---Tales of Ostlea Writing Competition---
Entry One:
';' Leeches ';'
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Criteria: Short Story
Topic: Fantasy
Word Count: 3,781
Character Count: 204,128
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Started and finished on 7/28/17.
Saturday night: the best time next to Friday night. Clara was hosting another weekend jam, meaning a party every night, from Friday to Sunday. She had some ceaseless energy; I'm not sure where she gets it from. Lara, Shelbey, and Brittany were gun-ho for the party, ready to celebrate the school-free weekend; and if I'm honest with you, I was just dragged along.
I didn't object. Everyone told me I was too shy, that I needed to “open up” more. Brittany's idea of this was a bit more... personal than I would like, and Clara was a complete party animal, but Lara was my perfect buffer. She was the one who handed me the invitation. “Bring your bikini”, she said. Hah hah, like I have one of those kicking around.
Regardless, I dug around in my plethora of dresses for some kind of swimsuit, and viola! - a one-piece from three years ago. Uh... yeah, no thanks. I'm not squeezing into that for a party.
So the next thing I dug up was my phone, finding the device hiding in my comforter and dialing Lara's number.
Please no voice message this time, I thought, please please please please-
“Oh hi Tayla! What's up?” Lara's cheerful voice came through. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“It's you!” I laughed, “I was so worried it was going to go to voicemail!”
“Well, yeah I picked up,” she shared the humor, “I need to get you to this party! You really need to get out more.”
“Yeah, everyone says that,” I rolled my eyes even though she couldn't see them. “So um, I don't have a swimsuit, sooo can I sit out the swimming?” I asked. I was hopeful she would say yes, since I had a fear of deep water rooted into my childhood, but my heart sunk when she responded:
“Uh, Clara says 'no'. No sitting out this time. I mean, really, the last Weekend Jam you went to you just sat in the corner and ate meatballs.”
“What's wrong with that?” I interrupted a bit indignantly.
“It's sad, Tayla!” she said, “I mean, c'mon, a girl sitting in the corner with meatballs? All night? At a party? You gotta do better than that.”
“I don't have anything else to do...” I used my default excuse for not going to parties in the first place, but Lara just snorted.
“Look, I have a set you can borrow, 'kay? It has that weird flourish-y stuff you like on it.”
“The paisley one from high school?” I frowned, running my fingers uncertainly through my hair. “Uh...”
“It's fine! Look, I'll get it out right now and wash it for you, 'kay? Then you can wear it to the party!” she assured me. I was just feeling more anxious though.
“It's not the bikini set, is it?” I asked.
“Wha-? Yeah, it's the bikini set. What kind of question is that?”
“You know I don't like bikinis.”
Lara barked out a laugh. “Oh please, it's not like you'll get hit on or anything! Clara's got your back! We're here for you.”
I just hummed uncertainly; I really didn't want to swim at all. In fact, I really just wanted to sit in some corner and pig out on hors d'oeuvres again. No one bothered me the first time, but I was still part of the excitement; it counted, right?
...What do people even do at parties, anyway?
“Look, I have my brother's trunks to wash for when he's done studying, and then I gotta find my lotion. I'll call you back later, 'kay?” Lara paused, expecting a response. “...Hello?”
“Oh. Yeah... sure,” I said, apathetic.
“Okay. And get some enthusiasm in ya, girl! You're gonna bum out Clara!”
“Sorry.”
She hung up on me. Now I just felt guilty about not being eager about the party; at the same time, I felt forced into it. I wished I could be happy about it so we could all have fun, but I wished also Lara never gave me the invitation, so I never felt obliged to go, so I could sit at home and watch Cupcake Wars while I worked on my knotwork.
Ah, well... as my philosophy teacher said, you can't have everything; although that just made life seem more depressing.
It was 7 o' clock. I decided to procrastinate on getting ready for the party even though it was due in an hour, walking across my apartment and tossing my phone on the futon. After pulling the curtains shut on the sliding doors so it was dark, I sat down, turned on my PS3, and searched for... yup, Cupcake Wars, on Netflix.
I really shouldn't have, but I did. I was halfway through my second episode, wondering why the one contestant paired watermelon with coconut, when my phone suddenly buzzed. I didn't even look down at it, simply picking it up and swiping the screen.
It was Lara. Her text message read: “HEY! The party's started! Where are you?! ):” I stared blankly at it for a moment, before checking the time.
8:03?! I jumped off my feet immediately. My brain flew into a full-on panic: I'm late I'm late I'm late I'm late-!
