gray eyes stare directly at his face, even while looking down.

     — Yes, of course. I apologize for my lack of manners. I’ll get ready for bed now after I wash our dish-

  He stood up and got his plate, then went for Kenneth’s own plate but he grabbed him by the wrist before he could leave. Travis froze in place and stared at the man, who was looking right up at the top of his head. After two very long minutes of awkwards silence, he let go of his wrist and up away from the table.

     — You won’t show up to the ministry looking like this tomorrow night, will you?

  He swallowed dry. He knows what he’s talking about and he doesn’t know how or why he thought he could get away with a whole centimeter of brunette hair showing through this time. And it’s not because it looks good; It certainly doesn't, but he was back on his same old habits of trying to anchor himself to any trace of his mother he can again. But even the bad things he came to enjoy come to an end in his life.

     — Of course not, sir. – He stared down.

  In a fraction of second the man had already changed his expression, as if none of this happened. He took hold of Travis’ hands and wiped them down with his napkin, seemingly drying his sweaty palms. He knows he makes him feel like a small child and that’s exactly his intention all the while.

     — I am glad you’ve been studying more lately… — He looked back up at his son — An empty head is a workshop for the devil.

  He flipped his hands and stared at the boy’s bruised knuckles.

     — How’s that weird boy’s face looking now?

  Travis looked back at his father and raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sudden mention of Sal. 

     — I'm afraid I can’t know for sure, he never takes his mask off.

  Kenneth let go of Travis’ hand and gave a few steps further towards the stairs, undoing his tie.

     — Mask?

     — It’s a prosthetic. I think he got into an accident as a child, but he never mentioned this in class and I don’t really speak to him so I don’t know.

  Something about Sal’s condition seemed to pick Kenneth’s attention and Travis couldn’t figure out what or why yet. Maybe it’s nothing, anyone would be curious about something like this. But maybe…

     — You should invite him to the ministry someday so I can apologize in person for what you did to him… — The man walked up the stairs slowly, talking as if this was just a fun relaxed subject. — Well, even if they don’t, I can imagine he and his family may have felt at least a bit of relief in knowing that what happened to him wasn’t devoid of consequences when they saw how you look now… Anyway, goodnight, Travis.

  Like clockwork, the sound of his father’s room door closing immediately signaled his body to stop pretending to be strong and the corners of his mouth were back to curling down in an ugly frown, soon being taken over by the tears. He wondered if his father ever cried in his life and if he did if this, too, looked just like it does in him. There he stood crying and shaking violently by himself in the middle of the kitchen, where no one but the crucifix above his head could see him. His black eye throbbed in pain even more each time he broke down and his vision from it kept getting increasingly more blurred. He couldn’t help but blame himself for making his own situation even worse, and maybe he just deserves this – Maybe he deserves to feel miserable most of the time and maybe the tears that make his eye hurt more come to wash his mistakes off of him.

  The smell of the bleach mixture makes him nauseous and stings his eyes, his scalp burns in the places that it was hurt from his hair being pulled and twisted. That sure was a good distraction from his bothersome thoughts and feelings, but it would be switched for another one soon. He turned the shower on, and the cold water made him shiver along with the bleach being washed off of his head that ended up touching his wounds on the way to the floor. It burned and felt like the skin was being torn open all over again, like the first times. But after a couple of minutes everything had already gone numb and the water no longer felt so cold, so he closed his eyes and let his mind wander off again. 

  He wondered if his father was right. If Sal did feel satisfied when he saw him hurt, if it felt like the most fair outcome in the situation. He wouldn’t blame him if that was the case. He wouldn’t blame Sal’s father if he never ever wanted to see Travis set foot into their home one day. It would only make sense. Still, the idea made his chest feel tight. But why did he feel so bad for screwing up something that was never good in the first place? He never put up the work to make friends with any of them, he did the exact opposite, so why was he worried about how they felt about him? He should own up to his choices and stay in line. But for some reason he can’t.

  He lathered the conditioner on his strands and washed the rest of his body while it stood there. He liked to at least try to maintain some type of decent texture on his hair, even if it got destroyed by the flat iron and gel every morning again. He made sure to scrub his hands very well, both because of the graphite stains and because he still remembered how he went through the whole trash can at school earlier this morning looking for the letter he threw away – and he couldn’t find it anywhere. He tried to stay positive and think that no one could find out he’s the one who wrote it since it has no signature, but still the fact that someone found it interesting enough to keep it to themselves made his stomach churn. He was scared . The idea that those impulsive words on that paper can be in anyone’s hands and be the subject of laughs for God knows how many people made him terrified .

  The idea that Todd, Ashley and Larry with that gap toothed mouth of his just might be having a field day laughing about how pathetic he sounded in those words he wrote made him want to vomit. They always look so certain and carefree about walking around looking like that , he just couldn’t fathom how someone looks that way and behaves that way everyday and doesn’t feel utter shame all the while. He couldn’t possibly understand how someone can live in a state of mind that doesn’t look the way his own does.

  When he realized, he'd already been in the shower for too long. Thankfully his father should already be sleeping at this point so he won’t hear too much about this one. He rinsed the conditioner off of his hair and squeezed the excess water out, stepping out into the rug and drying himself with the towel, carefully tapping the varying lines of white, pink and red that spread across his upper arms and back. Once he realized he didn’t bring any clothes into the bathroom he wrapped the towel around himself and quickly stepped outside, heading to his room. But before he could get in it he overheard his father’s voice coming from inside his room. “Huh? He’d usually be already sleeping by now…”

     — …keep in mind we’ve been supporting her this whole time but she’s been slipping up- — Kenneth was speaking no louder than a whisper and Travis would have to press his ear directly against the door to have a chance to listen better, but he wasn’t reckless enough to try that. — …yeah, yeah but it’s not good enough. The students have already gone back to complaining about how the lunch tastes, it won’t be long until they want to change it again. And that’s just the best outcome, what if they try to investigate it?

  Travis creased his eyebrows and tried to focus even more from where he was standing. Who’s “ her ”? And what does the school lunch have to do with this woman? Were they talking about Kim? Maybe his father was so worried about the quality of the school treatment that he would go as far as calling them to ask about it. But investigating?

     — I do know that they are on our side, I worked hard to achieve that. But that doesn’t stop common talk from spreading, especially among the teens and we don’t want that. We are supposed to be the saving grace of this city, not the terror.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know what you’re supposed to be, Kenneth Phelps…”

     — We aren’t about to do anything for now, but keep all eyes open. This member has become a liability and we can’t afford to have any of those. — He was in silence for a while, listening to whatever the person on the other side of the line had to say. — Of course. May our sight pierce the heavens, and our reach be everlasting. See you.

  He heard the beep of the phone call ending and quickly scrambled to his room, trying to make the smallest amount of noise possible and keeping the lights off in case Kenneth went outside to check. He’s supposed to be sleeping and he surely doesn’t want to know what would happen next if he found out that on top of not sleeping, he was eavesdropping on his conversation.

  He sat at the edge of his bed thinking about what just happened, his hair was dripping water all over the mattress but he didn’t think about that at the time. His father, the very man that makes his life insufferable and brags endlessly about how there's a “standard” for everything and they must achieve it, especially for being “a good man”, is hiding something very strange. He usually tries to stay out of trouble inside his home but this was deserving of attention, – and as long as he didn’t get caught, he wouldn’t get in trouble either – so to keep his mind from betraying him and forgetting what he just heard he quickly pulled out his drawer and opened the compartment, taking his journal and opening it on the last page. Everyone knows it: the last page of a journal is reserved for the most shady and/or questionable things, since he doesn’t know if the truth of this fits either of these bills he decided to write it there.

“May our sight pierce the heavens, and our reach be everlasting.”

  What could any of this mean? Sounded like some kind of greeting. He needed to know but it was past 01:30 AM and he had school tomorrow; It would be pretty messed up if on top of this ugly black eye he also sported some deep dark under eyes from sleep deprivation. He already felt ugly enough without these two.

  He turned his bedside lamp on and unwrapped the towel from himself, wearing just the bare minimum of clothing that he deems decent to sleep in. He doesn’t like the feeling of most clothes so in the one time he gets to choose, which is bedtime, he sleeps in just some loose shorts. But he always leaves the change of clothing folded atop his desk for when he wakes up in the morning, saves time and it’s better this way. So he opened his wardrobe and debated on what to wear tomorrow, ultimately settling on sparing clothes and going to school with a more “formal” attire so he could wear the same thing to the ministry later. He’d just wear it a bit more casually while at school and pair it with his black leather boots, while for later he’d wear his oxfords. 

  Today the sky looks cloudy. It’s harder to look tidy when you go to school by foot, and leave to go home the same way, but he tried his best. He wore a simple white button up shirt, but didn’t tuck its ends or close the wrist buttons. He’d do that later. He wore his plain black tailored pants and boots – every time he wears this pair of shoes he thinks about how that’s the closest thing in his entire wardrobe that vaguely resembles Sal and his friends. He only had it because, above anything else, Kenneth agreed that leather is the best material for shoes and lasts a lifetime. He probably doesn't consider that this is exactly the same thing the “flamers” from school have been sporting for years. Travis feels kind of relieved about him thinking this, he likes wearing them and they make him feel stylish – although he doesn’t admit it.

  He took the necklace from its place and wore it, tucking it under the collar of his shirt so it doesn’t touch his skin. It feels better like this. He heard the front door click and realized today would be one of those days Kenneth leaves earlier, and comes back much later – the best days . Then he got a weird idea, he never did this but something compelled him to. He grabbed the flat iron that was heating up on his table and began doing his hair but this time he decided to wear it “slicked back” (not quite, he didn’t like to look like a cow licked his head like his father always made him do so he didn’t wear gel this time, just finger combed it back). Sometimes he saw other guys at school wear their hair like this, and although their hair is actually straight or wavy he thinks his isn’t looking too bad either. Turns out years of doing the same thing amounts to smoother results. He always thinks they look cool, they seem to have more confidence when they do this. And that’s exactly what he needs after all the shameful situations he’s been in this week.

  When he stands up and looks in the mirror he concludes that he almost looks good. He thinks that when his roots are fresh like this, even if the tone is completely wrong his hair looks “interesting”. He didn’t hate the clothes he was forced to wear to church, he just hated the way he had to style them. There wasn’t one day where he didn’t wonder if his mom would be proud to see him nowadays, if she’d be happy with how he looks, how he acts. And the answer is always no. Why would she be proud of a son that behaves like a prick and treats other people with a superiority complex? And the worst of it all is that he doesn’t even think he’s better than them – He thinks quite the opposite. So on top of being a nuisance, he was also a hypocrite. He could only hope that wherever she is, she can’t know what he turned out to be and that the view of young sweet Travis is the one that remains.

  He locked the front door and left quickly, the quicker the better; The clouds were getting darker by the minute and closing in. He had another school day ahead of him with the same people in the same place. Today he will keep pretending, and tomorrow is another day.

Chapter Text

  The morning went by quickly; Today’s classes weren't easy or tough, just boring. Lunch break also went by fast, since he didn’t want to eat it today and just read a book instead. Recently he had gotten into the habit of getting random short length books to read on break on the days he has nothing else to do, short so he could read it all during break and give it back on the same day. By doing this, his father couldn’t know or see what he was reading and control this too. He didn’t have any guarantee that the librarian wouldn’t spill the beans though, and directly asking her to not tell him would be way weirder than just not saying anything and hoping it stayed between them, so he could only hope that she either didn’t really notice or keep track of his activity because she has so many other students come in everyday, or that she doesn’t care about him enough to want to screw him up. The chances were low anyway, he never saw her at the ministry. It’s not that he’s been reading anything outrageous, they were just regular books – but Kenneth made sure to know Travis’ every step and every piece of information that he learned. Luckily he’s the most seeing eye, not the all seeing one and Travis still finds his way around learning other things that interest him without his father finding out. At least he hopes he does.

  Even though he’s glad he can come to school to spend a mandatory couple of hours away from his house and not be questioned, he still gets worn out from his classes and the end of the school day is still the best time of it. He put all of his material back inside his crossbody bag and wore it, getting up and leaving the room. He passed by the library to give the book back to the lady and thanked her once again, then headed to the bathroom.

  He heard someone was in one of the stalls so he took the opportunity to tuck his shirt in his pants first, since the person couldn’t see him yet and shoving your arms in your pants in front of someone is embarrassing. He got some paper towels and wiped the excess water out of the granite top around the sinks, so he could take his bag off his shoulder and leave it on top of the counter. He then opened the zipper and got all he needed from inside the bag – Gel, a comb, his belt, a plastic bag and his dress shoes, leaving the last one on the floor and the others beside the sink. He applied the gel to his hair and started parting it sideways, combing it so it sits flush against his head. He absolutely hates the way it looks and his whole confidence from earlier vanished with every pass of the comb.

     — Oh, hey, it's you! — The door of the occupied stall opened and, as it turns out, Sal was in it. “Great”, the blonde thought to himself as his body tensed up just like last time. But he tried to sound nonchalant nonetheless. — I barely saw you today, I thought you skipped class.

     — Hi, Sal. — He continued to stare at himself in the mirror and comb his hair. Travis didn’t see Sal and his friends today, and didn’t bother looking for them either. Who could guess not bothering anyone all day for once would actually amount to a peaceful few hours. But, still, he wouldn’t admit to himself that a part of him was glad to see him and pleased he even talked to him again, even though he felt the urge to escape somewhere else every time he did. He, too, wondered what they were up to this morning.

     — Getting ready to go somewhere? — He finished washing his hands and flapped them to get the excess water out, going for the paper towels next. Travis was intrigued by the sudden interest, or maybe this was just the famous “small talk” he has no idea how to do.

     — Just the ministry, as usual.

     — Oh, I thought it only opened at night. But you must be going to help your dad out with something, right?

  He screwed the gel lid back on and cleaned his comb with a paper towel, before putting it back into his bag.

     — It only opens at night for the general public, yes, however I’m going for our band practice.

  That seemed to pick Sal’s interest more than anything else, he stopped what he was doing and leaned his back on the sinks, folding his arms and staring directly at the other. “Well he’s not gonna leave so soon now, is he?”

     — You’re part of a band? — Travis thinks he had an impressed tone in his voice, but everything he says ends up being ambiguous since you can’t see his face. It could as well have been mocking, or anything, really. One would have to be a very good interpreter of body movement or the way his eyes crease on the sides every now and then to get something out of him. Or, more simply, being his friend, which wasn’t really the case for Travis; So he was out in the open on this one. He has noticed before how Sal actually puts up the work of gesticulating with his hands, shoulders and head a lot to get his emotions across when he’s talking to his friends or teachers, but for some reason he doesn’t do that when it comes to him, if his crossed arms say something. Maybe that’s his own way of putting a barrier between them, and he could understand that.

     — Yes, I’m the drummer.

  Sal gasped and raised his eyebrows slightly at the new information, shifting his weight and putting his hands on his waist.

     — That’s so cool! I could never imagine you as a drummer before. — Travis felt his cheeks heat up. “Cool?” — Now that you said that, though, I can think of some reasons why you would choose that instrument.

     — When I was younger, they used to teach me the violin and the piano. I got a good amount of practice in those, but some years ago they decided to change it up and placed me on the drums. They think it’s best to have a “more modern rhythm” playing in the band so we can appeal more to the young generation. Leave the classical music for the catholics! — He had a sarcastic tone to his voice, followed up by a sigh. He resumed his getting-ready after realizing he’d be late to his practice if he didn’t hurry up, he got his belt from the counter and started passing it through the loops around his waist. His voice sounded smaller now. — They also voice trained me. But they told me having someone like me up front wouldn’t be the best look for the stage, so they mostly train the girls for lead singers now. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this, though. What happens inside our ministry probably doesn’t interest you much and you might have better things to do other than being trapped inside the bathroom by me for an hour again…

     — It does interest me, though. Or else I wouldn’t have asked. 

