Tiger-Wolf

By Walter Copeland

Scott is a high school student who has learned to manifest an animal body in addition to other skills gained through his research into ethereal energy. However, when he tries to use these abilities to help someone, he inadvertently learns more about the death of his father as well as someone else who not only possesses the same knowledge of ethereal manifestation but knows things about Scott's childhood no one else could. With the aid of this mysterious ally, Scott learns of the dark ethereal entity responsible for so much of the pain of his childhood. When this dark entity unites with Scott's slightly unstable school adversary, he and his enigmatic ally must find a way to fight them on both a physical and spiritual level.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637108055

Book preview

1

The gloomy, dank South Georgia woods never looked inviting to even the most hard-core camper. More exotic places, such as Yellowstone and Yosemite, offer a much larger, bustling tourist trade extending from their overall worldwide fame. Yellowstone was created by a massive underground volcano, has a large amount of hot springs, geysers, and other interesting geologic features. Yosemite, in turn, sports a substantial number of glaciers, rock formations, and nature trails. Both possess somewhat exotic predators such as wolves, bears, and mountain lions which are basically extinct in most other parts of the country.

Despite the imminent, unpredictable dangers posed by these animals, terrain, and other dangers, untold numbers of people flock to these parks every year. In the defense of these weekend outdoorsmen, the bears are generally a lot easier to detect than the sleeping rattlesnakes of the forests or lurking alligators of Georgia’s swamplands, although the danger from any of these animals is no lesser for this difference in location or species.

Not so surprisingly, camping was not a common pastime in this or any other South Georgia forest. Most people were more likely to think of Yellowstone or Yosemite when thinking of roughing it. Those parks had obvious dangers to be sure and areas that seemed cutoff completely from civilization. No bears, wolves, or cougars inhabited this particular swampy forest region, having been exterminated long ago, but there always seemed to be a danger far more nebulous that kept people away. Even hunters seldom ventured into certain sections of the woods.

If such people knew the truth, or at least as much of it as Scott Holland knew, they might understand why this area was instinctively avoided by both larger animals and men. It always had been shunned, even by the Indians who had lived here over a century ago and for millennia before the white men conquered these lands and its indigenous people.

The forests were rife with ethereal energy; the substance of ghosts, spirits, angels, and demons. In these woods, the division between the worlds of physical and spiritual had become more detectable, at least on an instinctive level. This was the way most psychics understood the nature of such areas. The truth was simply the ethereal energy was more plentiful here and thus, easier to detect. Locals often claim the woods to be haunted and they were, but no more so than anywhere else in the world. These haunted areas simply had points where the worlds could be seen even by those with no special talent for doing so.

Despite hearing many stories of unknown entities and unidentified creatures, one young man sat in front of a tree in the growing darkness. He wore little clothing, save for a pair of underwear, resembling shorts, yet he did not shiver with the coolness of the approaching night. His eyes were closed in concentration, seeming oblivious to whatever mythical dangers he’d been told as a young child.

Even before learning his unusual talents, Scott never really knew fear in these woods. To his way of thinking and his limited life experience, there simply was nothing in this forest scarier than what he endured at home. His one remaining parent could likely frighten anything else out of these woods, even a bear, if there were any left.

In this forest, the damp, cool night air blew gently against Scott’s warm skin, subtly threatening to rob him of his body heat. It wasn’t uncomfortable though; South Georgia nights were often cool, even during the summer months. Hours after the sun had set, the Earth was still radiating all the heat it had absorbed throughout the day. Once this heat had dissipated, it quickly regained a cooler temperature. South Georgia barely had three months of cold weather all year. Even then, the temperature rarely got below freezing, and it seldom snowed, so cool could be looked at as a relative term, akin to not as hot.

Scott Holland’s house wasn’t well ventilated or insulated. It often felt colder or hotter inside the house than out. In the dead middle of one winter, the glass of water he kept beside his bed froze solid one morning. Rather than an electric blanket or central heating, he simply threw several blankets on his bed and used his body heat to warm them up. The result was Scott’s personal body temperature always ran a little warm. In the summer, this helped by radiating his heat to cool him off; in winter, it served to warm him up quickly.

Besides, on a night like this with what he was about to do, Scott wouldn’t be cold for much longer. Another thick blanket of ethereal energy draped itself over his shoulders and snugged itself to his slightly plump body. Yet another layer of pseudomatter manifested from the moist air followed this first coat and increased the protective coating. It was more to protecting from biting insects more than anything else, his excessive body heat tended to attract them.

Learning to manipulate ethereal energy had taken lots of practice, well over a year in Scott’s case. An odd book he’d discovered in the local library had first hinted Scott to the existence of spirit energy and the possibility of controlling it. He’d managed to obtain other books after that, ordering them from the local bookstore and devoured all the information he could on the subject. His childhood interest in comic books had opened his imagination to where such things could be considered to be possible at least on a theoretical basis.

Scott had first learned to disconnect his spirit from his body. This had been most useful since he could now endure pain from a distance. It was called astral projection, but Scott quickly learned not to project his spirit too far; there were other beings in the ethereal realm that posed a very real danger to wandering spirits. One such predatory entity had raced Scott back to his physical body, possibly to claim the unoccupied for its own. After that incident, Scott didn’t bother with astral projection anymore, beyond dealing with the physical pain he often endured.

Astral projection was much easier, however, than ethereal manifestation, creating solid matter from the ambient ethereal energy the world held. He first learned to sense ethereal energy, such as auras and ethereal creatures such as larvae, then to sense the world, in both physical and spiritual aspects. After he learned to create solid matter from the air and sustain it by concentrating, it took him a whole year to manifest an entire animal body over his own.