I wasn't ready at all! I ran to my closet, pulled out the first dress I saw, threw it on, ran out, realized the television was still on, frantically turned it off while also juggling the boots I was also going to put on, then stumbled into the bathroom.
Some advice: don't check your appearance when you can't even see straight. The first thing I saw were some flyaway hairs, so I sprayed down my hazel locks with water, blotted it off, and called it good. I didn't put on any makeup or jewelry, thinking I didn't have the time.
I didn't check for anything else. Just made sure everything was off, grabbed my keys, and bolted out the door, almost forgetting to lock it behind me.
Now, I lived on the fifth floor of a larger complex, in a block specifically built cheap for college students. I could have went faster I had I chosen to run down the stairs, but instead I habitually ran into the elevator, smacking the 1st floor button with a ferocity it didn't deserve. I was panting, and probably looked like a mess, but all I could think about was how late I was!
The numbers above the door ticked down. I forced myself to relax. I'm fine. We're fine. I'll just text her and say I'm running late.
With that thought, I reached for my pocket, then remembered I was wearing a dress: a pink, plaid dress. Could I have picked anything more appropriate...? Then when I looked down, I realized with horror that my hands only clutched a ring with two keys and a blue penguin charm.
MY PHONE! I thought, as I searched for pockets, but of course there weren't any. I forgot my phone! I need to go back! I looked hopelessly at the elevator controls, but I CAN'T go back! It'll be too slow! I need...
I slowed in searching myself... then stopped... and I looked up.
I could feel a pair of eyes on me.
I turned to my right, and saw a brown-haired boy, about my age. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, but not exactly quality ones, with the shirt being inside-out and the pants torn up to shreds, prompting him to wear something black underneath. He was holding a wooden box with tooled leather, shaped like a book. What struck me most though was the way he was looking at me... like I was some kind of alien.
I returned the perplexed look. He didn't move. I didn't move.
“Um...” I tried to smile and be friendly, but my heart was pounding with anxiety. I wrung my hands, trying to shake it out. I couldn't form any words though: I was tongue-tied.
The boy just kept staring. I decided to not say anything, and looked back at the door, trying to ignore him; still though, I felt scrutinized, and it was quickly escalating my anxiety into utter discomfort.
We rode the rest of the elevator ride in awkward silence. As soon as we landed on the first floor, I gratefully walked out, wanting to run but also trying to be courteous to everyone else. I could still feel that boy staring at me...
What a creep.
I arrived at the party nearly an hour late. Clara gave me an earful about it, trying to guilt me about how she believed I ditched her, but in the end she just hugged me and said how grateful she was that I actually showed up. Lara admitted that she thought something happened, especially when I didn't respond to her text; “Shelbey's usually the late one!” she had commented. The mentioned girl and her friend Brittany weren't concerned as much, more excited about convincing me to do stupid things for the rest of the night; Brittany especially commented on what a mess I looked, with frizzy hair and a worn-out dress.
They ought to be more prepared for disappointment.
Aside from being dressed like a 50's schoolgirl, I wasn't very engaging. Brittany tried to get me to drink; I refused to drink anything other than orange juice. Clara wanted me to play Twister, but I argued I wasn't flexible enough. Shelbey and Lara both tried to get me into the pool; I wouldn't have any of that either, especially not with other people in it. There were bright lights and colors and really loud music, but yet again I was in a corner, this time munching on a bag of old pea crisps Clara found in the pantry and mourning my hard-wired, party-pooper personality. I just didn't like taking risks, and all of this was new and risky to me; why would I want any of it? Yet my desires conflicted in wanting to be accepted... I knew I was just distancing myself from my college friends by not playing along.
Lara understood my need for some space – a complete 180 from Brittany, who was trying to play matchmaker on top of it all – yet still she would come over to me and try convincing me to stop moping. I didn't want to though; I dreaded every moment she looked at me, because I knew I was just making everyone upset.
After a while, I couldn't take myself anymore, and decided to take a more detached breather from all of the commotion. Clara's parents had a lovely house with a spacious garden, placed away from the recreational areas, so I decided a short stroll through it wouldn't hurt. It would clear my mind and distance myself from all of those light shows and boisterous laughter.
As I began walking across the grass though, admiring the hibiscus that had been so meticulously-pruned and watered, I heard someone walking up to me. I turned to greet the person, but saw no one behind me.
My train of thought hit a brick wall. Ummm... maybe I'm just hearing things, I told myself. I resumed walking, now wishing more than ever that I hadn't forgotten my phone.
More shuffling. I narrowed my eyes, listening intently. Yes... that was definitely someone moving.
