Well, you know, outside of the whole demon thing.
Ben the rent-a-cop guy doesn’t say anything to me. He walks behind me and seems kind of afraid.
I bet I could lunge at him, pretending to punch him, and he’d wince. That’s also kind of cool, I have to admit: you know, how there’s this sense of mystery and almost fear surrounding me. The older people are the ones worried. Everyone else finds it exciting.
And me?
I think I’ve mentioned it way too much. I go back and forth on the whole thing. But Halverson is definitely right.
I need to get checked.
How the hell do I do that? I don’t know…
Maybe I actually do need help.
I sit in my car until Ben the rent-a-cop guy leaves.
It’s not even noon yet. I can’t go back to school. I’m not sure I want to go back home. Then I daydream about how word’s getting around. Soon my phone’s going to blow up with text messages and calls.
Everyone will be buzzing about me.
And Nikki, she’ll be one of them. Imagining Nikki talking to her circle of friends, all impressed with what’s happened. Forget what Brad and Jon-Jon and Becca and Blaire think. They can think what they want. I’m sure I’ll get word from them. But Nikki, I bet she’s really into what’s happening.
Maybe turned on.
I can’t help it. It’s so awesome to think that I’m the one being talked about, all the way up to the “it” people, though I don’t totally know what that means. I’ve always had some names in mind, the people you know of but never really talk to. Those kinds of people. They are talking about me, maybe the way I’m thinking about them right now. Their talk is all curious and wondering, being like, “Hunter’s possessed. He’s been kicked out of Meadows because of it!”
But I guess I’ll go home.
I’m feeling really tired all of a sudden.
I have no idea how to go about this stuff. Know what that means. I need to call Becca. It’s kind of strange to think that as I talk to Becca, I’ll be thinking of Nikki. Of course, I’m also sort of worried about Becca finding out.
But I also don’t care.
You don’t just say no to Nikki Dillon.
I drive home slowly, taking detours and back roads, listening to nothing, deep in thought about my date at the end of the week. You do what you need to do to shut out all the bad. Feels kind of like it’s going to take a turn for the worse, you know?
I know, but I also don’t want to think about it. I shut that out and replace it with a well-constructed fantasy, I’ll call it practice, where Nikki and I go on a date and really hit it off, if you know what I mean.
I’m sure anyone would.
When you’re human, you got to just, like, know that you’re going to have these kinds of thoughts.
I’m human. And…
I wonder what it really is. Demon, sure — but where does it come from?
If I ever get a chance to, like, flat-out ask it a question, that’ll be the first one, right at the top of the list.
Where do you come from?
I read somewhere that symptoms shouldn’t start until nightfall. I call bullshit on that because it’s one P.M. and I’m hungry and locked in my room. The doorknob won’t turn and, yes, it’s unlocked.
It’s messing with me and getting stronger and bolder and meaner every day. I send everything above as a text message to Becca, who immediately replies with this exclamation point, three of them actually, and then:
“I heard! That’s like such bullshit!”
Duh. I text back, “I’m home with it.”
“Are you okay?”
“See previous message.”
“Wait, like, you’re stuck in your room?”
“Yeah,” and I add, “It’s cold in here.”
Becca texts back, “We need you to meet someone today.”
“Ditch school and help me. I’m clueless with this shit.”
It’s true. I can’t believe it, but yeah, I really do need Becca’s help. But everything I just said feels so fake, and wrong, and nothing at all sincere. But it’s there, so that’s something.
“I’ll leave at lunch period.”
Good. I want to text back, “I’ll be stuck in a room haunted by some demon, waiting for you,” but instead I text, “Thanks.” And again with the “Love you.”
We both text the same two words to each other.
It feels as strange as ever.
But Becca doesn’t ask about the party the other night. She doesn’t even act suspicious. Maybe she’s caught wind of the Nikki thing but she won’t say anything about it. I think it has a lot to do with how she’s reacted to what’s been happening. For being someone so close to me, she shouldn’t have done that, keeping her distance and stuff. But then she’s also skipping school and she never skips school, so…
I’m confused. What else is new?
I know you’re there, yeah.
I can sense it nearby, but it’s weird because I can’t get a make on where it’s standing. It feels like it’s everywhere around me. But it’s also not doing anything. It just wants to keep me here, in this room.
Like if I left the room I’d do something stupid.
I look up from my phone and shout, “Are you protecting me or some shit?”
I hear a creaking coming from the floorboards, kind of like how the floorboards creak when I shift my weight from one leg to the other. A low creak, and then there’s nothing.
I get a text from Brad. I don’t read it.
It’s probably just a bunch of “Bro, you got suspended?! That’s fucking wild! You the man!” kind of stuff.
I try the door, still not budging.
I sit on my bed, laptop open, and I start scrolling through blog posts and other stuff. Just wasting time.
Blaire texts me, “Halverson’s a douche.”
I text back, “Yup. Douching it up.”
Blaire replies, “You’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Talked to Becca. She’s on her way.”
I read that text again and again. Something about it…how it makes me picture everyone I know soaking in the drama that’s probably happening, and they’re all running around, exaggerating their concern, so that they also get some attention. That’s probably happening. And then I think of Nikki, picture her sitting at a table in the cafeteria, watching as Becca and Blaire make a scene. Everyone knows what’s going on.
And here I am, freezing and stuck in my room.
I get a call. When I look, it’s a number I don’t recognize.
Well then, ignore.
But the number keeps calling. I put my phone on silent. I go online and focus on something else.
This is all getting so overwhelming.
Becca messages me online, telling me that I’m not answering her texts.
“Yeah, getting overwhelmed by things.”
“Gotcha,” she types, “on my way. Father James is cutting us like a huge break. I think he’s going to be the one that sees you.”
“Great,” and then I add, “Yeah, that’s really great.”
Becca asks, “Still locked in?”
“Yup,” I type back. Then I add, “Might have to leave via the window.”
“That’s like so fucked up,” she says.
“It is, yeah. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“But we do know what’s going on though.”
I try to make sense of it, put it in words that would make sense to her: “No, I know, I mean… well, it’s just like everything people said about being haunted but it’s also very different.”
Becca doesn’t type anything.
“Let me try to explain.” But the explanation doesn’t come. I type out something that doesn’t make sense so I delete it. I’m at a loss. Then I ask, “Who’s driving you?”
Her reply: “Jon-Jon.”
I should have known. I mean, it’s not a bad thing, I guess.