  The answer caught Travis off guard. He doesn’t remember Sal ever being this blunt, but it makes sense – he’s trailing off and being defensive again . Seems like no matter how hard he tries to behave and converse like a regular person he always stammers on his own phrases and mixes things up and gets frustrated all over again. He can’t help but feel the built up anger bubble back up to the surface of his skin when he remembers what they did to him back in the ministry – if he had any amount of passion left for something in his teenage years it was for the music he got to make and sing in his practices, and that version of him was long gone, buried by them. The one who doesn’t want to talk about that again is him , not Sal.

     — What I think about all of this is that you ended up having an astounding array of knowledge in music! I already knew the church is a great learning ground for young artists and turns out it’s true, there’s one in front of me! I didn’t even know the Phelps Ministry had a band. — “It might be the only good thing that comes out of it” — All of us have a connection to music in our group. I sing, I play my guitar… Larry plays the acoustic guitar and he sings too, well, he likes to scream mostly – but you’ve got to know how to scream properly if you want to still be able to talk the next day! So there's that. — He let out a small chuckle. — Ashley could be a famous singer with her wide vocal range, if she wanted. I think her voice would go well with yours! I mean, I never heard you sing of course but she would go well with anyone… Anyways; I’m sorry, I get too excited when talking about this. It’s really nice that you know how to play the drums, we have a lot of range but none of us are drummers. You could practice here at school too, if you wanted to; I mean, the music room has a drum set and insulation and all… 

  Something about the way Sal got so excited about the subject that he got to see him, for the first time, dumping almost everything he knows about it to him right then and there and he even went back to moving his hands a lot while he talked amused Travis. He watched it all in silence and shifted his eyes from the mirror to Sal himself, actually looking him in his eye for more than 15 seconds for once. No one ever showed him this much interest for that part of his life, or at all, and it felt similar to the way his stomach turned when he was scared. But this feeling felt almost good . He felt that his body was no longer tensed up and the corners of his lips were slightly twisting upwards, while the warm feeling on his cheeks persisted. “That’s new” .

     — Sounds like you got all the work cut out for you, why aren’t you all a band yet? — He lowered himself to his shoes and started untying the laces of his boots to take them off.

     — It’s more fun this way, because it’s not serious. If we became a band we would stop being a group of friends and start being a group of business; We just like to practice and play sometimes, either together or by ourselves. — He put his arms behind himself and his hands on the corner of the sink, looking somewhere distant. — Bands tend to split up some time or another and I hope I never split up with my friends.

  When the blonde finally managed to take his boots out, he put them inside the plastic bag and tied the top, putting the shoes inside his bag. He then stepped into the fancier church-shoes, tying the tiny laces in them.

     — Makes sense you’d feel this way.

  He finally stood up straight, buttoning up his sleeves and grabbing his bag.

     — Well, I guess you have to leave soon or else you’ll end up late, and Larry and Todd are waiting for me so we can go home, so I’m gonna leave. It was fun talking to you again, Travis. — The boy got away from the edge of the sink and walked a few steps towards the door — By the way, the way you styled your hair today looked cool.

  The blonde momentarily froze in place with that. He felt he was so painfully awkward that nothing he could possibly answer now would sound normal, so after a couple moments of weird complete silence he said the first thing that came to his mind.

     — Yours looks very… —  “Good?” “nice?” “interesting? No, that’s even worse somehow! ” — Even more blue.

  Sal managed to “look” even more straight-face than before even though his “face” can’t move at all. Travis wanted to grind his teeth. “Is he fucking snorting at me??”

     — Why, yes, more blue indeed. Ash retouched my roots yesterday, thanks for noticing. — He sounded like he was having fun at how the other simply doesn’t know how to socialize at all. But he still understands that he was trying to thank him for the compliment, and give another one back so they were even. It’s fair.

  Travis swallowed dry at the thought of them just enjoying the afternoon together and having fun. “ It’s normal, it’s a normal thing. It’s fine and everyone does it. Everyone has fun. She had her hands all up in his hair all she wanted and he didn’t mind at all, because they are best friends. It’s normal and fun to have a best friend. It’s-”

     — You did your hair yesterday, too, I see. It looks very good and if you do it by yourself, congrats. It’s hard to not end up having a chemical cut doing your hair at home for so long. —  He interrupted his unrailed trail of thoughts.

     — Oh. Yes, yes I did. Yes by myself. Thank you.

  They both walked towards the door, Travis held it open so Sal could get out first, leaving right after him.

     — Anyways, good bye, Travis. See you monday, I hope practice is good!

  He was going to say goodbye back to the other, looking back to him while he walked the opposite direction, but he got interrupted by accidentally bumping very hard into something on the way, almost knocking himself out. Something taller than him, with long brown hair, holding him by the shoulders. He let out a low hiss of pain and held his nose with one of his hands to ease the feeling and the strap of his bag with the other, spreading his feet to balance himself back up.

     — You’re so busy trying to spot the next person you’re gonna call a slur in your surroundings that you can’t even look forward? Fuck off dude. — He didn’t even have to look up to know who the raspy, pissed-off voice belonged to. He also didn’t have a doubt when he got pushed away, hard . — I should have let you fall on your ass but it’s best if you end up doing that alone instead of because of me. You don’t deserve attention, not even for that. Also, whoever fucked up your face like that already did the job I wanted to do myself. I hope you enjoy your day at the cult , church boy.

  Larry sounded so angry that it seemed like he was spitting his words out instead of talking. There had been a very palpable tense energy between them ever since that happened two days ago, and Travis felt his heart pound and the anger boil back up on his skin; He wanted to claw at the man’s face right then and there and yank those teeth right out of him. He made him sick. He balled his fist beside himself, digging his nails into his own skin.

“You know, I don’t really hate you… Or your friends…”

  His mind reminded him of what happened yesterday morning, and he looked far back where Sal was still standing, looking at the two. He still held his nose – the impact against Larry made the walls of his nostril themselves crash against his septum and a tiny sharp piece of dry snot pierced a little vein in it. Now he felt the hot red liquid pour out of his nose down into his fingers as if he just got his nose broken like some scene out of a movie. Everything had to be dramatic precisely when all he wanted to do was just leave, and he could only think about how this was one of the best button-ups he had in his wardrobe and how Kenneth would probably hurt the price it cost out of him. His mind felt agitated.

     — What, you’re gonna punch me, too? Every time you get confronted, you’re gonna lash out like this? You behave like a dog . — He started walking forward, cornering Travis against a locker wall. — And if you ever decide you want to lay a finger on me , you better make it in a way that makes sure I won’t be able to get up and give it back. I’m not gentle like him, and I don’t forget.

  Travis kept his head down, closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He couldn’t think of anything else other than how he had already apologized, but did so in a closed space where only one of them could hear while not even looking at him directly, and asked for the conversation to not be shared. This was his fault. There was the answer he wanted: Kenneth was right – if Sal himself didn’t think Travis’ beating was well-deserved, his friends did for him. And if he truly did regret his actions, he couldn’t back down on his decision now. He couldn’t twist Larry’s hair in his hands and rip it all off even if he wanted to so badly. If Sal considered this man his best friend and brother, there had to be something good about him. Was there even something good about himself?

     — Please let me leave, I need to go to the ministry.

  He tried to wipe his nose with his hands, which just spread the scarlet all over his cheek and hands instead. His voice sounded no louder than a whisper; It took so much just to say those words instead of any of the other foul things that came to his mind that he just wanted to leave and not think about this again. He sounded and looked pathetic once again.

  Larry stared directly into his eyes, with creased eyebrows and semi-open lips as if he had so much more to say but couldn’t, like Travis. He closed his mouth and clenched his teeth, swallowing on nothing, taking his hand off of the other’s shoulder and taking a couple steps backwards.

     — Is there something going on here? — Todd approached the two, coming from the other side of the hallway, standing a few feet away from them. He shifted his gaze to Travis and saw his blood-stained face, creasing his own eyebrows and re-adjusting his glasses in his face. — What the fuck?

     — There isn’t.

  Travis answered before anyone else could say something, straightforwardly. He stared right into Larry’s eyes before strutting out of the situation, leaving the three and the school behind altogether.

  He tried regulating his breath on his way to the ministry, but failed each time as he was walking as fast as he could simultaneously. The whole thing just kept repeating itself inside his head. What’s the real use of trying to be a better person? He was doing it for only one day or so and all he got back was screwing himself over. Larry was right, he was just like a dog – All bark and no bite, putting his tail between his legs and running away when he’s scared. Crying in a small high pitched whine like a little girl. Being looked at with pity and folding upon being offered a bit of attention by a well-mannered stranger.

  His nostrils dried up with the wind, closing the vein and crystalizing the blood present there, making one of them impossible to breathe through. Now his breath sounded hitched. He got to the big wooden doors of the ministry and knocked twice on them, being received by Kenneth, who stared him down.

     — You didn’t even have to come anymore, you’re an hour late. The band lost the entirety of today’s practice because of you, make sure to apologize properly next time you see them. I don’t want you here anymore today. I’ll be assuming the weather getting drier was the cause of all this blood smeared in your face, hands and shirt, and not another one of your fits of anger. Get on scrubbing it as soon as you get home. — He closed the doors back up, leaving his son outside.

  He stood there for five minutes, by himself, in complete silence. The numbness he felt at those times felt many times worse than anger, sadness or frustration. It’s different and it’s almost like an attestment of how he doesn’t have any more hope that his life can get better for him, and hasn't had any for a long time. So what is he supposed to do with it?

     — Yes, sir.

     — Did you fucking punch Travis in the face?? Weren’t you complaining endlessly about how no one should have that happen to them?! — Todd scolded Larry in a voice as low as he could produce, he didn’t want any of the remaining school staff to hear more of this entire ordeal.

     — I didn’t do anything! He was walking without looking ahead and bumped into me, then his nose just bled by itself! Now you two are gonna treat me like a villain as if I offended his whole bloodline or something. — He was pacing around with a hand on his forehead and the other opening and closing beside him. — He just pisses the fuck out of me! And it’s not my fault that he looks permanently sick and those weird things happen to him.

     — If, by chance, anyone saw what happened halfway through like I just did, that's most definitely not what they would think happened.

  It was a rare occurrence, but sometimes Todd got into “scolding parent” mode when his friends were too reckless about something and his damage control impulses kicked in. And it notoriously pissed Larry and Ashley off to no end.

     — Alright, Todd, what am I supposed to do now? Do you want me to show up to the ministry and apologize to him in person for NOT making his nose bleed? Or even better I can show up to his house and throw rocks at his window until he lets me in and then I can compensate for it some other way, Ha! That would be funny. — He wasn’t laughing at all. — That would be funny because maybe I can show him how being a homosexual can be fun and he would finally get the stick out of his ass! And enjoy himself for once! Like Sal said. — He walked up to Todd and held him lightly by the shoulders. — Don’t ask me to respect someone who hates every single part of what I am, and made that very clear in a span of months. Don’t ask me to be unnecessarily nice to these people cause I’m not the guy for that, and even if I had punched Travis in that ugly face of his, he would have had it coming.

     — I’m the guy for that, ain’t I? — Sal finally spoke up after being in silence for the whole time. He walked forward, towards the other two. — You made it clear more than once already today how I’m the one who’s too nice, too dumb and too weak to set my ground. 

  His voice was full of frustration and disappointment. He could understand why Larry feels this way towards Travis, hell, even himself had been very pissed off about the boy more than once. But he couldn’t be the bigger person every time and this time all he was thinking about was how there was an untold efford to make amends happening between him and Travis in the last two days, which had great progress just some time ago, and that this progress would probably be lost because of what just happened. And now it pissed him off.

     — You know that’s not what I meant, Sal-

     — I can’t just assume things every time. I’m not just gonna assume you’re telling people I’m “the nice one” with a good connotation if that’s not what it sounds like at all. 

  Larry rubbed his face with his hands as if that could push the stress out of his lines of expression. 

     — I’m sorry. Both of you.

     — I know Lisa is a great mother and she most definitely told you about thinking before acting at some point in raising you. You just ignored it completely, but it might be the time to remember that one. I know very well you don’t feel Travis deserves to be treated well by us yet, and that doing so is an unnecessary effort by me. But if I want to look stupid out there, that’s my decision, and if my efforts show themself to be fruitless and I get back to being bullied, well, that’s a shame. But still on me. So please don’t screw that up for me.

  Larry pursed his lips and raised his hands, in a show of “defeat”. He then lowered his arms and slapped his thighs.

     — That’s fair, I guess.

  After some seconds of uncomfortable silence, the three finally got headed home.

Chapter Text

  Sal has felt like he has some kind of connection with “the other side” ever since the incident; He never mentions that to people, though, much less his dad – He learned his lesson about trying to convince people that consciousness doesn’t vanish after the perishing of the body; They usually don’t take it very well if they weren’t previously “acclimated” to the topic, and Sal gets it – Grief takes so much time and strength just for someone to be able to say they “moved on” from a loved one’s death that hearing that this person isn’t “actually gone” might mess up your emotions. Henry didn’t like to hear kid Sal say that Diane, with her guts spilling out of her stomach, visited his dreams for weeks begging him to come along with her because she misses him so much after dying. Fact is, he’s sure that somehow he did die that day – Even if only for a moment – And came back to tell the story; And now a part of him is pending between realms. He got the definitive answer if he’s imagining things or not when he moved into Nockfell.

Almost Four Years Ago

  Unpacking is tiring both physically and mentally. Although he had already spent time during the entire afternoon getting to meet his neighbors and doing some shenanigans with his new friends, when he came back home Henry had sadly not yet finished opening the boxes and placing the things in their new places, so he had to help for a few more hours. A million torn pieces of tape later and he decided he’s done for the day, feeling way too overwhelmed to do anything mentally taxing any longer – And everything was mentally taxing at that point.

  Sal is, indeed, interested in the paranormal activity of this building; But when he exchanged that quarter with Chug for the key to 504 he admittedly lied about his ideas. He wasn’t thinking about the possible-ghost-girl that he might find there more so than raving mentally about finally having a place where he was sure would be quiet and alone for him to run away to and lock himself in from time to time. He did notice that the fifth floor was abandoned and that he’d probably have to clean the apartment a bit so that he doesn't die of mold poisoning before chilling there but he decided it was worth the effort anyway. So he got a big trash bag and stuffed it with any and all cleaning supplies he found among their things, tied the top of it, slinged it over his shoulder like some kind of cleaning-Santa and made his way up to 504.

  He twirled the poorly drawn skull glued to the key in his gloved fingers until he found the right position and unlocked the apartment, getting an immediate hit of so much dust and that classic “smell of closed for too long”. But to be fair his own apartment smells like that still – They have yet to clean it – So that didn’t shake him. He’s incredibly thankful for not having allergies, specially as he’s missing part of his nose, at least in this department he’s not fucked up.

  He began tearing at the newspaper covering the windows and rubbing some random oil he found in the old glue to soften it and remove it from the glass, sadly the windows were almost rusted shut so he couldn’t open them up more than a smidge but he was already proud of getting some light and air inside, specially since he noticed how the apartment has no light bulbs for now and was using his phone light to see things. Now he had a bit of help from the moonlight shining inside as well, as soon as his eye adapted to the darkness. He wasn’t worried about the possibility of it taking too much time to do this, his dad said he needed to work tonight and was gonna be inside his room until tomorrow, so he wouldn’t worry about him. He wouldn’t think about him, overall.

