Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   The choir's multitudinous voice sang hymns and prayers as Travis sat perfectly still on the pew. It was a commissioning mass, welcoming newcomers into the Church at this holy time of Pentecost. Travis was more distracted by his feet on the floor, so he triple-checked to ensure his shoelaces were as he had left them.

He didn't doubt they had moved, he had been stone-still to not only avoid the laces having awkwardly slipped under the shoes' tongues but also to avoid drawing attention to himself than need be. Where he sat, squished beside an elder who smelt of nonenal odour and his sisters, the three-hour-long mass had ended.

The older girls sat to his left, both in ankle-length dresses with similar designs. However, Madeline had sewn black dahlias into the sleeves, with her long black hair braided into two plaits and a few small feathers adorning the black-coloured ties. Mary, however, had shoulder-length perfectly dyed blonde hair tied into a bun. Her dress had no alterations.

Mary was a carbon-copy image of their father.

After shaking hands with the others surrounding him during the sign of peace, and bidding farewell, Travis quickly ran off to the sink, lathering soap into his palms before packing away most of the objects on the altar.

Of course, he followed his little routine to ensure everything was tidy, no movement was wrong, and not even the tiniest object was out of place.

Otherwise, something bad would happen. He didn't know why he felt as if such an event would occur, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Once he'd finished, he noticed his father was nowhere to be found. But it was probably best not to try and figure out where he had gone.

Momentarily, did the whispers and hushed mumbles that usually danced in the air affirm his belief?

Travis let out a sigh, looking towards his sisters. They were both sat whispering to one another before helping fix the pews and the candles on the altar.

The church stood empty (excluding the existence of the Phelps children), and light struggled to shine through the mosaic glass behind the altar, but the energy was alive. He could feel it. The excess smoke of snuffed candles danced and twirled in the air, and with every step he took the wooden floors and its memories creaked and groaned.

Audible, real, and surreal.

He felt emotions. Yet they were decontextualised; considering that these very emotions had no reason to be felt when he felt them. They were bipolar in a sense, he could be in a perfectly fine environment and suddenly there'd be an uproar in his mind and soul. For example, during a peaceful ceremony at church, hair would be pricked at the back of his neck, dread and fear piercing his skin. Or on a dreary night, lulled to sleep by the soft hum of the television from Madeline's room as she sat watching the next best book to show adaptation, there'd be the overwhelming feeling of eyes, millions of sets of them, watching him.

Taking a deep breath, Travis sat back down in a pew to his left- the same spot where he'd sat during the mass. His Bible sat untouched beside him, so he opened it up and read. As boring as it could be, the smell of worn, and yellow-tinted pages comforted him. He read through the New Testament, careful of the thin parchment.

His sisters had taken to sitting down wherever they pleased, Mary happy to sit as far away from Madeline and Travis as possible. He always found it strange how... strange she could act towards them both.

Perhaps it was Madeline's refusual to conform, taking the slaps and the verbal assault as she had done a thousand times. It might even be how Mary knew Travis better than he knew himself. Maybe she knew the depths of his sinful life.

"Hey, Travie," Madeline appeared beside him, taking a seat.

With a slight jump, Travis huffed and said, "Hi."

"What's the matter?"

The blonde boy rolled his eyes, "You have too many nicknames for me."

"Mhm, I'd say I don't have enough," She hummed gently, then leaned her head on his shoulder and read over the page in his lap.

"Ugh, get off me before I catch a disease," He snorted, laughing at his sister's faked offended look.

Then, they silently enjoyed one another's peaceful company.

Travis didn't know how much time had gone by. They both sat, skimming through the words as they had done a thousand times. There was an echo of steps so Travis gently shut his Bible, kept his hands folded in his lap and looked for the source.

"Travis, Madeline."

"Father," They both replied.

Travis fixed his button-down and straightened his tie. His actions were careful as he rose from the pew, Bible in hand as he strode side by side with his father who had now removed his vestment.

Madeline quickly dusted down her dress, following behind and in step with Mary.

"You did an excellent job today," Travis quickly piped up, hoping to warm the ice-cold atmosphere.

His father gave a curt nod.

There was laughter in the air from the floorboards and its' groans.

-

The drive home was silent, and Travis felt his stomach flip and stir, afraid of what was to come. Once back, the teenage boy excused himself to leave for his room immediately, his father was not one to mind, so he left to go to his study.

His sisters disappeared into the kitchen, most likely to start cooking dinner.

Inside Travis' room, there sat a thin mattress on an old brass frame. The bedding was brown- the same brown as the pews in the church. Above the bed, on the wall, was a simple cross.

He immediately sat down on the floor opposite the mattress, placing his bible in front of him. He didn't risk making loud noises, or even opening the book. He just sat there, staring at it.

The air was still, and he felt like he needed to do something, this house was always silent. So, a shower it was. He quickly grabbed some clothes and walked outside his room.

Wait.

The door creaked shut behind him, and so Travis opened it again.

Make sure it doesn't make a noise.

Knock on the wood?

Knock on the wood two times, not three.

Two or four times?

Four, then it'll be divisible by two.

Do it, or it won't stay locked in.

It?

What was it?

Travis grabbed the door handle and swung it close. Just as he was about to shut it, he slowly drew the door towards him and it clicked shut.

Then he knocked on the wood four times and there was a creak from the stairs behind him as he did so. Travis turned his head, noticing his father looking at him with an incredulous look.

The two stared silently at one another before Travis bowed his head and walked down the hallway to the bathroom.

"Son," Kenneth called down the hallway. He etched concern into his tone, however, his face was as cold as ever.

Travis quickly slipped into the bathroom.

He wasn't going to be so lucky when he left.

-

Madeline quickly cooked the minced beef in the pan, adding simple spices such as paprika and oregano with the black beans alongside it. The shower upstairs came to a stop after about ten minutes. Kenneth appeared from his study, walking upstairs. Madeline paused, glancing over to Mary who was busy cutting an avocado.

"Take over this for me," Maddie quickly turned the knob to lower the stove's flame, walking towards the stairs.

There was a thud from upstairs and Travis' scream.

Madeline ran upstairs.

-

The next morning, the weather was horrible outside, and he had woken with quite a start. Surviours guilt and primal fear sewn into the silk of a dream plaguing it with decay.

Anyhow, Travis had school today. The alarm next to his bed beeped like there was no tomorrow, so he silenced it with both an incapacitated swing of the arm and a loud thud.

There was silence throughout the house just as there was never any noise in this house.

Travis struggled to wake himself, his body screaming to rest as new bruises formed left and right.

However, once he had woken, he half sat up in his bed. He stared outside his window, watching the rain fall vehemently. With a quiet groan, he swung his legs off the mattress and began his morning. Travis only threw on clothes he could find that were folded neatly on his desk from last Friday.

He doused himself with deodorant to stop the itching feeling that crawled through his body from the unbridled touch of unclean clothes against his body.

Travis shuffled in neon green sneakers out of his room, carefully shutting the door. There was no clanging of cutlery from the kitchen, nor was there the sound of books being thrown against walls or yells of distress.

-

The rain pelted down onto the car. He sat in the front, arm leaning on the window and eyes watching the droplets race on the glass. Mary was the one driving. She wore a long-sleeved top, decorated with fringes and turquoise patterns, alongside a denim skirt that reached her ankles, as well as a pair of black boots. It looked similar to what his mother used to wear. Unfortunately, his Father had only a few pictures of her hung up in the house, so Travis barely remembered her face.

It was rather depressing, the more his mind dwelt on it.

"You should get a new pair of shoes," Mary kept her eyes on the road.

"Why? Neon green suits him," Madeline quickly retorted, before hissing and pressing a finger to her lip where a new cut had formed.

"Careful. Don't want to upset that, put some petroleum on it."

"Kind of you to care for once."

Travis looked between the two bickering women, careful not to say anything.

"I always care. It's you two before Father."

-

Travis and Madeline climbed out of the car and quickly thanked Mary for driving them. The two walked silently towards the school entrance, taking their time through the empty hallways.

"How do you let Father let you wear that?" Travis asked, surveying Madeline's outfit. A grey long-sleeve layered underneath a black blouse. She wore a low-waisted pair of blueish, greyish jeans, and had quite a lot of gold jewellery on.

"He actually... doesn't care," Madeline sighed, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Right."

"I got changed after he left this morning," She quickly added.

Travis chuckled.

Now it was more silent, more walking.

"Mary's not wrong."

"Hm?"

"Your shoes, Trav."

Travis looked down at the atrocious sneakers on his feet.

"Ugh... yeah, I guess."

"Guess? No, know so. Anyway, I'll see you tonight. Or if you go over to your boyfriends, let me know," Madeline started walking away as they reached Travis' locker.

"Hey, fucking gross! He's not my boyfriend," He called out, frowning. Disgust suddenly reeled in his mind, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes while his mind raced.

So, now in front of his locker, he hastily struggled to grab the books he'd need for the morning, to little avail.

"You're late," A voice piped up.

Travis swung his head around, eyeing the other boy up and down before letting out a sigh.

"Clearly," Travis grumbled, turning back to his locker and grabbing a piece of crumbled paper while cringing.

"I can throw that out for you," Philip said, grabbing the crinkled paper worn on the edges and stained with... something, off of him, and walking over to the bin in the hallway to dispose of the possibly plagued sheet.