I whirled around, expecting a face, but spotted only a shadow stepping into the tall hibiscus. I bristled, heart pounding.
“Who are you?!” I demanded, feeling threatened. I waited for an answer...
nothing.
I became afraid, glancing behind me to ensure I could run away. Is someone STALKING me? What should I do?! Should I run? Scream? Go back? My hand flew up to my mouth at the thought of being caught, no! Don't go back! It can just run out and-! Okay, okay, calm down! It's probably just some guy, from the party. Yeah. Just some guy!
“I'm not interested!” I called out, desperate to believe my own theory. There was still no response, and I didn't see the figure; I was thoroughly unnerved by now, becoming hysterical.
“Why won't you answer? Who are you? What do you want from me?!” I cried. I was ready to scream just in case, but with the booming music at the house... there was no way anyone could hear me, right? Right?! I was screwed, right?!
“Stop feeding it!” a male voice barked. I jumped out of my skin, my heart skipping a beat.
“What?!”
“Stop it!” the voice said again; it was definitely coming in the direction the creeper was in. I had no idea what this lunatic was trying to tell me! “Stop feeding it”? What was that supposed to mean?!
“Go away!” I said. The response was unexpected:
“Hold still!”
I took that as an order to run.
I spun on my heels and bolted into the garden, my feet pounding hard on the turf. “WAIT!” the man cried, but I was already long gone. He can't catch me! I wouldn't let him! I-
I cried out as I felt something sharp sink into my right ankle, making me fall forward into the grass. I clawed wildly at the blades, in a full-blown panic. This isn't happening, this isn't happening!
“Screeeee!” an alien scream behind me. My panicked breaths came out in a surprised gasp.
W-What the-?!
There was a hiss, and a tail whipped down in front of my face, thumping the grass. I felt the thing let go, and I willingly scrambled forward to distance myself from it, avoiding the twitching tail. I heard something strike the thing, making it hiss again, then there was a grunt as someone fell to the ground. I finally rolled over to scramble backwards, looking at the spectacle I found myself in:
The creeper boy from before, and an.... eel?! With a crocodile head?! The thing had gnarly claws, snapping its jaws at him and swiping the air in front of his face. He had a long horse whip held out in front of him, but the barbed tassels just seemed to make the beast more angry. He parried with it uncertainly with the whip, keeping it at bay, grimacing at the way it thrashed and tried to drive him off.
I couldn't tell what the heck I was looking at. Was I dreaming? Brittany must have made me drunk or something!
The beast snapped at him, curling its sinuous tail up like ribbon. The boy took a chance, striking it across the muzzle with his whip, making it emit a horrible shriek. I clapped my hands to my ears, already too slow as they rang from the noise. The eel-croc smacked the boy down and bit his arm, only to recoil suddenly in disgust; a strange reaction for it? It had a temper though, and wouldn't give up, rearing up like a cobra, holding its clawed arms out in preparation for a downward strike.
I was petrified in terror; the boy was on his own.
Then he began screaming out: “Kittens! Puppies! Ice cream cones! Jelly beans! Plushies!”
My terror was overwhelmed by bewilderment. What the heck is he doing?! I managed to think, my eyes still glued on the beast. It seemed confused as well, lingering, poised in midair.
“Video games! Late-night weekends!” the boy continued, “parties! Cheetos! Sleeping in until noon! Beaches! Vacation!”
The beast grew agitated, closing its jaw and gurgling in discontent, shaking its head. I could only watch numbly as he went on:
“Seashells! Balmy! Surfing! Cookies! Playdoh! Mac and cheese!”
The beast shook its head harder, clutching its own head and hissing louder and louder, starting to shriek.
“Podcasts! Coffee! Jewelry!”
“Screeeee!” It began shrinking!
“Cupcakes! Tiny lizards! Rainbows! Water slides!”
“Screeeeeeeeee!” It shrunk faster and faster.
“Road trips! Burgers! FLOWERS! NICE GIRLS!!”
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE....!” the creature's scream of defiance died into a soft whine as it went from the length of the biggest anaconda you've ever seen, to a toy dog you carry around in your purse.... then it stopped shrinking.
I was completely dumbstruck by it all. The boy still had a hand out in front of the beast, as if protecting himself from it, but as this point it was no thicker than a garden snake, and snapping just as futilely. We were both breathing hard, staring at that tiny eel-croc, before the boy sprung back into action, feeling frantically around in the grass and finding his book box he held before. He threw open the latch and the cover, and pulled out a decent-sized pickle jar with holes punched in the lid. He then ruthlessly grabbed the serpentine creature and stuffed in it, only gasping once when it managed to bite him.
