Link to article: Seasonal Emergence.
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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:halloween]] [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[=]] ,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],, [[/=]] I step out into the cool autumn air. It carries the scent of dead leaves. Their smell is alluring. I have the urge to reach down and snack on them. I have to fight it. For one thing, I don’t have time. I need to make distance from the Way I just came through. For another, I can’t eat leaves in broad daylight. There are a million eyes around me, and I’m counting on the fact that, on this one day out of the whole year, I can walk among them without seeming too strange. I’ve done everything I can to make myself look less remarkable. I wear a long, black hooded robe which was once part of a grim reaper costume, chosen because it hides as much of my body as possible. It hides my gossamer wings, my segmented body, my large, inhuman abdomen, my midlimbs, and my legs, whose knees bend the wrong way. My antennae protrude through two holes in the top of my hood, but I can claim they come from a headband, so long as I’m careful not to move them. My hands are visible, but they can be dismissed as gloves. My face is the strangest part of me that’s uncovered. I won’t get away with pretending it’s a mask, but I’ve done some research, and everything about my face could be achieved with make-up and prosthetics, so long as I keep my lower mandibles closed, which I have to do anyway if I want to talk like a human. Having emerged from a Way in a hidden corner of an alley, I skitter onto the sidewalk nearby, trying to project the confidence of someone who belongs where he is. As I move, I swivel my head left and right, tracking the reactions of those near me. Some people are staring, but no one is running and screaming like someone outside the veil would if they realized what I really am. One of them even says, “Cool costume,” to me. “Thanks,” I say. My voice is strange, clicky and nasal, but not beyond what a skilled human voice actor might be able to achieve. I maintain course for my destination. It’s a large Unitarian Universalist church, six blocks south-east of where I emerged. A Halloween party is going to be hosted there. When I was little, my mom used to take me there every year, because our main church was too conservative to do anything for Halloween. I’ve not gotten to go there in years. I’ve barely left my house’s basement since the incident that made me the way I am. It was a hell of a task to get my mom to let me visit the Wanderer’s Library today, and I certainly couldn’t have ever gotten her to let me out in public where veiled people could see me. That’s why I snuck away. We no longer live in our old hometown. The Hand helped us establish new identities once it became clear the Jailors would be after us. However, I found a Way in the library that led me here, and as soon as it dawned on me that I was within walking distance of the Halloween party I always used to go to, I resolved to go there again. I arrive at the church just as the Halloween sun is fading. It’s well-decorated for this event. Its front is lined with jack-o-lanterns, running the spectrum from silly to scary. One has large, round features. Another has a harsh angular face, and its front is covered in random knifemarks which give the impression that it has been mauled by something. A few have complex shapes, including impressions of both a witch and a cat. I enter through the front door. This is the first time I’ve been inside a church since the incident. Should I be afraid? I’m not. I’m just excited. I’m going to a party. For the first time in years, I’m going outside and spending time with normal, human people. Not members of the Hand, or strange Library patrons, just normal, human people, who won’t think I’m anything more extraordinary than a human in a costume. There’s a woman in a witch costume, standing just inside. “Welcome,” she says, affecting a witchy voice. “Thank you,” I say. Her face lights up. She thinks I just outdid her with my monster voice. “The party is down that hall and through the double doors,” she says. “Just follow the hands.” Large, skeletal hands have been pinned on the wall, and which lead the way to the main room where the party is being held. I follow them. I pass a few people on my walk down there, but no one pays me any mind. No one stares. No one gawks. No one screams. I turn a corner and enter the large room where the main party is being held. It has a wooden