Monster of the Week

by F. T. Lukens

  “Pfft. They work the most on me.”

  Shaking his head, glass dangling from his fingertips, he slid closer. “Good. Because your charms work on me as well.”

  Bridger snorted. “What charms? Like the tripping over everything? Or the fact that I freak out all the time? Or where I overanalyze every little interaction or tidbit of information?”

  Leo brushed a wayward strand of Bridger’s hair behind his ear. “All of it.”

  Ugh. This guy. So cute. So perfect.

  “Do you know where we are?” Bridger asked.

  “Not a clue.”

  “Paulding, Michigan.”

  Leo crinkled his nose. “Is that important?”

  Bridger gestured at the lightly wooded area in front of them. “Just watch.”

  They sat in silence, cuddled together, under the sliver of moon. On a wisp of a breeze, the light appeared, bobbing along the length of the ravine. It was greenish-yellow, small, round, and beautiful. It moved slowly, hanging in the mist, casting a glow along the trees and the thick vines and wildflowers. The atmosphere became heavy with the feeling of the supernatural, the otherworldly, that Bridger felt often around Pavel and the pixies: comforting and still, thick like a blanket, but alien, existing beyond the natural laws.

  “What is it?” Leo asked, breathless.

  “The Paulding Light. Don’t worry. It’s harmless. I totally wouldn’t test your hero abilities with something that could hurt us.”

  Leo squeezed Bridger’s torso. “I’m not worried. It’s beautiful. What’s the story?”

  “There are several different stories, and all of them are kind of sad. Some say it’s a father looking for his lost kid, and the light is the flame from a lantern. Other say it’s a conductor who was decapitated on railroad tracks, looking for his head. But there aren’t tracks around here, and that seems a popular story for ghost lights.” Bridger ran his fingers through Leo’s hair. “I don’t know what it is, but I thought it would be cool to share with you. I know you know about everything now, but we haven’t, I mean, other than Grandma Alice, you haven’t gotten a chance to experience any of it. I thought this would be a good place to start, a phenomenon to witness together.”

  Leo kissed him.

  Bridger wasn’t expecting it, but Leo wrapped his arms around Bridger’s shoulders, hauled him close, and cupped the back of Bridger’s head. Leo tasted like grape juice and heat and enthusiasm.

  With an oomph, Leo rolled Bridger to his back and hovered over him on the blanket.

  “You’re disheveled,” Bridger said, cupping Leo’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb over the line of Leo’s blush. “And flushed. People are going to think we’re a prom cliché.”

  “Let them think it,” Leo said. He tugged on Bridger’s tie until it came undone, then ruffled Bridger’s hair. “There. Suitably debauched.”

  “That’s a big word.”

  Leo laughed. His forehead rested on Bridger’s chest, so the sound was muffled by Bridger’s vest. “I wouldn’t mind it, you know.”

  “What was that?”

  Leo lifted his head, his brown eyes shining. “I said, I wouldn’t mind being a prom cliché.”

  “I thought… we had a whole conversation.”

  Leo propped his chin on his hands, which, in turn, pressed on the buttons of Bridger’s shirt. “We’re having a new conversation.”

  “I’m not ready to have a new conversation,” Bridger admitted.

  “Okay,” Leo rolled off and lay next to Bridger on the blanket. He was a line of heat down Bridger’s side. Their shoulders touched; their hands tangled. “Thank you. This was romantic and special, and the grape juice was awesome.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for being a totally awesome boyfriend.”

  “No problem. It’s easy because I’m with you.”

  Bridger snorted. “We’re venturing into George Lucas-dialogue territory.”

  “Hey. I can’t besmirch the Princess of Genovia, but you can drag George Lucas? I don’t know how I feel about that. I think I’m offended.”

  Bridger poked Leo’s side. “Have you listened to the dialogue in the prequels? It’s mind numbing.”

  Leo put his hand over his heart. “I take every nice thing I’ve ever said about you back. All of it.”

  “Nerd,” Bridger said, propping up on his side. “You have everyone fooled that you’re this cool guy and really you’re just a massive geek.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “Oh, it’s on.”

