Slasher Girls & Monster Boys

by April Genevieve Tucholke

  She waited one moment and then another, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration as she scoured the dim underbrush for a hint of those ears. Chillbumps started at her toes, overtaking the rest of her body in a slow wave.

  It was broken by the sound of the screen door slamming. “Cassidy Evans,” her mother called from the porch, “where have you been?”

  Hands trembling, Cassidy shook her head, walking backward toward the comfort of her mother’s voice. “Nowhere, Mama,” she mumbled.

  × × ×

  By the time she went to bed that night, she’d convinced herself she’d just imagined the March Hare. But every time she closed her eyes, she’d see him, until eventually the thought of it boiled through her veins, and she knew beyond doubt that he was there, watching her.

  She’d open her eyes to find her room empty, but that wasn’t enough. Her heart wouldn’t settle until she’d slipped from the bed and stolen to the window. Telling herself how ridiculous she was being, she’d tent back the edge of her curtain to reveal a sliver of night, and she’d scour the darkness for a dash of white that never appeared.

  Seventeen Years Old

  The side of the table bit into Cassidy’s hips and she pressed her palms against it, feeling the cut and swirl of wood grain as she lifted herself to sit. Jack took advantage of the new position, stepping between her legs. Lazily he slipped free the top button of her shirt and she leaned back, hands flat behind her, watching as he made his way down her abdomen, one finger trailing along her skin in his wake.

  Around them the thicket of forest hummed and sang of night: crickets with their sharpened legs, cicada wings buzzing, wind through pulp-heavy branches. The sound of their breaths tangled with it, became a part of it.

  When Jack pressed his lips to the base of her throat, Cassidy arched her back, watching the moon splay across her bare skin. Jack leaned over her then, hand firm between her shoulder blades as he pulled her to him. She went willingly, arms around his neck.

  With her chin on Jack’s shoulder, Cassidy could see behind him. Watch the starstorm of lightning bugs. The figure seemed to materialize out of nothing, all at once. A thickened shadow, well hidden except for the ears.

  She gasped, but Jack just took it as a sound of pleasure and he used the opportunity to dip his head lower. Giving her a full view of the March Hare and him a full view of her.

  It was her hands she didn’t quite know what to do with. In the end she held a forearm ineffectually across her chest, the fingers of her other hand reaching for the collar of Jack’s unbuttoned shirt. “Let’s get out of here,” she murmured to him.

  The March Hare circled silently just beyond the edge of the clearing. It seemed to Cassidy that his ears were duller now, the edges of them grungy and well worn. She couldn’t see his eyes, they receded too far into the darkness of the underbrush, but she felt them on her.

  Her throat tightened, breathing labored as though it were ten years ago and his hands still circled her neck, claws raking against the column of her throat. Each time she closed her eyes, she remembered the sight of the other girls arranged around the table, their rotting bodies so bloated under the early fall heat that their skin threatened to split.

  Jack continued to work on unbuckling her belt and she shoved her knee against his torso, knocking him off balance. “I said let’s go.”

  His fingers hesitated, but he didn’t release her. “Come on, Cassidy,” he said. “It’s still early.”

  She shook her head. In the periphery of her vision, she tracked the March Hare. Though she’d been back to the clearing a handful of times after she was rescued and the bodies were found a decade ago, she’d never seen the March Hare again. Not until tonight. She didn’t know what had changed—what was different—but the familiar wash of chills began its slow wave up from her toes.

  Jack blew out a frustrated breath. “I thought you were cool with this,” he said, and Cassidy wasn’t sure which part of this he meant: the fact that he was three years older than her and interested in nothing more than hooking up, or the fact that he’d brought her here because it would make a great story for him to tell his friends later.

  And maybe she had been cool with it all, despite what that said about her feelings of self-worth, but the addition of the March Hare changed things. “Yeah, well . . .” She grabbed the edges of her shirt, pulling them together as she pushed off from the table.

