Outcasts

by Craig MacLachlan

  They both went silent and Skylar nearly

  crashed into Morgan as she stopped to flip over a rock. Finding no insects underneath, she continued forward. The rope became taught and Morgan was yanked backward, stumbling into Skylar.

  “Sorry,” Skylar apologized.

  “It’s cool. Correct?”

  “Yup, and no, I’m not cold.”

  Before Skylar could react, Morgan swung her arms around Skylar’s neck and interlocked her fingers. Skylar could see the feral and domesticated halves of Morgan in her eyes. Dropping the rope, she wrapped her own arms around Morgan, who leaned in, resting her head against Skylar’s.

  Unlatching the collar, Skylar stepped back. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The longer her friend didn’t bolt deep into the wilderness, the better chance she would fulfill the plan.

  “Thanks.”

  Morgan grabbed Skylar by the hair, pulling hard before running behind a tree.

  “Ow!”

  “Can’t get me!” Morgan called, wagging her tongue playfully.

  Skylar lunged, chasing Morgan from tree to tree, but she was too agile and quick. Thinking better of it, Skylar leaned against a tree, acting tired and out of breath. As Morgan came closer, letting down her guard, Skylar reached out and tugged on Morgan’s hair.

  “Gotcha!” She yelled and scurried away.

  “Cheatster!” Morgan yelled back with a laugh. They played, carefree, the game stealing away Skylar’s worries. They took turns hiding behind bushes, finding on another, until the game came to a halt.

  Morgan was gone.

  There was no sign of her. Skylar kicked a pinecone, disgusted that she’d fallen for Morgan’s trick.

  “Morgan, come back here!” Skylar screamed, but there was with no response. She searched behind trees, within bushes.

  Hands covered Skylar’s eyes.

  “Boo!”

  Skylar whirled in time for Morgan to lick her eye.

  “You brat! And, gross!” Skylar tugged at Morgan’s hair. “I should yank it all out, every single strand.”

  She immediately regretted her words when Morgan took hold of Skylar’s hair and viciously ripped out a chunk. Wincing in pain, she pressed a hand to her head. Morgan let the hair fall to the ground as they faced each other for several moments.

  Something had suddenly changed, but Skylar had no time to worry. Morgan raced toward the cabin, and Skylar gave chase.

  “Dammit, Morgan!”

  Skylar retrieved the leash, collar, and controller and caught up to Morgan at the cabin. Her friend appeared to sense something. Or so she thought—Skylar wasn’t sure of Morgan’s state of mind. She followed Morgan as she slowly circled the cabin.

  “What is it, Morgan?” Skylar tried to use her sense of smell but sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Passing the makeshift bathroom, she held her breath and plugged her nose. She would make sure to bring Haley tomorrow and bribe her into cleaning it.

  Ensuring the lock was secure, she hurried to the front of the cabin, where Morgan was staring at the board. She expected Morgan to flip it over, revealing the flowers and letter underneath, but she didn’t.

  “Well?”

  Ignoring her, Morgan walked inside and Skylar followed, confused but not surprised by Morgan’s change. She dropped the collar, leash, and controller into the bucket.

  “I have an early dinner with Mom and Dad.” She was getting good at lying. Skylar replaced Morgan’s ankle bond and locked it. “You sensed something outside, what was it?”

  “Bring me some of that good food. This stuff in cans and bags is gross.”

  Skylar took the hint—whatever Morgan knew, she wasn’t about to share it. “I’ll bring you lots of Thai food.” She grinned and rubbed her stomach, and action that Morgan usually mimicked, but this time, she didn’t.

  “See you tomorrow,” Skylar said with a wink, though Morgan’s only reply was a serious expression.

  As Skylar reached the entryway, the sound of metal hitting the floor stopped her. She had forgotten to remove the chain from the ankle cuff. She picked up the keychain at her feet and waved to Morgan.

  As Skylar pushed the door closed, she watched Morgan go to her hands and knees.

