I walked up to the short break between log benches. Back to the rushing waves on the distant shoreline, I propped one foot up onto the makeshift podium - a short stump. Clasping my hands together, I cleared my throat.
"Welcome!" I called across the clearing.
A good ninety to a hundred people had gathered. All were in states of skewering or munching on dinner as they turned their fire-lit faces toward me.
"Thank you, parents and students and friends, for coming out to the bonfire on this haunted almost-Halloween night!" I began, leaning confidently into my propped leg as I continued, "Now, it is only right that we celebrate this spooky season with a few scary stories.
"At each half-hour, someone from our student body will come up here and regale you with a frightening tale. At eight o'clock, however, we will open the floor to the public. If you have a scary story you wish to tell, please feel free to come up and share. Now, without further adieu, I will begin our Friday of Fright!"
Immediately, I pushed off the log and I folded my hands behind me. I began to slowly pace around the fire.
With a small smile, I recalled the story I knew like the back of my hand. A story that had been told to me countless times as a child. One that I'd told my own cousins when it came my turn to tell. As I opened my mouth to speak, I noticed the cluster of figures making their way across the beach, one particularly tall and familiar man among them.
"Many of you are aware of demons," I said loudly, darkly, "They can be classified into two main groups: lesser demons and greater demons. The lesser demons are the tricksters, the greater demons... well, those, I will enlighten you about. A demon..." I chuckled dryly and took a breath, "-a demon would cause you misfortune, cause your death, so long as it was entertained by the endeavor.
"And so, I will tell you the demonic tale of the White Prison."
The Lawatscoh group came straight to the logs to sit, picking spots near Terry, Ray, and Scott. Catalina came out quickly to punch their tickets and point to the snacks, but they simply nodded politely. Caleb's eyes caught mine and he smiled broadly, white teeth brilliant even in the firelit-darkness.
I pursed my lips on a reflexive, answering smile. I needed to remain spooky.
"In a valley basin, surrounded by vast mountains sat a parish. It was a place much like any other; they grew their crops, raised their cattle, and held community gatherings to celebrate the coming of each new season. Now, it's common for a village to have an occasional rash of disease. Perhaps an infestation of rats or insects. But this parish was haunted by demons.
"It was small things at first: the little tricksters would trample freshly sown fields, they'd soil and rot a recently cut harvest, or terrify livestock so horribly that the cows would stop producing milk. Remember, that the word 'small' is relative here. The parishioners relied on these sources of food through the winter. Back then, they couldn't just fly-in goods. So, to call such an act 'small' only speaks to the horror of what was to come.
"For two years, they struggled through their winters on the meager harvests. At the onset of each planting and harvest season, they called in a priest to cleanse the parish of its infestation. But each time, the demons were undeterred.
"Spring of the third year melted the valley. The parishioners braced themselves for the ruining of their freshly planted fields. But when the next morning dawned, the ground was only mildly disturbed. Little demon footprints dotted the overturned dirt, but the seeds weren't pulled or kicked. The parishioners were relieved!
"That was... until it was discovered that a young woman had been plucked her bed in the night. All that remained of her was a torn lock of hair and a trail of dribbled blood leading out into the rocky, forested foothills."
A few of my listeners shuddered, but still others simply stood to get a second helping of marshmallows for their skewers. My Lawatscoh acquaintances hardly moved, all sets of eyes trained raptly upon me. I took a deep breath and continued:
"Distraught and angry, the girl's father, a farmer, took up his ax and with his sons, followed the trail of blood into the foothills. Their fury and determination brought them far. And so far did they trek that the sun had disappeared behind the mountain-peaks before they'd realized the lateness of the day. A grave mistake. As everyone knows, demons enjoy the dark and the tricks it plays on human eyes.
"As the family retraced their steps, hurrying as the sky grew darker and darker, the farmer looked back over his shoulder frequently at his sons. He saw all four of his boys running the path behind him. A few paces further. He spared another glance. Three. It took him two steps before he realized the error. When he looked back once more only the youngest and last remaining son stood on the path behind him. The child seized his arm, terror brimming in his eyes.
"'It got them!' he whimpered to his father, 'It took them! In a cloud of smoke it consumed them!'
"Before the farmer could respond, an unearthly chorus of voices echoed out from the darkened forest, 'I greatly appreciate having my meals brought to me.'"
My voice graveled in the tone of the demon.
"The farmer mustered up his courage and yelled into the shadows, 'Return my children to me or the wrath of the parish will descend upon you!'
"The demon laughed, 'Will you send more immoral men in religious robe to come and chastise me for my evils? Oh, but I do enjoy entertainment with my meals. Perhaps chasing you home will work up my appetite once more?'
