Station Anger Management by Shaymaa Abusalih

Coming to you live. On the scene and on your screen, it's – No. That was no good. From the sands to the stands, Lee Harper here with – Now that's just silly.

Lee turned around and faced her back to the mirror, a hairbrush clutched in both hands. She wore an old blue blazer and wasn't so sure who it belonged to – it was much too big to belong to Grandma Josie and Grandpa had only been known to wear the sweater vests Grandma knitted for him. Lee liked it enough to slip into it though. There was still the faintest scent of cologne on it, one she couldn't quite place. And after a minute or so of turning around to look at herself in the mirror, her imagination began to prance around in her brain and now she was NightVale's one and only female news reporter with the scoop! No, still no good, but she'd keep working on it.

She continued to turn around dramatically in the mirror until she decided it was about time she turned on the radio. Cecil was naming off this week's shades. Lee stuck her head out of the window and looked up at the sky, nodding in approval. Robin's egg it was. Once again, Cecil delivered.

School was out today for reasons quite obvious. The books stopped working, which Lee didn't see as much of an inconvenience, considering they only repeated the word "SUBMIT" over and over and over and over. Still, the school had its standards and the teachers, strict lesson plans to follow. Lee wasn't against it in the slightest. She had a mind's worth of witty one-liners, a mirror and an entire afternoon to herself.

Since the Glow Cloud's passing, Lee felt a sort of exuberance in her. Perhaps, it was the rush of having almost died that struck a new bolt of energy in her or maybe it was the simple fact that for the first time ever she was noticed and remembered by someone.

Every day on her walks to school and back, the Apache Tracker was there, standing on the other side of the road, stiff as a statue until Lee came passing by.

"Ish-kay-nay!" he'd call to her with a strong arm raised over his head. "Good today, Ish-kay-nay?"

And Lee, flustered each and every time into a shy blush would wave to him with a tiny smile and go on her way. With a nod, he would turn on his heels and stride, with feathers bobbing up and down, in the opposite direction towards town, only to return the next morning and do it again.

It made Lee feel special, important, like something. She wasn't so neutral any more, but in fact, happy – this was dangerous – and even a little bit more curious – which is exactly why the Tracker checked up on her every day to make sure she was "good". Lee, of course, did not know that – not that or the reason why. But she was blissful in her ignorance and went about her day pretending she were brave enough to be different, pretending to be brave enough to want to find answers.

"What do you think, Carlos?"

Carlos sighed, having been asked that question much too often. He saw no point in bringing a team along with him if they were just going to ask questions even he couldn't answer. Most of the time he didn't reply and some of the time he would only answer with some nonsense that would somehow become the basis for all the research done on the subject at hand.

"It might have to do something with the decline in the literate population Cecil mentioned this morning." Carlos said on an exhale, deliberately keeping his back turned to Edgar as he scanned the nearest bookshelf. "Maybe the books are upset that there aren't as many people around who can read them."

The library seemed the most reasonable place to investigate. The books that sparked could be found in Teen Fiction. The meat-smelling ones in Cooking and Culinary – naturally. Biting books were mainly Zoobooks and other prints concerning the animal kingdom. And the books that spouted puffs of lethal gas were the ones clustered in the back shelves marked, "Politics. Such evil, evil, politics".

Edgar stopped scanning the shelves on his side of the aisle and began to ponder on what Carlos had said.

"Hmmm." he hummed. "I think you might have something there. It would definitely be worth looking into."

There was the loudest thwack as the palm of Carlos's hand connected with his crinkled brow. He pushed thick, ebony locks from his face in an effort to contain his annoyance.

The hair tie alone was not enough to contain the thick cascades, leaving a few renegade locks falling repeatedly into his line of vision, while the rest flowed a little ways past his shoulders.

"Plan on getting a haircut soon?" Edgar smirked, noticing how often he repeated this motion.

Carlos looked at him but then turned away to hide the look of disappointment he was sure would begin to swim in his eyes.

