Introduction Events

By WT Meadows

One night, in the west Texas town of Serimessa, a girl awakens on her ceiling. The next day, after football practice, a boy walks into the showers and steps out onto an unforgiving desert. Across town, another school's football practice ends in disaster after a routine tackle results in two players engulfed in flames.

These kin

• Language: English
• Publisher: WT Meadows
• Release date: Oct 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798989293100

Book preview

Part 1

1

Leigh

Something slapped my foot over and over again. It was an extremely annoying way to wake up. I opened my eyes to blackness and pulled my leg away from the thing hitting it. My eyes adjusted and I saw the whirring blades of my ceiling fan. Which didn’t make any sense. What was my ceiling fan doing on my bed? How did it get there and why was it still spinning?

I took in the rest of my surroundings through the brain-fog of my freshly-conscious mind. The ceiling fan wasn’t on my bed, and neither was I. My bed lay below me.

‘What the hell?’ I thought before the molasses in my brain recognized the fan and I were both on the ceiling. Something inside my head snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight and I screamed. Both arms and legs flailed uncontrollably in an attempt to free myself from my predicament. I succeeded in knocking a collection of books and glass ornamental pieces off a nearby bookcase. I winced at the sound of at least one of my figurines breaking upon impact. My mind matched the frantic motions of my appendages, grasping for anything that made sense.

Eventually, whatever held me in place let go and I flopped onto my bed. A book spine dug uncomfortably into my sternum and I rolled over to find another one jabbing me in the kidney. I tried to scream again, but the wind had been knocked out of me. I rolled over again and fell, clattering to the floor. There were more books there, but none were as uncomfortable as those on the bed. Air returned to my lungs, so I resumed my hysterical screaming.

Harsh light broke through the darkness as someone cracked open my bedroom door. I saw the outline of a shape rubbing at their eyes and temples.

Dad? I cried out. Dad, is that you?

Yeah, sweetie, it’s me. What’s all the screaming about?

He leaned his head through the sliver of doorway. He massaged his temples where gray had started to make itself known. He was self-conscious about it and moved the hand around to his neck.

It’s okay, Daddy. I’m alright, I whimpered. I didn’t want to sound so pathetic, but couldn’t’t help it.

Oh sweetie, he began and stepped into the room. You haven’t called me Daddy in...well, it’s been a whi—

His voice was cut off by his own pained yelling as he began jumping up and down in the dimly lit room.

Son of a....dammit anyway, he hobbled back to the doorway and turned on my bedroom light. The hell’s going on in here? What’d you do?

Bright lights illuminated a hellscape of broken glass figurines and books scattered all across the room. My father continued jumping in place as he pulled what was once the head of a unicorn from his foot. Blood covered the glass horn. He gritted his teeth and tossed the broken figurine into a nearby trash can. The head landed inside, while the horn broke off and clattered to the floor elsewhere. With wincing steps, he awkwardly hop-stepped across the safe zones between my doorway and bed. He sat down and patted next to himself.

I surreptitiously made sure my long sleeves were still pulled down all the way, picked up a blanket and draped it around myself before sitting next to my father. He put a hesitant arm around me, but I instinctively shrunk back. He got the hint and gently patted me on the back before clasping both hands in front of himself. I bowed my head and red-streaked black hair flowed across my vision in a rush.

What happened, sweetie? His voice carried its usual mix of sadness and confusion. There was a distinct undercurrent of the pain and frustration from being impaled by a glass unicorn, but the other emotions prevailed. It’s been so long since you’ve called me...that. Are you okay?

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. We sat in stunned silence for a moment as I watched blood from his foot form a pool on my wooden floor.

Jesus, Gerald. What is heaven’s name is going on in here?

My step-mother, Monica, glared from the doorway with one hand resting on one wide hip of the former beauty queen. She surveyed the wreckage of my room and the trail of my father’s blood leading from the doorframe where her other hand rested.

It’s nothing, Monica. Don’t worry about it, my father offered. His response didn’t mean he would side with me, but he would stand between his wife and me.

Looks like you killed a chicken in here, Gerald, she chided in her shrill voice.

Don’t worry, Dad, I tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. His shoulders fell just a little further when I didn’t call him him Daddy again. I gently patted him on the back as I continued, I’ll clean all this up. I’m okay. Seriously, I’m fine. Take care of your foot and get on back to bed.

