Horror Girls

by Jackson Dean Chase

  “You must have really loved her.”

  “Nancy was my whole world,” Jud said. “I meant to take her to Mount Saint Helens to see the volcano, but the Black Hills is as far as we got. I reckon we'll move on soon.”

  “I wish I could move on.”

  The song ended. The record hissed and popped as the storm grew worse.

  A thought sprang into my head: If Nancy died in 1976, that meant Jud was over a hundred, but he didn't look any older than Grandpa Paul. A shiver passed through me. “I, uh, hope you don't mind my asking, but how old are you?”

  “Old,” Jud said. “Older than some, and younger than these hills. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Sarah. Tell me what it's like to be young and full of hopes and dreams. Tell me what my Nancy would say if she were alive!”

  The firelight danced in his eyes, made them sparkle crimson and gold. I made a nervous sound and tried to look away, but his eyes held me fast, told me to forget about him dragging his granddaughter's bones around for decades, or how old he was. None of that mattered.

  So I told Jud about my life, the distant good and recent bad. How one wrong decision had led to so many more, and how I never meant for it to be that way, and I'd change if only I knew how.

  Jud nodded and stroked his beard. With each word, I could see him growing more emotional, more protective of me. And it felt right. It felt good. Not just to have someone listen, but to understand and want to help.

  It was like having Grandpa Paul back. We talked long into the night until I grew so sleepy I could barely keep my eyes open.

  “So now you know everything,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Pathetic, huh?”

  “Not at all. Listen to me, Sarah. You don't have to be that girl anymore. You don't have to live that life, those sour times. You never have to see those people again.”

  “How?” I asked. “It's impossible! I'm trapped for another two years 'til I graduate. Two more years with my name being dragged through the mud before I can get away. And to where? It's not like I can forget the things they called me or erase the whole internet. I'll always be a slut.”

  “You're not a slut,” Jud said, his voice firm. “You get that foolishness out of your head.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “Because of the regretful way you talk, by how deeply you feel. You loved unwisely, that's all. That ain't no crime. My Nancy was the same, but she never had the chance to change her lot. You do, Sarah.”

  The old man's eyes shone fierce and full of love. The way Grandpa Paul used to look at me, the way I wanted to be looked at. I could tell Jud needed to be my grandfather more than anything else in the world. He wanted to take my pain away, to give me the second chance no one else would, and all I had to was let him…

  This is crazy, I thought. Some distant part of me was screaming to get away, to run—but to where? And why, when Jud was offering me what Mom and Dad couldn't? What no one else was willing to give: a second chance.

  I felt an impulse to surrender, but it was also a choice, one I sensed I could refuse. I didn't want to. I wanted to look into Jud's glittering eyes, those ancient, drowning eyes that pulled me in and sucked me under. I was falling out of myself into a shared madness.

  “Sarah,” Jud hissed. “Let me be your family. Let me share with you the love that cannot die, the night that never ends. It is my gift, my promise…”

  The breath caught in my throat as Jud caught my face in his cold, cold hands. “What is it?” I begged, my eyes searching his. “What can you give me?”

  “Love,” Jud bent my neck to the side, so gentle yet cruel. “Escape! It all begins with a kiss. Don't you see? We don't have to be alone anymore. We can have each other, Sarah. Forever…”

  “Yes,” I whispered, knowing there would be no walk back to town in the morning, no more days of pain and loneliness, no harsh words or awkward dates. There would be safety. Family. Love.

  Jud's lips drew back, revealing the ivory fangs that explained everything. They sank into my neck, and soon the cabin was filled with a new sound: the sweet, tender sucking and the darkness rushing in…

  Chapter 3: AWAKENING TO EVIL

  When I opened my eyes, I knew Jud wasn't crazy, not anymore than I had been for believing him. We were in his bedroom. It was windowless, with a bare, dirt floor, and a dresser shoved against the door. He'd dug me a shallow grave and covered it with earth so only my face stuck out.

