Spell Bound

Jess leaned her head against the window. She found the gentle, irregular patter of rain hitting the windowpane oddly comforting, as the sound sparked ghost-like fragments of memories long forgotten. Shadows of past feelings, always sweeter in retrospect.

Every so often, a gust of wind would increase the pace and force of the raindrop as well as chilling her back. Damien's parents had kept the original Victorian windows and though they were beautiful, they were not the most efficient at keeping out drafts.

They overcompensated for the loss of heat by turning the central heating up to full.

Dry heat from the radiator below blasted Jess's legs, warming her lower half. The contrasting body temperatures in her upper and lower body confused her nervous system, giving her the macabre sensation of being half dead, half alive.

She snapped to attention, looking up as Damien approached wearing a maniacal grin, his engraved blade glinting in the light of the moon.

"Geez, you don't have to look so happy about it," Jess teased him, rolling her eyes. "Just get it over and done with."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her head away and offered her upturned palm.

The cut was more painful than she'd expected.

She sucked in a sharp breath as the pain flashed up her arm, determined not to cry out as Kiaan had just been teased for doing.

"What now?" she asked, watching Damien swirl his pewter goblet. It was decorated with skulls, dragons, and symbols, and like most of the items in his room, looked like he'd bought it from some cheap eBay goth shop.

'This whole thing is ridiculous,' she thought, watching him paint a pentacle onto the wooden floor with a Harris 'no loss 3/4' paintbrush.

She looked over at Sammy. Seeing the desperation in his sallow face-pale skin and sad eyes-she reminded herself why they were here. All of them were desperate in one way or another.

Sensing the weight of her gaze, he looked up and offered her a weak smile. He was a sweet kid.

'Maybe if I'd stuck up for him, he wouldn't be here right now,' Jess thought, feeling guilt about her complacency. In her defence, she'd been busy far too with her own antagonists to worry about anyone else's.

"Right." Damien interrupted her thoughts. "We all need to say the name of our victim and throw one of their possessions into the centre."

"It feels weird calling them victims since we are the real victims," Sammy commented. He was correct, of course. None of their so-called victims were innocent.

"That's going to change. After this, they will be our victims. I promise you. This spell will work," Damien assured them, exuding confidence.

Jess didn't believe it, not really, but it was worth a try. At this point, anything was worth a try. At least now she would have an alliance; a support network of fellow sufferers. The worst thing about being singled out and bullied was how alone it made you feel.

"Alright," Caine said, standing up and wiping down his trousers. "I'll go first if that's okay?"

The rest of them exchanged glances and nodded. Caine was the new kid. Being as good looking as he was, he probably would have been welcomed into the 'popular' crowd had Ricky Jameson not made him enemy number one. Why Ricky had gone after Caine so viciously was anyone's guess. Maybe he was simply jealous of the 'pretty boy,' as he liked to call him.

"My victim is Ricky Jameson," Caine said, throwing a battered-looking Adidas wallet into the centre of the pentagram.

"You stole his wallet?" Jess asked, suppressing a giggle. "Very brave of you."

Caine smiled at her as he sat, indicating for her to go next. She felt her cheeks flushing and hoped nobody would notice.

The blush in her cheeks deepened as she stood, feeling all eyes on her. It was like being centre stage-a feeling she'd never appreciated much.

"Erm, my victim is Catriona Sykes." Jess bent to throw a brush into the centre. It still had puffs of Cat's blonde hair attached, which could only be a positive if what she understood about magic was accurate.

"Brush complete with hair." Damien smiled his approval. "Nicely done."

He stood, did a theatrical spin, and threw a sock into the mix. "My victim is Annabelle Ross."

Kiaan frowned, looking down at the dirty off-pink sock. "Where did you get one of her socks?"

"I followed her to the gym lifted it from her bag." Damien shrugged, as though stalking a girl and riffling through her dirty underwear was a perfectly acceptable thing to do.

Kiaan flashed a perturbed look in Damien's direction before shaking his head. "Okay then, my turn."

He stood, holding a hairbrush sprouting the odd strand of sandy brown hair. Catching Jess's eye, he told her he'd had the same idea.

"They're going to launch an investigation into the hairbrush thief," Sammy announced, holding up a detangling paddle hairbrush.