If you say so, sweetie, he leaned over and gave a short peck to the top of my head. I’ll bring you a towel or something...and, uh, something to sweep up that glass. See you in a sec.

I nodded and black hair draped back across my eyes. I stared at nothing through my obscured view of the floor until my father returned. He knocked twice at the open door before hobbling back in. I wasn’t sure how long he was gone, but he was sporting a bandage he had already bled through. He placed an old towel, brush, and dust pan against the wall just inside my room.

We’re gonna get through this, sweetie. I dunno what all this is, but we’ll make it through. I promise he offered on his way back out the door. After a brief pause, he continued I mean, what the hell happened? I’m trying to be the cool supportive dad here, but still, right?

Sure thing, Dad, I offered a noncommittal shrug. I had a pretty rough nightmare I guess. Don’t worry, though. I’ll get all this cleaned up.

Try to get some more sleep before school, he said, closing the door behind himself.

I took a deep breath before looking over the carnage. How had I ended up on my ceiling? Did that actually happen? Was I losing my mind? There was no way I could get back to sleep with my mind racing.

There was also blood on my floor. I had developed an almost pavlovian instinct to clean blood whenever I saw it. Before scrunching my sleeves up past my elbows, where white lines stood out against my pale skin, I made sure the door was still closed. Neither my dad or the woman who still thought she was a trophy wife would make their way back in unnoticed.

I got to the business of wiping my father’s blood off the floor, sweeping up the broken glass of fallen figurines, and piling up my books. It was close enough to my usual ritual my mind couldn’t focus on the events of the night.

I didn’t let myself think too much about how I ended up on the ceiling.

That way madness lies, I muttered to myself.

I discovered the gleaming horn of my fallen unicorn. There was no blood on it, which surprised me. I saw my dad pull the unicorn’s head from his foot, and got up to explore a hunch. I carefully dug around inside the trashcan until I found the rest of the unicorn’s head. The neck was bloody from where a jagged portion of it had lodged in my father’s foot. I’d simply assumed it was the horn when he pulled the whole thing loose.

I tossed the bloody glass neck back into the can and wiped off my hand with another towel, but my eyes were transfixed by the horn. I stared at its tip and my breath caught. The gleaming translucent sharpness spoke to the thing deep within me. The thing that sometimes made its way out through the lines on my arms. The thing that would quiet down as I cleaned up after each ritualistic letting. That horn would be perfect. It was a thing of beauty requiring respect and attention to create just the right amount of release and no more, but before I could use it, I had to clean it. Even though it wasn’t covered in my dad’s blood, any tools I used had to be absolutely clean. I pulled out a fresh bleach-wipe and methodically wiped it around the horn over and over before drying it on a piece of clean, unused cloth.

I had the perfect place for the horn in a small box hidden on one of my shelves. If anyone came across it, there would only be one unifying feature of the contents: everything had at least one very sharp edge. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find that particular box. The questions it might cause weren’t ones I wanted to deal with. Even the thought of it caused my arms to itch above the elbow and I shoved the urge away. There was no time to properly deal with the itch.

I put the horn in the box, returned it to the secret spot, and resumed cleaning. By the time I was done, my phone’s screen read 4:23am. I had to be up in less than two hours. Today was going to be worse than things usually got, and that was saying something.

I woke again to a hand gently shaking me.

Go away, I mumbled without opening my eyes.

Sweetie, I know you had a late night, but it’s time to get ready for school. I let you sleep in a bit longer, but you still have school.

My eyes jerked open, and I slammed my hand on the bedside table where my phone was supposed to be.

I heard your alarm go off a while ago and grabbed your phone. Like I said, I wanted you to get some more sleep. You’re probably beat.

"You did what? I screamed. What time is it?"

It’s almost seven, he sounded proud of himself. Isn’t that around when Marcellus picks you up? I thought it’d be nice to give you—

Dad! I wailed and jumped from my bed to snatch the phone from him. I gestured up and down at my haggard appearance. When am I supposed to get ready for school? Do you want me to go looking like this?

I already grabbed a bag of pop tarts for you? He offered weakly. The folly of his decisions started to sink in, and his eyes grew wide.

