#its like god imagine being completely no contact with your brother and then BAM a guy who has the EXACT relationship you want shows up

[paintedcrows]

they make me feel unwell

[solecize]

REPLY 2009 ⠀ ⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀(OR: 2009, YEAR OF US) — 003.

now playing: palette by iu ft. g-dragon

summary: ten years ago, we found ourselves at a turning point in pop culture as the decade began to close. this was the year that brought the world obama, the death of michael jackson, and the highest grossing film of all time, avatar. however, in south korea, something big was brewing as well and it started off with infectious lyrics, colourful costumes, and sensational dance moves: kpop. the korean wave that started to build several years ago begins to find its footing in the international limelight in 2009. this was the golden era of kpop. this was the time of sorry, sorry. the debut of quite possibly the most different and groundbreaking girl group in korean entertainment, 2NE1. the rise of shinee, one of the most consistent boy bands of this era and beyond. the throne of bigbang would remain steady with their ventures into japan. and of course. . . snsd's gee that would solidify their place as the nation’s girl group and overtake their male counterparts. nothing can touch this legendary age.meanwhile, in the very city that milled and churned out these stars, eight teenagers were also coming to a certain close in 2009. youth was suddenly running out like grains of a darkened hourglass, as everything and everyone brought tension into their lives. where was the next step on their path? high school is nothing more than a cruel halfway point between childhood and adulthood, but this group of friends made the most out of it. after all, this is the youngest that they'll ever be. this age is the time where hopes rise higher than ever, where love burns the most passionately, and the desire for freedom expands the furthest. in 2009, we follow these teenagers' stories to the background music of the opening chapters of kpop's greatest legacies.but, ten years later at their high school reunion, where do we find them.

or: highschool!got7, dancecrew!got7, coming of age, school reunion angst, reader x ?

PRESENT DAY (06)

As fate would have had it, Bambam arrived shortly after Jinyoung and I spoke of him. The night was still young and the two of us were still exploring the school while the other attendees had yet to arrive. Or so we thought. Jinyoung forgot something in the car and I wanted some fresh air before officially going into the gymnasium for the main event, so we made out way down. At the very same time, Bambam was being dropped off by a mustard taxi. The air was sweet with nostalgia and the darkening sky anticipated something great about to occur.

Neither Jinyoung or I recognized Bambam at first glance. He exited the car wearing a crisp, navy blue suit and Gucci sunglasses, with his middle parted hair dyed a reddish brown. The boy I was knew had grown and wore a great smile that I didn't see the last time I saw him. I didn't give him a second look until he called out our names.

"Wait—Bambam?" Jinyoung's jaw dropped and immediately, embraced the other man in a tight hug without having to think about it.

Bambam's pearly whites continued to shine. "It really is you guys! Come here!" He pulled me into a hug next and I wanted to cry right then and there, as I swayed with him back and forth in the hug.

"Oh my god, I didn't even think that you were, well, you!" I was at a loss for words.

"You guys look amazing, yo, have you been working out?" The Thailand native pinched Jinyoung's biceps, to which he flinched at. His eyes moved to me and it took him a moment. "You cut your hair!" Bambam reached out and my locks, now falling above the shoulders, laced in between his fingers.

"I prefer it short way more." I couldn't stop grinning.

"It suits you way more! You guys look so different," Bambam took in both of our appearances, "but it's as if nothing even changed."

Just the energy from the three of us was overflowing and as Jinyoung began to babble to Bambam about how he saw the latter's last movie in theatres, where the crowd gave a standing ovation, I couldn't imagine what it would be like when everyone was still together. This was just. . .nice having him around. Nobody had truly spent time together as a group since graduation and everyone hadn't been able to even see each other since the funeral.

The funeral.

It'd been pushed to the back of my mind like I so often did with many things, but I came to the reunion knowing that I'd have to talk about it at some point during the night, whether I liked it or not. That was strangely okay with me. I was ready to move on from what happened. However, I was not entirely sure if the others were. I couldn't even tell with Bambam, who was always bright and living his best life.

"Having not heard from you in a while, I would've have thought that you forgot about your loser high school friends," I teased.

Bambam giggled, as he placed his sunglasses on the top of his head. "Are you fucking crazy? If anything, I'm the loser high school friend. I bet that you have guys lining up just to take a look at you." He gestured to me. "I mean, high heels? Short hair? You're not that same girl from GOT at all!"

"My tastes have changed with age, I'm telling you!" I slapped his arm playfully, but Jinyoung cut in.