floor, whose markings indicate that it used to be a basketball court. In its center, long tables have been set up, and covered with snacks—mostly bowls of candy, but there’s also a large bowl of bright pink punch, two smaller bowls of pumpkin seeds, and a large tray of brownies. The entire thing is speckled with spiders and skulls. All around the room, there are people in costumes. Some of them are complicated. One person wears a navy-blue bedsheet draped over them like a sheet ghost, but the sheet is covered in googly eyes and drawn-on mouths. Another man wears a hocky mask and overalls and carries a mock chainsaw. He’s conversing with a knight, and someone wearing a large cloud-shaped headpiece from which thin strings hang like rain. Elsewhere, a woman is dressed in green, textured to give the impression of a vine. She carries a baby dressed as a pumpkin. I can smell those pumpkin seeds from across the room. God, they’re good. I head over to one of the food tables, stick my hand in one of the bowls, and grab a small handful of them. I have to be careful about how I go about eating them. I can’t let someone see my four-mandibled mouth at work. However, by holding my hand over my mouth just so, I can cover it while I eat. I practiced this in the mirror at home. No one should be able to see through it. The seeds are amazing. Greasy and salty in just the right way, but still hard, plantish, in a way I rarely get to indulge in. My mom doesn’t like to let me eat things a human wouldn’t, so most of what I eat is too soft and sweet. This, though, it’s even better than those leaves would have been. “Cool costume!” says a teen around my age, standing across from the table. “Thanks,” I say. He’s dressed in ordinary clothing, including a white shirt. However, the front of the shirt is dominated by an enormous bloodstain. He picks up a brownie from the table, and, as he does, he removes a set of fake vampire teeth from his mouth and puts them in a plastic case, which he stows in his pocket. “How did you even do that?” he asks. “Like, is that even a mask?” “Make-up,” I say. “That’s freaking amazing,” he says. “Your costume’s good too,” I say. “Dude, there’s no comparison. I just dripped fake blood onto a white shirt.” I decide not to challenge that. I mean, my costume is pretty impressive. “Say, do I know you?” I ask. There’s something familiar about him I can’t put my finger on. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m Allen.” He holds out his hand over the table. I grip it with my own chitinous hand. “I do know you,” I say. I used to hang out with this kid whenever I came here. We even met up for playdates a few other times, though my mom was resistant to our friendship, preferring I spend time with ‘better influences’ from the catholic school she sent me to. “It’s me, Ryan.” “Holy shit!” he says. “Long time no see, man.” “Yeah.” “Awesome to see you back. Where have you been the last few years?” “Studying abroad,” I say. “Where?” “Oh, places. It’s not that interesting.” “Well, glad you’re back,” he says. He looks down at our grasping hands. “Is that make-up too?” “No,” I say. “Just gloves.” “They feel so real.” “Thanks,” I keep my smile. I don’t think anyone has ever admired my current body. Once it’s no longer on him, my hand finds its way back over to the bowl of pumpkin seeds. I fill a small foam bowl with more of them, then look around for somewhere to sit. This place used to be a basketball court, so there are bleachers lining one side of it. I head over to them, and sit on the edge of the lowest one, not too close to anyone else. Allen fills a small paper plate with a few more brownies and a handful of M&Ms, gets a glass of the punch on the end of the table, then follows me. “You’re gonna enter the costume contest, right?” he asks. “Yeah, totally,” I say. I’d forgotten that there was one, but yeah, of course I’m going to enter. “Where do I do that, by the way?” “Over there,” he says, “that table.” “Gochya. Better do that before I forget. Watch my food.” “Sure thing.” I leave my bowl of seeds behind to walk over to the sign-up sheet. A couple dozen other people have signed up. There are two columns. I write my name in one, though I use a fake last name for security’s sake. The other column is for the name of my costume. Should I give it a fancy name? If someone had voluntarily adopted this costume, would they have? Maybe. I didn’t think of one, though, and I don’t want to stand here for a long time while I figure one out. I was enjoying talking to Allen. “Bug in Robe,” I write. I turn around, and scan the room, looking