Notes:
This is one of two stories I wrote for A Big Spooky Fan Zine. Be sure to check the rest of the collection for some amazing spooky works from other wonderful fandom creators :)
"Warlock … man," Adam implores, backing away, hands raised in surrender "... come on. You don't have to do this."
Warlock grins at Adam's trembling voice, his eyes wide with fear reflecting Warlock's triumphant grin.
"Yeah," he says, taking measured steps forward, eating up this moment. "I do."
A pack of five boys in costume creeps up behind Warlock like the jackals they are. They're not standing with him. They're there to ensure their plan goes off without a hitch. This initiation into their gang will not only provide them with a minion in Warlock, whose father's money and connections make the boy more valuable to them than Midas. But it will knock precious prince Adam Young off his popularity pedestal - a position he's held on to for far too long.
Adam looks from Warlock to his cronies closing in on him, taking their time since they know he's at their mercy. Talking will not help him, and he can't fight his way out. Six against one? The odds are not on his side. So he does the only thing he can do.
He runs.
He turns tail and bolts, feet inside his battered trainers pounding the pavement, lungs burning from the strain he's putting them through. But he has no illusions that he's getting away, even when he gains a considerable lead. He knows how this gang operates. They're herding him to one specific place: The Parsons House - an abandoned house at the end of this deserted lane; a monstrous, crooked, ramshackle nightmare overlooking the largest cemetery in their village. It's the oldest house in this corner of the countryside. A worn, wooden sign attached to a single post that no longer stands upright proclaims it to be so.
No one ever goes there, regardless of the fact that its last known owner, Emily Parsons, lived for over eighty-three years inside, all alone, until the day she died of old age. But it's been said that her frail body can be seen hanging from a noose in the upper attic window, leading to speculation by local townsfolk that the story of her dying peacefully in her sleep may be nothing but a tall tale.
This gang of boys (sans Warlock) have done this before - chased some poor, frightened soul that they hate to the house and forced them inside …
Kids that never came back to school, who were never heard from again.
In an act that could be described as simultaneously brave and stupid, Adam heads for the house, leaps over its rickety fence, and runs straight for the stairs.
All six boys crow when they see him skid to a stop at the base of the porch.
He's right where they want him.
Whether he goes in himself or they grab him by his arms and legs and toss him in, he's going in that house.
"Go on then!" one of the boys yells. "Get yer bony arse in there!"
The boys cackle, lending further to the impression that they are hunchbacked, sharp-toothed predators.
"And what if I don't?" Adam calls over his shoulder, not fully facing them. Keeping his back turned to this lot is just as foolhardy as seeking safety inside this house, but he can't turn his back on the house either. It has an essence - something he can feel deep inside his body, into the marrow of his bones.
"I don't see you have much of a choice," a different boy yells. "One way or the other, yer going in there. It just depends on whether you're walking in or crawling in on two broken legs!"
Adam looks at the boys, stopped by the fence, with a slight smirk and a furrowed brow.
"How on earth am I supposed to crawl anywhere on two broken legs?" he asks.
"I …" The boy who made the original comment chokes on the rest of his sentence, realizing then how much that threat doesn't make any sense. "I don't know! You're just gonna!"
"Adam … buddy …" Warlock grips the pointed tops of the fence posts and leans over "… my friends here are going to make sure you get into that house one way or the other. So you might as well get it over with."
Adam answers Warlock's comment with a hard swallow. He doesn't honestly believe those boys are going to grab him up and toss him into the house. They're too scared to even come past the fence, standing just beyond the splintered pickets, dressed in an array of stereotypical monster costumes – a werewolf, a vampire, a mummy, Frankenstein's monster, and a ghost – each one blocking Adam's escape.
Warlock is the only one among them not wearing a costume, opting for slate gray trousers, a white button-down, and the thick, navy wool coat he wears for school. With the exception of being only twelve, he looks, for all intents and purposes, like he's going on a job interview.
Just an everyday average Joe.
That's because, he'd explained, serial killers blend in, look like everyone else.
In reality, Adam has the upper hand. He should run inside and hide.
It's a good plan.
A reasonable plan.
A solid plan.
So why doesn't he make his feet go?
He searches for a weapon since it seems that fighting might become an option.
The house shifts on its foundation when a particularly forceful breeze passes through it. Adam eyes the graying wood slats falling from the siding, dusty windows clattering while shutters swing off their hinges, smacking dully against one another.
A rock flies in out of nowhere and strikes Adam on the shoulder. He stumbles forward onto the first creaky step. He glares at the house, as if of all the people there meaning to do him harm, it's the house that decided to throw the first punch.
But it wasn't the house.
He knows it wasn't.
And the stakes in this game of cat-and-mouse have just gone up a notch.
"Go on already!" the boy dressed as a mummy yells, tossing a second rock straight up and catching it as it comes down like he's warming up for baseball practice. "We haven't got all night! We still have egging to do!"