Scott Holland repressed a shiver of anticipation as this slow transformation took place. He sat all alone in the woods, miles from any paved roads and many hours away from daylight. Yet there was still the inherent fear of being caught by anyone. The molds of ethereal energy that were forming over him protected him from mosquitoes and other insects, but he thought it might look very strange to anyone observing this action. The form he took acted as disguise from any who might see him, but he was very nearly naked and hadn’t yet gained the courage or confidence to take off his boxer briefs. Even so far isolated from other human beings, he was still too self-conscious about his obese body to go completely nude. It wasn’t necessary anyway, since his underwear didn’t contain any metal that would interfere with the manifestation process.

He struggled to maintain his control and concentration as a nearby owl gave a territorial hoot. He was close now; he could feel his senses extending out into both the forest and the ethereal world. More sounds came to him, bugs mostly, but there was a nearby house cat hunting for prey in the grass nearly fifty feet away. The cat had already passed by the empty burrows of several mice.

Scott inhaled deeply, sensing that a fox had passed this way not two days ago, hunting for the same mice as the cat. By contrast, the fox hunted for survival, not pleasure. Deer also followed this path on occasion, several does and one buck. Scott thought about how quickly his redneck uncle would become his best friend if he only knew Scott could sense these things.

He smiled at this; his uncle George seldom spoke about anything other than hunting, fishing, NASCAR, and football, so Scott never went out of his way to visit his uncle. The few times Uncle George had discussed other subjects, Scott discovered how negative (and racist) his uncle truly was. Since Scott’s own nephew, one his few beloved relatives had such a different genetic background, this didn’t endear his uncle to Scott. George once went as far as to refer to anyone of African descent as shaved monkeys, which was mystifying to Scott, who had only been nine years old at the time, because he’d seen his uncle with his shirt off and the man resembled many artistic depictions of a Sasquatch.

Uncle George did let Scott explore the woods behind his house, possibly in the hopes Scott might take an interest in hunting. Scott had only a mild interest in fishing but no interest whatsoever in hunting. Into these woods, Scott did frequently investigate, but not for reasons his uncle would understand. This forest was isolated from the larger civilized portion of his hometown. The ground was too rocky to farm, and the game animals only treated it as a transitory stop. For Scott’s secretive purposes, though, it was perfect.

Scott sensed the buildup of ethereal energy fading and realized he was thinking too much instead of concentrating on the manifestation. He began to visualize the outer layer as putty and molded it to his own design. The energy solidified around his head and formed an elongated snout. Hair sprouted over the shell as it formed an epidermis. His legs and arms also lengthened into what a casual observer would see…as a werewolf.

Ethereal body transformation was so much more antithetic than what he had seen in movies, television, and comic books. There was no cracking and reforming of bones, no screaming in agony or trying to fight off the rage of the beast within. It was all about focus and control; the ability to concentrate on the manifestation of a physical body outside his own, using ethereal energy to create matter. The ancient stories of mad werewolves rampaging through the countryside, likely involved homicidal psychos who had happened upon their shape-shifting abilities by accident of their fevered or damaged brains.

For Scott, it had taken many long months, close to a year once he’d understood the basics of ethereal energy and matter enough to attempt an animal body of transformation manifestation. Once he’d learned to create solid matter (albeit temporary) out of the ether, his skill had improved by leaps and bounds. It wasn’t just a matter of learning but finding the right source of information. In the end, his older sister’s vast abandoned repository of Native American books with its tales of shape-shifting legends held the key to understanding what humans were capable of.

Once Scott made the associations of astral projection, telekinesis, and other psychic phenomenon with werewolves, he soon discovered the secret of creating an animal form. His true, physical body always remained the same, but he could now manifest ethereal energy around that physical body, then morph the energy into whatever physical form he desired.

He chose a werewolf form, simply because that was what he was most familiar with, but he never knew what it looked like exactly. He had imagined an oversize wolf, but by necessity the body was more humanoid. He could run on either two legs or four as the forest, and sometimes swampy, terrain called for both at times. The fur he manifested was always short and a light-tan color but was more reminiscent of coarse dog hair than wolf fur. He’d never seen himself in a mirror, but Scott never let this bother him. Anyone who ever saw him would likely freak out, even if he was only naked.

When the manifestation of the body was complete, Scott finally stood up.

In this form, he was over nine feet tall, or so he guessed, and capable of inhuman feats. His new arms were long enough to reach the ground, so much the better to pull himself along at greater speeds. The muscles gave him great strength but were not so large as to get in his way. Scott grinned in anticipation, and his wolf-form smiled in response.

He began to run.

Scott guessed his top speed could be around fifty miles per hour, but his obese human form prevented him from going even half that fast. The ethereal body did most of the work, but inside, his physical body went through the same movement, like doing yoga instead of heavy weight lifting. The result was that, over the past year or so, Scott’s bulky physical body had begun to transform, the fat was becoming hard muscle though he hadn’t quite noticed this change himself yet.

Scott was what his relatives had called big-boned. It was just another word for fat as far as Scott was concerned; he had no taste for politically correct terms. He was already tall enough that bullies at school generally left him alone, which was good, since until recently, he had little in the way of actual muscle. He also had very few friends, so these nighttime excursions were an easily kept secret.

The fact was Scott hadn’t gone running since he was a small child. Inside this ethereal body, however, he was capable of so much more. He had to learn how to walk in the body and eventually run, but the first time he did so, it was his physical body that had given out quickly from sheer exhaustion.

The cool, clean Southern air of the forest began its work now, clearing his teenage mind of all its random thoughts. Ironically, the longer he manifested this form, the easier it became to maintain it. For months now, he’d been staying in werewolf form for longer periods of time, hours now. If he never ran out of forest to run in, he felt he would eventually be able to run for days.

Now it seemed he could run for hours without tiring. Before he knew how much time had passed, it had already been at least one hour so far. Making it out into a clearing, Scott tried to run his top speed, but a fallen tree blocked his chosen path; he reacted without thinking. His leap carried him well over the log, and he landed with a loud thump and the snapping of several dry twigs that made his teeth clench. The next sound he heard made his heart drop into his stomach.