  They rolled around on the blanket, playfighting; Leo emitted gales of laughter, and Bridger did his best to tickle Leo while avoiding being kneed in the gut. It was all fun and games until someone ripped their rented tux, so they stopped and just kissed for a while.

  Leo broke away. He snuggled into Bridger’s side, head resting on Bridger’s shoulder.

  “So, what do you think it is?”

  “Think what is?”

  Leo poked him in the side. “A few kisses and you lose all brain power. The light. What do you think it is?”

  “Well,” Bridger laced his fingers behind his head. “Past Bridger would say it’s a trick of the light. Swamp gas? A reflection of a streetlight? Something mundane.” Past Bridger lacked imagination and supernatural-life experience. Past Bridger was also kind of lonely and wouldn’t have put himself out there to even consider the existence of a ghost light much less be vulnerable enough to share it with someone as important as Leo.

  “What does current Bridger think?”

  “I’m not sure. I know what’s it’s not. It’s not a pixie or a ghost or a Goatman.”

  “Thank everything for that.” Leo propped his chin on Bridger’s chest. “I may be a hero, but I’m not here for an axe-wielding Goatman. Just FYI.”

  Bridger threaded his fingers through Leo’s thick dark hair. “Me neither. I’d run away, very quickly.”

  “You know what they say,” Leo said, expression solemn. “You don’t have to run faster than the monster, only faster than your friend.”

  Bridger barked a laugh. He jabbed his fingers into Leo’s side. “Oh, my God. Don’t even. You know you’d totally let me get away then you’d figure out how to disarm the Goatman and convince it to stop its axe-wielding ways. You’d use your ineffable charm and by the end of the interaction, he’d abandon his murdery profession and choose to live on a farm raising chickens. He’d bake pies for his neighbors and volunteer at a kitten rescue on the weekends.”

  Leo snorted. “You have the wildest and weirdest imagination.”

  “You like it.”

  “I adore it.” Leo’s flicked Bridger’s ear. “I adore you.”

  Bridger’s heart raced. “I don’t know why, but hey, not questioning your judgment. You are a hero. You should have good critical-thinking skills.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Leo sighed. “Pavel says I’m a hero. But I don’t feel it. I’m not perfect.” He shrugged. “I’m just a guy.”

  Beautiful and humble. Ugh. Bridger couldn’t deal with the perfection. Affection suffused every crevice of Bridger’s being. He gave Leo his best cheesy grin. “You’re my guy.”

  “Now that is bad dialogue.”

  Bridger turned up his nose. “I have it on good authority that you adore it.”

  Leo kissed Bridger’s cheek. “I do. God help me, but I do.”

  They indulged in another round of kissing, but this time it was Bridger who pulled away when it became a tad too heated. He kissed Leo’s forehead. “We better get back,” Bridger said, chest heaving, lips tingling. They’d been gone a while and had to return before a chaperone noticed. “Now that we really look debauched.”

  “Yeah. I want to dance some more.” He tugged lightly on Bridger’s tie. “And then I want to go to the school gym and play stupid games during the after-prom an
d eat all the ice cream.”

  “Sounds like an awesome plan.” Bridger stood and grabbed Leo’s hand, hauling him to his feet. “Oh, almost forgot.” He flipped the top of the basket and pulled out Leo’s yearbook. He’d agonized for days over what to write and in the end went with something simple and soppy and as heartfelt as Bridger was capable of. He slapped the book against Leo’s chest. “Don’t read it now. Please.”

  Leo beamed. He clutched the book. “I won’t. Promise.”

  “Okay. Because it’s, well, just…” Bridger blushed.

  Leo took his hand. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”

  They left the mess behind for the pixies to clean up, because if Bridger can hunt unicorn poop for them, they can pick up a blanket and grape juice.

  Stepping through the portal, Leo’s hand tight in his, Bridger was happy. He was well and truly happy, and his only worry was sneaking back into the hotel ballroom as discreetly as possible. But even that didn’t matter much, because there were worse things than being caught with his boyfriend after rolling around on a blanket in the grass.