"Great minds really do think alike." Jess smiled. The three of them giggled before a sour look from Damien prompted them to return to the matter at hand.

"My victim is Grace Holloway," Kiaan uttered, placing the brush gently beside the other items.

"And my victim is Michael Strawbridge," Sammy added quietly, placing the last brush into the pile.

"Is that it?" Sammy asked, looking to Damien for answers.

"Stand in a circle, holding hands," Damien demanded. Jess wished she were standing closer to Caine but reluctantly took Kiaan and Damien's clammy hands when they reached out to her.

"Say these words three times," Damien ordered.

"Shadows lurking in the night,

I summon you,

come to us tonight.

Give us the revenge we seek,

Twist the strong and make them weak.

I call on you to make this spell magick,

so mote it be."

After the third iteration, Jess looked about the room and noticed the others doing the same.

Brows raised, Kiaan asked, "Is something supposed to happen?"

"Not now," Damien assured him. "But it will. Trust me."

"What are you going to do with this stuff now?" Jess asked, poking the pile of hairbrushes with her toe as Damien paced the room.

"Open a hair salon?" Caine suggested, causing the others to giggle. He had a humorous and kind-natured personality on top of being good looking. Why someone like Caine had fallen victim to bullying was a total mystery to Jess. The rest of the group were socially awkward oddballs, Sammy the most notably. Sammy hid quietly behind his waterfall of long hair, trying desperately to elude the attention of the bullies. It was safe to say this evasion tactic didn't work.

Damien-on the other hand-wasn't shy as such, just odd. His goth aesthetic earned him both positive and negative attention, and he was quite popular within his own clique.

Kiaan, one of the few Indian boys in her school, was bullied in the form of jealously disguised as racism. His family owned a chain of shops and a popular restaurant. They had a huge house and posh cars, a fact that didn't sit well with Grace, whose Mum had been fired from working in one of their shops. Grace was a monster. Even the political correctness fanatics couldn't quell her rampant fascism, as much as they tried to defend the poor lad.

"I guess I'll burn them?" Damien shrugged. "Bonfire?"

"Oh! Do you have any marshmallows?" Caine asked.

"I do actually," Damien replied, raising his eyebrows.

Moonlight filtered through tree branches, casting sprawling shadows that melted into the light from the bonfire. The smoky scent of burning wood mingled with the caramelising sugar from the toasted marshmallows, making Jess's stomach rumble.

As she turned her stick, trying to get an even coat of burn on all sides, she heard Sammy let out a sharp cry.

"Argh," he yelled, jumping back from the fire and pawing at his long, dangly hair.

"Be careful," Damien scolded-a redundant warning if she'd ever heard one.

The pleasant smoky aroma was replaced with the bitter odour of burnt hair. Sammy looked at his singed hair with sadness.

"Come to mine after," Caine offered, inspecting the boy's damaged hair. "I'll even it up for you with my Mum's hairdressing scissors."

"Erm, th-thank you," Sammy stammered, blushing deeply.

'Does he also have a thing for the new boy?' Jess wondered.

"Did you take the money out of the wallet?" Damien cried, ignoring his own warning and leaning over the fire so far he almost set his hair on fire. "There's a twenty in there!"

"I'm not a thief." Caine shrugged.

"Isn't it illegal to burn an image of the queen?" Kiaan asked face stretched in worry.

"That's the bit you have a problem with?" Sammy asked.

"We are using blood and stolen items to raise a demon that will torment our enemies, but burning the queen's face is where you draw the line?" Damien snickered.

Kiaan shrugged and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as the others teased him.

"Shit, my parents are home," Damien cried, stamping out the fire as a car pulled up. The others joined in, helping him extinguish the flames before following him into the house.

His parents stood by the front door, removing coats and shoes as they placed bags of shopping haphazardly, spilling boxes of cereal and punnets of oranges onto the floor.

"What's that smell," Mrs Cross asked, sniffing at the air like a bloodhound. "You've been burning that bloody incense again, haven't you?"

"Yes," Damien replied flatly, probably grateful to have an excuse offered up.

"Oh," Mr Cross said, eyes widening as he took in the group behind his son. They looked nothing like his usual group of friends.