  I was aware of being cold, and thirsty, but not lonely. Not anymore. Jud and I were connected now, not only by blood, but by some incredible telepathic bond:

  Father. Grandfather. Friend.

  I couldn't see him, but could feel him lying near me in his coffin. I sat up and crawled to him, scratching the coffin lid and calling his name softly, like a prayer. “Grandpa Jud? You awake? It's me, Sarah.”

  The lid opened as if by some unseen hand, and Jud was inside, grinning up at me. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Reborn. How do you feel?”

  My hand fluttered to the twin holes in my neck, the skin of my arm pale-white, almost glowing. “Different,” I said. “Thirsty.”

  “Then drink.” He handed me his flask.

  I tipped it back and let the thick liquid drip down my throat. Each drop exploding my senses, making me shudder in ways no boy ever could. I drained the flask, then shook it, disappointed there wasn't more.

  Jud said, “We need to hunt. Blood's better when it's fresh, and I bet you've got an idea where to start.”

  “Jim Nash,” I said. “We start with Jim Nash…”

  MY PHANTOM LOVER

  My phantom lover comes to me.

  Lips like razors kiss my soul,

  hungering for that secret part of me

  the one I hide from myself—

  the one it wants most of all.

  THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE WORLD

  Everyone wants to be loved, but sometimes, we go too far to find it and fall in love with the wrong people. People who may not love us back, or not in the way we need. We're all likely to have at least one bad relationship like that, but what if the “wrong people” we meet aren't people at all? What if they're something else… something supernatural?

  Chapter 1: Monday, September 2nd

  Dear Diary,

  It's official: I suck!

  Today was my first day of high school, but it might as well have been my last. Nobody talked to me, nobody looked at me. Especially not any guys. I don't know why I thought things would be different from middle school. It was easier to be an outcast then, the nerdy girl who buried her nose in books. I didn't have all these feelings—all these desires—at least not the way I do now.

  Books aren't enough for me. All the Mr. D'Arcys, Heathcliffs, and Romeos can't hold me, can't take me parking at the Point. Fantasy only gets you so far in life. Even I know that.

  Still, it's hard to find love when you look like me. I know I'm not ugly (well, not hideous), but let's be honest: My nose is too big, my lips too thin, and I can't do a thing with my hair. My boobs aren't big, but the rest of me is, only it's more lumpy than curvy. You know how some girls have a few flaws, like a weird mole, chicken legs, or whatever? Well, I've got nothing but flaws, except in my soul. That's the most beautiful part of me, only no guy can see it.

  Mom says I'm a late bloomer, that someday I'll come into my own, but I know she's just saying that to make me feel better. Because Mom's still waiting to bloom herself, and if she hasn't done it by forty, what chance do I have?

  Chapter 2: Wednesday, October 1st

  It's been a whole month now, Diary, and I still haven't made any friends. I even have to sit by myself at lunch. Maybe I'm doomed to be a weirdo forever.

  Don't tell anyone, but I cry a lot, especially the more I think about how lonely my life is, how long this pain must go on 'til I get all old and gross and die of a broken heart. I don't know how Mom does it without Dad. She tries to tell me to be patient, that real love will come along some day for both of us
, but I doubt it. Maybe if I was thinner…

  Chapter 3: Thursday, October 12th

  Sorry I haven't written more lately, but I wanted to wait until I could tell you how my diet went. I tried starving myself the past few weeks, only eating salads and drinking water. I dropped a few pounds, but not from the right places, and Mom yelled at me, claiming I was “wasting away to skin and bones.” Whatever. At least my life would be over then.

  Anyway, I had to promise her I'd eat, and oh God, once I started, I couldn't stop! I'm giving up dieting forever. I'm going to eat whatever I want, whenever I want. Maybe if I get fat enough, my curves will kick in and a boy will finally notice me.

