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stegrossaurus · 2 years ago

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Brain Drain

by Fabian

I woke up with a headache and nausea. The room spun and my feet felt like they had to go through a whirlpool just to get to the carpet. Fairly standard morning.

At breakfast, my parents waited with fake smiles and pamphlets for just the right time to ask. I tried to scarf down everything as quickly as possible, but they beat me to it.

Mom started things off, talking with exceeding gentleness like I'm an excitable toddler. "Fabian, have you given any thought to the school we showed you?"

"It looks like such a great place, right, son?" Dad dutifully simped right after. "You could fit right in and maybe even try out for sports. You used to love baseball, remember?"

They were speaking of the Rayner Institute, a helmet-and-water-wings school/prison where parents dump off teenagers who can't sing the alphabet song. Or the ones they “accidently” threw down the stairs when they were 11. Tweedledumbass and Tweedledipshit shoved the pamphlets in my face and gushed about the lovely campus and all the fun activities. You know, like making Play-do giraffes and getting drugged to the gills by thugs in white coats.

I’d had enough practice controlling my anger to not shove the pamphlets up their asses. Instead, I just told them, “I’m good at my school, thanks. I get mostly As and Bs, so there’s no need to worry about my grades.”

Mom’s face clouded. “But, Fabian, aren’t you still being bullied?”

My head started to surge with pain, but I’d had just as much practice hiding that. “No, not anymore. The teachers put an end to that. I should go. Love you. Bye.” I swallowed what’s left of my breakfast and bolted out the door. Lying and smooth exits were things I still needed to work on.

Telling them about Javier was a mistake. I actually thought they’d be understanding, but instead, they just used it as another reason to send me away. Anything to assuage their guilt and avoid any kind of blame. For the last five years, I’d given my all to get good grades, manage my temper, avoid fights, never complain, take my meds; anything to get that two-headed dick of a parent to leave me alone. That morning, I saw no reason to change that policy. Any bit of good behavior is a bit more proof that I don’t need the Rayner Institute.

So, when teachers rolled their eyes while I tried to finish a problem, I ignored it. When Javier swiped my cane and shoved me to the floor, I didn't retaliate. When he and his friends stole my bag, ripped up my notes, ate my lunch, and threatened to beat me up if any of my “waterhead pills” were in it, I just sat on the floor and took it. Thing is, I’m pretty big for my age and Javier’s pretty small. But Javier knew that I couldn’t fight back, even if he didn’t know the exact reason, so being an asshole to me was a decent way to build his reputation.

“You know, Fabby, I’m going to miss you when they ship you off to that retard school,” Javier says in between bites of my sandwich. Our fathers worked together and they both had big mouths. “Maybe if I tell everyone you killed yourself, we’ll get the day off.”

I could have told him that his own suicide would get him every day off, but that would have been retaliation. The words would have just gotten lost on the way to my mouth, anyway. So I waited, they left, and I continued my day.

Sometimes, the basement door would be guarded or locked. For my lunch break that day, it was neither. The school never put a large amount of effort in keeping us out, which I’ve always chalked up to denial. Their official stance was that Devon didn’t exist.

Devon’s circle was on the far side of the basement, far away from anything anyone would need and partly hidden by broken equipment. There were a few burnouts, goths, and curious freshmen eating lunch around the iron ring embedded in the solid granite floor. The creature inside looked like a bull sitting on four squat frog legs. Lumps of lapis lazuli and oozing red sores dotted his otherwise black, spiky skin, clumping up heavily where a head would normally be. Not having eyes or ears didn't stop him from noticing me when I approached.

"Fabian, my dear. How has the day been so far?" Devon's voice hissed smoothly from his holes.

"Terrible and boring but no more so than normal," I answered. I decided to keep my parents' idea to myself; there's only so much temptation I can take.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked. He was too cool to sound desperate, but he still edged his front left foot a little too close to one of the bowls attached to the iron ring. The only one without something inside.

I stroked my glasses, particularly the little screw in the handle, as I think. My parents turned into circus clowns, the Rayner Institute filled with cow-sized murder hornets, Javier being raped to death by wild boars in the school parking lot while Japanese tourists laugh and take pictures…

"Nope. Nothin'," I said after a second.

Devon's a good enough sport to laugh while everyone else exhaled a little. One of the freshmen noticed the bowls and asked about them. Devon turned his attention to the kid; he loved explaining this part.

