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Grace Chasity went off the rails. That was a familiar insult that roamed the halls of Hatchetfield High on a regular week, but in the weeks following the deaths of Ruth Fleming and the Mayor, reports of Grace running around the island with a gun re-sparked the rumor mills in ways that hadn’t been seen since Pete had a “sticky situation” during the MEAP test in middle school.
She can’t blame them for the poorly whispered rumors sweeping the student population. It was hard for them to ignore the changes that had happened since the murder spree; everyone had felt the shift in the atmosphere that far exceeded the somber mood of dead peers. The school had closed for the rest of the week to try and track down the killer, but after nearly a week with no deaths, the police gave up the hunt. It was Hatchetfield after all, things like this just happened.
The school hierarchy had crumbled to nothing after the discovery of Max’s body and Steph’s defection from the popular crowd to hang around Peter Spankoffski and Grace Chasity of all people. What the school hadn’t known was that Steph, now an orphan at eighteen, had moved into the Spankoffski residence, leaving the Mayor’s mansion to the mercy of her father’s army of attorneys desperate for a cut of the commission. Not wanting to deal with the leftovers of her father’s financial dealings, she instead packed up the things in her room, grabbed a single family photo of her and her parents at a political event, and then drove in her father’s expensive SUV to Pete’s brother’s. Gary Goldstein, the executor of her father’s will, had let her know any inheritance she got from his investments would be placed in an account, the information to access those funds still unread in an email he had sent her after their conversation at the funeral. Grace had helped Steph organize her belongings in the makeshift basement bedroom that now belonged to her, and joined the pair for weekly movie nights.
Grace had stopped her campaign to ban the homecoming dance. There wasn’t much hatred she could have for promiscuous sinners if she had committed the same carnal acts she was preemptively damning her classmates for. Most shocking for the population of Hatchetfield, Grace Chasity had given up on spreading the word of Jesus. After the APB went out that she had pulled a cop’s gun on that same cop, it was hard to continue preaching about others’ misgivings. In one horrible day, Grace had become her biggest rival, and she could no longer practice the things she had preached without being aware of her hypocrisy. In some ways, a rebellious move like that had raised her status in school, but for the most part, people were ready to start the rumors that Grace was going off the deep end and losing her faith. And if she was honest with herself, Grace knew they weren’t rumors at all.
On a regular week, Grace Chasity could brush off all of the gossip. It was easy when she knew god was on her side and would reward her for her dedication to him and those who bully her would rot in hell, but after the things she has gone through, the things she’s seen, she wasn’t even sure if god existed. How could he, when things like the Lords in Black exist and can touch the world in ways her god couldn’t? She tried to read scripture while school was closed and the island went into lockdown, but the more she read and reread her favorite passages, the more the Bible felt like silly stories. The Black Book felt infinitely more sacred and terrible, hidden away in her closet. It almost called to her as she fought to sleep, its presence lingering at the edge of her thoughts, urging her to open it and learn more about what she saw that terrible night. The day before coming back to school, Grace Chasity burned the Black Book alongside her most well-worn and annotated Bible, hoping that destroying two texts would cancel each other out in some cosmic way. Knowing that the abominable tome was nothing but ash buried in her backyard was freeing, but she couldn’t help the feeling that she was still being watched. The back of her neck prickled constantly, as if she was being hunted, leaving her rattled and paranoid. But no matter how many times she searches, Grace never finds anything watching her.
