Copyright © 2025 by Brittany Noelle
CASSIDY
I FOLLOW THE SOUNDTRACK of teenage jokes and pop music out the back door. The porch tilts under my feet, fairy lights casting a soft glow over the lawn. The grass offers a soft perch, and I dig my toes into the cool blades and soil. The strip volleyball game continues, Josh now the most naked, down to only his boxers and fake mustache in the frigid October air. It’s an unfair match, Viking-boy, Musketeer Tall Tom, and Punk Rock Chloe against Josh and Catgirl.
Catgirl sends the ball sailing—Chloe ducks, laughing—and I flinch even though it’s nowhere near me.
“Here!” Viking-boy shouts.
“I got it, I got it!” Tall Tom says over him.
“Look out!” Chloe covers her eyes.
Viking-boy and Tall Tom knock into each other, sending the ball out of bounds to bounce and roll over the grass to my feet.
Catgirl laughs, demanding another strip from Chloe’s team. Viking-boy and Tom argue, playful at first, but the Viking’s laugh lingers too long—something sharp beneath it. But finally, he throws his hands up and makes a show of removing one of his white socks, leaving him the most clothed of them all. Something he is very satisfied with.
Heat churns in my gut. I pick up of the volleyball and march over to Catgirl’s side to join their smaller team.
On the other side of the net, Chloe grins and cheers. “Yeahhh, you’re all in trouble now.”
“She’s not on our team,” Viking-boy mutters, his smirk gone and glance at me, annoyed.
I smile, unsure why. All I know is I need to make sure he loses. Reasoning isn’t coming to me, but neither is the voice. And the ball hovers in the air, knocks against the butt of my palm, and soars high.
For a few glorious minutes, we crush them. I move without thinking, laughing, high-fiving Chloe when we trade sides. Different costume bits fall to the grass, including my sailor hat, but everyone’s smiling, having a good time. For a moment, I almost belong.
Until Viking-boy stands on the other side of the net from me for the round, his fury outweighing his fun as he sneers at me.
Chloe pokes her boyfriend’s arm. “Oh my god, calm down, it’s just a game.”
He shrugs her off with a huff. “We’re losing.”
“You are,” I agree and laugh.
His brows come together in a dark bunch.
Catgirl calls her serve, and the ball goes up over my head, across the net, and Viking-boy leaps into the air.
And in that split second, as if my chin is being pulled on a string, my head turns back. To the shadowy space between Chloe’s house and the neighbor’s garage. Above the wooden fence. To a peeking pair of eyes and dark curled hair.
Kane. Watching our game with an unblinking stare.
All fluttery joy leaves me, and I stumble. Just as Viking-boy punches the ball hard, straight at my head. I follow my momentum to the ground, knees hitting cold dirt. The ball misses, but the hard ground boosts the ball back behind me. Square at Catgirl’s face. The impact rings and she screams.
Our carefree summertime moment screeches to a halt and cuts to black.
“Shit!” Josh shouts, steadying Catgirl. “Can you see?” He swivels around with a glare. “The fuck was that, Greg?”
Viking-boy is smiling again, shrug innocent. “Thought it was just a game.” He’s smug, fixing a smile on me.
Heart pounding, I search the dark fence, but Kane is gone. Was he ever even there? I swipe at my eyes to push my mental illness away.
Catgirl’s whimpers pull me back to the present.
Viking-boy rolls his eyes. “Christ, you’re fine.”
Neck hot, I glare. “I’ll get ice,” I volunteer. I need to get away from him.
The trek is wobbly. I make it back with little recollection of how. This disconnection from my body doesn’t feel that great anymore. Especially seeing the damage I’ve caused. Blood spills from Catgirl’s nose, mingling with her teary mascara, and my bones seize at the crimson sight. She and Josh sit in the porch’s corner, huffing and throwing glares at Viking-boy. Chloe snatches her boyfriend’s hand and drags him back inside.
