Twin Flames

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Eighteen years ago, a candle would mean lavender bathtub water, freshly chopped firewood, and holiday bliss for the lucky handful that could afford property by the lake.

The lakeside properties were full of lavish second homes for the bored and wealthy– just far enough from town to feel the escape of routine and town gossip, but close enough that any champagne-infused indiscretion within those opulent woods would find its way back into the mouth of town gossips by the next evening.

The Jones cabin and property was a coveted estate that townspeople would drive by, shining their lucky pennies, hoping one day their luck would bring them to the doorstep that hosted such Gatsby parties for such important people.

But that was then.

Now, any movement within those cabin walls would send any passerby into a state of frenzied terror–they knew the stories that were whispered in grocer lines and school hallways, through cubical walls and at the edge of campfires.

It began seventeen years ago. Local business mogul, Jeffrey Jones, caught rumors of his wife's alleged infidelity, leaving the question of their newborn baby's true paternity to eat away at him like maggots feeding on his scalp. He drove his wife and baby to their family cabin on the deception of a spontaneous holiday, but he had one salient objective–to confront his wife and find the man who dared to upend his family and destroy his reputation.

After finishing the last bite of his wife's famous pot roast, Jeffory wiped his mouth with a napkin, folded it neatly on the table, then burst, unhinged, screaming his accusations. In the insanity that only love can wield, Jeffrey reached for the carving knife nestled in the flesh of the glazed pig and held the serrated, cold steel against his wife's neck until she screamed the truth.

"...at least the baby has some of your blood."

Jeffrey then flew into a fit of jealous rage upon learning of such harrowing betrayal between brothers, plunging the knife into his wife's chest and drowning the illegitimate child in the kitchen sink. When Jeffrey's brother arrived the next morning for an impromptu fishing trip, he found Jeffery washing the same knife in cold, scarlet water–over and over and over again–the baby, bloated and blue, floating motionless in the same sink.

When the brother screamed in grief at the sight of his dead lover and child, Jeffory broke out of the dense trance that enveloped him and lunged at his brother, knife in hand, fighting for all he had lost, all that was taken, and all that could have been, until both Jones brother's, cheated and scorn, collapsed side by side in death.

The cabin was cleaned, polished, and resold. But time and time again, each new owner would sell soon after purchase, complaining of 'unexplainable disturbing occurrences' like waking to the deafening sound of a woman screaming, a baby crying, or the kitchen sink turning on by itself and overflowing with water.

Some said the Jones family continued to age, one owner claiming a toothless toddler crawled onto the end of their bed one night, repeating in an obsessive sputter–getting louder and more high-pitched with each word, "daddy has a big knife, now mommy is red. Daddy has a big knife, now mommy is red. Daddy has a big knife, now mommy is red. DADDY HAS A BIG KNIFE, NOW MOMMY IS RED!!!!!"

The real estate value plummeted as the stories collected, soon leaving the cabin, and once desirable estate, to stand untouched for over a decade.

Until seventeen years later, when the flicker of a candle illuminated the cracked glass of the windows. No one saw it, except Becky. But it didn’t scare her–she lit the match.

Becky knew she could be alone there. Not alone, for she was used to that, but undisturbed. She thought the tales were lies parents told to keep their teens from using the empty cabin to experiment with drugs and sex. Neither of which Becky had ever done. You have to have friends or a boyfriend to do those things.

Becky was a twig-like thing, with the type of quietness and oddness that only comes from the unloving neglect of a single mother that chose vodka over grocery shopping. Since childhood, Becky used her dark curly hair as a curtain to hide her timid face and oversized clothing to soften the protruding bones of her lanky, pale body. She could escape the harsh words and judgmental stares of her teenage classmates in the solace and silence of the school library.

That is where she found the book.

Spells and Incantations for the Skilled Witch. Bound in dark, aged leather, the pages reeking of dust and rat piss. When Becky couldn't find a library barcode to sign it out, she slid it into her backpack, reading in bathroom stalls between periods and in her bedroom closet between clothes. Once she found the spell, she knew she had to find a quiet place to try it.

She didn't know what was so scary about the cabin. The cabin alone was ten times the size of her mom's apartment, and that discluded the lakeside boat shed, the endless dock, and the gazebo in the expansive woods. The interior of the cabin was dated and the rooms were damp, but nevertheless, it would be the perfect place for a parent to dissuade curious teenagers from finding. A lot of horrible and wonderful things could be done there.