He remembered fondly of drives he'd make out to his mother's house. The hours spent in the car, drumming on the steering wheel to his favorite songs. He'd pull up to the small, ageing house and there she would be – standing, readily at the door to plant warm kisses on each cheek and at the top of his head. She'd take him by the hand and have him sit and tell her of all his studies and work – even though she didn't quite understand any of it – while she fed him all those good things he loved to eat. Then, he'd take his chair and place it at the center of the kitchen and sit quietly as her small hands combed through his hair and the snips of the scissors lulled him into an almost sleep.

It had been a long while since he had been over for a haircut. And that old, ramshackle house lay empty. His mother had been resting for a little over a year now. He couldn't imagine a haircut without feeling her smallness behind him and hearing her hum something not heard anywhere else.

"There's a barber shop in town. Not half bad. Got my hair cut there last week." Edgar told him, adjusting a few knobs on his scanner.

Carlos snuck a glance in his direction. It was the first time he noticed Edgar's haircut. Bringing it up was probably some subtle way of making it known to him. But once the first day passes, complimenting on someone's haircut seems useless and shameful.

"It looks good." Carlos managed to say with guilt eating away at his voice.

Edgar made sure to look surprised and flattered and smiled, though sadness lingered in his eyes. "Thanks, man."

After careful consideration, Lee finally decided on an outfit to wear. She could admit that this reporting fantasy was getting a bit out of hand, but when living in a world where no one could see you, what's the harm in enjoying it sometimes?

She stomped around the backyard in her combat boots and blazer. And though she said nothing into the hairbrush-microphone, she made serious faces because the news was serious and should be taken very seriously.

After her backyard news coverage was covered, she was on the streets, looking for something interesting to report to an audience that was more real to her than she was to other people.

It was trash pick-up today and the streets were lined with trash cans and bags. Lee carefully stepped around those marked with red flags, just making out the slight indents of claws pressed into the black plastic of one bag. There was also a hiss, like a cat but not quite, coming out of it. She wasn't sure what to make of it and therefore could not report on it. She had to be a reliable resource after all.

"You should be hiding." a voice whispered in her ear. Lee stopped dead in her tracks. It came again. Through her headphones she could feel its heat, the dew that formed from that hot breath and the lips so rough and parched. "We told him we'd find you. He said you would hide. You should be hiding."

Fear weighed heavily on her, gripped her and pressed her into insignificance. She felt her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her throat clench. She was unable to breathe, unable to pull herself out from under this crushing fear. The whispers went on. Hands began to creep along her arms. No, not hands, but something else. Thick and curled. There were no fingers…

And then, there were. Strong fingers that gripped her shoulders and shook the terrible fear away just as they had on the day of the Glow Cloud. And like that day, suddenly there.

"Ish-kay-nay." the Apache Tracker barked at her. "You should be inside."

Lee had almost cried out and struggled a moment in his grip, but when she looked up into his hard eyes she was no longer afraid and had no knowledge of words other than, "I…"

"Home, Ish-kay-nay." he told her.

He spun her around and pushed her in the right direction, but she stumbled and fell to her knees. Her arms were held out in front of her as she stared down at the ink beginning to seep into her skin and stain it with the wild intertwinings of what looked like the very tentacles that tried to take hold of her just a few moments ago.

The Tracker stood over her, watching the tentacles dance, horrified, but knowing full well what they were. Today was the Day of Choosing. Evil somethings stretched out as far as Their eyes could reach, searching hungrily for precious flesh. These eyes cast with such intensity made the heart race and fear tear away at the mind. It had happened to everyone. For a short moment, everyone had eyes watching them. But they were not chosen. It was only a glance. Now, They had quickly found Their meal. And They had chosen Lee.

She frowned down at her arms and could only do that before she became lightheaded and fell into the Tracker's arms once again before hitting the pavement. Her eyes remained open and she saw nothing when he turned her over.

He shook her several times, trying to wake her but she did not. He heard laughter.

"You made such promises, such promises." They chanted. "To him, you made such promises. You failed. She is so ripe. So ripe. She is so ripe…She is ours."

As he clutched The Chosen, The Apache Tracker began to shake with fury. He had a chant of his own to sing, to whisper into the empty air around him. His eyes glowed like the fierce sun above them and the whispers were silenced.