"Wait, what? Guys?" he said, looking between the two of us. "Holy shit, Bambam, you didn't know?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. Here it comes, I thought. This would be my first of many announcements of the night.

"Know what? Sorry, I'm really busy with work and I haven't talked to you guys in a while. Did I miss something?"

That's when I broke the news to him. All it took was for me to raise my left hand for Bambam to completely lose his mind. He froze for a second and I thought he wasn't going to move at all. Then, out of nowhere, he started to holler and picked me up by the waist.

"NO FUCKING WAY!" Bambam exclaimed, spinning me around. He started to yell words that I couldn't make out, except for 'married' and 'maid of honour.' Meanwhile, to our left, Jinyoung couldn't stop laughing and clapping his hands together at the reaction.

I screamed, giggles bubbling at my throat. "Bambam, put me down! Don't you want to know who he is?" Hysteria was beginning to build and if he didn't stop now, it wasn't going to go away at all.

"Wait, I know him?" The younger male gasped, immediately placing me back on the ground at the revelation.

I whispered the name into Bambam's ear and while I imagined that it would completely set him bouncing off the walls, he stayed right where he was. In fact, he didn't say a word. I was afraid that I'd completely missed something and made him upset, but he then he started to smile and shake his head. Bambam, for probably the first time in my entire life, was calm.

"Uh, Bambam? You okay, man?" Even Jinyoung was concerned, observing our friend's face.

Bambam just pulled me into another hug, but this time, he buried his face into my shoulder softly. "I'm so happy for the two of you. Congratulations."

"Why are you being so calm about this? Please, it's scaring me," I admitted, pulling back and put hands on both of his shoulders.

"Because I knew that it was always going to be the two of you," he replied simply. "You guys are meant for each other. I'm not surprised at all that you're getting married." Looking closely, it looked as though he was about to cry.

It was always going to be the two of you. Those words rang in my ears and gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling at the pit of my stomach. Things finally fell into place, just like puzzle pieces that went missing for a while. My brother seemed to share Bambam's thoughts, as he nodded in agreement.

I pretended to look disgusted. "Ew, Bam, don't get all sentimental with me now."

We both laughed and hugged again. Jinyoung joined us this time, wrapping arms around the both of us. It was probably an odd sight to passerbys, some random idiots who were blocking the main entrance to the school and I wouldn't have had it any other way. I didn't realize these emotions would come so early into the night. When Bambam remained peaceful, it was for important reasons.

"Don't you dare tell anyone yet! I know how your big mouth is and everyone's going to be frolicking to Haerin's most famous alum, so zip it!" I warned the actor, who grinned in response.

"You got it. Let's go in?"

Jinyoung said, "Let me just grab something and I'll met you guys inside." He patted Bambam's back and turned around to return to the car. At the soonest opportunity, Bambam took it upon himself to slap the other male's behind, just as they did when they were teenagers. Jinyoung yelped at the contact and began to swear at the actor, while he and I laughed at the sudden throwback.

He yelled, "You're dead later!"

When he was gone, Bambam looped his arm around mine.

"Shall I escort you before Prince Charming gets here?" His childish nature never changed and that's what I loved the most about him.

I laughed, nodding, and allowed the younger man to lead me into the school. As we entered, Bambam cooed in surprise at the surroundings, looking all around him. I could see the gears turning in his head, rewinding all the times he spent here that he forgot about, just as I did.

The floors were glossier than they were when Jinyoung and I arrived and the decorations were fully set up. Silver and maroon streamers ran up and down the pillars of the foyer with matching balloons spread across the area. The banner was pinned up, a refreshments table appeared beside the sign in area and I could smell the night's courses wafting in the area. The savoury dishes were being brought in by the caterers through the east doors and I watched the student volunteers scramble to help.

"This place looks exactly the same, it's amazing!" Bambam was filled with delight.

As we entered, the music system was being finished setting up. It didn't take long for the familiar phone ringing sound effect to fill my ears, followed by the crooning of the ladies from KARA. I ignored it at first, but the familiarity began to grow on my senses, as I hadn't heard this tune in years, but all it took was for the chorus of my only honey, honey, honey, for me to groan out loud.

Bambam noticed it too, his eyes lighting up and he began to sing along. "I've always wanted you and you only. . .man, this song takes me back. I used to love this song in high school!" He looked at me and chuckled at my reaction. "Oh, yeah. You used to really hate KARA!"

"I didn't hate them—"

"Oh, yeah?" He challenged and I knew exactly what he was going to bring up. "If I recall correctly, there was that one time where you said you'd rather—"

MARCH 2008 (05)

"—gouge my eyes out than listen to KARA's music."