Becky sat on the cabin floor, took out the spell book from her backpack, and opened it to a dog-eared page. She took a deep breath and read the page out loud.

"Twin Flames – A spell to awaken a friend."

The lonely ones know their voices intimately, as it is often one's only companion. But when Becky heard her own voice fill the stale room, it echoed back in a mocking tone, as if her shame and desperation were laughing at the sight of her, huddled over a silly book promising her a friend through magic.

Becky pushed her thoughts away, knowing that she soon would probably just laugh about this when she would leave the same way she came. Alone. She stood up and brought the candle closer to the page and continued reading, just to spite herself.

Knees on the ground, place dark and empty,

close two eyes, black, count descending twenty–

numbers fall slowly, until reaching one,

recite three times, Diaboli Pone–

ignite a candle, yellow flicker,

fingertips in amber liquor,

feed it to the flame and breath,

burning blisters till they bleed–

one red handprint on the wall,

holding breath until mind falls–

wake to find one soul has split–

two bodies–beyond death–forever knit

Becky blew out the candle and watched smoke snake into the dense air. She coughed once and set the book on the ground, enough afterglow from the setting sun to read without the candle.

𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡, 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔶,

𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰, 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨, 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔶–

𝔫𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔩𝔶, 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫𝔢,

𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔩𝔦 𝔭𝔬𝔫𝔢–

𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢, 𝔶𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔣𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯,

Becky followed the instructions the best she could interpret them–eyes tight, her knees, boney and pained, on the wooden floor. Fearlessly, she began counting. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…… four, three, two, one.

Becky slowly opened her eyes, half expecting to see movement in the shadowed corners of the room. She reached for the matches again, sounding out the unknown Latin words, chanting three times. Diaboli Pone, Diaboli Pone, Diaboli Pone.

Becky flicked the match against the box, the flame illuminating her face, her reflection in the window staring back at her with a grin. She lit the candle.

𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔭𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔮𝔲𝔬𝔯,

𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢,

𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔡–

𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩,

𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰–

𝔴𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔭𝔩𝔦𝔱–

𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔰–𝔟𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥–𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔨𝔫𝔦𝔱

Becky reached into her backpack, ruffling through crumbled paper, touching the sour damp of a bruising apple. Her mother’s stolen car keys jingled. Her mom in her alcohol-induced slumber wouldn't even notice they were missing.

She gripped a small bottle of whiskey–her mother’s. (This she would notice was missing.) She popped the lid off, the scent twisting her nose in a knot. Becky poured the syrupy alcohol over her fingertips, flicking off the access. She draped them over the flame until a crackling sound simmered as her cheeks colored with pain. She held on until blisters formed–mucus-filled blood came to the surface of her fingers in such slow defiance, as if her skin, itself, was stone.

A single drop of blood fell to the ground, sinking into the wood floorboards as if it was drinking it. Becky's legs trembled as she stood, ailing and flushed. Her vision lightening to a white hue, her head, light with the elevation and sight of blood. She pressed her tender fingers and palm to the cabin wall, leaving a crimson smudge. She felt an energy surge through her fingertips, almost as if the wall was accepting her blood as an offering. She thought it must be working, then couldn't help but laugh at herself.

Becky ended the spell as it was written. She held her breath–longer, longer, longer–until she felt a cold tingling on the back of her neck in the shape of a hand. Before she could turn, her knees gave out and her vision went blank. She passed out before she could see what could have touched her.

***

When Becky woke the sky was much darker. The early evening had retired past dusk. Becky reached for the matches again, forgetting her fingertips were scorned with blood. She flicked the match on the box, pain scrunching her face like lemon juice on her tongue.

The dim light pierced the inky air, reflecting a glow off the clouded windows. The lake brought a tumbling mist over the water's surface, seeping into the trees that scraped the glass Becky looked through.

A creak sounded in the belly of the cabin. Becky spun around with excitement and curiosity, wax from the candle splashing on her flayed fingers. She winced, then thought, did the spell really work?

"Hello? Are you there? I'm Becky. A-a friend."

Creaaaak.

This time Becky knew it wasn't a trick from the aching wood. Someone, or something, was there. She didn't know if she should be afraid or ecstatic, and for the first time, she wondered if it would be better to be alone.

"Hello? Y-you can come out now. I'm the one who asked you here."