  A good three hours and very sweaty hair and armpits later and he deemed that the living room looked good enough. All that remained were the stains that time caused on the wallpaper, and there was nothing he could do about that or about the rest of the apartment that he didn’t have access to – The door to the rest of the house was boarded shut and the key bunch Chug lent him didn’t include one for any door besides the front and the bathroom, which he was gonna tackle next. He took a hair tie from his wrist and put his hair up, grabbing all the cleaning supplies and heading to the bathroom door with the infamous skull key. He wasn’t thinking much about going there, he still hadn’t felt any of the telltale signs he feels when there’s paranormal activity somewhere he’s in so he was skeptical it was even gonna happen anytime soon.

  But when he finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, he immediately felt the cold shiver that ran down his spine and made his head quickly jerk sideways. “There it is.”

  He took a few more steps forward into the pitch dark room and closed the door behind himself.

     — Is there anyone here? — He said in a volume that would be easy to understand, and waited, looking side to side as if he could see something. Nothing happened. — I can feel you’re here, but I won’t see you. So if you’re worried about the way you look, don’t be; I’m not a seer. I also am worried about the way I look so we could be friends… If you want.

  He felt the unexplainable urge to be gentle to whoever is stuck in this room. Chug did say it was a little girl, so although Sal didn’t see or hear her, he felt this way and knew it had a reason. But she didn’t manifest herself, so he decided to just move on with his cleaning; He lit up his phone flashlight and pointed it inside the bag to see which supplies he was gonna use this time; Tile requires a different kind of care than carpet and wallpaper. He couldn’t see very well so he decided to just shove his hand in there and tap for the shapes that were familiar to him, that’s when he found something unexpected – Deep down the bag was a stray light bulb. An old, small one but any light is better than complete darkness so he took it and started pointing his flashlight to the walls to try and find a fixture. Sure enough, there was a small socket right by the fogged up mirror. He twisted it in and looked for the switch, pressing it. The whole room lit up in a faint sickly blue-ish tint, and he could see the mold littering the grout all over. He took a look all around.

     — Guess I gotta own up to my “love the challenge” personality.

  He sighed and got to work scrubbing every surface he could reach, taking his time. He would say this is a good opportunity to take out anger at something but he didn’t feel that strongly about anything, really. He could say he’s a pretty chill person overall.

  Another good chunk of time later and he was finished. The tiles ended up surprisingly clean, even shiny at some parts, and he felt proud of himself for the results he managed to reach – Whoever lives here must feel better having had their house thoroughly cleaned like this, he thought, even if they are intangible. He really did enjoy spending time by himself no matter how much of a people’s person he was, simultaneously. He sat down on the toilet lid and sighed, exhausted, throwing his head back with a small thud against the wall behind him. He closed his eyes and felt the tiredness wash over him in waves, slowly being enveloped by sleep, even while sitting up.

***

**

*

   He was in the same room as before, but its colors looked just the slightest bit off and his vision felt just a bit warped – he already knew what this meant. He’s back in the dream world; The place where he gets most of his answers and connections to the other side.

  He stood up from the seat and looked around again.

     — Is anyone in here? 

  He heard the pained cry of a child and his chest tightened. Reminds him of himself.

     — It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. I’m a friend.

  A little girl materialized herself in front of the tub; Spirit, bones, flesh and skin. She had light blonde hair, almost white, and wore a foot-length sleep dress. Dark circles circled around her grayed-out eyes.

     — You are?

     — Yeah, sure. My name is Sally Face.

  She went a little bit just analyzing him. He’s not sure why he told her his name is his nickname, but it just happened. Some people say you should never tell spirits your actual name, no matter how nice they are.

     — Your name is funny. You’re not scared of me, Sally Face?

  He felt a small smile appear on his lips.

     — No, of course not.

     — Okay, that’s good. Why do you have pigtails in your hair? That’s for girls, silly.

  He laughed out loud at the sudden question, and wondered at what point in time this little girl lived, even if that's unrelated to what she said. Adult, living people still think exactly like this.

     — Ha, who ever said that only girls can wear their hair in pigtails? I like pigs too.

  She let out a small giggle.

     — I never thought of that. You’re funny, boy.

     — Why were you crying before?

  She looked saddened at the change of subject, frowning.

     — Everyone always runs away from me when I try to talk to them. I get so lonely up here all alone…

     — I can understand that, I get lonely sometimes too. It must be hard being by yourself.

     — Well, I’m not really all alone, there are-

  The sound of the front door opening made Sal look towards it, and when he looked back, she was gone.

     — Hello? Little girl? — He looked around, but there was no sight of her. — Huh.

*

**

***

  His whole body shook as he jolted awake. He took a deep breath, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes and stood up. Well, he still didn’t know her name, but he sure did see her now. He would try to keep the image of her inside his mind as best as he could so he could draw her later, and not forget.

  He returned all of the supplies to the bag and tied it back on, slinging it over his shoulder again and switching the light off to leave the room. When he got back to the living room Chug was standing there.

     — Wagh! My God, you tryna kill me? What are you doing here?

  He almost dropped the big cleaning supply bag all over the floor when he saw the other, he didn’t expect somebody (alive) to show up, much less him; Who said he’s scared shitless of being there. He held his chest and tried to regulate his breath. Chug had his arms wrapped around himself as if that could protect him from something.

     — Asking myself the same question… 

     — I thought you were too scared of this room?

  He put the bag on the floor to continue the conversation, it was heavy.

     — I am! But dude, you were gone for like, five hours! I needed to check on you, ya know? Make sure the ghosts didn’t get you and stuff.

  Sal was silently laughing under his prosthetic but Chug couldn’t see – He knows being scared is very real and valid but that doesn’t make the situation less funny this time. He just hopes his smile doesn’t show through his voice.

     — Thanks, man. I’m okay, nothing got me.

     — Good. Good. — He let a breath out and flopped his arms back down, seemingly more relaxed now. — So, I was thinking, maybe you keep that key. I don’t like coming up here anyway, you seem more into it. I mean, you even cleaned it all as far as I’m seeing…

  Sal doesn’t know if he should feel offended about this remark but he was happy instead; His plan worked just fine: He gets to come up there and spend time alone whenever he wants and also make company for the lonely ghost girl. Win win.

     — What can I say, everybody deserves a clean home. Alright, I’ll hold on to it but you can borrow it anytime you want.

  He held out his hand.

     — Okay, deal.

  Chug took it and shaked it along. Sal was grinning under his mask. Today was a good day, after all.

A Year Later

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It was like a moving shadow, all black and misty, but had the form of a man. And the eyes were the worst part… Those deep red eyes that pierced right through you.”

  Something about the Addison’s building was inherently negative and locked all of the spirits that died inside those walls away from making their passing. And it was one of those places that is so surely haunted that made any person into a seer – Even a skeptic, like Larry. Lisa couldn’t possibly take his belief of being cursed seriously; Sounds too much like an elaborate joke or delusion, but Sal can’t tell if she actually doesn’t believe in any of that or if she neglects it because she’s scared it might be true. Most people deny the things they don’t like being true, in hope that they stop existing. But Sal believed him – Even if the truth might not be exactly what he’s saying with the words he chooses to use, there is something odd in this whole thing, and that’s fact.

  So when Larry finally opened up about this deep gut fear that he’s perpetually chained to having bad luck that he has, and impacts every aspect of his life – And how one of the main causes of it was the very same shadowy red-eyed figure he dreamed about seeing inside Larry’s kitchen on the first night he slept there, and again after Mrs. Sanderson’s murder, inside Charlie – Sal was even more determined to find out more about the entities and spirits that inhabit those walls and getting to the root of why they are there.

  Through the course of this last year, Sal thankfully got to know Megan better. He can say with certainty that she’s there and that he managed to maintain a solid stream of times they talked to each other through his dreams and his intuition. He knows her name, and he knows some of the things she likes, like playing hide and seek. He still doesn’t know why she’s stuck there or what caused her death but he wouldn’t keep asking about those painful things to her, just like he wouldn’t like it if someone kept asking him about his face. He can’t see her when he’s awake, or hear her voice, but he hears it inside his mind – There were days where the paranormal activity was so high in the building that he would just sit in the bathroom of 504, ask things out loud and hear the answer inside his thoughts, without having to fall asleep. But those were rare.  Chug was the only person who actually knew and believed Sal fully on this, being the one that actually first saw Megan and locked her door.

  Up until this point, he has only had contact with these two: Megan, whom he actually has a solid connection with, and the “Red-Eyed-Demon”(name given by Larry), who he only saw in his dreams twice and knows nothing about. But he is a hundred percent sure there are more entities all over the place that he just couldn’t communicate with yet, and he’s been alone in this search for them – Except for Miss Rosenberg, who’s very alive and lives alone in her apartment, but for some reason Sal still has a gut feeling there’s something up with her. Larry told him she has shown up in his dreams before, but her face looked sucked in similar to a skull and her hair looked very long, and he could never remember what she said to tell Sal. And the oddest part about it is that he never visited her house – He only ever saw her as a kid once or twice – Only Sal did. He thinks that maybe he just dreamed about that because “that old rag is scary as hell and says cryptic things all the time”, and that Sal shouldn’t keep visiting her, but he just thinks she’s interesting.

“Why in heavens would you worry about such a thing as ghosts? Sally, you’re such a sweet young girl, you remind me of myself from another time.”

“Don’t be consumed by the allure of death and its many secrets.”

  He didn’t have it in his heart to correct or convince her against any of these opinions.

     — So what is it you wanted to show me?

  After a whole year spending time inside the abandoned apartment from time to time and speaking to Megan, Sal finally felt confident in trying to show her to Larry – Since he finally opened up about his “curse” and revealed he’s actually seen the Red Eyed Demon in person, which both confirmed he does exist and probably made Larry a seer, and might mean that he’d be able to actually see Megan, which Sal himself isn’t able to do. But he didn’t just reach him and say “you are clairvoyant” or something along those lines – That would scare his pants off, and he couldn’t even be sure of this – He just called him through his walkie talkie and said he wanted to show him “something”.

  The taller boy stepped inside the dark apartment slowly, taking in his surroundings. He had that classic soft frown in his thick eyebrows that said “I don’t know where this is going but I think I don’t like it”, but that didn’t deter Sal yet.

     — Come on, she’s in the bathroom.

  He stepped ahead of him to unlock the room.

     — She?

     — Just come on.

  He opened the door and let his best friend go in first.

     — Damn, these 5th floor rooms have seen better days-

     — Shhh!

  He started talking out loud as he usually does but Sal signaled him to stay quiet, which left him with a confused face.

     — What? – He whispered.

     — Just wait a minute… — He took a few more steps towards the tub. — Megan? Are you here? Hello? — He waited for a minute but seeing as Larry didn’t show any reaction, nothing happened. — I want you to meet my friend Larry…

  The other stared between Sal and the wall a couple times before scratching the back of his neck.

     — …I don’t think there’s anything in here, dude.

  He smacked his lips in frustration and turned to his friend.

     — She might be afraid, she can be pretty shy. Though, I haven’t been able to get her to come out in a while now… I hope she’s okay.

  He had a sad look on his face but Larry couldn’t see it, just heard it in his voice.

     — So you come up to this moldy bathroom to talk to a dead girl? How often do you come up here?? — He sounded baffled about it all, with one arm folded and the other resting his elbow on it, hand scratching the side of his face, staring at the mold on the top half of the walls where Sal couldn’t reach when he did his cleaning.

     — I’ve been able to talk to her a few times! But, like I said, she hasn’t been around lately….

  His friend just stared at him, with a bit of concern in his face and both arms on his hips.

     — I’m not crazy, Larry! I’m going to prove this to you-

     — Hey, I never said you were crazy, man. As weird as this is, I believe you, okay? — He undid his suspecting stance and put his hand on Sal’s shoulder. — You’re my best bud.

     — I really thought we’d be able to talk to her today; I just had this feeling…

  Larry walked a few steps back and raised his brows, looking like a lightbulb lit inside his brain.

     — Dude! Know who you should go talk with? Todd. He’s probably the smartest kid I know AND he’s also into this supernatural stuff like you are. I bet he could help somehow.

  Once Todd tackled the very experimental and very unlikely project of turning Sal’s Intendo Switch into a spirit box, they headed to his bathroom to test it out. He had mentioned to Sal how he had a feeling a spirit resides inside his toilet, and he believed him if the way he immediately felt his body get very cold when he stepped into the room said anything.

  Todd got hold of his journal and a pencil, and Sal turned the device on. As the white noise filled the space, they waited for a couple minutes, but nothing seemed to happen. 

     — Hm… Maybe I-

  The white nose started distorting itself, slowly, pulling both’s attention. They heard what sounded like muffled crying, “Holy crap…” Todd whispered, looking impressed – A look Sal has never seen in his face before.

     — …Hello? What’s the matter?

“— I-   not-   think-    he- kill them.    -my fault.”

  The robotic voice finally spoke. Todd wrote everything he thought the scrambled words might mean on the paper.

     — Who?

“— Sta-y-   and-    daughter.   Fool   I   was-    fall for-    married woman-”

     — It’s never a crime to follow your heart. — Sal tried to engage in conversation and comfort the spirit, working with what he had.

“— You-     a romantic-    I was.   It’s kind-   know better    than that.”

  Sal blushed, surprised they actually understood what he meant.

     — We want to help you. — He looked back at Todd, who nodded. — Why haven’t you left this place?

“— We can never leave.”

  This question made the box produce the first clear quote among the rest. It sent chills down both the boy’s spines.

     — …What do you mean? You can’t pass on?

  The white noise remained, no more words forming from it.

     — What’s keeping you here? Have you seen a demon with red eyes? Can you tell us anyth-

  He tried to ask everything that came to his mind without thinking, eager to make progress in their investigation, scared that their first successful project might end early otherwise.

“— No, no, NO !”

     — What?! What is i-

The device shut itself off with a high pitched noise. They went two minutes in complete silence, pondering what happened. Sal sighed, taking his hands to his forehead and lowering his head.

     — I’m so sorry, I got anxious that we might not understand what he wanted to say in time and ended up overwhelming him, now he left and we can’t ask anything else.

     Todd closed his journal and slid the pen inside the spiral.

     — No, dude; That was a success ! We had a full conversation and he actually had something to tell us and we have to decipher it now. I’ve never seen anything like that in person.

     — You okay?

     — Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. It’s just one thing to read about the paranormal and formulate theories and a whole other thing to actually experience it. — He took the console from Sal and flipped it around in his hands — And I can’t even use the argument that those devices can be fake this time because I made it myself. Well, we have some work to do! I’ll stay here and do some research, see if I can figure out what the gaps between the words are supposed to be and form actual quotes. I want to look into the story of the Addison’s Apartments to see if I can find anything about past residents and the supposed murders.

     — That’d be really helpful. While you do that, I’m going to search for more supernatural hot spots.

  Todd handed Sal the Switch back.

Present Day

  Overtime, Sal only got more and more connected with the subject, pulling his friends along with him to a certain extent. He’s studied plenty of books about magic, afterlife and all of those things in his free time and is constantly seeking more knowledge. Todd influenced him in the healthiest way possible – The urge to learn more everyday. He started a journal to write down and draw everything he saw in his dreams or felt regarding the supernatural, keeping track of things, and all of the activities he’s ever done that involve witchcraft in some way or another. Sometimes things got a little crazy and he probably wouldn’t believe certain things happened if he wasn’t in the middle of it to see, but he was and oftentimes he was doing it, so he’s got to believe it.

  Atop his small side table in his room sat a few crystals and rocks his friends gave him over the years, dried up bunches of herbs and incense he burns sometimes and a bunch of trinkets of all sorts. Back in 508, on top of the sink sits a little rag doll of Megan Ash made for him some time ago, based on the picture of her that Todd found in his searches. She said she made it so that he wouldn’t have to be completely “in the dark” about whether she “was there or not” every time he felt like talking to her, since he couldn’t see her – Instead, lighting a candle beside it and watching its flame crackle and move in its own ways, conveying a message through the fire. As the little girl told him, they are always there – He just couldn’t see “the other side”, which looked just like this one but a bit different. Ash was the most skeptical among all of them but she still researched on it sometimes so she could understand their interests and quietly support them, and Sal appreciated that greatly.

