The two were sitting together, slumped against the cinderblock wall outside the coffeehouse next to the dark green Dumpster. Matt seemed equally disoriented and his eyes looked red and raw. Claude and Cat were nowhere to be seen.

“We…” Jake began, looking into Matt’s eyes. The feeling of cold pavement against his legs felt strange. The discarded cola cans and cigarette butts strewn around the Dumpster looked bizarre and alien. Jake’s head was swirling with new memories and throughts that he didn’t understand, and he didn’t know how to reconcile them with his old ones. The look on Matt’s face told him much the same, and so Jake stopped trying to talk. The two sat quietly together, regaining their equilibrium.

Claude poked his head abruptly out of the back door, startling Jake, reminding him oddly of a target in a “whack-a-mole” game. He glanced quickly at the pair with a look of concern; when he saw them turn to look up at him, his face lit up. 

“Cancel that!” Claude yelled, ducking his head back inside the door. “They’re coming around.” He then came out and knelt next to Jake, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. Before long, Cat appeared as well, tending to Matt similarly. To Jake and Matt, everything seemed surreal, dreamlike, and it was hard to follow exactly what was going on and who was coming from where.

“Tilt your head back,” Cat whispered to Matt, uncapping a small plastic bottle and holding it over his head. Matt did as he was told, unsure of what was about to happen until a few drops of cool water dropped into his eyes, making him blink. Eyedrops. Right. Cat handed the bottle to Claude.

“You really freaked me out,” Cat continued, her voice quavering a bit. She looked into his eyes, searching for something… Matt wasn’t sure what. “I was about to call an ambulance. You two have been staring straight ahead for at least ten minutes with your eyes wide open. And you were—” She looked down and stopped mid-sentence when she saw that the two had their hands clasped together.

“She was reading that story,” Claude cut in, after dropping some saline into Jake’s eyes as well, “when all of a sudden, you two were all zombied out. We tried talking to you, shaking you out of it… nothing worked.” Claude sat back on the cold, oily pavement, his worries about the dirty parking lot long forgotten with the current situation. Questionable oil stains and dirt smudged his shorts.

Although he was still unsteady, Jake rose to his feet, pulling Matt up by the hand he still clung to. When they were both standing, they unclasped their hands; for a moment, Matt looked at his big, empty hand as if he expected to see something there—something small.

“Whoa,” Claude said. “Maybe you ought to sit down for a while?” He reached out to steady Jake, who waved him away. “I mean, fuck, you were just in some kind of trance or something…”

“Come on,” Jake said. “Nothing’s changed. We still have to get to a safer place.” With a surprising amount of strength for someone who’d been incapacitated just moments earlier, Jake herded the others back through the coffeehouse. Matt went along willingly, and Claude and Cat were swept away not only by Jake’s physical strength, but by a sudden, overwhelming persuasion that Jake seemed to summon. Just like earlier, in the coffeehouse, he seemed able to command attention when he needed to.

“I’m taking a personal day,” Cat managed to call out as they headed out the front door. She barely had time to remove her apron and toss it back through the door and onto an unoccupied table.

Jake’s apartment was a good argument for the fact that chaos can take many forms.

While it evidenced considerably more forethought than Cat’s place did—all of his furniture looked like it had been bought outright rather than stumbled upon or inherited—it still managed to assault the senses. Nearly every interior wall was lined with dark wood bookshelves, filled with heavy volumes of all shapes and sizes. A large Eastern European tapestry depicting a serpentine, dragonlike figure hung in the entry hallway. Display shelves in the dining room and kitchen showcased some small historic artifacts and replicas: plates, coins, figurines, and other knickknacks. The rooms were modestly lit with yellowy-orangish light from lamps with stained glass shades. All in all, not too shocking a surprise for the lair of a history teacher.

In the living room, on a dark brown leather sofa, Matt, Cat and Claude sat expectantly while Jake browsed a particular wall of bookshelves with singleminded determination, scanning the spines of each book and occasionally removing it from the shelf for further examination.

“Where did that book come from?” Jake asked Cat, not stopping in his search to glance behind him. “Who brought it in? When did you first notice it?”

“I don’t know how long it’s been on the shelf,” Cat replied, checking out the book. It looked pretty ordinary, like any oversized mass-market paperback that had gotten years of good use.“I only noticed it today, maybe because of what you guys were talking about last night. We get people in and out all the time. Anyone could have left it.” Jake continued looking.

“Since our hostess doesn’t seem to remember how,” Claude said, turning to Matt and Cat with an mock-apologetic tone, “I guess I’d better play the host. Can I offer either of you something to drink?” Jake managed to avert his eyes from the bookshelf for a moment to mumble an apology over his shoulder, but quickly returned to his search.

“He’s usually Martha Stewart when he has company,” Claude assured them with a stage whisper, “when he doesn’t have a scholastic bug up his butt, of course. I’m going to make some… tea or something. You want a cup?”
“That sounds great,” Cat said.

Claude looked to Matt, but realized instantly that his mind was elsewhere, looking around the apartment, drinking in all of the Eastern European flavors. Matt stood up and headed over to a curio cabinet to check out some ceramic bowls that, for some reason, particularly fascinated him.

“Probably just some water for him?” Claude suggested, and Cat nodded. They looked at Matt silently as he wandered around the room, trading glances as if they were sharing an unspoken secret, or checking him for warning signs of another catatonic episode. Finally, Claude stood up and headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Cat sat by herself while Matt roamed about, and waited for Claude to return with refreshments. She tried to muster some interest in her surroundings, but didn’t find it nearly as engaging as Matt seemed to. She’d never acquired a taste for decorating, or for collecting things; buying and arranging lots of little finds on shelves would have put her in direct conflict with her major enemy: dusting. Cat couldn’t remember Matt ever being interested in bric-a-brac before, either, but she’d never been to a museum or anything with him. Maybe he’d always been a closet history junkie. She seemed to be discovering a lot of new things about him that she’d never known before.

“So what is so special about this particular book?” Cat asked after a few minutes of watching Jake’s back as he dug through his bookshelves. She set down the paperback and picked up a copy of “History Buff” that lay on the coffee table. She hoped for a moment it might feature sexy professors in the nude, but was quickly disappointed and set it back down again. “It looks like you have every book ever written about people with hard-to-pronounce names. How could the stuff in this book possibly be new to you?”

“That book—” Jake replied, standing up quickly after searching to the bottom of yet another bookshelf without any success. He got wobbly all of a sudden and sagged, catching himself on the arm of an upholstered reading chair before twisting backwards. Matt appeared by his side, reaching out to steady him. He guided Jake to a spot on the sofa next to Cat.

“Don’t go all catatonic on us again,” Cat admonished him. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s not like before, nothing that dramatic,” Jake said, “I’m just dehydrated. Stood up too fast.” The leather sofa made soft squeaking noises as he leaned back into it.

On cue, Claude returned with a pewter tray carrying a pot of steeping tea, some ceramic teacups, and two glasses of water, setting them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Matt handed one of the glasses to Jake immediately.

“Thanks,” Jake said to Matt, accepting the glass with a little flash of a smile and taking a long drink.

“You’re welcome,” Claude interjected, irritated, and settled down into one of the armchairs heavily. “All the thanks I need is the smiling faces of the children.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake said, giving Claude a truly baleful look that made the latter feel immediately guilty. With all that was going on, he was upset about something as trivial as a thank you for drinks. Claude squirmed.

“It’s just been a crazy couple of days,” Jake admitted, finishing the rest of the water in short order. Matt took the empty glass and handed him the second one. “I’m just not myself.”

“Join the club,” Matt murmured, and headed into the kitchen with his empty glass.

“That book shouldn’t exist,” Jake continued. He studied the cover with weary eyes, the cartoonish vampire figure on the front belying the horrors he’d seen in the vision of Lucia and Costin. “The author, the publisher, the stories in there. I’ve never heard of any of them before, and—yes, you’re right—I do tend to read a lot of books like this.”

“Then,” Cat said, hesitantly, “…elemental demons, magic talismans, Biule and Dracul… These aren’t real folktales? This book is a fake?”

“They’re no folktales I’ve ever heard,” Jake said, “but I think they’re real.”

 “What happened at the end?” Matt asked Cat, returning with his own glass of water. “After Lucia and Costin died?”

“Lucia cast a—” Cat said, then paused a moment. She hadn’t read the rest of the story aloud. Neither Matt nor Jake had never seen the book before, or heard these stories. “She cast some kind of spell to bind their souls together, and to concentrate the magic power they had. I guess they were supposed to live on after death or… something.” Or something. “That story ended there, though.”

Jake paged through the book, lingering for a moment on the last page of the Lucia and Costin’s story, reading the description of their deaths, morbidly fascinated.

“We started hunting through there while you guys were taking your siesta,” Claude offered, “and found more about the bad guy. He callled himself Biule: kinda a corporate ladder-climber, demon-wise. Wasn’t satisfied to lurk around and take bites out of random people who got lost in the woods.” Claude poured some tea for Cat and himself. “He had a plan for a quick promotion using the lovebirds.”

“He did human sacrifices,” Cat said. “He did them all the time, to call up more servants, different kinds of those creepy, slimy things, but there wasn’t enough power in regular people for what he wanted to do.”

“And what did he want to do?” Matt asked, sitting in the chair across from Claude. He shivered a bit.

“The book is pretty vague on exactly what,” Claude shrugged. “Your usual hell-on-earth, I guess. Making things really bad for people up here so it feels more like home for demons. Apocalyptic redecoration? He needed magic to do that, and he thought Lucia and Costin would be good Duracells.”

“It said something in there about Biule also wanting virgins,” Cat said drily, “but I think whoever wrote this is a little naive to think that two teenagers secretly hanging out in the woods at night for months aren’t going to get it on.”

“So,” Matt said doubtfully. “They cast a spell that destroyed the bad guys who were attacking them. They died. It’s all over? Biule doesn’t get his sacrifice and doesn’t get the corner office and that’s that?”

“Pretty much,” Claude said. “Over the years, people forgot how to do magic…” He gave Matt a strange look at that point, before continuing. “…and Biule’s big plan was pretty much useless without a good power source. He hung out for another hundred years or so, whining about it, then gave up and went back where he came from. The end.”

“Except Jake didn’t tell you what he and Matt saw last night,” Cat said. “The big gray thing that looked like something out of those creepy Japanese animated porn cartoons?”
“Like something out of that book,” Jake said. 

Claude coughed after swallowing a sip of tea the wrong way, and set his cup down on the coffee table. He made as if to speak, but couldn’t get his coughing under control.

“This morning, too,” Matt chimed in. “And we get the feeling that there’s more of them out there.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait,” Claude croaked. “You’re actually seeing these things? Seeing them in Seattle? Both of you?” Claude turned to Cat, who returned his incredulous look with a sheepish smile. “What about you?” 

“Not me,” Cat said, shaking her head. “Last night, I thought they were on drugs. And when I found the book, today, I thought Jake had read these stories to him while he was tripping, or asleep, or something. Some kind of subliminal thing. I don’t even know why someone would do something like that, it just made more sense than it being true.” She sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that right away?” Claude said, poking Matt in the arm urgently. “Don’t just sit there, do a hocus pocus thing and put a ring of fire around us, or something! Shit!” Matt looked at Claude, puzzled. He looked to Jake, but he seemed as lost as Matt was.

“While you were… asleep or whatever,” Cat explained hesitantly. “Matt, you were moving your hands in this funny way, and there was a glow, little blue flames. Like you were casting spells in your sleep. Like Costin and Lucia did in the story.”

“Do something!” Claude yelled, panic rising in his voice.

“There aren’t any of them around here!” Matt snapped back. “Get a grip!”

“Calm down, Claude,” Jake said, giving him a stern look. “Matt’s right. When they’re around, we get this kind of… feeling. Like an early-warning system or something.”

“Well… good,” Claude said, embarrassed, settling back into his chair. It was a surreal thing to be scared about, and and even more surreal way to be comforted. “As soon as your spider-sense starts tingling, though, make sure you let me know.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve seen those Japanese animated movies and I know what those tentacle things do.”

“When have you ever?” Jake asked. Claude was hardly a connoisseur of pop counter-culture.

“In a Madonna video,” Claude countered, then picked up his cup of tea, trying to regain his dignity.

“So,” Matt said, “if we’re seeing these things now, and I’ve got magic powers like Costin and Lucia, then what does that tell us?”

“Biule’s… not gone?” Cat suggested.

“Fuck tea,” Claude said abruptly, setting his cup down again and heading into the kitchen. “I need a cocktail.”

“Running’s not the talent of mine you should be worried about,” Lucia challenged, then swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Luckily, tonight she hadn’t worn a tight corset, and could hike up her simple, red dress in her hands, making it possible for her to run. Some of the outfits in her wardrobe would have constricted her to the point that she would have been nothing more than a prettily wrapped present for her pursuer.

Lucia glanced around the clearing to see if there were any signs of a path, but she didn’t recognize any except the one she’d created in her hasty passage. She had run so fast and so erratically to try and shake her pursuer that she had gotten turned around. If she took off running again, she might just end up deeper and deeper in the wood.

“Oh, I’m well aware of your talents,” the voice assured her, this time from the opposite edge of the clearing. “I’ve seen the things you can do, the great power that you wield. Breathtaking, to be sure. But I also know the one thing against which you’re completely powerl–”

Before he could finish his thought, Lucia darted back between the trees, back the way she had come, thinking she might be able make it back to a larger clearing. In the open, Lucia had been holding her own, but now she was in the middle of the deep forest—his turf­—and at a severe disadvantage. The worst part was that she couldn’t see him, if he got close enough to pounce on her, she wouldn’t the slightest warning. How was it that he could still move so impossibly fast, while she was struggling to keep going at all?

And how could he even see two feet in front of his face in this darkness? As she worked her way through the black branches, some completely stripped of leaves, Lucia had to hold her arm out in front of her and slow her pace. If she charged headfirst into some sharp sticks, she could lose an eye for her trouble. In addition, her dress frequently snagged on the sharp ends of the branches as she forced her way through the denser patches. With some effort, she thrashed through some brittle, dead blackberry vines and came out in another clearing, glad that she’d worn a dress with long sleeves, at least, and spared her arms from countless scratches.

“It’s touching, it really is,” came the voice again, closer than before, its owner still out of sight. “Watching you blunder your way around, attracting attention to yourself, like a lost doe calling out for a hunter’s arrow.”

Lucia turned to orient herself on the voice, and backed up against a thick, blackened stump, her arms raised defensively. With dismay, she realized she’d somehow ended up in the same clearing as before. Or at least it looked like the same one. Damn it all to hell.

“Why don’t you just come out and face me, coward?” the girl asked, her eyes flashing with anger, now. “Skulking around in the shadows, hoping for me to tire and make a mistake… hardly an honorable way to do things.”

“If there were a word less suitable to describe those who seek to end your life,” the voice replied, matter-of-factly, “I have no idea what it would be.”

The forest behind Lucia exploded in a flurry of leaves, twigs and branches as a dark figure burst forth and leapt at her. His weight caught her left side and spun her to the ground roughly. The two tumbled across the forest floor, Lucia clawing and pushing at him desperately, to free herself from his grip. The shadowy man held firm, though, with an unearthly strength. Before long, Lucia ceased her struggling and lay still, trying to calm her racing heart and think of what to do.

“Does this mean,” she asked quietly, in between deep breaths, “that I’m dead?” Lucia watched as her attacker pulled back his black cowl, partially revealing his face to her. She gazed into his eyes, and saw her answer.