As Grace walked through the halls, her textbooks held tight against her chest, she couldn’t ignore the dread seeping into her body. It has been over a month now, but the memories of those things, those Lords, have stayed as fresh as when it happened. The hairs on the back of her neck tingle again, as strong as when the Lords were watching her banish Max to the Black and White, whatever that was. Her thoughts kept returning to the eldritch horrors she and Steph and Pete had called in the gym, and the death that had preceded that, and Max’s chopped-up body rotting away, and the football field—
No! She berated silently, shaking her head as she turned down the hall and headed to her locker. Her nightmares are already full of the memory of Max Jagerman taking what she cherished most. The friction burn on her thighs had faded, and so did the bruises from his ghostly hands gripping her body, but she could still feel them vividly in the throws of her nightmares, which had prevented her from sleeping through the night for weeks. She would wake up screaming in a cold sweat, and she found no comfort in the prayers that her parents would say over her bed. Even if she could feel peace in their words, the guilt of keeping her real troubles a secret would keep her awake for hours, the phrases Honor thy Father and Mother and dirty girl running through her mind on a loop. Long story short, Grace hadn’t slept much since she gave up her chastity. If she focused too hard on… that night, she could still feel the ghost of his touch, cold and half there like his form was made of mist, blending into the fog that rolled across the fifty-yard line. A full-body shudder ran through her as she stopped at her locker to grab her biology textbook.
Grace was so concentrated on neatly putting away her things and fastening her locker closed, on not thinking about what she had done with him , that the sudden feeling of a hand on her shoulder combined with a call of “Hey, Chasity!” sent her jumping in the air, whirling around with her textbook raised in self-defense. Her body was already in a heightened state, shoulders raised practically to her ears as she prepared to fend off whoever was looking to bully her or worse. Standing in front of her, wide-eyed with her hands raised in surrender, is Stephanie Lauter. This was no one to fear, this was her friend, but that thought didn’t allow Grace to relax her stance.
“Oh, hi Steph!” Grace plastered on a smile, her heart still racing in her chest. “Gosh, you startled me.” She forced herself to lower the textbook, but her white knuckle grip remained as she tried to steady her breathing.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have just grabbed you like that.” Steph apologized, stepping back a bit now that she had the girl’s attention. Grace felt her shoulders relax slightly, not realizing how trapped she had felt between the metal of her locker and her friend until there was an option to move away. “I had been asking if you wanted to walk to Miss Mulberry’s room with me but you weren’t listening. Pete is already on his way there, so…” she let the sentence trail off, hoping that Grace would respond.
And Grace wanted to respond. She did, but as she went to answer, a flash of bright purple moved behind Steph and the words died in her throat, replaced by bile and dread. Oohhhh, heck, heck no. It was a Lord in Black, it had to be! That garish, repulsive color, the purple one who talked to her, who was watching her . And if that one was here, then the others couldn’t be too far behind. They must be angry with her for burning their book. They must want to seek revenge, and if they want to make her pay, then surely they’ll send—
“Grace… okay? You…saw a ghost!” Steph’s attempt to lighten the mood filtered between her racing thoughts, dousing her in a cold wash of fear. Her textbook slammed to the ground, the hard cover hitting the tile with a bang. Grace fled down the hall, pushing past Steph as blood roared in her ears. If she called after her, Grace couldn’t hear over the invading memories of demonic giggling.
The bathroom door slammed shut, echoing in the small space. Grace, in her growing panic, did think to check the stalls before blocking the door with the trash can. She paced back and forth, alternating between digging her nails into her arms and shaking out her hands. There was something crawling under her skin, buzzing with an energy that she couldn’t get rid of. She tried to slow her breathing, but the more she focused on her breaths the harder it was to breathe. A whimper escaped her lips as she bent at the waist, wrapping her arms around herself. She can feel him , his hands gripping her hips, a damp, cold weight on her chest and no, no more, someone make it stop, why is it still happening, he’s still coming after her, he’s still touching her, he’s not letting go, please just let go, stop please stop —
Grace felt the cold tile of the bathroom floor on her hands as she sunk to the floor, a sob ripping from her throat. The floor was cold and damp and it made everything worse , offering her no comfort from the barrage of memories threatening to burst from her skull. Her hands recoiled, instead gripping fistfuls of hair.
