Fear Club- A Confession

by Damian Stephens

  I sat up from a pile of cushions and groaned. “You awake?” Pete said. “Man, you’ve been

  asleep for like two days!”

  “No, Pete,” I said. “I haven’t. This is a dream, or some kind of test, or a diversion of some sort.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me.

  “I took the wrong portal,” I said.

  He nodded knowingly. “Tell me about it,” he said, turning back to the TV. Spock was in earnest, attempting to convey something of grave importance to Kirk. “I’ve done that before. More than once.”

  I stood up. My backpack was present, and I checked it for contents. There was the key, rations, water bottle... I checked my pockets. The pink sandwich-sword—still there. I shoved it unceremoniously back and tried to forget about it.

  I figured I might as well play along and hope that things started to make sense.

  “So, Pete,” I said, diving in. “When did you start turning into a demon?”

  Pete looked up at me seriously. “I wish you wouldn’t remind me of that,” he said. He set down his bowl of crunchberries.

  “Well, too late,” I said, starting to feel superfrustrated. “You’re reminded. Explain yourself!”

  “It’s not me—” he began.

  “Oh, the classic werewolf cop-out!” I yelled at him. “Honestly, Pete, don’t you think that you should take some responsibility for—”

  “No! I’m serious!” he said. “It’s not me! ” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “And I don’t think it’s a werewolf. I mean, I got this stuff—”

  “Stuff?” I said. Now I was confused.

  “Yeah!” Pete continued. “I got this stuff from a guy, a couple years ago. He wasn’t my usual supplier. He said if I wanted to get high—like really, super-insanely high—that I needed to try this stuff.”

  Pete got up and walked over to the Easter Island head. He pressed a latch on the back of it, and the head opened to reveal a secret compartment.

  “I should have known,” I said.

  “So, I was like, ‘Sure, dude, as long as it’s not crack or something.’ And the guy laughs and says, ‘No way! I only sell sweet-catch trips not wrestling-match trips.’ And I always remembered that, because I still don’t know what it means.” He lifted an Altoids tin out of the head. “Anyway, I get home and I try some of it out, you know? And— woah! I was, like, in this other guy’s head—but it wasn’t a guy. It was like a monster—and I know because I could kind of control what he was doing, a little bit. And I started getting pretty good at it.”

  He opened the tin and showed me what appeared to be some candy Valentine’s Day hearts, the kind with words printed on them. Except in addition to “BE MINE” and “I LOVE YOU,” these had strange figures scrawled on one side. I couldn’t discern what any of the latter meant.

  “Check it out,” he said, pointing at them. “So I kept taking these, maybe once a week. All sorts of wild shit happened. Sometimes I would just be able to see what was going on in other places—like I didn’t have a body. That was useful, sometimes. I found myself in this underground world once. I could speak this weird language, and I could understand it, but it wasn’t English, that’s for sure. And one day, I found this exit, and I climbed up and out of it.” Pete snapped shut the tin, put it in his bathrobe pocket, and sat down in his usual red-and-white bean bag chair. “And it was the Murk, man! But whoever’s head I was in, he started gettin’ real creepy—I wasn’t really able to control it once I was out of that well.”

  Pete miraculously produced a dimebag of weed and started loading one of his bongs. “And then I started going into trances—like, without taking the stuff. In the middle of the day, sometimes— just fading off into these weird dreams. Something would trigger it—usually it was a song or a word that someone would say. Totally creeped me out. This thing wanted to rip people apart, and kept letting me know about it.” He shuddered and took a hit. His pothead instincts had him offer the bong to me, but I shook my head.

  The question of why the gentle druggie had seemingly indulged in wanton, cold-blooded murder had been answered to my satisfaction, even if it raised even more questions about what was going on in the underworld of Golem Creek.

  “Pete,” I said. “You’re all right, man. But you need to get rid of that stuff, I think.”

  His eyes glazed over. “No shit, dude,” he said. “High fructose bullshit, man.”