What the hell was that?

2

Scott’s ethereal body vanished in his surprise. He rotated quickly and ducked into the nearest bush before he could begin to determine where the sound had come from. His wolf form vanished, and the cold air struck him like a physical wall, making him draw in a quick breath. Scott was already breathing hard from his exertions, but he’d learned to control his breathing to make the most of his endurance. The sharp intake was horribly loud in the silence of the forest. It had been a sloppy mistake, since it was audible even to his own natural hearing.

It came from over there! said another voice.

Scott crouched low and stealthily slunk away from the commotion, cursing mentally. He was alone in the middle of the woods in his underwear, and he’d just come across a gathering of some sort. They also knew he was here. His presence would be hard to explain in the best of circumstances, but the voices all had a certain quality he didn’t like at all.

They sounded like teenagers, boys his own age.

Footsteps came in his direction, more than three, possibly four. Already, he saw flashlights bouncing against the trees behind him. He was tired; running was out of the question. He was too panicked to focus and create his animal form. With no options, he thought quickly. In the middle of the woods, what could they be doing here except hunting…most likely deer? Deer couldn’t climb trees, last time he checked. So he made his way as quietly as possible to the nearest large tree and, making use of the adrenaline pumping through his veins, shimmied up until he was good fifteen feet from the ground.

Hugging the trunk tightly, he looked down.

Something’s been this way.

One person passed directly underneath him. Scott couldn’t see his face since he wore a hat, but the rifle in his hands was clearly visible. Scott shivered as the sweat on his bare back evaporated. His heart skipped a beat as he wondered if they could smell his sweat. As the man continued to pass away from Scott’s tree, he guessed deer didn’t smell like human sweat, so they weren’t looking for him.

Tommy! Y’all gotta see this!

What ya got?

A track.

Man! A track!? In the middle of the woods!? Good for you! came a sarcastic response. There’s tracks all over the place, dumbass!

Not like this!

What?

We got wolves or really big dogs ’round here?

Scott leaned out, saw one of them squatted down in the exact spot Scott had landed after jumping over the log. Three other guys gathered around, looking down. One of them pointed to a spot beside the paw print. He ducked back around the tree, hoping the entire group was dense enough to believe wolves were present in this part of the world. He knew they weren’t, but he hoped they were ignorant enough not to know that part of their own history.

Another boy called their attention to another spot on the ground. From his vantage point, Scott could see his own human track in the dirt.

Why is there a bare footprint here? Somebody streakin’?

Nah. We’re miles from the paved road.

Human footprint, next to a wolf paw print?

The others turned around and looked directly at the person who spoke. They stared at him for a moment, but strangely enough, they didn’t scoff at the ridiculous idea. Then, in unison, they all looked out in the dark woods. One of them raised his rifle and checked that it was cocked. Each of them stood up, scanning the forest. None of them looked up into the trees, luckily.

Scott remembered that most people believed these woods were haunted. He hoped the stories these guys had undoubtedly heard as kids were still in their memories somewhere, waiting to be awakened by what they were seeing. Scott couldn’t shake the idea that one of the voices sounded familiar.

Ah think we’ve been in these parts long enough, guys. What say we get home? one of them whispered.

The others nodded their agreement and backed away into the clearing they’d come from, where a pickup truck sat waiting. On some unspoken signal, they broke ranks and swarmed the truck. Two crawled in back while the driver fumbled with his keys. The vehicle roared to life as headlights tore through the darkness. Scott winced and slid back behind the tree as the truck rolled away.

He breathed a sigh of relief, having escaped discovery. Sometimes he hated living in redneck country. Most were nice enough on a personal level, but it was frustrating when trying to find any section of woods not occupied by hunters.

When the sound of the truck faded, Scott dropped down from the tree and looked around. He had never been to this part of the forest before, he was sure. He had no hope of finding his way back to where he stashed his clothes unless he manifested his ethereal body along with its enhanced senses. He tried to calm himself while he inspected their campsite.

The fire was still going, and they had food wrappers scattered about along with a few beer cans. He grimaced and picked up the wrappers and threw them in the fire. Once they’d burned to ash, he kicked dirt over the fire, extinguishing it fully. He breathed in deeply and began summoning the ethereal energy to manifest his animal form.

Once more, the power swirled around him, coating his body in layers of solid matter. His senses expanded into the ether when suddenly he heard a sound, like people talking in another room. Scott sensed a strong presence in front of him and opened his eyes. He drew in his breath in surprise.

Strange, blurry people dressed in rags stood all around him. Some held spears, others tree limbs that looked more like clubs, and a few were dressed in clothing from centuries long past. Many appeared androgynous, neither male nor female; but all stared at him with a strange mixture of curiosity, fear, or hate. Some had fully formed bodies while others were visible only from the waist up.

The tallest among them looked back at the rest then stepped forward. This man’s clothing seemed slightly more contemporary but still out-of-date by decades. What was more unsettling was this old man’s sky blue eyes seemed somehow familiar. The old man hesitated, then reached out for him, and Scott withdrew quickly in fright.

He lost his concentration and stumbled backward. His legs got in each other’s way, and he fell. The manifesting ethereal body dissipated as he panicked. He looked around frantically in the darkened forest. Even though his eyes were adjusted to the night, he could see nothing and wondered what had just happened.

There was nothing for it. In his frightened state, he couldn’t focus, so he had to run. He couldn’t stay here, not when he was seeing things that couldn’t be. He turned and ran back over the log he’d first jumped over and hoped in his beast form he had run in a straight line.

After a mile or so, he calmed down enough to try manifesting his animal body once more. To his relief, he didn’t see any half-formed people staring at him from the darkness. He supposed they’d been ghosts, but the tall one’s sky blue eyes haunted him, even when he made it back home and went to sleep.