  He likes to think that life on “the other side” has felt much less lonely for those souls with him living there. He tries to keep company with most of them – Even Mrs. Sanderson, who he didn’t get to know alive. Everyone deserves a friend; Someone to talk to and share the pains with, as long as they wish him well and respect that he’s still alive and can’t be with them all the time.

  But although he’s aware spirits are everywhere, there are too many roaming around this city – And he and his friends only get more and more determined to find out why and help them move to where they actually belong, finally resting for sure.

  They just didn’t think investigating Packerton’s shady bologna business was a part of this puzzle that they don’t know they’re playing.

Chapter Text

  The masked boy walked around the empty hallways of Addison’s like he owned it. He tried to keep as good of a relationship with the living neighbors as he does with the dead ones, knocking their door and asking how things are going at least once a week. This put him in the very unique position of having seen the inside of almost every apartment, he got great entertainment out of analyzing the plenty of different ways you could use the same space. People say many things about him but no one could say he wasn’t a nice person, not even his bullies – They were probably even more annoyed at him for it. “Goody two shoes ”, as put on by Travis. But he didn’t mind annoying people if the cause of it was being a gentleman.

  He still knocks on his passed neighbors doors – Not because they can open it for him, because they have long not been able to, but to tell them he’s there. After chatting with a few of his living neighbors, he decided to visit Mrs. Sanderson. He opened the door to 403 slowly, stepping inside quietly. No one ever bothered to ask why or who took the boards off of this door not even a whole year later, even though a crime happened inside of the space – Just another occasion that goes to show how no one cares about a thing in this city. Or they are all really good at ignoring their surroundings. Maybe both.

  He sat on the carpeted floor, leaning back on the wall. He took the Switch off his pocket and turned it on, leaving it on the floor close to where she passed. The white noise filled the room for minutes, he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence. She might not want to talk today.

  The switch of the waves of noise incited him to open his eyes and pay attention.

“— Hello, Sal.”

  She communicated with one of the cleanest voices among all of them. Maybe because her death is so recent and she’s still so attached to the material plane, and is very aware of what happened to her. Sal noticed how somehow she “saw it coming”, she thought what happened to her was gonna happen any way eventually, he just didn’t know why yet. He didn’t ask.

     — Hey, Mrs. Sanderson. How are you?

“— I try to keep myself busy otherwise I’ll lose my mind. I fear that I’ll never be able to leave those dreadful walls.”

  It made Sal deeply sad how he was already doing everything he could about that, and it still didn’t help. Some barriers can’t be crossed before the right time.

     — You still haven’t seen any bright light or anything? — He knew she didn’t. He excitedly anticipated the day he’d come to one of their rooms and not be answered by them because they finally left for a better place.

“— Unfortunately, no. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, though, babe. It’s much more bearable here without that horrible demon running around. It’s just so… Terribly grim… Devoid of hope… It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  He could never forget that day. 

A Year Ago

  The same day he unboarded this room was the day he decided to unboard the door in Megan’s apartment and he finally made contact with the rest of her family. He knew that whatever he was gonna see inside that door was gonna be tough, so he took some things with him. He couldn’t stop shaking from how cold he felt when he was in the presence of Stacy’s empty, dark-stained from oxidized years old blood bed. At that moment he knew for sure that they did not die in Wendigo Lake. But things only got denser, as Larry got there and they found that gap in the wall which led to another room, which mirrored the structure of the regular one. At the very end of it, sat an empty noose and complete darkness that felt abnormal. He noticed as Larry froze in place, shakily holding his phone flashlight, staring into the corner. He stared into Sal’s eye and told him he’s feeling the exact same feeling of dread he felt when he saw Red Eyes in the elevator. “He’s here, Sal, he’s here and he’s gonna fucking get us.”

  But that was all he needed; He wasn’t gonna let this evil entity bother his best friend or his ghost friends any longer than that – And if he’s face to face with the devil, he’s gonna destroy it.

  He traced a rock salt circle on the floor around him and Larry, took his journal from his bag and flipped through the warped pages as quickly as his fingers could until he found what he wanted. A collection of cryptic symbols he had been seeing in his dreams and remembered clearly upon waking up, immediately writing them down. Some resembled goat’s heads, some resembled runes, some resembled portals. But mainly, they all resembled evil . He took a thin box from inside his bag that had his dry pastels in it, grabbing a few colors in his hands and tossing it away.

  He crouched down and started determinedly drawing all of the symbols on the floor, from memory, on top of each other. His arm cramped as he struggled to draw while not touching the floor outside the salt circle, only using the crayon to do it. Larry didn’t know what he was doing, but he trusts Sal almost more than anyone else and watched in silence as he tried to be brave about it all. He knew he couldn’t run away now, he needed to give him strength to finish whatever he started.

  As he finished, there sat in front of them the cramped drawings against each other on the floor, chaotic and unreadable. He took off his sweater and quickly tied it around Larry’s nose and mouth.

     — Sal, what are you doing??

  He sounded muffled, and he looked teary-eyed from the fear. His eyebrows tightly knitted.

     — I’m gonna do something you’re gonna think It’s crazy, but don’t worry, this is a brick building and I got it. I just need you to stay inside the circle.

  He got a bottle of some clear drink he took from Henry that Larry didn’t recognize from inside his bag, opened it and started throwing it on the floor, on top of what he just drew.

     — What??? — He gave a few tiny shaky steps backwards on the small space the circle allowed, grabbing Sal’s shirt.

  They both could feel the air getting denser and denser and the atmosphere getting even darker, impossibly. Larry felt his blood freeze as he looked atop the drawings and saw the shadows twisting themselves, slowly materializing him . Red eyes .

     — He’s here, he’s right in front of us!!!

  It all happened really quickly. Sal got a small, thin white candle from inside his bag and got hold of Larry’s lighter, lightening the wick. He held the lit candle with his left hand and held Larry’s sweaty hand with his right. He stared at him with his bright blue eye.

     — Hold still.

  As confidently as he could, the smaller boy threw the candle in front of them with force. The flames exploded in a tall sickly and unnaturally green light, they crackled loudly and twisted around each other as if they were trying to escape, reaching for the noose and burning it all at once, with nothing but ashes falling off. The fire expanded and reached all of the room’s surface, except for inside the salt rim. Larry watched as the flames consumed the demon entirely, making him vanish as if he’s never been there at all, and making the air feel more normal than ever even though they were in a fire in a closed space. Sal killed him.

Present Day

  The memory sounded almost unbelievable even for himself. But he could never forget how Larry could do nothing but hug him tight and cry, thanking him for freeing him and the others from this evil, for a whole hour. This was a crazy story that sat only between them and the spirits, no one else more.

     — I’m sorry, I wish I could help more. Todd and I have been doing a lot of research but-

“— I apologize, sweetheart. I’ve got to go now, please take care of yourself.”

     — But- 

  The device shut itself off. He sighed, stood up and left the apartment.

  He walked up to the lift and got off at the 2nd floor, heading to 202, then Todd’s room.

  He and Larry were chatting about something random, the taller boy standing up while the redhead typed away on his computer. His table was littered with metal parts and tools, which intrigued Sal since Todd is usually a very organized person.

     — What’s the new gadget?

  He stared at Sal’s line of sight and saw what he was talking about.

     — Oh, you weren’t supposed to see that yet. It was going to be a surprise.

  He had no idea what it could be, rotating some of the parts around in his hand.

     — What is it?

     — Among other things, it’s a portable amplifier with custom effects that can be used to upgrade your guitar.

  Sal’s eye lit up, he was grinning but they could only see the crease in the corner of his eyes and hear the smile in his voice. He hugged Todd tight by his shoulders.

     — That’s amazing! Todd, you’re a genius! I can’t wait to try it out, I’m gonna use it so much, I’m gonna play everywhere! I always wanted to be able to play without needing that big ass box to be along and also all the special effects, we could cover some Bob Zombie or Nine Inch Snails songs with the weird tunes or something. I’m so excited. 

     — That’s rad, dude. I didn’t know he was doing that either, even I want to try it out now. — Larry playfully shoved Todd’s shoulder.

     — Unfortunately you’ll both have to wait a while. There are still a few parts I’m waiting on in the mail. Besides, we have more important things to focus on at the moment.

  For a moment Sal got so excited about the gadget he completely forgot the real reason the three were reunited there. Mrs. Packerton’s apartment.

     — Right.

  The redhead tapped a few more things on his keyboard then spun his chair around to fully look at the other two.

     — Are you ready? — They nodded. — I’ve tapped into the security cameras and will be able to loop footage of the empty hallway until you two get back. Be careful.

  Larry went ahead and picked her lock so they could get in. When they walked in they realized that somehow this apartment smelled much worse than all of the abandoned ones from the 5th floor combined even though it looked really well-kept. It was terrible. He looked around, spotting a big painting on the wall beside the door. It showcased a barn in a grass field with cows in it.

     — Check out that painting. What if Packerton really does just work on a farm?

  Sal looked up at it.

     — I don’t know, that painting gives me a weird feeling. Like a cold chill.

     — Woah, yeah. I feel it too.

  They both knew that this meant something really wrong was going on in there.

  Despise some locked doors and the big pack of diapers beside the couch, nothing looked too terribly out of place. However, her freezer was padlocked shut.

     — What do we do now, you used your hairclip on the front door, now it’s too fucked up to use again.

     He twisted the lock around in his hand and watched as Larry simply produced a whole full box of hairclips from his pocket and picked a new one.

     — Of course you’d have a thousand hair clips just for lock picking but never one for when you actually need to put your hair up. You’d rather keep stealing mine and Ash’s hairties.

     — You know it, sally boy. — He sported a mischievous smile while picking the lock.

  When the lock clicked he pulled the handle and opened the freezer door, revealing a full decapitated goat head inside of it. Larry felt his stomach turn and Sal got one of his back shivers that burned the highest bone of his spine as that cryptic drawing with red lines and symbols and the goat head that was among the burned ones immediatelly came back to his mind at the sight of it.

     — Ugh, I knew it! It IS goats. I fucking called that shit, man-

     — I don’t think this goat has to do with the bologna, Larry.

“I can feel him roaming around this kitchen”

  He slowly moved his head to face Sal.

     — …Then what else would that be for?

     — I feel like it can’t be that simple. Let’s see if we can get into these bedrooms.

  They went a long time trying to pick the locks in the doors but those didn’t even budge. So he resorted to trying anything that came to his mind instead, finally reaching for the clock that sat on the wall between the two doors and spinning its indicators around slowly, until he heard another click. The left door opened.

     — Tch, dude, I’d never think that was it. — He slapped his own forehead.

     — You’ve got to play more Resident Devil then! — Sal chuckled, pretending that it was obvious the entire time just to piss the other off. — Let’s go.

  They soon found out the reason why the entire house smelled so horrible. Mr. Packerton, who should have died in a building fire years ago now, layed on a bed by the end of the room, being kept alive by machines yet tied on all limbs as if he could even attempt to escape. Along with him, newspaper clippings all over the wall which documented his very own death. They didn’t know what to think. “Did she kill him?”

  Sal walked towards the bed.

     — …Are you Mr. Packerton? Blink if you can hear me. — No answer. — Hello?

  He had an idea. Luckly, he had left his Switch in one of his cargo pants’ pockets and had it with him now. He took it and turned it on, placing it on top of the machine.

“— Young    child-,     please- help me.”

     — How can you be…? Are you dead? — Sal put his hand on the man’s shoulder, his brows knitted.

“— I am     in between. Suffering   for    -what     feels like an   eternity.”

  He looked back towards the door where Larry still stood, staring at them. He had a pained stare in his face.

     — He looks… Completely disfigured, Sal. Like just a living amalgam of pain and suffering living a fate worse than death. — He said, in a low voice.

  He looked back at the man.

     — Did Mrs. Packerton do this to you?

“— We were in love    once.    -Or so I   thought.   Yes,    this is    -her doing. Please. You-     must   help me escape this-    endless agony…”

     — …How can I help you?

  He had a feeling he already knew what was coming next.

“— You must unplug this     horrid machine.”

  He felt his heart race, anxiety picking up. He dealt well with dead people but not good at all with dying ones. He opened and closed his fists repeatedly.

     — But isn’t that…? Wouldn’t that..?

“— It will end my suffering. It will free me of this torment.”

  He swallowed dry.

     — But… Are you sure?

“— Please child      -I beg of   you. You must hurry-     before she returns.”

  He felt himself overheat inside his prosthetic. He wanted to tell Larry he couldn’t do it, but his voice seemed to be gone and he didn’t want to put this responsibility on his friend’s back. He lifted his bangs, scratching his forehead and pacing back and forth.

     — Larry, I-

  A loud dull noise pulled both their attention. It was coming from his switch, the battery puffed up and smoke coming out of it. He and Larry took a few steps back, the machine seemingly imploding in itself, sending an electric charge through the other one below, which shut down with the overload. The screen flat-lined, emitting a loud beep along with the image. Mr. Packerton was finally free.

  Both of them let their breaths out, relieved that a bigger explosion didn’t take place. Sal walked back towards the bed.

     — …I am so sorry I didn’t have the guts to do it myself, sir. I hope you can pass smoothly and go to a much better place soon, and if you end up stuck in those walls like the others I promise I’ll come back to talk to you some way. You won’t be alone anymore.

  He walked backwards, going towards the machine and holding his detonated switch, examining it.

     — I hope Todd can fix this… And if he can’t, well, maybe it was time for it to go.

  Larry went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

     — Are you alright now?

     — Yes, let’s keep looki-

  The click of the front door startled both of them.

     — Oh shit! She’s back!

     — Quick! Behind the dresser!

  Both boys crouched as snuggly as they possibly could behind the wooden furniture, shaking like a leaf. Larry’s big brown eyes looked wider than ever, eyebrows deeply frowned as he looked side to side, then to Sal.

      — If we don’t make it out alive… I… I love you, dude.

  Sal was taken aback by the unexpectedness of it all – He knows how Lisa is very open and simple about her feelings and he should know Larry would be just like her, too. He was glad to finally have a real friend in all those years, and he would probably be smiling if the situation wasn’t so precarious and uncertain.

      — I love you too, man. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, you know?

     — Same to you, little bud.

  He splayed his arms out in front of Sal to try to protect him from whatever was coming next when they heard the room door open, and they both closed their eyes tightly. They couldn’t be less christian if they tried but in that moment they were hoping God would take the wheel. But as they remained longer and longer with their eyes shut, nothing happened. So they slowly opened them up, only to see no one less than Ashley, giggling in their face.

     — Ohhh my god next time I’m gonna kill you I swear- 

  Larry threw himself on the floor and held his chest, with his eyes closed. Ash’s giggles evolved into full blown laughter.

     — Hey, sorry to ruin the moment, but what the hell is this place? This smells like total wet ass- Hey what the fuck is that a dead man?!

     — Ashley! You scared the crap out of us! — The shorter boy got up and rubbed the dirt off his scraped knees. — And yes, and also no. He was alive until five minutes ago. That’s Mr. Packerton, which our dearest teacher has been keeping alive against his will for five years despite him being brain dead all the while. But her machine just broke, and he’s gone now. Hopefully finally at peace.

  She stared at his bed with a serious face. 

     — Whatever she does for the bologna to taste so bad can’t possibly be worse than torturing her own partner for years on end. This is gross. I hope he finds peace.

  The three stayed in silence for a couple minutes, in respect for him.