He leaned in close, and covered her mouth with his own, kissing her hungrily. The kiss was passionate and urgent, fueled by his adrenaline that had built up during their chase. Lucia returned his passion, allowing the kiss to continue for almost a minute, just until she felt his grip loosening…

Lucia shifted her weight and pushed him off of her, rolling backwards away from him. She ended up in a crouch, her hands up, her fingers curled into strange positions.

“Now who’s dead?” Lucia asked.

The clearing erupted in an brilliant, lavender flame, banishing every shadow. The flames did not scorch the grass or the trees; but they incinerated the black robe and cowl her assailant wore. Soon, the attacker was revealed as a handsome, black-haired young man with olive skin, laying on the ground in the nude.

“Lucia!” Costin shouted angrily, curling into a ball to hide his nakedness and looking around the still “burning” clearing for any scrap of his garb that had survived. None had, though the knife that he carried had been spared, and now sat on the forest floor. “What shall I wear now? How will I explain this if someone sees us?”

“As if you would allow anyone to see you if you wished to be hidden,” Lucia said dismissively as the lavender flames continued to dance around the clearing. She grinned innocently at her love. “Are you not the most skilled skulker? Are you telling me you doubt your skills, now?”

Costin leapt at Lucia again, though tackling her in a much less aggressive manner this time. She laughed out loud at his impetuousness, and squirmed under the weight of his naked body, feigning embarrassment.

“Costin, please,” Lucia admonished him, unable to hide her smile, “it is most inappropriate for a lady to be under a naked man in the woods.” She kissed him briefly on the nose, before noticing that he was not smiling. Costin made some gestures of his own and muttered some ancient words, and the lavender flames’ color shifted to a bluish white, then abruptly extinguished themselves.

“For goodness’ sake, Costin,” Lucia said, embracing him with the tone of a consoling mother to a petulant child. “You slipped out of your camp unseen, you trailed me all the way from the Great Circle without the slightest effort, certainly you can do the same on your way back? They’re just clothes. I’ll bring you wonderful some new fabrics from the castle, tomorrow.”

“And how would I explain your fine silks and delicate weaves to my parents?” Costin demanded. “That I found them? stole them? Damn the clothes.” Costin’s face was still stern. “That’s not what I’m upset about, and you know it. Lucia.”

“I did as you’ve taught me,” Lucia protested, “I pretended to be conquered and I turned the tables on y—”

“I doubt that when the Strigoi have chased you down and pinned you that they will be interested in a kiss,” Costin shot back, rolling off of her, grabbing and tearing  a wide panel of fabric from the hem of her dress as he did. With the many rips and holes that had been inflicted on it in the past few hours, it was an easy feat. Lucia started to protest until she saw that Costin was wrapping the fabric around his midsection to fashion a crude loincloth. Fair enough. She already planned to dispose of this dress when she arrived back at the castle, anyway; she had more than enough in her wardrobe, and hiding it was easier than explaining. 

“If I were a Strigoi,” Costin continued, “or one of their hideous underlings, you would surely be dead at this moment.”

“Then it’s a good thing,” Lucia retorted sharply as she tried to even out the ragged hem of her dress, “that unlike you, I don’t feel the need to run around in the dark playing tag with these things.” Little lavender flames danced across the irises of her blue eyes as she tore away at the other side of the tattered frock so the length was more uniform, revealing an elaborate, white petticoat. She tossed the strips to Costin, should he need more for his loincloth. He used one of the strips to fashion a belt to hold his knife sheath.

“I’ve learned just about everything you could teach me, and far more,” Lucia said, confidently. “Am I not among the most formidable practitioners you know? Anything threatening me will find itself the prey in short order.”

“Unless you’re surprised,” Costin chided her, “or exhausted, or you make a mistake, or any number of things. You need to learn to defend yourself in every way possible, not just through spells and mystical energies.”

“And so I am,” Lucia snapped, gesturing to her tattered burgundy dress. “Have I not destroyed six frocks in two months, playing games with you out in the woods? Perhaps, for all the progress I’ve made, I’m still not the bloodthirsty gladiator you seem to be, but I am trying. We do not all of us possess the same passions, my love.”

Costin completed tying off his makeshift belt and gazed at Lucia despondently. Much as he wished it were otherwise, he had to agree with her assessment; she had a fighting spirit and great determination, but hand-to-hand combat was simply not in her blood. Her cousins and kinsmen had been raised on swordplay and war games, while she had been relegated to learning social etiquette and ceremony, being groomed for her future husband. Lucia had relished their training at first, as a respite from the limited prospects of her usual lessons, but had ultimately found it no more rewarding.

Lucia had a greater affinity for magick; she had as much, maybe slightly more, innate power as he. But unless they stayed together every day and every night, they would end up facing the things on their own, eventually. Knowing the ruthless and deceptive opponent they faced, Costin feared her magickal skills would not suffice.

Costin had thought on this, and had a plan for another way to deal with it, though the risk was great and the outcome not guaranteed. Thankfully, there had been only sporadic sightings of the Strigoi over the past weeks. The longer he could stave off going to desperate measures, the better it would be.

Costin rose to his feet, then offered Lucia his hand in assistance.

“You have made some good progress,” Costin admitted, forcing a smile upon his face. “Especially when compared to your lack of fighting prowess several months ago, when you would have been easy prey for any assailant. You know that I push you only because I worry for your safety and wish for you to be prepared. When the time comes that our skills are needed, you may yet have improved enough to face and defeat them.”

“May have?” Lucia repeated, questioningly.

“As I say,” Costin nodded, gravely. He could not bring himself to reassure her more than that.

After dusting themselves off as best they could, the pair walked in silence through the dark forest, hand in hand. The evening had felt so menacing while they played their game of cat-and-mouse, but now it seemed serene and romantic. Only the chill of the night air intruded on their perfect moment, and Costin shivered a bit in his revealing, new outfit. With a murmured word and a spark of deep blue light, he conjured a warm breeze to envelop them and keep them comfortable on their journey.

It took them almost a half hour to get within sight of the Great Circle, with its tall oaks ringing a central firepit. With all the troubles the Strigoi had brought, and the animosity between her people and Costin’s, few ventured out this far and availed themselves of the Circle these days. Nobody wanted to risk being set upon by some foul beast just for an evening by a campfire, so everyone stayed safely indoors at night. It was fortunate for Costin and Lucia, though, since the Circle sat halfway between their homes, and became a safe and private meeting point.

They had rendezvoused there on their first night together, a year prior, after their chance first meeting in town. She had briefly separated from her company to enter the shop stalls to find a small carving to give as a gift. In a stall run by Costin’s grandmother, she’d found a tiny relief of a dove, carved from oak, the most beautiful carving she’d ever seen. She’d also discovered, in Costin, the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen.

What little Lucia knew of Gypsies was from the casually foul descriptions her father and his officers used. The fact that Costin was a Gypsy immediately dispelled those words as obvious fiction. Something about Costin was immediately magnetic to Lucia, so much so that she dared to whisper to him to meet her that very evening. The dumbstruck boy had agreed, feeling the same mysterious pull to the noble girl, and they had shared countless evenings since, despite all the troubles, natural and supernatural, that had conspired to separate them.

The two reached the Great Circle and stood in its center, gazing into each others’ eyes for a moment, hands clasped together. The first hints of dawn were appearing on the horizon, as the black sky displayed ribbons of dark blue and purple behind the mountains. Lucia looked around the circle.

“Any word from your grandfather?” Lucia asked, gingerly. She recalled how Costin had told her the tale of his grandfather’s planting of the Great Circle, as a young man, and how he and his grandmother’s magicks had encouraged the trees to grow to maturity within a year. When he first told the story to her, she thought he was making it up. She had not yet learned of the power of magick.

“No word,” Costin answered, a little more gruffly than he intended. “Which I suppose is all for the best. If we’ve heard nothing, then your people have heard nothing, as well.”

“I do hope that he’s safe,” Lucia said, lamely. The two stood in awkward silence for a moment, listening to the breeze rustling the remaining oak leaves. “I have… tried to tell my father that the Gypsies’ magicks have nothing to do with the horrors plagueing our lands. That they are trying to stop–”

“Tell him nothing!” Costin interrupted, incredulous. “Are you touched? Lucia, please tell him nothing! Even if he believed you, do you really think the man would admit his mistake and welcome us back with open arms? Rescind his arrest orders?”

“He could,” Lucia suggested, hopefully. “Costin, he is not a heartless monster. He is just a man who is afraid, as many are, and trying to protect those in his care. He might listen to me.”

“More likely he will find out that you have been meeting me,” Costin replied, “and have a new reason to bring down his wrath on my people. I say let him blame who he blames. Let him regret his deeds when the truth comes out.”

“He has done what he has done,” Lucia replied calmly, “but he is still my father and I still would hope for better from him. I would hope that he, also, had the chance to work to set things aright. As I hope to do.”

Costin started to reply again, but bit his tongue instead. He knew Lucia felt tremendous guilt over what had happened, and that she felt obligated to do anything she could to help his family. He just wished she would stop bringing it up.

“Let us not speak any more of it,” Costin asked Lucia as he looked down, his face hot with emotion. “It’s done. My grandfather and grandmother are gone and I console myself with the knowledge that he, at least, may return one day. That is something.”

Lucia took Costin’s hand and said no more, sorry to have taken their conversation down that path in the first place. He responded by embracing her warmly, and planting a single, gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I should…” Costin said, looking into Lucia’s eyes. She nodded. Dawn would be upon them soon, and it would be much harder for Costin to slip back into his camp in the light of day. She had a secret entrance that she used, to make her passage rather easy, but he shared a much smaller space with far more people. And the Gypsies were light sleepers, especially with all the troubles of late.

“I will stay in the Circle a little longer,” Lucia said, “The leaves will be gone in a few weeks and I should like to see them in the light of dawn whenever I can. Nobody will check on me until eight.”

“Until tomorrow then,” Costin bowed deeply as he stepped backward. “Blessings upon you, as always.”

“And upon you, my love,” Lucia replied, before Costin turned and disappeared into the forest. In moments, he was gone from view.

Lucia sat on an upturned log and fished in a buttoned pocket on her dress, finding a small obejct carved from golden wood, which she turned over and over in her fingers.

“And upon you,” Lucia whispered.

Costin had traveled just over a full mile toward his family’s camp and was making very good time, when something started nagging at the corner of his brain, making him nervous. He slowed his pace then came to a full stop, listening intently, hoping that the source of his distraction was a deer or rabbit foraging in the leaves. He heard nothing. Even the breeze, which had provided a constant backdrop of rustling leaves, was still. The only sound that he heard was his own hushed breath, and his heart, beating from exertion.

Costin reversed direction, taking off at top speed toward the Great Circle once again. Dawn was coming far too soon for a detour like this; his mind whirled with visions of being stopped by guardsmen, wearing nothing but a loincloth, reinforcing their view of Gypsies as naught but savage denizens of the dark. He almost laughed at himself.

But he continued to run. He could not put his finger on the feeling he had, the dread that was coming over him, but he knew he needed to get to Lucia and make sure that she was all right before he made his way homeward. Perhaps it was just a delayed reaction to her decision to remain in the wood alone, whether dawn was approaching or not. He oughtn’t have let her stay there.

The nagging feeling got worse, not better, as he covered the distance between himself and the Circle. Costin felt a nausea settle upon him, like the feeling of being too hungry to eat. Despite this sensation, he ducked and jumped the branches and brambles of the deep forest with grace, and his pace quickened.

Recklessly, he made to leave the shelter of the wood and get on the main path. He dared put himself out in the open if it meant that he would see the Great Circle that much sooner and put his mind at ease. Perhaps he would even see Lucia from a distance, assure himself that she was well, then turn and head home straightaway. There was no need for him to embarrass himself by—

As he stepped onto the path, he could see the Great Circle in the distance, ablaze with lavender flame.

Costin ran faster, drawing his knife and searching his mind for the best incantations he might use in combat. He found himself too distracted, too tired from the evening’s activities, to concentrate, unfortunately. Panic settled upon him as he made a bee-line for the Circle, and for the figure standing in the center, arms outstretched, as the lights danced around her.

Suddenly, something snaked itself around his legs, causing him to pitch forward. Only a quick tuck and roll saved him from a nasty face-first collision with the dirt. He turned to orient on what had grabbed at him, and saw pair after pair of yellow eyes—dozens, maybe—staring out from the forest, and equally disturbing limbs, tendrils, arms, growing from the shadows like an unholy spreading vine.

Costin scrambled to his feet and continued toward the Circle, noticing more of the things on the other side of the path, and further up, near the Circle, and even behind him, coming boldly onto the path itself. He had seen these things individually—he and Lucia had even dispatched a few in the course of their evening outings—but his blood turned to ice to see the mass of creatures of all shapes and sizes that were closing in on them.

The Gypsy boy turned from the mob and headed directly for the safety of the circle of lavender flame, passing through the sheet of fire harmlessly and stumbling into the now brightly-lit Great Circle. Lucia stood transfixed, arms up, the flames cascading and rolling from her to fuel the circle. Her face was ashen, and she looked shocked to see Costin.

“Why are you here?” Lucia demanded, her concentration faltering for a moment. The lavender fire subsided a bit, and Costin saw, with revulsion, that the horde of creatures had them completely encircled. The things didn’t dare to come through the flames, but nor did they seem overly worried about dawn’s approach. Costin also saw something else that horrified him: Lucia’s burgundy dress was wet and dark, and her white petticoat was bright red at the hem.

“How?” Costin asked.

“It was as you said,” Lucia responded, face pained. “They waited until I was unaware, distracted, then attacked before I could cast a spell of protection.” The flames subsided even more, and one small, gray, multi-legged thing skittered through and came at them. Costin stabbed it viciously, then pulled the knife up to cleave it in half. Both halves fell, writhing to the dirt before dissolving into dust. “I was so glad that you were not here,” Lucia said, tears streaking her face. “I was so glad that you would survive.”

“A fantasy,” Costin replied, coming closer and embracing her, lending her some of his strength. The wall of flame burned stronger, lavender mixed with jets of dark blue, preventing any further intrusions. “They would come for me, for my family, for your father, for all of us in turn. We stand together or die apart.”

Up close, though, Costin could see the severity of Lucia’s injury. Her dress had a deep gash in it from just under her breast all the way down to her waist. Blood from the wound soaked not only her dress and petticoat, but also the dirt floor of the Circle. Costin caught a gasp in his throat.

“You will stand together and die together,” came an unfamiliar, deep voice from beyond the circle of flame. Costin could make out a shape; a black-robed man, painfully thin, with slender fingers and curved, sharp fingernails. His face was obscured by the robe’s cowl. He stood, surrounded by the legions of foul creatures, like a twisted, hellish version of St. Francis.

“Do not worry,” Costin murmured, wrapping his arms around Lucia from behind, putting pressure on her wound. She winced, but stood her ground. “We are stronger than he knows. We will survive this test.”

“Indeed,” the figure continued. “You two most certainly are strong. You should feel honored that we consider you so important that we must amass such a force to deal with you. Once you are gone, such an assemblage may never be needed again.” 

“I am not worried,” Lucia assured Costin, her eyes closed. She pulled Costin’s hand away from her stomach and pressed something into his hand: something small and smooth. Her own hand closed on his, and held it tight. “I have been waiting for just this occasion. I knew it would come.”

