%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Confessions of Others"  At first you think Caleb must be offering some kind of ethical challenge: Get rid of all the magical stuff before someone gets into trouble with the masks and impersonations. But when you catch Will's face, you realize there's something else going on. This is his way of getting rid of Gordon. After all, what do you have in common with Gordon Black? He's a jock, and you're not. He's dating the head cheerleader, and you don't have a girlfriend anymore. He's got to be the most well-known guy at Westside. You and Caleb are practically invisible and anonymous. Without masks, there is no reason and no way for him to be friends with you. "We don't hafta go that far," you say, and catch Will's eye. "It's a team-building thing, that's all. We're learning to trust each other." "We can do that without the masks," Caleb says. His glance turns piercing. "Like we're doing now?" "Who says we're doing it without masks now?" you say. "Who says we are, and who says we aren't?" Caleb's face falls. "Anyway, I wanna keep going with this stuff. I'll be in charge of getting the dirt. That's the shit part of this next job. You two figure out where we're gonna get the money to pay for the rest of the shit." You suddenly want to leave. "I'll catch you around later." "Where are you going?" Will asks. "I gotta go hold Chelsea's hand," you improvise. "She gets emotional diarrhea if I don't check in regularly." As you mount the stairs, Will and Caleb start talking in low, furious voices. Just as you're going out the door you hear Will say, "Eva! Or Jessica!" * * * * * It's a queer kind of "trust building exercise" when you're lying to your best friend about who you really are. And you're telling Gordon an untruth too, for you don't call Chelsea. Instead, you go to Walmart and buy a hundred sand bags -- they're not expensive, so you've enough money of your own to cover that purchase. While there you spot Joshua Call, who works in the Gardening section. He turns away almost instantly after seeing you, disappearing down another aisle. For a moment you feel relief, as you'd hate to have that bastard come over and start on you. Then you remember who you are, and feel ashamed of that sense of relief. But you've no business with him anyway, and take off with the sandbags without any further worry. Your dad -- and now it's best to start thinking of him as your dad -- is still out on patrol, so you fix some supper, and make enough for him too. You fry up some ground beef and add some Sloppy Joe mix to it, and wolf it down on hamburger buns over the sink so as to minimize clean up. You scrub the stove when you're done, put away the food, and leave your dad a note telling him what you fixed and that leftovers are in the refrigerator. Then you drive out to Lynch's house. He's delighted to see you, naturally, and inquires after Chelsea; you tell him you haven't talked to her. He congratulates you on staying firm, but in a way that suggests he thinks you might be lying. You ignore it, though, and tell him you want his help tonight, after it gets dark. "We're going out to the old cemetery," you tell him. His eyes get wide. "What for?" "We're gonna get some dirt. Halloween's coming up, you know. It might be fun to have some actual graveyard dirt around for, I dunno, party or prank shit." He makes a face. "Any dirt would do. Let's just go out to a greenhouse -- " "I want real cemetery dirt, and I want your help." "Sure, Gordon, whatever you say," he says soothingly. "I'm game for anything. I'm just trying to save you some -- " "It'll be cheaper than buying dirt at a greenhouse." "True, true." Jason nods. "But, uh, does it have to be from a cemetery? I mean, no one's gonna know it comes from -- " "You scared of zombies?" "No! But we could go out in my backyard right now and -- " "From a graveyard," you tell him firmly. "We'll take it off a grave, even. Take a picture to show people if they say they don't believe us." He pales. "And what are we using it for?" "I dunno." You shrug. "Just something to have on hand, just in case." Jason's expression suggests he can't think of anything he might need to have cemetery dirt on hand for, "just in case." * * * * * You're not much keener on going to the cemetery than Lynch is, and it's nearly ten o'clock by the time you've decided you can't delay any longer. During that time you watch a movie with him and talk about boobs and pussies. Despite your nerves, you're pretty relaxed after two hours in his company, and you -- or maybe it's Gordon -- have a better appreciation for his crude charms. When you get down to it, he's not much smarter