3

The next morning, Scott tried to process last night’s close call while attending school. As he exchanged the books in his hands for the one for his next class, he hoped he wouldn’t recognize any of the boys by their voice. A sudden loud clang startled Scott out of his thoughtful review of the night’s events. Wilson Pittman was slamming some poor nerd into the locker next to his own.

Rules against bullying in this school were the same as anywhere else. The problem was bullies always found ways around the rules. Any teacher who repetitiously caught the same bully at his craft could be accused of harassment at best and stalking at worst. Lawsuits had been filed before, and if the bullies were careful to ply their trade in the presence of the same teacher, their safety from consequences was assured. The worst they could expect was a stern warning.

Because of this loophole, bullying continued, and teachers generally left the victims to fend for themselves rather than risk losing their jobs. Because of his physical size, Scott was exempt from the typical bullies. He thought himself fortunate since he couldn’t realistically expect help from the teachers.

The bully currently at work was named Wilson, while his victim was Robert Gunter. Scott knew Rob to be a nice guy, if understandably mistrustful of anyone with less than one fifty IQ (Wilson probably scored around a hundred at best). Robert looked almost stereotypically like a nerd and was lightly built but slightly chubby…certainly no physical match for a healthy member of the football team like Wilson.

Wilson was a jock and barely smart enough to scrape by with high enough grades to qualify for sports. He was no great shakes as a defensive tackle and strategically wouldn’t be missed if he left. He was, however, one of the more popular guys on the team with his overall size and foul mouth. It was rumored that Rob’s academic assistance was a large part of Wilson’s continued presence on the team. It wasn’t that Wilson was stupid; he simply didn’t care about school other than whatever entertainment it offered.

Scott also recognized Wilson’s voice as one of those he’d encountered last night. His mind went back to his close encounter and almost shuddered; Wilson would be the last person Scott would want to find him running through the woods nearly naked. Scott also thought Wilson might be a distant cousin of his as they had met once at a relative’s house.

What do you mean you don’t have it? It was due today! Wilson was almost growling.

To his credit, Rob was standing up as best he could against his overpowering attacker. You never told me. If you don’t remember the assignments, how am I supposed to do them for you? I’m intelligent, not psychic.

It took a moment for this to sink into Wilson’s ignorant brain. When it did, his muscles flexed, and his eyes flashed in sudden rage. Sensing Rob’s need for some way to distract his assailant, Scott slammed his locker door as hard as he could. The noise diverted Wilson’s attention, and he looked over at Scott. Rob slipped from his captor’s clutches and ducked underneath his arm. Still reeling from Rob’s comment and the sudden loud noise, Wilson barely had time to react. He only took one step to catch Rob before Scott’s voice stopped him from his pursuit.

Yo’, Wilson, Coach said he wanted to see you about something.

Wilson was wrong-footed. What? The coach? What did he want? he asked, distracted.

I dunno. He just told me to relay the message. My work here is done.

Scott walked away but not before he heard Wilson mumble something that sounded like fat ass. Scott didn’t know who it was directed at and didn’t concern himself with it.

Scott cared even less for Wilson’s opinion than he cared for anyone else’s. He knew better than anyone else how his oversize gut fell into his lap when he leaned over. He had no real explanation for his girth anymore. He’d drank lots of chocolate milk in his childhood and still indulged in this childhood vice from time to time, but he’d sworn off cheeseburgers and soda this past year. His private hobby left him little time for typical teenager-associated foods. These days he often split a protein bar up over the course of a day and just drank water to fill up; his nightly excursions often left him dehydrated. Scott hadn’t noticed his gut getting smaller, since he had developed the habit of trying not to think about it at all.

School was a boring, often-tedious necessity, and he tried to get through it as best he could every day. Scott was a wallflower by choice and habit, since few people had anything interesting to say in his opinion. He was also incredibly shy, around girls mostly, but also people in general. Once, when faced with doing an oral book report, Scott had taken a zero as opposed to standing in front of the class, such was his stage fright. Rather than deal with his innate introversion, Scott simply chose to do things that required no other person’s help or input. He frequently got lonely, but if he could keep his mind occupied, isolation never really bothered him.

His best friend moved away long ago, and his few other friends had already quit school to get jobs. He only stayed in school because it had been what his late father had wanted. It left him a bit of an outcast, but it would only be for two more years. He could maintain his wallflower persona for that length of time and use those two years to improve his command of ethereal manipulation.

The only class he found mildly interesting was biology, even though he disagreed with many of its theories. Planet creation and evolution were two theories Scott thought useless since they simply took too long to practically observe. Other facts, like continent migration had no acceptable explanation, and he had pointed this out one time. It had been a dismal mistake since he’d gone from being unnoticed nobody to a teacher’s pet for several days afterward.

Today’s biology class had been on oil deposits, millions of years old, still untapped under our very feet. Scott doubted the millions of years part since the same results could be obtained in a lab under extreme pressure in less than an hour. This was information he wisely kept to himself, rather than be outed once more. He quickly became bored but feigned interest to divert the instructor’s attention to more ignorant students. He vaguely went over his nonconfrontation with Wilson and Rob’s prompt escape.

The bell rang, and Wilson was waiting for him outside the classroom. Wilson grabbed Scott by the collar and shoved him hard. Scott slowly allowed himself to be moved against the wall. If Wilson noticed the amount of effort he was using, it didn’t show. Likely he chalked it up to Scott’s overall mass. He snarled in Scott’s face, who remained nonplussed.

Coach didn’t know what I was talking about. You stuck your nose where it don’t belong, fat-ass. Now you get to do my science assignment, or I’ll whip your fat ass!

Scott frowned. Whip my ass? Seriously?

You don’t believe me, fat-ass?