  Jack’s fingers closed around her forearm. “Cassidy—”

  She looked down at where he held her. The scars cutting around her wrists glowed white against the rest of her skin. In the darkness of the clearing it almost appeared as though fishing wire still bound her, causing her fingertips to burn.

  From the tree line she sensed movement, and when she glanced over she saw that the March Hare had taken a step closer. Perhaps Jack would have noticed as well, but he was too busy staring at her wrist. Whether he felt the force of her pulse, flashing in a warning, or whether he simply didn’t like the visceral reminder of her past, she didn’t know. Either way, he let go of her.

  Instead he danced the tips of his fingers under the edge of her shirt, up over her hip. He curled his touch, trying to bring her closer. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said, the words deep and low with a lift to the corner of his mouth.

  He didn’t seem to notice the irony that, of all the dangers in the clearing, he was the one she most likely needed protection from. There was a lot that Cassidy was willing to put up with in the guys she allowed to touch her: fumbling hands, impure motives, a subtle sort of pressure that bordered on uncomfortable. But stupidity was something she didn’t tolerate well.

  Rolling her eyes, she twisted away from his reach and stalked into the woods. “I’m going home.”

  Jack called after her. “Come on Cassidy, don’t be such a—”

  She whirled and glared at him, daring him to finish. Smartly, he swallowed whatever he was about to say next, but he did nothing to shutter his obvious irritation. He was someone not used to being turned down, especially by girls, and he remained in the middle of the clearing, obviously expecting her to return.

  Behind him, the March Hare stood at the edge of the tree line, like a ghostly echo of Jack hovering in the darkest shadows. They both watched her, waiting to see what she’d do.

  Though her estimation of Jack had taken a serious nose dive, he was still her neighbor and he deserved a warning. “Go home, Jack,” she told him.

  Now that she was no longer willing to put out, he was apparently done with her. “Screw you.” He flung his hands at her in dismissal before reaching into the crumpled paper bag at his feet and pulling out a beer. Popping it open, he hoisted himself up on the table.

  “Jack,” she warned. “It’s not safe.”

  In response, he raised the can toward her, as though in a toast. It was such a mockery that it caused a tremor to roll through her. Everyone knew about the way the bodies were found—the way she was found: posed like dolls with teacups tied to their fingers, hands lifted to mimic a toast.

  Hate and disgust spilled into her blood. She spun on her heel leaving Jack Marshall to whatever monsters roamed the forest.

  Seven Years Old

  Cassidy spent most of the next afternoon standing at the edge of her backyard, trying to find the courage to go farther. The crack of a stick snapping nearby caused her to jump and she whirled to find Tommy Marshall hopping the low fence that separated their houses. He was more than a year younger and a grade below her at school, but because they were neighbors and their parents were friends, he always seemed to be around.

  That didn’t mean she liked him. The girls down the street had taken to making fun of her whenever they saw her with him. Since then, she’d made it her mission to avoid him as much as possible.

  “You’ve been standing out here for ages,” he said.

  Cassidy placed her hands on her hips. “So
?”

  He came up beside her and stared into the forest. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.” She bit the word out.

  He crouched, poking through the grass until he found a slender stick. He bent it, testing how far it could go before breaking. “You wanna ride bikes?”

  “No.”

  Frowning, he bent the stick farther. “We could jump on the trampoline.”

  Cassidy let out a snort.

  “Or go down to the park and see if the ice cream truck is there.”

  Rolling her eyes, she scowled down at him. “I’m not hanging out with you, Tommy, and that’s that.” Then she stomped off into the forest.

  “Hey,” he called after her. “Where are you going?”

  She didn’t even bother looking back. “Somewhere you’re not invited!”

  But as she ventured deeper, her bluster began to fizzle until she flat-out regretted not allowing Tommy to come with her. He was a slower runner, she knew. If he were with her when they found the March Hare, he’d be taken first if they had to make a quick escape.