She stood still, holding the candle out further in her outstretched hand. The light reflected off the rusted silver of the kitchen sink. A single drop of water fell from the tap. She flinched.

Becky called out again, "uhh... Hello? Who's there?"

"Hi?" A timid voice called back deep in the house, child-like in its tone. The voice made Becky think of the darkness inside a locker, the shattering of a beer bottle as her mother screamed at the television, the hooded man in the black truck that followed Becky down Abberton street. She swallowed, regretting her deep-down disbelief that a spell from an old book could possibly hold validity.

A cold wind tunneled through the long hallway before her, dust flying into Becky's squinting eyes. She smelled the faint odor of moldy carpet and sour milk. Becky stepped back this time. "Uhh.. hello....I'm Becky. What's your name?"

The voice was closer. "Uhh.. I-I don't know."

Becky started to look around for her backpack, unsure of what could unfold in the moments to come, but couldn't see it in the aura of the small flame. She continued. "That's okay. I can give you a name. W-would you like that?"

"Okay." The voice was closer. The peculiar sound of something dragging across the floorboards filled the room.

Becky's voice pitched higher in nervousness. "Hmmm.. o-oh-kay. How a-about... Lucy?"

"Luthy? Um, okay. I-I like Luthy."

The dragging noise was getting closer. Becky saw faint movement in the gloom at the end of the hallway, the flame of the candle reflecting in two distant, unblinking eyes.

"Okay, Lucy. Where are you, by the way?" Becky started stepping backward, anxiously scanning the room for her things, unable to find them.

"Over hewe. Come find me."

"Um...I'd rather stay here. How about you come to me?" Becky felt a sense of sinking dread. Maybe the voice wasn't of a friend.

It was silent for a moment, as if the unknown creature was mulling over a different ending to the story they hoped for. "I usually hide. But I guess I can count this time. Ten, nine, eight...."

Becky stood motionless as the numbers fell, Lucy's sing-song voice echoing through the hallway.

"Three...Two... One. Ready or not, here I come!"

The shaky glow of light slowly revealed a figure crawling towards Becky. She pulled at her clothes anxiously as the sound of boney knees dragging across the wood got louder and louder. Becky stopped dead when a face looked up at her from a crumpled body on the ground.

"Hey, you didn't hide!"

Becky gasped at the sight of Lucy. "Wait, stop! W-What's going on?"

The figure stopped crawling as if offended by Becky's outburst, leaving the two girls to stare at each other in confusion. In front of Becky was a teen girl, frail and familiar, crawling on her hands and knees, and looking identical to Becky.

The stranger smiled at the sight of their likeness, revealing a toothless grin. Becky backed away in shock. Lucy crawled even faster towards Becky. When she did, Becky noticed her clothes and hair were dripping wet, strands of dark hair clinging to the sides of her gaunt face.

Becky backed away even quicker in panic. Lucy raised her voice, "why awe you wunning away?" The R's coming out as W's from her toothless mouth.

Becky tripped over her own feet and then caught herself, disturbed by Lucy's gummy grin. "What the hell is going on? Why do you look just like me? I...I must have done the spell wrong."

Becky fell to her hands and knees, setting the candle down, groping for the touch of leather in the dark.

Lucy frowned and leaned back to sit on her haunches, her voice hardening in anger. "What spell?"

Becky talked quickly, stumbling over her words. "Uh, I - I did a chant... I mean a spell. From a b-book, an old leather... from the library... cause I want a friend... and ... it is meant to be a twin flame... well m-my twin flame... and I thought it wouldn't work... it shouldn't have... I was just fooling around... and..."

Lucy interrupted, crazed and staring, "I can be your fwend."

"NO! I mean..." Becky stopped. "I mean, I would like that, but y-you can't look how you look right now.. if we went out in public.. and...."

Lucy slammed her fist to the ground, a loud ringing echo shaking the cabin. "Well, it's not my fawt we look the same. It's yours. Stupid girl."

Becky's head was reeling, her hands reaching around the floor, crawling until she felt leather. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Y-you are supposed to be my twin flame, not my twin." Becky's breath quickened, flipping frantically trying to find the right page. "I just think we should try again and see if we can make it right."

Becky finally found the page and shouted in confusion when she saw that everything on the page had faded away, leaving only the unknown Latin words– scribbled over and over–DIAPOLI PONE DIAPOLI PONE DIAPOLI PONE DIAPOLI PONE!

