Dark Muse: An Indie Paranormal Sampler

by Dave Ferraro

Mark and Harry couldn't believe what I'd done when I told them in the gymnasium the next morning. Jenny and Annie sat in their usual spot, but Katie wasn't there.

  "You are fearless," Mark said with awe in his voice.

  "Balls of steel," Harry said, slapping me on the back. "And she's coming to the tournament, too? You are the man."

  I felt like the man. Kind of, anyway. I also felt a bit apprehensive about Brad Nichols finding out too. The bell rang and I headed for homeroom, walking down the barren cinder-block hallways of the school.

  A commotion echoed from around the corner ahead. A few wads of notebook paper sailed into the hallway behind the hurrying form of one of the Goth guys I'd seen hanging with that creepy Goth girl. Nathan and his gang rounded the corner, hurling insults and paper at the guy. I felt bad, but not bad enough that it was worth getting whacked.

  One of Nathan's linebacker friends said something to the others, then jogged after the Goth. He had something in his hand and I knew that whatever it was wouldn't be good for his prey.

  Don't do it! Noooo! The rational part of my mind screamed at me.

  I couldn't stand by and do nothing. So I tripped and fell right in front of the very large guy chasing down the Goth. The air exploded from my lungs as his weight thudded on my back.

  The football player cursed at me while the others laughed.

  "Holy crap, Case, you clumsy idiot," Nathan said as he roared with laughter.

  The football player I'd tripped pushed himself up. "I guess you get the present then," he said and lowered a clear plastic baggie toward my face with something inside that looked and smelled suspiciously like a turd.

  "Ahem," said an authoritarian voice.

  We looked to see Mr. Turpin, my former boxer-turned-English teacher staring at us, his muscular arms bulging threateningly.

  "Stay on task, Steve," he said in a gentle voice and held out his hand.

  Apparently Steve was the name of the buffoon who had almost smeared poo on my face.

  "Aw, we're just playing around," Steve said.

  Mr. Turpin stared at the baggie and then at his proffered hand.

  Steve pshawed and handed it over. "Whatever." He shoved past me. "Guess we'll get something fresh for you later, Case." He and the others laughed as they went down the hall.

  A strong hand gripped me by the bicep and helped me up. I turned, expecting to see Mr. Turpin's large hands on my arm and yelped as I came face to face with Goth Girl and all the metallic horrors piercing her face. She drew in a deep breath through her nose. I could swear the girl was sniffing me. I pulled away from her, slightly so as not to be too rude.

  "Thanks," I said.

  She smiled, showing me neat rows of white teeth. The rest of her face was a mess of dark eyeliner, white powder, and piercings all over the place. I tried not to shudder or imagine what other places on her body might be pierced.

  "Never give up," she said in a low voice and walked away without looking back.

  "Kids these days," Mr. Turpin said, shaking his head. "They never stay on task."

  I had a feeling Mr. Turpin had been hit in the head a lot during his boxing days. He was a nice, soft-spoken guy, but he repeated "stay on task" like it was holy mantra, even if it didn't fit the occasion. Then again, who was I to talk?

  On the way home from school, Katie texted me, asking if I could study tonight. I told her I would after dinner.

  As I approached home, a shout from inside grabbed my attention. I paused at the front door and pressed an ear against it. I heard indistinct voices but nothing loud enough to understand. I sneaked through the garage, past Mom's burgundy Volvo, and around the pile of rakes and other yard implements that still looked new as the day Dad had bought them. The garage door didn't offer any better eavesdropping so I twisted the doorknob slowly and eased the door open into the kitchen. I peeked through the crack and caught a glimpse of my parents standing just inside the den.

  "…won't happen to him," Dad said. "We would know for sure by now."

  Mom sighed. "And I told you it doesn't matter. Everything depends on this. Everything. You need to keep it together or dear old Daddy Slade might—"

  "Wait," Dad said, holding out a hand and sniffing the air. He motioned Mom further into the den and out of sight. "Do we need groceries for tonight?"

  "Nope. Dinner is in the freezer."

  "Not again."

  "Yes, again."