  “Skye, don’t forget your favorite meal and flowers.”

  Morgan retreated into the rear of the cabin and Skylar shut the door, but not before hearing Morgan’s chilling final words.

  “And Skye. No smell. It has no smells.”

  Chapter Eight

  Skylar read the dry-erase board on the fridge.

  Money is on the counter for dinner. Invite a friend. Don’t wait up. Love, Mom and Dad!

  With her parents out, she could spy on her old house. She considered inviting Haley but decided against it. She needed some time alone to think over Morgan’s words.

  “No smell. It has no smell.” Whoever—or whatever—had left the letter, having no scent just wasn’t possible.

  After ordering Thai food, Skylar retrieved the blood-letter and gathered some cotton swabs and a clothespin and returned to the kitchen.

  She stuffed a cotton swab up each nostril, then used the clothespin to plug her nose. She tried to inhale and couldn’t.

  Perfect.

  Placing the two letters next to each other, she set the flowers and entwined grass on the counter. Skylar again tried to breathe in the aroma of blood but was unable. Though her nose ached from the clothespin, she felt in control.

  Examining the items, the only piece that didn’t fit was the grass. It hadn’t come with either of the letters.

  Whoever was stalking Skylar was forcing her to remember a past that few people knew about, aside from her and Haley’s therapists and parents. But intimate details—the flowers, and chipmunk being her favorite meal—these were things she’d never mentioned during rehabilitation.

  The only other person with this knowledge was their abductor.

  The doorbell rang, and Skylar ran to answer it.

  A skinny boy holding a bag of Thai food stood in the doorway. His hat, shaped like squared tofu, matched his belt. No matter how many times he showed up dressed like that, she laughed.

  His nametag said Doug, but Skylar always called him by a different name.

  “Hey Tofug,” she laughed. “H-How much again?”

  “Twelve dollars,” Doug chuckled, as she handed him the money.

  Skylar wiped her eyes, then took the bag. “Finally, you see what’s so funny.”

  Doug pointed at her and laughed louder.

  “Uhm, what?”

  “You think I’m a joke to look at? Girl, I wish I had a mirror!”

  Before she could stop him, Doug whipped out his cell phone and snapped her picture.

  “See ya next time stuffy,” he said, laughing as he walked off the porch.

  Skylar brought her hand to the clothespin still holding the cotton in her nose.

  “Tofug—Doug, please.”

  He held up the camera. “You’re learning fast, stuffy.”

  She shut the door and morosely made her way back to the kitchen.

  He would show his friends, post the photo all over the internet. She was sure that what little social life she had was finished.

  Skylar went upstairs to her bedroom. After hiding the items in a box, she sat at the window. Removing the clothespin and cotton balls, she started eating the Thai food. Skylar didn’t care that a portion of the food was Morgan’s—she was so upset she couldn’t taste it.

  Moonlight shone on the punching bag in the yard next door. She imagined punching and kicking it as Trevor had. The house was dark inside and the white sheet still blocked her view into her old room. If anybody was inside, they weren’t making themselves known.

  She went downstairs and took the yearbook photography sheet from her backpack. After microwaving popcorn and mixing it in a large bowl with cookie dough ice cream, she made herself comfortable on the couch. She checked her first due date.

  First up was the Tuesday after th
e logging day’s weekend. Carly’s instructions were to photograph students enjoying the event. Next on the list was the Monday following the homecoming football game and dance. Skylar scooped the popcorn and ice cream mixture into her mouth.

  A loud bang from outside caused her to choke and almost spit out the food. She made her way to the sliding glass door. Dusk was beginning to take over the day making it hard to see anything.

  Her phone rang, and she knew it was Haley. She’d forgotten to call. The noise happened again. She didn’t want to answer, but if she didn’t Haley would continue calling.

  “Hello,” Skylar answered, peering out the door.

  “Are you safe?” Haley inquired.

  “I’m safe. I was about to call you. Ugh, my parents.” She tried to act upset.