Becky shot to her feet in surprise and receded further away from Lucy, her eyes searching the page for a reason. Becky muttered, "I d-don't understand. What the h-hell is going on?" Lucy's eyes widened with glee.

Just then, the book became unbelievably heavy in Becky's hands, falling to the ground with so much force it broke through the floor boards, tipping the candle over and leaving a gaping hole. Becky screamed, the candle extinguishing as it tumbled.

Lucy crawled to the hole and giggled into the black. She then crept to Becky, bug-like and startlingly quick, gripping tightly to her leg as a toddler would a mother's leg. "I have wanted a fwiend too for a weally long time. Won't you be my fwiend? I like that we awe twins."

Becky kicked her leg, "GET OFF ME! LOOK AT YOU! YOU'RE A FREAK!"

Lucy fell backward as Becky kicked in terror, then propped herself back up to sit on her feet, crouched like a grasshopper ready to spring. Water dripped from her clothes as she bunched her legs, pooling underneath her bare feet. Lucy raised her voice to a deranged screech, "WELL I CAN'T HELP HOW I LOOK! IT'S YOUW FAULT! YOU MADE THE BODY! I JUST FOUND IT AND CWAWLED INTO IT!"

"What do you mean c-crawled into? I created you!" Becky staggered backward, away from the hole, away from Lucy, hoping her desperation would will her backpack to appear.

A low grunt from the hole interrupted the girls. Becky tightened her hands into fists. Lucy grinned.

"W-what was that?"

Before she could get an answer, a large hand slinked out of the hole, fingers inching across the wood like the legs of a crawling tarantula. Another hand swung behind it, a moonlit knife in its grip and hot blood dripping down its forearm. More groaning erupted from the floorboards–as if the thing was finding the strength to lift its body out of the hole.

Lucy tilted her head, revealing a hallow smile as she cackled, "NOW DADDY IS MAD. WHEN DADDY IS MAD, IT GETS BLOODY!"

Suddenly, a blood-curdling woman's scream reverberated from within the cabin. At first, Becky thought it was herself that screamed, but when her hand shot to her mouth in surprise, she realized her jaw was clenched shut. The scream rang like an alarm bell, searing into Becky's temples as a migraine overtook her.

Becky decided then and there, that the only thing she could do was run. She didn't have time to find her backpack, her keys, anything. She had to run far away–away from Lucy, away from the strangers she dreaded to meet, away from the darkness that seeped through every inch of wallpaper and floorboard in that cabin.

So, she held her breath, counted to three, and sprinted for the front door. She jiggled the door handle frantically, only to find it locked.

"You awen't leaving without me, awe you?" Lucy cried.

Becky's shaking hand twisted the deadlock, flinging the door open with a heavy pull, only to double over at the sight before her.

Before Becky, was a man dangling from the doorframe, facing away, strangled and hanging by his neck in fish wire. As he slowly turned to face her, Becky saw metal hooks pierced through every inch of his skin, pinching and distorting his face into a deformed smile. The man bellowed a low, guttural laugh as he hung, revealing Becky's backpack from behind him. "Looking for this, sweetheart?"

Becky got to her feet, stumbling, and ran deeper into the cabin–pushing Lucy to the ground as she fled. She darted into a bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. She fell to her knees, dissolving into tears. With her back against the door, she stared at the closed shower curtain before her, black mildew crawling up the edges and rippling like wind in a sail. Becky clung to her knees and closed her eyes, whispering to herself, "this can't be happening. This can't be real."

Lucy knocked on the door delicately, taunting.

"GO AWAY!" Becky screamed, tears dripping off the tip of her nose.

Lucy knocked louder, slowly erupting into a feverish bang. The door rattled. Becky pushed harder against the door.

Lucy screamed. "WHY!" Bang. "DON'T" Bang. "YOU!" Bang. "WANT!" Bang. "TO!" Bang. "BE!" Bang. "MY!" Bang. "FWWEEENNDDD?!?"

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

All at once, the tap from the bathroom sink slowly started to turn. A sickly screech escaped as if the faucet was letting out a scream. Becky plugged her ears and yelled, "STOP! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She stared at the tap as it turned to full blast, spraying out like a fountain, the water turning from clear-to-pink-to-red as the sink filled. Becky sprang to the faucet, trying with all her fleeting strength to turn the nozzle back, to no avail. The sink overflowed, dripping over the counter to the ground. The shower curtain shook. Becky heard the bathtub tap begin to run.