     — We were investigating her house as we said we’d do. When we got here, nothing seemed too out of place besides the putrid smell and the fact that one of the freezers was padlocked. Larry picked the lock and we found a decapitated goat head inside of it, nothing more. — She grimaced hearing his description. — Then we noticed both room doors also had locks but they were impossible to pick. Later I found out how to open this one, the secret was in moving the clock pointers. He was inside. I communicated with him through the spirit box Todd made me and he begged me to end his suffering, but I wasn’t brave enough. However my console was sitting on top of the machine and it probably overheated or something because it imploded and sent an electric shock through the machine below. That’s how it shut off, shutting his system off along with it. That’s how he flat-lined.

  Sal’s voice was monotonous. Ash knew him well and knew that this indicated how his mind was far far away from the present moment. She pulled him for a light hug, pulling Larry along. They “sandwiched” him, comforting him.

     — It’s all right now. None of this was your fault, you came to help and I’m sure he knows this.

  He pulled away.

     — Thank you guys. Anyway, there’s still one room we haven’t looked in yet. We need to get in there before we leave.

     — Oh! By the way, check this out. — Larry pulled a strange key ring from his back pocket. — While we were hiding, I found this under the dresser.

  Sal examined it in his hands.

     — One of these keys has to open that other bedroom. Let’s check it out.

     — Anything to get out of this room.

  Ashley couldn’t have been any more wrong about the bologna part not being worse than the Mr. Packerton one. It was , and by far. They would never be able to take the scene off of their heads: A whole slaughterhouse worth of material cramped inside an apartment bedroom; Newspaper clippings of all the kids and teens that went missing in Nockfell on the last ten years or so littering all of the walls; Blood, both dry and fresh, smeared all over everything and another locked freezer. They tried every combination possible on the 4 slot combo lock until they got it open, but now they wish they never opened it. It was completely horrific. Tons of lacerated boneless unrecognizable meat shoved and cramped inside of the compartment, so destroyed they wouldn’t even be able to tell what it really was if not for the newspaper sheets and the assorted jars just for eyes and teeth that sat above the rest. Larry threw up twice and Sal still thinks he reacted accordingly, if not lightly.

  It was at this moment that they realized they can’t do this alone. Whatever is entailing all of those bizarre occurances together is big , and was about to swallow the whole city if they didn’t do something. They may even be the next ones to end up cramped inside this freezer if they don’t act. But what could a bunch of 17 to 18 year old seniors even do about a gigantic murder spree going on for years, if they knew the police had closed its eyes for all? They felt lost and hopeless.

  They were just about to leave to tell Todd all about this and try to think of what to do, until Ashley started to stare attentively at the barn painting. She noticed something none of the boys did, at least not consciously – It was slightly inclined forward on the bottom part. She walked up to it and climbed on the little desk that had the radio on top. She carefully slid her hands under the painting and lifted it, taking it off and revealing a small door.

     — There’s some kind of trash chute hiding behind this painting.

  Larry creased his eyebrows and walked up to her, staring at the closed chute.

     — That’s weird. This building doesn’t have trash chutes as far as I remember and I have lived here since I was a little kid.

  The three stared at each other. Ash grabbed the handle and opened the chute just a bit, looking inside.

     — It doesn’t look like it goes outside, there’s no light coming in.

  Sal got closer to her.

     — Be careful, Ash…

  She fully opened the chute, putting her whole head in but still couldn’t see much.

     — I’m just wondering where it leads…

  She let out a strangled scream as she accidentally slipped her foot off of the edge; Sal tried to grab her by the edge of her shirt but it tore clean off and she fell through the hole, screaming even more. Both scrambled to hold her but they weren’t fast enough.

Chapter Text

  It took Larry a lot of insistence to get Sal to give up on jumping down the chute along with Ashley and then to make him stop completely panicking at the situation, even if he himself was also very scared. He then went from talking too much to not talking at all and that was not any better, it was actually worse – He was completely zoned out. So he just stayed crouched down beside his friend with his hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to get better on his own. When Sal finally calmed down, he began to feel the reboot effect of the agitation and got very tired, laying his head on Larry’s shoulder and briefly dozing off. Now it felt like the possibility of Packerton showing up at any time wasn’t really a danger anymore, what happened last being so much worse.

  But it didn’t last even ten minutes, as he close to jumped awake with very open eyes and grabbed Larry by the shoulders.

     — I know where it goes!

  He got up, shut the lights in the apartment off and left through the door so quickly Larry didn’t even get the chance to ask how he could possibly know where the chute ends without a map of the building’s architecture. 

     — What?? How?! — He sprinted to catch up with him, breath irregular as he tried to run and talk at the same time to keep up with Sal’s pace. For someone so small he sure did outrun all of them when he was determined to do something.

     — Never mind, just go get Todd and meet me in the basement.

  He didn’t get to him in time; The lift doors closed and he left without him and without explaining anything else. 

     — What’s going on? Sal, what did you see? — Todd tried to ask, as soon as he and Larry left the elevator but was left unanswered. — Is Ashley alright?

  Sal’s shoes squeaked against the basement floor while he tried to push the metal shelf out of the way, unsuccessfully.

     — Everything is going to be okay. — His voice sounded rushed. — I dozed off for a little bit accidentally while I tried to calm down and I dreamt of Megan telling me to remember where I found her necklace. Come on, help me with this.

  The three went on trying to push the tall shelf out of its place blocking the door; It was so heavy that for a moment they wondered if it might actually be screwed to the floor and if they would have to ask Lisa for some tools. But thankfully it was just heavy – They managed to move it eventually and didn’t have to involve the woman in this shady situation.

     — Phew , well, I don’t know about you Todd- — Larry held onto his knees and tried to regulate his breath, tired. — But I always wondered what’s behind this door, and today is the day we find out!

  His pretend-excitement would be funny if they weren’t all with their nerves tensed.

     — All these years I just assumed it was an apartment no one wanted to rent for it has no windows or doors leading outside, but it is weird that they decided to completely block it off with all of this crap so now I sure do want to know too. — He stepped out of the way and gestured towards the door. — Go on, Sal. You lead the way, Larry and I will offer support however we can.

  Larry handed Sal the key ring, he tried all of them until the last one unlocked the door. They stepped inside, the air felt thick with dust floating around slowly. Larry looked around, pursing his lips.

     — There’s nothing here…

     — Give me a minute to look around.

  He wandered around the entire apartment, paying attention to every bit. Until he walked in the last bedroom, and noticed the carpet had a slit in it. Barely noticeable, the texture hiding it way too well to not be intentional. He called the others to check it out.

     — The carpet is split here. It looks like…

  He slid the tip of his fingers under the carpet, gripped the edge of it and ripped the whole top half of it off the ground with a yank, revealing a massive trap door under it. Sal felt his heart sink at the thought that the chute went even lower and the fall was even deeper than they had previously envisioned.

     — God, it goes even further down… I hope she’s okay. 

“I hope she’s alive”

  Larry held one of Sal’s pigtails and pulled the hair tie out carefully to not tug on his scalp, he then proceeded to tie his own hair on a ponytail with it to get it out of the way.

     — We’ll find out. — He stepped ahead and pulled the heavy door up so the other two could get in. Although he was tall and relatively slim, he was the strongest of them all physically, and his genetics would allow him to build muscle easily if he ever wanted to. Lisa’s toned arms were proof of this.

  The other two took a look inside; There was a very long and old-looking solid wood staircase leading to somewhere completely dark with no visible end ahead of them. Sal sighed, taking down his remaining single pigtail and tying a ponytail himself, too. When these two sported this specific hairstyle everyone knew it meant business, because none of them like to wear it – Sal feels dysphoric and Larry just thinks his forehead looks gigantic. He took one of his thin white candles from one of his cargo pants pockets, grabbed Larry’s lighter from his pocket and lit it up, holding it straight ahead.

     — Dude, do you just casually keep that stuff on you all the time? — Larry spoke from behind the trapdoor while Sal and Todd went down the first steps, his eyes peeking from above the edge.

     — Remember our original goal today was finding out what’s inside Packerton’s apartment? And remember what we found inside her desk at school? I knew she did something occult so I prepared myself accordingly for whatever could come our way, if that night in 504 teached me anything. — Larry grimaced at the indirect mention of Red Eyes. — Besides, a good spiritualist always has fire on them. 

     — And a good stoner always has a lighter- 

  Larry chuckled while going down behind them and lowering the door back down on his way. Todd shoved his shoulder at the joke, which only made him laugh more.

     — What! I’m just saying, that’s why we are a good trio. Sal got the candles, I got the lighters and you got the brains. Besides, I always make myself clean and odorless before I come over yall’s house don’t I? Don’t tell me I’m stinky ‘cause I’ll get upset-

     — No, Larry, you’re not. — Todd deadpanned.

  He grinned.

     — Great.

  Larry had many love languages, but being annoying to his friends was one of the main ones. It took them five minutes or so to get to the bottom of the stairs, which ended in a tall wooden door. It was locked – Below the handle was a pentagon-shaped hole.

     — I don’t think any of the keys on the ring we found at her house are gonna fit in this one, it looks very different… It doesn’t look like a keyhole at all. — Larry stared attemptively at the mechanism, sticking his finger in it.

  Sal searched through his many pockets until he found what he wanted. A small steel pentagon with a hole in the middle he had found inside Packerton’s desk compartment.

     — This was inside her desk, too. I took it because I found it interesting, but didn’t think we’d find a use for it. But it seems to fit… — He stepped ahead and slid the piece on the mechanism, which clicked. — Perfectly.

  The door creaked, opening slowly. The place’s appearance changed drastically, going from a dungeon-esque path to what looked like a cold storage room, filled with big steel drawers all around it and a large steel table in the middle.

     — This looks an awful lot like a mortuary. — Larry looked at the surroundings, grimacing slightly.

  Todd pulled his sleeve over his fingers and tapped the wall besides the door, finding a light switch. He turned it on, lighting up the whole room in a very fit hospital-blueish-white. The lights produced a low hum which made the entire place feel even more sinister. Sal fanned his hand to the flame of his candle to put it off.

     — Officially, if this has working light fixtures and no dust on the surfaces this place is active and someone comes here regularly. Either just Packerton herself, or more people that are involved in this. Either way, don’t touch anything with your bare hands. — Todd stated. The other two looked at him, swallowing at the information. He didn’t say that bit, but this also meant someone could walk into them at any second, which put them back on high nerves.

  They went on analyzing the surfaces. Each drawer had a small steel plate in front of it indicating the contents: Collarbones, kneecaps, metacarpals, and so on.

     — Organized, are we?

  They silently agreed on not opening them to see, out of respect for the people. On the far back wall was installed a wide sink, with smaller drawers under it. Those were unlabelled. Above it were shelves filled with chemicals, their bottles and flasks also unlabelled. Todd took out his phone and began both taking pictures of everything he considered relevant, and a 360 scan of the room for future analysis. He feels grateful for modern phones.

  The real point of interest, though, was another door on the far back wall of the room, beside the sink. Sal mimicked Todd, pulling the sleeve of his sweater above his hand and fingers, to only then pulling the handle. Thankfully this one wasn't locked – He blindly tapped the surroundings of the door on the wall to find the next light switch before going in. “She has to be here.” , he thought to himself, feeling his anxiety pick up and his heart beat inside his throat. He wouldn’t normally ignore all of the rest like this; He thinks it’s disrespectful to just walk past all of those victim’s bones and this whole room itself, something completely new for their investigation, but his friend would end up in those drawers too if they didn’t find her quickly. He felt so sickly worried that he didn’t even pay attention to any signs of paranormal activity in the place, and he’s aware that there has to be a lot, given the circumstances.

  Finally tapping the switch, he fully opened the door and walked in. Looking around, this room looks more crude, not containing many things in it besides a series of what looked like big pots of liquid sitting on top of a low table and an equally big conduction oven to fit them in on the opposite side. It had an intense putrid smell and all of them grimaced when it hit their faces. In the far end of this room, below the opening of the chute was a pit, deeper than the floor level with a pile of bones with remaining bits of decomposing meat in them. Most of the contents were soaking in water, while some of it was above it, in the open air. On top of the pile was Ashley, body slumped in an unnatural position, facing down against the bones; Hair spread around all sides, one leg still stuck in the opening, torn jeans hanging from the edge of the steel. At this moment they didn’t know if finding her like this was worse or better than not finding her at all, her pose almost telling. “She looks dead” , he thought, against his own will, but immediately brushed the thought aside as he ran towards her.

     — Ash!! — He paid no mind to the bones, climbing them and getting to her. But before he did anything he looked back to Todd, his hands hovering above her. — Do you think I’m gonna hurt her more if I touch her?

  Despite his eagerness to find out if she’s alive or not, he knew that injured people shouldn’t be handled if not in a very specific way, so he waited for his friend’s advice. Todd appreciated his mindfulness in this moment, getting closer and looking at her.

     — Despite her odd position she doesn’t look unnaturally twisted in any part so I don’t think she’s broken any bones, besides we don’t have adequate medical equipment or a straight surface to immobilize her on this pile so we’ll have to handle her anyway. Let’s take her out of here- Larry, I noticed that the steel table has wheels, check if it fits through the door and bring it here. Quick.

  The other nodded quickly, going towards the other room, but stopped on his tracks, looking back to Todd. 

     — Weren’t we supposed to touch the least things possible? Are we gonna put her on top of it?

  Todd began climbing the pile of bones, following Sal’s previous movement.

     — We don’t have other options and among all of those chemicals there has to be at least one that’s for cleaning. I will take care of this part later.

  He nodded again and went on to do what he was asked, pushing the table all the way to the edge of the pit. He then climbed along with them; Sal held her head and shoulders, an arm hooked under her arm and the other under her neck, Todd held her torso and Larry her legs. They carefully placed her atop the table, wheeling it back to its original room.

  Now that they could see her face, she had a big green and purple bruise on her forehead; Her clothes were entirely stained and smeared with blood – For better or for worse, the blood was from the other “people” that fell through this chute, not from herself, seeing as Todd didn’t spot any cuts. That was the best case scenario, as being in contact with those things with an open wound would have greatly increased her chances of getting seriously sick. Things were looking great – She had a pulse and didn’t have any visible serious injuries, but still, she didn’t wake up. So Todd looked around all of the shelves until he found a small glass vial with a brownish liquid inside, ammoniac gas. He carefully smashed the tip of the vial against the edge of the table and directed it close to her nose for just a second until he took it away from her and threw it inside one of the sinks. Not even two seconds later she jumped awake, sitting straight up with wide eyes and coughing aggressively. Both Sal and Larry helped hold her up, keeping her from falling back on the table too harshly.

  She went on coughing and struggling to breathe for some time before she finally felt decent enough to say something. She held her hand to her head, groaning.

     — …What happened? …My head feels like it’s gonna explode and my nose and throat burn so much… — She closed her eyes shut, her voice sounded scratched.

     — What’s the last thing you remember? — Larry asked.

  She creased her eyebrows and stared nowhere, lost in thought, tilting her head sideways slightly. A few seconds later she seemed to finally remember something.

     — We were inside Mrs. Packerton’s house then… Oh God , the fucking bologna made of people- — She brushed her forehead with her hands. — That was already bad enough but there’s something else I’m not recalling…

  Todd got closer to the table, resting his hands on the edge of it, staring at Ashley.

     — You were there with Sal and Larry, when you were about to leave you found out there was a hidden trash chute or passage behind a big painting. 

     — Yes, I remember that… — She nodded.

     — You tried to see what’s inside it but your foot slipped and you ended up falling down the hole, they couldn’t hold you in time. — Her eyes widened again as she stared at him. — Sal had one of his intuitive thoughts and claimed there was an entrance to somewhere else hidden inside that door behind the steel shelf close to Larry’s apartment. So we went there, and there was, indeed, a trapdoor on the floor that led to a big staircase going down. It ended in a wooden door that Sal managed to open using an object he found inside Packerton’s desk back in that day; We went inside and that’s where we’re at now. We found you in that adjacent room back there, where the bones actually fall in. You were on top of them, passed out, possibly from hitting your head somewhere along the way. You don’t have any open wounds and don’t seem too seriously injured but you still didn’t wake up so I had to wake you up with ammonia. It’s the base ingredient of smelling salts, basically. Your airways will burn for a while but that was our only alternative – We couldn’t wait for you to wake up on your own since we have to leave this place as soon as we can.