"The farmer and his son had no choice. They turned back up the trail and ran through the night, pursued by ravenous, laughing shadows. Eventually, golden sunlight graced the sky and the darkness receded. The pair returned to the porch of their home. Defeated.
"The planting season grew into the early harvest season. More parishioners disappeared. It became a daily ritual to meet in the town square after first-light and take inventory of losses. By the end of the harvest, another mid-afternoon tradition had begun as well. Fathers and husbands came to the tavern, while the last light of day was still ripe, and nursed their grief for lost daughters and wives.
"It was at this exact tavern where our farmer sat alone in a corner-table with a mug, having lost his last son the night previous. Just when he'd finished his drink, the door opened again and in came a cloaked stranger. She sat at the farmer's table. He studied her, weary, then sighed, 'It's best you find proper lodging before nightfall.'
"'I'm not acquainted with anyone in the area, unfortunately,' she replied, her voice sweet like a spring breeze.
"The farmer sighed through his exhaustion again, 'Very well, you may stay at my residence.'
"And so the stranger stayed with the farmer. Through the night the farmer stood guard, keeping watch. He was unwilling to lose anyone else, even if she were just a stranger to him. The next morning, the stranger awoke to find her host asleep beside the front entry, his ax at his side. And she was moved by his concern.
"On that crisp mid-morning, as the parishioners were preparing for the first winter's snowfall, she wandered among them. She asked after their lost-loved ones, the circumstances of their disappearances, and the whereabouts of the demon. In spite of their weariness and sadness, they were forthcoming. Even welcoming.
"'In honor of your kindness, I will take care of this demon for you,' she vowed.
"And so, in the early afternoon, just before the sunset, the stranger set off into the foothills toward the demon's lair. As the night fell, she continued forward, unperturbed but for the tightening of her grip on a small wooden instrument hidden within her cloak. Her climb through the trees and rocks led her past a yawning, rocky maw that spoke.
"'A meal has presented itself to me,' the demon crooned and smoke began to billow out from the darkness, reaching for the stranger's feet.
"Undaunted, she continued on, climbing upward toward the mountain at a brisk walk. The demon slunk through the shadows of night, keeping pace with her, its green-greed eyes blazing through the black cloud. Its lesser demon minions skittered after the pair on limbs like insects' legs, smiling sharp-toothed and mirthful grins. Still, the stranger held fast to her courage.
"'Do you fear death?' the demon demanded, growing steadily aggravated.
"'Why should I fear death?'
"A clawed finger slipped from the smoke, quick and deadly, to slice a ribbon through the stranger's cloak. The garment fluttered to the ground as blood began to weep down from her back. Still, she did not pause.
"'What do you fear?' she asked of the demon instead.
"The demon answered with only a growl. Once again, a claw struck out from the smoke, but this time, the stranger parried. The wooden instrument caught the demon's claw. It hissed and backed away.
"'I know,' she said, watching its glittering eyes crackle, 'Your kind cannot abide the pure. Something like this...'"
"She put her lips upon the instrument, a small flute. Out came a clear, pure tone that caused the smoke to shudder. Her fingers danced along the length of the instrument, crafting an enchanting tune. The demons, both lesser minions and greater menace, became entranced. And when she returned to her climb up the mountain, they followed in her wake, mesmerized.
"As the band approached the summit, the snowfall that had been building all day began to fall. Fingers half-frozen, the stranger continued on. The flakes came in thicker, creating curtains of white that coated the slopes of the mountain. When the sun finally broke over the peak, a thick blanket of satiny-white snow had suffocated the valley. It was then that the stranger let the instrument fall from her cold lips.
"She turned to survey the band of demons, trapped by the pure white that had fallen over the lot of them. They were shrunken, shriveled husks of their previous selves. Not even the greater demon, robbed of its size by the pure tones and white snow, could be distinguished from its minions.
"'The snow on these peaks will never melt,' the stranger declared, 'This place will be your prison. May you remain trapped here, unable to terrorize anyone anymore.'
"The stranger did not descend to the valley. The parishioners worried through the winter. Then, the blooms of spring came about in the next year yet the white cap of snow stayed upon the mountaintop. The parishioners sowed their fields and tended to their cattle, but not a single demon - lesser nor greater - disturbed their harvest nor livestock.
"The townfolk gathered in the square and began a tradition that remains to this very day; a celebration and feast in honor of the kind stranger's sacrifice. In the centuries since, the mountaintop has remained coated in a blanket of white ensuring the valley's safety for many more centuries to come."