"Never." he hissed at Them.

He rocked Lee in his arms, unable to wake her. He could only comfort her as her mind became a prison. Her body was still and cold as the markings continued to writhe across her skin.

They were right. He had failed. He meant to keep her safe. He meant to keep her away from such dangers, such thieves, such terrible fates.

There was so little time and he had yet to think of a plan.

The crippling sense of fear had passed and Telly stood, still shaking with a pair of rusty scissors in hand. He looked down in horror at the dark tuffs of hair at his feet, then into the eyes of his valued customer in the mirror.

The hair. The perfect, beautiful, luscious hair. The hair the shade of a romantic void. The hair that fell in cascades, swept into existence by a Muse's paintbrush. The hair that mingled with the starlight that streamed over his ears. The hair that had fell against his perfect face so many times a day. The hair that he would run his equally perfect hands through. Never to be touched by another. Never to be shorn. And yet, here Telly was, panicked and awestruck as though he had defaced the work of a god.

Carlos stared back, confused because it seemed that whatever horror had struck him a few moments ago had done the same to Telly. Although, it didn't seem to linger on as long as it did for him. And also, his head felt considerably lighter.

He carefully lifted a hand to the back of his head and felt the rough spot where the scissors had come too close. It was as though the sadness he felt in his heart had been cut away too. And though he could still feel where it had been, not much of it was there anymore.

Carlos loved his mother very much. It is often the case with men of his kind. He never had much to offer in friendships, he was never the type to actually catch a ball when it was thrown at him or even form a decent word when he came in contact with a special someone who made his heart flutter. But always, his mother thought him perfect, brilliant and dear. And for all that he knew, for all that he learned and studied, he never quite understood why. But as he sat there, rubbing the spot, he finally came to the conclusion that the reason was, she loved him too.

Those first precious locks were on the floor now. There was no turning back. It was time to move on.

"Well, Telly. I guess you might as well even it out."

The thing about a busy mind in a dark place is that everything becomes unnecessarily terrifying unfathomably quick.

Lee's mind was reeling and as she stood in the darkness that stretched on into eternity. She felt her heartbeat quicken and her warm breath turn to mist.

"She is so ripe." the whispers sang. "She is ours."

Lee whirled around to face the darkness behind her and then again, trying to follow the voices, but they came from nowhere. And yet, they were everywhere. So close, too close, too far away to see or touch.

"We will have her all to ourselves." They chanted. "Such plans for you, Chosen. Such plans."

Lee focused on her breathing and buttoned up the blazer to feel less exposed to the whispers in the dark and whatever belonged to those whispers.

Her courage was slowly bubbling to her slightly trembling lips. She didn't know where she was, why she was here, who had brought her to this place and how they had done it. And what plans? For once, she wouldn't just accept that things happened. She wasn't just going to sit in the dark and wonder. She wanted answers.

"Who are you?" Lee called into the void, her voice strong and direct.

"Who are you?" the whispers sang back to her.

Lee moistened her lips, squared her shoulders and tried again. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" They echoed again with laughter.

So, Lee asked again and again, remaining strong until the laughter began to grow and the question was still not answered. She slowly began to drown in the echoes, clutching her arms as she shook and shivered. Then, whispered, "Who are you?"

And again, a final time. Loud and yet so soft, so very soft, like a hiss from some fiery thing with red eyes, They asked. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Lee whispered to no one. "Who am I?"

And she sank to knees that were too weak to keep her standing. The whispers were silent as she asked a different question. But They were laughing in that silence at the silly, little girl, the speck of a girl, the bit of nothing in the darkness.

"Who am I?" Lee sobbed, holding fast to the body that might not have been hers or even there at all. "Who am I?"

She cried in the darkness, lonely but not alone. The question was never answered.

The day's end was drawing near. The Tracker stood over Lee as she lay on his cot, but the chants did nothing, his magic was no good. The markings would not recede and he felt Lee was fading away.

Lee twitched and sweat as she slept on, fighting against it as hard as she could. She was not strong enough. There was laughter in the air.