"Study group," Damien explained to his confused but happy looking father.

"Great," Mr Cross said, smiling that 'parent' smile. They all had one.

"See you tomorrow, guys," Damien said with a wicked grin, showing the others out. "Tomorrow, everything will be different."

"Come on," Caine said, taking Sammy's hand.

Sammy looked down at the time on his phone, worrying that his parents would be expecting him home.

"It's late, I have to ring my Mum," Sammy explained.

After a couple of rings she answered, sounding like she was speaking from the bottom of the ocean. Despite telling her off numerous times, she never put the phone close enough to her mouth. Someone had told her about phones causing cancer and since then she was wary. Sammy figured one day he would return from school to see her holed up behind the couch in a makeshift fort and tin-foil hat. It was only a matter of time.

"Is it okay if I go over to a friend's house?" he asked her.

"A friend?" his Mum asked, sounding so deeply shocked it was borderline insulting.

"Of course, of course, darling," she gushed. "Stay out as late as you like."

He shrugged as he put the phone back in his pocket. "It's okay, but I don't want to put you out."

"You aren't putting me out. I offered."

Sammy couldn't help but feel he was a burden. He always felt like he was a burden to everyone, even his parents.

'Sometimes, I think they regret having me. Maybe we would all be better off if they hadn't...'

He followed Caine up the garden path and through the large wooden doors into his home. Being led through the large, pristinely decorated house, Sammy couldn't help but feel out of place. The art on the wall looked like something you might see in a gallery, and the surfaces and tabletops were sleek and clutter free. He thought of his own home, littered with his mother's dusty cat ornaments and felt his face flush with shame.

Grabbing the scissors from a kitchen drawer, Caine led Sammy up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. He was out of breath by the time they arrived.

"Right." Caine clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Sit here."

He pulled his computer chair away from the screen and into the centre of the floor.

"Sit," he repeated, louder this time.

"You're kinda bossy," Sammy mumbled as he took a seat.

"Chin up," Caine demanded, ignoring the bossy comment. With his thumb and forefinger, he lifted Sammy's chin and leaned in to inspect the damage.

"Just, don't cut too much off," Sammy pleaded, making big eyes at Caine. He'd been growing his hair for years. It was his ultimate defence mechanism, hiding his tears from the cruel faces that taunted him.

"You don't need to hide a face as beautiful as this," Caine said, gently pushing the last stray hairs from his cheeks.

Sammy felt his neck snap back so hard it cricked his spine.

'What the hell?'

He sensed his face was turning a ridiculous shade of red but was powerless to stop it.

'Did he just call me beautiful?'

Tears filled Sammy's eyes. He tried to hold his eyes open, knowing that to blink would mean releasing the pearls of liquid swelling up behind his eyes. He tried everything to keep it in, holding himself completely still, even holding his breath.

Inevitably the tears came.

"Oh come on now, it's just hair," Caine soothed, misunderstanding the cause of the tears.

Sammy looked at him through a panel of blurry tears, face defiant and smouldering.

"What's wrong?" Caine frowned.

Sammy didn't answer. Couldn't answer.

He turned to face away from the ridiculously handsome boy, unable to stand up for himself.

"Tell me," Caine asked. He knelt between Sammy's thighs and got right into his face; his crystal green eyes full of concern that looked so genuine. But Sammy knew better.

"Y-you shouldn't tease people. It... it's cruel," Sammy managed to stutter.

"I'm not teasing you," Caine assured him.

"Yeah, right. I get it okay. I'm ugly and pathetic. It must be so much fun to pick on me. I guess that's why everyone does," Sammy blurted.

Caine pulled away and stood. He walked over to the bed where he sat, head in hands.

"All I wanted to do was help, and you attack me like this. What did I do to deserve it?"

Sammy looked up, tears pausing for the moment. Was it possible Caine hadn't been teasing him just now?

'Is it even remotely conceivable that Caine finds me attractive?' Sammy asked himself. 'Surely not.'

"I-I'm sorry, I thought," Sammy stammered, tentatively making his way over to the bed. "I thought you were teasing me."

"Well, I'm not," Caine said without looking up.