It’s not a matter of belief, but you need to know that I don’t swing that way.

Wilson blinked, confused. What…?

Dude, you said you wanted to whip my ass?

Wilson opened his mouth but didn’t speak as Scott continued, I mean, I’m guessing you’re a good-looking guy, but I really don’t like boys. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be into the sort of kink you’re suggesting.

Wilson drew back, almost letting go, when another voice interceded, Is there a problem here, Mr. Pittman?

Mr. Leslie, the science teacher, had walked out of his room, drawn by the gathering crowd. He sized up the two young men and had spoken directly to Wilson. It was obvious he’d had dealings with Wilson before, and Scott was just the latest victim, not worth noticing.

Scott spoke first, Wilson just tried to ask me out so we can do some kinky stuff. I told him no, and he’s taking it badly.

Wilson looked back at Scott, his mouth still open. The gathered crowd was snickering now.

Shut up, you stupid fat-ass! Before I…whip your ass…, Wilson trailed off, stupidly, apparently realizing what he was saying.

Is there anyone here who said, addressing the gathering crowd can satisfy this little pervo’s desires? I don’t want him touching me, Scott said.

Mr. Pittman, did you just…proposition a fellow student in this way?

Hell no. I told him if he didn’t do my science assignment, I’d kick his…ass, Wilson said defensively at first, then trailed off again as he again realized what he’d just admitted to. Mr. Leslie raised his eyebrows, and Wilson’s face went white as he turned his head slowly to look at the teacher. Scott reached up and gently removed Wilson’s fingers from his throat. A small satisfied smile hinted at the corners of his mouth.

Mr. Pittman, you just confessed to threatening another student into doing your schoolwork. You and I need to spend some time in the office.

Scott didn’t wait but turned and walked away as though nothing of any consequence had happened. He could feel all the eyes upon his back and winced inwardly. It hadn’t been his finest moment, nor his best comeback, but it had done the job well enough. The problem was Wilson Pittman likely didn’t forgive, even if he did often forget.

*****

Two classes later, Scott was somewhat surprised when Timothy Beck slammed him into a locker, unknowingly replicating the scene between Rob and Wilson earlier. Scott raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment, but not in fear or pain. Strangely, he was a bit disappointed it wasn’t Wilson doing the slamming, however.

Scott prided himself on being unnoticeable, but also on being taller than almost anyone else. Tim was one of only a few boys who matched Scott in height. In fact, he surpassed Scott by one or two inches. Tim was also far more massive and physically stronger than anyone else, being a record-breaking weightlifter who had gone to state just last year. Tim was also the biggest and most protected bully in school, especially since his mother was a lawyer. To be picked on by Timothy Beck was almost an honor.

Hello, fat-ass, he said, smiling broadly.

Scott almost smiled at this ironic statement. Tim, for all his awesome strength, was nearly as wide as he was tall. Scott also noticed that Tim’s grip on his shoulder wasn’t as tight as he would have imagined. Either he wasn’t using his full strength, or he wasn’t as strong as Scott had assumed, which didn’t make sense. Tim opened his mouth to say something, but Scott suddenly put his arms together and brought them up between Tim’s arms. He then split them apart, striking Tim’s arms on the insides, breaking the hold.

Scott then ducked under, scooped up his fallen books, and began walking away. Tim was stunned at first, then called out to Scott. Scott heard Tim’s heavy footsteps, could almost see him charging down the hall toward Scott. He waited until he could almost see Tim’s outstretched hands, then he ducked as if to tie his shoe and braced himself. Tim collided with Scott’s back, and the momentum sent him sailing over.

Tim struggled to grab Scott as he went but only succeeded in causing himself to flip over. He landed on his rear end as he struggled to maintain his grip. Scott stood up quickly, breaking the tenuous hold. He then walked around Tim as the bigger boy strove to regain his footing. Despite his hasty exit, people were definitely watching Scott now, much to his chagrin.

Scott was now frustrated this nonsense was happening to him. He didn’t want to be popular or admired, nor did he want to be picked on and ridiculed, the more likely scenario. Scott didn’t want anything to do with the majority of his class peers. They did things he wasn’t knowledgeable about, had possessions he couldn’t have. He certainly could never invite anyone to his house to hang out, so making friends was pointless. Scott simply couldn’t relate to anyone else, and they certainly wouldn’t understand if they had ever known about his scars.

This was badly unwanted attention, and it was getting worse…because of Wilson. He was sure Wilson had instigated Tim’s attack for some reason. Probably had to do with Scott’s interference in Wilson’s business. Scott didn’t have any regrets about what he’d done, just annoyance at Wilson’s bitterness. Tim Beck was going to be a very big problem.

4

Scott Holland, you are needed in the office.

Scott winced. Now everyone in the classroom was staring at him. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but inside he was groaning. He noted the time and figured he wouldn’t be back in time for the end of class, so he grabbed his books. He glanced back at Tim’s empty desk and wondered what fresh trouble he was in now.

He nodded to the teacher who seemed as surprised as anyone else in the room that Scott was being called into the office. Walking down to the last door in the short hall, Scott’s old, secondhand sneakers made barely a sound in the deserted hall. This part he didn’t mind—the being alone. It helped fortify him for dealing with people in authority. When he entered, the receptionist directed him to the principal’s door. It had three chairs sitting outside, one of which was already occupied by Timothy Beck’s massive girth.

Tim looked up at Scott smiling through crooked teeth; Tim had been in many fights…and won most of them. He gestured politely to the seat next to him, and Scott balked. The chair Tim was sitting in creaked a warning under his prodigious weight. Scott kept one chair between them and sat down, closing his eyes in partial meditation.

You do know you’re gonna get your ass kicked, Tim said sincerely, smiling.

Hmm, Scott replied without interest, not looking at him.