A ring of finality drew my story to a close, earning me a modest smattering of applause. With a little bow, I fiddled with my braid and moved toward my seat. I merely spared a small smile for my Lawatscoh listeners before settling down beside Scott. He offered me a hotdog heaped with garnishes.
"Everything," he said gruffly, shaking a residual bit of ketchup off the heel of his hand after passing it to me, "As requested."
"Thanks."
I took an eager bite. He handed me a handful of slightly crumpled napkins as the fillings squished out the other side.
"Not a bad story," Scott lauded, pulling out a marshmallow and skewering it.
"You're a decent storyteller," Terry seconded.
"Where'd you learn it?" Ray asked.
"Old family story," I said dismissively, but Ray and Terry's eyes glittered.
My eyes slid past them for a fraction of a moment, taking in Caleb's posture. He was turned entirely toward me, though his friends had sat themselves resolutely on the log and ground between the two groups. A two-person wall. The pair chatted animatedly at him, but his dark eyes found mine. His lips parted in curiosity. I looked away.
I took another few bites of hot dog as I eavesdropped, eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the huge fire.
"How much do you think is true?" the low, rolling voice sounded like it could be their leader, Owen's.
"All of it," a voice like a sweet, running brook replied, "It was practiced and informative, much the same as our own stories. It's easy enough to remember too: pure tones, pure snow. Practical... so long as it's winter."
"What do you think she is?" a third, younger voice whispered and I glanced quickly to see a younger boy - sixteen perhaps - sitting in the sand near Owen's feet. "Do you think she's like us?"
"Ray and Terry say she doesn't run hot the way we do, but she doesn't run cold either. If she's not human, we're not sure what she is."
"A demon, maybe?"
"Don't be dumb," the woman chuckled, "I think we'd all know a demon if we saw it."
"For Caleb's sake, I hope she's human," Owen muttered.
I swallowed hard on the last bite of my hotdog.
"What's next, again?" Scott piped up, polishing off his s'more.
"Well," I paused, glancing up to see Allie talking animatedly with Bonnie. Her hands jerked about and her eyes burned with anger. As I watched, she rubbed her temples then waved a hand in permission to Bonnie before making a line toward me. "It looks like there might've been a change in plans."
"George is MIA," Allie huffed, settling moodily onto one hip as she reached me.
"George?" Scott echoed worriedly.
In a moment, he sat upright and businesslike.
Allie jumped, finally recognizing my company, "Oh, uh, most likely no. He's just been ditching everything recently."
"Should we look around just to be safe?" I asked.
"He's probably... in his car," Allie hedged, to which I stood and stretched.
"I'll have a look," I cuffed Scott's shoulder briefly, "I'll be right back."
"Buddy system," he said gruffly, knees cracking as he stood. A raised-eyebrow look of chagrin flashed over Allie's face. I frowned at her, but she shook her head wordlessly, eyebrows still raised as Scott grunted. "It's dark, after all."
"Oh?" Terry piped up, "Scary story got to ya, eh?"
"Shuddup," Scott grumbled.
He took the lead toward the parking lot.
"I don't actually know what George's car looks like," I admitted.
"S'alright, we can check each."
"Thanks," I said, approaching the first in the line and peering into the driver's-side window, "You'll refrain from handing out tickets for too-tinted windows, right Chief?"
"It's a Friday and I'm off-duty. I can show restraint."
We continued down the line, the crashing shush of the waves a contented backdrop to the mindless work. There was a buzzing tension however. Halfway down, Scott broke the silence.
"I, uh, heard that your grades aren't doing so good."
"Who sold me out?"
"Mrs. Hardy," he said, his mustache ruffling, "She says you're currently failing. And I thought you liked reading."
"I do," I said, pursing my lips, "But I think the move has just... well, I know I shouldn't have an excuse. What with the gap-year."
Gap-year, I internally scoffed, More like a gap-week or two...
"No, no," he backtracked quickly, matching my pace, "These things take time. A lot of time. You know you can drop down to the honors course, right? You don't have to take the advanced placement."
"That feels like quitting."
"It's not quitting. The fact that you're back at school shows you ain't quitting."
I started to chew on my lower lip, feeling an irrational heat prickling in my eyes.
"Do you know how much time it's supposed to take?"
He sighed, turning his head away, but I saw him lift the sleeve of his jacket to his face, "Dunno. Haven't really come out the other side of things, myself. But it's getting better. Always getting better. Some days it's worse, but those setbacks get less worse as time goes on. So it's getting better."
"What do you do when it's worse?"