“Bloody...!” he started, just to sigh, swallowing the rest of his insult. He stared at it for a while as it tried to claw its way out, still squeaking angrily, before looking up at me in surprise. “You uh... you okay?”
I barely had enough reasoning in my brain to nod at him, still unable to comprehend what just happened. “D-Did you just shrink that... thing?” I asked.
He nodded, just as speechless as I was, before growing a bit more eager. “Y-Yeah. Uh, yeah,” he chuckled, “they don't like things that taste bad.”
“Uh... what?” I said.
“You know, that they don't like to eat,” he said factually, placing the caught beast back into the box. I blinked rapidly, still not fully understanding.
“You mean, they don't like sugar...? Or amusement parks?”
“No no, nice things. They don't like nice things,” he corrected me, latching the box again. He then looked up in embarrassment. “Oh! Uh, I'm Alex,” he introduced, coming forward and offering his hand, but I didn't take it, still staring numbly at him. “I'm a hunter. Of magical creatures, I mean. The emotion ones,” he explained awkwardly.
“I don't...? Magical things?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“That thing is real?”
“Yeah?”
There was a long pause as my ultimate confusion became clear to him.
“Okay, see, there are some creatures that feed on emotion. We can't see them normally, but there are devices that help you see them. T-They've actually been scientifically proven to exist,” he tried to convince me. I stood up, shaking my head.
“How is that possible? Magic doesn't exist!”
“Don't be like that!” he snapped immediately, and I shrank back, making him flustered. “I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-!... It's just, no one else believes, you know? So they don't realize how much these things are affecting them.”
I studied him, still distrustful – especially since our first meeting was an awkward elevator ride – but the defeated look on his face was genuine. Because of it, I decided to brave this crazy unknown:
“What... things are affecting us?”
“Well...” he became a bit more enthusiastic about answering my question, “see, what you had was a Leech: it's a specific type of lindwyrm that feeds on emotion. You know, a dragon. This one is a black one, see-?” He was about to open the box, but I slapped a hand to the latch, shaking my head.
“N-No! I don't want to see it!” I stammered. He was taken aback for a second, but simply nodded.
“Yeah, it takes some uh... getting used to.” He then went on: “black Leeches feed on paranoia and fear, and because they love it so much they tend to cause stress to get more of it.” He straightened up, finally taking hold of his mousy composure, “as big as yours was, it must have been on you for at least a couple of years.”
“A couple...?” I echoed, my thoughts immediately going back to all of the anxiety I had about the party. It then reminded me of the fear I had of deep water; was it possible that my five-year-old self attracted this thing with that pool mishap?
“Could this thing-?” I began, but he cut me off:
“The Leech.”
“Uh... yeah, the Leech,” I corrected awkwardly, “so, does it get that big after twelve, maybe thirteen years?”
“Um...” He looked a bit surprised at the question. “Well, I'm not sure... it was definitely bigger than a ten-year old one, but that's on a healthy individual. It really depends on how much you feed it.”
“With depression?”
“Yeah. Fear and stuff,” he confirmed. I bit my lip and looked at the box; was this thing giving me anxiety this entire time?
“Oh, speaking of size,” the boy suddenly said, backing up as if to leave, “this guy was pretty well-fed, so uh... I have to go. To deposit him. He'll break out of the jar if I'm not quick-”
“WAIT!” I burst out. He stopped, that bewildered, “I'm certain you're an alien” face returning to him. “C-Can I come?”
His jaw slowly dropped. “Uh...”
“Just to watch!” I promised hastily, “because that thing was stuck to me, you know? I want to see what happens to it.”
A couple of seconds passed where I was certain he would turn down the offer, but I hoped he wouldn't. I was probably drunk or something, because none of this made any sense, but seeing an entire eel-croc attack another person... I might as well ride it out and see what happens, right?
He eventually nodded, looking around to make sure no one else was witnessing this awkward moment. “Yeah... okay, sure, you can come.”
Yay! I thought gleefully, a smile appearing on my face. I ran over to him, already warmed up to his mousy demeanor. “Where are we going?” I asked eagerly.
“Someplace secret,” he said vaguely.
“Uh, should I be worried...?” I faltered.
“No, there are other people there. It's fine.”
“Oh, okay,” I decided to trust him. “So how do you deposit an eel-croc?”
“Leech.”
“Leech. Yeah, that thing?”
“It's complicated.”
“How so?”
He sighed. “You sure ask a lot of questions...”