“N-no, no, n-no.” The word stuttered out in a loop between ragged gasps as Grace flinched from the memory of Max Jagerman’s touch, from the vision of rotten flesh pressing into her own. Bile rose in her throat again, and she barely registered her crawling into a stall to empty her stomach in the toilet, wheezing for breaths between retches that convulsed her body as the memory of hands gripping her sides, her legs, her thighs made her skin crawl. These touches refused to yield even after she had expelled everything from her stomach, and Grace felt her arms tremble as she half dragged herself out of the stall to curl against the plastic divider. She coiled as tightly as she could, her hands returning to clamp onto her head to try and drown out the thoughts.
The bathroom blurred in and out of Grace’s vision, the dim lighting morphing the dark blue tile into the astroturf of the Nighthawks field. The slivers of sunlight from the dirty window transformed into the moonlight peeking through the slats of the bleachers, and the hum of the a/c shifted into heavy breathing and cries that haunted her nightmares. The worst night of her life flickered back to life in front of her, and she closed her eyes to block out the sight with hands pressed tightly over her ears to block out the sounds of crying that just wouldn’t stop .
Grace couldn’t be sure how long she was trapped in her own personal hell. She only registered a change in her surroundings when her hands were yanked out of her hair. Grace couldn’t contain the choked scream that wrestled from her throat; she began to struggle against the force holding her arms to her side. Blood roared in her ears as she kicked out, backing herself against the wall, but she knew it was useless. Max was back, she had failed, she burned the book and maybe that broke the deal. She had lost the thing she cherished most for nothing because Max was coming back for more. He would never stop torturing her, he would never stop touching her—
Hands, warm hands cupped her cheeks. Grace recoiled at the touch, startled into opening her eyes. There, crouched in front of her, was Stephanie Lauter. Eyes wide in concern, her lips moving, forming words that Grace couldn’t hear over the sound of her own heartbeat. Her own hands gripped onto Steph’s forearms, trying to anchor the warm touch to her face. If she can feel Steph’s hands, then maybe the memory of Max’s would go away. Steph was nodding, her lips still moving as she shuffled closer. Grace still couldn’t make out what she was saying; her heart was beating too fast and someone was crying who’s crying they need to stop!
She kept her eyes trained on Steph, who began taking in exaggerated breaths, her shoulders lifting with the effort. Grace, understanding what she was trying to do from her own experience calming the children she babysat, tried to match her breaths. The first few times, she could feel her breath catch, she couldn’t get enough air in as it rushed back out of her frantically. Steph must have seen the fear in her eyes, nodding again with a smile as one hand moved from her cheek to her forearm, guiding one of her own hands to rest against Stephanie’s chest. She could feel the girl’s frantic heartbeat against her fingertips, matching her own, but the steady rise and fall of her breathing outweighed all her other senses. Slowly, Grace’s breathing began to even out, the roaring fading enough in her ears to understand the sounds of crying were not from her memories but from her own lips, hiccuping whimpers all she had left in her system as the adrenaline faded. She could also hear what Steph had been saying now that her hearing was returning, the gentle reassurances of “good, good job” “that’s it, you’ve got it” and “I’m here, just you and me Grace, it’s okay” overtaking the lingering chill with a blossom of warmth in her chest.
“You back with me?” Steph's voice dripped with concern, one hand still on Grace’s cheek with the other holding her wrist to her chest. Grace nodded, releasing the vice grip she had on her friend’s forearm and instead resting it in her lap.
“S-” her voice cracked, and Grace winced at the sound and the ache in her throat, both hoarse and acidic. Steph, after a moment’s hesitation, released her hold on the other girl to grab the water bottle tucked into the pocket of Grace’s discarded backpack, the heavy bag laying on its side in the middle of the floor. Grace looked at her gratefully as she took the bottle and drank, nearly draining the thing as she soothed her throat. “Sorry.” she managed to speak, the metal bottle clinking against the tile hollowly as she set it down.