Lucia gripped Costin’s other hand tightly, and began to murmur some incantations he was unfamiliar with. As she started to work her spell, the wall of flame extinguished abruptly, its energy drawn back into the pair at the center of the circle. The creatures began to move slowly toward them, uncertain why their way was suddenly clear, and wary of the flames’ potential return.

“It will end quickly,” the black robed man assured them, standing in place as the sea of hideous things swept past him. “It will all be over in a moment.”

Costin, listening intently to Lucia’s words, gradually understood the intent of her spell, and nodded his head, his eyes filling with tears. He felt a great swell of love for this girl who had opened her heart to him and vowed to right a terrible wrong. He chanted the words along with her.

“It will all be over in a moment,” the man repeated, his excitement overcoming him, licking his lips in anticipation.

“You’re wrong,” Lucia said, simply.

The Great Circle exploded with a brilliant, white light and a thundering roar that was heard from the castle all the way to Costin’s camp. The roar drowned out the squeals and shrieks of the hideous demons as they were incinerated where they stood.

When the light was gone, all that remained in the circle of oak trees were two lifeless bodies still clasping a tiny, wooden dove.

The Sunday crowd—out-of-work musicians, dot-commers, Saturday night partiers still trying to wake up—were curious when the two arrived in the front doorway, flushed and out of breath. The patrons looked up from their newspapers and their laptops and their Sudoku, expecting some report of an accident, or a terrorist attack, or something else to add some drama to their Sunday afternoons.

“Hey, uh…” Matt said, seeing Cat behind the counter, a look of concern on her face. After the story they told her the previous night, it was no wonder she correctly took their abrupt arrival as a bad sign. Matt smiled and tried to act nonchalant. “Uh, hi. Hi there.”

The eyes of the patrons then expectantly turned to Cat and to the other barista behind the counter of the small shop. Cat’s look of concern turned to annoyance.

“I don’t need any of your creepy horror stories or your speaking in tongues or whatever it is you do,” Cat said to Jake, authoratatively. “Not while I’m working.”

The other barista, a pale, younger girl whose auburn hair was piled on her head in a complicated series of braids, buns and curls, shrugged her shoulders as if to say that she wouldn’t mind a creepy horror story.

“We just wanted coffee,” Jake responded in a helpful tone. “You were out.”

“Right.” If there was one thing Cat knew at any given time, it’s how much coffee she had stocked in her kitchen. Without asking what they wanted, she started the espresso machine; two dark shots were soon spilling into their white ceramic cups as the machine purred.

“Americano okay?” Cat half-asked, half-informed them. She took their silence as assent and turned away again to get some mugs. The patrons of the shop returned to their activities as well, disappointed that there would be no show this afternoon.

Jake looked over at Matt. Back in the abandoned house, after the creature had been destroyed, both Matt and Jake had the same worry; if these things could find them, what would stop them from finding the people they knew? People who didn’t have the skills to defend themselves? They had sprinted to Cat, first, since she was closest.

But as they ran, their wave of dread about demonic creatures infesting the city had faded. Either the things had managed to hide themselves better—which was hardly comforting—or they had actually disappeared somewhere, which wasn’t too much better. If they at least knew where they were, they could have some advance warning, or they could go and hunt them down first.

“He’ll be coming back from the gym,” Jake said, picking up the thread from their unspoken conversation. Cat listened, over her shoulder. “Just a few blocks away. I can get him and bring him here.”

“On your own? are you sure?” Matt asked. Despite the fact that the immediate danger seemed to have passed, he didn’t like the idea of the two of them being apart. He recalled his “safety in numbers” comment from the previous night, and it still seemed as relevant.

“If he needs to go do something, let him,” Cat said in a neutral voice, turning around with their coffees in hand. She’d already added cream to one of them. “You can stay here and keep me company.”

“Two minutes,” Jake replied, with a nod to Cat. “Three, tops. Wait here.”

Cat set down the mugs as Jake quickly headed out the front door. Matt took the tan cup and placed it in front of himself with a smile. Cat rolled her eyes at the continuation of his inexplicable change of coffee habits.

“So… how’s work?” Matt asked, fake casual, before taking a sip. Cat sighed at him and tossed down her bar towel as she headed for the rickety wooden bookcase that housed the coffeehouse’s eclectic lending library. She ignored the many beat-up paperbacks, magazines and comic books and reached for an oversized paperback on a high shelf, and brought it back to the counter. 

“Actually,” Cat said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I found something a very interesting when I came into work. I think you need to see this and think very hard about whether you want to keep running all over town with your new friend.”

A few minutes later, Jake walked in with Claude, who was “dressed down” to work out. This meant that he was wearing an embroidered light tee shirt and baggy shorts, shoes that might have seen a scuff or two in their lives (before being quickly buffed back to near-perfection) and a lighter cologne. He carried a huge, fruity protein drink in plastic cup in one hand and a gym bag in the other, and surveyed the coffehouse crowd with a measure of disdain. This was not, apparently, his usual after-workout hangout.

Matt was sitting at the table closest to the cash  register with an open book in front of him. He had already finished his own coffee, and was about to pour some cream into Jake’s and drink it as well, but Jake snatched it away quickly. He took a sip to see if it was still warm enough to drink.

“So…?” Claude began expectantly, not looking around for a seat and in no hurry to put down his gym bag. Jake gestured to the empty chair next to Matt’s, and Claude recognized the blond immediately. His mood changed, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

“You fucking prick,” Claude laughed at Jake, giving him a friendly nudge. “You game-playing, hard-to-get, devious little horndog. I think I underestimated you. Well done.”

“It’s not what you think,” Jake responded, wearily. “It’s much more complicated than that.”

Claude took a seat, tossing his gym bag onto a empty chair next to him and planting the giant protein drink solidly on the counter: a challenge to the coffeehouse status quo. The auburn-haired girl shot him a dirty look and turned away to busy herself with stacking some mugs.

“What, don’t tell me you’re in love already?” Claude teased Jake. “Even with you, I would expect at least a solid week of courtship first.”

“This is important,” Jake said, cutting him off with a stern, authoratative tone in his voice that Claude hadn’t heard before. In spite of himself, Claude settled into his chair and paid attention. Matt closed his book and looked to Jake as well.

“Matt and I have had some rather… strange encounters over the past 24 hours,” Jake continued, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been seeing things that are very hard to explain. And the reason we came to you both today is that we were concerned about your safety.”

Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tapping a nervous finger on the paperback that Cat had handed him. 

“Cora, I’m really sorry about this,” Cat apologized to her co-worker, who had perked up at hearing Jake’s explanation and looked like she wanted to hear more. “I need to take them out back for just a minute. Can you hold the fort?”

“You’re right, we probably should go somewhere where we can talk about all of this with a bit more privacy,” Jake agreed, with a nod to Cat.

“Whatever,” Cora shrugged again, resigning herself to missing out on whatever the hell was going on.

Cat led Jake, Claude and Matt, still holding the paperback book, through a dim hallway which opened onto a small, three-space parking lot behind the shop. The lot was hemmed in close by the backs of a few other stores, and it looked like it would be difficult to get more than a compact car in and out through the small blacktop alleyway. Not surprisingly, the only vehicles parked there were a few chained-up bicycles.

Once they were all outside, Claude went to set his bag down on the pavement, but changed his mind after seeing the half-full dumpster next to the door and the old food and drink stains from countless broken bags and missed trash tosses. He set the bag on a small concrete parking stop a few yards away, instead, after making sure it was reasonably clean. 

Cat leaned back against the weathered siding and crossed her arms.

“I think Matt ought to do a little dramatic reading,” Cat said, looking to Matt. “Go on. Dazzle us with a little coincidentally appropriate fairy tale, why don’t you?”

Jake took a closer look at the cover of the book Matt was holding: “Romanian Myth and Legend.” The cover depicted a not-very-scary vampire sneaking up on a little girl in a peasant dress. Jake questioned Matt with his eyes.

“Cat,” Matt said, confusion in his voice, “I appreciate that you’re concerned, and I know you want to protect me. I still don’t understand what’s going on, myself, but just because there’s some stuff in this book doesn’t mean—”

“Oh come on,” Cat shot back, then glared at Jake. “It’s a complete coincidence that this guy finds you when you’re all drug-addled and jumping at your shadow, and then gets you believing in some crazy story about monsters and magic? And ‘Strigoi?’” Cat grabbed the book from Matt and waved it in Jake’s face. “Page 56, if you’re interested.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Claude interjected, pushing Cat’s book-wielding arm away from Jake. “Let’s keep it civil, okay?” He turned to Jake. “I am completely lost, here.”

“You’re playing Mister Innocent,” Cat continued to Jake, “like you’re just as much in the dark about all this bullshit as Matt is. Meanwhile, all of this is pretty much your syllabus at Seattle Community College, am I right?”

“Now hold on,” Jake retorted, anger creeping into his voice. “I teach Eastern European history. History, not myths and fairy tales. I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t know anything about this—”

Cat opened the book and quickly turned the pages until she found a suitable place to start reading.

“They would leave their tombs after their deaths,” Cat read, “restless, evil souls that transformed themselves into animals or more horrific shapes to torment the living: the Strigoi. These vampiric creatures would often take for their servants other demonic creatures, creatures with no past human life and no shred of humanity in them.”

“These creatures of the underworld took many shapes,” Cat continued, “but many were inhuman-looking beasts, with octopus-like tentacles, slimy gray skin, razor sharp teeth, wailing voices which would freeze menu in their tracks, and other sinister attributes…”

Matt looked over at Jake, and identified with a strange look on his face. He understood at once that Jake must be feeling the same feeling that he was: intense deja vu. It wasn’t just that Cat was describing one of the things they’d tangled with the night before, but they both had the feeling that she was telling them something they already knew, but had forgotten.

“Who the fuck is this girl?” Claude asked Jake and Matt with an incredulous look. “And I’ll ask again: could someone give me just the tiniest hint of what this shit is all about? Inhuman beasts? Vampires?”

Matt thought for a moment about how best to encapsulate the events of the last 24 hours, but ended up simply shaking his head in reply.

“Cat, pleased to meet you,” Cat said to Claude, not extending her hand for a shake. “The long and short of it is that your friend is pulling some kind of history teacher trick and seriously fucking with my friend’s head.” She was annoyed that her reading wasn’t eliciting the guilty confession from Jake that she’d hoped for, and flipped through the book for another passage. “I don’t know exactly why he’s doing this…”

“That might be the first question to ask yourself, sweetie,” Claude responded condescendingly. “The only history teacher trick around here is Jake himself, if I’m understanding what went down last night. Unless I’m missing all the cameras, nobody’s capturing this for some ‘gotcha’ TV show, and as cute as he is, I doubt bleach boy here has some fortune that Jake’s after.” He sucked at the straw of his protein drink.

“Jesus, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” Claude said to Jake, shaking his head. “And to think I was hoping to get a piece of that, myself. I expect a complete blow-by-blow of how this fiasco came to be.”

“Werewolves, zombies…” Cat said, trying to ignore Claude and return to the book. She scanned the chapter headings as she flipped through, looking for something. “Mystic charms… Lucia Neculce and…”

“Read that one,” Matt chimed in suddenly. Cat looked to him and saw the expression on his face: this was a name he’d definitely heard before. Paydirt?

“Amidst all the supernatural threats and horrors,” Cat started, “there is a tale of at least one force that rose to defend humanity against them. A gypsy family in the area had long studied the magical arts, and used their supernatural gifts to protect themselves and others from those unearthly forces that would do them harm.”

“Unfortunately, word of the gypsies’ activities got around to the noble family that owned much of the land in the region and took responsibility for protecting its people. Several of the gypsies were accused of witchcraft, and of being the source of the region’s supernatural afflictions. Many were hanged or exiled… Is any of this stuff that he’s been saying?” Cat stopped reading and asked Matt.

“Keep going,” Matt answered, anxiously. Jake seemed on edge, too, and was paying close attention. Claude was less invested in the story, but the enthusiasm of the other two men was rubbing off on him.

“Despite his family’s persecution,” Cat continued, “a young gypsy boy named Costin came to know a noble girl named Lucia. Without their families’ knowledge, they became friends, and their friendship developed into love over their many secret meetings in the wood between the gypsy camp and the nobles’ castle.”

“Eventually, Costin showed Lucia the conjuring and exorcism skills that his family posessed, and explained that they had been trying to rid the land of the foul Strigoi and their minions. Lucia vowed to learn the dark arts and…blah blah blah.”

“Okay, I think I’ve made my point,” Cat said, stopping her recitation. “All the stuff he’s been feeding you is just stuff out of folk tales. And if it sounds familiar, maybe you just read it before, or heard them when you were a kid, I don’t know.” Cat tossed the book to Matt, who caught it and immediately searched for the page she had been on.

“I don’t know why he’s doing this, but it’s creepy and he’d better stop it right now,” Cat concluded.

“I still don’t understand what he needs to stop,” Claude responded. “You’re the one who’s talking about monsters and magic and shit, not him. Right, Jake? Hello?”

But Jake did not answer. He was looking over Matt’s shoulder as Matt continued reading the story of Lucia and Costin aloud. Both of them were completely engrossed.

“Lucia vowed to learn the dark arts,” Matt read, “and to work with her love to banish the evil from their lands permanently. They would destroy the Strigoi. They would send the supernatural horrors back to the underworld from whence they’d been summoned and prevent them from ever returning. And they would, finally, bring Costin’s family back from exile so that they could openly proclaim their love and be married.”

“Their plans were ambitious and their resolve was true. But unfortunately for the young lovers, they found the resistance from the forces of darkness was greater than they’d ever imagined…”

Three coffee cups from the night before, in various states of emptiness, still sat on the coffee table. His sweater, covered with blood and grass stains, was wadded up on the floor next to the couch. He appeared to be alone in the apartment.

“Work,” Matt murmured to himself, remembering that Cat worked at the coffee house on Saturdays. She didn’t start until two, though. It must be late.

He yawned and stretched, and then whined as his head throbbed anew with the sudden movements. After some difficulty, he managed to right himself and get his feet on the floor, but found he had to lean back onto the arm of the sofa for a bit. The pain in his head was worse when he sat upright.

He remembered taking some drugs, leaving a party, going to a gay bar, and getting involved in some weird fight. A fight with a giant pink monster. With tentacles.

Never again, he told himself, over and over like a mantra. Never again, never again, never again.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen, cupping his hand and getting a drink of water directly from the tap. That helped some. He picked up and tilted the insulated carafe on the counter, hearing the remainder of the previous night’s coffee slosh around inside. He took a mug from the cupboard and emptied the contents of the carafe into it—only half a mugful, but at least it was still a little warmer than room temperature. He sniffed at it, then went to the refrigerator for some cream.

After he filled the mug to the brim with heavy cream, the resulting color was not unlike a California centerfold in late August. He carefully raised the mug to his lips as he thought, I don’t take cream in my coffee. He sighed and took a big enough gulp of the now cool beverage so that he could carry it without spilling. Perfect. Weird.

Never again.

Just then, he heard a noise at the door; heavy footsteps, the sound of someone fumbling with keys. He set the mug on the kitchen counter and moved flat against the wall, staying silent and listening. The door opened, then closed, and he heard a few more careful footsteps as someone entered.

“Hello?” came a man’s voice from around the corner. The footsteps became less tentative, and came towards the kitchen. Matt clenched a fist and watched the doorway in anticipation, seeing a hazy shadow appear on the hardwood floor before the figure himself filled the doorway.

Jake jumped back, startled, seeing a bedraggled Matt pulling his fist back in readiness to slug him.