“Well, that thingy is off me now, right? So I should be better?” I said, referring to the emotion-sapping he explained.
“It doesn't keep you from feeling the things it eats, it just enhances those feelings,” he said.
“So I'm not fearless now?” I said in disappointment.
“No.”
“...Aw.”
I didn't object. Everyone told me I was too shy, that I needed to “open up” more. Brittany's idea of this was a bit more... personal than I would like, and Clara was a complete party animal, but Lara was my perfect buffer. She was the one who handed me the invitation. “Bring your bikini”, she said. Hah hah, like I have one of those kicking around.
Regardless, I dug around in my plethora of dresses for some kind of swimsuit, and viola! - a one-piece from three years ago. Uh... yeah, no thanks. I'm not squeezing into that for a party.
So the next thing I dug up was my phone, finding the device hiding in my comforter and dialing Lara's number.
Please no voice message this time, I thought, please please please please-
“Oh hi Tayla! What's up?” Lara's cheerful voice came through. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“It's you!” I laughed, “I was so worried it was going to go to voicemail!”
“Well, yeah I picked up,” she shared the humor, “I need to get you to this party! You really need to get out more.”
“Yeah, everyone says that,” I rolled my eyes even though she couldn't see them. “So um, I don't have a swimsuit, sooo can I sit out the swimming?” I asked. I was hopeful she would say yes, since I had a fear of deep water rooted into my childhood, but my heart sunk when she responded:
“Uh, Clara says 'no'. No sitting out this time. I mean, really, the last Weekend Jam you went to you just sat in the corner and ate meatballs.”
“What's wrong with that?” I interrupted a bit indignantly.
“It's sad, Tayla!” she said, “I mean, c'mon, a girl sitting in the corner with meatballs? All night? At a party? You gotta do better than that.”
“I don't have anything else to do...” I used my default excuse for not going to parties in the first place, but Lara just snorted.
“Look, I have a set you can borrow, 'kay? It has that weird flourish-y stuff you like on it.”
“The paisley one from high school?” I frowned, running my fingers uncertainly through my hair. “Uh...”
“It's fine! Look, I'll get it out right now and wash it for you, 'kay? Then you can wear it to the party!” she assured me. I was just feeling more anxious though.
“It's not the bikini set, is it?” I asked.
“Wha-? Yeah, it's the bikini set. What kind of question is that?”
“You know I don't like bikinis.”
Lara barked out a laugh. “Oh please, it's not like you'll get hit on or anything! Clara's got your back! We're here for you.”
I just hummed uncertainly; I really didn't want to swim at all. In fact, I really just wanted to sit in some corner and pig out on hors d'oeuvres again. No one bothered me the first time, but I was still part of the excitement; it counted, right?
...What do people even do at parties, anyway?
“Look, I have my brother's trunks to wash for when he's done studying, and then I gotta find my lotion. I'll call you back later, 'kay?” Lara paused, expecting a response. “...Hello?”
“Oh. Yeah... sure,” I said, apathetic.
“Okay. And get some enthusiasm in ya, girl! You're gonna bum out Clara!”
“Sorry.”
She hung up on me. Now I just felt guilty about not being eager about the party; at the same time, I felt forced into it. I wished I could be happy about it so we could all have fun, but I wished also Lara never gave me the invitation, so I never felt obliged to go, so I could sit at home and watch Cupcake Wars while I worked on my knotwork.
Ah, well... as my philosophy teacher said, you can't have everything; although that just made life seem more depressing.
It was 7 o' clock. I decided to procrastinate on getting ready for the party even though it was due in an hour, walking across my apartment and tossing my phone on the futon. After pulling the curtains shut on the sliding doors so it was dark, I sat down, turned on my PS3, and searched for... yup, Cupcake Wars, on Netflix.
I really shouldn't have, but I did. I was halfway through my second episode, wondering why the one contestant paired watermelon with coconut, when my phone suddenly buzzed. I didn't even look down at it, simply picking it up and swiping the screen.
It was Lara. Her text message read: “HEY! The party's started! Where are you?! ):” I stared blankly at it for a moment, before checking the time.
8:03?! I jumped off my feet immediately. My brain flew into a full-on panic: I'm late I'm late I'm late I'm late-!
I wasn't ready at all! I ran to my closet, pulled out the first dress I saw, threw it on, ran out, realized the television was still on, frantically turned it off while also juggling the boots I was also going to put on, then stumbled into the bathroom.