than Keith Tilley, and he has the same slightly desperate need to please by showing that he's cut from the same cloth as his two friends. That double familiarity -- Lynch being directly familiar to Gordon, and his Tilley-ness being familiar to you -- eventually put you at ease, so that you're laughing and joking with him before long. The humor continues at the graveyard, though conducted with quieter voices. "So whose grave do we want?" you ask as you vault over the low wall with shovels -- from your own house -- and the sandbags. "Old person? Old man, old woman?" "Let's just take the nearest one," Jason says. "Nah, we gotta make it count. This is like popping your cherry." "Whose cherry? Yours?" Jason chortles. "I said your cherry. Or hers." You point to a tombstone whose deeply cut name -- "Joan Henderson" -- can be read in the bright moonlight. "Oo, I think this is the girl for you, man!" "No!" "Oh, I think she wants it." You tap at the sod with the tip of your shovel. "Oh! Oh!" you say in a groaning falsetto. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle," you reassure the grave, and with your foot gently break the topsoil. "Oh! Oh! Mm! Mmm! Yes, oh please, yes! Yes!" You push the blade firmly in and turn over a shovelful. "Oh! Deeper! Harder! Oh God!" You jam the shovel in a second time, and a third, faster and faster. When you finish with the imagined girl cuming, you hand the shovel to your partner. "Okay, I got her loosened up for you. You take over." "How deep are we going to go?" he asks. "Until we find an old, dry snatch you can moisten." * * * * * Actually, you don't have to dig very deeply at all, and the trench is only about six feet long, one foot wide, and one foot deep by the time you've filled all the sandbags. With your cell phone you snap a quick picture of the grave and the hole, then start hauling the bags back to Lynch's truck. He starts bitching about having to carry the sacks up into the gym loft, and that's fine by you, for it makes a good excuse to put them someplace else. You tell him that you drove by the old Acheson elementary school a few days ago, and that that would make a good spot for a temporary drop off. So you drive out there and line them up along one of the walls. Lynch then takes you back to his house, where you pick up your Bug. It's after midnight by now, but instead of going home you do something Gordon often does: You drive up to the school, let yourself into the loft, and crash there for the night. Before that, though, you send a text to Prescott's cell phone, telling him that the sacks are at the school, and that he should move them into the basement ASAP, even if it means skipping school in the morning. Then, from one of the crates, you pull out an old sleeping bag and put yourself to sleep for a couple of hours. * * * * * Gordon has good reflexes, and apparently you've got a solid hold of them, for you're sitting up and blinking stupidly before the loft door opens and Steve Patterson comes in. You must have heard his feet on the steps in your sleep. "Rough night with the old cop?" he asks. "I saw your Bug out front, came up to see if you were awake." "I had a late night. Fuck, I'm stiff." You roll a shoulder. "With Chelsea?" "No. And shut up about Chelsea." He shrugs. "She's down in the bleachers, you know." That's a shock. She only attends pre-class practice when you pick her up. You crawl out of the bag and stretch. "How does she look?" "I'm not gonna answer that. She'll have seen your car, so she can guess this is where you are." "What time is it?" "We're supposed to start in five minutes." "Fuck. You rested? Then run things until I get down there. I won't be long." You sit up and begin a stretching routine in earnest. There will be stretches down below on the floor, but you will need more than that before you can start at your normal speed. My normal speed. I'm going to run the Westside basketball squad's pre-class practice. You're still amusing yourself with this thought, and enjoying the slow-burning sensation of strong muscles loosening up as you do a set of crunches, when you hear softer footsteps on the stairs. There's a tap, and Chelsea peers in. "Hi, pookie. I came to watch, if that's okay." "Love to have you," you say through a grimace. She comes in. "Can I help?" "Don't know how." "I could hold your feet for you." She sits on your feet and and cups your calves in her small, soft hands. A little prickling sweat breaks out on your scalp, and your cock rises. You try to ignore her as you resume the crunches. Then she asks, "Can we have lunch together? Up here? Just us?" Next: "Just Desserts" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