"Thank you," Travis muttered, loud enough for the blue-haired boy to hear, but still too quiet from the frown on Philip's face as he looked down to read his lips instead.

Travis hated being loud.

There sat a comfortable silence, one not intruding yet not indulging, as he stood clearing his locker of the few papers he'd screwed up and thrown inside with little to no care.

"Are you going to freak out again if I ask you to sit with me at lunch?" The question caught Travis off guard as it echoed grandly through the hallway.

Travis faced his locker and cringed, not wanting Philip to see his face. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the next few words to leave both their mouths, "I... I don't know, I'll think about it and-"

"Get back to you?"

Travis looked at Philip, defeated— unimpressed too, and sighed, "Sorry."

The blue-haired boy just shrugged, turning to face the hallway, "It's fine."

Travis gathered the rest of his books, textbooks and old reused notebooks from his sisters, made a rather large pile in his hands and so he slipped them into his backpack. 

As he threw the pack over his back it managed to expose the treacherous bruise that had formed just below his shoulder blade, it would be all shades of purple and black now— probably yellow too.

A hiss escaped through his gritted teeth and suddenly there it was, Philip's hand on his shoulder, taking off the backpack, closing his locker and guiding him to the nurses' office.

-

The nurse had finished applying an ointment to the bruises on his chest. "Travis, you do know if you're unsafe at home..." The nurse trailed off, leaning back and grabbing clear glue for the cut above his eyebrow.

"I'm fine. My father and I are doing just fine," Travis lied.

'What about your sisters?"

"Just as fine as I am," Another lie.

Silence.

"You can write it down, y'know?" Heidi, the nurse mused while cleaning the cut.

"Write it down? What, like... start a journal?"

"A journal could be very helpful; you never know," She hummed, then gently applied a cream to the wound before sticking together the not-so-deep injury.

"I couldn't," Travis started, the older woman only raised an eyebrow.

"Why is that?"

"Well... I've got a lot to say, that doesn't exactly line up with what I have said," Travis muttered then let out a deep breath, "And if someone got their hands on it? I'd probably dig a six-foot-deep hole in the ground and bury myself alive."

"Oh my, what a creative imagination you have, Mr. Phelps," Heidi walked over to the bin with the rubbish from the fiasco.

"Well, you're all cleaned up now. I've asked Philip to keep an eye on you, hope you don't mind," The older lady smiled.

"Great, get your son to do your dirty work! Ingenious," Travis snickered.

"He likes you, Travis, and he doesn't want to see you hurt...." The older lady trailed off before Travis caught a spark in her eye, "You know what? Why don't you come stay for a while this weekend? Get away from the church and insufferable family stuff?"

Travis bit the inside of his cheek before swallowing hard.

"I..."

"Just say yes, kiddo."

Travis paused.

"Ok."

"Great! I'll call your dad soon and let him know. And don't look at me like that, I'll tell him it's for bible study."

Travis couldn't help but smile as gently pulled back on his top and left the nurse's office to come face-to-face with Philip. He'd been waiting outside the whole time.

They stood in silence, intently studying the fascinating floor.

"You feeling better?" Philip broke the silence.

"Yeah, your mum said I should come over to yours for a little while this weekend," Travis stated.

"It is a long weekend, we have Friday off. Do you want to?"

"I need to."

Chapter Text

     The box of prawn crackers and oriental rice sat between the two boys. The game console pinged! and ponged! as Travis wrote an analytical paragraph on Edgar Allan Poe's poem, The Raven.

"Why are you so focused on homework, come on! It's the weekend, dude," Phillip groaned from his cushioned throne of pillows and blankets.

"If I don't get this done, Mrs. Justin is gonna think I need to be lowered back down to the seventh grade," Travis groaned rubbing his eyes and staring down at the paper as it watched scornfully in return.

"What's it about?" Philip asked, however, was a tad bit more distracted by making sure he was dodging fallen pillars and obstacles while playing a character that looked akin to a red wombat.

"Ugh, we're learning about famous poets and shit. But it's everything we learnt pretty much back in sophomore year," Travis hummed before rolling onto his back and propping himself up on the edge of the nearby bed.

"Sounds like shit."

"It is."

Silence.

"How's your sisters?"

"They're fine."

The two boys sat once more in silence, neither daring to mutter a word, both scared of the rising tension between the two perhaps, or the fear of breaking the only silence that Travis (more than likely) will ever know.

So, as the night drew on and Travis felt himself aching for something to do, he turned to Philip, taking a deep breath and asking, "You don't have a cigarette, do you?"

The question must've caught the blue-haired boy off guard because he simply paused the game, eyebrows raised and turned to the blonde boy.

"Uh... Yeah, I do— I do have a pack. In my drawer, somewhere. We'll sit on the awning, yeah?" Philip turned off the console and stood, searching his bedside drawer. There were a few sounds of annoyance before a relieved sigh when the goods were obtained.

The two climbed out of the bedroom window, Philip first and Travis following. The night air was cold, so they quickly sat closer together than they should.

Philip was lighting up a dart, taking drags before offering it to Travis. It was his first time smoking.

"So... what's made you want to smoke?" Philip questioned as the blonde-haired boy screwed his nose and eyes, letting the smoke sting the back of his throat before it was too much, and he coughed the rest up.

"People say it makes them less stressed."

Philip was silent, eyes furrowed as he quickly shot Travis a look.

"This shit kills, man."

Travis didn't bite his tongue.

"So, are you trying to kill yourself?"

Philip blinked. Travis was always a blunt person, not so much in this manner before.

"Well, no. It helps me cope with wanting to kill myself."

"Have you... ever tried?"

"...Yeah."

"...I'm sorry."

"It's alright, dude, I know you don't mean any harm," Phillip sighed before wrapping an arm around the younger boy.

Silence.

"My father's been calling my uncle lately," Travis admitted after he sat for a moment, savouring the comfort of the boy beside him, ignoring how the words burnt his tongue as he spoke to them.

"Oh... why?"

"No good reason, I know that."

Phillip gently squeezed Travis' shoulders with his arm.

"He won't..." Phillip assured him, taking another long drag.

Travis sighed. He was so, so tired.

From then it was puff after puff.

-

      Travis stared at the roof, his mind making funny shapes and faces in the swirling shadows. Strange how his brain could do that. It was all perspective, he supposed. Phillip was spread out, snoring.

Travis didn't mind.

This made him feel normal.

As normal as he could feel, that is.

Travis cringed at his self-deprecating, self-loathing thoughts.

Children were being trafficked for organs or sex, and he was essentially complaining about how he never felt normal.

He rubbed his eyes before sneaking out of Phillip's bedroom.

He needed to breathe some air.

Taking a pair of the blue-haired boy's slip-on shoes, he quickly snuck downstairs to the back porch, taking a seat on the weathered beige steps.

The night air was calming, its whispers lulling him to sleep.

It was peaceful, tranquil, a—

A scream of ungodly nature erupted from the forest beyond the chain fence.

Travis shot up, quickly alerted to go back inside, till then, there in the shadows of the tree line, a very unnatural, and very bloody coyote appeared, stepping into the faint flood of light.

Travis felt his throat tighten.

Its movements as it approached were atypical.

It shuddered, with every step it took, and its skin seemed to sag.

A fang glinted in the light, tiny prickled holes as if the tooth were decaying— the eyes a near vomit yellow, pupils dilated as if the floodlights weren't affecting the creature's retinas.

Travis slowly retreated, until his spine was pressed against the screen door.

The creature did not attempt to move.

So, he quickly retreated inside, his heart thumping in fear.

By instinct, he locked the door, and quietly went around Phillip's entire house, locking every window and door, his hands shaking and his breathing restricted. He was too scared to even exhale, scared by the possibility of that thing outside pinpointing him inside the house, attempting to break in.

What was that?

Would it try to get inside?

Travis pulled the shutters and blinds shut as he stared outside the living room's side window.

It was probably... just an illusion of the light. A strangely cast shadow of a normal animal, right?

But he saw it, he saw the skin sag. The skin fucking sagged.

He needed to go back to bed, his mind was probably just getting to him.

Strange fucking world.

-

The next morning, Travis slept in curled into Phillip's side and burying his face into the older boy, as if trying to hide.

Philip, being the one who woke first— gently pried the blonde-haired boy off, smiling down at the bruised and battered boy with something akin to guilt.

-

      Later that morning the two boys went on a walk through the woods. Travis demanded the walk and also demanded he be covered head-to-toe in clothing to protect him from the 'contamination' of the ungodly creatures outside... Whatever the fuck that meant.

However, it was peaceful, minus the small puddle of blood and tufts of dirty golden hair that made Travis freak and have a small panic attack.

He rambled on about the 'creature' and the germs, and the fact that there was something outside last night.

"Dude! You see it, it's right there in front of your face! There was something outside last night, I saw it. It's skin— it was fucking sagging and it was covered in blood," Travis scrambled for the right words to describe, ready to go off on another tangent.

"Travis, Travis! It's okay dude, it would've just been a few coyotes fighting alright? They do that, it's just nature. It's okay, your eyes were probably being tricked by the light."

Travis huffed, looking back at the puddle, eyes wide and mouth agape, "You don't believe me, do you?"