Some advice: don't check your appearance when you can't even see straight. The first thing I saw were some flyaway hairs, so I sprayed down my hazel locks with water, blotted it off, and called it good. I didn't put on any makeup or jewelry, thinking I didn't have the time.
I didn't check for anything else. Just made sure everything was off, grabbed my keys, and bolted out the door, almost forgetting to lock it behind me.
Now, I lived on the fifth floor of a larger complex, in a block specifically built cheap for college students. I could have went faster I had I chosen to run down the stairs, but instead I habitually ran into the elevator, smacking the 1st floor button with a ferocity it didn't deserve. I was panting, and probably looked like a mess, but all I could think about was how late I was!
The numbers above the door ticked down. I forced myself to relax. I'm fine. We're fine. I'll just text her and say I'm running late.
With that thought, I reached for my pocket, then remembered I was wearing a dress: a pink, plaid dress. Could I have picked anything more appropriate...? Then when I looked down, I realized with horror that my hands only clutched a ring with two keys and a blue penguin charm.
MY PHONE! I thought, as I searched for pockets, but of course there weren't any. I forgot my phone! I need to go back! I looked hopelessly at the elevator controls, but I CAN'T go back! It'll be too slow! I need...
I slowed in searching myself... then stopped... and I looked up.
I could feel a pair of eyes on me.
I turned to my right, and saw a brown-haired boy, about my age. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, but not exactly quality ones, with the shirt being inside-out and the pants torn up to shreds, prompting him to wear something black underneath. He was holding a wooden box with tooled leather, shaped like a book. What struck me most though was the way he was looking at me... like I was some kind of alien.
I returned the perplexed look. He didn't move. I didn't move.
“Um...” I tried to smile and be friendly, but my heart was pounding with anxiety. I wrung my hands, trying to shake it out. I couldn't form any words though: I was tongue-tied.
The boy just kept staring. I decided to not say anything, and looked back at the door, trying to ignore him; still though, I felt scrutinized, and it was quickly escalating my anxiety into utter discomfort.
We rode the rest of the elevator ride in awkward silence. As soon as we landed on the first floor, I gratefully walked out, wanting to run but also trying to be courteous to everyone else. I could still feel that boy staring at me...
What a creep.
I arrived at the party nearly an hour late. Clara gave me an earful about it, trying to guilt me about how she believed I ditched her, but in the end she just hugged me and said how grateful she was that I actually showed up. Lara admitted that she thought something happened, especially when I didn't respond to her text; “Shelbey's usually the late one!” she had commented. The mentioned girl and her friend Brittany weren't concerned as much, more excited about convincing me to do stupid things for the rest of the night; Brittany especially commented on what a mess I looked, with frizzy hair and a worn-out dress.
They ought to be more prepared for disappointment.
Aside from being dressed like a 50's schoolgirl, I wasn't very engaging. Brittany tried to get me to drink; I refused to drink anything other than orange juice. Clara wanted me to play Twister, but I argued I wasn't flexible enough. Shelbey and Lara both tried to get me into the pool; I wouldn't have any of that either, especially not with other people in it. There were bright lights and colors and really loud music, but yet again I was in a corner, this time munching on a bag of old pea crisps Clara found in the pantry and mourning my hard-wired, party-pooper personality. I just didn't like taking risks, and all of this was new and risky to me; why would I want any of it? Yet my desires conflicted in wanting to be accepted... I knew I was just distancing myself from my college friends by not playing along.
Lara understood my need for some space – a complete 180 from Brittany, who was trying to play matchmaker on top of it all – yet still she would come over to me and try convincing me to stop moping. I didn't want to though; I dreaded every moment she looked at me, because I knew I was just making everyone upset.
After a while, I couldn't take myself anymore, and decided to take a more detached breather from all of the commotion. Clara's parents had a lovely house with a spacious garden, placed away from the recreational areas, so I decided a short stroll through it wouldn't hurt. It would clear my mind and distance myself from all of those light shows and boisterous laughter.
As I began walking across the grass though, admiring the hibiscus that had been so meticulously-pruned and watered, I heard someone walking up to me. I turned to greet the person, but saw no one behind me.
My train of thought hit a brick wall. Ummm... maybe I'm just hearing things, I told myself. I resumed walking, now wishing more than ever that I hadn't forgotten my phone.
More shuffling. I narrowed my eyes, listening intently. Yes... that was definitely someone moving.
I whirled around, expecting a face, but spotted only a shadow stepping into the tall hibiscus. I bristled, heart pounding.
“Who are you?!” I demanded, feeling threatened. I waited for an answer...
nothing.