Bambam and Jinyoung looked absolutely disturbed at my statement, even stopping to stare at me in the middle of the sidewalk. I was in the middle of texting Youngjae about details regarding our weekend plans, so I didn't even notice. It was only until I was several feet away that I realized I didn't feel the presence of the other two males at either side.

Looking back, I remained irritated. "What?"

Jinyoung and I walked home together everyday from school, but it wasn't unusual that one of his friends would join us on our route, as a few of them lived in the same area. Bambam, a Thai student on my brother's dance crew, joined us today. He's one of the few people in that group of friends that I was somewhat close with, since he'd been at Haerin in elementary and transferred in and out as his family's business required him to.

"That's a little extreme," he shuddered when he and Jinyoung walked back up to where I was.

The latter smirked knowingly and I just wanted to kick it off his face. "Would it have to do that Mark's been talking to that Hara lookalike in first year?"

"No," I answered a little too quickly.

"Bingo!" Bambam declared, sharing a high five with my brother right in front of my face.

The two of them began to sing Honey by KARA, which only irritated me further. I tried plugging in my earphones connected to my MP3 player, looking for any song that would block out their obnoxious singing. Even after pressing play on a SS501 song, their voices could still be heard.

I ripped the earbuds out and whined, "Just shut up!" I said over and over again that I was over Mark, that it was me who broke up with him, but my jealous tendencies couldn't help themselves.

"Oh baby, honey, honey, honey!" While Jinyoung stopped, the Thai male went on and on and even began to add a skip to his step. If we weren't in public, there were so many things that I wanted to do to him that would make him shut up.

Scrunching my nose, I said, "You really think Suji will date you with that kind of singing voice? Poor girl is going to go deaf." That made Bambam stop immediately.

"Hey, how do you know about that?" he interrogated, visibly distraught. Bambam looked over at Jinyoung, who made an innocent face. "Did you tell her?"

"No! Are you crazy?" Jinyoung raised his hands up in defense. Unlike me, he was quite good at keeping secrets.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. I've seen you guys flirt on each other's Facebook walls, it's nauseating."

Bambam looked like he was about to retort something back, but then he remembered something. "Oh! I almost forgot." He sent a devilish look toward Jinyoung.

"Do I want to know?" he raised a single eyebrow, already knowing that his friend was probably up to no good.

"Suji told me that she wants to audition for the crew!"

Jinyoung and I shared a glance and it didn't take long for the both of us to burst into laughter. Many students at Haerin knew that Suji couldn't dance at all, as the girl was on the cheerleading team and couldn't do a move for shit. It was well known that she only made the squad because the advisor, Mr. Park, favoured her greatly.

However, Bambam looked completely serious.

"You guys are so mean! She's not even that bad, we should let her at least audition," he pointed out. While it was the fair thing to do, it was still hilarious.

"Can someone record her audition and send it to me?" I was still laughing and both boys ignored me.

My brother gave him a pitiful look. "We can't let her do that. It's just going to be embarrassing for her."

The three of us continued walking down our regular route home, while Bambam attempted to reason with Jinyoung all the way there. I had other concerns on my mind, like how Youngjae not-so-discreetly signed up to audition for the dance crew and the basketball situation. I glanced over at my hand, which was still casted up. There really was no way that I could try out.

"But, Jinyoung, she's so pretty! And if we let her on the crew, then I can spend more time with her and—"

"Dude, the crew is not a shortcut to a girlfriend. If you suggested that to Yugyeom or Jaebum, they'd think that you've gone nuts." Jinyoung shook his head. "My sister would be a better addition than her!"

"Excuse me?" I was suddenly pulled back into the conversation. "I'm no dancer anymore, but I can't be a Suji."

"I'm saying the complete opposite of that, stupid."

"Oh, yeah! I forgot you used to dance!" Bambam recalled, tilting his head to the side. "You were actually pretty good. Why don't you dance anymore, like Jinyoung?"

I grumbled; this was the second time within a couple of days that someone's brought the subject of me dancing up. It was still sensitive as hell and talking about it made me feel like shit. "Because I don't like it anymore. Is that so hard for you guys to understand?"

Jinyoung loosed his uniform tie, probably out of aggravation. "Do you like anything anymore? All you do nowadays is watch Super Junior and take naps."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You used to actually have a passion for things!" He sighed aggravatingly, while Bambam watched on. "It's like high school changed you or something. This is our last year, don't you want to do something great? Do something worth remembering about when you look back? This is supposed to be it and as your brother, I can't just let you sit around."