Head low, Tall Tom messes with his phone, choosing new music, I think. How he plans to reignite the mood, I have no idea. My head aches and I fold my arms tight over my over-exposed body, trying to shrink again, to disappear, to rewind the last thirty minutes.
Inside on the couch, Rick murmurs, “What happened?” but doesn’t come to investigate.
Even if I didn’t hit the ball, it’s my fault. I pushed him. I soured the party that had barely started. Catgirl spits pink into the grass, the victim of my jealousy. Josh wipes at her cheek, checking her profile in the moonlight.
Chest tight, I dizzy even on steady feet. I was right. The crazy outcast should never get involved with normal people. There’s a reason Chloe is my only friend. And right now, the best thing I can do is vacate the party. Allow her to have fun. With the normal people who don’t see strange boys in the shadows, don’t hear voices in their head.
An icy chuckle stabs my ear. I jerk and stumble on tipsy legs. Tall Tom sends me a raised brow, but I hurry inside before I embarrass myself or cause more trouble.
Your little plan didn’t go so well? the voice teases. His chilly breath shivers down my back.
“How…” I whisper, shivering. Why aren’t the pills working?
I’m still here, little Cassidy, he says, and I swear I see a puff of breath out of the corner of my eye. I haven’t won my prize yet.
“Prize?”
He chuckles, from every wall, every bone inside my body. I scratch the soft spots behind my ears as if that will push him away.
Where’s your bestest best friend, hm?
Panic slices through me, heart to stomach. I rush into the kitchen but find no one. Just the bottles of alcohol I shouldn’t have sipped. Every movement feels too slow. Wrong. My voice isn’t working. I can’t call out. My knees buckle and I catch myself on the center counter just in time. This is bad. Meds and alcohol and panic. I should leave before I do something truly terrible, but Chloe. Where’s Chloe?
The Englishman laughs and laughs in icy circles around my head. Mocking. Too loud. I slide to the floor, press hands to my ears, but his wicked laughter still rings inside my skull.
And another laugh slips underneath. Low and rumbling. Close.
I open wet eyes and search. There’s no one in the kitchen with me, but down the hall I catch light spilling out from the laundry room. And I hear Chloe.
Dark voice still laughing in my head, I find my feet and hurry to find her. Make sure she’s safe.
Viking-boy’s voice comes from the laundry room, still amused and teasing. “You don’t need to wear that.”
“I would like to be dressed,” Chloe insists.
They stand close together in the small room, under the dim light. Chloe reaches for her clothes; he tugs them higher, teasing. “C’mon babe, let’s just get outta here.”
“It’s MY birthday, thanks.” She snatches at the jeans. “Greg… please, c’mon… I’m cold.”
My right ring finger cracks, and I shake off a rolled fist I don’t remember making.
“Ah, ah,” Viking-boy teases, wagging a finger. “Kiss first.”
Chloe seems so small. Shoulders up. Frown pulling at her eyes. He tucks a hand behind her neck, bringing her forward despite her resistance.
Both of my hands curl. An icy breath swirls past my ears.
Above the couple, the single light bulb sizzles and dies, then zaps back.
Viking-boy’s glassy eyes shift, then find me in the hall with a scowl. He releases Chloe, dropping her jeans. “What?” he huffs and rounds out of the laundry room to knock an arm into me. “Like to watch, freak?”
I dig my glare into his back until he’s out of sight.
We could hit him, the dark voice hums in my ear. Don’t you want to protect your friend?
Behind, Chloe dresses slowly, her slight frame shaking. She catches my eye, once, zips up, twice, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer an explanation. She hunches in on herself, nothing like the girl who slapped a stranger an hour ago.
Her lips stumble. “He’s just… I mean, we’re both… drinking makes people act… uh…”
She tries to joke. Tries to excuse it away. But gives up and leans back on the metal dryer, and I join her, leaning back on the washing machine. Quiet for a long time.
“Sometimes I wish…” Chloe whispers. Her chilly hand finds mine.
I squeeze it. But she falls silent again. “Wish?” I urge.