Get out! I shrieked in perfectly reasonable outrage.

He ducked his head out the door without another word. I glared at the closed door and yanked open my dresser. The sports bra on top didn’t smell bad, so I grabbed it and a clean pair of undies. I draped them over my shoulder and opened my shirt drawer. The shirt on top had a manga illustration of a woman holding an enormous axe next to the words "All You Need is Kill." I slung it over the sports bra and I fished out a long-sleeved shirt with cut-out thumb holes. I never wore short sleeves anymore. Or shorts. My favorite pair of black jeans with well-worn holes at the knees lay next to the dresser, completing the hasty ensemble.

After throwing the shirts on, I slid my normal black, gray, and purple bracelets over the sleeve of one wrist past where my thumbs poked through the cloth. Not enough people in my closeted little town knew what they meant to call attention to it. Even if they did, it would just be one more thing. I jammed a brush through my dyed-and-damaged hair and popped in my usual purple contacts.

I was able to apply concealer under my eyes and over the traffic-light-sized zits that must’ve appeared over night. Next came a hasty foundation without any of my usual contouring or eye makeup. It would have to do, since the beeping of my phone told me my best friend Marcellus Cellus Washington was already waiting outside. I ran down the stairs with socks and a pair of monochrome-black Chuck Taylor’s in hand to grab the package of pop-tarts my father left out for me.

I had hoped there’d be time to do some kind of eye-liner on the way or once we got to school, but had no such luck. By the time Cellus got us there, the parking lot was full enough we had to park in the gravel lot usually reserved for sophomores with new licenses.

I ran into home room just as the tardy bell rang. My Latin teacher, a man I suspected spoke the language natively, crooked an eyebrow underneath his unruly sprawl of white hair.

Pleasure to have you with us, Leigh. The morning announcements are just about to commence. he warned, shutting the door behind me.

I’m sorry, Magister Smith, I gasped from sprinting . It’s been a hell of a morning already.

Stygian morning, perhaps? I would appreciate you watching your language in my class. You know that.

Again. Sorry, Magister, I looked away. Black hair fell across my face.

He didn’t mean it as a harsh criticism, but this was my third year in this man’s class and I had more respect for him than probably anyone outside Cellus. Magister Smith brought a joyous consistency to my life that bridged my time from...before, to now. Even when other teachers treated me as less of a person after last December, he never did. I loved Cellus, but he had moved here after everything fell apart, so he never knew the me from before.

I sat at my desk sullenly and listened to the terrible video announcements. Thoughts of waking up on the ceiling tried to creep in, but I shoved them aside. School was a battleground, and I couldn’t deal with distraction. While munching on my pop-tart, Magister Smith caught my eye with a smile and a wink. Something inside me felt lighter and I smiled back. Perhaps the day wouldn’t be horrific waste after all.

2

Peyton

My foot bounced under the desk. The end of the day could not come soon enough. The Homecoming game was only four weeks away and the team still was a long way from taking on Pennsington High. There was no way we were going to lose our rivalry game for Homecoming, but it might happen if our defense couldn’t pull their heads out of their collective asses. If that weren’t enough, my dad was harping at me to mail my college essays out for early acceptance.

The quality of the essays was irrelevant. Even if any school he’d make me apply to didn’t let me in, he’d make a sizable donation to build a new wing on some building and voila, I’d be enrolled. Dad pretended I had to work for everything, but there was always cash or a political favor to catch me when I needed the help. He made a big show of supporting public education in his last campaign by saying he didn’t need to send his son to a private school to get a first-rate education, but it was all a front.

Everyone in Serimessa knew he paid more than any private school tuition into my schools to ensure we never had the budgetary problems other schools faced. Even Pennsington, just across town, was night and day compared to us. They worked with janky hand-me-down computers from my school, while each student in my class used their own tablet. My football team got new equipment all the time while scraps of foam flaked off their old pads.

Yet, my dad still harped at me to get the damned college essay done. He wanted to read through them, and I would have to make whatever changes he pretended to suggest. I didn’t want to be a doctor or lawyer, but those were the only options he’d let me consider. I didn’t even want to take the AP Environmental Science class I was currently stress-dreaming through. This class was the only one that fit my already-busy schedule of other AP classes.