I retorted, "Yes, you can. It's my life, Jinyoung." I didn't see anything wrong with supporting my inspirations and all Jinyoung ever seemed to do was shit on it. "I don't dance anymore and my passion is Super Junior!"

We finally arrived at Bambam's apartment complex. The air was thick and awkward, so the other male simply said goodbye and left as quickly as he could. I watched Bambam leave, as I hastily put my earbuds back in and blasted music. Jinyoung did the same and neither of us talked to the other on the way home. The slate sidewalks were silent with each step.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Be Somebody

It’s Spooky Day.

The ceremonial markings are prepared. The crimson candles cast a dull and sinister light over the chamber, as the stomping and chanting of the hooded figures grows faster. They chant in an old, almost forgotten tongue, begging the forces of all that is foul and unholy for their profane blessing. As the thumping of feet grows faster, as the voices of the cultists grow to a scream, a burst of flame materializes in the center of the circle, burning blindingly bright for only a second, before a horned figure takes its place.

One of the cultists, presumably the leader, speaks. “Candeus! Great Duke of Hell, Seer of Past, Present and Future, Procurer of Treasures Both Carnal and Shining Gold, we have summoned thee!”

The devil pauses to think. No doubt the words from its mouth would form a baleful new verse for its worshippers –

“What.”

The atmosphere of the room, the triumph and anticipation, falters for just a moment. Luckily the hoods hide their identity, and by extension their facial expressions. The leader, to his credit, doesn’t seem fazed.

“We ask you for a boon, O Illustrious Duke! We seek your aid in making our fortune!”

A second stanza. “What the fuck.”

“We call upon your power! Grant your conjurers a precious, glittering boon!”

“What the fuck is going on?” And thus, the prayer was complete. “I’m not Duke! Is-is this some sort of prank? An elaborate attempt at blackmail? Are you seriously asking me for cash?!”

The leader turns to his compatriots, who shrug. “I… yes?”

“You’re a demon,” one of the other cultists pipes up, “you can do that, right?”

“We did the sacrifice and everything,” says another.

“You what?” The demon looks down at the bloody markings on the floor, meant to bind it in place, then behind it. “Oh, shit. Oh. Oh my God. What the – Jesus Christ…”

“I thought I did a pretty good job with the seal,” mutters the leader. The other figures nod or murmur in agreement. One pats him on the back.

The demon slowly turns back, surveying the cult with horror and disgust. “You know what? Fine. Fucking… whatever.” It snaps its fingers. “Bam. You all got a billion dollars in your bank accounts, go build a casino or some shit. I’m leaving.”

“Well, uh, we have to properly unbind you and unsummon you first -”

“Nope. Not doing that. Fuckity-bye, freaks.”

And the demon walks out of both the circle and the chamber, unknowing or uncaring of the panicked cries of ‘it shouldn’t be able to do that’ that follow it.

-

The Sherwood Cemetery has its gates locked. Usually, the council doesn’t bother. However, on Halloween night, they’ve found paying for a cheap lock and chain saves them hundreds in cleaning off graffiti, eggs and other fluids from the grave markers and tombs.

Not that it matters. One kick from a cloven hoof, and the gates swing open in a crash of metal on stone.

“Veronica Sawyer!”

The humanoid figure saunters down the lines of graves. Curved horns protrude from its forehead. A pointed tail lashes from side to side. Its eyes are alight with hellfire, glowing in the darkness of the night.

“It’s time for you to face the music,” the demon continues. “It was your idea for all of us to dress up. It was your idea to buy a pair of devil horns. It was your idea to put them on my head after I repeatedly told you I wasn’t wearing a costume! I remember what you were, and if I’m right, which I usually am, you’re here! Come and see what you’ve done!”

An awful grinding, screeching noise echoes from further away. The demon frowns, and sets off in search of the source.

It’s not hard to find; Sherwood isn’t a big enough town for its cemetery to have many tombs. This one has a door of bronze, turned green by time and neglect. The decorations carved into the stone had also been worn away – the proud lions, once regal and intimidating, were nothing more than vaguely cat-shaped mounds on the sides of the vault.

The door is currently being destroyed. A whimpering emanates from inside the tomb, as gnarled fingers pull at the metal gate. It crumples like cardboard, eventually falling off its hinges as the only moving inhabitant stumbles out.

She’s grey, both with fright and from a lack of a pulse. There’s stitches and sutures everywhere, holding her together, like she’d been the victim of every slasher movie villain ever conceived. Clouded, glassy eyes land on her observer, and she straightens, clearing her throat.