  The thought of him still sitting there at the edge of her yard, along with the memories of the girls down the street taunting her, propelled her to the edge of the clearing. There, she hesitated.

  “Hello?” It came out more a whisper than a shout. Her hands trembled and she shoved them into her pockets. But that just felt weird, so she took them out again. Swallowing, she stepped beyond the barrier of trees. Beneath her feet the grass bent without sound, dewy soft and plump from the recent rains.

  When she reached the table, she found the apron neatly folded as it had been before. The hat was also there, in addition to the Dormouse. The cups and saucers appeared to have been wiped clean. She found it difficult to breathe, ears straining for any unusual noise.

  She knew that if she ran then, she’d spend her whole life running. She had to prove to herself that she could control her mind. That it couldn’t throw dark thoughts at her and expect her to believe them as truth.

  Carefully, she took the apron and slipped it over her head. She ignored the tears in her eyes as she sank onto the stump at the head of the table. There she sat, trying to think of something to say.

  “Good day to you both,” she finally managed to squeak out. Neither the Mad Hatter nor the Dormouse responded. “Do either of you happen to have a story or a riddle perhaps?” she tried.

  Nothing. “Exactly so,” she finally sighed. She dropped her eyes to her hands, noticing that she’d been gripping fistfuls of her apron. Forcing her fingers to relax, she smoothed her palms over the material, now wrinkled and damp with sweat.

  When she looked up again, the March Hare was there. Inside, Cassidy felt like the whump of an atom bomb hitting the ground. Outside, every square inch of her skin tingled as though a million nerves had just sparked awake. Her legs twitched, wanting to run, but she forced herself to stay.

  As before, the March Hare hovered beyond the clearing’s edge, still shrouded by tree trunks and underbrush. He didn’t move toward her, nor did he back away. He merely stood there, fully visible. His hands hung limply by his sides, empty.

  “Good day.” She tried to put sound behind the words, but it wouldn’t come. He must have heard anyway, because he nodded, slender white ears bending forward and curling at the tips and then snapping upright again as he lifted his head.

  For the rest of the afternoon, he came no closer and she said nothing more. As evening hinted across the sky, she carefully lifted the apron over her head and folded it. Standing, she set it on her stump. For lack of anything else to say, she told him “Good day” again. Except this time there was force behind her voice.

  The March Hare raised a hand as if to wave. As calmly as possible, Cassidy turned and strode from the clearing. But with her back turned to him, the dark beat of her fears won out, and she was only a few trees deep into the forest before she turned to look back. He still stood there, hand raised, watching.

  That same wave of chills broke over her, and she ran all the way home.

  Seventeen Years Old

  Cassidy woke that night to someone tapping at her window. Through the billowing curtains, it was impossible to tell the shape of the figure outside, and her body went rigid with panic.

  The March Hare, she thought wildly, her heart skittering beyond control.

  But he’d never come to her house before—never stepped beyond the boundary of the forest. And when he did move, he was silent.

  She escaped from her sweat-soaked sheets and tore aside the curtain. Tommy hovered just outside, balanced on top of the trellis that covered the back porch.

  He gestured for her to open the window. Frowning, she complied.

  “I’ve been texting you,” he hissed.

  She glanced toward her desk, where the face of her phone glowed with a series of alerts. “My phone’s on mute. What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for my brother.”

  Instantly, her cheeks flushed. She hadn’t realized Tommy knew about them. It made her uncomfortable and she crossed her arms. “How should I know where Jack is?”

  He let out a frustrated sigh and for a moment she could see his brother in him—that same sense of disappointment with her. She ground her teeth.

  “He hasn’t come home yet,” he said. “And since you were . . .” He sort of moved his hand in the air, as if embarrassed to say it out loud. It was obvious he knew what kind of person his brother was—what Jack wanted, and got, from the girls he pursued. And it was also obvious he’d never expected Cassidy to be one of those girls.