"I believe you did see something, and that something was probably just a coyote that gotten into a fight, you'll be okay. There's nothing around here that can hurt you, not with me around," Philip attempted humour to lighten the situation.

Travis stared at the puddle of blood, dried and turning black.

Philip was probably right.

"Yeah, alright."

"You okay?"

Travis knew something was wrong still, deep in his mind and bones he knew.

"Yeah," He seemed deflated, letting the older boy wrap an arm around his shoulder into a small hug before they continued on their walk.

So, after Phillip had successfully calmed the other boy down they proceeded to walk to Wendigo Lake, striding side by side as the day grew ever gloomier. That reminded Phillip that Halloween was on its way.

"Do you want to do something for Halloween?" The blue-haired boy asked, looking from the few birds squawking in bare trees to Travis' flushed face. The cold must be getting to him.

"Uh, yeah, maybe. I don't think my father would let me," Travis admitted, bringing his gloved hand up to his face to rub his left eye for the sixth time their entire walk.

"You do that a lot, y'know?"

"Do what?"

"You're always rubbing your eye whenever you're thinking of something," Phillip snorted.

Travis stopped and stared at the blue-haired boy, mouth slightly agape, "No. I don't."

"Yes. You do. So, what's on your mind?"

Travis quickly picked up his pace, walking on and Phillip followed.

"I... I'm not even sure if I'll be here for Halloween weeks."

Phillip frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Nothing don't worry."

Phillip didn't push him.

If he wasn't ready to share, he wasn't ready to share.

Philip understood that, and Travis was relieved that he did.

-

    By Saturday evening, Travis had to go back home. Phillip had snuck a lighter and three cigarettes into his backpack, so at least he had some relief.

The sun was setting, and the days getting much shorter.

The world— dark and gloomy.

During these times he found it unbelievably hard to not miss his mother.

He barely knew her, that was the depressing part.

He often had dreams, and thoughts, or saw things that would somehow remind him of her. Sometimes he had nightmares, hearing his mother massacred in front of him. Yet, every time, his eyes were closed, he could not see.

As he dwindled around the house, given he had it to himself as his Father and Mary were organising things at the Church, he enjoyed the peaceful silence.

Madeline must've snuck out to go smoke bongs, or whatever else she did.

Yet, he was still uneased by the previous night's occurrence.

What was that?

Stalking him, in the woods, that is.

Travis bit his tongue.

There might be something he could do to find out.

A thought tingled in his mind, like a dinner bell.

No, that was the devil's play.

He wouldn't do it (Not yet at least).

Travis sighed, as he made his way upstairs to stand in the hallway, contemplating what to do. If it was silent, he'd read a book.

Not many books down here he could read, though.

His mother had a collection of books, classics all of genres.

But her things were kept in the attic.

So, looking up towards the small, square hatch in the roof, he reached for the string and pulled it down.

A ladder unfolded itself before him.

Dust flew down, making him cough.

He climbed the rungs of the ladder, hoping that no spiders would jump out at him. The dust alone was already making his skin itch and his mind race.

Once he'd climbed through the gap, the light streamed through the singular window opposite him. It let a generous amount of sun through, enough for him to see at least.

There were a few boxes, a few labelled, a few unlabelled.

His mothers must be unlabelled.

Travis' father didn't like her to be mentioned. It was taboo to speak her name.

The only things he found in the only accessible aged box were his mother's old books, such as Metamorphosis; Franz Kafka, The Waves; Virginia Woolf, The Yellow Wallpaper; Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and lastly The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories; H.P Lovecraft.

Metamorphosis seemed to be a good pick.

So, he picked it.

Travis studied the cover. A giant cockroach, and a bed that looked like that from a nineteen-thirty's asylum.

Yikes.

It seemed interesting, nonetheless.

It would do.

Travis flicked through the acknowledgement and whatnot to get to the first chapter. He leant back against the attic wall, studying the yellowed worn pages, the crinkled edges of the cover, and the small dots of ink with a scribbled name atop the chapter title.

His eyes skimmed over the first line.

'One morning, upon awakening from his agitated dreams, Gregor Samsa found himself, in his bed, transformed into a monstrous vermin.'

Travis reread the line, brows furrowed and mind breaking down the passage.

Strange, it seemed like he was talking about alienation.

Travis understood that— to an extent (which was what he liked to believe).

The more he read on the more indulged in the story he became— a chaotic jumble of scenery, the disgust of prickled, thin insect arms.

No harm in reading, right?

Chapter Text

    Metamorphosis sat in his hand on the car ride to school, his mind ticking as he flicked through yellowed pages, reading the scribbled notes and annotations to further divulge his understanding. 

Soon, his mind wandered to his sister, Madeline— she had taken the day off. Presumably, having been hungover. 

Travis felt a twinge of jealousy. It wasn't an unusual feeling; it was quite habitual to be honest, something constantly snug in his stomach, rendering him sick most of the time. Another part of him begged to let go of his Father's words and looming thoughts; to be a regular teenager who goes to regular parties, socialises like a regular kid, and drinks like a regular kid.

But, no, he simply couldn't.

It'd be sinful and disdainful of him to succumb to such horrific thoughts, he told himself. Oh boy, did he tell himself those same words to hide his shame behind a facade of religion, one he didn't want to follow as soon as he developed his consciousness.

Anyhow, he decided to bring his astray, deviated mind back to the day at hand. He'd think of school and Philip, and... not much else. 

While Mary was at the wheel, she didn't make much conversation, except asking how his new shoes fit.

They were a pair of... fuck what did she call them? Conversion? Probably not fucking conversion. Converse? Whatever it was, they fit snugly and were new.

So, he didn't have a problem with them.

His mind still wandered and pondered, however.

Soon, his thoughts were dragged back to that creature in the woods.

The thought of remembering those lifeless, ebony eyes— if you could even call them eyes- left his body rigid in fear. Primal fucking fear.

Travis needed to distract himself.

-

Travis distracted himself with school. Learning in an 'esteemed' faculty that truly did not care for its students, and rather cared for the numbers his peers and he produced, stayed all the same. Nothing abnormal or strange— that was just Nockfell High's regular.

During the gloomy, horrid day, again, there was weather that could tear down the school (if it tried hard enough). Travis struggled throughout maths, refused to pay attention in history, pretended not to understand psychology, purposely wrote down the incorrect summary in literature, and chose to flunk his Spanish test.

Travis was insanely bored and angry. Idle— because Philip wasn't here at the current moment, and furious— again, because Philip wasn't present.

As he walked through the silence of the school corridors during the middle of his classes, his mind once again wandered to that creature of ungodly reform. Was it a demon? Should he use his mother's deck of cards? Would it work? Could he find a way to eradicate it?

Travis shook his head, determined to rid his mind of these thoughts. They must be draining him— or killing him. It didn't feel healthy.

Instead, he focused on the practically silent whispers in the air, the nostalgic memories, vivid imagery, and chaotic ideas flowing into his mind as he walked past the historic parts of the school.

It was a difficult thing to live with, strange and confusing, with never having any answers for the questions that could cascade out of his mouth like a waterfall. He hated the things he underwent, and he despised the feeling of ineptitude he felt trying to talk about or understand this thing of his. 

He tried telling Madeline once, while she stared at him with concern-filled eyes, bubbling awkward laughter rising in her throat, fidgeting fingers. She thought he was crazy.

Philip wouldn't call him crazy, but he'd never man the fuck up enough to try to talk to him.

Oh, and not to mention, if Travis hadn't already narrated, Philip wasn't here.

So, not only was there no point in trying to be interested in school, or being interested in the lives and opinions of other people when he couldn't even develop his own without fearing his father's wrath, he felt like turning heathen.

While he wandered the halls, attempting to mind his own business, he just couldn't keep his mouth shut for his life when he saw Sally Face.

That stupid, fucking fag of a kid, Sally Face, was just keen to make his life a fucking misery with his bright blue and radicalist hair, stupid fucking demonic clothing and God forbid that fucking voice.

He simply couldn't walk past without saying something, maybe just to... feel alright, like he possessed some power here.

"Fucking fag move out of the fucking way," The words were laced with poor theatric distaste.

Sally Face turned his way, tilting his head slightly.

Why the fuck does he do that? Why the fuck did Travis care so much about it? Why the fuck did he even notice that he does it?

"Oh, okay... uhm—" Sally seemed to be just about to say something more before Ashley, of all people, long, heat-damaged, frizzy black hair Ashley with that permanent purple t-shirt that must be sewn to her skin itself, voiced her opinion.

"Fuck off, Travis, no one wants to deal with your shit right now," Ash rolled her eyes, pulling a strand of hair behind her eye, looking the bleach-blonde boy up and down with disgust.

"Oh fuck up you bitch, like I'm saying shit when you're fucking over your shit," Travis spat back.

True enough, Ashley wasn't a bitch. She just had drama with his sister, and Travis fairly cared for Madeline, so, yeah, he stuck his neck out for her, either by reminding Ashley with some tiny inference of what happened and how she was in the wrong or just slowly making her think she was a bitch for never apologising.

Yeah, scrap that first bit. Ashley was a bitch.

A bitch that never apologised.

She rolled her eyes and looked away, Larry now fuming beside the short, blue-haired boy.

"Oh shut the fuck up Travis," Larry stepped closer, "I'll fucking kill you-"

"Sure you will," The boy egged him on, trying to push some buttons. At least if Larry swung first he'd just break the fucker's nose.