"Ish-kay-nay." he sighed after making his final attempt.

His shoulders slouched and his eyebrows were drawn together. After adjusting the lapels on her blazer, brushing the hair from her damp forehead and draping another blanket over her trembling body, he stood.

There was only one thing to do.

The last notes of today's weather faded into the silence. Cecil, with limbs pretzeled quite uncomfortably, was taking refuge beneath his desk. The show was nearly over, he only had to bear these terrors a moment more.

He signed off in a flurry of gasps and sobs, then, finally, he made a break for the door.

Everything rushed past him in a blur. The darkness swarming around the booth, the desk, the speakers. And when he was finally within reach of the door, a great big something was blocking his way.

The Apache Tracker.

"Oh, um – excuse me, do you mind moving away from the door?" he squeaked. "It's kind of urgent."

"Go with Them." said the Tracker.

Cecil felt his stomach churn, but he straightened his back and said shakingly, sternly, "If you don't mind, I've had a very long day and I'd like to go home now."

"They have her." the Tracker told him, his eyes heavy with worry.

"Who?"

"Them."

The Tracker then lifted a calloused finger toward the shadows tangled against the back wall of the booth. Their pursuit of Cecil had come to a halt when the Tracker arrived and now tentacles whipped in and out of sight, curling inwards as they shrank away from the Man. The Great Big Man.

Cecil felt he had no time to question this. Not when he hadn't yet gotten his answer.

"No, I mean, who do They have?"

"Ish-kay-nay."

"Um…okay. Well, I don't know what that means, so –"

"You will give yourself to Them. You always have. It is the way it has always been. Go with Them. Save Ish-kay-nay."

Cecil looked backed to his ominous superiors and then to the Tracker again. "Why me? Why not you?"

"They always take you. They take more and more and you forget." he said. "They fear me. I know who I am."

"What do They take?" Cecil breathed.

The Tracker said nothing for a long time. The booth would have been filled with silence had there not been the unbearable hissing and screeching of Station Management.

"You must go with Them."

"Please." Cecil begged. "I just want to go home."

And in that moment, Cecil and the Tracker met eyes with understanding, despite Cecil not being able to understand a bit of what was going on. They understood each other because in their eyes they saw the fear of life lost – that delicate weight in one's gaze that flowed in that space between hopelessness and pain.

Cecil only wanted to live another day. To come back to this booth with a smile on his face and do what he loved. The Tracker only wanted to fulfill a promise made so long ago. To stand across the street and watch the girl, Ish-kay-nay. Watch her grow and smirk and walk as she always did, because he was the only one to do that for her now.

The strength in his stance had melted. He stepped forward and looked down at the man who he had placed all his hope upon. The man who had known him and forgotten, just as Lee had. Without him, Ish-kay-nay would be lost and he would be without his purpose. His dark, endless eyes brimmed with tears.

"Save her." he demanded in a failing voice. "She is my Ish-kay-nay."

Cecil felt he was beginning to understand now, but there was no more the Tracker could say and no more that needed saying.

Cecil cast his eyes downward then, closed them as he stepped backward into the writhing darkness.

The Tracker stood there a long time, watching as the shadows twisted and curled around Cecil's body, caressing him with such delight, consuming him bit by bit and finally, swallowing him whole. He made not a sound and the hissing turned to whispers that began to laugh.

"He is so ripe." They sang.

And the Tracker chanted a blessing of thanks until the whispers stopped.

Lee was walking home from school the very next day. All was as it should have been. The sky was clear and a turquoise-taupe, the air was silent once again.

She came around the corner, her red headphones glinting in the sunlight. She was wearing the blue blazer she had found yesterday. It suited her well.

When he could no longer wait patiently for her to notice him, the Tracker raised an arm over his head.

"Good today, Ish-kay-nay?" he called to her.

"Good." she replied as she smiled and waved back, her arm pale and clear of markings. "But you can call me Lee, you know."

He gave his nod and turned on his heels, heading back toward home. He could not deny himself a smile as he walked.

Indeed, she was Lee, but she would always be his Ish-kay-nay.