The door to the principal’s office opened, and the man himself beckoned Scott inside. The office was as generic as it was possible to be, with only a few books on child psychology to give it any sort of personality. The principal, Mr. Collins, sat down behind his desk, and all but ignored Scott, which suited Scott just fine.

Mr. Beck, you claim Mr. Holland here attacked you?

Yes, sir, Tim said, still smiling.

And what reason would Mr. Holland have for attacking you?

I dunno. Ask him.

Sighing, Mr. Collins turned to Scott. Well, why did you attack him?

Why do elephants have orange skin? came Scott’s answer.

Mr. Collins and Timothy looked at each other with identical expressions of surprise and confusion. Mr. Collins seemed to have finally noticed Scott.

Elephants are not orange, Mr. Collins stated slowly.

Exactly, Scott said. The main part of the question assumes a falsehood to be a truth, just like the question you asked me. You asked ‘why’ I attacked Tim, not ‘if,’ when in fact I didn’t attack him at all. I have no motive for doing so. We don’t hang out in the same social circles, and to my knowledge, we only have one class together. I’ve never spoken to him or about him until today.

Then what happened between you two?

I bent to tie my shoe. He tried to step over me and ended up falling.

A witness said Tim attacked you without provocation…slammed you against the lockers?

Usually, Tim leaves bruises on his victims, Scott pointed out. I’m obviously not a victim nor is he for that matter…unless there are bruises on his—

Thank you, Mr. Holland, the principal interrupted, sounding slightly exasperated. I see no evidence of anything more than a crowded corridor. You can both go.

Scott promptly grabbed his bag and walked out the door. Before he could leave, Tim grabbed Scott’s shoulder and spun him around. He got up in his face and growled, We’re not finished, fat-ass!

Scott looked down at Tim’s hand, then back at the receptionist with his brows raised. Tim followed his gaze and spied Mr. Collins staring at him hard. Tim released his grip at once and offered a fake smile, as if it had all been a little joke among friends. His expression when he turned back to look at Scott declared it was not. Scott massaged his shoulder where Tim’s fingers had dug in and glanced down to see if there was any damage. His eyes floated back up to Tim. Scott found himself a bit unnerved that such a strong hold hadn’t hurt at all.

Tim’s insult had caused very little emotional pain because it was ludicrous, given the speaker. Scott remembered a shirt he’d once seen that read, I’m fat and you’re ugly but at least I can lose weight. He smiled tightly.

‘Fat ass. Interesting choice of insult, he said carefully.

He left before Tim could respond.

The next few days saw Tim make good on his promise; he seemed to be everywhere, always lying in ambush for Scott. Tim found excuses to be wherever Scott had to be. Scott even surmised Tim was skipping classes just so he could be waiting for Scott when the bell rang. Tim skirted the edges of what would have him put in the principal’s office again—shoves and attempted trips. Scott avoided the trips and ignored the shoves.

In the locker room, Tim tried to shove Scott’s head down the toilet, which Scott had anticipated, seeing as how Tim had his class schedule changed. Once Tim had Scott cornered, Scott punched in the direction of Tim’s crotch before twisting out of his reach. Tim later made a comment about how Scott had tried to grab his balls, which no one believed, seeing as how most of them would have done something similar if faced with getting a swirly.

Fearing Tim’s cronies would start hanging out at the school bus stop and follow him home, Scott decided to begin using his abilities to manifest his animal form in the mornings and run to school. It wasn’t difficult, and it gave him a chance to improve his concentration. Tim’s lackeys soon caught on to this subterfuge, however, and had a trap waiting for him one day. The sweat had not yet dried on Scott’s body as he hurried to the locker room showers when he saw Steve Foskey waiting at the church across from the schoolhouse.

Steve looked around hurriedly and waved Scott to come forward quickly. C’mon, man! He’s going around the other side right now. If you run, he won’t even see you.

Scott cocked his head quizzically and eyed the corner of the church. He looked behind him to see several other cronies emerging from the side of the church he’d already passed. But something in the way Steve was standing made Scott suspicious. Instead of heading right toward Steve, Scott gave the corner a wide berth and, sure enough, saw Tim’s oversize belly poking out. Scott snarled at Steve, giving him pause.

You lying sack of shit, Scott growled.

Tim emerged from the corner, grinning with his hands outstretched as though this had been one big elaborate gag. Scott thought about how tired he was and now he’d not be able to make it to the showers before homeroom. A quiet snap occurred in his brain, and he threw his book sack down and got right up in Tim’s face, glaring up at him.

No one was more surprised at this sudden burst of courage than Scott himself. Although Tim had to be a close second. He stammered briefly.

Don’t get up in my face, dickhead, he warned.

Then don’t get up in my business, Scott replied.

I’m going to beat your ass right now and get it over with.

You can try.

Scott’s adrenaline was pumping, but the words were born of hot anger, not cold intelligence. Fighting was a favorite hobby of Tim’s. Scott, by contrast, couldn’t remember the last, or any other time, he’d ever gotten into a fight. He’d taken a swing at his older cousin Angela when they were kids, but the punch had missed her completely. He didn’t fancy his odds in a fight with Tim at all.

Fortunately, a carload of high school students was driving by and caught sight of the standoff. Something about Tim’s size must have caught their attention because the car screeched to a halt, and five big guys got out, surrounding Tim. Taking advantage of the distraction, Scott grabbed his bag and headed toward the school at a fast walk.

He made it into the breezeway before her heard Tim’s thunderous steps behind him. Tim was determined not to lose his prey this time. Scott jogged for a short distance, realizing his fatigue but waited until Tim was nearly on top of him. As Tim reached out, Scott let his book bag fall to the ground. Tim had no chance to avoid it and stumbled over the sudden obstacle. Scott stepped to the side and watched as Tim fell and slid past on his forearms, the rough concrete tearing into his skin.