"Larry, lay off, it's fine. I've dealt with worse," Sally looked towards the stoner, crossing his arms, eyes thinning behind the mask, he must be frowning.

"Listen to your owner, you dumb fucking dog," Travis sneered, beginning to walk past, almost clear of the small trio before a voice piped up once more.

"You kiss your daddy with that tongue?"

Travis blanked.

Then he thought; fucking what?

Travis turned his head, eyebrows furrowing, lips drawn into a tight line as he bit back any more vile words, anger coiled in his stomach like a cobra about to strike. He couldn't hold back. So, a rather impulsive, quick swing to the masked face sufficed in the moment.

Sally grunted, cursing something as he stepped back, hands adjusted on either side of his head to hold his mask as a small bead of blood dropped from his chin.

Fuck, he should apologise, something—

"What the fuck, Travis?"

Sally's words left him feeling guilty, ashamed, so he ran.

Of course, he fucking ran.

But now, guilt trickled down his neck and pounded his head as he quickly left the scene.

-

Travis had run to the toilets to escape his overpowering guilt, fear, and embarrassment. He shouldn't have done that; it was a horrible thing to do, no matter how much the blonde-haired boy hated that boy. 

He stared in the mirror at his dishevelled state, hair a mess from where his hands had pulled at the ends of his hair, and his fists and struck his face. He cringed at the sight.

He isolated himself in the rotten bathroom stall, feeling his skin burn and his eyes sting. His throat tightened, and his vision blurred.

Travis knew what this was.

Madeline said she used to have them, too, anxiety attacks.

He needed something to ground him.

There was nothing. No one.

A not-so-bright idea popped very stunningly into his mind.

The razor clip was in his backpack.

The whispers were silent.

Fiddling around in his small pocket, he hissed when his finger was scratched; however, he knew he had found it.

He leaned back against the wall and pulled his purple sweater's sleeve to the crook of his elbow.

Travis felt his breath hitch as the blade ran along his skin once more. The cuts were much deeper than the healing ones or the blackened, infected ones. They ran along his skin like tyre tracks in the mud, noticeable and agitating.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He knew he shouldn't.

Not here, not anywhere.

But, he felt addicted to the appearance of his pain sewn into his arms, so that the scars or cuts would tell his story if he ever cut too deep.

He'd been doing this for a couple of months now.

Since June.

No one knew.

The bathroom light flickered yellow, and the glass surrounding the actual bulb had grown mouldy and old.

His stomach turned as he imagined the dirt and germs seeping into the cuts on his arm. In an instant, he was leaning over the toilet spewing his guts out, while blood dripped onto the ground.

He felt tears rolling down his cheeks, his sobs echoing through the bathroom. There was so much wrong with him. So, so much.

He wondered about what Heidi said, writing down his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Travis pulled out his notepad and wrote down everything.

The scary thoughts in his head that only Phillip could help drown out.

The strange things happening to him, the whispers, the whisps, the shadows in the corner of his vision, especially the prowling creatures.

The urge to run away.

His father. Oh, God, his father.

But mostly Phillip.

God, he made Travis feel so amazing, yet so dirty.

His tears started falling and staining the paper, his hands shook as he wrote, and eventually, he couldn't write anymore. He threw the pen against the other bathroom wall and then opened the stall door, screwed the paper up and threw it from where he sat.

He didn't care at the moment if that paper landed in the bin; he didn't care about anything as he slammed the door shut and curled in on himself, sobbing and gasping for air.

He only cared about the sting of the cuts on his arm, the disgust swelling in his stomach as he sat on the dirty tiles and the click and clack of shoes outside the stall.

Wait.

What?

Travis shot his head up as the other boy slid down the stall door and sat opposite him.

"Travis? Is that you in there?"

Fuck. It was Sally Face.

The whispers in the air become active once more, wandering about, in and out of earshot.

He took a deep breath before his voice croaked out the words, "Go away."

The blue-haired boy didn't respond at first.

"I read your note," Sally said gently, "I didn't know, I'm sorry."

Travis frowned.

What was he talking about?

"What?"

"About your dad," Sally's voice continued, being gentle, soft and soothing. It was unfamiliar but not at all horrible.

Travis didn't know how to respond, let alone how to react to Sally Face's new knowledge about his Father, but he felt like he needed to talk to Sally and try to apologise. It was the least he could do. But what should he say? God, he didn't even know what to say.

"Fuck off, Sally Face," His voice cracked, and his tears continued to run down his cheeks.

"Listen... Travis, I know you don't like me, but you're struggling. I want you to know I'm here," Sally explained.

Travis had curled in on himself, and he couldn't believe what was happening. Sally fucking Fisher, trying to talk to him, trying to be nice to him.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Travis hiccuped, raising his head to look at the shadow sitting in the gap between the door and the tile floor.

"Because I know you're not a bad person, and I know you're no different to me, or Larry. Or even Todd. Just..." The crinkle of paper echoed through the bathroom.

Sally Face had his note.

"I..."

There was a piece of paper slipped under the door, it was his note, turned over with a number on the back.

"Just... Call me if you need me, man. Okay?"

Travis bit his lip and looked at the paper. "Okay."

After a moment's hesitation, Sally left the bathroom, the note still sitting on the floor.

Travis quickly picked it up.

The whispers became excited in the air, the energy of the room told him so.

Maybe he wasn't all alone.

-

The porch was as empty as always, except for the rare occasion his father smoked a cigar, watching the clouds or the trees sway in the wind. Sometimes, Travis wished he could join him, talk to him, and be his son.

The house stood still. Nothing dared to whisper or feel in this looming house.

Its exterior was as unwelcoming as the interior and its residents.

Sometimes, Travis thought his father would sit and feel, just as he did when he sat on his bedroom floor, pondering and wondering. Travis walked into the house through the unlocked front door. The house was quiet, minus the clinking of beer bottles from the kitchen and the faint murmur of talk from the TV in Madeline's room.

He dropped his backpack on the steps leading upstairs; he'd take it to his room when he came back.

Travis walked around to the back entry of the house, peeping out the screen door to see Mary in the garden. She was tending to her flowers and fruits.

Then there was a smash of glass from the kitchen.

Travis gulped, took a deep breath and walked back down the hallway to the slightly ajar double doors.

His father was leaning over the table, a smashed bottle and blood on the floor.

"Dad?"

Kenneth looked up, his eyes tired and his expression emotional.

"Travis..." His father started, yet stopped, he looked back down at the table.

"I can clean-"

"No."

Travis bit his tongue, "Sorry, sir, I can leave-"

"No... no, come here," Kenneth said, there wasn't any ounce of venom in his tone.

Travis felt the terror building in his body, fear pricking his mind like pins and needles. However, he followed his Father's instructions.

Once he was only a few centimetres away from his Father, he stopped breathing. Scared of what was to come, what was to happen, or what could happen.

But, there it was.

A hand on his shoulder.

Kenneth was studying Travis intently, his expression softening, "You look so much like your mother."

Travis felt the sting in his eyes start, alongside the tightening of his throat.

Kenneth let out a shaky breath before turning away from Travis. What was that about? Why the change? The abuse evaporated into the air, his father's gentle touch finally in reach, and now it was gone.

But why?

Why would his Father ever show such emotions?

"Why do you hate me?" Travis' voice shook, the tears beginning to roll down his face.

There was silence. Travis was nervous, unable to read the expression of his Father's face, let alone his stone-still stance.

"I never hated you, son."

Travis was taken aback.

"But, why? Why did you- Why did you do-" Travis's voice started to rise, his breath quickened, and his head ran through a million thoughts.

"Travis, leave me be."

The tears were now a waterfall, and it was filling up the room. He felt like he was drowning in his tears.

Yet, he turned around and walked out of the room. His tears still fell, and he was so, so confused.

Once he reached the bottom of the steps, Madeline was there, picking up his bag.

She immediately dropped it once she saw her baby brother, blubbering and sobbing out and softly cursing.

Travis grabbed his bag and pushed past her, yet she grabbed his arm and stopped him.

Her eyes were empathic, and she gently wrapped an arm around him, guiding the blonde boy to her room.

Travis clutched his cross necklace.

For the rest of the night, he'd beg for forgiveness.

Chapter Text

    Madeline sighed, gently rubbing Travis' back as he sobbed into her arms. She felt the anger coursing through her veins. She had no doubt their father was the culprit of her baby brother's current state.

Just as she had no doubt anger was the only thing anyone in this family ever felt.

Perhaps she could try cheering Travis up? It wouldn't hurt.

"Last time I held you like this, you were a baby," Madeline smiled sadly, looking down at Travis and where he had buried his face between her shoulder and neck.

There she could vividly remember it, her baby brother wrapped in a shroud their mother had finished sewing only a few hours before her death. Back then, he was a bundle of joy. He rarely cried, except for when their father would shout, curse, and cry himself to near death when he was too drunk.

The cycle seemed to go further back then Madeline thought.

"It's a sin to feel like I do," He choked out.

She let the words sink in. A moment's silence felt like a million minutes, and she tried to understand what Travis meant. Was he upset about his relationship with Phillip? It wasn't hard to see the younger boy share a deeper affection with the blue-haired boy. What if he was upset about their father's distinct lack of empathy? She couldn't blame him; Kenneth was a horrid human being.