  They landed on the sidewalk near the line of limos. The silence of the night was broken by the sound of a long slurp when Leo popped out behind Bridger. Before he could take one step on the concrete in his tight, shiny shoes, he heard a squeal. Glass broke, shards skittered across the asphalt in the moonlight, and pieces came to rest at his toe. He snapped his head up. Summer stood right in front of them.

  “Where the fuck did you come from?” Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, Bridger saw the moment she spotted the magic portal behind them. “And what the fuck is that?”

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter 12

  “What are you doing here?” Bridger asked, grip tight on Leo’s hand. He willed the portal to disappear, but it didn’t. It hummed behind them, expectant and shimmering and completely magical. “I thought my boss made it clear when he warned you about stalking me. In fact, I’m pretty certain he said to stop.”

  Summer narrowed her eyes, then she swayed. Her bathrobe fluttered, cinched tight over pink silk pajamas, one leg of which was doused in a strong-smelling liquid. She wore strappy high heels, which scared Bridger. The thin points were easily sharp enough to stab someone. And she might snap an ankle given how uncoordinatedly she moved.

  She pointed a wobbling finger at him. The sharp smell of alcohol wafted from the slick asphalt and the shards of glass. “Public street.”

  “Yeah, right next to the hotel where we’re holding our high school prom. How convenient.”

  Snorting, she flipped her hair. It was a tangled mess, so blond strands flopped into her eyes. “You self-centered little jerk. It’s the only nice hotel in town, where I’ve been staying for the past few weeks because you Michiganders love your folklore.”

  “Oh.”

  She took a step, and glass crunched under her shoes. “Now. How in the hell did you appear out of thin air?”

  “We didn’t. We were in the woods,” Bridger said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the copse of trees by the sidewalk. He picked a blade of grass from Leo’s hair. “See?”

  “Uh huh.” She pushed her face close. “I know what I saw. I saw you—” She interrupted herself with a fierce, wet, burp.

  Bridger gagged. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Then no.”

  “Liar. It smells like what I imagine a frat house does. What was in that bottle? Paint thinner?”

  “You…” She dug the tip of her finger into Bridger’s sternum. “…have been a thorn in my side since I arrived in this one-Target town. Now, you’re going to tell me why the sky is humming and blurry.”

  “Because you obviously have had way too much of whatever you were drinking. And you’re super-embarrassing yourself. We are at prom. We are boyfriends. We went into the woods to have alone time. Okay? Now, please leave us alone before we call the police and tell them all about your voyeuristic tendencies.” Bridger stepped backward. “Come on, Leo.”

  She may have been on the wrong side of tipsy, but she was still fast and strong. Summer lashed out and grabbed Bridger’s arm. Her grip was bruising; her fingernails dug into the fabric of his tux.

  “Oh, no. You’re not brushing me off. I know you know more than you’re telling me.”

  “Let go.”

  “No.”

  “I said—”

  A loud sucking noise sounded behind them, and Bridger rolled his eyes to the sky. Because of course.

  “Bridger!” Pavel yelled. “I heard the toaster and—”

  Summer gaped at Pavel.

  Pavel stared at Summer. His face drained of all color, leaving him translucent.

  Stomach sinking to his knees, Bridger looked at them. There was no way he could bullshit his way out of this one. He wrenched his arm out of her grip and stumbled into the solid, stable presence of Leo. Leo hooked his hand in the crook of Bridger’s elbow to steady him.

  Hand tucked at his side, hidden by the flap of his coat, Pavel snapped his fingers. The action was discreet. The portal was anything but. It collapsed in a flash of light and with the sound of a vacuum snagged on ripped carpet.

  Well, that wasn’t helpful at all.

  “Holy fu—” Summer trailed off. “I thought, I thought— ” Her hand trembled in front of her open mouth. Bridger was certain she was either going to scream or puke. The odds were fifty-fifty.

  “We really need to talk about subtlety when this is all over,” Bridger said under his breath to Pavel as Summer stumbled.