"Well, why don't you go do that and come back? I promise I won't go anywhere."
Adam ducks in time to miss the rock whiz by his head, coming close enough to nick his left ear.
"No more jokes, Adam!" werewolf boy growls. "You either go inside and take your chances, or we pound you into the dirt!"
Adam looks at the faces around him – mean, unfriendly, shrouded by masks and makeup, which makes these boys feel braver.
It also makes them more dangerous.
But they're far from anonymous. Adam knows who the boys are underneath their masks. The vampire is Vince: the leader of the gang and the eldest, having retaken two grades twice. The werewolf is his younger brother, David. The mummy is Troy, their best friend from birth. Frankenstein's monster is Leroy, and the ghost, in his thin white sheet, hiding him from absolutely no one, is Devin.
Yes, Adam knows them. He knows an awful lot about them, really. They've lived in the same village together their entire lives. They've been to each others' houses at one point or another, hunted for eggs in the courtyard of the church every Easter till they were ten. But he doesn't appeal to them. Because somewhere down the line, they changed. Rumors about them run rampant all over town. Outlandish rumors.
Still, Adam is far from impressed.
But Warlock … Adam had had high hopes for him. But Vince and his merry band of delinquents got their hooks into him.
Now, it might be too late for both of them.
Adam looks at the four short stairs leading to the porch. He knows the devils that wait for him if he doesn't go up those stairs. He might as well try his luck contending with the unknown.
As a former Antichrist, a murderous spirit might be easier to reckon with.
He climbs unsteadily to the second step, ticking it off in his head.
Three more to go.
Somewhere above him, a shutter slams, causing him to skip step three and fall face-first onto step number four.
In the space of a second, he went from starting to nearly done.
He lifts a foot and plants it on the stair beneath him, raising himself up slowly as the plank bends in the middle. He brings his other leg up to the fourth step.
One more, and he'll be standing on the porch.
Another breeze blows. The front door swings open, making all the kids present jump. Adam finds himself at a crossroads.
Whether he likes it or not, there's only one way out of this.
He can't make it past. He has to go through.
Adam flies into the house, the front door slamming shut the second he's inside, as if receiving him.
Or swallowing him.
Then … everything grinds to a halt.
The wind ceases to blow.
The shutters hang limply, no longer bang.
The house stops its listing.
And from the pits of the boys' stomachs to the tips of their toes, the earth stops spinning.
"What … what just happened?" David asks in a hoarse whisper.
"I think he went in there," Leroy says.
"Went in, or was pushed?" Troy asks.
"Who would have pushed him? We're all out here! Not a one of us has moved!"
"Maybe it wasn't us," Devin offers.
"Who was it then? Who was it!?" Troy asks, becoming unhinged. "Tell me!"
The sound of Adam screaming silences their arguing.
"Help! Help me! Vince! Troy! Devin! Warlock! Help me!"
"A … Adam?" Leroy says. "Is that …?"
"Yeah," David answers quietly. "Yeah, that's …"
"David! Leroy! Please!"
The boys have heard kids scream in this house before. And they've enjoyed it. It's part of what they live for, why they do this every Halloween. But something about the way Adam is screaming is different. He isn't just begging for help.
He's calling out to them, each one by name.
Not only is it unsettling to hear Adam's fearful voice calling for them, the thought of this house knowing their names sends chills up each of their spines.
Except for Warlock, who looks bored out of his mind.
Silence falls over the house again. A silence that drags on by the skin of its teeth and goes on for far too long.
Right when three of the boys summon up the courage to organize a search party, they hear another scream, this one worse than the last.
Adam again, but his screams have changed.
He's beyond asking for help, gone from panicked, to bloodcurdling, to strangled, as if someone is pouring cupfuls of sand into his mouth. Above the sound of Adam choking for air comes a hollow, evil laugh, rising in volume and pitch, echoing around the walls and shaking the whole house.
"Vince!" it mimics, chuckling in between. "Troy! Devin! Warlock! David! Leroy!"
The boys stand up straight when they hear it, stepping back as the sound grabs at their insides and squeezes tight.
"We … we should go check on him … maybe?" Devin suggests.
"Yeah," Leroy agrees. "Why don't you go ahead and check on him, Vince?"
Vince glares at the boys flanking him side-to-side. "Nu-uh! I'm not opening that door for shite!"
"This was your brilliant idea!" Devin argues. "You're the one who wanted to bring him here, despite the fact that we could end up dead! Or worse!"
"What's worse than dead?" Vince asks.
"My mum could find out! I could be grounded till I'm married!"
Vince's eyebrows snap in the middle. "B-but … you're gay!"
"Marriage equality exists, Vince!" Devin crosses his arms. "Don't be an arse, all right?"