When Tim Beck got to his feet, he was as enraged as anyone had ever seen him. His arms dripped with blood as did the bottom of his chin. Students who had been waiting sleepily for the homeroom bell to ring now found themselves awake and focused on the attention. Tim grabbed Scott’s book bag, not knowing what else to do; he threw it on top of the breezeway cover before standing with his glare of purest hate at Scott.

Mr. Holland will be wanting that back, Mr. Beck, commented Mr. Leslie as he walked up.

Tim sneered at him but didn’t move, never turning his gaze away from Scott.

Fine. Then you can go see Mr. Collins. Stop by the nurse’s station first though.

Again, Scott was questioned. Tim got into trouble but continued his vendetta against Scott.

One day, Tim ambushed him before school and shoved him into one of the manufactured buildings with tin siding, hard enough to leave an imprint, but Scott was again able to escape before Tim could follow up the attack with a punch. Tim had his cronies, guys too afraid of Tim to not do as he asked, track Scott and inform Tim of Scott’s whereabouts. Scott decided to forego the school bus altogether and use his talent to get back and forth to school unnoticed, taking showers just before class.

Scott vaguely wondered why Tim had suddenly become obsessed with him. The question was answered when Wilson sat next to Scott at lunch one day.

I hear you have a new friend, came Wilson’s snide voice from beside him in the lunchroom.

I hear you flunked the assignment you tried to force someone else to do.

Wilson’s smile faltered, then returned. Yeah. They kicked me off the team because of you sticking your nose where it didn’t belong.

You want sympathy? Study harder next time.

Scott still hadn’t turned to look at Wilson. It was an attempt to annoy Wilson, and it was working. He felt Wilson tense up beside him, but Scott was pretty sure the smaller man wouldn’t try anything violent. He had constantly referred to Scott as a fat-ass, but fat asses could fight too.

You know, I think I’ll pay Tim an extra twenty just to knock some respect into you, make you cry, like the fat baby you are.

So that was it, Scott thought. Wilson was paying Tim to terrorize Scott. It made sense; Wilson’s family was loaded with money. There was no need for him to do anything himself if he could pay someone else to do it. Mystery solved.

You have to earn respect, not buy it.

That so, fat-ass? he sneered.

Scott finally turned to look at him. Wilson was lightly built but muscular. Being in fighting trim was the one thing he had put an effort into. His nose was a bit longer than normal, and his cheeks were sharp and thin. The result of these features made him look like a rodent of some kind. Scott chuckled to himself, looking away.

What’s so funny, fat-ass?

Nothing you would understand, weasel.

Wilson stood up instantly. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time Wilson had heard that particular insult. Scott pushed back from the table and got up much more slowly. The lunchroom had gone quiet as Scott got to his feet. He lifted himself into a crouch, then looked Wilson right in the eye. Then Scott slowly raised himself to his full height, a good three inches more.

Something like trepidation passed over Wilson’s face, putting lie to the sneer he held in place. Scott wasn’t smiling, not pretending to be enjoying this encounter. Wilson was making him do something he didn’t want to do, namely, be the center of attention. Now Scott was getting very annoyed with this whole situation. It seemed his anger was showing through; Wilson took a step back, trying to maintain his composure, as if he suddenly become aware of his jeopardy. Scott wasn’t certain he could survive a fight with Tim Beck, but Wilson was not in the same league.

Better hope Mommy and Daddy don’t run out of money real soon, Scott replied quietly. You may have to fight your own battles for a change.

Wilson’s eyes seemed to burn from within as the verbal arrow sank in. His lip turned up, revealing some teeth in the familiar sneer that only served to enhance his resemblance to a rodent. Wilson probably thought the look was intimidating.

See you around soon then, fat-ass.

Scott returned a perfect imitation of Wilson’s rodent-like sneer. Wilson’s face lost whatever amusement it had possessed instantly. He turned and walked away, but before he got much farther, Scott called out to him.

See you around, weasel, he said quietly, just barely loud enough for Wilson to hear.

Wilson stopped and seemed about to turn around. After pausing for what seemed like an eternity, Wilson seemed to think better of it, then continued walking away. Scott sat back down to finish his lunch. He sat alone at the table but still felt all the gazes of most of the other students as they slowly lost interest. He took a bite from his apple and briefly imagined his animal form sinking its teeth into live prey.

Then he remembered how someone in his situation would fit into the stereotypical profile of a psychopath. He angrily forced this murderous idea out of his mind; he was not going to be another meaningless statistic, useful only as a footnote in a case file for the criminally insane.

Scott Holland was willing to entertain the possibility that he’d lost his mind, but there was no way he was going to willingly give in to such psychopathic impulses.

5

Over the next few days, the incidents with Tim intensified. Scott figured Wilson’s parents indeed had plenty of money to spare, since Wilson himself didn’t have a job. Tim’s pushes and shoves got much harder and were often followed by insults and more confrontations inevitably broken up by teachers. Scott’s aversion to getting into trouble at school (and thereafter trouble with his mother at home) was coming close to being overcome by Tim’s unwanted attention. Unlike Colt Perry, Jeffery Jackson, and numerous others, Scott never displayed any particular fear of Tim because of this priority. To everyone at large, Scott unintentionally gave the impression Tim wasn’t worth his time and was only annoyed with Tim.

Scott even had to completely forgo the school bus since Tim’s cohorts, boys who were too afraid of Tim not to do his bidding, waited for Scott to see which bus he rode. Getting home wasn’t really a problem, thanks to his ability to manifest an animal form. In fact, nowadays most of his time spent in animal form was used merely to get home and to school. It wasn’t as enjoyable as his weekend expeditions, but it was good practice. He needed only to get out of sight, concentrate, make sure he wasn’t wearing anything metal, and run. Just in case, he took to walking through Black town to put off his stalkers.