"What do you mean?" Madeline frowned, gently pushing Travis to sit up before wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Travis visibly bit the inside of his lip and she could see the cogs turning in his head. Often she wished she could read his mind.

"I... it's hard to explain."

"I know."

The younger boy fell back into her embrace and cried once more, disgust welling in his stomach at such a raw, vulnerable show of emotions.

-

      Travis didn't go to school the next day, and neither did Madeline, she started to develop a cold. She sniffed and coughed. Travis would often deter himself from being too close to her, as much as he hated it. But, he hated the germs more.

Madeline wandered the house, cleaning slowly as she danced to the melody of her Ana da Silva record.

Mary hadn't gone to work, so she chose to stay home to watch Madeline, yet she still wandered out to her garden to tend to her fruits and flowers.

Travis slowly walked to the back porch, through the screen door and onto the verandah. He watched Mary flutter around the garden, seemingly beaming with joy at the domestic hobby.

"Travis, come here my hanwi," She hummed from the pumpkin patch.

The blonde-haired boy looked over to the large orange and yellow pumpkins. That was a nickname he hadn't heard in quite some time, "I'm coming."

The patch was filled with exquisitely grown fruits of her labour, and Travis nearly cringed at how she did this all by herself and he hadn't had half the mind to ask if she wanted a helping hand.

"How do you feel about pumpkin pie?" Mary asked, before turning back to prune the leaves of the plants and humming a tune to herself.

"That'd be good."

"I fear you've had a run-in with someone, or something, akin to the Unktomi?" Mary continued to ask questions. She always seemed to know everything, maybe because she was his older sister, and she had known him much longer than he'd known himself.

She handed him a pair of pliers and motioned to the pumpkin near him.

Travis frowned and did as he was instructed.

His sister always had an air of authority and wisdom surrounding her. Perhaps, she was the same? Maybe she heard the voices and whispers, the dances of emotions and memories in the air. Travis had never confided in her about his experiences, and he never told her about the creature in the woods.

Maybe he should.

"Uh, yeah... At Phillip's house, there was this- coyote?"

"We have plenty of those in Minnesota, Travis."

He sucked in a deep breath and started, "No, no. It wasn't normal... it's skin- it sagged! And, God, it moved so strangely... It wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?"

"Normal?"

"Perhaps a trick of the light."

"You know better than that."

"I do, but I will refuse to. They hear us, you know."

Travis looked from the pumpkin he'd started pruning to his sister.

"What?"

Mary didn't continue and Travis didn't want to push her, she was sensitive (to an extent).

"Who's they, Mary?"

"There's no they," She smiled, returning to her work and refusing to answer him.

Travis frowned before placing the pliers down and wandering back to the porch.

"Oh, Travis... be careful who you ask next. You don't know what they want," Mary called from the pumpkin patch.

The blonde boy let out a deep sigh before nodding.

He was going to figure out who they were.

-

      Sal sat staring at the ceiling while beaming. He was fucking gone. Larry was rambling on about something next to him.

"What?"

"Dude... the plants right, those small tiny holes are actually- their eyes! Dude, the plants see us every time we jack off..."

Sal turned his head slowly, "What? Dude that's... that's fucking gross."

Larry giggled, "I know right?"

Sal sighed, before passing the joint back to Larry and walking to the bathroom.

Larry kept talking to himself.

Once he entered, Sal took the time to shut the door and hobble over to the sink slowly.

His mask hung from the bathroom railing.

He couldn't stop thinking about Travis, in that bathroom stall.

Sal hoped he'd reach out if he needed to. He didn't hate Travis, no not at all. He's dealt with worse. But, hearing how he sobbed broke Sal's heart for no reason.

Larry would say he's too nice and forgiving.

Sal would say he's been through enough to be empathic.

Larry would then go quiet, feeling bad for even saying anything. That's why Sal wouldn't talk to him about it.

So, here he was high as a kite, staring at his torn, scarred and ruined face in the mirror wondering how different his life could be.

No changing it now.

Sal wanted Travis to try to reach out to him. After he read the note Travis' talk about monsters in the forest scared him. The poor guy was going through so much more than Sal imagined.

Whether he was using it as an allegory for his mental health, or whether there were actual monsters on the loose in the forest, Sal wanted to help.

So he quickly exited the bathroom and to the lounge.

Sal leaned against a wall and slid down to sit by the wired telephone.

He waited for it to ring.

But to absolutely no avail, so he decided to go for a walk to sober up.

-

     Travis let out a deep breath, looking at the dial before turning away and biting his tongue. He didn't need to call Sally, to burden him like that. He just wouldn't. Maybe, he could go talk to Philip, and ask for his opinion. Ask for help, maybe for the first time in years.

The things he'd seen recently, the whispers and echoes of voices and memories in the air truly terrified him as they became much more violent whenever he was alone. Objects were starting to get knocked over more often, lights would blow, and the doors would ominously start opening.

Travis knew that ghosts were real, there was no other explanation for the noises he'd hear or the faces he'd see in the dark.

They were real, as real as perception would allow him to perceive.

Sometimes he'd see them wandering the halls, no matter where he was.

He'd find that where they walked it was always so much colder, even in places with no breezes or gusts.

Maybe he just needed a cigarette.

With the lighter and the two darts he had left in his bag from Philip, he snuck out to the backyard, past the fence line and into the forest. There wasn't a real necessity to sneak, it was just habit. Travis walked for about five minutes before finding the old tree swing he his and sisters would play with back when they were much younger.

So, he climbed onto the overly-sized tyre swing, sat down, and lit a smoke.

He inhaled with no problems now, he was used to the sensation. However, the small headspin he got was still strong and it was so fucking addicting.

Travis came to this place often, there was an old owl's nest nestled in the hole higher up in the tree where he kept his book, full of writing. Whether it be a short story or him complaining in prose or pastoral format he often found it was only ever quiet enough to do so out here.

Plus, private enough.

So, he took a drag and quickly climbed up onto the top of the tyre to reach for his book.

There was a pen stuck somewhere in there as well so it took him a moment to get a grasp on it.

Once both items were acquired he sat back down in the tyre, opened the book to a new page, and began writing.

God, he didn't even know how long had passed by the time he heard someone walking down the path.

He assumed it was Mary or Madeline.

"Travis?"

That was not Mary or Madeline.

He shot his head up and quickly stuffed his book into the crook of the tyre, stamping out the cigarette and shoving the lighter in his pocket.

It was fucking Sally Face.

"What the fuck."

Travis stared down at the blue-haired boy from the swing and felt like shooting his brains out.

"What the fuck, what?" Sally asked, adjusting his footing and walking closer.

"What are you doing here?"

Sally just shrugged.

"Nothing much, what are you doing here?"

Travis scoffed, "I live five minutes away."

"Ooh, can I come over?"

Travis blinked, "What?"

"Can I come over?" Sally repeated the question, adjusting his mask.

"Uh..."

"I'm joking, dude," Sally giggled before sitting down at the base of the tree.

"Dude? Are you high?" Travis rolled his eyes before stuffing his notebook back into the crook of the tree.

Then, he hopped off the swing and walked over to Sally.

"You know you can call me if you need to, I don't tell just anyone that."

"I asked if you were high," Travis said condescendingly.

"I know that. But, yeah no I am. I was getting there," Sally adjusted his mask more.

The two were stone-still in awkward silence.

"You can sit down next to me, I don't bite dude."

Travis looked skeptical and Sally just shrugged before patting the spot next to him.

"Fine."

"Cool."

"You talk with your hands a lot," Travis said.

"You're observant, Sherlock."

"Huh?"

"Sherlock?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"Oh, yeah... Nevermind."

They say in silence once more.

"Who was the note about?"

"What?"

"The note."

"Oh."

Sally leaned back into the tree, brushing past Travis' shoulder and making him flinch.

"No one in particular," Travis swallowed.

"Blue-haired boy? Who's that?"

"Why are you asking me so many questions?"

"Because I'm curious... and because I can," Sally shrugged.

Travis sighed before leaning further back into the tree too, his shoulder now touching Sally's, it wouldn't hurt to talk. It's not like Sally would be someone who'd judge him.

"Uh, well, it's about Philip."

"Are you two dating?"

"What? Fuck, no."

"Do you want to?"

Travis swallowed and frowned. He wasn't sure, did he want to? It was wrong. It was sinful. He'd been doomed for an eternity of flames and scorn.

Yet, dreaming of mornings wrapped in Philip's embrace, nights spent in each other's company under the stars, or the days where they'd hide away from the world. It'd be them, together.

The idea seemed peaceful, even though it went against everything his father had taught him.

Everything he knew was so right, but knew it felt so wrong.

"Maybe?" Travis choked out.

"Maybe?"

"Yes. Maybe." Travis repeated, a little more clear now.

Silence.

"How you wrote about him made it seem like you were in love with him," Sally stated.

Travis scoffed, "How do I write about him?"

"Like he's your world."

Travis stopped, and his mind seemed silent.

"He is my world."

Sally looked at him, and his eyes crinkled, "That's cute, dude."

Travis scoffed again before leaning his head back and looking up through the branches. He then dug around in his pocket for his last smoke. Once he found it, he quickly lit it and took a puff.

"I didn't know you smoked?"