  A few seconds later, a door slammed shut. Something was seriously wrong with my parents. Arguments, microwaved dinners, and Dad sniffing the air like a coon hound. Maybe Aunt Petunia's death was screwing with their minds. And who was Daddy Slade? It sounded like the name of a trumpet player for a swing-dance band. I didn't know what to think. I entered the door, acting all casual and nonchalant.

  "Hey, son," Dad said in a tone tinged with false enthusiasm. He reached into the fridge and grabbed a six-pack of beer.

  "When did you start drinking?"

  Dad popped open a beer bottle and took a swallow. He made a face. "I've always enjoyed a beer or two."

  "Or six?" I asked, looking at the container in his hand.

  "Justin, I know you don't like to tell us everything. I was the same way when I was your age."

  "I think keeping secrets goes for people of all ages." I gave him a pointed look.

  He chuckled. "What I'm getting at is—"

  "Sorry, Dad, but I've got a study date with a girl tonight and I really need to get a move on."

  Dad took another swig of beer and winked. "That's great." He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but instead took his beer into the den and tuned into a reality show featuring a bunch of women screaming at each other.

  I nuked a meal in the microwave and gussied myself up before heading over to Katie's.

  "Hey Justin," she said, giving me a quick hug when I arrived.

  I tried to say something witty but my brain failed me. "Hi." Where was all my bravado from last night? Apparently it was taking an extended vacation because we actually studied Calculus until nine. We didn't say a thing about Brad or our kiss. It was like it never happened. Or maybe I was supposed to man up and kiss her again. Why couldn't she just tell me what she wanted?

  Katie walked me outside after we finished our homework. "Thanks for helping me out. Calculus is so hard, but I have to get better at it if I'm going to get into a good college."

  I could hardly stand it. She was so unlike most of the hot girls I knew—or knew of, in any case. She seemed smart and yet she was going for smacktards like Brad. I tried to muster the courage to kiss her, but her hug came fast and her body language seemed to indicate a kiss was off the table.

  Grow a pair and kiss her.

  Yeah. It wasn't going to happen.

  When I arrived at home, Dad was still up watching TV. A pile of empty beer bottles littered the coffee table. I went into my room and changed into cargo shorts and a T-shirt. The rest of the house was silent. "Where's Mom?"

  Dad kept his eyes on the tube. "Girls' night out."

  "Shouldn't you be doing a boys' night out then?"

  "This is boys' night out," he said, motioning me over to the couch and thumbing the cap off another beer bottle. He handed it to me.

  "Seriously? Won't Mom kick your butt for contributing to the delinquency of minors?"

  "That's all life is, kiddo. When you've had enough contributions to your delinquency, then you're officially an adult."

  "Deep stuff," I said and took a swig. Beer always tastes great for the first few sips, then it tastes like carbonated toilet water. Of course this was one of those major father-son milestones and I wasn't about to spoil it for Dad or myself.

  Dad turned the TV off and studied me for a moment. "I know we haven't talked about girls much, Justin, mainly because it's kind of uncomfortable talking to a parent about…some things. How are things with women overall? Anything strange ever happen?" />
  His question struck me as odd. "Strange like how?" I thought about the headaches, the blurry vision, and the way odors—especially Old Spice—seemed to attack my nose at random. That was strange, but I figured it had to do with growing pains and the popularity of Old Spice. I almost told him about those occurrences but stopped myself. He'd just tell Mom and then she would freak out and probably take me to the emergency room.

  Dad examined me with narrowed eyes. What was he looking for? After a moment, a look of relief settled into his face and he shrugged. "Well, girls are tough business, so let me know if I can give you some tips."

  I did not want him going all after-school special on me, so I took a long guzzle of beer. By the time I'd finished my second bottle, I had my first alcoholic buzz going. I felt warm, fuzzy, and happy, like I was drinking hot chocolate on a freezing cold day. I also felt very clever. Apparently alcohol increases charm and courage by at least ten points. I tapped out a text to Katie. Dad snatched my phone before I could send the masterpiece and put the phone out of my reach.

  "Not a good idea," he said, chuckling. "You'll thank me in the morning."

  "But everything is so clear. I have to tell her now."

  "Yeah. Sure it is. That's your last beer, kiddo. Drink a lot of water if you don't want to feel like crap tomorrow."

  I took his advice and drank water until I felt it might leak from my ears.