“Jesus, fuck, Matt!” Jake swore, his arms going up instinctively to protect his face. He’d been carrying a laptop computer, and only just managed to keep it from falling out of his grasp. “Chill out, it’s just me!”

Matt’s burst of adrenaline subsided; he put down his dukes and retrieved his exceedingly tan coffee, gesturing with it to illustrate his level of caffeine deprivation and complete space-case-ness. He still didn’t have the energy to say much, though he hoped his expression was apologetic enough.

Jake left the kitchen with a snort, setting the laptop up in the living room after sliding the half-empty mugs on the coffee table out of the way. Matt saw him pull something out of his pocket: a small microcassette recorder.

“Oh, no,” Matt rasped, as his brain made the neccessary connections and embarrassment washed over him like a blast from a space heater. “That’s the tape that Cat made of me last night. I don’t even want to hear it. Erase it. How did you even manage to get it away from her?”

Jake ignored Matt, concentrating instead on connecting the cassette player to the computer with a short audio patch cable, He launched some kind of recording software and tapped a few keys on the keyboard, then pressed “play” on the tape. Matt couldn’t hear anything, but waves of little little green, yellow and red equalizer lines began to dance one the screen. Jake adjusted some settings until the red appeared only occasionally.

“Oh, hell no!” Matt said. “You’re going to put this online on one of those video sites, with pictures of me passed out with underwear on my head something. Cat put you up to this, didn’t she, just for—”

Jake reached out and grabbed Matt’s hand, giving him a stern look. When they made contact, Matt felt something like a mild electrical jolt, like grabbing a battery and accidentally touching both the positive and negative poles. He shook his head a few times, feeling it clear like fog disappearing off a windshield.

“There’s no time for this,” Jake said, flatly, then turned back to the computer to monitor the duplication of the cassette. Matt came over to the coffee table, collected the mugs from the previous night and set down his new one. He took the mugs into the kitchen, placed them in the sink, then came back out to sit down on the couch next to Jake. He took a long sip from his coffee, and set it on the coffee table again.

“I’m still never taking drugs again,” he said.

“Strigoi,” Jake read off the screen. “That’s what I said last night, something about being ‘frightened of the Strigoi.’” Jake had done a few searches and come up with an encylopedia entry, but it consisted of a single page, some links to video games, and no pictures.

“Some of this seems familiar,” Jake continued, “but it’s not enough. I’m going to need to bring out the big guns.” Jake opened several more windows, and Matt soon saw dry, text-heavy sites that looked like they’d been born with the Internet, with catchy names like “Eastern European Library Archives.” To his horror, Jake clicked a small box in the corner of the screen and entered a username and password.

“Oh, I’m sure this hobby has kept you entertained on many a cold night,” Matt teased, noting the headings enticing them with subjects such as “drinking water purification systems of the 1400s”.

“I’m a history teacher, remember?” Jake retorted, annoyed, and opened multiple searches, his fingers moving quickly over the keys. “Or maybe you don’t remember. I told you just before I went all samurai with that rake.”

“Me, I had a job at a movie theater,” Matt said idly, “but I didn’t run out and subscribe to ‘dry film database online.’”

“Somehow, that’s not surprising,” Jake said sarcastically.

Jake continued with his research, while Matt tried to point out useful links and suggest search topics, though he quickly realized Jake found his input less than helpful. Finally, he stood up and wandered around the room, instead, mulling something over in his head.

“So… we’ve never met before today, right?” Matt asked. Jake looked up from the screen, surveyed Matt from foot to head, shook his head ‘no,’ and returned to his work. “We didn’t do ‘shrooms one time and have some kind of bonding experience that I can’t remember?” Jake didn’t even bother looking up for that one.

“Well, I don’t know,” Matt continued. “I’ve had experiences in the past—nothing quite as intense as this one—where I thought I saw something weird. Or thought I remembered someone I didn’t know. I always thought it was just drugs.”

“It was just drugs,” Jake said, still not looking up.

“Oh, come on”, Matt insisted, “after what happened last night, I’m re-evaluating a lot of stuff. The time I went to that commune, drank that freaky tea and ‘saw’ the music, that Halloween in high school when I was sure that our decorations were coming to life, or unlife as the case may be, the time when—”

Jake abruptly stood up, came over to Matt and shook him roughly by his shoulders.

“Just stop it!” Jake shouted, voice quavering with exasperation. “This is not some validation of your long-term love affair with controlled substances, this is something entirely different, and entirely more dangerous.” He stopped, still holding Matt’s shoulders and looking into his eyes. Matt stared back, surprised at the outburst.

“It nearly…” Jake started, the words catching in his throat. “It nearly killed you last night. I almost had to watch you t-torn—” He stopped speaking, and held Matt close to him, suddenly, Matt’s arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. The one-sided hug continued for a little while before Matt raised his arms and put them around Jake as well. They stood for a long time, motionless.

When they disengaged, Jake, his face wet, brushed his lips against Matt’s cheek, and seemed as if he was going in for a kiss on the mouth.

“Oh, awkward,” Matt said, evading Jake’s attention with a nervous laugh. “Really. No offense intended, really, no offense, but I am so not turned on right now.”

Jake was about to say something, apologize or explain, when he cocked his head and looked through the window, as if he’d heard a noise outside and had turned to orient on it. In truth, it wasn’t so much something he heard—it was almost as if he was feeling the presence of something. He looked to Matt to let him know but saw that he, too, was focusing on the whatever-it-was.

Wordlessly, Jake went to the kitchen and retrieved a large carving knife. Matt nodded to him, and the two of them headed out the front door and down the stairs, hugging the wall as they went and staying alert. Matt clasped his hands together with what Jake thought was nervousness, at first, but then he remembered the lightshow that Matt had been able to conjure up last night with just a few gestures, and understood.

They came out of the front door after first making sure no neighbors or passersby were watching; they didn’t relish the prospect of explaining why they were skulking around suspiciously carrying knives with dogs being mutilated in the neighborhood. Jake slid the knife inside his jacket to hide it, and they tried to look more casual than they felt as they got onto the sidewalk and headed down the street. Matt even started to whistle a little, before abandoning the affectation as plain stupid.

Before too long, they’d gone several blocks, turning this way and that to focus on the creepy psychic geiger counter sensation they were feeling, a sensation that got stronger the further they went. They were led to a vacant lot that was overgrown with thick weeds and sapling trees, and stood next to an abandonded old house, rooved with loose tarpaper shingles.

Either the house has been painted an unfortunate gray and off-gray combination, or something very odd had happened to the structure as it weathered. It looked as if the color had been drained out of it, like the house was a giant snow-cone that wasn’t holding its flavor well, and had been dropped in a fireplace ashes, to boot. The building didn’t seem unsound, just unkempt and unloved, and the feeling they were getting was definitely emanating from inside.

Jake headed to the front doorway and found it locked. He looked to Matt, who shrugged, and then Jake forced the door with a solid jab from his shoulder. The dry, brittle doorframe splintered as the deadbolt came loose, and they were inside in short order.

“It’s trying to hide,” Matt murmured, putting into words what Jake was also feeling. “It knows what we did last night and doesn’t want the same thing to happen to it. It would rather we leave it alone until it can gather some others and take care of us properly.”

“They’re cowardly,” Jake said, as if remembering. “when they know they’re up against something that’s not helpless. When they’re up against us.” There was something more, on the tip of his tongue that Jake couldn’t quite vocalize. Some reason why they could do what they did, and why creatures like these would hate and fear them.

Matt saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned quickly to focus on it. It was small and squarely shaped, about the size of a housecat but standing on two legs. It was hairless, a dull creamy orange color, and had three tiny cartoonlike eyes and a pinprick of a mouth. Its demeanor wasn’t threatening; it looked more scared and confused than anything, and looked completely out of place in the colorless house.

Matt hesitated for a moment, and then the thing started pumping its stubby legs to run at him.

As it ran, it grew in size and speed. Its tiny eyes stretched until they were gaping, ragged eye sockets with shrunken gray balls lolling around in them, its mouth stretched wide and grew rows of sharp, dirty teeth. It also became more translucent, as if it was sacrificing density in order to grow in volume. Like a condensed ghost expanding in water.

Matt dove out of the way, not wanting to test the thing to see if it would pass through him like a ghost, and was glad he didn’t. The creature’s newly horrific mouth managed to take a large bite out of a support column that was in its path, bits of chewed wood and plaster falling to the rotted carpet in its wake.

Jake leapt in, brandishing his carving knife at the thing, and trying to distract it until Matt could get his footing again. The orange beastie was now about Matt’s height, a little shorter than Jake, and looked to be gaining confidence. It opened and closed its mouth several times, which made Jake think that it was anticipating having a human meal. It then erupted with a spray of foul-smelling spittle that Jake couldn’t avoid. He managed to keep the stuff from getting into his eyes, but the smell made him gag, and he dropped the knife to wipe as much of the goo off of his face as possible.

The creature took advantage of the invitation to lunge at Jake, its maw expanding even more until it looked large enough to swallow someone whole. It came within a foot of Jake before stopping short, a flash of purplish blue flame shooting up betwen them, sending the creature recoiling backwards. As an added bonus, the “heat” from the unnatural flames seemed to dry out Jake’s nightmare spitwad attack. Taking a few breaths of the now palatable air, Jake stooped and gathered up his knife, and kept his eyes on the temporarily cowed orange beast.

Jake didn’t make the mistake of threatening it and waiting for it to charge again; he lunged at it, himself, knife forward, slicing forcefully at it just below its bottom lip… or where its lip would have been if it had any. The thing shrieked.

Matt immediately noticed how odd the wound was; it didn’t bleed, and the insides of the thing didn’t seem to be any different from the outside. It just seemed to become disconnected from its body, somehow, making the areas around the cut move out of sync with each other. As the mouth opened and closed, Jake could see all the way through the gash he’d made and through to the wall behind it.

Jake made another slicing motion, and made another “tear” in the creature, eliciting another howl and shudder. He was set to make a third cut when the beast lurched forward and clamped its mouth down on Jake’s arm. Hard.

Matt gasped in shock and made a swift gesture, causing thing’s center eye socket to blaze with purple flame. A screen erupted from it, and it opened its mouth wide in pain, staggering backwards.

Jake did not, thankfully, seem very injured; he’d been bitten by the side of the mouth he’d been slicing at, and the thing had been unable to apply much pressure. Still, his arm was bloody from rubbing against those numerous ragged teeth, and he didn’t seem at all pleased about it.

Jake strode forward to the flailing thing and plunged the knife just under the leftmost, non-flaming eye socket, making a deft, circular motion. The lower half of the socket came loose as if Jake had used a biscuit cutter, falling to the floor and disintegrating instantly, leaving a patch of dull orange powder. The creature now had a clean, round hole going straight throught its trunk.

Not missing a beat, Jake plunged his whole knife arm into the gap and swept the blade up, having the effect of separating the top two halves of the creature entirely. The thing now looked like a strangely-carved mango, halfway on its way to being an ingredient in a fruit salad.

Matt gestured and concentrated again, muttering something under his breath that Jake couldn’t quite make out, and the edges of the beast took on the familiar purplish-blue glow, and separated further from each other, ripping where the blade had not yet cut. The thing’s mouth flapped uselessly on one side and it made loud moaning noises. It could no longer see to get away, and started to flail and shake and lash out blindly. Jake had to stay in constant motion to stay out of its reach.

Another swift cut, and a good-sized portion of the beast’s splotchy orange head came loose and fell, also crumbling into dust on the decaying rug. Another, and its leg came loose, making a little “v” shaped dust pattern on the floor. The thing began to shrink down again, now, becoming less frightening, but still Jake continued to carve.

Eventually, he found himself hacking away at a beast that was now about the size of a rat, and more difficult to cut since it had grown much denser. He diverted his attention and looked up at Matt, who was watching his work with a mixture of fascination and concern.

“Jake,” Matt said, gently, “It’s done, isn’t it?” He looked back at the pitiful thing, trembling, huge parts of its head and jaw missing like puzzle pieces, its one remaining little eye looking at Matt mournfully. Matt put his hand on Jake’s shoulder, pulling him back. “It’s done.”

Jake moved to join Matt, but as he did, the creature inflated one final time, coming at the two of them wildly and almost shaking the house with the force of its wailing. Jake met the thing with his blade and cleft it exactly in two. Both halves turned to dust instantly, raining slowly to the floor in an orange cloud.

“Now, it’s done.” Jake said, blowing some stray monster residue off of his battered arm. The cuts he had didn’t seem as deep as he might have worried. His weapon, however: he noticed that the knife had numerous deep scratches in it, most probably also made by collisions with the creature’s teeth. Jake was astounded that his arm had fared as well as it had; either he was healing very fast, or he was a lot tougher than he’d ever been before. Well, the latter went without saying.

It was then that Jake noticed that Matt was standing, completely still, staring into space, his eyes locked on a point somewhere outside the room, studying it. Jake knew what he was looking at, and what he was going to say before he said it.

“There are more,” Matt said. His voice was evenly split; half dread and half eager anticipation. “There are lots, lots more, and they know how to find us, too.”

“It’s gone,” Matt whined behind him, trying to stumble to his knees on the grass and rest. All the energy had gone out of him, and he was disoriented, sluggish. “I made it go away, so let’s just sit here a bit. So tired.”

Jake listened and heard the first sirens. This neighborhood wasn’t used to disturbances, and he was sure all of the neighbors had called this one in. The buildings on either side of Jake’s were completely lit up, with people standing in doorways and windows, looking around; there wouldn’t be an easy way for them to get inside without being ratted out by onlookers. Jake hadn’t the slightest idea how he would explain to the police his and Matt’s role in what had happened, and didn’t relish the prospect of trying. He jabbed Matt in the ribs a bit to get him up, and urged him on.

“Ow! Fucker!” Matt snapped. He punched Jake in the arm weakly, but he could hear the sirens now, too, and mustered whatever energy he could to keep moving. “My friend Cat’s near here. We can go there.”

They jogged along, Matt leaning on Jake at times, and Jake keeping lookout behind them to make sure they hadn’t been spotted by emergency crews. Matt’s baggy pants were a mess of mud and oil stains and the button above the fly had come off;  from time to time Matt stepped on the cuff and pulled them down dangerously low. Jake snaked an arm around Matt and a finger through one of his belt loops to keep them up. He was about to crack a joke about Matt’s fashion sense when he caught a good look at his face in a streetlight as they crossed a larger street. There were pronounced dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and his skin was much paler than he’d remembered. He looked like he was having trouble breathing, as well.

“That really took a lot out of you,” Jake said, taking off his jacket and putting it around Matt’s shoulders. When they got to the other side of the street, Jake guided Matt off the sidewalk and laid him against a big tree in its shadow, studying him with concern. He put a hand on Matt’s face, feeling his cold skin, and a wave of emotion came over him. “It’s okay… you’re going to be okay.”

“Let’s just walk a while,” Matt said, pulling Jake’s coat around him and trying to push off from the tree. “You’re right, keep moving. Cat’s apartment is a few blocks away, still.” Finding it difficult to overcome the intertia, he reached his hand out to Jake, who took it and pulled him into a walk. Jake continued to hold Matt’s hand as they walked, and although Matt wanted to pull his hand away at first, after he got over his initial surprise it was strangely comforting. He went with it. It was no stranger than everything else that had happened this evening.