"I do."

"Since when?"

Travis shrugged.

Sally shrugged as well.

The two sat in rather comfortable silence with one another.

There was a click from the blue-haired boy's mask and a hand reaching for his dart. Travis handed it over to him and watched as he took a deep breath.

"You're already high, do you need that on top of it?"

"Yeah, dude. Of course," Sally gave Travis the dart once more.

Travis chuckled before taking another hit.

They then sat, passing the dart back and forth, exchanging a few more words before Sally came down from his high and decided to head back to the Addison Appartments.

Travis took a deep breath before heading down the trodden path to his house. He didn't pay much attention to the bends and curves in the path. His mind wandered to the afternoon's events, while his path wandered the wrong way.

Travis eventually stopped. He had turned right instead of left, that was all.

He retraced his steps, which were obvious in the trodden mud.

Travis frowned when he came back to the crossroad.

He must've taken the wrong path.

But, then everything was different.

The bushes were no longer similar and Travis found himself to start panicking.

He ran back along the track, only to find himself exactly where he started.

What the fuck was this?

Just as he felt his mind was going to break, he was standing back at the turn just before the quick walk to his house.

It was similar once more.

Travis quickly looked around in a cold sweat.

What was that?

Seemingly, with no reasonable explanation he quickly exited the forest.

That had never happened before.

Ever.

He might need to see Philip for some help.

-

      Philip sat at the kitchen table, staring at a small zip-lock bag filled with white powder, and lazily sipping on a cup of black tea he'd made about five minutes ago before he heard the frantic knocking at the door.

Sighing, he placed his cup on top of the bag, hoping it'd be enough to hide it.

Philip wandered to the door, opening it to find a dishevelled and rather terrified Travis.

"Holy shit, dude, get inside," Philip grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

"Sorry," Travis stuttered, stepping aside as Philip closed the door.

"What happened to you?" Philip asked as he led the younger boy to his bedroom.

"I don't know, I just..." Travis trailed off, sitting down on the blue-haired boys' mattress and making himself comfortable as he groaned into his hands.

Philip closed the door softly behind him, leaning on the dresser opposite the bed.

"Uh, do you have any?"

"Do I have any what?"

"Smokes?"

"No."

Travis ran a hand through his hair before picking at the skin around his thumb.

"I do have something else, but it'll get you fucked up."

"I don't care. I'll try it."

"Are you sure?"

"Fucking positive."

Chapter Text

      The air twirled and spun as did the light reflecting on the wall from a lamp shining upon the rotating vinyl as a poster portrait of a dead girl seemingly moved on the wall. The black-out curtains were drawn as the two teenage boys, higher than kites, rode along the lovely waves of disconnect from reality.

"Travis?"

"Yeah?"

"This is fucking awesome."

"Can we do this more often?"

"Yeah."

-

     Travis groaned as he woke up, slowly opening his eyes to the smell of burnt plastic and the tin foil on the ground. There were straws and a spoon littered on the floor. He felt like shit.

"Hey Trav," Philip turned over sleepily laying beside him in the bed.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Probably heroin laced with fentanyl."

"Wait- what?" Travis shot up, before immediate regret as he clutched his head and groaned.

"You okay?"

"I feel like dying."

-

     Travis cleaned himself up that afternoon and rested in Philip's bed again. He was smoking a cigarette, occasionally taking puffs while not holding it out for the blue-haired boy to take a drag.

"This is so fucked."

"What is?"

Travis turned his head to Philip, "This." He gestured around the room, to the cigarette, the bag of white powder on the nightstand, and the two of them.

Philip was quiet for only a moment, "Wanna make it more fucked?"

"How?"

Philip let out a shaky breath, "Like this."

The older boy leaned in to kiss Travis' lips.

Astounded, confused, and disgustingly rearing with enjoyment, Travis kissed back.

Philip grabbed the dart out of Travis' hand, stumping it out and throwing the butt to the floor. Eventually, Travis was underneath Philip, sinking ever deeper into the passion the boys' lips conveyed.

Suppressed emotions, cosmic understanding, and fear coursed through both their bodies—a perfect fit for one another.

The dull sound of something being knocked off the bed took them both back to reality. They both pulled away, Travis' breath hitching.

The blue-haired boy muttered an apology, "Travis-"

"No, this isn't... this isn't normal. You shouldn't have done that. Fuck!" Travis quickly climbed out of the bed and began gathering his stuff.

"Wait, Travis, please I'm sorry-"

"Shut up! Just... shut up," His voice began cracking and his mind reeled. Tears stung his eyes. He wasn't a fucking faggot. He didn't enjoy that. No fucking way did he enjoy that.

-

After the exhausting walk home, Travis stared at the driveway. No sign of Kenneth Phelps.

"Fuck," He muttered under his breath again, his mind doing nothing more than betraying him and reeling to what had happened earlier that afternoon.

Travis slowly made his way up the concrete drive, up the porch steps, all while his skin burnt and his mind frantically ran. His shame was so large it felt like it had made a cocoon around his body, publically announcing his sin.

It was like even though he committed it in secret, somehow by the nervousness of his behaviour they'd just know. From even the tiniest glance.

He was so fucking stupid.

So unbelievably stupid for doing something like that.

The door was unlocked, surprisingly and he quickly entered the house, locking the entrance behind him.

"Maddie? Mary?" The blonde boy called out.

All of a sudden, Madeline was walking down the steps while braiding her hair.

"Mary's in her room. Now, where the fuck did you go?" She asked accusingly.

Travis swallowed, "I went to Philips."

Madeline was face-to-face with Travis at the door now.

She sniffed.

"You smell like cigarettes and burnt plastic," She raised her eyebrow, suspicion taking refuge on her face.

"Oh, uhm-"

"Don't even try lying, go have a shower, I'll clean your clothes."

The bleach-blonde boy frowned at his sisters' attitude. Though, when he thought about it, in rather heavy detail, she had every right to be pissed. But no fucking way was he going to admit that.

Bitchy attitude back was the way to go.

"Oh, yeah! Since you're so experienced with getting the smell of tobacco out of your clothes," Travis sneered, accepting she was in a shitty mood.

He started removing his shoes.

He glanced up, before returning to undoing his shoes.

Madeline stared back down at him, looking like she was thinking about murder.

"I'm doing you a fucking favour, you little shit! I covered for you when Dad came home last night, you're lucky something came up at the Church and he hasn't been back since," She hissed.

Travis frowned, "What's there for him to do overnight at the Church?"

Madeline opened her mouth to let out another smart-ass response before closing it with haste and taking a deep breath.

"I do not know. I do not want to know," She said, turning on her heels and heading upstairs.

Travis rubbed his temple, "Thank you for wanting to wash my clothes, I guess?"

"That's what older sisters do."

There was a creak on the steps, and Travis glanced up, seeing Madeline finishing the braid in her hair while walking back upstairs and disappearing around the corner.

He let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding in, placing his shoes gently on the shoe rack, he ran a hand through his hair staring down at the already-worn sneakers.

Then there was a creak on the stairs again.

Travis groaned, slowly turning to the steps, "Madeline, can you fuck off? I'm-"

There was no Madeline.

The pictures on the wall adjacent to the stairs were moving, as if someone had run past.

Travis felt the hair on the back of his neck prick, goosebumps forming as he grabbed the baseball bat by the door and walked further into the house.

Taking a route through the living room, to the dining room, to the kitchen, and then back to the front door, he found no one.

There was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

"What the fuck?" He muttered to himself, leaving the bat leaning against the door with the end sitting in someone's shoe.

There was a creak again, and so he whipped around to see a ghastly figure standing there. A woman, with long black hair, and a brown nightgown, with sewn flowers and other rather familiar patterns. The most disturbing thing was that the clothes were ripped apart and the woman's organs were dragged along the floor, spilling from her stomach.

Travis felt frozen in place, staring at the person in front of him. His mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, his throat tight, and primal fear burnt through him. Yet, while he stared at this woman, he felt anger.

Not just any anger.

Fierce, loud, deafening, blood-curdling, terrifying; rage.

Something nestled deep into the anger was... maternal? Feelings of defiance, feelings of nurturing warmth, the small hum of a childhood lullaby seemed to emit from her being.

It all felt much too real, and it looked horrifyingly real all at the same time.

He slowly grabbed the cross adorning his neck and muttered a small prayer, staring at the woman. While he knew he should be fearful of the person in front of him, standing on the stairs in his house, he felt a deeper understanding that this lady had no malicious intention.

Was she alive?

The wind crashed against the door outside as the weather changed drastically.

Travis whipped his head and then back, in only a split second the woman had disappeared.

There was no bloodstain on the carpet or the mahogany wood.

An untouched, undisturbed physicality remained.

Travis stared at the stairs, eyes wide, mind blank.

With a rather shaky breath, he closed his eyes, muttered a few curses and headed upstairs to shower.

It must've been the drugs.

Fuck.

-

Fuck.

The water ran over the fresh cuts along his arm, causing Travis to bite his lip to stop a groan.

His body was bruised, only just beginning to heal after his father's rage ensued.

With a blank mind, his thoughts wandered back to the creature in the woods, then to the woman on the stairs.

What the fuck was going on with him?

However, he'd noticed that he never saw those things when he was smoking. Nicotine and tobacco, heroin and fentanyl. Whatever he could get his hands on, he guessed.