“There are dead bodies in there,” she mumbles, gesturing toward the tomb.

“That’s where they’re supposed to be,” the demon replies, arms crossed. “Speaking of dead people, explain what’s going on or I throw you back in.”

The corpse blinks. “…Heather?”

“No shit, Sherlock. You should know. You’re the one who did this to me.”

“I’m the one who did this to…” Any confusion quickly turns to righteous indignation. “I put a pair of plastic horns on your head. I expected to you to sulk for a while, maybe, definitely not this!”

“Well, if you hadn’t insisted on playing dress-ups -”

“It’s Halloween, Heather! You wear a costume, you get candy, it’s entertainment for all ages! It’s not like I forced Heather to hand-sew that sweet witch outfit! I didn’t pick out Heather’s cat ears against her will!”

“We’re not twelve!” Heather snaps back, “Imagine what everyone would’ve thought if we showed up to the party in costume. It’s childish!”

“It’s fun! I know you know how to have fun, Heather Chandler, and I don’t mean by fucking over someone else. We’re not even eighteen yet. Why do you have to act like every social event is a life-or-death situation?”

Heather is about to reply, when Veronica’s face is suddenly illuminated by light. Any righteousness left on Veronica’s face is once again replaced by a mask of fear.

“Hello, officer,” she croaks.

Heather dares to look over her shoulder. The cop, who looks pale even for someone bathed in moonlight, has one hand on his torch and the other on his holster. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a choking noise.

“We apologize for the disturbance,” Heather adds, with just a hint of anxiety. “We were just leaving.”

The cop’s countenance contorts further at the sound of her voice, but he manages to get out, “I feel like you shouldn’t.”

“With all due respect, officer, I think the laws of God are out of your jurisdiction.”

The officer puffs up his chest for a moment, and manages to get out half of the word ‘trespass’ before his confidence quickly fades. His eyes flicker to the corpse, to the demon, to his own gun. After a moment’s thought, he shakes his head.

“Let me…” he swallows. “Let me escort you out, then.”

“I’m happy with that. Well? Lead the way, officer.”

“…You go first.”

-

The door closes gently, and two figures trot down the front steps and onto the sidewalk of a quiet street. The first, not quite four feet tall, brushes down her costume with a reverence that a felt pumpkin outfit does not often receive. Her expression, one of excitement and gratitude, quickly morphs into a pout. The second, much taller and with a short yet carefully coiffed hairdo, bends down to examine the contents of the girl’s matching basket.

“That’s mine,” she whines.

“You heard Mom. I have to check your candy hasn’t been tampered with.”

“That was Mrs. Applegate! She teaches kindergarten!”

“You can never be too careful,” the boy replies.

The girl stomps her feet. “Peterrrr, we’re wasting time! You can check later!”

“I don’t understand why people don’t hand out more chocolate bars. The wrappers are much safer, you can tell if someone’s messed with them. She gave you an apple, honestly, what was she thinking? Do you know how many razors you could stick in there? If she wanted to do something nice, she’d give you some money to donate to a charity of your choice.” he pauses in his rambling, then looks up. “You haven’t complained in almost twenty seconds. What’s wrong?”  

The girl’s face is a perfect mixture of indescribable terror and reverential awe as she points. “Look at their costumes!”

Peter looks up, his gaze following the finger. There’s a zombie and a demon, just visible behind the bushes, strolling along and exchanging quiet, heated words.

Peter frowns, then calls out - “Veronica?”

The zombie’s head snaps up, dead eyes wide as saucers. The demon looks at her, and the smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she disappears into the thicket of foliage.

“It is you,” Peter approaches, one hand holding his sister back, “isn’t it, Veronica?”

“Yep. This is me. In costume. And makeup, lots of makeup.” A pause. “It’s Halloween.”

“Sure is. What are you doing back there?”

“Looking for someone.”

“Ask her about her costume,” the girl whispers in her brother’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah, in a minute. Who are you looking for? The devil girl?”

Veronica scowls. “Well, yeah, it’d be nice if she stuck around…” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “But I’m looking for Heather. Duke. We took separate cars, and we can’t find her. You know of any bonfires, or big lakes, or… uh, lynch mobs close by?”

“...I’m sorry, what was that last part?”

“Ask about her costume!”

“She’s dressed as a witch, just wanna cover all areas,” Veronica says quickly.

“No,” the little girl says, butting her way into the conversation with confidence she shouldn’t have, “we’re talking about your costume. How’d you do it?”