Jake kept wanting to say something, but every time he started to speak, what he was about to say didn’t make any sense. He felt like he was in one of those medical experiments he’d read about, the one where someone had electrodes attached to a part of his brain and would make a certain motion or make a sound whenever the current was switched on. He didn’t know what his “current” was, but there was definitely something in his brain, tickling at him, dredging up strange thoughts and feelings. He looked at Matt and had the strongest urge to say that he was glad to see him again, when what he really meant was, “I’m glad we made it out of that alive.” Jake was used to being able to find the right words and express himself easily, so he got frustrated and didn’t say anything at all.

And if Matt was thinking of anything to say, he was still too exhausted to speak, so they walked in silence.

Before long, they arrived at their destination, and they were relieved to find that sirens and lights hadn’t followed them. Matt led Jake up a half flight of stairs to a front porch and fished in one of the mailboxes for a small copper key. They let themselves in, closed and locked the door behind them, and started to climb the stairs to Cat’s apartment. They took the stairs slowly; they were in much less of a hurry now.

“Neither of you are making any sense,” Cat repeated, with blonde, bed-head hair and bloodshot blue eyes, bleary from lack of sleep. Based on looks, a newcomer to the conversation would likely nominate her as the candidate for mental illness in the room… unaware that the other two claimed to have been battling monsters not an hour before. “You were both followed by some slimy monster that tried to tear you apart, but you went all ‘ninja’ on it and then cast some kind of spell to make it go away?”

Even though they squirmed at her delivery, neither Matt or Jake could dispute the summary. Matt had an idea and sat up straight as if he was going to launch into an explanation that would clear everything up, but instead he got a frustrated look on his face and slumped down again.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Matt grumbled, picking at stray threads on the arm of the couch.

“So how do you suddenly know how to make monsters go ‘poof’?” Cat pressed. Matt thought it over and didn’t seem to arrive at any conclusions that were worth sharing. Cat’s tone didn’t exactly inspire him.

“The spell was…” Jake began, helpfully, but faltered. “Well, it was like…” He replayed the scene in his memory, looking for the words to explain it, but once again coming up short. He shrugged his shoulders to finish his sentence, instead.

“I’m making coffee,” Cat decided, heading into the kitchen, leaving the two to mull over the evening’s events some more. “It’s almost dawn, and I would have had a hard time sleeping anyway, what with the two of you describing special effects nightmares to me in graphic detail.” She shuddered as she made her way, her brown fleece-lined slippers scuffed on the floor as she walked. “And if I’m staying up, you’re staying up.”

Matt had recovered from his “drainage,” and was now full of nervous energy, rocking his feet back and forth from heel to toe on Cat’s loud, thrift store rug. He had been examining his hands, maybe looking for any remaining sign of the feat he’d pulled off earlier, but they were unremarkable; he just had a lot more dirt under the nails than he’d started the evening with.

There was a rustling sound at the window, and Jake was on his feet in half a second, eyes darting around the midnight blue screetscape showing through the glass. Matt reached a hand up and caught Jake’s, pulling him back down onto the couch.

“It’s gone,” Matt said in a soothing voice. Jake looked into Matt’s eyes and saw that he was absolutely sure this was true, and Jake found it easy to believe. “It’s a squirrel. They get into Cat’s window boxes.”

Jake was acutely aware that Matt hadn’t let go of his hand.

“You know,” Jake began, reaching his other hand over to clasp Matt’s as well. “I’ve got this… feeling. I know it’s going to sound…”

“Sugar?” Cat called from the kitchen. Matt didn’t answer, and Jake realized that she was only asking him, since she already knew Matt’s preferences. Matt let Jake’s hand go and slumped back onto the couch, looking to the kitchen door.

“Lots,” Jake replied. “And milk, if you’ve got it.” It wasn’t uncommon in Seattle to find oneself in a milk-free household, and some people got indignant when you expected dairy. Paid to ask. Personally, he didn’t much mind soy or rice milk on his cereal in the morning, but it left a lot to be desired as a coffee creamer. 

“Whipping cream all right?” Cat said, tantalizingly. Jake made a theatrical “yummy noise” in reply. Cat re-entered the room with three cups on a white plastic tray, two of them were inky black, the third the color of caramel. She set the tray down on the coffee table and she and Matt took one of the black ones.

“Perfect,” Jake said, taking the last cup. “Thanks.”

Cat took a seat on a battered armchair, another thrift-store “find,” by the look of it, and sipped at her coffee. She must have caught her reflection when she was in the kitchen, because her hair was a bit more under control and her demeanor had relaxed a bit.

Jake took a big sip of his coffee, which was much cooler due to the cream, and made a disgusted face before he could stop himself doing it. He immediately flushed red with embarrassment and tried to smile it off, but Cat had already seen.

“Not enough sugar?” Cat said, making as if to get up and go to the kitchen for more. “I never take any so I didn’t know if two teaspoons would be enough.”

Jake noticed that Matt was having a bit of trouble with his own cup, as well; his eyes were pinched with every sip and he looked into the coffee questioningly. Cat looked at the two of them impatiently, waiting for yet another weird story. 

Jake reached out and gently took Matt’s cup from him, and handed him his own in exchange. They each took a tenative sip, then took a longer, satisfied one. They each studied the others’ face with amusement. Cat looked on with far less.

“Okay,” Cat said with an air of finality, “that’s fine. Enough, already. So you take drugs with some strange guy and share a hallucination. So you wake me up at various points throughout the night to tell me what’s going on, or to show up to tell ghost stories. This is all starting to feel like some big joke that you won’t let me in on, and I’m getting really tired of it.”

Matt got a sheepish look on his face, started to say something, but thought better of it and took a drink from his cup instead.

“And if either of you does that ‘false start’ thing one more time, I’m going to scream!” Cat said, the hostess façade gone completely. “Whatever it is, just say it already. Do you have something to admit to me? Did you do something illegal? Did you fuck him or something? What?”

“My hands are too big,” Matt blurted out quickly, in a plaintive voice. He blushed even redder than Jake had done, and looked down into his lap.

“Your what!?” Cat asked.

“Something doesn’t seem right about me, either,” Jake suggested, after everyone drank their coffee in silence for a few moments. “But…” He couldn’t quite describe it.

Cat seemed to have a flash of inspiration that explained the entire situation, and changed her irritation to amusement instantaneously.

“Well, then,” Cat said, putting down her cup and standing up. “If that’s how you guys are going to be, then it’s game time.”

“Make sure you’re comfortable,” came Cat’s voice from the couch. Matt’s eyes were closed and his back was pressed against Jake’s. They were sitting on the floor, legs crossed, facing in opposite directions.

“I don’t understand,” Jake said, cracking an eye open to look at Cat, who scowled at him. He quickly shut his eye again.

“The point is, you can’t see the person you’re talking to, so you can take bigger risks… open up completely,” she explained patiently. “You can stop worrying about making sense of everything and just free associate. Just say whatever comes into your head.”

“And you got this bright idea… how?” Matt asked.

“Group counseling with my parents. Ah, those were some good times,” Cat explained with a sarcastic hint in her voice. “You’d be surprised at the things you can say to your mom when you can’t see her reaction.”

“So…” Jake offered tentatively, “you think this will help us figure out where that creature came from?”

“No,” Cat responded sternly, “what I think it will do is help you get the freaky drug thoughts out of your system and show you how stupid and non-profound you’re being. In fact…” Her voice faded as she got up and left the room. They heard her footsteps returning a minute later, and heard the sound of a small, hard object being placed on the table.

“For posterity,” Cat said, “and to play back whenever I want to remind Matt what a good and patient friend I am. Or just torture him. Either one. Now, get to it.” Both men could hear a small “click” as Cat started a portable minicassette recorder.

At first, they just sat quietly. Matt found it relaxing to just sit after all the craziness and surprises he’d been through. He relaxed and let his weight rest against Jake’s back, which was quite warm, and let his mind wander. He thought back to the thing they’d faced earlier, to the strange abilities they found they had.

“I’ve got something,” Jake said suddenly. “There’s a hill.”

“There’s hills all over Seattle,” Cat sounded unimpressed, in the distance. Apparently she’d gone into the kitchen and was looking in the cupboard for something.

“With a circle of oak trees,” Jake continued. “My grandfather planted them long ago when he was a boy.”

“I love those trees,” Matt added, picturing them in his mind: heavy, papery, round-edged leaves fluttering gently in a night breeze, illuminated softly by a half-moon. “I thought someone must have intentionally planted them since they were so perfectly arranged. Why didn’t you tell me it was your grandfather?”

“I didn’t want to bring him up,” Jake said quickly. “You had nothing to do with him leaving, and my grandmother… and I didn’t want you to have to defend…”

Cat’s slippers shuffled back into the living room, and they could hear the crinkling of a bag of potato chips as she pulled them open. She didn’t say a thing, and sat down heavily on the couch.

“I understand why he did it,” Jake said in a low voice. “Your father was frightened of the Strigoi, as we all were. He didn’t understand what we were trying to do.”

“You don’t have to defend him, either,” Matt said in a determined voice. “I knew he was wrong, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He never listened to me.”

“That’s his dad, alright,” Cat mumbled, then stuffed a few potato chips into her mouth and crunched them. Then, as if remembering that she wasn’t meant to be part of the conversation, “Oops. Please, continue your nonsensical ramblings.”

Quiet settled on the room again, and neither Matt nor Jake spoke again for a bit. Cat soon became aware of how loud her snacking was, and held off chewing or reaching into the bag until their conversation resumed.

And when it resumed, she still couldn’t understand a thing they were saying.

Not that she could understand much of what they were talking about before, but now she literally couldn’t understand. They were speaking Russian… or something, perfectly accented, and at a steady clip. She knew that Matt was a shitty student, and that he could barely speak English right, let alone a foreign language. She listenened to them talk and tried to figure out what they could be discussing from their tone and their body language, but it was difficult.

At first, they were talking in normal voices, as if they were having a regular conversation, but then they suddenly stopped, and both craned their heads as if they were listening for something. After that, they whispered back and forth for a bit.

Cat was about to say something to try and get their attention when Jake suddenly yelled something and jumped to his feet. Whatever he said, it startled Matt and seemed to break the “trance” that he was in, and he stopped speaking. Jake snapped out of it as well.

Cat slowly reached over and pressed “stop” on the cassette recorder, and looked at the two of them.

“Either this is the most fucked-up practical joke you’ve ever tried to pull on me, Matt, or you two are into some freaky Christian thing and speaking in tongues, or… or… something really weird is happening.”

Without thinking, Jake whirled, extending a leg and kicking over a metal trash can at the foot of a driveway, sending it clattering to the sidewalk. He snatched the lid out of the air as the can fell, then rolled, spilling its contents onto the street. With a grunt, he sent the lid sailing at the beast with a powerful swing of his arm and flick of his wrist. It connected with a squishy, satisfying “thunk,” and Matt’s progress across the muddy lawn was slowed while the tentacles holding him shuddered and loosened with the impact.

Matt took full advantage of the situation, squirming and wriggling out of the grip of the multitude of snaky limbs, stomping some of them firmly with his clunky boots when the opportunity arose. Before long, he’d scrambled out of the thing’s reach, and it seemed to be gathering its strength after the shock of Jake’s makeshift weapon.

“So this is what you meant by ‘safety in numbers’?” Jake asked, accusatory. “Did you know this thing was after you? What the fuck is it, anyway?”

“I thought it was my imagination,” Matt replied, sheepish, knowing how stupid he sounded. The pair didn’t say anything further as they ran across the street and continued toward Jake’s building. They took turns looking behind them as they ran, and at first it seemed like the beast might have given up the chase. But the more they looked, they more they both had the same sickening realization; that it was sticking to the shadows, moving as fast or faster than they were, evidenced by the swirling mass of tentacles just barely visible at the edges of the yellow ovals cast by the streetlights. The frenzied whipping of shadowy tendrils reminded Jake of a cross between a floor-polisher and an old-fashioned string mop: strings swirlings around with dizzing speed as the bulk of the monster moved smoothly above them.

“Here,” Jake said in an authoritative voice, heading off the sidewalk and toward a wooden gate. They barrelled through, the gate whacking loudly against the fence as it was flung open, and in response the dog in the yard next door started up a frenzied barking. Matt slammed the gate shut and peered over the fence, but couldn’t tell if the creature was close. He tried to listen for it, but all he could hear was the dog.

“Take this,” Jake said, over Matt’s shoulder. He passed Matt one of two wicked-looking metal garden rakes, taken from a shed near the back of the yard. Matt accepted the wooden-handled weapon, held onto it firmly, and swung it a few times to get the feel for it. It wasn’t going to be easy to get it loose once he hit the thing with it, but it he hoped it would do enough damage that it wouldn’t matter.

“So what the hell are you,” Matt asked, his eyes fixed on the gate as he hefted his makeshift weapon, moving it from hand to hand, “some ex-military guy? The moment that thing appears, you turn into fucking Rambo.”

“I’m a history teacher,” Jake responded matter-of-factly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for history teachers to battle slimy monsters. “You’re not exactly shrinking from the challenge, yourself.” He gestured to Matt’s mastery of the art of rake combat; he was twirling the garden tool effortlessly, as if in some kind of Hong Kong action flick. Jake held his own rake more solidly, both hands on the handle a good distance apart.

“Huh,” Matt replied, as if noticing what he was doing for the first time. “Weird.” The sound of the dog barking and yowling and struggling against its chain continued, keeping both of them on edge. Matt gritted his teeth and kept peering through the slats of the fence, trying to shut the noise out and concentrate on any movement.

“Shouldn’t we be more… freaked out?” Jake asked, moving quickly to the back of the yard to check other entry points. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever seen something like that before… it’s not like I ever believed something like that could even exist.” He turned back to Matt.

“Deja vu,” Matt said, locking eyes with Jake across the yard.

“Me, too,” Jake agreed. They held the gaze for a bit too long, and Matt finally looked away, uncomfortable.

Satisfied that there was no tentacle monster lurking outside the back fence, Jake came back over to Matt was standing, guarding the gate and shifting the weight of the rake restlessly from hand to hand. Jake looked over at a poorly-painted cement garden gnome and studyied it for a few moments, then looked back at Matt. After a pause, his eyes fixed again on the gnome.

“What?” Matt asked. “What is it? Is the gnome out to get us now, too? Damn, that dog is getting on my nerves.”

“Something someone told me once,” Jake said as he scrutinized the lawn ornament, “about how to tell if you’re dreaming. You pick something and look at it, memorize some details. Then look away for a moment, and look back. If it’s not the same, then you’re dreaming.”

“So,” Matt said slowly, “this is a dream?” He looked at the gnome dubiously. Someone had painted his pointy cap an unfortunate magenta.

“No,” Jake said, giving up the examination and turning his attention back to Matt. “Either we’re awake, or I’m such a detail freak that I keep everything straight, even when I’m dreaming.”

Matt picked out a loose tar shingle on the roof and memorized it, then looked away and back again, hoping it would be different somehow. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Everything seemed to stay the same, and he started to feel silly. He was about to say as much to Jake, when he froze.

Something had changed.

“Do you hear that?” Matt said, in a whisper.

Jake gripped his rake tightly and stood still, shifting his head ever so slightly to orient his ears to try and find what Matt was talking about.

“I don’t hear anything,” he finally whispered back.

“Exactly,” Matt replied.

A hairy mass struck Jake heavily in the chest, sending him to the ground. The thing was warm and smelled musky, and was dripping wet with some sort of thick liquid. Jake’s head struck a paving stone despite his attempts to roll with the impact, and the rake went out of his grip instantly. He winced, and tried to push the thing off of him, though the strength had gone out of him temporarily, and his vision was blurred from the impact. After a few seconds, when his eyes started to cooperate, he made out what the thing was.