Steph’s brow knit in confusion. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” She settles in front of Grace, as comfortably as she can while on the bathroom floor. “If anything I should apologize to you, I set off your panic attack or whatever.”
Guilt overcomes them both, Steph for thinking she caused this for Grace, and Grace for making Steph feel that way. How can she explain to Steph that it couldn’t be her fault that she panicked? All she did was try to talk to her in the hallway, like every other normal pair of high school friends. It wasn’t Steph’s fault that she was haunted. She isn’t making Max appear in her dreams, or causing the memories of the Lords in Black to linger in the corners of her mind at all hours of the day. They both sit in silence, grappling with what to say to each other.
“‘s not your fault.” Grace sniffled, looking down at her fingers twisting together as she tried to piece together her thoughts. “Today’s just… not good.” She can feel Steph’s gaze locked on her, but she refuses to make eye contact as she continues. “Ever since…. You know, I haven’t been sleeping well. Or at all. I keep having these… horrible nightmares, about everything.” Steph jumps in before she can continue.
“You were shouting Max’s name, that’s how I found you.” Grace can hear the sounds of Steph shuffling closer, sitting next to her against the wall. She feels Steph's hand hover over her shoulder, before resting it, warm and real, against the soft fabric of her shirt. Tears well in her eyes at his name, exhaustion numbing the now familiar feeling of dread that courses through her body. The tears slip down her cheeks as Steph speaks again. “Grace, I’m so sorry.”
“I just wanted everything to stop.” Her words are spoken between hitches in her breath. “People kept dying and getting hurt and they said it was the only way I could make it stop. I couldn’t let you do that to Pete and it was the only way to get everything to stop.” Steph pulls her into her side as Grace finally admits “I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to do that but I had to make him stop!”
“I’m so sorry Grace, I’m so sorry.” Steph repeated over and over, rocking the two of them slightly as she began to cry along with Grace’s fresh set of tears. Words were pouring out of Grace now, repeating her need for Max to stop and her admission of the loss of her chastity. They sat together on the bathroom floor, slowly stopping the soothing back and forth motion as their crying slowed. After their tears dried, Steph dug around in her own bag, pulling out makeup wipes to clean her face, mascara now smudged and trailing down her cheeks. She then grabbed a second wipe and offered it to Grace, who stared at her blankly. Steph hesitated, before reaching out and gently running the wipe over her face, her other hand resting gently on her chin to keep her in place. Grace closed her eyes, enjoying the cooling feeling on her face, the faint smell of cucumbers lingering even after Steph had pulled away. When Grace opened her eyes again, Steph was watching her, the wipes discarded on the floor.
Wordlessly, Steph lowered her head to Grace’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist to anchor the two of them together. Grace rested her head on top of Steph’s, The heaviness of their combined heads resting on her shoulder helping to further ground her back in the moment. The heavy hum of the quiet in the bathroom was occasionally broken by a sniffle or shuffle as the two teens grew uncomfortable sitting on the tile floor. Eventually, Grace pulled away from Steph, her body aching from the faded adrenaline as she struggled to her feet. Steph watched her, her face vulnerable with emotion that Grace could not place as she offered her hand to the other girl, an invitation. She took it, offering Grace a small smile as she got to her feet as well.
Grace busied herself grabbing her water bottle and bag scattered across the school bathroom. “I think we’ll be late for class.” Steph had grabbed her own bag, slinging it onto one shoulder as Grace ducked into a stall and flushed the toilet without looking at the contents.
“I don’t think we should go to class at all.” Steph had a serious expression on her face that killed any retort Grace could have come up with. “I drove this morning. Let’s go to Lakeside Park, get some fresh air or something. Pete has been doing that with me, it’s kinda helped with all this.”
Grace did not have to ask to elaborate on what Steph was talking about. She nodded, the consequences of ditching school far from her mind as Steph took her hand and led her out of the bathroom, down the hall, and out of Hatchetfield High, away from the prying eyes and whispers of their peers.