Veronica doesn’t answer immediately. She just stares, thrown off, before she points at her eyes. “Contacts.” Her ragged clothes. “Old hand-me-downs.” Her forearm, apparently sewn on with what appears to be exposed bone. “Prosthetics and makeup.”

“She doesn’t know what the word ‘prosthetic’ means.”

“Uh... Fake stuff? Yeah, that’s probably right. It’s fake, zombies aren’t real.”

This isn’t the answer the little girl was hoping for, if the scowl is any sign. She marches up to the zombie and yanks at her wrist, sticking her face so close her nose is almost touching the skin.

“Mary!”

Peter picks up his sister, much to her displeasure - “I wanna see what to do for next year!” Veronica just stands there, stunned, holding onto her arm like it’ll fall off if she lets go.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter babbles, “I didn’t know she was actually gonna grab you. She didn’t ruin your costume, did she? You said it was makeup.”

“Uh, well, I might need a touch-up. Back to my question-”

“No lynch mobs that I know of, but there’ll probably be a lot of bonfires tonight. Try Remington.”

“...Okay. Thanks.”

Peter gives a sheepish smile, and Veronica watches as he wrangles his screaming sister back to the sidewalk.

When they’re far enough away, the demon reappears, sporting a smug, fang-filled grin.

“Still having a good time?”

“Shut up, Heather. I’d be totally fine with her checking out my costume if it was just a costume.”

Heather crosses her arms, incredulous. “You’d seriously be okay with her putting her snotty little hands all over your outfit?”

“Look,” Veronica huffs, spreading her arms wide -

And the limb the girl had pulled drops, dangling, held onto Veronica’s body by a few loose threads.

“Wow!” Heather exclaims, her voice and her smile now filled with fake enthusiasm, “That’s something I really wanted to see tonight - the inside of my friend’s arm! Halloween sure is fun!”

“...We need to find Heather.”

-There’s a bare patch of grass behind the Chi Zeta Gamma fraternity house. At least, there was grass there at some point in the past - while it made a few pathetic efforts to grow back over the summer, parties and hazing and bonfires pulverized it time and time again. Now, it was packed-in, bone-dry dirt.

And, just for tonight, a pile of wood and leaves, surrounded by hollering, staggering young men.

Two girls stand off to one side, inappropriately dressed for the cooling weather. One’s gaze is hard, cynical, while the other’s eyes were wide, either with surprise or fear. Their attention is focused on the gathering.

“They’ve done a better job than last year,” one says.

The other tears her eyes away. “On what?”

“I guess since the party’s on Halloween, they have to make it different. I remember a couple of them asking me where to buy needles after I refused to make it myself. I mean, I know why they asked, but I dunno where they’re sold. Never needed to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sewing’s for girls, remember?”

The younger one considers this, then points to the thing propped up on the pyre. “So, they got someone to make that for them?”

“Maybe. Last year it was just a bunch of sackcloth and a dollar store hat. At least now it’s human-shaped.” The older one squints. “...Yeah. I don’t think they made that. Looks too good for a bunch of dude-bros with masculinity so fragile you could break it by talking too loud.”

“Shit.”

Both women whip around, shoulders tense, which does not ease when they see no sign of the speaker.

“Maybe we should go back to the sorority house,” the younger quavers.

“Sisters stick together,” the older replies automatically, but her voice is filling with worry. She pauses to think. “I’ll tell them you’re feeling sick, and that I’m taking you back. Wait for me.”

“Fine... fine.”

The younger is already halfway back to the house before the older manages to make her excuses.

All the leaves and garbage in the general vicinity has been piled on top of the wood, and some of the ample supply of alcohol was poured out in memory of the frat house’s missing members (who weren’t dead, just suspended).

“A torch!” one cries, “It’s a witch-burning, we gotta have a torch!”

To general cheering and whooping, he takes a large enough piece of wood and ties his alcohol-soaked shirt to one end. He grins as he looks up at the fake witch they’d made, clad in a cheap black dress and hat, tied to one particularly large piece of wood. For a moment, there is conflict in his drunken mind - it looked good, but he can’t be proud of his part in that.

“A lighter!”

One bounces off his head, to a mismatched chorus of guffaws, and he laughs along as he picks it up. The little flame is lit, he pulls it closer to his makeshift torch -

Someone grabs onto the back of his head. It isn’t the ruffle of hair he might have expected - the hand does not move, does not let go. It squeezes, just slightly.

The babble of the crowd dies. In the distance, he hears a female voice say “Now what?”