I became afraid, glancing behind me to ensure I could run away. Is someone STALKING me? What should I do?! Should I run? Scream? Go back? My hand flew up to my mouth at the thought of being caught, no! Don't go back! It can just run out and-! Okay, okay, calm down! It's probably just some guy, from the party. Yeah. Just some guy!
“I'm not interested!” I called out, desperate to believe my own theory. There was still no response, and I didn't see the figure; I was thoroughly unnerved by now, becoming hysterical.
“Why won't you answer? Who are you? What do you want from me?!” I cried. I was ready to scream just in case, but with the booming music at the house... there was no way anyone could hear me, right? Right?! I was screwed, right?!
“Stop feeding it!” a male voice barked. I jumped out of my skin, my heart skipping a beat.
“What?!”
“Stop it!” the voice said again; it was definitely coming in the direction the creeper was in. I had no idea what this lunatic was trying to tell me! “Stop feeding it”? What was that supposed to mean?!
“Go away!” I said. The response was unexpected:
“Hold still!”
I took that as an order to run.
I spun on my heels and bolted into the garden, my feet pounding hard on the turf. “WAIT!” the man cried, but I was already long gone. He can't catch me! I wouldn't let him! I-
I cried out as I felt something sharp sink into my right ankle, making me fall forward into the grass. I clawed wildly at the blades, in a full-blown panic. This isn't happening, this isn't happening!
“Screeeee!” an alien scream behind me. My panicked breaths came out in a surprised gasp.
W-What the-?!
There was a hiss, and a tail whipped down in front of my face, thumping the grass. I felt the thing let go, and I willingly scrambled forward to distance myself from it, avoiding the twitching tail. I heard something strike the thing, making it hiss again, then there was a grunt as someone fell to the ground. I finally rolled over to scramble backwards, looking at the spectacle I found myself in:
The creeper boy from before, and an.... eel?! With a crocodile head?! The thing had gnarly claws, snapping its jaws at him and swiping the air in front of his face. He had a long horse whip held out in front of him, but the barbed tassels just seemed to make the beast more angry. He parried with it uncertainly with the whip, keeping it at bay, grimacing at the way it thrashed and tried to drive him off.
I couldn't tell what the heck I was looking at. Was I dreaming? Brittany must have made me drunk or something!
The beast snapped at him, curling its sinuous tail up like ribbon. The boy took a chance, striking it across the muzzle with his whip, making it emit a horrible shriek. I clapped my hands to my ears, already too slow as they rang from the noise. The eel-croc smacked the boy down and bit his arm, only to recoil suddenly in disgust; a strange reaction for it? It had a temper though, and wouldn't give up, rearing up like a cobra, holding its clawed arms out in preparation for a downward strike.
I was petrified in terror; the boy was on his own.
Then he began screaming out: “Kittens! Puppies! Ice cream cones! Jelly beans! Plushies!”
My terror was overwhelmed by bewilderment. What the heck is he doing?! I managed to think, my eyes still glued on the beast. It seemed confused as well, lingering, poised in midair.
“Video games! Late-night weekends!” the boy continued, “parties! Cheetos! Sleeping in until noon! Beaches! Vacation!”
The beast grew agitated, closing its jaw and gurgling in discontent, shaking its head. I could only watch numbly as he went on:
“Seashells! Balmy! Surfing! Cookies! Playdoh! Mac and cheese!”
The beast shook its head harder, clutching its own head and hissing louder and louder, starting to shriek.
“Podcasts! Coffee! Jewelry!”
“Screeeee!” It began shrinking!
“Cupcakes! Tiny lizards! Rainbows! Water slides!”
“Screeeeeeeeee!” It shrunk faster and faster.
“Road trips! Burgers! FLOWERS! NICE GIRLS!!”
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE....!” the creature's scream of defiance died into a soft whine as it went from the length of the biggest anaconda you've ever seen, to a toy dog you carry around in your purse.... then it stopped shrinking.
I was completely dumbstruck by it all. The boy still had a hand out in front of the beast, as if protecting himself from it, but as this point it was no thicker than a garden snake, and snapping just as futilely. We were both breathing hard, staring at that tiny eel-croc, before the boy sprung back into action, feeling frantically around in the grass and finding his book box he held before. He threw open the latch and the cover, and pulled out a decent-sized pickle jar with holes punched in the lid. He then ruthlessly grabbed the serpentine creature and stuffed in it, only gasping once when it managed to bite him.
“Bloody...!” he started, just to sigh, swallowing the rest of his insult. He stared at it for a while as it tried to claw its way out, still squeaking angrily, before looking up at me in surprise. “You uh... you okay?”