  He gave a sharp nod in return. “Noted.”

  Leo coughed into his fist, unsuccessfully hiding a laugh.

  “I thought it was a hoax!” she screeched.

  Bridger flinched, but then his brain caught up, and his eyes widened. “What?” He impressed himself with his ability to be deadpan. “You what?”

  “But it’s real! Isn’t it? It’s all real!” She put her hands on her head and spun around in the parking lot; her impractical shoes slid across the debris of her bottle. Her bathrobe flapped, and her pajamas swished.

  “Miss Lore, I think you may need to go back to your hotel,” Pavel said. “I’d be happy to escort you to ensure your safety, or maybe I can call your assistant to help? Either way, you clearly need to go inside and perhaps sleep this off.”

  Bridger held up a hand. “Wait a minute! Before you go anywhere, explain the hoax bit!”

  She laughed, drunk, and close to deranged. She stopped spinning, but she staggered and clenched her arms around her stomach.

  “You have no idea how many times I’ve gone to backwoods, dingy little towns to find teenagers bored to tears and making crop circles. The number of fake footprints I’ve followed to the laughter of those little jerks would make your head spin more than mine is right now.” She flailed, almost smacking Bridger in the face. “And you,” she whirled, “were obviously the ringleader here. That fake voice on the EVP. The crap about being the witch’s best customer. The bullshit speech about believing.”

  “First off, shows what you know, my life may resemble a circus, but I’ve never been the ringleader of anything, and second, what was with all the following and the waving the microphone in my face?”

  “To put pressure on you to tell the truth!” She wiped a hand over her eyes, smearing her makeup. “If I could get you to break and confess to all the shenanigans, then I could go home! Back to Georgia and back to trying to find a way off this stupid show. But no! No! You had to be interesting and it all has to be real!”

  Oh. Oh, no.

  Oh, no, no, no.

  Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.

  “When you said you wanted me to crack—”

  “There’s always one spineless clown who will spill the beans about the pranks when I put enough pressure on them. An
d you…” She shoved her finger in his chest again. “…you were a tougher nut than I thought. You panicked when I talked to Luke and you ran at the bakery, so I thought I could get to you. But no, not Bridger-freaking-Whitt, sarcastic asshole, and generally beloved teenager.”

  Bridger flushed and resisted the urge to ostrich or turtle or gazelle. He wanted to run, but Leo’s grip on his arm tightened. This whole time, Bridger was working on the basis of knowing everything was real and he’d thought she was trying to get him to spill about how the paranormal was alive and well in Midden, but that wasn’t the case. Summer worked from a perception that everything was fake, and she was trying to get him to admit to a long prank.

  “The break between season six and seven,” Bridger said, realization dawning.

  “Now he gets it!” Summer threw out her arms again. “I tried to leave then, but they pulled me back in, promising me more money, more gravitas, fewer forests, and less mud. But no. No!” She stomped her foot. “Now I’m here, preparing for season eleven. I’ve been through five different camera operators!” She held up her hand, fingers spread, and shoved it in Bridger’s face; her palm was an inch from his nose. “Five! They’ve all left for better gigs. Our ratings are in the toilet. Our expenses are over the top with all the travel. I hoped that if Midden tanked, then the show would tank. And that’d be the end of it.” She thrust a finger to where the portal had hovered minutes before. “But now it’s real!”

  She hiccupped, then sobbed, and her mascara leaked down her cheeks.

  “You’re right. It was all a hoax,” Bridger said. He disentangled from Leo and stepped away from Pavel, distancing himself. “They had nothing to do with it. It was all me. You are correct. I’m the ringleader. I set it all up.”

  Summer wiped a hand over her face; her black makeup made a bruise-like smear from her eye to her ear. “Liar. You’re a liar.”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Not as much as I used to be, but you’re right. It was all a senior prank, orchestrated by me. You caught me enlisting Grandma Alice’s help that day. I screwed with the EVP recorder. That day at the beach was a joke that went horribly wrong, but that was also me. I’m behind it. All of it.”