Black town was a leftover from the days before the civil rights movement. Before equal rights were argued for African descendants, most of them were made to live in a more run-down, low-rent part of town. Most towns in the South in fact had some sort of low town that, until relatively recent, had been referred to by a far more racist term. The buildings were old, many were condemned, but nearly fifty years later, many of those with African descent made Black Town their home, or at least a regular hangout.

If one got through the main part, the apartment projects took over. Relatively new buildings, the projects were the small town equivalent of suburbs and had a similar crime rate. The only white people often seen in Black town were usually looking for drugs, trouble, or both. Scott, surprisingly, wasn’t accosted, despite being blatantly white. He supposed it was because his clothes and shoes were obviously secondhand. They may have viewed him as another kind of minority, either white trash or perhaps a light-skinned Latino.

White trash wasn’t far from the truth. Scott’s house had been built by his long-deceased father and had no running water or indoor toilet. He and his mother lived well below the poverty line but didn’t qualify for aid simply because of their ethnic race. There weren’t many poor white people in this southern town, but plenty of well-off white people who tried to scam the system on a regular basis. So his mother, being a bit proud, no longer bothered trying to get financial help. She simply made do with what she did have. Still, Scott couldn’t wait to move out and into a place where he could shower on a regular basis.

This was only one of the reasons Scott didn’t care to have anyone know where he lived. His house looked (and was) dilapidated, while his closest neighbors boasted a four-car garage and multilevel house to go with their farmland. The roof in his room leaked, and the electrical wiring was bad. Even the decrepit slums of Black town had more modern conveniences than Scott’s home did.

Scott’s detour worked well for a couple of weeks. Soon, however, he sensed Tim’s stalkers getting braver and following him into Black town. He tried his best to ignore them since it was unlikely Tim would be caught dead in this place. Nor did he think Tim’s accomplices brave enough to start a fight here of all places. At the very least, the local residents would probably think it hilarious to see rich white boys attacking a lone poor white boy.

Several times, he had managed to ditch his pursuers rather easily. Since they were usually too involved with their surroundings, this wasn’t usually difficult. Then one day, he found himself being openly followed by an entire squad of Tim’s cronies. A crowd of people had courage, whereas the single trackers did not. Scott turned around to make certain they knew he was aware of them but kept his face neutral.

One of them, a more dirty, lower-middle-class guy named James sped up to walk beside Scott. Scott still didn’t react, as he instinctively knew James was no physical threat to him, though he’d heard James was pretty tough in a fight. James was so short, he had to take two steps just to keep up Scott’s one.

So where ya going, Scotty? You don’t actually live around here, do you?

Scott didn’t answer, slightly irritated by being called Scotty but not quite bothered enough to correct him. James continued talking, but Scott was only aware of the crowd getting closer. James’s purpose was intended to distract and/or delay Scott.

Why don’t you slow down for a minute. I just wanna talk to you about something.

So talk, Scott replied without slackening his gait in the slightest. Scott’s pace was steady and ate away at the distance without tiring him out. James, however, seemed a bit out of breath. Scott had already detected the scent of cigarette smoke on his clothes long ago.

I know what you’re thinking—he puffed—but we’re not with Tim. He went home. You see, we respect you for standing up to him like you do. Not many people can fight him like you can.

I haven’t thrown even one punch. You wanna give me an award for not doing anything?

No…I mean you’re brave. We all know you two are gonna tangle one day. We just wanna be there to back you up.

Scott almost paused at this ludicrously false statement. He gave James a surprised, sardonic expression, then looked over his shoulder at the approaching mass. He offered a tight smile and shook his head, exasperated.

Message received, my new bestie, now go away.

I don’t think you understand, Fat-ass! James said and grabbed Scott by the arm. Scott twisted away easily, not impeded by the smaller boy’s grip. James reached for Scott’s arm again, with the same result. He cursed, and Scott did finally turn around as the entire group broke into a run straight for him. Scott looked around quickly, noting they were now in the projects. Obviously, they believed this was the less dangerous part of town.

Scott felt a sudden impulse to run but inexplicably found himself doing the last thing they would ever have expected. Scott stopped walking, turned completely around, and stood his ground. He faced the oncoming crowd, hearing and smelling what they could not.

He couldn’t tell if Wilson was in the gang, but when they saw he wasn’t running away, they all stopped charging toward him. Several were smiling broadly, as though pleasantly surprised their prey had decided to give itself up. It was also possible they didn’t want to trigger the local residents into action.

Scott wasn’t about to give himself up to a gang beating; he simply knew how futile running would be now. Weeks later, he wondered if something in the ethereal realm had told him to stop; the idea of his own sanity being in doubt was not new to him. Given his situation at home and his unnatural and unlikely ability to manifest an ethereal body over his physical one, the possibility of slowly losing his mind was very real.

Then the crowd parted, and he saw Wilson step forward. The weasellike grin on his face was full of malice, but Scott only stared back blankly. Some would have called it bravery, but the truth was Scott didn’t know if this was really happening. It seemed very far-fetched that a nobody like himself would warrant such violent attention. Wilson opened his mouth, undoubtedly, to say something sarcastic. Before Wilson could speak, however, Scott heard a strong voice yelling, Hey, cracker! What you stankin’ skins doing here out here?

6

The mob of mostly rich white kids came to an immediate stop. Scott looked behind him and saw a big mass of obviously not-rich-or-white boys appearing from around a corner of one of the buildings. His heart rate sped up, but still he didn’t budge from his position. Somehow the entire gang before him didn’t seem quite as intimidating as Tim Beck, especially with his absence. Strangely, he sensed no danger to himself from the locals whatsoever. The project residents swirled around him like a river flowing around a rock, as if they didn’t even see him.

One of them, a kid with dark-chocolate complexion named Anton went straight for James, muttering something about being called the N-word. Before James could react, Anton was on top of James punching him hard in the face