The dog. What was left of the dog, anyway.

Matt flung his rake away and scrambled to his knees to roll the bloody, mangled animal off of Jake. At first Matt thought it had been sliced open, but the raggedness of the wounds suggested an even more brutal action; it had simply been pulled apart. Jake’s brown sweater was soaked with blood and had chunks of hairy gore still stuck to it; he was laying with his hand pressed to the back of his head, and was breathing through tightly clenched teeth.

Matt felt something slithering on the ground beneath him, near his feet, and barely had time to spin around before he was pulled roughly off the ground and back into the embrace of the beast, which was gliding unnaturally over the wooden fence using its free limbs. Mat grabbed hold of his rake as he was dragged past it, but had was turned around, business end near his hand. He beat at the main appendage binding his ankle with the wooden handle, but it was awkward trying to hit it with the lighter end, and there wasn’t much effect.

“What’s so special,” he demanded, gasping, as he could feel more of the tentacles encircling him, “about me?” His shirt was pulled up as he was dragged through the grass, the twigs and small rocks scratching at him. But that feeling was paradise compared to the feel of the thing’s tentacles wrapping around his bare skin; it was beyond disgusting. The underside of the tentacles held thousands of tiny feelers, all moving independently, searching every square inch of him they could reach. For what, he didn’t know. The panic was rising in him and making it hard to think of much of anything.

As he was pulled close to the trunk of the creature, he could make out for the first time, in the fluorescent, back porch light, that it had no face. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. The creature was just a grayish, pinkish slab that split again and again into dozens, maybe hundreds of limbs, as if it were fraying in some hideous way. The skin undulated and rippled like the surface of a lazy sea, responding to each tentacles push and pull.

At first, Matt felt a bizarre feeling of relief that he wasn’t going to be stuffed into some large toothy mouth, but then remembered the dog and shuddered.

When he felt the infinite array of feelers again, sweeping over his body as the tentacles wrapped him up, he realized that it didn’t have one mouth, but millions, and they were all tasting him, deciding whether he would be a good meal. Matt hoped whatever happened next would be quick.

“Right,” Jake said gruffly, charging in, full speed, head down, smacking into the body of the beast right below where Matt was being held. The impact rippled through the thing like some demonic Jell-O mold, causing some of the tentacles to shake and lose their grip on Matt. Matt tried desperately to twist his rake around and get at some of the coils still holding him, but had to give up and drop it. He was too tightly bound, and couldn’t get any leverage.

The tentacles had come alive with movement, whipping frantically this way and that, forcing Jake to keep his hands near his eyes to protect them. Matt could tell that the delicate feelers were ceasing their investigation and pulling back inside the tentacles that were binding him.

Then, he felt the grip on him change as the appendages began to pull. Hard.

“Oh n–” Matt gasped out before completely losing the ability to speak, every fiber of him calling out in anguished screams. His body was on fire, centered in his joints and softer parts, as every part of his body seemed determined to move in a different direction at once. His skin chafed and tore under the supernaturally tight grip of the dozens of snaky limbs, all trying to claim him for their own.

Jake shoved the failing tentacles away from his face and reached for Matt, his face almost as pained.

“No,” Jake begged, reaching out to Matt. He felt a few tendrils loop around his legs and waist as well. “No…!”

Matt was able to catch a breath as the pulling subsided for a moment, and his various limbs grudgingly meandered back into their sockets with grinding, thick sounds. He could feel his ribs shifting position under his skin. He gulped hard, tears streaming down his face, his throat raw from the force of his scream.

Then he felt the slimy limbs all over his body adjust their grip a final time, in preparation, as if the last pull had only been to test Matt’ss weak spots. In a supreme force of will, Matt wrenched a hand free and reached for Jake’s. Even as they clasped hands, Matt could feel the pressure starting again, but he knew there would be no slow build-up this time. It really was going to be quick after all, which was something, at least. He closed his eyes and held tight to Jake’s hand, and let out a final scream.

He kept screaming as he heard a disgusting ripping sound, the sound of skin, flesh and bone being pulled apart messily, and the sound of Jake screaming as well, but in pure rage. A shudder passed through the myriad of tendrils holding on to him, and their grip slackened. Matt stopped screaming, and opened his eyes.

Jake was holding a thick length of tentacle in one hand, and was reaching with his other hand to grab another. The tentacle had been severed roughly, and still had ropey strips of yellow fat oozing out of the severed piece, connecting with a stump near Matt’s shoulder. There was a string of unusual bones hanging out of the core of the limb, connected not with a ball and socket but looped like a chain of bone. Matt gazed at it, transfixed, as it twitched. The thing also seemed to have no blood, for none flowed from either its severed limb or the stump from whence it came.

The pain in Matt’s body was gone, and he felt strangely disconnected from everything going on around him. He had a rush of panic as he realized he might be seriously injured and in shock. For his part, Jake continued to tear at the creature savagely, giving it a taste of what it had planned for its prey. Matt pushed tentatively at the bars of his now completely distracted prison, and the creature’s arms gave way easily, compared to the inhuman strength it had displayed earlier.

Matt looked down at his body, slowly coming into view as the tentacles were ripped away, pushed off, or just lost their will and fell. His clothes were torn and bloody, his skin scraped and cut all over. He put a hand to his chest and felt his hearbeat, feeling an incredible sense of amazement and wonder.

Am I alive? he thought.

The answer to the question came in the form of an errant tentacle, still some life left in it, which smacked him unceremoniously across the face, answering the question immediately.

“Okay,” Matt spat, tasting blood where his lip had been split. “That’s quite enough.” He darted a hand out and snatched the tentacle, pulling it back and wrenching it with both hands, finding a great reserve of strength. He felt the scaly hide give under his grip, and the flesh and muscle soon after. He squeezed as tightly as he could, with both hands, and the thing oozed between his fingers as it disintegrated. When he was finished, the limb was still attached, but the bone was all that connected it under the pulped mass. The rest of the tentacle was pulled down until it dragged on the ground, attached to the dead weight.

Soon, Matt and Jake extricated themselves from the monster’s clutches completely, and were able to put some distance between them and it. The two were both streaked with the stringy, greasy, yellow gore from the creature’s roughly amputated tendrils, and had numerous abrasions but seemed otherwise in good shape.

Their pursuer, though, was faring far worse. It looked like it had been shorn by a mad barber, huge patches of ragged stumps here, angry, pained groups of tentacles still intact there, and the whole creature seemed to be shaking in pain and shock. Lost parts littered the grass at its base, some still twitching their last.

“Filthy thing,” Jake said, coughing from the smell that was all over them. He rubbed the yellowish goo from his hands onto his black pants. “Ought to go back where it came from.”

“Most definitely,” Matt nodded, picking up one of the discarded rakes and hurling it expertly at the creature’s trunk. The rake spun end over end until it connected solidly, its metal teeth sunk deeply into the fleshy slab. The force with which it was thrown caused the wooden handle to crack slightly.

“Hear that?” Matt asked the thing.

“Doesn’t have any ears,” Jake reminded him.

“Unless it keeps those on its arms, too,” Matt offered.

“Running out of working ones, if that’s the case,” Jake countered.

The beast seemed to be collapsing in on itself, its battered arms pulling back into its main bulk and disappearing inside. It expanded and shrank, as if breathing, lost its squared-off slablike shape and started to look more like a haphazard mound of skin. The mottled pink underside of the thing had faded to a sickly, grayish yellow.

Matt and Jake looked at one another with broad smiles, but the smiles quickly faded. As each looked into the other’s eyes, a comfort, a familiarity washed over him, not only for each other, but for this situation itself. Paradoxically, that sensation of ease made them feel all the more strange and suspicious of each other.

“What now?” Matt asked, kicking a stray, small tentacle at the undulating mound. It sank into the body like one blob of mercury meeting another. The thing seemed to be rapidly losing its cohesion, and was spreading out onto the ground, blending into the shadows at the base of the fence.

“Don’t look at me,” Jake responded. “You’re the one who had this thing following you all night. I just helped ou—”

“What the fuck is going on?” came a loud, gravelly voice from behind them. In a gray bathrobe a size too small stood a mustachioed man in his mid-fifties, his face red and angry and his short black hair sticking up haphazardly. He was a bit round in the middle, the terry cloth sash holding the robe closed was tied a bit too tight, and bisected him into two roughly pear-shaped sections. He stood in the doorway to the house, and had a baseball bat in his hand.

“Oh, we…” Matt started, glancing back at where the creature had been. It had completely melted away into the shadows, as had its dozens of missing tentacles. All that remained was a beaten down patch in the garden near the fence, two rakes thrown about the yard, and open garden shed, and two bloody, dirty guys standing in the middle of it all.

“Sorry,” Jake said, taking one of the rakes and heading to the shed with it. “Something got a little out of hand, and—”

“You fucking young shits and your drugs,” the man growled, shaking the bat at them. “Not enough to have a good time, you gotta go crazy and start tearing stuff up. What kind of lives do you think you’re going to have, acting like this?”

“Really sorry,” Matt added, getting the other rake and taking it to join its twin. The man flinched as Matt picked up the rake, not sure what his intentions might be, but his anger was only briefly interrupted.

“The police are already on their way, assholes,” he said, slapping the heavy end of the bat into his palm. “You picked the wrong yard to play in.”

Matt noticed something, then. In the shadow of the concrete steps leading up to the back door, a dark shape was oozing up the side. When it entered the light, he could see it was a writhing puddle of gray, with lumps here and there where limbs had been.

“Hey, watch out!” Jake said, pointing to the side of the concrete steps, seeing the same thing. He and Matt both moved in closer to the back door, but the man raised the bat, threateningly.

“What am I, a retard? Don’t pull that shit on me!” he yelled, waving the bat back and forth, forcing them to move back a few steps. “You’re going to stand right there and not move, while we wait for the… for the…” He paused for a moment and looked down, feeling something gently rubbing on his bare foot. He squinted his eyes at it, thinking at first that it might be the neighbor’s gray cat.

When the ooze began to climb up his leg, he quickly discarded that idea. He tried to take a step back into the house, but found his foot firmly stuck in the slowly climbing goo. He changed tactics and took a few swings with his bat, connecting firmly with the corner of the concrete step, but this didn’t seem to stop the advance of the mysterious sludge.

Jake ran over to try and help, reaching out to try and scoop away the liquefied monster, but he got a bat taken to his outstretched arm for his trouble.

“Jesus!” Jake yelped in pain as the bat struck his forearm, and pulled back, holding his arm close to his body. The panicked man dropped the bat shortly after and tried to grab the door frame to pull himself away. His sweaty hands only held on for a bit before he let go, falling awkwardly to the hard concrete step. The stuff was then able to cover him quickly; he tried to push at it with his hands, but it just crept up his arms.

He started to scream in terror, at this point. Lights were coming on in the houses nearby, and Matt could see silhouettes appear in many of the windows, trying to see what was going on.

Matt ran in next, pulling Jake away from the man, who was now almost completely covered by the remnants of the tentacle beast and facing the prospect of not being able to breathe once it covered his face. He found it difficult to struggle any more, as the only part of his body that was able to move was his neck and head, which were shaking uncontrollably.

“Help!” the man cried out, desperately. “Help me! Get it off me!”

“Oh now, he wants help,” Jake muttered, rubbing his forearm and trying to think of what to do. He picked up the bat and tentatively pushed at the sludge that covered the man’s body. He found that it was solidifying… its surface starting to become thick and scaly as it was before. The man’s face was now fully covered, and he seemed to have stropped struggling. In fact, the lower half of his body, enveloped in the creature’s skin, appeared to be… melting. His legs were coming together, reforming into a now familiar, slablike, pinkish mass.

“No way!” Jake said, fighting off a wave of nausea. “That’s fucking gross!”

“Tell me about it,” Matt said in a low voice. He bent his fingers into a strange configuration and brought his hands together, raising them in the direction of the amalgamated man-beast. “We have to do put a stop to this.”

The motion was familiar to Jake, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps something he’d seen in one of his history textbooks? A movie? He instinctively took a step back.

An unearthly glow started to emanate from Matt, and swirls of dark purple and blue smoke started to drift out of the shadows to gather in hazy clouds at his feet. The smoke didn’t behave like ordinary smoke, and didn’t dissipate or wander in the little night breezes. In fact, it started to arranged itself into crisscrossed spherical patterns around Matt.

Matt braced himself, widening his stance and preparing for something. All at once, the little crisscrossed patterns of smoke seemed to ignite, the flames racing around the smoky rings until they converged at Matt’s hands, and then a a beam of dim purplish light radiated from his hands to fall on the creature. The thing quickly shifted position, shambling to the side in an attempt to get out of the path of the beam. Jake moved in closer, snatching up the baseball bat and making to give the thing a good whack back into the path of Matt’s light.

“There’s someone in there!” Matt scolded urgently. A sheen of sweat covered his brow, which was furrowed in concentration, and his blond hair shimmered with blue and purple from the lightshow in front of him. The beam seemed to increase in power, getting steadily darker but denser, and more closely focused on its target. This dark light was odd; Jake could see it, but it cast no shadows, seeming to bend around corners.

“I’ve got it,” Matt assured Jake, his voice echoing strangely. “The light.” He said without shifting his gaze from the creature. Jake glanced up at the porch light bulb. “People are watching.” Matt’s eyes glowed with a similar energy to the beam coming from his hands; one was blue and one was purple.

Jake took out the bulb with a swipe of the bat, making a satisfying pop and flash, and then the scene was immediately illuminated only by the unnatural light pouring from Matt’s hands. Jake could still vaguely see the current of energy pouring forth, but the quality was much like blacklight against a black velvet cloth. The creature’s body caught the unearthly light and blazed up every so often, but for the most part, the scene unfolded in near complete darkness.

Without the light pollution from the porch light, Jake could now clearly see a multitude of faces in dimly lit windows, trying to see what was going on. The next-door neighbor, a slim, red-headed woman, was stepping out of her back door in some hastily donned jeans and a rumpled t-shirt. Probably woken by the barking of her dog.

“Ace?” she called, tentatively, looking not into her backyard but over the fence to where Jake, Matt, and her unfortunate neighbor were gathered, in the shadows.

“Hurry this up,” Jake whispered urgently, flattening himself against the back wall of the house, standing in one of the man’s flower beds.

Matt was oblivious to Jake’s comment, focused only on the beast in front of him and the power that was flowing through his body. But as if in answer to Jake’s urging, a tiny fissure appeared at the top of the creature’s body, through which a bit of pink skin showed. Little by little, the fleshy gray coating was peeled down to reveal the dark-haired man, standing but apparently unconscious. Soon, the puddle of former-creature coalesced into a smallish heap on the concrete stoop, surrounded by a dark, ragged sphere of energy.

Matt took a deep breath then, and shifted the position of his hands. The rings of dark flame flared up and shot at the the thing as a brilliant bolt of blue and lavender. When the flame died down, quickly as magicians’ flash paper, the creature was gone.

[Leave a comment. Chapter 4 coming next week!]

Claude fussed a bit with his latex t-shirt to adjust the bulge made by his nipple piercing and studied Jake. He had a half-full rum and Coke in his left hand that he’d been working on for the last hour, and he didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at Claude’s tirade. Before Claude could continue, a trio of lean, giggly fags-in-training with shaggy Brit-pop hair and tongue piercings made their way past the two and sized them up as they headed off to the bathroom en masse. Claude watched the sweaty, shirtless group go with a wicked smile and rubbed his thigh suggestively when one of then glanced back at him to get another look. Claude then returned his attention to Jake, who hadn’t even bothered to check them out.