All hell breaks loose around him.

“What the fuuuuuuuuck!”

“No no no no no no no, too spooky!”

“It’s a hand, dude! A hand!”

“Whose hand?” The fraternity member looks this way and that, sees his bros running from him, tripping over each other in their panic, but the pressure on the back of his head remains the same.

One of the few who remained behind screams, “I dunno! It doesn’t have a body!”

The former firelighter takes a moment to process this, then he starts screaming, too, as his friend gets behind him and pulls. There’s a tearing sound, the hand drops, and the few remaining partygoers flee the scene.

After a moment of blessed quiet, out steps a corpse. Her demonic companion follows

“Oh, wow,” Veronica mutters, picking up her detached forearm, placing it under the arm that’s still there, then picking up the hand. “Now I’m disarmed and...” she pauses, contemplating, “...unhanded. They’ve unhanded me, Heather. Do you get it?”

Chandler ignores her, clambering up what would have been a bonfire to examine the figure on top. After a quick patdown, she rips off the dummy’s sackcloth head.

Underneath is a girl, already on the edge of hyperventilating, now staring at her dubious saviour with her eyes almost bulging out of her sockets.

“Hey, Heather.”

The captive gapes wordlessly, before deciding on, “Hey.”

“Now, before you ask, no, I didn’t try to kill you. Nor did Veronica. We don’t know who put you here, actually, if your experience was anything like mine. One minute you’re all laughing at some dumb joke Veronica made, the next there are a bunch of satanists asking me for money.” Silence. “Side note, I may have busted the economy.”

“Okay. There’s a lot to take in, there, but - how are you getting your voice to do that?” Duke asks.

“It just does, now. I blame Veronica.”

Veronica uses her severed hand to wave. Duke makes a strangled noise in response.

Chandler presses on. “The more important thing is you can fix it. You dressed as a witch, and since Veronica can pull down an inch-thick metal door with no problems, you can probably cast a spell and make it so this never happened.”

“Maybe that’s why everything’s falling off now,” Veronica mutters to herself.

“What about Heather? I don’t see her with you.”

“We’ll get to her - wait.” Chandler turns to Veronica. “She was dressed as a cat. Would she be a regular cat, or, like, a cat-person?”

“What, like a furry?”

The demon gives her a glare that would reduce any lesser being to ash. Veronica, no lesser being, just shuffles awkwardly.

Duke gives a long-suffering sigh. “Just... untie me. Please. Get Heather, and I’ll see what I can do.”

-

It’s late. The sun is well below the horizon now, but the lights at the ‘Paws for Thought’ Animal Shelter are still shining on. A large sign is taped to the glass door - No Adoptions Today.

A woman, middle-aged and dumpy, the sort of person who looks like they were born to be that way, totters around the reception. She checks every door, examines every kitschy poster, straightens every decade-old magazine on every end table. She nods, satisfied with a job that didn’t need to be done, and takes out her keyring, so full of keys that it could be used as some sort of weapon.

Then, she stops. She seizes, as if her whole body were flinching.

“Ugh,” she says, “this is - I don’t like this.”

She snaps the lock on the front door, sticking her head out.

“Coast is clear. C’mon.”

Two young women enter, exposed under the sterile, flourescent lights. One is dressed in sackcloth, the other has an arm sewn on with some sort of twine.

“I remember this place,” Veronica says, “this is where I got JFK. Geez, still smells the same as it used to.”

“Why did you name your cat after a dead president, anyway?” Duke inquires.

“I didn’t. It stands for Jumpy Furry Kitty. I was seven when I got him, so I wasn’t too great with names.”

“That’s... kinda sweet.”

“That’s not the cat we’re here for,” says the woman, in a harsher tone than she’s probably ever used in her life. “I have about the same amount of keys as the jailors at San Quentin must have. Help me figure out which one opens the door. I don’t wanna be wearing this hag like a skin-suit any longer than I have to.”

“Don’t call her a hag,” chides Veronica, “she’s probably doing her best.”

“I’m a demon, Veronica. I don’t have to be nice.”

It takes them a good five minutes to find which of them opens the door. The woman fumbles for the light switch, and with the buzz of the lights comes a rising chorus of meows.

“We’re looking for a blonde cat,” the woman says, “or a black one. Or a blonde one with black ears. Or, we’re looking in the wrong place entirely, and Heather’s lost in an alley somewhere.”

“Or she’s a furry.”

“NO.”

“I’m a witch,” Duke offers. “Maybe I can... fortune-tell my way into finding the right one.”