  “Are you in trouble? How’s Morgan?”

  She heard another banging noise, this time quieter than the others.

  “No, just quality family time you know? I mean, I’m a teen, I have stuff to do. It’s annoying,” she said, creating more fibs. “And Morgan’s fine.”

  “That’s it? Why couldn’t I—”

  “Look, I have to go. I’ll come over in the morning.”

  “Okay,” Haley sadly answered.

  Skylar hung up.

  Setting the bowl on the island countertop, she opened a drawer and took a flashlight. The sliding door wasn’t locked, and her father still hadn’t fixed it. She spotted the hole in the fence, still without its knot. Looking through, she could just make out the dead grass and punching bag. There was no movement and no more noise.

  She looked around the yard for something to stand on but found nothing. She jumped, but her fingertips barely touched the top of the fence. After several more failed attempts, she was about to jump once more when she saw her solution.

  Pressing the tip of her shoe to the hole, she tried to lift herself up, but the hole was too small. Removing her shoe and sock, Skylar fit her big toe in and leapt, pushing with all her strength. She grasped the top of the fence, dropped the shoe over, and pulled herself to the top.

  And lost her balance.

  Skylar hit the ground and rolled before coming to a stop. Afraid to move, she froze, waiting for someone to rush out of the house.

  When no one did, she scrambled to her feet and slipped her shoe back on. The grass crunched as she crept along, stopping at the punching bag, its dull, featureless appearance a mirror image of so many things in her life.

  She slapped the bag, then punched it as if it were the kidnapper who’d taken her against her will. The kidnapper who’d caused all of her suffering. Skylar imagined the faceless person in the bag’s place, unable to escape her wrath. Her fingers flexed as she scratched at the bag, then shoved it with all her might.

  She watched it swing before walking to the cracked concrete porch. Her fingers almost touched the door’s handle, but she hesitated. Looking up to the bedroom window, where part of her still lived, she held back tears.

  She pulled the handle. It was locked. She jiggled the door and heard a click. The door slid open. Parting the yellowed blinds, she stepped inside.

  The air smelled old and dank. Feeling the wall, she found the light switch, but there was no power. Turning on the flashlight, she walked forward as dust floated in the beam. Fast food wrappers and drink cups littered the counters.

  The house was identical to the one she lived in. Her parents called them ‘cookie cutter’ homes. The room was bare of furniture and footprints dotted the dust-covered carpet. Black trash bags had been hung at the windows in place of curtains.

  A hollow emptiness crept inside of her.

  Suppressing a cough in the dusty room, she climbed the stairs, halting when she reached a creaky step. Breathless, she listened for a moment before moving on.

  The bedroom to her right was empty, and the rest of the doors were closed. Reaching the end of the hallway, she came to the closed door of what had once been her room. She gripped the cold, metal knob. Lost memories lay beyond the door, and the event that changed her life—an event she didn’t want to remember.

  Opening the door, she stepped inside.

  A single mattress lay on the floor. Clothes were scattered around the room and a lantern hung from the ceiling.

  She held the flashlight between her teeth and lifted the mattress.

  Underneath was a black book.

  Trevor’s name was carved into the surface of the hard cover. She flipped to the first page. At the top, a year—1998. In the center were three words written in smeared red ink.

  THEY ARE BORN

  Touching the words, the red stains were unexpectedly rough.

  It was dried blood—and no longer had an odor.

  The sound of a door being opened and closed startled her. She set the book down and turned off the flashlight. The footsteps neared, and Skylar dashed to the dark closet and scurried inside.

  Someone entered the room, and a ticking sound was followed by light streaming underneath the door. Skylar covered her mouth as she listened to the thumping of her heart and heavy breathing on the other side of the door.

  Reality faded as images flashed like a slide show out of control. No longer a teenager, she was now a terrified four-year-old in horsey pajamas. One hand still covered her mouth, but in the other, instead of the flashlight, she tightly gripped a stuffed pony.