I barely had enough reasoning in my brain to nod at him, still unable to comprehend what just happened. “D-Did you just shrink that... thing?” I asked.
He nodded, just as speechless as I was, before growing a bit more eager. “Y-Yeah. Uh, yeah,” he chuckled, “they don't like things that taste bad.”
“Uh... what?” I said.
“You know, that they don't like to eat,” he said factually, placing the caught beast back into the box. I blinked rapidly, still not fully understanding.
“You mean, they don't like sugar...? Or amusement parks?”
“No no, nice things. They don't like nice things,” he corrected me, latching the box again. He then looked up in embarrassment. “Oh! Uh, I'm Alex,” he introduced, coming forward and offering his hand, but I didn't take it, still staring numbly at him. “I'm a hunter. Of magical creatures, I mean. The emotion ones,” he explained awkwardly.
“I don't...? Magical things?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“That thing is real?”
“Yeah?”
There was a long pause as my ultimate confusion became clear to him.
“Okay, see, there are some creatures that feed on emotion. We can't see them normally, but there are devices that help you see them. T-They've actually been scientifically proven to exist,” he tried to convince me. I stood up, shaking my head.
“How is that possible? Magic doesn't exist!”
“Don't be like that!” he snapped immediately, and I shrank back, making him flustered. “I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-!... It's just, no one else believes, you know? So they don't realize how much these things are affecting them.”
I studied him, still distrustful – especially since our first meeting was an awkward elevator ride – but the defeated look on his face was genuine. Because of it, I decided to brave this crazy unknown:
“What... things are affecting us?”
“Well...” he became a bit more enthusiastic about answering my question, “see, what you had was a Leech: it's a specific type of lindwyrm that feeds on emotion. You know, a dragon. This one is a black one, see-?” He was about to open the box, but I slapped a hand to the latch, shaking my head.
“N-No! I don't want to see it!” I stammered. He was taken aback for a second, but simply nodded.
“Yeah, it takes some uh... getting used to.” He then went on: “black Leeches feed on paranoia and fear, and because they love it so much they tend to cause stress to get more of it.” He straightened up, finally taking hold of his mousy composure, “as big as yours was, it must have been on you for at least a couple of years.”
“A couple...?” I echoed, my thoughts immediately going back to all of the anxiety I had about the party. It then reminded me of the fear I had of deep water; was it possible that my five-year-old self attracted this thing with that pool mishap?
“Could this thing-?” I began, but he cut me off:
“The Leech.”
“Uh... yeah, the Leech,” I corrected awkwardly, “so, does it get that big after twelve, maybe thirteen years?”
“Um...” He looked a bit surprised at the question. “Well, I'm not sure... it was definitely bigger than a ten-year old one, but that's on a healthy individual. It really depends on how much you feed it.”
“With depression?”
“Yeah. Fear and stuff,” he confirmed. I bit my lip and looked at the box; was this thing giving me anxiety this entire time?
“Oh, speaking of size,” the boy suddenly said, backing up as if to leave, “this guy was pretty well-fed, so uh... I have to go. To deposit him. He'll break out of the jar if I'm not quick-”
“WAIT!” I burst out. He stopped, that bewildered, “I'm certain you're an alien” face returning to him. “C-Can I come?”
His jaw slowly dropped. “Uh...”
“Just to watch!” I promised hastily, “because that thing was stuck to me, you know? I want to see what happens to it.”
A couple of seconds passed where I was certain he would turn down the offer, but I hoped he wouldn't. I was probably drunk or something, because none of this made any sense, but seeing an entire eel-croc attack another person... I might as well ride it out and see what happens, right?
He eventually nodded, looking around to make sure no one else was witnessing this awkward moment. “Yeah... okay, sure, you can come.”
Yay! I thought gleefully, a smile appearing on my face. I ran over to him, already warmed up to his mousy demeanor. “Where are we going?” I asked eagerly.
“Someplace secret,” he said vaguely.
“Uh, should I be worried...?” I faltered.
“No, there are other people there. It's fine.”
“Oh, okay,” I decided to trust him. “So how do you deposit an eel-croc?”
“Leech.”
“Leech. Yeah, that thing?”
“It's complicated.”
“How so?”
He sighed. “You sure ask a lot of questions...”
“Well, that thingy is off me now, right? So I should be better?” I said, referring to the emotion-sapping he explained.
“It doesn't keep you from feeling the things it eats, it just enhances those feelings,” he said.
“So I'm not fearless now?” I said in disappointment.
“No.”
“...Aw.”
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