  She looked over his shoulder to the woods, dark and tangled in the deep of night. She thought of Jack sitting on the table, lifting his beer to her in a toast, the March Hare in the forest behind him, and cursed.

  “Meet me at the edge of the yard,” she told him. Dropping the curtain, she pulled on jeans under her nightgown and grabbed the closest pair of shoes. Silently she slid her bare feet across the hardwood floors, easing down the stairs and out through the back door.

  Tommy waited for her by the woods. She was already running by the time she reached him, and she didn’t slow. He chased after her. “Wait, what were you doing out in the forest?”

  It was a stupid question and so she didn’t answer him. Though it was night, the moon was full and she knew these woods well. She weaved through the tree trunks, skirting and dodging brambles. Tommy didn’t fare as well, cursing and grunting as he tripped his way after her.

  When she neared the clearing, she stopped, pressing her hand against his chest to keep him from plunging forward. His heart raced. The sounds of the night had dimmed somewhat, nocturnal creatures buttoned up against their threat.

  “Shhh,” she whispered. He nodded, eyes wide. “Wait here.” She crept forward, feet soft against the ground. The clearing bowed open ahead of her, a wash of moon-dampened grass. There was no sign of Jack nor of the March Hare.

  She let out a trembling breath.

  Tommy brushed past her, breaking from the trees. She trailed after him toward the table. “Jack!” he called up to the sky through cupped hands. He spun, scanning the woods and calling his brother’s name again.

  Jack’s beers had been arranged around the table, one at each place. Four of them were empty, Cassidy noted, the other two unopened.

  Tommy had his fingers locked on top of his head, frustrated and concerned. “Is this where you saw him last?”

  She nodded. “A couple of hours ago.”

  “And you left him out here?”

  Whether there was accusation in his voice or not, it made Cassidy defensive. She crossed her arms. “I told him it wasn’t safe.”

  Tommy tensed. “Did Jack . . .” He hesitated. “Did he do something to you?”

  “Other than be a complete asshole?” She shook her head. “No.”

&n
bsp; “It’s not like you didn’t know that about him,” Tommy grumbled.

  The words sent fire down her spine, anger seeping out through her pores like sweat. But before she could reply, a flash of movement caught her eye. Two slender bands of white, curving into tips shifting in the darkness. It was the March Hare. Deep in the forest. He nodded to her, ears dipping forward.

  Cassidy cursed and took off running. By the time she reached the spot where he’d been standing, he’d disappeared. But it didn’t matter. She’d found Jack. He lay crumpled at the base of a tree, one side of his face already mottled with a bruise and dashed with cuts. His eyes fluttered, but didn’t open.

  “Jesus, Jack!” Tommy shouted, falling to his knees beside his brother. He reached for his shoulder, to turn him onto his back, but Cassidy stopped him.

  “Careful,” she said, gesturing to his leg. It was twisted at a horrible angle, something sharp pressing against the inside of his jeans. His foot was lodged in a hole, and she could feel shards of bone shifting under her touch as she worked to free him.

  Jack’s breathing, already rapid, increased in volume from the pain. “It’s okay, Jack, we’re here.” Tommy cupped the uninjured side of his brother’s face.

  Together, Tommy and Cassidy were able to pull Jack up, one of his arms over each of their shoulders, and start for home. “He must have tripped and fallen against the tree,” Tommy said, glancing back at where they’d found his brother. “Maybe he got lost trying to get home.”

  Cassidy pressed her lips together for a moment before finally answering, “Exactly so.”

  Seven Years Old

  Again and again she returned to the clearing to throw wild imaginary tea parties, but the March Hare never stepped from the tree line.

  He never came closer and he never uttered a word. But he was always there, watching.

  Thus began her renewed obsession with all things Alice in Wonderland. On rainy days, it was the only movie she clamored to watch. At the library, it was the only book she’d check out. And so it was unsurprising when, at the end of the summer, her mother suggested an Alice in Wonderland tea party for her eighth birthday.