  Chapter 4: Monday, October 23th

  Some guys noticed me, but not the way I wanted. They called me “Zit-face,” “Blimp-butt,” and a whole bunch of other names I'm trying hard to forget. The worst part wasn't the names, it was the laughter. Hard and cruel, it cut like a knife—which is exactly what I did to myself in the bathroom afterward. I had to replace the pain they caused with one I could control. It's funny how you can be googling something one minute and doing it to yourself the next.

  Cutting is awesome.

  Suicide might be even better…

  Chapter 5: Tuesday, October 24th

  OK, fine. So I didn't kill myself, but I did cut myself a lot deeper than I meant to. There was a lot of blood, Diary. Too much. I was in total panic mode until I remembered the bottle of Krazy Glue Mom keeps in her craft drawer. That and a few Band-Aids seemed to do the trick, but I bet I'll have a scar. I've decided not to cut myself anymore—well, not as much—because like everything else I try, I tend to get too ambitious and carried away.

  Chapter 6: Friday, October 27th

  Happy 15th birthday to me! Dad forgot as usual. No card, no call. Probably too busy with his new family to remember his old one. Sometimes, I wish Mom would remarry so I could have a replacement Dad, the same way my Dad got himself a replacement daughter. Melody is as pretty as a song—at least that's how Dad described her to me. When I asked him, “What about me?” he said, “You'll always be my daughter too.” Not that I was pretty, or smart, or anything but someone he'd like to forget, just like Mom. And why not? He has a perfect new life with a perfect new family. What did he need me for except to make him feel guilty?

  Mom has a cake waiting, and there'll be a few crappy presents to unwrap, but I bet nothing good because we're broke. There's no reason to rush home. I've got a few bucks stashed in my purse. I'll take the bus downtown and see if I can't buy myself something to cheer me up—like a new set of razor blades.

  Chapter 7: Saturday, October 28th

  Hey, Diary! You're not going to believe this, but something amazing happened. It didn't start out so cool, because all I did was go to the thrift shop. Boring, right? I was gonna get myself some used romance novels, or maybe a cute vintage top, when I saw this old Ouija board sitting on a shelf. It was made from real wood, and there was something special about it. An air of mystery.

  Normally, I wouldn't have given it a second look, but with the way my life has been going lately, well, I figured why not get a little free advice from the spirit world?

  Anything is worth a try at this point.

  So I opened the dusty cardboard box and removed the little pointer-thing (the instructions called it a “planchette”). Nobody else was in the store except me and the owner, so I set the board on the floor and knelt next to it. You know, just messing around.

  I placed my hands on the planchette and moved it to the center of the board. “Should I kill myself?” I asked. I waited a moment for the ghosts or whatever to answer, but none did. I slid the planchette myself to the “YES” response, and felt a chill.

  I tried another question. “Will I ever have a boyfriend?” I moved the planchette around the board, then veered it toward “NO,” but then something strange happened. As soon as the pointer touched the word “NO,” it moved in the opposite direction. It didn't stop until it hit “YES,” then refused to budge.

  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or freak out. It couldn't be true, could it? There's no such things as ghosts, but I'm positive I hadn't moved the planchette.

  “Are you a real ghost?” I asked.

  The pointer moved off “YES,” then drifted around the board and back to “YES.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The ghost spelled its answer slowly: “F-R-I-E-N-D.”

  “No way,” I muttered to myself. “This can't be happening!”

  The ghost spelled, “T-A-K-E-M-E-H-O-M-E.”

  It wanted me to buy the Ouija board. And I needed a friend—any kind of friend—so why not an invisible one?

  Mom was pissed when I got home late and rushed through my birthday dinner. But I didn't care about any of that stuff. I was way more excited to talk to my new friend.

  It took a long time to have a conversation with the ghost because having to spell every word out sucked. And the ghost talked in run-on sentences that made it hard for me to follow more than a few words at a time.

  “Hold on,” I said. “The most important thing is for us to understand each other. Slow down. Start from the beginning. Tell me who you are.”