...and don’t forget that your presentations on primary succession are due at the beginning of next week. That gives you a little less than a week to get them back to me. As I’ve been saying, but am willing to repeat for the glazed eyes around the class, you can do this solo or as a group project. In fact, I don’t even really care how you represent it. A mobile, a diorama, or a tattoo for all I care: just make sure you fully represent the aspects of primary succession here in class next Monday. Mr. Spencer looked around at a series of blank faces: Looks like this is gonna be very interesting.

I hadn’t even started the damned project yet and had no idea what primary succession was. My only hope was to find a partner who’d do most of the work and let me slide in at the last minute.

With a smile, my gaze stopped on Leigh Lighton. She looked a hot mess. Her ultra-goth phase after everything with Chase wasn’t doing her any favors. However, it’d been long enough she might be willing to do me a solid to get back in our good graces. I mean, she’d done her time in the penalty box, so we might bring her back into the fold if she was a team player.

I packed up before the bell rang to catch Leigh on her way out. She must have pre-packed too, because she zoomed right out the door. The halls filled up with people, making it difficult to approach her. Fine by me. I didn’t love the idea of half the school seeing us interacting just yet. After she’d helped me out, I’d throw her a bone and be seen with her in public. That, on its own, should be good enough reason for her to help me.

I trailed Leigh to her locker and pretended to drink water at a nearby fountain until the hall cleared out enough for me to approach her.

I’m not going to do the project for you, Peyton. she stated coolly as I walked up behind her. She didn’t even raise her head to speak through her nasty dyed black and red hair.

How’d you know I wanted us to work together on the—

"First off, you don’t want us to work together, she spat. You want me to do the project so you can swoop in and pretend it was all your idea."

Hey now, that’s not fa—

Second. She barreled through my objections and still wouldn’t face me. That was starting to piss me off. Someone like her had a lot of nerve to mouth off to me. You’ve been staring at me with that wolf-grin since class ended, so it obviously had something to do with that the project.

Oh, I see how it is now. I graced her with the smile that won over so many of the ladies. You were checkin’ me out and noticed my attention, eh?

She finally faced me. Die in a fire, Peyton.

Her hair draped over one eye. The other was some creepy purple contact lens. I flinched at the first glimpse of her eye. She really was going full-tilt weirdo. Maybe she hadn’t been in time out long enough, after all.

Excuse me? I asked after regaining my composure.

You heard me. She probably thought my flinch was because of her comment.

Aw, c’mon Leigh. I shrugged. It’d be like old times. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?

Like old times? Her tone tone chilled even further. Like when I did all of Chase’s work for him. You know, before you all started spreading all tha—

Don’t be like that. You know you liked it back then. I smirked to remind her we were just having fun. But if you want something for your trouble, how about I take you as my date for Homecoming? It’d be great for you. I’d probably even be willing to talk to Chase and see if we could let you hang out with us again. You’d like tha—

She interrupted my offer by slamming her locker door so hard I thought she might break it.

Cancer fire. Her words dripped with icy venom.

What? I asked, confused.

The fire I told you to die in earlier? Yeah, I want to be made of cancer, you prick.

Where’d all this come from? I remained stunned. "I mean, if you’re gonna be some frigid bitch about me trying to help you out. Fine...don’t do the project with me."

"Help me? Leigh spat each word individually and glared at me with her unsettling purple eye. You’re unbelievable."

She hoisted her backpack onto one shoulder as though ready to wield it like a club. When I didn’t give her any reason to do so, Leigh stalked off muttering to herself. I rolled my eyes. She obviously still needed more time in the penalty box before we could let her back in with the important people at school. It was kinda a shame, she probably would have done a good job with the project. It didn’t matter. I was positive I’d find someone to help out. I always did.

That last hit really, really hurt. I was flat on my back, taking in the pleasant view of the wide open West Texas sky, as my breath slowly returned.

Edders, whatta’ya think yer doin’ in the dirt? Coach Phillips barked at me. Get back up, get your head outta the clouds, and back on the line! We’re gonna run it again!

I rolled to my side and pushed myself up. Maybe he was right and I had my head in the clouds. All I could think about was all the crap I had going on and couldn’t manage to focus on the plays. I was pissed at my parents for riding my ass about college and Leigh for thinking she could actually cop an attitude with me. My brain kept cycling those things over and over.