She looks at me, full on. Eyes no longer shining with excitement, but with glistening tears.
I grip both of her hands, chest tight. “What do you need?”
Chloe lets the tears fall. Her eyes search my face, and I try to show in my stare everything she shows me without even trying. Adventure. Strength. Hope.
Her chapped lips try at words. “Do you… Do you think we could ever…?”
“Ever what?” I could cry myself. The party has been a nightmare, contorting to fit into a puzzle I’m not a piece of. And she sees it, feels it, knows it. She doesn’t want this either. “I’ll tell them to leave. We can rewind the whole night.”
Confusion wrinkles between her brows. Indecision.
“I can call Russ,” I offer. “What do you want to do?”
“Beer pong!” Richelle glides into view, curling strands of her princess wig around both index fingers. “Chicks against dicks, c’mon!” With no tact, she grabs Chloe’s arm, and my friend becomes a rag doll, dragged back to the bubbly music, back to drowning emotions in alcohol.
“Chloe!” Viking-boy cheers. “Got the balls?”
A slash of heat warms my belly, twists it up. The alcohol, the abandonment. I don’t know which.
Chloe’s laugh is too smooth. “A pair more than you,” she teases. I can’t even look and wince as her voice joins their nonsensical din. Viking-boy howls to the full moon. Monster Mash blares from the speakers. Ping-pong balls scatter along the wood floors.
The heat in my gut increases. Alcohol revving an engine I’d never felt inside. My vision slides. My feet lead me forward, glare first.
When I see her, so close to Viking-boy, wrapped under his arm, like they sewed themselves together, I let myself feel it. Completely. The betrayal, the loss.
The utter darkness of defeat.
A frustrated, hot tear cuts down my cheek.
Viking-boy finds me across the room, lifts a cup, and nods a head. A toast. To his victory.
My only ugly urge is to cut them apart, make sure no cursed thread of their relationship remains. I want to throw every punch at his smug face, even if all my fingers break on impact. But the worst is seeing Chloe. Laughing. Drinking another cup. Drinking straight from a bottle. How can this be my friend? How can she allow this grotesque person to be her confidant? Her support?
How can she side with him instead of me?
Wintry wind shuffles my hair. Above the triangles of red cups lined up on the dining room table, the hanging lamp flickers off. Then zings back to life.
I like this side of you, Cassidy. The Englishman hums into the base of my skull. Cold trickles along the hairs of my spine. I could help you.
“Leave me alone.” I swipe a hand down my face and duck into the kitchen on stumbling, tipsy feet.
Don’t fight me.
“I’m not listening.”
I don’t believe you.
Hidden from the others on the other side of the fridge, I dig my palms into my eyes. “Please.” Flashes of dead black eyes fill the back of my eyelids. Tears form, trying to wash them away. “Stop, please.”
Let me throw a punch, then I might.
The beer pong game begins, cheers and chugs in time with the new summertime beat vibrating along the floorboards. Teen dream scene carrying on without me. My fingers go numb, so curled up and I force them straight, afraid of the heat growing in my gut.
“What are you doing to me?”
The Englishman scoffs, frigid breath shivering through my hair. Oh sure, blame all your problems on the voice in your head. Typical.
Another puff of winter twists through my hair, colder than before. Building in force. Until frost forms along the metal door of the machine. Consumes a magnetic smiling pizza slice and bottle opener in lacey white spiral. “How…” I can’t even complete the question, can’t approach the question. I stumble away from the physical evidence of the dark voice’s presence.
You don’t belong in their world. You pretend. You put on the costume of someone normal, someone shining.
Frost creeps across the counter, crackling as it bites into the outlet along the back wall. I jump back but follow the blue-lace trail into the hall, across the stairs and banister. Energy hums in my ears as ice slicks the floor like a skating rink. Its path ends at the basement door.
I can show you. The truth. Your truth. The darkness churning inside you.
Two frosty footprints form on the floor, cracking into the wood.
You just have to listen to the voice in your head.
And the basement door creaks open.