It Stung and I Laughed

By Dilara Nagib

Almost a year has passed since L.J. left behind her home in Australia, and moved to the unpopular town of New Crescent, Massachusetts so that her stepfather may continue his medical career. For a year, next to nothing has happened. That is: until the annual warehouse party. Following the events of the night, a series of animal attacks haunt the town. All the meanwhile, L.J. finds herself drawn to a boy. And Raph Di Conte, irrefutably dark and strange, is proof that some secrets remain secrets simply because they should. It Stung and I Laughed portrays a story of love and gore, blood and the tragically feral human psyche.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524665524

Dilara Nagib

At the age of eleven, Dilara Nagib was writing. By fourteen, she was the Deputy Editor of her school’s magazine club. Fifteen, and she had expanded the journalism experience by starting an internship. Sixteen, and she had completed her debut novella It Stung and I Laughed.

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© 2016 Dilara Nagib. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/22/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-6553-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-6552-4 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Party

The Truth about Lies

Haunting You

Devil’s Artwork

Crushed like a Cockroach

As White as Your Deathbed

Getting Warmer

Ice

The Killer’s Pattern

Taste My Flesh and I’ll Taste Yours

Farewell

When a Mouse Caught the Cat

You’re Psycho and I’m Not

Fun Times

Lions, Gazelles, and Wolves

Smile

Angel

Poetry

About the Author

Party

B y half past ten, the Jeep had pulled up in front of the warehouse. It was mid-May, the summer of 2004, and even with party lights and colour piercing through the gaps of the broken roof, the tattered building had a daunting exterior.

Hours ago, it had been the last day of the academic year for the students of New Crescent High School, including sixteen-year-old L.J. Denham and her friends. As the school gates had come to a close for the break, thus commenced the end-of-year party.

Colin slammed the Jeep door shut. He whistled. Pretty creepy, huh?

L.J. mirrored his action on the passenger side. She observed her surroundings, the banality of the situation. Fog.

Hm?

There’s going to be a fog rolling in.

Colin sighed. Fog. Abandoned warehouse. Creepy-ass woods. It’ll be like something out of a Hitchcock movie.

Bax was a few steps ahead with his arm draped over Evia’s shoulder. It was a gesture of indolence as opposed to possessiveness. He whispered something in her ear, and she threw her head back in laughter. They were not part of the conversation, engrossed in their own.

L.J. gestured towards them with her chin. How long have they been a thing? As far as she’d heard: Albert Baxter, the school Quarterback, had a reputation for sleeping around.

Colin shrugged. Not too sure. They started hooking up at the end of middle school, I think. It’s been pretty on and off.

Middle school, L.J. repeated, looking over at the redhead in the leather dress. So she must’ve been, what, twelve? Thirteen?

He chuckled. You don’t sound very surprised.

L.J. inspected the black chipping from her nails. I’m not.

On a regular day, the warehouse was abandoned; a Gothic attraction that stood on the outskirts of the woods. The woods – where tree branches mimicked skeletal limbs, crooked and brutally twisted out of their sockets. Wires hung like vines from whatever there was left of the roof, and graffiti had been spray-painted across walls. It was this brilliantly tarnished building that was the annual venue for the New Crescent High School’s end-of-year party, and had been so for years. L.J. had been brought up to date through the aid of gossiping classmates. Though a whole year had passed, she still felt like the new girl – outsider, alien.

Her stepfather was esteemed cardiothoracic surgeon, Dr. Zechariah Faulkner. An American bloke who L.J.’s mother, Charlene, had married sometime in the past year. They had met at one of Charlene’s book signings back in Busselton, and had spent weeks together before he needed to return to the States. Though they had attempted to maintain a long-distance relationship, as predicted, the obstacle of eleven thousand miles and a ten-plus-hour time difference was a challenge to overcome.

Zechariah had then unexpectedly invited Charlene and L.J. to see his hometown in Massachusetts. New Crescent, the town was called: dull and dry, an ever-present brownness clouded the air. It was trapped between Boston and Somerville, so small and pitifully easy to overlook, it had been excluded from most maps. L.J. had despised it instantly, thankful she would never have to return.

Then everything changed.

On their last day in New Crescent, Zechariah had planned a date for him and Charlene. Looking back at it now, L.J. wished she had seen it coming – not that she thought it would’ve made much of a difference to the outcome.

He did it – the whole lot. Candlelit dinner, getting down on one knee as they admired a full moon, popping the bloody question. Her mother had returned from the date giggling like a schoolgirl, showing off the stupid marquise thing on her finger.