Earth to Peyton? Peyton Edders, you there? Coach Phillips rapped on my helmet. You gonna get in there or not? Should I be starting someone else as my running back? There are a few sophomores who’d just love the chance to take your spot. How’sat sound?

No, sir, Coach! I barked back and jumped in line.

Good man! If his voice were a text , everything would be all caps. Now get on the line and run it again. You’ve earned yourself another five wind-sprints with that little prissy-pants hit that knocked you flat. Keep goin’ like that and you’ll earn ten more.

I closed my eyes . That brought my total of extra after practice wind-sprints to twenty-five. My sides were going to burn like hell by the time I hit the showers. Coach Phillips was a real hardass. Even though I liked that about him, he could go a little far with the damn sprints. I hated every minute of them, and even if I deserved some of them, there was no way in hell I deserved twenty-five.

I slid in next to my best friend, Chase Pierce, team captain and starting quarterback. We butted helmets.

You in this, buddy?.

You know it. Let’s do this thing!

He slammed me with his shoulder and called the play. I saw a defender tracking me and shifted to find a hole in the defense. Chase saw the defender move and called an audible.

He snapped the ball, and I rolled across the back of an offensive linemen just as Chase slid the ball into my cupped hands. I spotted the right hole and charged. Two defensive linemen, who had no right being that massive in high school, converged on me. They moved too fast for me to have any hope of gaining much yardage, but it was worth a try.

I ducked my helmet and charged toward the tiny opening in front of me. The hit from those two bruisers was going to leave marks, but I braced for impact and pressed on. Seconds later, there was no hit and I just kept running. After another couple of seconds, I raised my helmet and noticed I was far past the line. Every defender was in my dust and I was almost to the end zone. Coach Phillips’ shrill whistle ended play. I slowed to a walk and returned to the team.

What in the hell happened there, Edders?

I, uh, saw the hole and went for it, sir. My shoulder pads exaggerated the shrug to a comical degree.

Apparently you did. Coach Phillips stated over the team’s laughter. Bit of a fluke if you can only do it once, though.

Yessir, I’ll get it done again.

S’right you will. Coach nodded. If you don’t, you’ll get yourself more wind-sprints. As it is, I’ll deduct four. Additionally, I’ll give two each to the Sammons and Masterson for the easy tackle they bungled and you managed to slip through.

The two defenders groaned and swore.

That’s two more, each, for complaining and two more for swearing.

But Coach, Chuck Masterson whined. You can swear and, besides, we had him—

"Two more for Masterson for more bellyaching. And you’re damn right I can swear. I’ve earned the right. You’re still working up to being able to speak at all. Two more wind-sprints for talkin’ back to me. Want to keep going for more or can we play some football?"

No, sir. Chuck hung his head in mock-shame, but I could see the furious snarl on his face. He was sure to take his frustrations at Coach out on me for the rest of practice. Coach Phillips would let it happen. He considered it a teachable moment.

Run it back! Coach Phillips barked. The offensive and defensive lines formed again.

We ran the play a dozen more times and none were as good as that miraculous attempt. I made it through often enough to keep Coach Phillips from giving me more wind-sprints, but couldn’t quite manage to escape the defenders quite so effectively. I chalked it up to good luck as the final whistle blew. Those of us who’d earned wind-sprints got to them while the lucky few who’d escaped headed for the showers.

Even with their added wind-sprints, Judd Sammons and Chuck Masterson made it back to the locker room before me. I was faster than either of them, but still had way more of the hated exercises. I stumbled into the locker room, exhausted and desperate for a shower. Judd and Chuck whooped and hollered at me ‘for taking my sweet-ass time,’ as they high-fived at beating the star running back. Congenially, I flipped them off.

The rest of my teammates who hadn’t already gone home huddled around the locker-room tv. Often used to critique plays after games, it was set to the local news. One of the anchors was talking about something that happened over at our rival school.