  She stared around the room, baffled.

     — All of this was hidden under your house this entire time? That’s insane. — She noticed all the drawers with the bone labels on them, then looked at the pile. — I don’t even think I wanna know what happens here, it smells so bad. 

     — Well, two things: Yes, all of this and I’m guessing even more since there’s another door in that other room that we didn’t try to get in yet and it smells so bad because by the looks of it they are cleaning the bones here. The process of removing the soft tissue from the bone is a very long and tedious one, and smells exceptionally bad all the way. I’m surprised it doesn’t smell even worse than it does.

     — Another door? — Sal realized he was so rushed to find Ash that he didn’t even take in his surroundings. He walked back to the other room, and there it was: Another door – A wooden one, on the right side. He took the key ring from one of his pockets and tried every key in it, but none of them worked this time. — Fuck. Well, I guess luck isn’t endless. 

  He walked back to his friends.

     — If that’s another wooden door with a simple key lock we can come back with mom’s crowbar another day. — Larry said, as he supported Ash so that she could swing her legs off the edge of the table and stand up.

     — You’re right.

  Todd cleaned all of the surfaces he remembered them touching as best as he could with what he had. They headed out the front door, Larry holding the handle behind him and pulling it. The door clicked again as it shut, and the small pentagon lifted from the crevice. He took it and put it in one of Sal’s pockets. The other held back his candle and lit it back up, lightening up the way ahead of them.

     — It’s a very long way up there but you can shower and sleep in my house today once we get there. — Larry told the girl. — Mom isn’t home so we can find a way to hide your bruise before one of our parents sees you.

     — Bruise? — She asked; She hadn’t seen herself yet after waking up.

     — It’s not that bad, don’t worry. — Sal said, attempting to keep her worries at bay.

     — Guys thank you so much for doing all of this for me. I wasn’t thinking straight before jumping in that hideous hole and I was very lucky to not fucking die on the way there and even more lucky that you had the right keys to the doors on the way to where I was. It doesn’t even seem real, thinking about it. But none of this does. What are we gonna do about this whole thing? We can’t just not do anything, specially about Mr. Packerton’s body…

     — We’re gonna have to sleep for now. It’s already late at night and we still got class tomorrow. We can all come here again after it ends to talk about it all and decide. — Todd stood in the door frame, while they decided what to do next.

  They agreed on sleeping tonight, Todd left to his house and the other three would sleep in Larry’s room, messaging their parents about it. 

  After Sal helped Ashley get rid of her filthy clothes and they threw all of them away, he took some of his clothes that he keeps in Larry’s wardrobe for sleepovers and lent them to her. Luckily they didn’t have too vastly different tastes in clothes, they enjoyed each other’s style and the girl was skinnier than him so they fit just fine. She took a long shower, in hopes that the warm water would ease the pain she felt in her body. It did, a bit. Sal himself showered after her, coming back a few minutes later with little a first aid box and a pair of hair scissors.

     — Let me see how it looks now. — Ashley was sitting on the edge of Larry’s bed, Sal walked up to her and carefully lifted her hair so he could see the bruise in full.

     — I’m not gonna lie I didn’t expect it to be this big but I guess it had to be for it to knock me out for more than an hour… I’m gonna be an unicorn for a week now.

  Both teens giggled at her comment, Sal stepping back to take a better look at her as a whole.

     — Don’t make me laugh, It was terrifying! — He was smiling, but what he said was true.

  Her smile left her face, and she had a bit of a saddened gaze.

     — I know… — She looked up at him. — Larry told me you wanted to jump with me. You could have died, too. I don’t want you to be reckless like this, I don’t want to lose you either.

  He froze in place, eyes wide. He knows very well that she cares about him, – All of his friends do. — But when she verbalizes it like that it makes him not know what to do with himself. 

     — I got very worried.

  His voice was small, almost a whisper. He looked down, fidgeting with the scissors to distract himself. But soon he saw her extended hands, and went towards her. She pulled him into a tight hug, sitting on the edge of the bed while he was standing, face buried in his torso and hands caressing his back. He hugged her over her shoulders, supporting his chin on her head, careful to not end up pressing her bruise. They spent time silently like this, communicating through their caresses and hands, until they heard the shower turn off. Larry would get out of the shower soon.

  They separated, continuing their conversation as if nothing happened. Maybe for her it was, maybe for her this was just something friends do for each other without feeling like they would pass out, but for him it burned. He looked at her, tilting his head sideways lightly and extending his arm forwards, gesturing a haircut from afar.

     — We might have to thicken up your bangs a few, that way it’s gonna cover the bruise completely and nobody is gonna pay attention that something even changed. You just gotta stay alert outside so that the wind doesn’t blow it away and ends up showing everyone your magic horn. Other than that, the solution is easy.

  She looked at herself on the mirror far to the side, then back at him. 

     — Then go for it, Salward Fisherhands.

Chapter Text

07:00am                                              ♻⏰🔇🛜🪫

🏠⇋https:// thenockfelltimes. com/news/beloved-nockfell-high-teacher-killed-by-drunk-driver 🔎⟲ ⊞ ⓽ ☒ ⋮

BELOVED NOCKFELL HIGH TEACHER KILLED BY DRUNK DRIVER

  Emery Packerton passed away at 4:00AM today, by herself in a car crash against a drunk driver who was highly above the speed limit. The man was also found dead, due to a head trauma that happened during the crash. He had no known relatives or friends, therefore the police closed the investigations. The woman lived by herself in her apartment, having lost her late husband five years ago in a building fire. Although she no longer had a family, we are sure all of Nockfell High’s students and workers will grieve for her and pray that she rests well. The funeral will take place this Tuesday, therefore there will be no classes taking place at the school today.

  The three just stared at the screen incredulously, hair still disheveled from sleep, brain just woken up. It all seemed like a big joke the universe was playing on them. They didn’t have to say a word to understand what was gonna happen when Sal got up and dressed himself, taking the keys and heading out. All the others followed suit, Larry telling them he’d go to Todd’s apartment on the way to take him along. When Lisa asked them why they were leaving so early they said they were invited for breakfast at Chug’s house.

  When they were close to Packerton’s door, Larry remembered how he should have asked Todd to loop the camera footage again so that he could lockpick, but he shook his head.

     — Won’t have to. 

  The others stared at him. They kept walking, so when they were finally face to face with her door, Todd simply opened it up. No lock, no resistance.

     — What?-

  What they saw in front of them shut their mouths. The apartment was, to put it simple, pristine. It smelled clean, had no furniture inside of it at all and the place where the chute used to be was closed shut and wallpapered. If they weren’t there yesterday to attest for the existence of everything that used to be in the place, they would think they are going insane. Even having been there, they still felt this way. Sal ran towards the bathroom, also clean, then towards the room Mr. Packerton used to be in; The carpet was completely removed, revealing the hardwood beneath it. Then finally, the room where the bologna used to be made. Clean as if Addison’s Apartments had finished being built yesterday. They never even thought it was possible to get an apartment in this building this clean, it put Sal’s “renovation” of 504 to shame.

  Nockfell High hasn’t offered any bologna or meatloaf ever since. There has been a random lunch that day every week for weeks now; They seem to be having a hard time settling on a new supplier. But it is very hard to live on high alert all the time because neither you or your friends can forget the terrible things you saw first hand; The bologna wasn’t there, but the pepperoni of pizza friday still was, and any other thing they might try to contaminate. Sal felt bad for how Todd was spending so much material to test out any meat they try to serve again and again to see if it’s not human, at his friends’ request. But at the end of the day the thought that prevails is that that’s most definitely not all that the cult does, and that they’re probably doing many more things that they can’t know for now because they lost the only trail that led them there entirely.

  They could only go down to the basement trap door one more time after Packerton’s death before Terrence announced to the tenants that he had “finally managed to save up enough” to start the renovations on the second basement apartment to “make it clean and tidy” and try to rent it out again. The group decided to not jump on conclusions, letting it happen, but as soon as he announced that it was finished their suspicions were proven correct: There was no trapdoor anymore. They wouldn’t be able to yank the floor out without making themselves obvious and also criminal, so their only real access to any piece of the cult’s facilities was over then and there. And all of this could only mean one thing: The one thing that Todd has been saying ever since the day of Packerton’s death and Sal was refusing to believe – Terrence is involved in the cult as much as their old teacher, if not more. The redhead got to this conclusion very soon; He had told them that on the night of her death he couldn’t sleep so he was hacked into the cameras watching the regular movement of Addison’s hallways from 12am onwards, but as soon as 4am hit things took an interesting turn.

  A group of men dressed in all black, hiding their faces with gray masks, walked in the building. He began screen-recording immediately. They took the lift all the way to the third floor and walked into Mrs. Packerton’s apartment. Slowly but surely, one by one, they emptied the entire apartment of every single thing that used to be in it; Furniture, carpeting, trash, and so on. But he didn’t see them walk out with anything body-shaped, so he was intrigued, since he knew for sure Mr. Packerton was officially dead now. What happened next, however, shut his mouth by being much worse than he could have imagined.

  As soon as they finished getting out with all of the objects and furniture, all of them went inside and closed the door. They spent a good thirty minutes locked in there and when the door finally opened back up only one of them got out, holding a suitcase that was dripping red from its seams. They quartered Mr. Packerton’s dead body. That same person then came back with a huge box of cleaning supplies and some other things, again closing the door and spending a whole hour in there. When all of them finally left, they didn’t lock the door upon leaving, and only a few minutes later Todd got the notification for a brand new The Nockfell Times article: “Beloved Nockfell High Teacher Killed By Drunk Driver”.

  If he knew how to loop security footage, he’s sure a full blown cult knows how too. So if they had unrestricted access to the building at 4am and felt comfortable with doing all that with the cameras rolling, it could only mean one thing: Whoever looks at the footage and cares for the front door is in common agreement with what happened. And the person to do both of those things and much more is Terrence. The last conclusion to make was a clear one – If those people were immediately there to clean and hide everything at the exact same time of her death, they knew she was gonna die. And possibly how, too. That’s if they weren’t also the very same people who wrote the article itself, too.

  So when they decided to go back to the underground mortuary again to gather the most information they could on that same day he knew it would be the last time. The only reason he even let his friends go there again is because the worst ambients in the world don’t have cameras in them – As much as you’d want to know if someone is snooping around in your nefarious stuff or not, the same footage that tells you about an invader is the one that would tell outsiders about your activities if leaked.

  So that’s where they stood. Todd’s pegboard full of printed out pictures of the camera footage, pictures and notes about the insides of the mortuary, any and every thing that the six of them could gather about the subject stuck up there, staring him down everyday. The lack of new clues or leads for so long was driving him crazy. Initially, the four of them weren’t going to tell Chug or Maple about any of this, but they are his friends just as much and they felt bad not doing so. Not to mention that the thought of hiding those things from them to not put them in danger was nonsensical this time taking into consideration how the most dangerous thing would be them being completely clueless and still eating the school’s meat, while being under the risk of being kidnapped. Chug lives in Addison's and Maple visits him almost daily, so they had to be up to date on what's going on so they could keep an eye out for weird things too. The only person from their circle who hasn’t been involved yet was Neil – They all agreed that wasn’t necessary for now, even if the guy was very insistent on being let in on their secrets and wanting to come over to Todd’s house instead of only being visited by him. Todd gets it, it can be weird to know that your boyfriend keeps so many secrets with his friends and not with you, but he has no idea of how huge and dangerous “the secret” is. So all Todd can do is tell him to trust him and hope that it puts his mind at ease.

  So while they were stagnant on their investigations he decided to focus on other things. Finishing his projects, like Sal’s guitar and fixing his spirit box/gaming console, for example. The first one was a success; Sal loves it and uses it all the time – Todd enjoyed working on it so much that it lit up his interest for music – Now, from time to time, he would ask Sal to teach him how to play it. His friends were beaming at his initiative to also play guitar because this way they’d be able to cover so many more songs accurately and their need for mechanical sound was getting smaller and smaller. They’d be able to play Insatallica songs better – One of Sal, Ashley and Larry’s favorite bands. He doesn’t look nearly as passionate while playing as his friends do, but he’s still happy to be there.

  The Switch on the other hand wasn’t as sucessful. The structure of it broke fundamentally and he told Sal that the best he’d be able to do about it is modify a new console, but he said it was fine; That regarding the game aspect of it he still had his Play State 4 in his house and regarding the spirit box aspect of it he’d figure out another way to communicate with them. The box is an easy way out after all – It wasn’t even able to convey the words of spirits that aren’t as highly evolved to understand the device.

  The thought that has been in Sal’s mind ever since they left the cult aside for a while was how Travis has been absolutely radio silent during all those weeks. No more bullying, no more bantering, no snarky or nasty comments, no ugly stares. In fact, most days he didn’t even show up at lunch time. Sal only knew he was still a student there because they still shared algebra class twice a week, and he’d see him pass by on the hallways sometimes. He’d go to the bathroom and shamelessly stare at the space below the doors through the mirror to see if he could spot the acid green pair of converse, but to no avail. He didn’t hang out there anymore. Every algebra class he’d try to get a good luck at his face, hands and legs to see if he sported any new bruises. Admittedly, he worried about what goes on between him and his father – Even if he didn’t directly tell him anything about that. It was a gut feeling. For better or for worse he couldn’t see any, which could only mean one of two things: He’s okay, for now, or Kenneth hurts him in places that he knows won’t be visible outside the clothes he usually wears. He couldn’t know. Travis never actually tried to talk to him or ask him to hang out to get away from his dad for a while like Sal offered him, and that could also mean one of two things: He either didn’t feel the need to do that yet, or he was keeping everything to himself. Or the third thing, which would be simply not taking him seriously and not wanting to be around him at all. Sigh.

  Speaking of the Devil, to his surprise, his worried daydreams were interrupted by a neatly folded piece of paper being slid in front of his face on his table by a freckled boney hand who left just as quickly. He lifted his head from his folded arms, eyebrows creased, and took hold of the tiny piece of paper, opening it up. 

“Good morning, Sally Face.

I know I haven’t said a word for weeks, and that all of you might be thinking it’s weird and unusual. I know the way I’ve acted for months is really bad, and I know that nothing I say can fix it. I will understand if you don’t want to hear me read this, or believe it. I am not good with words. But you proved showed me your looks or preferences don’t get in the way of being a nice guy person. I think you deserve my apoligies I apologize for my past behaviour and I hope we can talk about anything something another time. 

travis”

  Words floating between lines, circles for dots and scratched thoughts. “It really is him...”, he thought. He stared at the boy, a few tables ahead, on the row next to him. He couldn’t let him feel like his efforts to open up were in vain. He quickly tore off the corner of the last page of his own school notebook, uncapping his light blue pen.

“hi travis

i appreciate your apology, and i take it

here’s my number if you want to talk about anything, any time

+1 131 212-3456

– sal :)”

  He folded his own paper just like the other did and waited until the end of class to deliver it, sliding it on his table just like he did, and leaving. He didn’t wait for an answer because he felt like it would make him uncomfortable. He was grinning under his prosthetic; He always had a feeling that Travis wasn’t an idiot, just scared – But no one believed him and honestly not even himself sometimes. But his theory, (feeling), was right all along and proved itself for him. Sal wasn’t the person to hold grudges, of course he’d be careful since all of this is really new and unknown, but he did genuinely accept the boy’s apology. He could feel he put thought into it, taking into consideration all of the weeks he completely avoided him. He hoped he’d message him someday.