at some of the other costumes. Honestly, nothing else seems to be close to me. Am I cheating? Maybe. I don’t care. It’s about time I got something out of what happened to me. I walk back over to Allen. “I’m, not keeping you from other friends, or anything, am I?” I ask Allen. “No, not at all,” Allen says. “I’ve not seen you in years. I want to catch up. Oh! I should give you my number, though, so we can keep in touch.” “Sure thing,” I say. I don’t have a phone to put the number in. The Serpent’s Hand people say cell phones are easy to track, so my mom won’t let me have one. It’s not as much of a problem as you’d think. It’s not like I ever leave the basement where the computer is. Allen writes his number on a slip of paper and gives it to me. There are no pockets on my robe. I tell him there are, on the inside, so I have an excuse to pull my arm in, at which point I grab the paper with one of my small midlimbs. Without a phone of my own, I don’t know what I’ll do with his number, but I’ll find something. “So, you say you’ve been studying abroad all these years,” he says, “how did that come about?” “I got accepted into a thing,” I say. “The details are really boring, I promise. It’s honestly not been that great. I’m not enough of a bookworm to make the most of it.” “I hear you,” he says. “What about you?” I say. “What have you been doing since I last saw you?” “Nothing’s changed on my front,” he says. “Just been going through things like I always have been. Went from middle school to high school. Y’know.” “Yeah,” I say, though I don’t, in fact, know what it’s like to be in high school. While we’re talking, and older man walks onto a raised platform to the right of the room. “Alright,” he says, “may I have your attention, please?” We stop talking. We both know what he’s going to say, but I haven’t gotten to hear it for a few years, and I want to listen. “The Walk of Fear will open in five minutes,” he says. “I repeat, the Walk of Fear will open in five minutes.” There’s a bit of clapping around the room. I join in. My chitinous hands sound less like a human clap and more like wood knocking against wood. I take my last handful of pumpkin seeds and quickly devour them. “I miss the walk of fear,” I say. “Have they changed anything?” The Walk of Fear is sort of like a haunted house. They take one hallway in the church and decorate all the rooms along it, each with their own theme. Every room has at least one costumed performer. Of course, those people don’t want to sit in those rooms all night, so the hallway is only fully operative for a portion of the night, just long enough for everyone to go through it. “The fundamentals are the same,” he says. “I won’t tell you anything else. Don’t wanna spoil it for you.” I smile. “You don’t have to do the voice, by the way,” Allen says. “What?” “The monster voice you’re doing. It sounds cool, don’t get me wrong, but I have to imagine it’s uncomfortable to keep it up.” “Oh, no,” I say. “It’s not. It would actually be harder to slip in and out of it.” “Oh,” he says. We line up by the entrance to the Walk of Fear. I get more compliments about my costume on the way. One old woman is especially kind, telling me it’s the best she’s ever seen. “Thanks,” I say to the group, lined up behind me. “Oooh, nice voice,” one of them says. “Thanks,” I say, again. After a few minutes, the Walk of Fear opens. The door opens to a hallway. The hallway itself is sparsely decorated, but what decorations have been placed around the first door hint at the room’s theme. It’s a science lab. Upon entering, we see a countertop lined with organs in jars. At the center of the room, there’s a stainless-steel table, on which a dummy is laying. A curly-haired woman in a lab coat and goggles stands over it, holding surgical tools. We have just a few moments to drink in the decorations as a few more of the guests wander into the room. Suddenly, the body on the table begins to convulse. I let out a stringy screech that doesn’t belong in a human mouth. Luckily, everyone is too focused on the theatrics to notice. The woman in the lab coat lets out a shrill, evil laugh. “Welcome to my laaab!” she announces. “I’m always looking for new test subjects!” Mom would be mortified to see this room. This is exactly what she thinks will happen to me if I go outside. The next room is simpler. For the most part, it appears to be an ordinary Sunday school classroom, with one simple alteration. Bugs. Bugs everywhere, covering the walls so densely you can barely see the walls themselves. Most of the bugs are bug-sized, though some are much