"I'm really sorry. Caine-"

"I am teasing you now." The handsome boy looked up wearing a grin from ear to ear. "I'm not mad. I completely understand why you don't think anyone would find you attractive. Those jerks at your school have conditioned that mindset into you. But they are going to pay."

"Do you really believe in Damien's spell?" Sammy asked. He'd personally only gone along with the whole thing because Caine was a part of it. Plus, he also liked Jess. If he had the popularity to choose friends freely, he would pick her over the mean girls at school.

"One way or another, those jerks will pay," Caine said rather cryptically. "Now, let me cut your hair. I really do want to see that face."

For some reason, Sammy thought he might burst into tears again. He had to swallow it back, returning to the chair with his face hidden as usual.

"Please, please try to keep as much as possible," he begged.

Caine sighed. "Just trust me. You are going to look so much better after I've done. Do you trust me?"

'Do I?' Sammy wondered. 'I've only just met him.'

Sammy nodded reluctantly. He watched as stands of his long dark hair fell to the floor with a sick sense of dread.

"Can I take a look?" he asked as Caine pulled at his hair, measuring to get the sides even.

"No, not until I've finished," Caine said, eyes fixed in concentration as he worked.

The anxiety built up as Caine continued to snip, look, remeasure, and return to snipping away at his precious hair.

"Okay." Caine led him over to the full-length mirror.

It took a while for his eyes to register what they were seeing.

"I-I lo-I look a bit like you," Sammy said, leaning into the mirror and pulling at the hair. It was now cut into a longer version of Caine's style. How was it possible that he now looked similar to the unbelievably handsome boy sitting next to him?

'Am I good-looking too?' Sammy asked himself. He could hardly breathe.

"How is it possible that a haircut could make so much difference?" Sammy whispered.

"It isn't," Caine assured him. "It's the spell working. You're starting to see yourself as you really are, not how those bullies made you feel."

"You really believe that?" Sammy asked, still staring at his own reflection. He couldn't seem to pull his eyes away.

"I feel it," Caine said. "I have very strong feelings about things. I'm an empath, you see."

Sammy nodded. He'd come across the phrase before, probably via something his mother had posted on social media. He'd always figured it was a load of BS but would never say as much to his new and only friend.

"I think it would look even better if you let me dye it," Caine said with a giant grin.

"Oh, I don't know about that-" Sammy argued.

"Go on. I've always wanted platinum hair, but mine is just too dark. Yours is the perfect colour to bleach," Caine insisted. "Please? Please let me. Come on. Please?"

Caine kept on at him until Sammy felt he had no choice but to give in. He wasn't assertive enough to say no or shut him up and didn't want to resort to tears without his protective layer of hair.

"Okay, okay, just please don't make me look ridiculous," Sammy conceded.

The smell of the bleach hit him before the pain, filling his nose so entirely it stung the back of his throat. It was cold as it went on, but after a second it became tingly, then hot, then painful.

"Is it supposed to hurt?" Sammy asked.

"Oh yes, it's very painful. Did I forget to mention that?" Caine winced. "Sorry."

He tried to think about something else other than the pain. Anything else. It was useless. It felt like hot little needles poking at his scalp over and over without respite.

"Okay, I'm done," Caine announced.

Sammy breathed a huge sigh of relief. "You are? I can wash it off now?"

Caine carefully removed his plastic gloves and popped them into the bin along with the black plastic container and brush.

"Oh, no." Caine laughed. "You need to leave it on for forty minutes."

"Geez, what?" Sammy cried. He'd figured the pain would subside as he got accustomed to the feeling, but that wasn't the case. It felt like his scalp was melting right off his head. Like a thousand angry hornets were swarming about his head.

"Hmmm," he whimpered, looking at Caine with sad eyes.

Caine leaned in, placing his hands on the chair arms. His cat-like face pressed so close against Sammy's he felt like a mouse pinned by a predator's unblinking gaze.

"I'm sure there is something we could do to take your mind off it." Caine grinned.

'He doesn't mean sex? Surely to God!' Sammy felt panic rising from the depths of his stomach. He'd never even kissed anyone aside from his mother and he was fairly certain that didn't count.

"E-erm, could... could we watch a movie or something?" Sammy stuttered, barely able to choke up the words. Every time he took a breath, the smell of bleach would fill his nostrils and sting his eyes.