"Point is," Troy intervenes, "this was your plan from the start, so you should go check on him! Man!" He kicks at the pebbles beneath his feet. "I just want for one year to get some tricks or treats! I'm so tired of this shite!"
"Same here!" Leroy chimes in.
The five boys bicker back and forth. Warlock watches, gaze bouncing between them like he's at a football match - a dull football match, one destined to end in a stalemate. He rolls his eyes.
He's definitely done with this.
"Oh, I'll do it!" Warlock says, blowing through the lopsided gate and trudging up the steps. "Ya bunch of pansies …"
"Yeah," Vince says, visibly relieved. "Yeah, Warlock should go. It's his initiation."
"Oh, shut the eff up!" Troy says, unamused.
Warlock stomps up the stairs without a care, daring whatever is in the house that grabbed Adam to grab him as well. "Adam!" he yells, hand cupped to the side of his mouth to ensure he can be heard. "Adam! Where the hell are you?"
When Adam doesn't answer, Warlock does the unthinkable.
He knocks on the front door.
The gang takes another step back.
"A-dam!" Warlock calls in a teasing, sing-song voice. "Come out here, ya coward! You trynna pull one over on us? Well, it won't work. I'm gonna count to five, and then Vince is gonna come in and beat the crap out of you!"
"What!?" Vince yelps, his next step backward twice the size of the rest. "Oh, heck no! No no no no no no no!"
Warlock stops knocking. He puts an ear to the door. The boys watch, completely engrossed but prepared to run if anything else should happen.
If anything should eat him, then come for them next.
"Well?" Leroy calls up after a minute. "Do you hear anything?"
"I hear … something," Warlock moves his ear from the center of the door to the seam. "It sounds like a …"
"Like a what? Like a what?" Troy screams, one creaky floorboard away from losing it entirely.
"I don't know," Warlock says, "but it sounds kind of like a … a …"
"A …?"
"... a … burp."
The boys stare at one another, expressions wasted underneath their disguises.
"A burp?" David says. "Warlock, man! I'm gonna …"
The door breaks off its hinges and flies over their heads. The five boys duck down to avoid being beamed. When the coast is clear, and the cacophony of the door cartwheeling down the street dies down, they stand back up and look to the spot where Warlock had been standing, hoping to get an answer …
… but he's not there anymore.
Not a scrap of him.
The gaping doorway stands open like a giant mouth breathing in the twilight air.
And Vince can't stand it anymore.
"Warlock! Adam!" he bellows, then waits for an answer. When he doesn't get one, he leaps over the fence and storms up to the house. "WARLOCK! ADAM! Come on out, all right? This isn't funny anymore!"
Vince isn't necessarily concerned with whether or not Warlock or Adam is alive or dead. He's much more concerned with his sanity. He's been to this house dozens of times, and nothing even close to this has ever happened. They have to be making this up. They had to have gotten together before tonight and planned on pranking him, probably hoping to see him mess himself.
Well, that's not gonna happen!
He makes his way to the doorway with none of his gang behind him. He leans in, looks left and right.
"Warlock?" he calls out. "Adam? Where are you guys?"
He turns back to his crew, all of whom have migrated further down the walkway, preparing to run for their lives.
"They're not … they're not in there," Vince says.
"You're going to have to go inside then."
"No way! Fuck that!"
"Vince …!"
"Don't Vince me! They went into that house on their own! Ain't no one to blame for that!"
"Adam went in because we threatened him!" Leroy points out.
"He wouldn't have even come here if Warlock hadn't invited him," Vince counters.
"We helped! That makes us accessories!" Devin argues.
"Accessories?" Vince snickers. "What? Are you a solicitor now?"
"Just get in there, Vince!" Leroy says. "Or are you chicken?"
"I'm not chicken! I'm smart! I'm not gonna go in there and die because of fucking peer pressure, and not a one of you can make me!"
A tortured howl shakes the loose boards on the house, pulling the boys' attention. But it doesn't sound like Adam this time.
It sounds like Warlock.
"H-holy shit! Holy shit! Vince!" David yells, pointing at the house.
Pointing at Adam, standing in the doorway, two feet in front of Vince, his shirt front drenched in blood. None of the boys can tell if that blood belongs to him or not. Not even Vince, looking him dead in the eye.
But he doesn't look too much worse for wear.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Vince cries, stumbling backward, missing the stairs altogether and falling straight off the porch onto his tailbone. He lands with a resounding thud, sprays of liquid hot pain shooting up his back.
"What … what happened to you, A-Adam?" Leroy asks.
"I was given a choice," Adam growls in a new voice as he steps out onto the porch. An inhuman voice. "To submit … or die. And I chose …" He lifts his arms and his body follows, rising into the air above the boys' heads as Adam grins down at them "… to conquer."
"Wh-where is Warlock?" David asks.