  The notion that there was someone out there in Golem Creek selling monster-trance drugs made my skin crawl. If those sigils in the well had been placed intentionally by the Monster Squad in order to keep the demons from getting to the surface, then someone seemed to have found a way around it—human souls, maybe, acting as a way to bypass the supernatural alarms?

  I was just guessing, of course, but it wasn’t comforting either way.

  Someone started banging on the doors leading to the basement from outside.

  Pete seemed oblivious. “Could you get that for me, dude?” he asked. “I don’t know about standing up right now.” He laughed briefly.

  I headed up the stairs. Daylight crept through the seam between the doors, which I unlatched and threw open.

  A man stood there nervously, dark hair, dark eyes, glasses. He was dressed simply in jeans, Tshirt, and black hoodie. I suddenly recognized some of Pete’s features—

  “Stek!” I shouted.

  He winced and put a finger to his lips. “Sh! Keep your voice down!” he said. “Come on. Let’s go get what you came for.”

  “How did you—” I started.

  “Never mind,” he said. “This is portal business. I’m in up to my goddamned neck, and we’ve got to make sure that your little prom queen doesn’t get anywhere near that one down in the Murk.”

  He started off toward the street. “Hang on, one second!” I whispered harshly. He stopped and stood there, looking at me expectantly. “Let me just grab my stuff!”

  I ran back down the stairs.

  “Is that Stek?” Pete asked. “Dude! Tell him to come on down—”

  “Uh, maybe some other time,” I said nervously. “I think he’s in a hurry.”

  Pete nodded. “Ten-four, dude,” he said. “You guys should totally come back over, though, later. I got that new VHS—”

  “Totally,” I said, running back up the stairs with my backpack. I shut the doors behind me.

  Stek was waiting impatiently across the street. “Stek, you’ve got to be more clear with me,”

  I said, jogging up to him. “I just came through Laban Black’s tomb—”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “And you were the only one with the Silver Key. So your two friends might be as good as dead.”

  I suddenly felt phenomenally stupid and terribly guilty. Julie...and Steve, of course. But Steve damned himself! Julie had tried to stop me...

  “How the hell were we supposed to know which portal to take?” I said.

  “It was a failsafe mechanism!” Stek said. “Whoever holds the key can take any one of them and be all right. But without the key, you just end up—” Stek interrupted himself. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

  “So why am I here, then?” I asked. He had started along a path between two houses. “I’ve got the key. Why aren’t I in Laban’s tomb, or whatever?”

  “You are,” he said, not turning around. “Please note that I am not looking at you. But I am aware, nonetheless, of the look on your face.”

  “I get it,” I said. “Being surprised at this point would be like being surprised that kicking a soccer ball makes it move.”

  “Basically,” he said. “I want to get out of here as much as—no, more than—you do. I got stuck here after I made the mistake of trying to figure out what the hell was going on in Golem Creek. That wasn’t very long ago—your time.”

  “So where are we going again?” I said.
>
  “Hey, I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You just follow along, do what I tell you when I tell you, and I’ll explain everything later. Okay? Does that sound fair?” He immediately began walking away again.

  I could sense his annoyance, but I wasn’t about to be brushed off.

  “No,” I said. I stopped walking. “I’m done with this mysterious bullshit. Where are my friends?”

  Stek started smiling as he turned back around.

  “Would it make you feel better if I just told you they’re dead?”

  I looked him directly in the eyes. “No,” I said. “Are they?”

  “Let’s go ask the Fairy Queen,” he said.

  We had taken the back way to Molly Furnival’s house.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you go around front and knock.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Molly?”

  Stek nodded. “Who better, right? Who did you think that creature at Amanda’s party was trying to capture and carry off, anyway?”

  “Not Molly,” I admitted. “And how the hell would you know that? Has that party even happened yet in this timeline?”

  “Oops,” he said. “Forget I said anything. Just go see if you can get her to take a walk with you down to the Murk.”

  “Creepy, a little,” I said.