He let out a belly-felt sigh this time, as if speaking was a necessary struggle, "Depends. In the beginning, I didn't choose the right outlets - almost lost my job - but I know which ones work better, now.
"Usually I take a fishing trip or a drive out on my own. Sometimes I call up either Ray or Terry to join me. They don't say nothin', they know, it's just good to not be alone for it sometimes."
"I like being around people," I admitted with a little shrug, "I don't always need to be talking, but I can't stand being completely alone. It's part of the reason why my grades are so low, I suppose.
"Once I'm home getting work done and that quiet in the house starts pressing on my ears, I can't think. So I plan to be with Alissa or Catalina or with Mason. Anything so I don't have to be alone."
"You're, uh, a whatcha-callit - one of those people who get energy from being around other people?"
"An extrovert?"
"That."
"I guess so," I mused, then shrugged, "There was always something to talk about. Well, till there wasn't. But after that, each of us could be 'alone' while together in the same room: working on separate projects or relaxing while watching videos. It was comfortable. And then there would be something to talk about again."
"That being 'alone' together thing sounds very appealing. I can give you my work schedule if you want to hangout at my place. I might have a game on TV, but we can chat a bit."
"I think I'd like that."
Scott looked away again as I sniffled and dabbed my own nose on the collar of my shirt.
"Look- " I pointed to a lone car sitting beside the final line of trees and brush. It bounced a bit on its wheels, like someone inside was rocking out to music. "Movement."
The windows were too tinted and it was too dark to see any outlines. I grimaced, remembering Allie's nonverbal warning.
"Oh, yeah, that looks like the right car too," Scott confirmed, his voice lifting with discomfort as he surveyed the situation. He continued under his breath, "Damn, and I'm off duty too... but I wouldn't be able to look Marie Sappho in the eye if I let this go on..."
"I can do it," I grumbled.
Scott looked over apologetically, "It's probably better if it comes from a peer. Give a holler if they give you trouble. Just me standing here should be warning enough, I imagine."
I paced up, removing one glove, and rapped loudly on the back passenger window with a single knuckle. The car's movement stopped and I took a step back, waiting patiently for a window to roll down or a door to open. It took a while, but eventually, the inner locking mechanism thunked and the blushing face of George Sappho peeked out from behind the edge.
"S-sorry," he stammered, failing to step out entirely from the car's interior, "Is it my turn to present?"
"Bonnie's covering for you for now. So you have some time yet-"
The scent finally hit me. Thick, sexual musk choked out my nostrils. I took a step back, feeling my heart-rate pickup as anxiety trickled like ice into my veins. I swallowed, feeling my nose wrinkle and my upper lip curl defensively.
"Just- get it together," I bit out, not waiting for a full reply before whirling on my heel and stalking back to Scott.
"Let's go."
"You alri-"
"I'm fine."
"Kid, seriously, what's the matter?"
"I'm..." I shook my head, "Just a prude. That's all."
Scott set his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed as he stared at me. I stared at the ground.
I opened my mouth "I-I was on a date once. We were in the car and i-it went... badly."
"Deep breaths," Scott soothed, "You don't need to say anymore. I get it."
I followed his instruction, focusing on the shush of the ocean to wipe-clear my mind.
"Look," he jerked his chin toward the car, watching as George emerged - fully dressed - followed by Katie Hopkins. "They got it together, c'mon. Let's head back. You haven't had a s'more yet."
Wordlessly, I followed, my gaze fixed on the ground. Scott put a skewer in my hands as I sat down on the log beside Terry's and Ray's chairs. Already armed with a marshmallow, I lowered it over the fire and watched emptily as it slowly began to melt.
"...we saw it perched on the mountaintop, huge against the little summit, and then it leapt down. A ten-story jump at least! It crashed into the forest below. Then it went eerily quiet for just a second. And then - "
Bonnie sung a haunting, four-note melody that made my blood run cold again. I jerked my chin up, attentive to the story.
"Are you telling me this monster likes Bonnie Tyler?" Scott wondered under his breath, then nudged me with an elbow, "Your marshmallow's on fire."
"Right," I muttered, lifting it quickly away.
That Bonnie had even heard the creature meant it had been too close. I flinched. Mason and I must've drawn it past human campsites. Then again, once we'd shaken the tracking spell, there was no telling where it went.
You should've killed it, I reminded myself.
I stared down at the s'more, at the black-crackled gobs of marshmallow oozing out the sides. A form shifted in my periphery and I glanced sideways to see Caleb Hayes peering over once more. He was leaning around his friends to get a better view.
His eye caught mine and he mouthed, 'You okay?'
I nodded, lifting the s'more to take a bite without tasting it.