"Aww, you are so cute and innocent." Caine tutted. "I'm going to corrupt you. I've decided."

'Please don't,' Sammy thought but didn't dare say. He was afraid. Afraid of being liked by someone. Afraid of relationships that could easily break or go badly. Part of him thought it was all just a very elaborate trick. Some cruel prank dreamt up by his tormentors.

Yet, there was also the part of him that wanted it to be real. He looked at Caine, so self-assured and perfect in every way. Could this boy really be interested in him?

'I want to believe in you, so please don't break my heart.'

Mike tried to do his homework. He really did. But the urge to scroll through his social media was too strong. He smiled at the pictures of Bernie in mittens photoshopped in increasingly unlikely places and groaned at all the snow-day pictures.

"Yeah, it's snowing, get over it," he muttered to himself.

As he scrolled further, he saw one of his friends had commented on a picture of the new kid.

'Who is that guy?' Mike thought, leaning toward the screen and squinting at the white-haired boy.

"If you get any closer, you'll be in the picture with them," his brother scathed, observing him from across the room.

Mike made a scoffing sound and quickly scrolled away from the picture before his brother noticed it was a couple of guys.

"I heard about this new app today," his brother said, leaning over him. "It shows you how you die."

"Yeah, right." Mike tutted. "That sounds like the start of a bad horror movie."

His brother plonked himself onto the sofa beside him, making the pillows dip drastically, and pulled the laptop from his hands.

"Hey, I'm doing my homework!" Mike cried, hoping his mother would overhear and rescue him.

She didn't.

"Come on, just put your name and birthday in here," Chris prompted.

'I'm not going to get rid of him until I do it,' Mike realised. He input his name and birthday, details his brother should have known well enough to input for him.

"Okay, now watch," Chris said, getting up and tapping him on the back as he returned to his own screen. Mike figured it was one of those tricks where a scary face jumps out at you when you least expect it. He was determined not to fall for it.

He watched with steely resolve as the static on the screen dissipated, slowly becoming an off-grey image of a bedroom. A wardrobe spilling a red jumper, a door with a band poster and a green carpet that clashed with the flowery wallpaper.

As Mike squinted a figure entered through the door and closed it behind himself. He was hard to make out, the image being so fuzzy-a ghost in greyscale.

The figure stood for a moment before reaching for a baseball bat. He raised the bat, pulling it up out of the line of sight.

A second later the bat fell, making Mike jump despite his steadfast posture.

The screen cracked, dripping blood.

He watched as the bat fell over and over, filling the screen with red until it faded back to the static.

"So what was yours?" Chris asked.

"I'm going to get beaten to death with a baseball bat," Mike told him.

"Cool, mine was car crash," Chris said.

Mike made a non-committal sounding, "Meh." It did seem possible, after all. Chris was a terrible driver. He'd already been done for speeding twice and had to take a speed awareness course.

"All I have to do is never get in a car again-" Chris started.

"And what?" Mike frowned. "You'll never ever die?"

"Hmm, you have a point," Chris conceded. Mike wasn't exactly what his teachers would describe as a 'bright spark' but at least he had his brothers to make him feel a little less dumb.

Mike went to bed without finishing his homework, giving up on the entire situation when his oldest brother Stu got home and started wrestling with Chris. He wanted no part of it.

###

Mike was vaguely aware he was dreaming because he couldn't see properly. Everything was blurred like an old black and white television, and on top of that, his teeth kept falling out. That almost never happened when he was awake.

Also, he couldn't seem to raise his head and look up.

Staring down at his hands, planted flat on the green carpet, he saw a pair of feet appear, but couldn't see up past the legs.

A baseball bat hung by the left leg, tapping it in a gentle, threatening rhythm.

"No, no, don't," Mike muttered. He knew what was coming.

He heard the batsman take a sharp, rage-fuelled breath as he raised the bat.

Thud!

Mike pushed away sweat-soaked sheets and span in his bed. He turned on the light, feeling like a five-year-old but unable to quell the terror.

'It's just a stupid app,' he told himself over and over. In the dream, it had felt so real. The rage emanating from his attacker had imprinted on his mind. It was all he could think about.