There was a knock at the door and he didn't respond. He sat in his watery prison thinking of how to clear his mind from the schizophrenic or supernatural happenings in his mind and the world around him.

Hm.

He didn't have the faintest clue.

He could go back to Philip.

Not after this afternoon.

He'd give the other boy some time as well as himself.

The kiss wasn't horrible.

It felt so right, yet, so wrong.

A boy liking another boy was a sin. He couldn't enjoy that kiss, if anything he should be washing his mouth with bleach, scrubbing his teeth with soap, and scraping the skin of his lips.

Travis thought about his options.

Philip would be a no-go.

But he needed that high.

There were no other options.

But...

Travis groaned and dug his head into his hands and thought hard.

Sally Face.

He couldn't just go up to him and ask 'Oh, hey Sally Face. Remember how I punched you in the face? Yeah no, sorry about that, could I get some weed off of you? Preferably a joint?'. That was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

Maybe the note with the scribbled phone number would suffice for talking to the blue-haired boy.

So, he quickly finished cleaning himself, turned off the shower and stared at himself in the mirror. Bruised and bloodied was his body and soul.

Travis huffed, before grabbing a towel to dry his body and hair, and gently patting the now agitated and bleeding cuts on his arm.

Travis thought of how'd he even start a conversation over the phone with Sally Face.

Fuck, he'd just do it as it went at him.

What's the worst that could happen?

Chapter Text

     Travis once again found himself staring at the telephone on the wall. He then blinked and glanced down at the number written on the note, which sat in the palm of his hand. He decided he wouldn't dare call the boy.

A recurring theme in his helpless descent.

The house was ghastly quiet, nothing less, nothing more.

The night was dark and ominous, and an eerie sense of discomfort enveloped him.

Travis bit his lip as he walked to the laundry, watching the machine tumble-wash his dirty clothes. He bit the skin around his fingers, anxious for the soon-to-be plethora of questions from his sister.

As if summoning her, there was a creak from the floorboards behind him, and he turned around to see Mary.

She lingered by the door as if asking for permission to enter.

Travis turned his body to her, a welcoming gesture. He still bit the skin around his thumb.

"Madeline told me you snuck out."

Travis hissed as he ripped a rather large strip of skin off, "I... No, I didn't sneak out."

"So, what happened then?" Mary asked as she sat down on the old and empty shoe rack.

Travis turned to her and quickly sucked the bleeding blot of skin on his thumb.

He was sure she already knew.

"I ran into someone."

"Who?"

Travis groaned, "This Sally kid."

"You talked to him? What about?"

"Yeah," Travis huffed, but then stopped and reeled through the short conversation in his mind.

There was a moment of silence as he looked his sister up and down while she simply fiddled with the hem of her nightgown.

He didn't tell her Sally Face was a boy.

"What'd you say?" He asked.

Mary looked up from the gown, "What?"

Travis quickly turned his head away to look at the washing. He needed to catch himself quickly: "What'd you say about what I asked him?"

"Oh, I asked what you talked to him about."

Travis ran a hand through his hair and felt the dampness.

He bit his cheek.

"He was just taking a walk through the woods."

Mary nodded her head.

"Hopefully, the smell of smoked heroin can be washed out of your clothes."

"Heroin- I... what?"

"That's what you did, wasn't it? I wasn't born yesterday," Mary's words weren't accusatory. She simply asked with a slight edge of concern in her voice.

"I... yeah."

Silence.

"Don't do it again... Okay?"

Travis stayed quiet.

"Out of all the addictions you could choose, you chose the worst ones." She walked over and rubbed his back before gently grabbing his arm and rolling up the sleeve with precise care.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice the blood stains on your towels?"

Travis felt his heart race and his mind suddenly shut down, his throat tightening and the familiar sting of tears in his eyes.

"Please... don't tell Father..." He whispered, his voice cracking.

"As long as you... Try to stop this," She whispered back, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

He felt the sobs beginning to rack his body.

Mary hugged him, gently rubbing his back and twirling her fingers through his overgrown hair.

The two eventually parted, left in silence.

"I just needed to clear my mind. It cleared my mind," Travis whispered.

Mary gently grabbed his hand and dropped a thin piece of iron, a carved image of a totem head, into the palm of his hand.

"Please, this will help you," Mary said, running a hand through his hair. She gently pressed her forehead and nose against his cheek before walking away.

Travis studied the totem head, a three-headed owl.

-

Travis wandered the halls, looking at the pictures and his mother's faded and scratched-out face.

She was a ghost that haunted them.

In every picture, she was cut out; in most of them, she was never in.

Did his Father purposely take photos without her?

While chewing his nails and pacing the halls with a limp in his step due to the exhausting walk (not a walk, more an escape), most likely due to exertion, his mind wandered to the dial phone.

Maybe it was finally the time to take the extended olive branch.

With a faster pace, he made his way downstairs and cringed at the pain in his foot.

Then, there it was. Sitting on the wall, almost extending itself to him like someone handing him a silver platter.

Taking a deep breath and slowly rotating the dial to each number, he brought the phone to his ear and listened to the rings.

There was then silence, awkward and unnerving, before a voice cut through on the other end.

"Travis?"

Travis took a deep breath. "Yeah."

"Oh, hey man! I was wondering when you'd call. I- Did you want to talk? Or come over? Oh, uh, sorry that's probably super straightforward-"

"Could I come over... actually? I... I need to talk," Travis held his breath and felt his skin burning.

"Come over? Now? I... yeah, that's okay. You can come over now. Do you live far away? I live at the Addison Apartment complex. You probably already knew that. I could come pick you up? I can ask Lisa if she's busy, I don't mind."

"I... No, it's fine, I don't live far from there, I can walk."

There was silence.

"I'm sorry if I'm overstepping at all here... I just- It's nice that you've called."

"You sound like an awkward mess, I guess."

Sally Face laughed on the other end, "Haha, yeah."

"I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah! Yeah, my apartment is on the fifth floor. I'll wait outside the door for you, yeah? Okay, see ya soon."

"Bye," Travis hung the phone back onto the wall and stared for a moment before taking a deep breath.

He quickly booked it upstairs and stood outside Madeline's door before knocking.

"Come in," she answered, muffled by the door.

Travis opened the door, letting it sit ajar.

She was intently lying on her bed, work and paper in front of her. Her TV played a sitcom series in the background.

"What're you doing?" Travis asked after a moment of silence.

"Homework, I like to get on top of my classes."

"So what, that's the material three months from now?" Travis watched her, amused.

"Yes," She deadpanned.

Travis frowned, "No way."

"Yes way."

"What? Seriously-"

"Mhm."

Travis blinked, "Didn't really expect that..."

Madeline looked Travis up and down, biting the end of her lead pencil, "You heading out?"

The blonde boy paused for a moment, then muttered a small yes.

"Where are you going?"

"To a friend's house," He quickly replied.

Madeline looked up from her work for only a moment, grabbing the remote to turn the TV down by only a minuscule decibel.

She looked up at him and down.

Then she shrugged.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks for telling me this time, I'll cover for your ass just because of your beautiful manners," She snorted.

Travis huffed before grabbing the door, "Bye then."

Travis pulled the door towards him, yet left it slightly ajar.

"Ugh, shut the door, you shit head!" Madeline yelled, yet Travis was already smirking and halfway down the stairs.

-

The air was chilled, both in temperature and in a nearly psychotic way, spiritually. Shadows whisped across the pavement, cast by the flickering streetlights that the town council still hadn't replaced, even after promising to help with restoration before their election.

The thought of potholes and overgrown bushes made Travis roll his eyes.

So much for restoration.

There was a small hiss from one of those bushes. A lone ebony cat skulked along the edge of the sidewalk, its eyes seemed to narrow upon the sight of him, yet it stalked off into the night.

He stopped for a moment to stare after the cat; something twinged inside of him. He continued walking as a car drove past.

Travis moved to inspect the building that slowly began to loom in the night. Its lights had a neurotic glow, and it seemed as if the dead walked its halls. They probably did.

He felt the anxiety gnawing at his bones, asking, no urging him to run. Far, far away.

He soldiered on nonetheless.

A simple talk with the boy he used to bully, and then a sneaky hint at wanting a joint, isn't that big of a deal.

Nope, no. Not a big deal.

However, his nervous system was finding it hard to know the difference between a simple conversation and a loaded handgun pointed at his temple.

The doors squeaked open unceremoniously, and he bunched up his hands in his pockets and took disgustingly, rearing, yet evolving into timid steps towards the elevator.

He tapped the button, and there was a noise. An almost screeching noise.

The doors opened, and an older boy walked out, probably college age. He had spiked red hair, a leather jacket, and a spiked collar, the typical punk of the 80s.

Travis gave a small smile, which he was sure morphed into a grimace at some point. Not towards the appearance of the other guy, mostly the reek of unwashed crust pants that had been sewn patches and seemed to originate from 1800s England.

The guy smiled at him.

Travis turned and walked into the elevator.

He glanced at the keypad. What was the number again?

"Five... five? Five what?" He muttered.

Travis pressed five anyhow; he'd figure it out. Go with the flow. He hated the idea of that.

The electrical hum of the elevator doors sounded as they closed, and the metallic screech of cogs against one another whistled as he went up.