bigger, like the enormous spider that hangs from the ceiling. In the dark, they almost look real, though none of them move. They do make noise, though, or rather, a hidden speaker somewhere is making a cacophony of buzzing and chirping sounds. There are sounds of a thousand different insects, but one stands out to me. A high, chirping buzz. It sings to me, sweet and frightening. Something moves. I jump. A person in a bug suit—a good one, though worse than mine, has burst out from under a large pile of plastic centipedes, eliciting screams from most of the people with us. The next room is meant to seem haunted. Old furniture has been set up, and a chandelier casts the room in an eerie twilight. The woman inside wears a tattered white dress, her hair dyed bright white, and her face made up with white powder. There are a lot of objects scattered around the room. It’s a rather eclectic, probably assembled from various people donating whatever old stuff they had. It’s mostly furniture, but there are some old paintings as well, and a line of brown-paged books between two ornate book ends. We don’t stay too long. If I wanted to look at old books, I wouldn’t have bothered to come here. “Were there one or two more?” I ask Allen as we leave. “One more,” he says. “It’s the best one.” “Oh?” “Not gonna spoil it. Just come on.” I follow him down the hall. He leads me back near the front door, and through a large set of doors close to it, into the church’s main chapel. The air is full of chanting. The room is dark, lit only by a dense group of candles surrounding a gray altar. Patterns resembling skulls and spider webs protrude from it. In front of it, half a dozen worshipers in dark red cloaks chant, led by another, older man behind the altar. There’s another man tied to the altar, dressed in white robes that have been covered in fake blood. He screams and struggles against the ropes that bound him but is firmly held in place. “Approach!” the older man says once we’ve funneled into the room. “Witness our sacrifice!” The group goes forward. I go with it. Part of me doesn’t want to, but I force myself. My eyes wander, both to keep my eyes off the altar, and out of the hope that I’ll see more decorations throughout the room, which might help it feel less like a chapel. There aren’t any others, though. It’s a large room and decorating the entirety of it would probably take too much work. They’re relying on the darkness and the candlelight to draw attention away from the pews. I let my attention wander back toward the altar. Just as I do, I catch a glimpse of the cross above the altar. It’s large, looming. It looks like it’s floating. For a moment, it shares my gaze with the altar, with the victim’s bloodied robes. I am assaulted by a memory. By a feeling of something outside, outside everything I’ve ever known, touching me. It’s not a graceful touch. It’s the touch of a child, clumsily grasping an insect he wishes to examine, crushing its limbs in his naïve grip. The screams of the man on the altar become my own. Screams I could no longer make. The last sounds made by my human throat, as what I was melted off of me, and what I am now burrowed out of my dead flesh. The room was full of churchgoers when that happened. I felt their gazes, though only a few could see me through the crowd and the pews. My mother also had the presence of mind to throw a coat on top of me as I gyrated on the floor. It wasn’t enough. The people nearby saw enough that Jailors were after us by the end of the day. Lost in the memory, I, without thinking, let out a deep buzz. It’s not from my mouth. It’s from my midlimbs rubbing against the noisemakers on my abdomen. “Dude?” Allen snaps me out of my stupor. I look around. The mock cultists are still chanting, and the sacrifice still has the attention of the other partygoers. Not Allen, though. Allen is right next to me. He’s looking at me strangely. I look back at him. He’s studying me. “Sorry,” I say. “What was that noise?” he asks. “Your mouth wasn’t moving.” “There’s a noisemaker inside the robe. It’s part of my costume. It’s sort of meant to fit the insect theme, y’know?” “Your hands were perfectly still,” he says. “I was using my feet,” I say. “Oh.” He looks me up and down. “Sorry if I scared you,” I say. “Don’t be,” he says. “That’s, uh, the point of Halloween, after all.” He laughs, nervously. We leave the chapel and begin the walk back to the main area. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Allen says. “I’m fine,” I say. “You’re sure? Look, I know we don’t know each other very well, but—” “I said I’m fine!” I say it too loudly. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, shouldn’t have pried. Now, I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get some punch.” He leaves. Was this a mistake? Am I going to be found out after all? Allen left me sitting in the middle of the basketball court. I head back to the corner of the bleachers, where we were sitting before. Halfway there, I remember those pumpkin seeds. I grab some more, and then go back to the corner. A few minutes later, a woman walks up to me. “Ryan Burton?” she asks. “Yes,” I say. “I’m the judge for the costume contest. Just here to look you over.” Her eyes scan me up and down. I’d been so excited for this a moment ago, but now her scrutiny makes me nervous. “This is impressive,” she says. I smile. I have to force the smile. “How did you achieve this?” “Make-up,” I say. “You have a future in film,” she says. She studies my face. She looks at it from the left and the right. She’s looking for the seam, where the make-up would end and a human face would begin. “Can you lower your hood,” she asks. “No,” I say. “The antennae stop me.” I made sure that they did. I don’t want my hood to be accidentally pulled back. “Oh. Well, the antennae are a nice touch.” “Thanks,” I say. She holds out her hand, as if to shake mine. I take hers. She takes my hand. We shake. “Make-up on the hands, too?” she asks. “No,” I say. “Just gloves. “Custom-made?” she asks. “They fit you well. I can’t feel any empty space.” “Yeah,” I say. “Custom-made. Internet.” “I see.” Is that skepticism, or am I being paranoid? “Well, it’s very impressive,” she says. “Thank you.” She walks away. Allen walks over and sits back down next to me. “Was that the judge?” he asks. “Yeah,” I say. “Did she like it?” “Yeah.” “Awesome. You’re totally going to win.” “Just how convincing is my costume?” I ask. “What do you mean?” “If you didn’t know better, would you worry you were talking to a real bug person?” “What?” He laughs. “Dude, I’m not sure any costume is that good.” He sips his punch. “Listen, sorry again for a minute ago.” “It’s fine.” “Even so,” he says. “You must have put a lot of work into however you made that noise. I’m sorry I was weird about it.” So it was the noise. Does that mean he did doubt my cover story, for a moment? “So, what I’m hearing is, you did think I was a real bug for a minute there,” I say. “Oh, c’mon man,” he says. “Look, it was just the way you were staring into space, it kinda freaked me out.” “Ah,” I say. “I was focused on what I was doing, is all. The mechanism isn’t that easy to work. That probably wasn’t the time or place for it, when there was already a performance going on.” “I don’t know,” he says, “that was the best scare I’ve had in a long time.” On the far end of the room, the door opens. I glance over at it. I almost drop my seeds. “What is it?” Allen asks. He looks over his shoulder. He sees the same thing as me. A middle-aged woman in a bright orange sweater. Allen doesn’t recognize her, but I know it’s my mom. I spring up. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” I say. “Okay,” he says. I turn around and head toward the opposite exit, and from there to the men’s restroom. That’s the best place to hide from her. What’s she doing here? Did the Serpent’s Hand people tell her I’d left the library? Did she just deduce where I’d gone? “Have you seen my son here?” she asks someone. I’m out of the gym before I hear the answer. The bathroom is small, with a urinal and two stalls, one small and one large, both currently empty. I go straight for the large one, and lock myself in. This is a temporary solution. At least, it is if I don’t want to spend the rest of the party hiding in here. Maybe she won’t stay here that long? If she’s only guessed that I’m at this party at all, maybe she’ll look around, not see me anywhere, and leave to look somewhere else. “Ryan, I know you’re in there!” my mother’s voice rings out, just outside the bathroom. Fuck. Do I pretend not to be in here? Will she eventually walk away? No, she won’t. Not if she thinks she knows I’m in here. Great. So I’m going to miss the rest of the party. Even if I could hide here the rest of the time, it wouldn’t be worth it. I may as well just go out there and let her take me back to the basement now. And to think, I thought I’d solved my problems. It seemed like Allen didn’t suspect anything after all. “Come out here this instant!” I stand. Maybe I just have to accept that I’m going to be locked in a single room the rest of my life, Jailors or no Jailors. No. Fuck that. I’m not going to fucking