Adam laughs. "You mean him?" With a sweep of his arm, the limp body of a young boy flies out one of the windows, landing on the ground inside the fence. The five boys scream, staring into the open and unseeing eyes of Warlock Dowling, his face ashen, his mouth opened wide, locked in a horrified scream so that the only conclusion they can come to is that he was literally scared to death.
"L-let's get out of here!" Leroy yells.
"Oh …" Adam chuckles "… you're not going anywhere. You're staying here … with us!"
"U-us?" Troy whimpers. "Who's us?"
A fist busts through the floorboards of the porch, then an arm clad in rags and the shredded remains of what was once a flannel shirt. Another hand emerges, clawing through the wood to hoist up the rest - the head and torso of a corpse tearing themselves from the earth to do Adam's bidding. Adam's eyes - blistering red orbs glowing in their sockets - stare down at his tormentors, so frightened for their lives, they can barely scream. Vince scuttles backward to avoid the eruption. A hand explodes through the dirt beside him, grabbing hold of his ankle, and Vince launches to his feet. He manages a shrill wail as he flips over the gate and sprints off down the street, his four compatriots hot on his heels, one urinating noticeably.
Not until the boys are out of sight does Adam begin to laugh in earnest, his body lowering to the ground, carried gingerly by angelic power. He looks down as the glamour fades – the stain withdrawing, his eyes returning from the spell that made them transform. He pulls at the hem of his shirt, watching as the last remaining blood disappears from the fabric.
Warlock climbs up off the filthy ground. He was never really hurt, helped out the window and through the air by demonic intervention. "That was fun."
"Better than what we did last year," Wensleydale groans, clambering out of his hole in the porch.
"Hey!" Brian yelps, pulling off his sweaty mask and sucking in a breath of fresh air. "Last year's costume contest was epic!"
"That's because you won it!" says Pepper, pulling off her own oppressive mask.
"Yeah. And that was because your mum was one of the judges!"
"Doesn't mean I didn't have the best costume!"
"Don't you children think that was a little much?" Aziraphale asks, walking out on to the porch from where he and Crowley had been hiding in the living room, peeking out through a downstairs window. He'd disapproved of this scheme from the start, back when the Them found out what those bullies were concocting for Halloween night, how they had strong-armed Warlock into helping them. "Wouldn't it have been better to approach their parents about their brutish behavior?"
"Nah," Crowley says, slipping an arm around his husband's waist. "Woulda done no good. Most of the time, the parents are no better than the kids. Who d'ya think the blighters get it from?"
"Isn't this all going to be moot when they find out that Adam hasn't been possessed by the devil, and Warlock did not, in fact, get devoured by bloodthirsty zombies?" Aziraphale asks, grimacing at the absurdity.
"No," Adam assures him, "because no one is going to find out until school on Monday after they've already called everyone they know and told them about it. I can't imagine the amount of trouble they're going to get into!"
"Yeah!" Wensleydale agrees. "Look at all of the rules they're breaking! Bullying, assault, trespassing. With any luck, they'll get grounded for life!"
"Or at least three months." Aziraphale shoots his husband a significant look that takes Crowley a moment to catch.
"Oh! Yeah, right." Crowley snaps his fingers, performing the truly demonic miracle of making sure five bastards get their comeuppance.
"Besides, something good is coming out of all this," Pepper reminds them. "Mrs. Parsons's grandniece will have a brand new house after we help get this wreck fixed up. It was nice of her to let us borrow it for the night. We must have sounded bonkers when we asked."
"Not at all. She understood," Aziraphale assures them. "She was glad that after years of people using her great aunt's house to scare people that someone asked permission for a change."
"I think things turned out exactly the way they were meant to," Pepper says.
"Yup!" Brian concurs. "Let the punishment fit the crime, I always say."
"When do you say that?" Wensleydale asks, beating dirt and cobwebs out of his ear.
"All the time," Brian argues.
"I've known you my entire life, and I've never once heard you say that!"
"Then you haven't been listening hard enough!"
"Pepper? Have you ever heard him say that?"
"Don't know. I tend to ignore every third word that comes out of his mouth."
"Ha-ha. Very funny."
"You were right, Warlock. Go big or go home," Adam says over the argument ensuing.
"Yeah." Warlock smiles at his new friends. They were never angry at him for the part he almost played in conspiring against their leader. They offered to help him out with no arguments given. It was Pepper's idea to pretend to turn into the undead. Brian got their costumes together. Wensleydale found out about Mrs. Parsons's grandniece and suggested they give her a call. Then they spent most of Halloween night hiding out in this creepy old house when they could have been roaming the neighborhood begging for candy.
But the best thing they did was let him join their group even though he probably didn't deserve it.
"We went big." Warlock smirks, watching the five boys clamor down the street and, unbeknownst to them, to a two-hour lecture and three months in solitary confinement. "Let's go home."