  The ghost told me his name was Will, and that he died in 1994, the same year Kurt Cobain did! I asked him if he “Smells like Teen Spirit,” and guess what? He totally got my joke. We had a good laugh about that, but then the conversation turned serious.

  Will told me he was seventeen, and so lonely. That I was the first living person he'd spoken to since he died, and that he was drawn by my pain and wanted to help.

  Will knew how it felt to be lost and alone, but that I shouldn't kill myself. That's how he'd died. He'd gotten shit-faced and driven his car off a bridge. He'd done it the night of his senior prom after suffering a broken heart. His girl, Lorna, had dumped him and he couldn't go on without her. Only he had gone on, as a spirit trapped between worlds.

  I told Will how sorry I was for his pain, how I'd never break up with my boyfriend if I had one. I joked that maybe if I killed myself, I could be a ghost too and he could be my boyfriend.

  Will said not to joke about that. He liked having me alive, and told me I shouldn't hate myself or think I was ugly. “You are beautiful,” he said. “To me, you are the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  I thanked him, but didn't believe it. Will got mad and told me that if I didn't believe him, that he would go away and never come back.

  “But how do you know?” I asked him. “Can you even see me?”

  “I see everything as waves of energy, and your energy—your soul—is the most beautiful of all.”

  “But if you could really see me, you wouldn't say that. I'm not pretty.”

  “Close your eyes,” Will said. “Let me prove how beautiful you are.”

  OMG, Diary! I'm ashamed to tell you what happened next, but let's just say I've never felt anything like that before. Ghost or not, Will proved he thought I was beautiful. I have no more doubts we belong together.

  We stayed awake all night fooling around, but when the sun rose, Will said he had to go, but he wouldn't go far and we can be together again tonight. After dark. It's easier for him to come to me then because the sun hurts him. When I asked him why, he said it was a “ghost thing” and I wouldn't understand.

  I slept all day. Mom bugged me, but I told her I was fine. She made me come eat dinner with her. I only took a few bites before going back to my room to call Will. There was the usual drop in temperature, then I felt invisible arms circling around me, his hungry mouth nuzzling my neck.

  “Hello, Beautiful,” Will said, only now I didn't need the board to talk to him. He was in my head.

  “How come you can you talk to me without the Ouija?”

  Will whispered, “Your love lets me in. We have a telepathic bond now. That's all that matters.”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling a bit dizzy. “That's all that matters.”

  I felt his lips part mine, h
is hands caress me, and then I was leaning back onto the bed, feeling the weight of him press into me. “Before this goes any further,” Will said, “I have something to ask you… Will you be my girlfriend?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Of course!”

  I don't even need to tell you what happened next, Diary, only that I'm not a virgin anymore.

  Chapter 8: Sunday, October 29th

  Will left at sunrise. I was so tired, it was no wonder I slept the day away. I only want to be in the dark with Will. Nothing else matters. He's the only one who accepts everything about me. I don't have to look nice for him, don't have to shower or fix my hair, because it's not like he has eyes or a nose. None of the usual stuff is important to him, so I can be myself in a way no one else can ever understand.

  Did you know Will doesn't even call me by my name? He just calls me, “Beautiful.” When I asked him why, he said my name doesn't represent who I really am, and was tied to all the bad stuff from my past. I needed a new name, one I could be proud of, and “Beautiful” was the one he chose for me. I love it! I love not being me anymore, love being this amazing new person.

  I love to be loved.

  Over dinner, Mom told me she was worried about me. Said I wasn't acting like myself. Wanted to know if I was on drugs. Me? On drugs? What a laugh! I've never even touched the stuff. It's hard to get high when you're never invited to parties or too broke to buy your own. I told her I was catching a cold, so I should probably stay home tomorrow and sleep it off. The bitch actually bought it!

  Dad called—two days late—to wish me happy birthday. I told him to go to hell, that if he didn't love me enough to remember my birthday, he should stop calling altogether. He had a bunch of excuses, but they were nothing new, and damn sure nothing I could believe.