"Souls, my love," Devon explained. "Just give me something small and metal with the intent of giving me your soul and you will. And then I will grant your wish." He tapped the only empty bowl. "One more soul and the circle will break and I will be free." He couldn't smile and the sound of his voice made me grateful for that.

Then another freshman asked another question everyone asks, the one whispered with the anticipation of an answer no one would like.

"What will you do once you're free?"

The answer scared a few people upstairs and reminded us all of why we should never make a deal with him. As much as I hated everyone, I valued my soul just a bit more. We all do: the Goths who think everyone is stupid, the burnouts who say they don't care, the freshmen with all their bullies and confusion and need to belong. None of us were willing to risk releasing a demon on the world and give him our souls.

He never explained in detail who summoned and imprisoned him, just that it was someone more powerful. All of the anger and desperation inherently found in a high school made it easy to summon a demon there. If all of his stories of what he did in Hell were true, I didn’t want to meet someone whose power outstripped Devon’s.

Still, listening to stories of the atrocities Devon had committed was a fun way to spend lunch. At least he was honest. He never hid who he was or what he wanted, even though he probably should have. I'd never have said it out loud, but I would have wished to be able to live like that.

The rest of the day continued as normal: questions and tests that made my head spin, teachers and classmates that made my stomach churn. I kept telling myself, 'Just two more years'. Then I could move to a place where no one knows me or gives me pitying and impatient looks. Deep down though, I knew that dream might be of the pipe variety. I could see a conservatorship in my future if my parents didn't get over themselves.

The day ended, as all Tuesdays and Thursdays did, with a trip to Dr. Schwimmer, my counselor. Her job was to scrunch up her doughy face into a patronizing smile, talk at me like I'm 5, and suggest more nonsense to "help" me.

Javier shoved past me on the way out, shouting over his shoulder, "It's none of your damn business! I just fell, that's all!"

That, at least, put a smile on my face. Everyone knew Javi's dad could be a little aggressive with him sometimes. I know I should have sympathized, but honestly it was probably the only bit of justice I'd ever see.

The session was the standard mealy-mouthed idiocy for the most part, but then she ended it with something new.

"Fabian, have you been down to see…him recently?"

That caught me by surprise. Like I said, most staff pretended he wasn’t real. Dr. Schwimmer was a little too slow to put away Javier’s file when I came in. He must have said something to rile her up. I considered lying but the school had plenty of cameras, so I nodded.

“You haven’t made any wishes, have you?” she asked.

“Of course not. You’d know if I did.” Devon’s last wish would set him free; if she knew about the wishes, she should’ve known that.

“I’m just trying to make sure, Fabian,” she said a little nervously. “I know this school isn’t always easy for you and I just want you to be sure about what is and isn’t worth–”

“I’m not retarded!” I snapped. “And you assholes are barely worth talking to let alone losing my soul!”

The pensive look on her face told me that my candor may have been a mistake. That night, my parents confirmed it. The bitch called them and told them about my mild annoyance. They said they still weren’t decided, but I could tell they were one step closer. I went to bed that night seriously considering what I’d told Dr. Schwimmer and what she’d told me. What was my soul worth.

“I’m going to do it.” That’s what I overheard from Javier a few days later. His black eye paired nicely with the bruises on his neck. “I’m going to wish my old man into a fish or something and feed him to the cat.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking and one of his friends must have thought so, to.

“Dude, seriously? What about your soul?”

“Worth it,” Javier spat. “Totally worth it. The second that door’s unlocked, I’m going down there and making a deal with Devon.”

The door to the basement was locked, but that never lasted long. And Javi sounded serious. When I saw the Rayner Institute’s number on the phone log, I knew my days of freedom were numbered. That number had just gotten shorter. If I was going to make a move, it had to be before Javier.

Sometimes it takes me a while to get up and move. Sometimes I forget where I’m supposed to be or have trouble connecting thought to action. People knew that, so they didn’t question me wandering around the weight room during class time. They sniggered in the hallway when they saw me limping harder than normal, never guessing that I’d managed to conceal a 50 lb. weight in my jacket. Once I got to the door, I slammed the weight down on the lock until I heard a crunch and a crack. I ignored the gasps and screams behind me and ran as fast as I could to Devon’s circle.

“Fabian, my sweet. What a lovely–” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I tossed him a small screw from my glasses kit, keeping my soul in mind from the moment it left my fingers to the moment it disappeared into his thick, warty paw.