Every time he tried to fall back to sleep, he would wake with a start.

'I might as well get up early,' he decided, looking at the clock.

He finally found the motivation to finish his homework, though it probably wasn't going to be up to Miss Day's insanely high standards. The English teacher was hot, but she was a 'hardass'. He'd rather have rickety old Mrs White and her borderline neglectful teaching skills.

When he finally got to school, he felt too tired he wished he could go back to bed. In retrospect, and in the cold light of day, the whole thing seemed utterly ludicrous-the last remnant of his childhood behaviours.

Looking about, everywhere was white as far as the eye could see.

A small layer of snow blanketed the tops of cars and rooftops but unfortunately wasn't deep enough for the school to close for the day. It was just beginning to form the horrid grey-brown sludge as the morning commuters drove through it. Luckily, there was still just enough remaining to make a few good snowballs.

He packed the snow tight in his freezing hand and threw one at his best friend Eddy, catching him square on the chin.

"Oh my days, man," Eddy squealed. He suddenly stopped and grabbed Mike by the coat. "Look at Sammy's new hair."

"What?" Grace joined in. "Who does he think he is?"

'He's the white-haired boy from the picture?' Mike gaped.

Sammy had gone from looking like a male version of the girl in the grudge to looking... well...

'He looks hot,' his inner voice chimed up. 'You are allowed to think it. Just don't ever say it.'

Feeling cheered up, he sauntered over to Sammy, who for once, wasn't alone. The new kid, the Asian kid, the goth, and some loser girl stood at his side. They formed a sort of protective guard as Mike approached. In unison and without words they moved to shield him, almost like spartan soldiers.

The new kid stepped forward and looked him dead in the eyes. Something about his intense, unwavering stare was almost scary.

"A word," he said, pulling Mike away from both groups.

He led Mike around the back of the science labs. The snow was untouched by footprints, except for a cat print and what could have been a pigeons.

"Being bisexual and generally rather queer all round, my gaydar is pretty en pointe, Mike," the new kid explained once they were out of earshot. "Now, I'm not saying that I'm going to out you, because that is a scummy move. However, it is also pretty scummy to bully a boy simply because you can't face up to your own feelings, comprende?"

"I-I'm not," Mike started to protest his innocence as if being gay was the worst crime you could commit.

'In my family it is.'

"Oh please, don't do that," the new kid scoffed. "I'm never wrong. Never."

The look in his eyes told Mike it was pointless to lie.

"Please," Mike muttered weakly.

"You owe somebody an apology, and it had best be a good one," the new kid warned.

Mike nodded. He tried to look the guy in the eyes and found he couldn't. He ended up looking at his feet instead.

'He doesn't look big or strong or scary, so why does he make me feel so afraid?'

It was hard to put his finger on. There was something different about this guy. The way he spoke, the way he walked, even the way he stood perfectly still. He was... odd.

'Stop obsessing over him, you freak' he told himself as he ambled back, looking down at the fresh track of footprints as he created them.

The others asked him about it on the way to English, keen to lap up any interesting gossip. Mike told them it was nothing and changed the subject, asking about the homework.

"Aww, damn it, I forgot." Eddy tutted and punched the wall in frustration. He was probably a little scared of Miss Day too.

Mike placed his sloppy homework on the top of the pile and took his seat, trying not to stare at either the new kid or Sammy, as hard as it was. Sammy looked so different.

'So hot,' his brain corrected.

"Okay." Miss Day interrupted his thoughts. "Can someone give me an example of a synonym?"

The class responded with a chorus of silence and quiet coughs.

"Racist and stupid?" Kiaan spoke up.

Miss Day surprised the class by laughing. It was probably the first time one of them had made her crack a smile.

"Nice one," she said. "I like this new look too. Contacts?"

Kiaan smiled shyly and nodded at her. He did look better without his glasses. You could see his eyes were an oddly bright shade of amber.

"Destroy, nullify, demolish, obliterate, eliminate, extirpate," the new guy interrupted, offering what Mike guessed was a correct answer to the question. He figured synonyms were words that meant the same thing.

The new guy turned to him and gave him a pointed look, as though his choice of words were a warning.

'Obliterate,' Mike thought. 'He's going to obliterate my life if I don't do what he wants.'