Veronica grins. “You’re a witch - does this mean Heather’s your familiar?”

Duke blushes. The woman currently possessed by Chandler snorts.

“I mean, that wasn’t the idea when we - never mind.” Duke straightens, speaks as if she were giving a speech. “If you’re Heather McNamara, can you meow for me?”

The meowing had never ceased.

“Stick your right front paw out of the cage if you’re Heather McNamara,” Veronica calls over the caterwauling.

There are already a number of cats doing just that, hoping to gain some food or attention. Some are angling for both.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Chandler grumbles through someone else’s voice, “just to your little ritual thing here, Heather. If one of these cats is Heather, we’ll find out.”

Veronica’s brow creases. “These cages are tiny. What happens if she’s in one, and she becomes a person again? She’d be crushed.”

“Okay. Let out all the cats. See how that goes for you. You know cats eat corpses like you, right?”

“Hello, Heather!”

All three intruders freeze. The voice is from behind them, and their eyes say they recognize it.

“Hey, Heather,” Duke quavers.

“I saw you going in,” McNamara says from behind them, “you were looking for me, right?”

“Well, of course. We were worried about you.”

“Been a weird night, huh? Like, we were laughing about how much Heather’s devil horns fit her, then I’m in an alleyway.”

“That sounds about right,” Chandler croaks.

“Anyway, I’m fine. I’ve had a lot of fun. Kids love me, they keep petting me when they see me.”

Veronica finally speaks up. “Heather?”

“Hmm?”

“How many legs are you standing on right now?”

“Two, of course. Why?”

The other three share a look, and once again Chandler is trying to kill Veronica with her eyes. Veronica, taking this as a sign, turns.

There’s a regular-sized cat behind them, standing on its hind legs like a meerkat. It blinks up at them with big yellow eyes.

“I can’t decide whether or not this is worse,” says Veronica.

-

A big stone slab stands before the four. A long time ago, the indents and worn-down carvings might have meant something - now they were given use again.

A chalk circle has been drawn, gibberish markings adorning its edges. In the center, there are four small candles, pink and blue, the sort you’d see on a birthday cake and not for use in some dark ritual.

Witches make do.

Duke admires her handiwork, then turns to her friends. “Who wants to start the chant?”

No answer. Chandler idly scratches McNamara’s head.

“None of us know the words,” Veronica volunteers.

“I don’t know them, either. Let me try - what was the Latin? Quaeso ut mihi: in domum suam.”

“Sounds ominous,” Chandler hums, “let’s do it. Heather. Veronica.”

A chant starts up. McNamara trips over her own tongue, but manages to bluff her way along.

A wind begins to blow. Barely a breeze at first, it builds as the girls raise their voices to compete. The flames on the candles change in a whirl of color - red, blue, green, yellow - almost horizontal in the gale forming around them.

Chandler pauses, then checks behind her. through the dust and leaves, she sees figures.

Hooded.

“Contain the Duke!”

“Ah, fuck.”

While Duke and McNamara keep chanting, Duke out of commitment and McNamara from ignorance, more faces end up appearing around their circle - two officers in uniform, a bunch of young men, the plump woman with her ring of keys and a face full of fear. Some try to reach them, but their bodies are tossed back by the wall of force.

“Keep going,” Veronica urges. Chandler pauses, then starts up her chant again.

“Get the zombie! I know that hand!”

“You’re under arrest for trespass and the destruction of public property, come quietly-”

“No, we gotta beat up the zombie first. It ruined our party!”

“Gentlemen, this is a police matter-”

“No one can know what we’ve done - Father Ripper can’t know about this!”

“What did you do?”

“We had a good time -”

“Officer, I’ve been possessed, how do I file charges against -”

The wind ceases. The four are gone, and those that followed are left, empty-handed, in the middle of a forest.

-

10:49.

Chandler stares at the clock, as if willing it to be wrong. No-one else is with her; there’s nothing but the plastic headband and the difference in time to tell her that anything at all happened.

Duke looks down at her costume, exquisitely hand-sewn, sequined and untouched after tonight’s events. She hangs it up in her closet - maybe Heather will let her wear it next year.

McNamara makes use of her newly-restored opposable thumbs to ring as many people as she could. She had an amazing night, and everyone needs to know about it.

Veronica checks her pulse, her limbs, her face in the mirror. JFK saunters in, she scratches her old friend under the chin.

Martha Dunnstock sleeps peacefully, the leather-bound book resting on her bedside table.

It was a fun idea for Halloween. A shame spells weren’t real.