  Her four-year-old self was frightened. A bad man was outside, and he wanted her. If she screamed, he would find her.

  Steal her.

  Footsteps moved about the room. She shuffled back against the wall and the night light dug into her back, making the closet darker. Mom and Dad had promised the night light would keep the bad man away.

  The doorknob twisted and the door cracked open ever so slightly. She tried to scoot further back but couldn’t.

  The bad man had come for Skylar, just like he’d promised.

  Blinding light streamed into the closet. She blinked, and after a moment, realized she’d returned to her seventeen-year-old self. The flashlight was back in her hand—the nightlight gone.

  And the closet door was open.

  Chapter Nine

  Squinting at the invading light, Skylar stuck her arms out defensively, but there was no one there.

  A shadow blanketed the far wall, and she knew that someone was standing behind the door.

  Skylar weighed her options. Her best chance for escape was to run. With all her strength, she rammed the door with her shoulder. Whoever was behind the door moved, and Skylar stumbled forward, landing on the mattress. Righting herself, she prepared to be attacked.

  “Who are you?”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Turning to face her, Trevor nervously tapped his fingers on the black book. “You’re not safe.”

  Getting to her feet, Skylar approached him. She spotted redness on his left cheek. “I heard a noise—several noises, and I thought—”

  “That happens when moving into a new house. Stuff drops. But thanks for the concern.”

  “So—this is your room?”

  Trevor wagged the journal in the air. “You seem to have made yourself at home. Is snooping one of your special powers?”

  “Uh, I was curious.”

  Skylar stepped forward and Trevor unwittingly matched her movement. They were now mere inches apart.

  “Well, you shouldn’t be. Come on, I need to take you home.”

  She blocked his path, pointing to the book.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  When he tried to maneuver around her, she stepped forward and their bodies collided. Skylar felt his warmth, his life against her. Trevor’s body tensed and he stepped back.

  Something about this boy made her want him like nothing had before.

  His scent grew stronger, filling Skylar with a craving desire. Her emotions were flooded with confusion. Unable to control herself, she licked her lips. The more she inhaled his aroma, the wilder her desire became.
r />   “Are you okay?” Trevor asked.

  She dropped the flashlight, and as she lost control, she pounced. Trevor fell and she sat atop him, pinning him to the floor. Drool dripped from her lips and her eyes widened.

  “What are you doing?”

  She slammed his head to the floor. Needing it off his body, she grabbed his shirt and tore at it.

  Tilting her neck back, Skylar howled.

  And then she was flying. She landed like a cat and attacked again. She licked his face and tore at his remaining clothes.

  Trevor tossed her onto the mattress. “What are you doing? Get out!” He seemed both disgusted and dumbfounded.

  Trevor’s scent lessened along with Skylar’s desires. In a flash, she was in control again.

  Crawling through sudden embarrassment, Skylar retrieved the flashlight. “I—I’m so sorry. You must think . . . think I’m a psycho.” She shamefully bowed her head.

  “Hey, look, I’m not one to judge. Let me take you home.”

  A car door slammed.

  “Shit!” Trevor said.

  Skylar ran down the stairs to the kitchen, threw the blinds aside and bolted from the house. She tossed the flashlight over the fence.

  As she attempted to scale the fence, she realized too late that she’d forgotten to remove her shoe. Strong hands gripped her waist, lifting her into the air.

  “Hurry,” Trevor said in a low voice.

  Grabbing the top of the fence, she flipped over as she heard Trevor’s footfalls running away.

  As she made her way into her own house, her emotions were all over the place. After slapping her head repeatedly, Skylar kicked off her shoes. One landed on the kitchen floor, the other hit the bowl on the island countertop.

  She screamed.

  Skylar began to sob. Taking the shoe to the sink, she washed away the ice cream, leaving the shoe in the sink. Stomping to the living room, her sadness turned into a need to break something. She would feel better, get her frustrations out. She grabbed a glass horse, and as her tears fell onto it, she squeezed, wanting it to shatter in her hands.