  His palms were sweaty and his leg continuously bounced on the floor, his muscles hurting from the unwavering motion. He regretted doing it just a second after leaving the paper, wishing he could open a hole and jump inside. But it was too late now. He was holding the folded answer in his hands and he had no idea what would be inside of it; Cursing? Roasting? A request to be left alone forever? He thinks all of those are possible yet can’t decide which is more likely. He sighed and took the courage to open it, reading its contents.

“anything, any time

+1 131 212-3456

– sal :)”

  Why was he so nice to him? That was exactly the goal he had when he wrote his note but he couldn’t bring himself to understand anyway. He doesn’t feel like he deserves gentleness. He took his phone off his pocket and opened the contact list, clicking to add a new one. He pondered what he should put as the name. “Sal”? “Sally”? “Sally face”? “Sal Fisher”? “Sal :)”?

  He settled for “Sal”. He doesn’t know if he’s actually going to message him anytime soon, but it felt good to know that he can.

     — I’m sorry, you’re not gonna bash me if I say this is hard to believe, right? 

  Larry leaned forward on the edge of the bed to hand the little piece of paper back to Sal, who was sitting on his bean bag on the floor. All of the six teens were crammed inside the older boy’s room, having a pajama party of sorts. Maple swirled her milk tea around in her porcelain floral mug, watching the solids and the liquids mix around, taking a sip.

     — I think it’s honest… — She said, voice calm and collected, as always.

     — C’mon, of course you do! You’re the sweetest person among all of us and he never really targeted you directly. — Larry shot back at her.

     — He never targeted me but he never acknowledged me either. It was as if I’m invisible, which, sometimes it’s good to be invisible but not all the time. Sometimes it feels demoralizing. — Larry looked at her, mumbling a “You’re right, I’m sorry”. — I just feel like he’s being honest, is all. His body language is telling of how he’s very scared and hyper aware of himself all the time and that this tough guy persona is as shallow as a puddle.

  Chug tangled and untangled his fingers around his girlfriend’s hair, looking lost in thought.

     — Well he did say mean things to me before, and I still agree with Mapes. — He stated where he stands in this whole situation. — Of course, we’re not gonna group hug him and kiss him and tell him he’s awesome but I don’t know. Whatever.

  Larry groaned and threw himself back on the bed, laying his head in Ash’s lap. She began untangling the fairy knots from his long strands and tying tiny braids across his hairline.

     — This subject gives me headaches. And I don’t get headaches, not even from headbanging. Can’t we leave the guy back in school and talk about something else?

  Sal decided to finally say something after several moments of quiet.

     — I just don’t get how or why he has bullied so many things about all of us, especially me, yet he didn’t talk about the most obvious and easy of them. — All of the others stared at him, waiting for him to continue. — Like… Well you know. This — He gestured around his plastic face. — And this — He gestured vaguely around his chest area. — …Why not?

     — You’re just bashing yourself where it hurts most. If his bullying is as shallow as you say it is, it wouldn’t target things he’s not personally insecure about. — Ashley chimed in. — This and he probably doesn’t understand “this one”. — She gestured around her own chest.

  Now it was Sal’s turn to sigh and throw his head back on the bag.

     — And you know, being secure in yourself is the hottest and strongest attribute someone can carry. You may not be the most “chad hyper-masculine” dude ever but you never back down when someone calls you the wrong way on purpose. You either go with it or ignore them completely, making them feel ashamed. What I’m trying to say is that, although I don’t think it’s right to label things like that, I’d say you’re “convincing”. And he probably doesn’t understand any of it.

  Sal chuckled at the way she worded out her point, but she’s right. He never lets go of his personal style to convince anyone and that’s exactly what helps him impose respect sometimes. He hopes that, although from afar, she can see how his eyes are shaped like crescent moons now.

     — Thanks, Ash. — He crossed his arms unnecessarily high up his armpits, leaned even further back and mimicked a deep voice. —  Yeah, I don’t think they teach about gender-non-conforming trans guys at vacation bible school.

  His comment made everyone else cackle, they knew their humor was the worst and that was the best part of it all. He loved his friends and he loved how their late night conversations floated between very serious and very unserious topics.

     — Well, y'know what, I’m glad he apologized. And I don’t know if he was including me in the intention, but I take it. — Chug Shrugged.

     — Me too. — Maple added.

  Larry turned sideways so that he could look at Todd, who had been silent all along, playing on Sal’s PS4.

     — What do you think, fiery locks?

  The redhead paused his game and shifted his head slowly to stare at them.

     — You guys make things too complicated sometimes. — Although he looked back at his game, he had a small smirk on his lips.

  There was a collective “awhhhhh” and a couple slaps at the thigh resonated in the room.

     — Man, everyone pack it up, the MOST complicated dude of all is telling us to pipe down. I’m gonna sleep after this one. — He shifted to the opposite side dramatically, fake-snoring.

     — I’m just saying!

Chapter Text

  The rubbing alcohol that soaked the small washcloth burned the little round open wounds under his fingers and made them sting, but only for the first few seconds before they went numb. Every now and then, Kenneth would tell Travis to dust all of the surfaces of his office in the Ministry – Only this one, as he never let him inside or even see what’s in the one he has back home; That door remains closed when he’s not there. – And only that. No messing around, no moving furniture. Just a wet rag on the surface of the hardwood floor, and an alcohol one for the others. But he’s very observant and a perfectionist, doing small things like keeping all of the books level or centralizing some things here and there, too. Every time that his father orders him to do something, he obeys like a dog – But simultaneously, buried deep inside himself, he feels burning rage like no other. Every single time, without fail, he feels so angry that he feels like his stomach acid could rupture his organs and throat and drip straight down on the floor at any moment. He feels heartburn when his heart burns, but a child who gets beat when they cry or talk back soon learns to be silent and straight-faced, no trouble.

  Well, that’s what he likes to think. But his anger spills on all the wrong places, like a whispered talk back to his father mid-argument that he still manages to listen, rendering him another black eye – Or picking up arguments with the people at school, and if he annoyed them enough they might complain to the staff, which also ends up on him being hurt. For someone like him, all the exits lead to a wall – And not even death could save him, for he would feel the fire of hell consume him for liking the color blue too much for a boy.

  Travis has a pride that’s bigger than him inside himself. It swells and escapes, and it’s responsible for this burning urge that he has to talk back to Kenneth even if he knows that his big boney calloused hand is gonna leave an indent on his skin a second later. Because you can’t win a battle you didn’t even try to fight, even if you lose every single time, and the brief second that his father grabs his face to look at what he’s done is the closest he’ll ever get to being cared for.

  This same pride makes him believe that tearing his skin open can make the pain stop, even if it makes it worse. So he draws his thin red lines all over his forearms and thighs, counting his days like a prisoner scratches the wall of their cell, and as the shower stream sends rosy water washing down the drain he knows it takes him nowhere. He tries to fool himself that he has self control when he micro-doses his violence; “This time I’ll only make two, this time will only be my nails.” “This time I’ll only say they are freaks, not faggots.” “This time I’ll be completely silent when he lectures me and maybe he might feel proud of me when he lays his head on the pillow.” “Today I’ll remember how my mom wouldn’t like who I have become, but it won’t make me sad because she’s gone and she can’t tell me that.” And if none of this works, at least he’s the only one who can obey the commands that his own brain deems best, and no one can change that. He can lift his arms up and pray, if he wants. He can say amen if he feels too scared to not do it.

  But his pride isn’t what makes him pick up fights with Sal and his friends. Those stem from something very far from it; His shame. Can you make a skyscraper small enough to step on if you tell it how small you think it is for long enough? If you can convince yourself that the answer is yes, then it might be. And if you can wait, wait, wait and wait even more, then it might just happen before your eyes. It’s a matter of patience. It’s a solid mindset, and you can hold onto it firmly. Until the skyscraper tells you it feels sorry for how small you are, and suddenly you are even smaller, as small as an ant doing its way home being stepped on by accident.

  It had taken him weeks of chewing on the insides of his cheeks for him to actually grow the guts to write that letter. It was simple, basic, small and poor but it took a toll on him nonetheless. If the mere act of talking to people already felt like he was folding himself over, apologizing felt like ten times that. Pride doesn’t take you anywhere, but sometimes he doesn’t want to go anywhere either. He just wants to curl up on himself and stay in bed forever; The issue is that he does want to go somewhere with Sal. The long term game of cat and rat where the rats didn’t agree to play did wear him out long ago, but it wasn’t like he had anything else to do to feel like he has a grip on his own life so he kept going. Until he didn’t want to be the cat anymore, and admitted to himself that Sal was never the rat in the first place.

  So when he finally decided to put an end to this, life proves itself to be much harder when the one thing you have to think about is yourself, and nothing else. He would go one, two hours early to his practice when no one would be there yet and smash the drumset until the thin scabs that had formed on his palms over the last week fell off and blood smeared on the sticks. That was his call to stop, once again wash his hands and watch a small fraction of his life source wash down the train, pat the wounds dry and cover them in gauze. Someone might think that he’s covering his knuckles from hitting someone instead of his palms, like he did with Sal, but the truth is that he hadn’t even hit a fly before this. But people thinking that he’s a danger to them might be more beneficial for him.

  And when he laid his head on his pillow he’d flip over countless times, littering his hidden sketchbook again and again when sleep wouldn’t come. It took weeks, but he wore the pages out until the very last one. That’s when he decided to do something different,

“hey, sal I know you probably hate me-”

“hey, fisher I just wanted to say that I regret-”

“Hey sally face, I know I haven’t been the best person to have around but-”

  Nothing he would write would make him feel less pathetic, nothing seemed genuine enough to make them consider that he’s actually changed. And he doesn’t even know if he is “actually changed”, whatever that means, all he’s done was ignore them completely at school as if he couldn’t see them in hopes that him giving them peace could be the best proof of any that he doesn’t want to bother them anymore. Maybe leaving them alone might be the best gift to give, instead of bothering them with shallow requests of forgiveness. But deep down he knew that, at least for Sal, he asked him to talk to him that day and it would probably be better to give him something instead of complete silence. Anything.

“Good morning, Sally Face.

I know I haven’t said a word for weeks, and that all of you might be thinking it’s weird and unusual. I know the way I’ve acted for months is really bad, and I know that nothing I say can fix it. I will understand if you don’t want to hear me read this, or believe it. I am not good with words. But you proved showed me your looks or preferences don’t get in the way of being a nice guy person. I think you deserve my apoligies I apologize for my past behaviour and I hope we can talk about anything something another time.

  travis”

  Four in the morning. He tried his best to erase the graphite smudges all over the page and leave just the words, then folding the paper over itself four times, running his thumb nail across the edge firmly to lay it flat. That’s all he could muster and it wasn’t even much, but for once he decided it was enough, wedging the note between his algebra homework pages. He wasn’t sure where this was gonna get him, if anywhere, but he decided to “let God take the wheel” like his father says it’s best. Father always knows best.

  But why does He never take the wheel when he’s being yelled at? When he’s being injured? Is that what He wants to happen to him? Is he so beyond forgiveness that God wants to watch him suffer under his father’s care? Is Kenneth actually the one He trusts to put what is right inside his head and heart? He pulls his necklace from under his shirt, holding the pendant in his hand. In the little times he feels something akin to faith, he associates it with his mother. Not with any of this. This necklace is one of the few things that doesn’t have Kenneth’s touch in it, and although it still reminds him of the pressure and the shame, it's different. It’s different because his mother gave it to him before she left, and it's different because the people at his Ministry don’t wear crosses on their necks. They only wear their bigotry out in the open for everyone to see. She closed the tiny clasp behind his neck, neatly tucked the pendant inside his little striped shirt and told him to wear it when he’s scared, that it would protect him from the evil things in the world. There isn’t a day where he goes without it, and there isn’t a day where he’s not scared.

  If God loves all of his creations, why did He make him like blue so much that it makes him unforgivable? Trials and tribulations come and go, but this doesn’t. It never goes away, not even when he rips his hair out in hope that the thoughts come off along with the strands. It burns his skin and makes him wake up drenched in sweat.

  So he silently slid the folded paper on his desk, and left to sit on his own. If you can’t run away from the rain forever, let it soak you.

“Anything, any time.”

  The alcohol evaporates and stings his nostrils. The dust gets wet and bunches up at the corner of the fabric, and the wood shines. Neat and clean, like everything should be. No eyeliner, no torn knees, no chipped nail polish. No smudged black and purple eyeshadow, no greasy tangled hair, no dull leather shoes. No fun songs and no sound of laughter, it’s only him, the silence, the thoughts and the dark wood. Although he hates obeying, he likes to spend his afternoons here, dusting this office in complete silence where no one's gonna bother him because nobody gets into Kenneth Phelp’s office uninvited.

  And when he felt bold, he would finish his cleaning and sit on the big leather chair, staring at his results. He slowly moved the chair side to side, hearing it creek slightly with the movement. Sometimes it seems like time doesn’t move inside of the Ministry, the sun is always halfway through the sky and the air is always stagnant, holding the dust particles suspended in it. And only for a moment he feels proud of his work, and his mind shuts up for a while. He closes his eyes, throwing his head back, resting for a minute. He wishes it was always like this, he wishes his father didn’t exist and the silence was never interrupted by loud voices and hard steps. But it doesn’t take long until sitting there begins to weird him out, so he stands back up. He wants many things, but being like Kenneth and taking his place certainly wasn't among them. The idea terrified him to his core.

    Then he noticed one particular book that stood further ahead than all of the others, right on the far end of the shelf. He’s never seen this book before, or else he would have leveled it up with the others too already, so he walked up to it and tried to push it back. It didn’t budge, but that’s not the only thing that picked his attention – He touched the cover of it again, analyzing the texture. The book was made of wood. “What? How did I never see this before?”

  He looked side to side, walked up to the door in slow, quiet steps and locked it. He walked back to the bookshelf and pulled the wooden book out, carefully. It has hinges on the side that the pages would be, and a detailed drawing of a goat’s head etched onto its cover with heat. The “book” was actually a box, as he opened it it revealed itself to be hollow, on the back side of the “cover”, or better, the lid, was etched a quote.

“May our sight pierce the heavens,”

     — Wait, this…

“and our reach be everlasting –”

  There it was; The same quote Kenneth had said as a greeting to the person on the phone on that night. But it didn’t end there this time, as he noticed there was more on the other side, inside of the box. In the middle of it was a key, sitting flush against the wood that was carved to fit it perfectly. And below it, were the rest of the words.

“For we are The Devourers Of God.”

  He gasped, widening his eyes and opening his mouth slightly. “What the fuck? What does that mean?” – The first thing that came to his mind is that someone might have broken into Kenneth’s office and done something satanic to try and plan something against the Ministry. But then it dawned on him – He knows this room is always locked. Just like the one back home. So this could only be here by his father’s wish, but why? Why would he want something like this to be inside his church? Then he wondered if he brought this here to study it; He remembers him saying something about how we should know our friends well but our enemies even better so that we could defeat them. But this wasn’t a book, it was a disguise for a key. What does that mean, and where does this key lead to?

  He could feel a throbbing headache getting closer, thinking too many things at once. He didn’t know about any of this and it made him feel that cold dread inside his stomach; Somehow, he knows he’s getting himself into something he won’t be able to ignore once he knows it. And it makes him scared.

  He laid the box open on the table and took a picture of its contents, both the inside and the cover. Then he carefully put it back in place, paying attention to leave it as close to the way it was previously as possible, unlocking the door and leaving.