  “No way, man,” Stek said. “Classic.” “Then what?” I asked.

  “Have her try a sip of this.” Stek handed me a miniature flask.

  “Oh, Christ, Stek,” I responded, holding the flask in front of me like a dead fish. “You want me to rufie her?”

  “Elf-rufie, man!” Stek objected strenuously. “Or fairy. Whatever.” He waved to the house. “Go, already.”

  I held out the flask to him. “I am morally incapable of this,” I said. “Besides, she’s not going to drink it.”

  Stek hesitated. “Fine,” he said. “It’ll be a last resort. Just keep her busy, then, for about twenty or thirty minutes. But if she starts acting all crazy, like she really needs to get back to the house, you must make her drink that. Throw it at her if you have to.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because her parents—or those two mortals she’s co-opted into being her parents—are both at their normal, boring jobs right now,” he said. “And I have to break in and rob them.”

  Stek refused to speak further on the matter. “I’ll explain everything later, man,” he promised. “Just keep her busy. And like I said, do not let her return to the house until you get my signal.”

  I shoved the flask into a side pocket on my backpack, resigning myself to the situation. “Whatever, man,” I said. “What’s the signal?”

  “I’ll make it obvious, whatever it is,” he said, “but I’ll have to improvise based on how the burglary goes. Now hurry up!”

  He literally shoved me toward the house. I turned and trudged around the side, noting the neatly trimmed shrubbery that lined one edge of her property. I could see the windows of her house up above. Perhaps...that one was her room? Light pink drapes, some books, page-edges out, facing the glass. The house was built into the ascending curve where Willow Street turned into Cresthill. She literally awoke to a view of her entire neighborhood, and part of the forest beyond, sprawling beneath her.

  Like a queen and her kingdom, I thought. I had moved beyond the point of questioning things much further—Molly, some type of Fairy Queen? Of course, it seemed perfectly possible—to me, like storybook stuff, but—

  “See anything you like, Charley?”

  It was Molly. At her mailbox. Gazing back at me, as I gazed up into her bedroom window.

  “Ah!” I exclaimed. Think fast, man! “Molly! I’m so glad to run into you! I was just taking a walk—”

  “Through my backyard?” she said. I noticed that she was grinning, at least. That had to mean something.

  I stopped moving. This would have to be good. “Yes, Molly, that’s correct,” I said. “I figured

  the best way to ask you out on a real date would be to skulk like some kind of weirdo through your backyard. Maybe leave terribly ambiguous messages written in ketchup on your back porch. Like: ‘See you around, babe.’ That would be a good one to start out with.”

  Molly’s grin widened into a smile, then laughter. “I’m eager to read your work, Charles,” she said. “In the meantime, I was about to walk down to Tanya’s. We’re going to Amanda Whitfield’s party. You want to tag along?”

  Amanda Whitfield’s...?

  Sure, why not. Head to the party three times in one night. Never thought to ask Pete what goddamned day it was. I should have known that I’d slip back in time again. What was it about Amanda Whitfield’s party? Was every goddamned portal in town geared to bring me back to that fucking party?

  The point was to keep her away from the house, which she was leaving anyway. Thanks, Stek. At least maybe this time I could be positively sure Molly didn’t get eaten by a demon...which was going to be partially possessed by Pete Jarry...

  “Absolutely,” I said, trying to hide my rising anxiety. If I had perfect timing—perfect timing—I might be able to kill two birds with one stone. Or, rather, not kill them.

  Molly held out her hand to me. “Come on! Have you seen the view from the top of Cresthill?”

  It was GLORIOUS. I needed no sun, and all lights paled, mere imitations of her radiance. I could barely contain effusions of adoration, except for silence in favor of her voice, even her footsteps, which sounded like orchestrations beautifying the trees, the flowers, the—

  Had I fallen asleep?

  The sun had set. Moonlight glinted off the tops of trees visible on Chicken Hill across the valley of Golem Creek. I awoke with a start, and could barely eliminate the absurd smile plastered on my face, even as rampant anxiety kicked in.