stand for it. Everything was fine. This is the most fun I’ve had since it happened. I was about to win the costume contest. There was a scare with regards to my maintaining my disguise, but I was able to claw it back. The fact that I did that so easily only reinforces the idea that I’m safe here. I’m not going to go back underground. My mom is waiting right by the entrance. As soon as I’m out of the bathroom, she pulls me into a strong hug. “Oh, Ryan,” she says. One of my antennae brushes her cheeks, and I feel the moisture there. “Are you hurt?” Before I say anything, I look both ways down the hall. There’s no one else in sight, which hopefully means there’s no one who would hear me, so long as I’m not too loud. “No,” I say. “I’m fine. I came here on my own. The Jailors don’t know anything about it.” “Good,” she says. She squeezes me. “There are no words for how scared I was, or relieved I am,” she loosens her grip, and looks me in the eye, “or, how much trouble you’re in.” She ends the hug and grabs my hand. “We’re going,” she says. “Mom—” I whisper. “Shh. Come with me, now.” “Mom, no one knows anything. Everything is fine. Everyone thinks I’m in a costume.” “And we need to leave before that changes.” “It won’t change. Why would any of these people ever suspect the truth? They don’t know anything like me exists. Think about what it took to convince you that this stuff was real. That’s the boat they’re in. They’re not going to decide magic and monsters exist because someone’s costume was too good.” She grips my hand and pulls me toward the door. “I am not going to debate you about this. You are in danger by being here. We are leaving. You may complain about it once we’re back home.” She starts to walk, leading me down the hall by her hand. I follow her. “Please,” I say, “this is the most fun I’ve had in years.” “This is not up for discussion. People could overhear us!” She leads me back toward the main room, where everyone is. “Can you please let go of my hand? I don’t want everyone to see you drag me through there.” “Fine, but stay behind me.” She lets go. I could try to run off, but that would only delay her dragging me back home. The man who announced the opening of the Walk of Fear a moment ago is now announcing the results of the costume contest. There are a few different categories, and he’s partway through giving ‘most intricate’ to the sheet ghost with all the eyes and mouths, which was apparently supposed to be a shoggoth. Allen walks up to us as we move through the room. “Hey, what’s going on,” he says. “We were just leaving,” mom says. “What? Why?” “There’s something he needs to take care of at home.” “Oh,” Allen says. “Darn.” “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s fine,” he says. His face is downcast, but I continue walking. “Finally,” the announcer says, as we near the far door, “our grand prize goes to Ryan Burton’s ‘bug in robe.’” I see Allen’s face light up from across the court, but just after the announcement, we leave the gym. “I won,” I say. “Congratulations,” mom says, tersely. “I’m supposed to go up and claim the prize.” “Tough.” “Mom, please—” She spins around and stares me down. “You can’t be seen in public!” she says, still trying to whisper, but failing. “One tip about you will see the Jailors searching for us—” “No. It won’t. No one is going to walk away from this thinking they saw anything but someone in a costume.” As I speak, I glance around. No one seems to be in earshot. “It’s a risk we can’t take,” she says. “If they catch you—” “They’ll what? Lock me up in a room for the rest of my life?” “Yes!” “How is that any different from your plan?” “Don’t be absurd!” “I’m not. Tell me. Tell me how being locked in a containment site is any different than having to spend the rest of my life in your basement!” I expected her to yell back at me, but she doesn’t. She stares at me for a moment, studying me. “Do you hate home that much?” she asks. “I… no. That’s not what I meant.” “You have me,” she says, putting her hand on me. “You’re being cared for by someone who loves you and wants what’s best for you. That’s what’s different.” “I know, but—” “You had no right to run off on your own.” Her eyes are moist. “Ryan, I’ve spent the last two hours thinking they got you, and that I would never see you again. You should have talked to me about this.” “I did!” I say. “I asked you to let me go somewhere normal. I asked to come to this party last year, and the year before, and you must have remembered that, because you knew to come here.” “We’ll talk back home,” mom says, “but we need to go. I will