Becky spoke softly, like the words themself were defeated. "I'm sorry, Lucy. I'll be your friend. I want to be your friend."

Lucy kept banging, her voice lowering an octave into an otherwordly register, "DON'T LIE TO ME!"

Becky yelled back, "NO, I REALLY DO, I WANT A FRIEND. That is why I did the spell. I just must have done the spell wrong. It confused me when we looked so similar. I hope you can forgive me. I'll make it right."

The red liquid was pooling on the ground, Becky's hem becoming heavy with gore.

Lucy rocked against the door, hitting her head over and over. "Weally? You'll be my fwend?"

"REALLY! Yes, I really want a friend too. W-we...um... we can tell people you're my cousin. People see what they want to. Just... just give me my car keys and we can leave together. Right now."

"What about my teeth?"

"Um... they'll grow in, probably. It will be okay. Just give me my keys."

Lucy was silent.

"Lucy?"

Becky's trembled to the door and opened the door a crack, Lucy nowhere in sight. Her eyes fell by the hole to see a bloodied man's corpse emerging from the dark cavity around him. Becky tried to stay calm, but her heartbeat scattered at the sight of the hook-filled man swinging back and forth in the front door frame, twirling her backpack in jest. Fishing wire cut deeper into his partially decapitated neck, blue and black with bruising.

Becky called out, "just give me my car keys. Lucy? I have some clothes in my car. You are probably freezing cold in your wet clothes. Just get my backpack from that man and we can go. Th-then I'll take you home. Lucy?"

Just then, the man from the floorboards lifted his entire body out of the hole and tumbled, belly first, onto the ground with a thud. Becky gasped as the man locked eyes with her and let out a demonic growl. Then, slowly but calculated, he crawled on his elbows, knife in hand, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he slithered towards Becky.

Suddenly, Lucy's staring eye, black and glowing, appeared inched from Becky's face, Lucy laughing through the gap of the door. Becky slammed the door in her face, locking it once again. The filthy water was now at Becky's shins, the crimson sludge filling the room quicker than it could trickle under the door. Becky screamed.

Three sets of fists started banging on the door, the lock getting weaker and weaker with each thud. Becky backed away, the toilet and bathtub now overflowing, rising to Becky's knees. Becky cried through broken sobs. "STOP! S-STOP RIGHT NOW! LET ME GO! I WILL BE YOUR FRIEND! FOREVER! FOREVER AND EVER, UNTIL I DIE! LUCY! J-JUST GIVE ME MY KEYS AND WE CAN GO RIGHT NOW! P-PLEASE LUCY! PLLLEASE!"

Suddenly, the water stopped. The banging stopped. The yelling stopped. All was still as Becky stood frozen, knee-deep in black and red wetness.

Becky stopped breathing. "L-Lucy?"

"You weally mean it?"

"Yesss! Yes. Lucy! Just give me the key!"

Lucy paused. "I can't. Mom has the keys."

Becky heard delicate splashing coming from the bathtub, followed by the tormenting screech of the shower curtain–metal rings scraping against the steel rod. Becky froze, not daring to look, to turn, to do anything. "Umm... Okay, Lucy. Where is your mom?"

Before Lucy could respond, the feeling of chapped lips touched the lobe of Becky's ear and a cold breath whispered softly, "behind you, sweetheart!"

A cold hand gripped her skin, the familiar tingling sensation spreading across her neck. Becky fell, her head hitting the bathroom mirror, shattering as she collapsed. As she faded away, body draped over the bathroom sink, the only thing Becky could hear was the jingling of keys and four voices screaming, pulling her ears apart like pliers.

***

Becky woke, sweaty and naked in a ray of sun on the bathroom floor, mirror glass circling her like a ritual. She gasped for breath as if her head was underwater, panic sinking in. Her arms were covered in scratches, red, matching the walls and floor she collapsed on. She rose and burst out of the door to find the hole in the middle of the living room floor. She thought, no, no, no, this can't be real. Her head pounded in pain as she collected every fractured moment from the night before.

Becky tightened her jaw, realizing her mouth was sore. Her hand shot to her cheeks to find the terrifying realization that every tooth in her mouth, from ear to ear, was gone. Becky wailed in horror, her tongue tasting dried blood on her lips, her gums, her cheeks. Holding her jaw in agony, Becky stumbled outside to find her car was missing.