“What are you made of, steel?” Claude protested incredulously, gesturing to the bathroom door. “You’ve been glued to this bar rail, doing half-assed people-watching since we got here. Haven’t you’ve noticed what’s going on around you? Dancing, great drugs, people out on the dance floor doing things that you almost need latex to do safely, eighteen-year old adonises slipping off to the bathroom to make out and looking for extra participants… I think the technical term for it is ‘fun’.”

Jake sighed and took another sip of his drink. A familiar beat began blending into the mix, causing the dance floor to hoot and holler, and dozens of wallflowers left their spots to get their groove on. Claude thought briefly of ditching Jake and heading out there himself, but he didn’t want Jake to use it as an excuse to up and leave the club without him. He leaned back against the bar and downed the rest of his water, glaring at Jake with resentment.

“I can remember a time when you could wear me out dragging me from afterparty to afterparty,” Claude complained, signaling the bartender for a house shot with a five-dollar bill. “I don’t mean to be a bitch or anything…”

“Oh, of course not,” Jake laughed, sarcastically. “When do you ever.”

“What?” Claude asked, cupping his ear toward Jake. When he didn’t respond, Claud turned to watch the gyrating dance floor crowd while he waited for his shot. He spotted a new guy on the dance floor: early twenties, bleached-blond hair, baggy and beautiful, with a black jacket tied around his waist. He was moving like a pro, dancing completely alone with his eyes closed, looking a little scruffy and wild—Claude could tell he’d taken a spill earlier, but he might just be so fucked-up that he didn’t notice, or care. Claude knew full well that Jake had a renowned weakness for street trash, especially waifish students who wrote poetry and listened to angst-ridden pseudo-gay rock music. For his part, Claude had always insisted that his men shower at least once a day and preferably have a skin-care regimen and eyebrow tweezer. This kid wasn’t all that bad, though; Claude could make out a pretty decent body hidden under the baggy clothes as he swayed this way and that to the bass. And the bleached hair was a good sign; at least he gave a shit about his appearance, even if the results were a bit tired.

In a charitable moment, Claude elbowed Jake a bit to try and get him to look at the new kid. He didn’t usually encourage him in his trash-chasing, but it might be just the thing to snap him out of his funk, which was getting old fast.

Jake just turned around and faced the bar, though, setting his drink down and looking at his watch. Claude’s shot materialized on the bar in front of him and he downed the butterscotchy-tasting plastic cup of alcohol in one quick motion.

“Hold up,” Claude yelled. “You didn’t do any E, you don’t want to dance, you don’t want to check anybody out, you want to pussy out and leave?”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” Jake responded, finally raising his voice loud enough so Claude could hear. “I was up late on Friday doing research.”

“Here I am, even going so far as to point out potential fuckbuddies for you, motherfucker,” Claude continued, “and what thanks do I get? Does Claude have a job? Yes, he does. Do you don’t see Claude whining that he’s too tired to party on the weekends? No, you don’t.”

“Claude work nights, dufus,” Jake reminded him. “You dance at Trax three nights a week and you sleep until noon every day.”

“You,” Claude retorted, “are just trying to change the subject. Besides, I told you that if you just worked on your upper body a little more that you could get a job there.”

“Excuse me if I have career aspirations that don’t depend on the size of my tits,” Jake said in a low voice. Claude looked up with a questioning look, but Jake just nodded at him and took a larger gulp of his drink.

“Whatever,” Claude said, waving a ten-dollar bill to the bartender and holding up two fingers.

The blond kid from the dance floor stepped up to the opposite end of the bar and ordered a drink. Getting a closer look, Claude confirmed that he was exactly the kind of guy Jake was always mooning over: early twenties, baby-faced but definitely already world-weary, just the right mix of angelic and dirty. Probably fun in bed, but a lot more trouble than Claude was willing to take on. Claude never let Jake forget the time he took home the homeless punk painter and awoke to find that his laptop had been stolen. Jake had even tried to play it down, telling Claude that he’d been waiting for an excuse to get a new one, anyway, which was such bullshit.

If he pointed this kid out to him, Jake would owe him big time. But now, Claude was pissed.

“You know,” Claude said loudly, turning so he blocked Jake’s view down the bar, “you’re not even thirty yet. What are you going to do then? After three years of writing long, in-depth articles about medieval history and dukes and baronessess and shit, you are going to be tired each and every weekend. If you give up on your weekends now just because you get a little tired, you’re giving up on nightlife for good. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen.”

“Jesus Christ, Claude,” Jake shot back. “You’re such a fucking drama queen. It’s one Friday night. One! I told you I’d rather hang out on Saturday night so I could sleep in and get ready for it, but you…”

“Hello!” Claude interrupted sharply. “Saturday night is totally dead. Completely. But if you want nothing but bears and remixed teen idols as far as the eye can see, then by all means let’s make plans for Saturday night.”

“Okay, fine,” Jake mumbled.

“Saturday night is for late dinners and movies,” Claude concluded. “not for clubbing.”

“I’m sure there’s something,” Jake said, finally finishing the rest of his drink and fishing in his pocket, retrieving his wallet. He pulled a coat check ticket and a few dollars out of it. It took Claude a few moments to notice, but when he did, his approach changed drastically.

“Oh, come ON,” Claude said in a pleading tone. “Just one more hour, at least. I just ordered us two drinks!” When Jake didn’t respond, he continued in as sultry a voice he could muster over the loud music. “Hey, there’s this cute guy I saw on the dance floor earlier who’s just your…”

“I’m just tired, okay, Claude?” Jake said with an air of finality, shoving off the bar rail to stand up straight. “I’ve been working really hard on a new article all week, and it’s all I can think about. Maybe it was a bad idea to say yes to coming out tonight.”

“Well,” Claude said suddenly brightening up and making a complete u-turn, “why didn’t you just say so? It’s no big deal. Just go home and get some rest and we can do something tomorrow.” His broad smile concealed any trace of his ceaseless cajoling just minutes before, and Jake was momentarily disoriented.

“I can get along without you just this once,” Claude reassured him in a soothing voice, and gathered up the two butterscotch shots that appeared on the bar. “A shot for the road, and you can call it a night.”

“Oh,” Jake said. “Okay, fine. Good.”

“Good!” Claude laughed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Shit, and you say I’m a drama queen.” He looked past Jake and saw that the blond kid was seated at a table drinking his Long Island and looking at him. Claude smiled at him and toyed with his nipple ring bulge a little bit. The kid took a drink.

“You’re such a flake,” Jake said, half-heartedly, contemplating the plastic cup that Claude handed him. “Twenty minutes of bitching at me for wanting to leave, and then bam! like a faucet it just shuts off.” He mock-punched Claude in the chest.

“I know when to quit,” Claude responded. “I’m no fool.” Claude snuck another look across the room, just as the cute blond boy got his first look at Jake, and and could immediately tell that Jake wasn’t the only one with a “type.” The poor kid almost drowned in his drink before he spilled it onto himself. With reflexes like that, Claude could see how he managed to dirty himself up.

“Or, you know what?” Claude said quickly, taking the shot away from Jake. “There’s no point in you wasting this, when you’re just going to go right to bed. Why don’t you just run along and get your beauty rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

While Jake looked confused, Claude noticed the kid getting up from the table and heading their way, his eyes locked on Jake.

“Hi”, the young blond guy said, staring directly at Jake. Up close, Claude could see he wasn’t a kid at all, mid-twenties or maybe even older; he just did the “chicken” thing really well. He had beautiful blue eyes and pale skin that flushed pink, probably because he’d been drinking. His upper body was even more developed than it looked from a distance, though he was still a little leaner than Claude usually went for. He seriously hoped this kid wasn’t one of Jake’s previous flings, or he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I’m Claude,” Claude said, taking the kid into a welcoming embrace and taking the opportunity to rub the small of his back suggestively. “I’m glad you decided to come over and say hello. You almost missed the chance to say hello to my friend… it’s past his bedtime and he’s headed home. He’s tired.”

Claude accented the last word, hoping it came off as a warning, then disengaged from the new arrival and turned to face Jake. Jake was looking at the blond guy carefully, which made Claude think he was trying to remember if they’d slept together.

“This is Jake,” Claude interjected. “Jake, this is…”

“Matt,” the blond said, a little uncertain. The three of them stood silent for a bit. Claude tossed back one of the shots he was holding, then offered to other to Matt, who declined with a half-shake of his head. After a few seconds, Claude downed the second shot as well and tossed the cups onto the bar.

The DJ switched gears and put on a slower, sexier beat. The lights dimmed accordingly, with only occasional strobes and flashes of red to light up the scene, and the dancefloor soon was a mass of writhing, grinding bodies. Claude watched the scene unfold with interest, until turning back to the other two.

Jake and Matt were still looking at each other, curiously. Claude no longer thought that they hadn’t slept together—because they didn’t seem all that interested in sleeping together right now—but there was definitely some kind of familiarity they were trying to figure out. Maybe they’d been in elementary school together or something. Whatever.

“Hey Matt,” Claude said, rubbing his shoulder firmly. “You want to get out there on that dance floor?” He looked Matt up and down and smiled a devious smile.

“Sure,” Jake said, a hint of bewilderment in his voice. “You guys have fun. I’m going to head home.” Matt watched as Jake walked away, even watched as he walked down the stairs. When he was finally out of sight, there was no one else to look at but Claude, and so Matt did. He started in surprise when he realized the Claude was pressed up close against him, his breath smelling of butterscotch and liquor.

“We could either go and get it on out there,” Claude said, his words having the faintest slur in them, “or we could just get out of here and go to my place.”

The cool night air was refreshing. Especially on the top floor of the bar, there was always too much cigarette smoke, cologne and stale air, and it was good to take a decent breath. Jake walked briskly home.

He’d made just one stop: to get an bottled iced coffee from the all-night convenience store on the corner. For some reason, his body always reacted in the opposite way to caffeine, and it often helped him sleep if he was wound up. And tonight he was most definitely wound up.

The night felt darker than usual. It was supposed to be a full moon and bright out, but the overcast was denser than usual and it was black as tar. Once he got out of the Broadway commercial district and headed into the more residential area, streelights were even fewer and further between. Usually it didn’t make him nervous to walk home at night alone, but something in the air tonight made him uneasy. The leafless trees loomed over him in the shadows, their knotted branches swaying almost imperceptibly in the breeze, gnarled long fingers, menacing. He gulped down some of the iced coffee and sealed the bottle again, a shiver from the cold drink going through his body. Next time, hot coffee, he thought.

At first, he thought his nervous feelings started when he met that blond guy, Matt, at the bar, but he remembered feeling on edge earlier in the evening as well, when he and Claude had done some bar hopping before ending up at R Place. Claude had been going on and on about some movie about acrobats that he wanted them to go see, but Jake had hardly heard him, too caught up in staying alert as they made their way down the more deserted streets. Nothing strange had actually happened to them all night—except for that strange feeling of recognition he had when he met Matt—but it still put him in a foul mood and ruined his evening. It’s hard to relax and enjoy yourself when you can’t stop looking over your shoulder.

Jake was about halfway home when he heard something rustle behind him, and he snapped out of remembering the night’s events to listen more carefully. He didn’t miss a step, and made no effort to go faster, he just tried to walk more quietly and listen for whatever might be out there. He tried looking across the street, hoping he could catch whoever was behind him in his peripheral vision, but it was too dark, or whatever was following him was too far back for him to see.

Whatever? Whoever. He shuddered at the unfamiliar horror-movie thoughts that were running through his head. Halloween was long gone; they’d been through Christmas and New Year’s and were well on their way to Valentine’s Day. This wasn’t the kind of mindset he should be in.

He walked for another half-block before he heard another sound distinct enough to pinpoint. This one was closer than the first. Whoever was there was definitely gaining on him.

It pissed him off to be worrying about someone following him in the dark. He knew he should be more pragmatic, and not think like this, but all he could imagine doing was surprising the asshole and beating the shit out of him. It was stupid. For all Jake knew, the guy could have a knife or a gun, and messing with him would be the last thing he’d want to do. Still, he knew that a lot of people who follow gay guys around in the dark don’t base their decision to kill or maim then on whether they fight back or not. His fists clenched and he listened again.

He heard a shoe scuff on the sidewalk, not ten feet behind him, and took that exact moment to spin and lunge as hard as he could directly at whoever it was. He gave out a bellow and hurtled into the dark figure, who toppled to the ground under his weight. His bottle of coffee slipped out of his hand and smashed on the sidewalk next to them, only the plastic wrapper holding the shattered container together. The thing underneath Jake was cold and damp, a dark formless shape except for… a bright patch of blond hair…?

Matt let his arms down slowly. His black jacket was wet in the evening mist, and insulated enough to keep the warmth in. His face was flushed, though this time probably from fear rather than Long Island Iced Tea. Jake pushed off of the sidewalk and sat up in a crouch a foot or so from Matt, unclenching his fists, but still ready for anything.

“What the fuck!” Matt squeaked, his voice panicky. “I’m just walking home, like you…”

“Sorry!” Jake said, intending to be angry, but finding that he genuinely did feel bad for scaring the guy, despite the fact that he’d been following him and freaking him out as well. “I just thought that… well… that something was…”

“I just figured I’d walk with you,” Matt stammered as he got to his feet, a little shaky. “You had kind of a head start on me and it took me a while to catch up.”

Jake waited until Matt was on his feet and seemed steady enough to keep walking, and then Jake started moving again. Soon they were walking side by side, heading down the dark residential streets.

Jake stole occasional glances at Matt, still trying to figure out where he might know him from, and eventually caught Matt doing the same thing in return. It was such a strange feeling; it wasn’t as if he could ever remember seeing Matt before, but he had the distinct impression that they must have met.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Jake asked bluntly, not interested in prolonging the uncertainty. “It’s driving me crazy.”

“No?” Matt asked back, unhelpfully.

“Did we meet at a party or something?” Jake pressed on. “I mean, not like did we hook up at a party, because I’m not the kind of guy who would just forget someone that he hooked up with…”

“I really don’t think so,” Matt said, suddenly bristling a little. “Not a chance.”

Despite saying so, Jake did worry for a moment that they’d slept together and he’d just completely forgotten. Though it was hard to imagine he’d forget making out with someone who looked like Matt. What if it had been that time while he was rolling on E and he didn’t remember? Maybe they’d both been blitzed? Shit, shit, shit.

“Maybe we just remind each other of someone we know,” Matt offered. “It’s not so weird to have someone remind you of someone, and it could be just coincidence that it’s happening for both of us.”

“Well, who do I remind you of, then?” Jake challenged.

Matt was silent as they walked, as if he was trying really hard to come up with a name. A few times, he rubbed his temple, like something was bubbling just below the surfact and he could almost, almost remember what it was. Finally, he just shrugged wordlessly.

“It’s just weird,” Jake said.

They walked until they got to Jake’s block, then turned left.

“You live down here, too?” Jake asked. “Maybe we’re just neighbors. I might have seen you mowing your lawn or something.”

Matt shrugged again.

“When did you bleach out your hair?” Jake suggested. “Is it black or brown when it’s natural…”

“Look, I don’t know, okay?” Matt said, suddenly testy.

“Fine, whatever,” Jake muttered. As they got closer and closer to Jake’s building, he started to think that Matt didn’t live anywhere near here. Seattle was a small enough city that he could recognize a lot of gay guys on sight, especially the really hot ones. The notion that Matt could live either right across the street or a few buildings down from him was completely impossible.