not lose you to a bunch of godless monsters who’ll treat you like an animal.” “You’re not going to lose me for this,” I say. “I’ll say again,” the man’s voice rings from the other room, “our top prize went to ‘bug in robe,’ by Ryan Burton.” “Please,” I say. She hesitates for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I can see that this means a lot to you, but this isn’t the kind of risk we can take. Look, I know you’ve spent a lot of time in hiding, and I’m sorry if you’ve gotten bored, but any excursion outside would need to be planned with the utmost care.” “I did plan it with the utmost care,” I say. “I didn’t pick this day out of a hat. I know this is the only day I could get away with something like this, and even then, I was careful. Look what I’m wearing. This robe covers almost everything. I spent hours researching make-up and costuming, so I can explain every part of my appearance if someone asks, but no one is going to ask, because no one has any reason to look that closely at me.” “The Jailors are hunting you.” “How would they know to look here? Where would they have heard that I used to come here?” “They’re clever. They could have found a way.” “They didn’t. If they had, we’d already know about it. They don’t know I’m here, and they’re not going to find out, either, because as far as everyone here is concerned, I’m just a kid in a really good Halloween costume. They don’t investigate people for winning costume contests.” “Ryan, please,” she wraps her arms back around me. “I want you to be safe,” she says. “I know,” I say returning the hug. “I’m sorry I compared you to them. That wasn’t fair, but please, this is the one day in the entire year in which I can go outside and mingle with other people. Just let me have that one night. I’m not stupid. I know I can’t have more, but please, just one.” There’s a long silence. “You’re sure this is worth the risk?” she says. “Yes,” I say, “and you won’t have to worry, if you’re here.” “Yes I will,” she says. “I’ll always worry about you.” She takes a long, deep breath. “But maybe you’re right.” “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much.” “You used your real name for the contest?” She asks. “Only my first name,” I say. “Your first name and the fact that you look like an insect might be enough for them to make a connection and realize you were here. You can’t come back here next year.” “Mom—” “Which is why you’ll have to do something else.” She relaxes her grip. “We have a year to figure out the details.” “That’s okay,” I say. “So long as I do something.” “I suppose it’s fitting, for you to come out of the ground once a year.” “Was that a cicada joke?” I ask. “Yes.” “You hate it when I make those.” “I know. Now, go back in. The announcer is waiting.” I do. Mom follows me inside and stands by the door. Just as the announcer is making his last call for me, I run up to him. “I’m here,” I say. “Sorry.” “That’s alright,” he says. In the gym around me, I spot Allen staring up at me, smiling. “Glad you could make it. Congratulations.” “Thank you,” I say. He gives me the prize. It’s a ribbon. It’s bright orange and says, ‘Best in Show.’ Once the announcer is done with me, I go back into the crowd. I walk right up to Allen. “Awesome, dude,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. “How’d you talk her into letting you stay?” “I have a way with words.” “You gonna be here for the rest of the night?” “Yeah.” “Awesome.” I do spend the rest of the night there. I have a great time. Me and mom go back through the walk of fear. The actors are gone, but she still gets to enjoy the decorations. I don’t go back into the bug room. She goes in without me but doesn’t stay long. I show her the chapel, but there’s not much left to it now that the performers aren’t there. Eventually, it’s time to go. I say goodbye to Allen. “See you next year,” he says. “Hopefully,” I say. “Even if I can’t make it, we’ll do something else, between now and then. I have your number.” “Hear from you soon,” he says. I leave. I look over my shoulder as I walk out and take one last glance at the church. “Thanks again,” I say to mom. “Next time, we’ll plan it more carefully,” she says. “I’m fine with that,” I say. “And just to be clear, you are still in trouble.” “I know.” “Good,” she says. “It does look good, by the way.” “What?” “Your costume,” she says. “It’s very spooky.” “Thanks,” I say. [[=]] ,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],, [[/=]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [!-- N/A (No Images) --] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]