  He walked up the stairs, intending to go to his room. He then remembered that he was supposed to be in the Ministry the whole day today, it’s a friday, but he forgot. He heard his father doing something inside of his office, probably getting ready to leave, and quickly moved to get inside his room before he noticed he was home. He texted him about how he “was feeling sick”, and decided to go home early, but did finish cleaning. He didn’t answer, but he read it, which was probably the best outcome when it comes to Kenneth. He opened his school bag, taking a page from one of the notebooks and tearing it off. He drew everything he saw there; The drawing, the quotes, the key and even the way the box itself works. Then he folded the page in half and stored it between the pages on his secret sketchbook inside his desk. He thought to himself how he needs a new sketchbook as soon as possible, it’s his main way of coping with his feelings and it’s already full. He’d think about that later.

  When he was putting his notebook back on his bag, the note Sal gave him fell off from it on the floor. His heart pace quickened for a second, he had forgotten about all of that after what happened in the office. He held his phone and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the empty black screen. What is someone supposed to send someone else as a first text? He’s never done this before, and he has no idea. Much less to this someone. He sighed, throwing himself back on the mattress, phone resting on top of his ribs. He closed his eyes and thought about it, not everything is complex, he just had to try and be a normal person for once.

  The screen lit up, going into his messages only his father was there. It almost makes him want to laugh. But now there would be a second window option right after him. Opening up his window, he has a crude sketch of his mask and spiky pigtails around it as a profile pic, probably drawn by Ashley or Larry. It was a bit funny.

good afternoon, sal.

  He stared at the bright screen and thought to himself how even though he didn’t capitalize the first letter of the text in an attempt to make it more casual, it still looks too formal because of the punctuation. Sigh, too late.

omg hi travis i didnt think u would actually text me 

but im glad you did

how r u?

  And he didn’t think he would actually answer him so quickly, so he didn’t actually plan what to say next.

i’m fine, thanks for asking

  The next text took a minute to come. He starts to wonder if he said something wrong.

that’s great :-)

if i take long to answer, its because we are practicing a bit at school this afternoon

larry wants to learn a new song because he heard some gossip that there might be a talent show at school

if its true we would try to get in it

and win 😈🤟🏻

  His excitement is contagious even from the phone, he could almost hear his muffled voice on the multiple texts. Travis had no idea of this supposed “talent show”, but he can see why they would be excited about it. Even he was a bit interested.

seems cool, what song?

“toxicity” by S.O.D., its his favorite

Chapter Text

  The next day, he visited one of those stores that sells a bit of everything and got a clean sketchbook, a bar of soap and the cheapest pair of earbuds they had – The cashier looked at him weird due to the exotic mix of things but he stared back with a glare to shut off any possible questions. He walked aimlessly until he found a small park, sat on the grass and took out his new sketchbook and a pencil from his bag. He untangled the length of the earbud wires and plugged it to his phone, connecting them to his ears and opening youtube on anonymous mode. He doesn’t know what the song is about and he doesn’t know if he wants it tainting his “very-valuable” youtube history that consisted solely of the many religious songs that he had to train to play the drums of in the ministry. He typed the name Sal told him on the search bar and selected the one he thought was the right one.

“You, what do you own the world? How do you own disorder, disorder?

Now, somewhere between the sacred silence, sacred silence and sleep

Somewhere between the sacred silence and sleep

Disorder, disorder, disorder…”

  The song had been consistently pretty much the same until now, but when the vocalist sang that portion of it for the second time the rhythm changed completely for something much more quick and aggressive. He didn’t want to like a song he’s technically not allowed to listen to this much but he knows how his body reacts when something makes him excited - It feels like there's something rising inside of his ribs. 

“When I became the sun, I shone life into the man's hearts

When I became the sun, I shone life into the man's hearts”

  He decided he wanted to learn how to play it, just by ear and insistence. So for the next week, he kept listening to it once or twice a day so that when Friday comes he can come earlier to the ministry to practice it. But when Thursday finally came around, Kenneth told him there wouldn’t be anything happening there the next day because he’d have some business talks with some associates or something along those lines. In a way this was good because it meant he wouldn’t see him all day, but in the other it was bad because he couldn’t play. Unless he decided to finally follow Sal’s advice and practice at the school’s music room, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try so he took his sticks to class with him.

  When class reached its end, he walked to the library where they kept all of the keys to special rooms. He asked the woman if anyone was in the music room, she said that not yet, so he got the key and headed there. There was a not-so-thin layer of dust covering all of the pieces of the drum set, Sal was right, no one uses those or has used them in a very long while. He wiped the dust off of all of them meticulously before sitting on the little stool and putting his earbuds back on.

     — Do you still think there’s actually gonna be a talent show here? I’m not so sure about it anymore, it’s been like a week since you heard they were going to announce it but nothing happened…

  The two friends walked down the school hallways with their big instrument cases bouncing on their back – Sal’s guitar case was two thirds of his height and he felt kind of silly wearing it, but it’s fine. They were headed to the music room, practice would be just voice and guitar today since they didn’t get anyone else to come along this time. “Toxicity” doesn’t have an acoustic guitar in it but Larry still brought his, just in case they wanted to have fun playing something else anyway. It’s always good to have options.

     — You’ve got to be more patient, man. I still have hope. And even if nothing happens, I’m still proud to learn this song. You have to have something to play at parties to entertain people you don’t know sometimes.

  Sal let out a laugh and Larry stared at him.

     — What??

     — People usually play chill songs about love or summer with acoustic guitars and ukuleles at parties, not goddamn “Toxicity”-

  The taller boy tried to hold his laugh but it just put an ugly downturned smile on his face as he shoved the other’s shoulder.

     — And we don’t even go to parties! — Sal started running ahead to get away from Larry’s revenge, his loud laughter muffled by his prosthetic.

     — Man, you’re an asshole! — He ran right behind him but couldn’t reach him, stopping to catch his breath. — One can hope.

  With their quick play of tag they soon got to the music room’s door without realizing, but when Sal saw it he face-palmed.

     — I can’t believe I forgot to go and get the key with the librarian, now I’m gonna have to go all the way back there again!-

     — Shhhh…

  Larry shushed Sal, hand hovering in the air in front of the door pointing towards it. As he whispered a “listen”, the two stopped and listened closely – There was noise escaping from the room even with the insulation. Not noise, music, and pretty good at that. The window that faced the hallway was frosted so it was useless to see the inside, so they couldn’t know what was going on if they didn’t walk in.

     — Man, who the hell is shredding the drums in there?? Those things have been collecting dust ever since I first got into this school and I haven’t noticed any new students around… Damn! Wait… — He had a focused face on, bushy eyebrows knitted and lips slightly open. Then his eyes widened. — Is that fucking Toxicity?? What are the chances-

  A mischievous smile began creeping its way into Sal’s face, as he got more and more excited. If that’s what he thought it was, this was gonna be a very interesting day and interaction to watch. The song was reaching its end, and he held his hand in front of Larry to keep him from going in until the last noise.

     — You’re not gonna believe this.

  His friend stared at him with a confused face, mumbling a “what?”, but Sal didn’t answer – Just gestured to him to open the door. 

  He tried to open the door but it was locked, they could hear some shuffling of movement inside and a few moments later the door slowly opened; There was Travis, standing in front of them with an anxious expression, hair disheveled and wavy from how the sweat slowly ruined his straight press, skin shiny and slightly reddened from all the movement, holding his sticks with his bandaged hands, regulating his breath. The three just stared at each other for a very long and very awkward minute until someone said something.

     — …Hello?

     — Were you the one playing that in there?

  He made a weird expression at the other’s question.

     — Uh… Yeah, was it that bad? It’s the first day of me trying to play it by ear, I just got curious if I would be able to do it because I found the song interesting and- Well, I usually don’t play those songs because I don’t listen to them but Sal mentioned it to me so- Uh. Yeah. I can leave if you want to use the room now-

     — Can you play it again? — It was almost like there was a stare-off context of “who blinks first” going on between Larry and Travis. Nothing like this ever happened before and if Sal were to admit, it was very entertaining. — I mean, with us.

  Travis swallowed. “What does that mean?? I thought you found me insufferable to be around, now you want me to be your personal drummer for a day? I knew I shouldn't have done my practice here.” – He thought to himself, but simultaneously he felt that familiar feeling of his chest swelling from excitement. It didn’t show on his face, of course, but this might be the first time that Larry willingly wants to participate in something that involves him and maybe this can be a step ahead on his reconciliation with Sal. So even though he didn’t know what to expect, he agreed.

     — Sure.

  They all went to “their positions”, or the positions that they thought they should stay in, given that the three never stood in the same room together for more than a couple minutes if you don’t count the lunch area. Travis sat back on his little stool, drying up his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and waiting for the others. He noticed how Sal’s guitar had a weird gadget attached to it which he didn’t know if had a use or was purely aesthetic, but was baffled to see how that thing actually put off the need for an amplifier. He had to admit that it was amazing, he had never seen something like this before. He started playing, and Travis knew that soon would be his turn to play along. Ten seconds in he hit his first note, then he tried his best to focus as much as he could and remember the many times he listened to it to get the least notes wrong as possible. Something inside of him wanted to impress both of them, but Sal the most. He thought he knew what, but he ignored the thought and focused on the rhythm coursing its way through his body instead.

  Then the drums lowered their rhythm again, giving space for the guitar to introduce the voice with a melodic tone.

     — Conversion, software version 7.0; Looking at life through the eyes of a tire hub-

  Larry’s raspy voice sounded different from the original singer, but it complimented the song and Travis could tell how he was lowering his tone on purpose to match it better.

     — Eating seeds as a pastime activity; The toxicity of our city, of our city-

  When he got to the end of the first chorus, it all slowed again, and he could hear Sal’s low voice singing along with him for some of the lines.

     — More wood for their fires, loud neighbors, flashlight reveries caught in the headlights of a truck…

  His voice backing Larry’s sounded almost like a whisper, but they went along well. Then came the second pre-chorus and chorus, and he knew that the most interesting part was coming up – Both him and Larry stopped his parts to let the guitar call for the next one, Sal stared at him with something unknown in his eyes while playing as if he was telling him that his turn is coming up, and it did, his hands and forearms cramped from the efford but he gave all he had in his part accompanying his guitar, and when he glanced at Larry just before he started singing again he was nodding his head and smiling.

     — You, what do you own the world?! How do you own disorder, disorder?! Now, somewhere between the sacred silence, sacred silence and sleep; Somewhere between the sacred silence and sleep, Disorder, disorder, disorder!

  He extended his scream into the mic and folded over, his hair falling all around his face. He then sang the outro and both of the instruments and all sounds overall came to a halt when Travis held the plate to stop its reverb in the last note. The three just stared at eachother for a minute, saying nothing, and concluded that even though they played missing the bass and both of the boys in the instruments made a few mistakes here and there because they are still learning, it still sounded incredibly good, and the three of them felt their heart hammer in their chests.

     — Holy shit! — Larry paced around a few, taking one of Sal’s pigtails down and putting his hair up on a bun. The other just took the remaining one down and held his hair off his neck with his own hand to get some air. — Man, why did you never mention you were a drummer??

  Travis didn’t say anything, just exhaled and closed his eyes briefly. 

     — We didn’t even have a bass but we sound so much better with actual drums instead of mechanical sound already, damn.

  And he couldn’t deny how playing like this felt so many times better than playing back in the ministry. There's a rush that runs through you, an excitement of hearing how all of the sounds compliment each other so well as if they were having a conversation. Playing for the ministry feels like making a sound, playing with them felt like making something memorable. He stood up from the stool and walked out of the heightened platform that the drum set sits in, getting to the other’s level – Sal walked up to him and hugged him sideways briefly, catching him off guard. He leaned towards his ear and he froze in place, his hair being down brushed lightly against his shoulder.

     — You did so good, I think you just “cheated” your way through him liking you. And he holds grudges like nobody else. — He whispered, staring at Larry across the room. His eyes were creased at the corners when he looked back at Travis. — Jokes aside, I’m really happy that you liked the song so much that you decided to learn it and I enjoyed it a lot to actually hear you play. Especially along with us.

  There was a knock at the door and a counselor walked in with a pile of paper in her arms and a roll of tape in her hand.

     — Good afternoon boys… — She took a sheet from the pile and placed the others on top of the amplifier that was sitting against the wall, then taking a big piece of tape, cutting it off on the edge of her tooth and sticking its tips together, fixing it to the back of the paper and attaching the folder to the wall. — Have you heard of the talent competition we’ll have?

  The three boys looked at each other before looking back at her.

     — So it was true? — Larry asked, a bit of excitement in his tone.

     — Yes, you can read more about it here, — She tapped the paper with the tip of her nail. — I’m sure you and your friends will be interested. Anyways, good practice to yall!

  They all mumbled their “thank you” as she left the room and closed the door behind herself. Larry walked up to the wall and spent a moment reading the folder, then walking up to Travis.

     — Well. Do you want to play with us when it happens?

  He had his hand extended forward, staring him right in the eyes. Many things went through Travis’ head at the same time; Fear, excitement, confusion, he could make up the clear image of his disappointed father in his mind and many other things that can happen if he just decides to join their band. None of the outcomes seem to be good and he couldn’t possibly think of a way that Sal’s friends would just accept him there without feeling displeased or even betrayed but at the same time it was Larry himself that was there, in front of him, making the invite. It felt very confusing and overwhelming. He was insecure about a lot of things but he knew he was good at playing, and maybe Larry is just impressed with his skill but wouldn’t like him as an actual person as much. Maybe as soon as he opens his mouth he’s gonna ruin everything. It felt scary.

     — Can I think about it?

  He held his hand in the air for a bit longer but dropped it, slapping his leg slightly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

     — I’m sorry-

     — It’s fine, man. Whatever. It was nice playing with you.

  He got his bag and slinged it over his shoulder, walking out of the room. Sal quickly put his own guitar back in its bag and did the same, looking at him before leaving.

     — We can text about this later.

  Travis gave him an awkward thumbs up, and he left along with Larry.

     — You didn’t have to act this way, didn’t you like it a lot?

  The two walked home together in quick steps.

     — Yeah, and I thought something was different but he acted the same way in the end. He doesn’t want to spend time with us, Sal. Sadly being a drummer didn’t make him any different, he’s a drummer for his church, that’s all. He probably only does it because his daddy tells him to, too.

     — Come on, you know he wouldn’t be able to agree straight up. You know his life is complicated.

  The taller boy stared at him with creased brows.

     — Uh, no I don’t. Unless he’s told you something about that, I don’t know anything.

     — He literally has shown up to school with black eyes more than once!

  Larry snorted.

     — But that means nothing! You pick up fights with people, you get got; He just got lucky with you because I wasn’t there and Ash has self control. He literally always has bandages on his hands.

     — Have you considered they might be for his palms and not his knuckles?

  As they reached the apartments, Larry opened the door and held it for Sal to get in.

     — Highly doubt it. I’ll believe it if I see it.

  The two walked to the elevator, going to Sal’s apartment. Lisa had told them she would cook them lasagna after school today, since Henry would also be home, which was rare.

     — You’re too stubborn. Wait and see it, then.

  Sal unlocked the door, walking in. Lisa greeted them, mixing something on the stove.

     — Are you boys arguing?

     — It’s nothing important, mom. — He dropped his backpack beside the couch and threw himself on it. — And this sauce smells so good!

Chapter Text

as it turns out "my travis" acted exactly like travis would and admitted to having been lying about seeing my identity as valid this entire time
"no, i dont see you as a man, i see you as a woman"
and i should have never expected otherwise but gawd damn!!!!!!!!!! lol it hurts a lot, 2025 has been treating me like absolute crap ive been jobless for 5 months and sometimes we barely even have enough food in the house
i still think about this fanfic almost everyday, i love it and i love salvis and i love salshley and i love homoerotic tension and all of the sorts and i still think about their silly little soon to be band everytime i listen to metal
i am incredibly tired and miserable and this will probably be deleted but yeah, sorry for the disappointment, i was shattered once again
i should have ended this relationship so long ago but i am loyal like a dog and never know when to drop the bone, "sal loves like a dog, dont hurt him or ill kill you" once said one of the fanfics ive read