“Why did you want to walk with me?” Jake asked, his voice almost a whisper. He could feel a warm sensation rising up his neck to his ears, and he became aware of Matt’s looks again. His eyes, his lips. Jake was sure he didn’t chase him out of the bar just to walk him home.

Matt didn’t answer at first.

“Come on,” Jake said, walking a little slower so they were closer together. “Why did you follow me home?”

“Um,” Matt said, sheepishly. “I don’t know… maybe… safety in numbers.” He stared down at the sidewalk as they slowed to a saunter.

“Saftey in numbers?” Jake asked. “What’s that supposed…”

Just then, a swarm of sickly gray tentacles slithered out from behind a dark tree trunk.

[Leave a comment, then continue with Chapter 3…]

The streets were wet from the mist that descended from the permanent overcast every winter, and the strip, usually lit so bright you could forget it was nighttime, was mottled with patches of darkness. It seemed that several streetlights had managed to burn themselves out all on the same night, coincidentally. Matt swallowed hard and walked a bit quicker every time he left the safety of the ugly yellow spotlights.

He couldn’t explain the feeling. He’d been at a party across town just an hour before, dosed with just the right amount of holiday cheer and completely in his element. The music had been a perfect blend of sublime beats and familiar riffs, new flavors and fan favorites that kept the house shaking in unison. In his ecstatic state, he’d even begun a good-natured battle of wills with a slender girl with close-cropped hair across the dance floor, each of them daring the other to make the first move and proceed to the next phase beyond smiles and coy body language invitations.

But his buzz, built up so solidly and carefully over the course of the evening with this pill and that, unraveled in a few, short minutes. The friendly, welcoming crowd suddenly turned cliquish and suspicious, judging him with narrow eyes. He imagined that their every laugh was about his clothes, his hair, the way he moved. He went from room to room trying to find a spot to get comfortable, but he could feel nervousness and self-consciousness building inside him, making him sick to his stomach. A panic had settled over him that he couldn’t shake no matter where he went.

After an unsuccessful attempt to cool down outside with some ice water and a break from the music on the front steps, he’d said some hasty, barely-audible goodbyes and stepped out into the night. He turned to give a last, half-hearted nod to the girl he’d sparred with earlier, but she also recognized that the moment was gone and barely returned his gaze.

He’d wandered up and down the residential streets aimlessly, aware of something… someone… just out of his sight. It was stalking him, waiting for him to make a wrong turn so it could catch him. The sensation was all the worse because it felt so familiar, though Matt couldn’t remember a time he’d felt this jittery before. He nearly fell flat on his face, stumbling backwards after mistaking a shrub for someone crouched in wait near a fence.

He’d kept moving, kept changing direction, kept watching the shadows, and before too long he’d found himself here on Capitol Hill. It was more brightly lit here, though there were still enough shadows to keep him from getting entirely comfortable.

When Matt turned one particular corner, he felt something strong grab him at the waist, pulling him off balance and sending him to the concrete with his hands flailing. Whatever had snagged him was behind him, out of his sight, but could feel something large, heavy and cold coming down on top of him as he fell. Panicked, he pushed and kicked and tried to roll away, but the thing held him with a grip like a steel cable around his midsection, cutting into his side just where… just where the waistband of his pants were.

He calmed himself down and stopped struggling long enough to take a better look at what had happened. His wallet chain had gotten caught on a frayed wire garbage can and pulled the whole thing over onto him, and his thrashing around had gotten the chain and the wire mesh pretty well entwined. Matt pried the chain loose quickly, managing to scratch his fingers up on the sharp wire edges in the process, and hauled himself to his feet again. His light blue, baggy denim pants were smudged up with crisscross patterns of dirt and grease from the garbage can, and his side was completely soaked from landing in a puddle of what he hoped was rainwater.

“Mother FUCK.” Matt cursed, jamming his wallet back into his back pocket and continuing down the hill, his jacket open, revealing the mottled rust-orange long-sleeved t-shirt he was wearing. A lone pedestrian stumbled up on the other side of Pike street and studied him warily. Flashbacks to the fashion police at the party got the better of Matt and he took his black jacket off to tie around his waist and hide as much of the damage as he could. The man, in his forties with a dark mustache and a dark denim jacket on, gave him a drunken smile and raised his eyebrows with a suggestive look.

“Wait a minute,” Matt said to himself, taking a look around to see where he’d ended up. All the time he’d been weaving and dodging down the streets, he had an idea in the back of his head that he was headed somewhere, but hadn’t stopped to think it through very carefully. He figured he’d know when he got there. But now he found himself three blocks away from the four busiest gay bars in the city, nowhere near anyone he knew—at least nobody he knew well enough to drop in on at three AM. His new friend across the street seemed ready to offer him a bed, if not a place to sleep.

Matt turned his attention away quickly and fished in his grimy pants pocket for his mobile phone. There was one person who he could call, though he’d ended up a little too far south. That could have been where he was headed.

“This shit’s never going to come out,” he bitched to the empty air. “A week of extra shifts at the fucking Hi-Tone for nothing.” He inspected the phone after getting it out and unlocking the keypad, making sure he hadn’t crushed it in the fall. He held down number 2 until it dialed a saved number and he walked more slowly, his embarrassment at how worked up he’d been getting keeping him plenty warm.

“Cat, it’s me,” he said when a voice half-answered. “Are you up?” A few more subverbal groans and mumbles followed.

“Are you still up?” He repeated, not caring how obvious it was that she wasn’t. When he heard the half-awake, yet polite response in the affirmative, he siezed on it. “Well then, get out of bed because I’m coming over.”

Matt leaned up against the wall near an ATM as he spoke, his eyes scanning the street for any sign of a pursuer, but feeling more and more like his mind was playing tricks on him, and more and more ridiculous. In the alleyway nearby, he noticed something moving through the rubbish, something gray and pink on the underside… his pulse pounded in his ear for a few moments until he recognized it as a rat. He forced himself to relax and and close his eyes for a second. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious, he assured himself, but this is heading into paranoid territory. Once you get to Cat’s, you can relax.

“I did go, but I left maybe an hour ago,” Matt answered into the phone, catching the tail end of what she’d been saying. He mentally counted the blocks to Cat’s place, figuring that if he ran, he could get there in ten, maybe fifteen minutes. “It was pretty good, at least early on… it got pretty awful later.” Understatement of the year.

Matt could hear the skittering of the rat’s tiny claws against the pavement as it rummaged in the piles of garbage looking for a snack, but he steeled himself not to open his eyes and look at it again. I am going to be a man, he told himself, eyes clenched shut, and not jump at every little thing. He couldn’t help imagining that the rat had friends… a gang of dirty, furry things ready to come out of the alleyway and follow him up the street. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them rustling around.

“I think someone gave me some bad K or something,” Matt admitted into the phone, his hands shaking a bit. “I’m totally ’noiding.” From the sound the rats were making in the trash, he imagined they were huge. Or maybe they weren’t rats at all, but snakes. Huge, gray and pink snakes slithering all over the garbage and hoping he’d keep his eyes closed and not see them coming. Jesus.

“Yes, Mom,” he said sarcastically into the phone. “I know drugs are bad for me.” Boy do I ever, he thought, as the imaginary snakes in the alleyway turned into tentacles, connecting to some slimy gray creature hiding in the shadows. I’m not going to look, he told himself, I’m not going to look.

He opened his eyes quickly and saw the single rat, munching on a stale hamburger bun, not even acknowledging his presence. The breeze rustled the empty Starbucks cups and burger wrappers. He was a complete idiot.

Matt turned around at the precise moment that the creature came forth from the shadows and lunged for him. It was about eight feet tall and massive in size, a sickening gray with patches of pink that looked like huge burn scars. It had no mouth or nose to speak of, just two large, featureless black eyes. Perfect, inhuman, shiny black spheres. It also had scores of tentacles branching off of it, pink on each underside and slimy gray matted hair on top. Some of the tentacles were shorter and ended in crude hand or foot shapes, and had joints that bended this way or that, allowing the thing to move silently, if awkwardly. It looked not unlike a giant gray walking root system.

Matt surprised the creature, with a well-placed kick to its trunk, forcing its weight onto a single one of its stubby legs and causing it to stumble back and reach out with its many snaky limbs for support. He followed with some sharp punches to the nearest tentacles which encouraged them to retreat. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched tightly, he scanned the pavement all around him and moved quickly to a spot where he could get out of the thing’s reach.

He surprised himself with his next move: a charge directly at the creature, ramming his shoulder into it just under its left eye, causing it to shudder reflexively and fall even further back into the alley. This time, though, it gathered its many tendrils back under itself in order to get its balance completely.

“Hide and seek’s over, afterbirth,” Matt snarled, emboldened by his little successes. “Now you’re gonna get yours.”

His attitude did a 180, though, as the thing’s many tentacles swarmed at him all at once, forcing him to stumble backwards, off-balance. He could feel the thing snaking around his legs, another trying to get a grip on his arm. A smaller tendril snatched at the hand that held his mobile phone and it burned like stinging nettles where it made contact. He kicked at the ones near his feet and found himself flipping backwards over the hood of a parked car. He took advantage of the leverage, pulled his legs free and rolled away to the other side.

Matt took off at top speed down the hill, his phone in his hand. He barely made an attempt to watch for oncoming traffic as he crossed the street to get away from… whatever it was that was stalking him.

“Matt!” he heard a tiny and insistent voice call from his mobile, clenched tightly in his hand. He let himself slow down and look around… he tried to remember what the thing had looked like, but could only remember flashes of that sickly color and the feeling of things trying to grab him. His impressions of it were fading into soft focus, like the details you forget after you wake from a dream.

“Cat, forget I even called,” he said lamely into the phone, feeling sick to his stomach. “No, everything’s cool… or will be. I’m just having a really bad trip. I might come by tomorrow, though.”

“Whatever,” she answered, yawning. “If you call me this late again, make sure you’re being raped or murdered first.”

The call ended with an understated electronic “beep”.

Remembering his daydream, Matt rubbed the hand his cell phone was in—the one that had been “stung” by whatever it was. There was a scrape across it, and it still was a little tender. A quick glance at the car parked in front of the alley where he’d been “attacked” explained it; the antenna was bent over where he must have rolled over it.

“Who’m I? Fucking Xena,” he panted angrily at himself. “‘You’re gonna get yours,’” he muttered sarcastically, shaking his head and fighting off the headache that was starting to settle in from all the adrenaline. “Trying to beat the shit out of some slime monster in a fucked-up drug hallucination. Good thing I didn’t actually fuck with some club kid in pink fake fur or they’d be having one of those ‘Take Back the Night’ marches looking to pummel my ass.”

As foolish as he was starting to feel about his battle with the hallucinated creature, he didn’t feel much like continuing the night without a drink. Matt homed in on the sound of a busy nightclub and worked his way into the queue to enter, either for safety in numbers or to try and salvage the evening, he didn’t know which. The crowd was regular late-night R Place: early twenty-something stylish gay boys and their best girlfriends, along with some adventurous open-minded straight boys who knew there was a good dancefloor and half-decent music to be heard inside. That and R Place was one of the only places in the area open after hours.

The doorman looked him up and down warily—especially at the stained jeans peeking out from under his jacket tied around his waist—before asking him for ID. Matt responded with a devilish smile and his open wallet, making a show of giving the beefy guy the once-over in return. Most gay bars wouldn’t think twice about barring a drunken straight guy who was such a mess that he’d fallen over and gotten himself dirtied up, but they were always willing to let in another cute boyish fag with his defenses sufficiently weakened. Matt even toyed with the bottom of his shirt a bit, letting the mustachioed bouncer get a look at the results of his grueling daily abdominal workouts. Within moments, he was headed inside, and the bouncer was watching him go with great interest.

After hours club or not, it was still approaching the end of the night, and for every person who was still riding the wave, there were two who were floundering in the surf and didn’t want to admit it and head home. Matt got his first hopeful, pre-sidewalk-sale come-on inside of five minutes. As if it was any less pathetic to score one hour earlier than to pick up someone on the street after closing. Straight or not, if it was 10pm, it might have even been an ego boost, but at 3am it was out-and-out creepy and depressing, especially when coming from someone in his late thirties with bushy eyebrows and acne pockmarks from steroids.

Matt smiled noncommittally and headed in the opposite direction of the would-be fuckbuddy, making his way up the stairs to the dance floor level. It was nowhere near full, but the alcohol and drugs consumed throughout the night made the small group blissfully devoted to staying put. He couldn’t recognize the track the DJ was playing, but it seemed to be the middle of an extended mix and building toward something good. He made his way out to the middle of the floor, started to sway to the beat and tried to relax into it.

People were jostling against everyone else, too wasted to care where they were dancing. The upside was that the other people they bumped into were too wasted to care, as well. Matt didn’t have that advantage, and didn’t relish the idea of trying to reach that state himself, especially considering the hideous trip he’d been on in the past hour. But he wasn’t going to get back to his happy place strictly though music, at least not with this bunch, so he extricated himself and headed over to the bar for some assistance.

“Long Island,” Matt said to the bartender, who perked up at the idea of actually mixing a drink and getting a tip. If Matt guessed right, there was no way he’d been getting much business from the current crowd, except to unscrew bottles of water. Long Islands always hit him hard, but he figured he’d rather be sluggish than as keyed up as he had been. He could always get a cab later.

He dropped a ten on the bar and took a sip of the drink after ditching the plastic straw. He always hated the bar custom of adding a straw to every drink to trick you into drinking faster. More often than not he ended up accidentally poking himself in the eye when he tried to take a sip. At least the drink had come in a proper glass; most straight bars served everything in plastic because their clientele were more likely to pick fights and cause trouble. Gay bars could always be counted on for real glassware.

He made his way back to the wallflower tables and took a seat, watching the crowd dance and waiting for the moment to feel right to dive back in. He also checked out a few of the girls who were dancing, but they almost invariably ended up dancing with each other. Unlike a lot of the straight guys he knew, Matt knew better than to imagine they’d want him to join them in their bed later this morning. It was fun to watch, nonetheless.

He took another sip of his drink and looked past the dancefloor crowd at two guys leaning against the bar, arguing about something. One was an exotic-looking guy in his thirties, of Arabic descent with a shaved head, a sizable nose and a pumped-up gym body covered by a maroon latex t-shirt. He had both ears pierced with heavy gauge hoops with ball ends, and Matt could see that he had both nipples pierced as well with matching hoops. Despite himself, he muttered the Queer Eye mantra, “don’t match, coordinate,” under his breath.

The white guy was younger, maybe late twenties, with dark curly brown hair that was close to reaching his shoulders. He wasn’t dressed for the club like his friend, instead wearing a chocolate brown sweater and some black pants. When Matt finally got a look at the younger man’s face, he choked on his drink.

Déjà vu, the strongest he’d ever felt, hit Matt hard, and he nearly dropped his drink altogether. He did manage to spill some of it onto himself, but luckily it was only on his jeans, which were already so stained as to be a lost cause entirely. He wiped at them a bit with the cocktail napkin, but while staring, completely transfixed, at the man in front of him. He had the strangest notion that he should know who he was. It was the second time tonight he’d felt powerful, familiar emotions, but unlike his paranoid panic, this time it wasn’t unwelcome. Not in the least.

“I know you,” Matt murmured, studying the man’s face and trying to place him. “I know you.”

[Leave a comment, then continue with Chapter 2…]