She screamed. "W-Where's the car?"

She had to get out of there before the woods got dark and the moon shone like the dead. She began running towards town, her bare feet tender from the gravel road, praying a car would venture down the barren road to her rescue.

Becky limped for hours before a single car drove by. When she heard the crackle of the gravel coming from behind her, she started waving her hands frantically as the car began to slow. But as the driver got closer to Becky's red-stained naked body, they saw the blood dripping from her empty mouth and her disheveled frame and sped faster away, thinking they were seeing a creature from a horror movie. The only clean skin Becky had was under her salted eyes.

She ran and ran until she saw the outlines of the town's gray buildings take shape. Her feet were sore and blistered, her skin, cold, as the clouds over town blocked the sun.

She approached her high school that stood alone on the edge of town–a half-empty parking lot, graffitied picnic tables, finger-like trees bending in the wind. She knew she would be safe there. She could call the police. She could get help from her teacher, Mrs. Anderson. She could find clothes. She wouldn't have to face her mother quite yet–without the car, without her teeth, without her clothes.

Becky burst through the front door, covering her breasts in shame as she ran down the hallways. She sprinted to the gym change room, students whispering in the hallways and pointing judging fingers at her bare skin.

She fell into the change room and locked the door. She stared at herself in the mirror, tears rinsing the blood off her face in two streams. Becky stepped into a shower and shut the curtain door, letting the cold water run until the crimson ran clear, rinsing out her aching mouth and spitting clots of blood down the drain. She stepped out of the shower, shivering, to find no towel in sight–only the lost and found container. She leaned over the box, rifling through sweaty, stained gym attire, snatching shorts and a t-shirt–her wet hair forming a large dark ring on the fabric of her back.

She rushed away, cleaner but tainted, stumbling through the hall to her homeroom. She opened the door with a theatrical swing and stormed into the classroom. She was out of breath and shaking. Her classmates gasped at the sight of her.

"Hewlp me! Caw the powice," Becky yelled at Mrs. Anderson, tears stinging her cut face. Mrs. Anderson dropped the chalk in her hand and paled in surprise.

Just then, Becky saw something in the corner of her eye. Someone was sitting at her desk, in her seat. Who would ever want to sit in a seat that only sat the unpopular, the lonely, the odd?

Becky turned her head slowly in curiosity until her eyes met with the intruder. Sitting at her desk, arms crossed and grinning, was Lucy. And she was smiling with the gnawing teeth that Becky's tongue felt only a day ago– canines in place for front teeth, a sinister fang-like smirk.

Becky yelled, pointing at Lucy with a shaking hand. "What the hell are you doing hewe, Luthy? Mrs Andewson, HEWLP. This giwl... ITH A DEMON. OR A GHOST! OR SOMETHING! A spiwit that cwawled into a body... in t-the Jones cabin."

Lucy ran to Mrs Anderson, faking fear, a performance so gaudy it made Becky taste vile in her mouth. Lucy clung to the side of Becky's teacher, lying through grated teeth, "Mrs Anderson, that's the freak I was telling you about. My stalker. She's been living in the cabin in the woods and following me everywhere, trying to dress and act and look like me. But she's insane."

"NO, ITH ME! BECKY!" Her toothless mouth started bleeding again from slamming her gums together as she yelled, causing Becky's classmates to jump from their seats and run to the back wall.

"See! Look at her! She pulled out her own teeth! She's insane. And why is her hair all wet? She's crazy! Don't believe a word she says!"

"NO, ITH ME! BECKY! YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME!" Becky fell to her knees, begging them to see the truth.

Mrs. Anderson hugged Lucy closer, then stretched out her hand, raising her voice to summon authority. "Step away, child! I'm calling the police!"

Becky's teacher, once her only cofidante, held the coiled telephone to her ear, motioning Becky's classmates to get into the corner. They stared at each other–no recognition in her eyes–Mrs. Anderson only saw a monster before her.

"No, pleath. Help." Becky closed her eyes, her vision now too blurry with tears to see the fear in her classmate's eyes.

Lucy looked up, eyes black and piggish, her biting smile stretching her cheeks to a pleasurable pain. "Stay away, freak, No one wants to be your friend."

Becky sobbed, never feeling more alone in her life.