"... the victim, eighteen year old Erik Pauls, is a defensive end on the F.W. Pennsington High School football team and was expected to start this season. With burns along his arms from this incident, it is unlikely he will even participate in the season. We spoke with one of the team’s coaches, Joseph Lefler, who offered the following statement:

‘We have no idea where the burns came from. One minute, we were running field goal plays and the next minute he was screaming and his arms were covered in first and second degree burns. It wasn’t even terribly hot outside, so he couldn’t have burned himself on the equipment. We are at a loss as to how this happened, but our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family as he recovers from this terrible accident.’"

The newscaster continued without emotion.

"The only other person involved in the incident, a Pennsington High School student, who remains anonymous at this time, left the event no worse-for-wear. They have no further comment regarding either student or the incident. More on these events as they unfold."

I shook my head, grabbed an old, faded towel, flip-flops, and shower gel from my gym locker.

That’s some roughness, I muttered.

No shit, man, Chase answered. Erik was a good dude. Partied with him a couple times over the summer. He was hopin’ to play for the scouts this season.

Bummer, dude. I grimaced. Getting into or paying for college wasn’t a huge deal for me but for a lot of students at Pennsington, it was a pretty major concern. Even for Chase it was kinda a thing. His dad owned both car dealerships in town, but straight-up said he’d make his son earn his way through college. Chase wasn’t worried, though. He had a good line on some scouts for college ball. I shook my head as I thought about Erik. Wonder if he’ll still have a chance to play for them some.

Doubt it. Bro on the tv was sayin’ he’d be out the whole season. Upside is he’ll come outta this with some gnarly scars and should really be able to pull some play with those. Chicks love a dude with scars. You know what I’m sayin’?

Chase held out his fist and I bumped it.

Yeah, man. He’ll be set for sure. I wonder who the other kid was? Like what the hell even happened over there?

Forreal, Chase replied with a noncommittal bob of his head.

I gotta hit them showers. Catch you online tonight for some games?

You know it, bro. Chad held out his fist again and we bumped again before I strolled into the empty school showers.

I pulled back the cheap plastic curtain and stepped through to a scene that broke my mind wide open.

Scalding sand filtered between the flip-flops and my toes. Instinctively, I jumped and kicked out, one flip-flop flew out into a barren wasteland of burning yellow sand. The shoe wobbled in the shimmering heat-haze of the air, and I lost track of where it landed. A piece of mostly-clear plastic bounced off my leg as it wafted away on the breeze.

I clutched the towel around my waist in a death grip. Staying clothed was a primal necessity in my panic and confusion. I took in my surroundings and saw endless desert in almost every direction. Behind me I saw the same generic plastic shower-curtain I had just pulled aside. It wavered through the air, and I couldn’t tell if that was due to the heat or something else. With a tentative hand, I reached toward the shower curtain but was interrupted by a sound that caused the hair on the back of my neck to rise.

I turned and, my heart leapt into my throat at the sight. The long brown snake reared back in an s-shape, hissing. I stumbled onto my back as the snake weaved side to side. It taunted and horrified me. Two very large fangs protruded from its mouth as it hissed. I lost any sense of propriety in my haste to escape . My towel fell away as I awkwardly crab-walked away from the snake.

I didn’t even notice when the burning sand was replaced with the cold tile of the locker room. When my head slammed against the wall of an opposing stall, I stopped scrambling. In my haste to escape, I must have pulled the original shower curtain closed again. There was a diagonal line, like something sliced through it with an absurdly sharp knife, where the shower curtain just stopped. I looked around to see if anyone else saw what had just happened, but the shower remained completely empty.

Calming my racing heart, I pulled the curtain back to see an empty stall. There was no desert, no snake, and no burning sand. Which made no sense at all. Where had the shower curtain gone? Was it that plastic caught in the wind? That didn’t make any kind of sense.

I had to be losing my mind. With everything from college stuff, that stupid project, Leigh being a huge bitch, and a bizarre football practice, my mind was going through a lot.

I was convinced I’d made the whole thing up, but what happened to my towel, the shower curtain, and one of my flip-flops?

3

Leigh

"S pirited Away will always be the best Miyazaki film. I don’t care what those yahoos in the JCS say." Cellus lowered his head with a mock-serious expression as we entered the school’s parking lot.

"Nah, man. My Neighbor Totoro is a classic and will always take top billing for me."

"Leigh, love you babe, but they’re all classics. That’s what makes Miyazaki Miyazaki."

The debate over which Hayao Miyazaki film was the greatest