  I was supposed to keep her from going back home—

  I sat up straight. I lay in a little copse of trees at the top of Cresthill Drive, which I could see down a slope just in front of me. I could also smell wood burning, and as I stood up, I noticed flashing lights and flickering tongues of flame arising some distance off.

  Molly’s house.

  By the time I got to the end of Cresthill, what with firetrucks and a thronging chaos of people, I knew there wasn’t much of a chance that either my mission here—whatever the hell that was—or Molly’s comfortable little bedroom had survived.

  I detoured and headed back to Pete’s.

  “He didn’t have to burn the place down!” In a harsh whisper, I confronted Pete, who had somehow made it onto his roof. He stared in the direction of the smoking remains of Molly’s house, entranced.

  “No shit, right?” he answered. Pete proceeded

  to descend from the roof via a half-concealed ladder leaning against it to one side.

  “Where the hell is Stek?” I demanded. “I mean, did he get what he needed, or what?”

  I followed Pete around the side of his house back to the basement doors, where he waved me into the basement proper, then closed the doors behind us. Stek sat on the floor of the basement with what appeared to be a miniature distillation train laid out before him.

  “I got it!” he exclaimed, standing up as Pete and I entered the room.

  “Got what, exactly?” I asked, gazing at a fluid— dark, yet somehow iridescent, like motor oil in sunlight—piping through a condenser tube into a flask.

  “The stuff, man! The Witch’s Wine!” Stek said, waving a hand toward the setup on the floor. The Bunsen burner beneath a boiling flask at one end seemed to flare up a bit at that moment, as if waving at us. Pete sauntered off to the inner stairs and up to the house proper, typically unfazed.

  Despite its appearance, the “stuff” gave off an odor reminiscent of cake frosting or Pixie Stick dust. “That’s wonderful, Stek,” I said, unsure of what it was or why he needed it. “But was
it absolutely necessary to burn down Molly’s house to get it, man? And speaking of which: where the hell is she, anyway?”

  Stek was shaking his head, and had returned to his position, seated cross-legged on the floor, attending to each drip and drop of the Witch’s Wine. “That was her decision, dude,” he said. “I didn’t burn the place down. She did. Which wouldn’t have happened, of course, if you had done your fucking job.”

  I was taken aback. “My job? What the hell do you mean?”

  “You were supposed to keep her away from the house while I was in there,” he responded. “I give you the benefit of the doubt, however. It’s not like you have any practice in dealing with the fascinations and glamors of Fairy Queens.” Stek shook his head. “Which doesn’t really matter now, does it, since we got the stuff !”

  “She burnt down the house?” I repeated, ignoring most of everything he had said.

  Stek nodded and gazed back up at me, retrieving a bent box of Marlboros from his shirt pocket. “Mm-hm,” he confirmed. “She totally flipped out. Eyes flaming and all that. Her attempt to kill me resulted in some bad-assery on my part,” he smiled broadly, “and her failure to either do so or stop me from getting the stuff.”

  “So Molly Furnival, the Fairy Queen, was hiding this magic potion in the house she shared with two unwitting mortals,” I summarized. “Can you maybe tell me, Stek, why we couldn’t just ask her for the damned stuff?”

  Stek shook his head. “No way,” he answered. “First of all, fairies? They don’t give shit away. It would have cost like a billion dollars or my soul or something like that. Second, the whole point is to keep shit like this from people like us.”

  “Maybe she’d understand if we explained it to her?” I suggested.

  “No fucking way!” Stek insisted. “She already knows what this could be used for. Mortals? We’re just fucking nuisances. As far as most magical creatures are concerned, the job of humans is to fuck shit up and then beg for help—from them, mind you—when the obvious happens.” Stek sighed. “I totally get why you think we should have done it ‘the easy way,’ but I assure you: in the end, you and I are still humans. And to them, that just doesn’t count.”