Weeks before the wedding, Charlene had decided that it might be in everyone’s best interest if she and L.J. were to abandon their life in Busselton and move to New Crescent – for L.J., two months into the school year. Never mind that it was in another fucking continent. Her first few weeks living in America had consisted of people imitating the Australian dialect, and teenage boys saying how she must’ve had a ton of experience Down Under.

Bax bellowed over his shoulder, telling them to get a move on.

From the open doors, a shaft of light ran into the darkened landscape of cars and trees. Florescent people danced in a jumping and swaying unison within the walls of the warehouse. The air was hot and stank of beer – there would be vodka cokes on a table somewhere. A platform carried a DJ sound system. Seated at the heart of two giant speakers, the DJ smoked a joint, adjusted his Spiderman cap sideways, and started on the turntables before him.

Hey, I’m gonna get a drink, Colin said, gesturing with his thumb. Want anything?

L.J. shook her head; he left. The people around her were drinking, blotting, and covered in designs composed of blacklight paint. She felt something on her skin – the paint glowed a synthetic blue on her upper arm. The artist was shirtless, neon handprints all over his chest, armed with colourful tubes. L.J. relaxed somewhat when she saw Evia elated by the tribal patterns that marked her hands in acidic greens and pinks. It was similar to Aboriginal art, quite beautiful to watch.

Once the guy was finished, he flashed a dodgy smirk and bounded off. L.J. inspected her arm to find something with its angular legs arched, its tail coiled high above it like some terrific weapon ready to strike.

Looks like a scorpion, Evia said. She smiled encouragingly. Look at mine. She displayed her own multicoloured hands for inspection. How cool is this?

Very.

The other girl looked around. "Bax said he was gonna to get some acid off one of his friends. His dad’s, like, a total freak. Confiscated his last stash two days ago – his last stash. I mean, who does that?"

Parents. Parents do that.

Evia shrugged absently. Whatever. She began wriggling her way into the crowd, in search of her boyfriend and blotters.

The current song was dying down gradually. From a peripheral glimpse, L.J. caught Colin headed for her.

Here you go. He offered her one of the amber bottles he held in each hand.

I said I didn’t–

He positioned the bottle in her grasp, ignoring her. You don’t look like you’re having much fun. One drink. Loosen up. You’re uptight.

What? I’m not.

Yes. Yes, you are. You’re…I don’t know, uninterested. Like you don’t give a shit about anything.

L.J. sighed. That’s the opposite of uptight, Colin.

Okay, fine. Not uptight. I mean, you… He scratched his head. You wouldn’t care if you died.

That’s dramatic.

That’s the truth.

Well, it wouldn’t matter an awful lot since I’d be dead.

"You see? See what I’m talking about? It’s dark stuff you got going on. He took a swig from his drink. Guys dig the whole ride-or-die thing. It’s hot. But not when the chick’s, like, unemotional. You get me? He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Did you know that depression is one of the leading causes of disability?"

L.J. scrutinised the bottle in her hands, watching the turbulent lights crack and blur on the orange glass. Did the textbooks tell you that?

Doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m worried about you.

Don’t be. I’m perfectly content being unemotional. L.J. welcomed the cold sizzle on her tongue. Downing the first bottle, she accepted a second and a third. And a fourth. Colin had mentioned getting something to eat, and was nowhere in sight. Everything was hazed and hot; sporadic colours danced and exploded like fireworks. L.J. slid the hair tie out, and shook her dark hair free. Get out of here, a voice in her mind warned her. She picked up another drink.

L.J? Hey. You okay, there?

She squinted.

It’s me. Bax.

Oh, Bax. Of course, she slurred. "Sorry, mate, I’m just a bit– Shit." She’d stumbled over her boots, clutching at Bax’s t-shirt for support.

He held her close – too close. L.J. could smell the stale alcohol in his breath; she could see the slight redness invading the white of his eyes. You’re so wrecked. He nuzzled his mouth into her neck. Say, why don’t you and I get out of here? I know somewhere better than this.

L.J. tried to writhe out of his grasp, but her arms were useless and flimsy. She immediately regretted the last two drinks. Maybe you should go ask Evia.

"Evia’s easy. Boring. So goddamn annoying." He dropped a slimy kiss onto her neck, saliva moistening her skin.

Bax, I’m feeling dizzy. Let me go. Anxiety unleashed itself in L.J.’s chest. "Bax, I want to sit down. Right now. Let go of me."

Okay, baby. Okay. He laughed, stealing the bottle from her hand.

They were amongst the crowd, squirming past rocking bodies. Lights were fierce, blinding. The warmth of Bax’s touch prickled at her skin. And L.J. didn’t know how to stop any of it.

*     *     *

Raph inhaled. Taking his time, he blew out another cloud of smoke: it dwindled in the air and vanished. He’d recognised the party lights from the porch of