-

Sally stood awkwardly outside the door; his Dad wouldn't question it because he wasn't here. He was probably at a bar getting a drink.

The elevator dinged, and Sal shot up, anxious yet excited. He had offered Travis help, and he wanted to give him that. Clearly, he had a lot going on; obviously, it was taking a toll on him, and evidently, he was not okay.

Travis walked out of the elevator, fiddling with his fingers, looking up and down the hallway before seeing Sally.

He seemed nervous, hair slightly messy from the wind, cheeks and nose tinged pink from the cold, his bruised eye clearly not healing.

"Hey, dude," Sal walked over, cautious. He didn't want to upset the other boy or scare him away, not when he finally had the chance to talk and for Travis to make amends. This was a good start in, possibly, a very long journey, but he hoped to help.

"Hi."

The two stood in awkward silence, as if an invisible pressure was trying to squeeze both of them to death.

"Did you... uh, did you want to come in?" Sally asked, stepping backwards and resting his hand on the doorknob. He didn't expect this to be... well, this awkward.

"Yeah, I'd like to," Travis let a small smile appear on his face, only briefly, and in a split moment, gone to an expression Sally could not explain nor label.

The two entered the apartment, Sally letting Travis enter first, and he immediately removed his shoes, the soles wet from the snow outside. He was glad that the other boy removed his shoes; he was the sole cleaner in this household.

"It's fine for you to wear your shoes inside," Sally started, yet was cut off.

"You don't want me to wear them, though?" Travis almost questioned, confused, yet a little confident in his answer.

"Uh, yeah, no, it's okay, it saves me from cleaning," Sally let out a little laugh.

"Where's your-"

"My Dad's out," Sally quickly answered, thinking of how drunk he'd been when he returned home at a stupid fucking hour.

"Oh, okay. What about-"

"My mum's not... here, anymore."

Travis' eyes widened, "Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, you didn't know."

Travis and he were silent. He shut the apartment door, sitting down on the couch next to Gizmo.

"My mum's not here anymore, either," Travis admitted.

Sally looked up from the couch where he was petting Gizmo, unsure what to say.

"You don't need to say anything, but I understand how you feel, if that helps."

Sal shrugged, "I guess, I know a lot of people who do have a mum, or a step-mum, trying to empathise with me. It's better when it's someone from the same boat, yknow?"

"Yeah," Travis sighed.

Sal continued petting Gizmo.

"So, does natural selection ever catch up with..." Travis gestured to the orange and white cat who sat with his hind legs sprawled out and his front legs resting on his stomach.

"Yeah, no. Not really, his name's Gizmo. I think he's suicide-proof," Sal chuckled.

Travis had a small smile on his face as he looked at the rather large cat. He was just big-boned, Sal reminded himself.

"He seems... snarky," Travis said, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. Gizmo looked over at him with slow, blinking eyes and meowed.

"I think he likes you," Sally chuckled.

"I think he wants food," Travis replied.

Sally Face refocused his attention towards Travis.

"You called because you wanted to talk, yeah?"

"...Yeah?"

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Sally stood up from the couch, wandering over to the kitchen to grab the bottle of Coke in the fridge, more than likely flat, and the leftover pizza he had ordered a few hours ago, which sat on a plate in the microwave.

"I don't know," Travis admitted.

Sally turned to him, frowning underneath his mask, clicking his tongue before turning back to the fridge and pulling out the Coke, two glasses from inside the cabinet, and then pouring himself and Travis the drink.

"Did you want to talk about that note?"

"What about it?"

"The monsters in the woods, what're they?"

Travis was silent for a moment, a second silence that Sal caught onto, "An allegory, it's an allegory."

"No, it's not," Sally said, grabbing the filled glasses and walking back to the couch to place them down on the coffee table.

"You don't know that," Travis quickly retorted.

"I do know, because you hesitated before answering, you thought about what to say, are you lying?"

"Why would I be lying?"

Sally turned around, heading back to the kitchen to warm up the pizza in the microwave.

"Maybe because you're scared of the people you tell thinking you're crazy," Sally stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It probably was.

"I think that's a valid fear," Travis retorted.

"There's no doubt you're struggling, I can see that, maybe my friends can't, maybe Larry and Ashley don't see that, and that's fine, because I do, and I can help them see. I can help you as well," Sally started, pressing buttons on the microwave to start reheating the pizza.

The microwave buzzed, the pizza spinning around slowly.

"How am I struggling?"

Sally just chuckled to himself, eliciting a small whine from Travis at the lack of an answer, "For one, you look like you're struggling at school, but you do it on purpose."

"How do you even know that?" Travis was frowning, seeming like he wanted to defend himself, yet knew that Sally was hitting all the points on retelling the truth.

"Because Ashley's in your psychology class, she knows you're smarter than her in there, you're smarter than everyone in there," Sally stated, leaning against the fridge and crossing his arms to look over at Travis as the microwave continued its little spin cycle.

"Not only that, but Ashley noticed how you only got a nineteen out of forty on the recent test. You usually do much better; you always get thirty-five or higher."

Travis seemed stunned, mouth slightly agape as he looked down at his lap, then he collected his thoughts, "Okay, that's only one class-"

"What about in Spanish? You're fucking amazing at that, I should know, again, one of my friends— Larry, he's in there trying to learn more to impress his mum or just be able to talk to her in her own language. He gets pissed knowing you can pronounce the words better than him— and you can actually roll your 'r's."

"My Father made me learn a lot of different languages when I was younger. I just have more foundational learning than he does; I'm not better," Travis argued.

"What different languages?" Sal asked. He was interested; he wanted to know why someone so smart would try so hard to seem so stupid.

"Well, Spanish, Italian, French. Some Latin. It... it really doesn't matter, Sally," Travis looked at him, defeated.

"Well, why do you try so hard to look stupid when you're one of the smartest people at school?" Sally asked, turning around as the microwave beeped, and he opened the door to remove the now-warm pizza.

He quickly walked over to the coffee table, seeing that Travis hadn't touched his drink as he looked down at his lap, picking skin away from his fingernails as he thought of what to say.

"I don't need to appear smart. I don't need the grades. I'm not going anywhere, I'm following the footsteps of my family, of my Father. I'm going to be a part of the Church when I'm old enough; there's no point trying to get anywhere else."

"What if you didn't follow the footsteps of your dad?"

Travis looked at him like he was crazy, "Because I'm never getting out of this town."

"What if you did? You think about it, don't you?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. It doesn't matter what I think when my future is already set in concrete."

"What you think does matter, Travis. This is your life, not his."

Travis just looked at him, unsure of what to say, not knowing how to react.

"He wouldn't let me live my own life."

"Why not?" Sal countered, unbuckling the bottom straps of his mask to take a small bite and then swallow it.

Travis looked at his mask for a moment before turning his gaze to the glass of Coke. He took a small, quick sip before looking back at Sally.

"You seem like you know what he's like. How am I supposed to fight back?"

"Sometimes you don't need to confront it in the place where it's the worst; you could leave. But wherever you go, you take yourself."

Travis raised an eyebrow.

"No matter who you try to be somewhere new, the skeletons in the closet will still be there when you open the door. You can change the place, the city, the town, but you can't change your past... or your face. You don't have to confront it here, but you're going to have to face it no matter where you go..." Sal trailed off; he knew this, he lived those words.

Travis was still silent, unsure of what to say.

"I guess that's hard when you want to start fresh," Travis said, looking down at his lap and picking at his fingers once more.

"Yeah, it is. Listen, Travis, I learnt the hard way that no matter what, you can't always help yourself; sometimes, you gotta be dependent on the people around you who are willing to help, and I'm one of those people; so let me help you."

"I have Phillip," Travis said quietly, looking up from his lap once more.

"Do you talk to him about stuff like this?" Sal quietly asked.

Travis looked at the pizza, then the Coke and quickly took another sip before grabbing a slice.

"He just kind of knows, I don't have to tell him for him to just do what he does to help... he just does it."

"Well, seems like you two are closer than you probably think, or want to be," Sal stated.

"We're only close friends," Travis commented.

"Well, you told me a few days ago that he was your world, maybe it's platonic, maybe it's romantic, is there a problem in either of those?"

"Yes, there's clearly a problem in that being romantic, Sally, it's a fucking sin."

"The Christian sin is hatred, while the sin you feel is love. Are you saying it's a sin to love?"

"No-"

"Exactly, so why are you so disgusted by the idea of loving someone just because they aren't a girl?"

"Sally."

Sal stopped. He pushed too far.

The two sat in silence.

"You're right."

Sal tilted his head, confused.

"I know it's not truly a sin, I don't even feel like I believe in Christianity that much, it's my Father that scares me. His life revolves around his religion; he scares me."

Sal was now truly unsure of what to say next, watching the tears slowly forming in Travis' eyes.

Sally moved to be next to him, placing a hand timidly on the boy's shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

"I'm sorry, Sally. For everything. I want to apologise to your friends, I'm just... I'm scared of who'll see and tell my Father, I'm," Travis' voice cracked, "...scared of what he'll do... I'm scared of your friends not wanting to hear my apology, I'm- I'm just scared."

Sal pulled the taller boy into a hug, and Travis returned it, gripping onto him like he was a lifeline— something to float on in an ocean of uncertainty.

"He really fucking scares me."