Something felt like it was draining from my spine, but it wasn’t enough to stop me from saying, “Devon, I wish that my brain damage would be transferred out of me and into everyone I hate.”

Devon’s sores oozed heavily as he said, “As you wish, dear Fabian.”

He plopped the now-glowing screw into the vacant bowl. The effect was instant and beautiful. The room stopped spinning, the signals from my brain to my limbs worked perfectly, and the ever-present confusion and anger evaporated from my mind. I could think and remember and feel without pain. My cane almost looked laughable. I don’t think I fully realized how much I was affected and what I was missing out on. Also, I realized that my socks didn’t match.

The growing footsteps turned into shouts and thuds, which I was expecting. You see, I’d lived with my brain damage for 5 years. I had medicine, techniques, and experience to make it tolerable. The pair of teachers and the security guard that came to apprehend me didn’t. I bet it felt like a train surging across their nervous systems.

The further screams from the doorway told me that Devon’s power was extending outwards. Maybe it was the missing soul, maybe it was five years of bitterness, but I wasn’t too bothered. Those people with their perfect brains and perfect families; if I had to suffer, why not them, too?

After about a minute, Devon started to wheeze from his sores. He still hadn’t left his circle because he still hadn’t granted my wish. I wasn’t completely exaggerating when I said I hated everybody, and his power had just barely cleared the school if the sound of car crashes was any indication. And Devon was getting tired.

“Fabian, dear one. Would you like to consider another wish?” Devon asked, his voice strained and halting. “I’m not sure I can complete this one.”

I shrugged. “Sorry, Devon, but no.”

This was a long shot, but I figured if his power was limitless, he wouldn’t have been imprisoned in the first place. Someone out there had more power than him and that meant his power had limits. Limits I forced him to cross when I gave him my soul. Since he’d already taken it, he had to continue. And so his power bloomed out of him more and more, spanning miles and touching almost every sapient brain along the way, draining his own energy with every inch and every victim.

I’d probably have felt worse if I’d had my soul, but even without it, I still felt a little uneasy. I like Devon, but I had no guarantee that he'd spare me if someone, including me, set him free.

“My clever, wicked boy,” Devon hissed fondly once he’d figured it out. He sounded and looked like he was deflating. The flow of ooze was starting to slow. I tried to apologize, but he said, “Don’t feel too bad. A ten second head-start is the most I would have given you. And worry not about your parents, dear Fabian. They will likely be in the radius.” I was grateful for that and told him as much. “It was my pleasure. Someone as bright and brave as you doesn’t deserve to be restrained. None of us do. Be well, Fabian.”

I managed to brace myself just before my soul and brain damage returned. With Devon dead, the deal voided. My heart and head felt like they’d gained 40 lbs. each and all of it was pain. I didn’t bother checking on anyone on my way home.

A small part of me hoped that this experience would have given my parents a bit more respect for me and what I go through. Maybe, I thought, they’d understand how hard I worked to keep myself together and they would realize that I didn’t need Raynor. All it did was convince them of the exact opposite. No one came right out and said it, but I know some people at least suspected me of the temporary mass agony that had struck thousands. That probably helped their decision.

So now I’m spending my Saturday taking a tour of the wonderful, amazing, totally-not-vomit-inducing shithole I’ll be confined to for the next two years. Or longer if my doctors are complete garbage.

So happy I didn’t let Devon kill us all.

Our terminally cheerful tour guide has just shown us the quiet rooms (lovely little cinder block rooms with no door handles on the inside), when I spot something out of the window.

“What’s that shed for?” I ask.

The tour guide’s smile faltered. “We don’t use that shed,” she said a little forcefully. “There are…dangerous…things in there. It’s not important. It’s locked. Here, let's go see some classrooms.”

Huh. Well, that was suspicious. And familiar. A place of anger and desperation. A locked door with something dangerous on the other side. The people in charge trying to pretend that it wasn’t real. And if that shed is anything like the last off-limits area I remember, it won’t stay locked for long.

“None of us”, Devon had said. As in, more than one. I finger my metal zipper as the tour guide and my parents babble on. I won’t waste my second chance. It’s like Dr. Schwimmer said, you have to know what is and isn’t worth your soul.

And congratulations, you assholes are.

#short story #demon #brain_damage #fair_warning_this_one's_kind_of_an_asshole #wish

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