The Chess

Maddy felt a slight creak under her fingers. She was gripping the small, leather-bound notebook, the sketchbook, and the wooden box too tightly. It wasn't the most perfect part of her past, compared to Jack, a "purebred" descendant of the early settlers, but it was still dear to her heart. Maddy took another look at her great-great-grandfather's initials carved into the box, remembering the annoyed look in her son's eyes when Jack mentioned the Salem witch trials. This is not the kind of family story that is commonly shared in schools. After her short knock, there was a slight commotion behind the door, as if something had fallen on the floor again, followed by the click of the lock. Lately, her son had been acting more like a quiet tenant than a family member, trying to avoid being seen by the owners of the house. He locked the doors, kept a low profile, and walked on tiptoes to avoid being heard. Danny's face appeared in the crack between the door and the jamb, his mouth almost comically stuffed with another sandwich. He had large eyes and high-set eyebrows since childhood, which gave his face an eternal expression of surprise mixed with fear. — What's that? — he asked, barely swallowing his food and nodding at the objects in her hands. — You were talking about a family history report, and I thought that if you didn't want to write about witch hunters, maybe you'd be interested in Native Americans, — Maddy said, feeling her fingers go cold under the teenager's intense gaze. — Have we got any in the family? — He brushed crumbs from the corner of his mouth and frowned slightly, as if expecting a trick. He gripped the door handle with both hands, making it easier to slam the door, as he often did to escape his role as an assistant in their research with Jack. The gesture, which had previously seemed like a cute prank, began to frighten her. — Something like that, — Maddy said, suppressing a sigh of relief as her son opened the door wider for her to pass through. Inside, it was a little chaotic, as usual. There were a lot of posters hanging all over the place, and there were parts of a new model of a spaceship from a science fiction movie she didn't recognize lying on the table in several piles, and there was an empty, dirty plate on the bedside table. Danny was holding a few pieces of model and a paintbrush in his hands. It seemed like he had dropped them before opening the door for her. Time and time again, she expected to see something different behind the door. Something more appropriate for his age. But either he hadn't started getting interested in anything more adult yet, or he was very good at covering his tracks (Maddie strongly suspected the latter). — If you like, I'll make us some tea and tell you a little more than what's written here, — Maddy offered, handing her son the diary, sketchbook, and jewelry box. — Okay, — Danny put down the brush and the parts. — I'll just clear the table. For some reason, Maddy was always happy to spend a little time in her son's "den." As she prepared tea in the kitchen, she mentally prepared herself to stay a little longer than usual. Since Danny had started high school, his room had gradually become a separate space from the rest of the Fenton household. In the past couple of months, the door with its stickers of stars, rockets, and the phrase "Keep out" had begun to resemble a portal to another world. The feeling of discovery was too much like the first time she had seen a ghostly portal open before her eyes. That day, Jack was overjoyed. He was genuinely and almost childishly happy when an ectoplasmic whirlwind ignited in place of the non-functional tunnel with its pile of electronics. However, she was only pretending to be happy, as she felt nothing but anxiety. The green vortex smelled too strongly of burnt hair and blood for her to be happy. The kettle boiled, and Maddy impatiently poured the boiling water into the French press. This made it easier to strain the bitter herbs that her sister had given her before she left, saying, "You'll need them later." When she returned, her son's room was almost spotlessly clean. It seemed that there wasn't even a speck of dust to be found. The bedspread was perfectly smooth, and the dirty dishes had vanished, along with numerous pieces of the model starship. It was left to her to wonder where he had hidden them so that they wouldn't be piled up in different colors again. Danny was patiently sitting at the table, having added an extra chair from the kitchen. Although she couldn't remember him coming downstairs while she was making his favorite tea with milk. "Maybe he'll clean up the crime scene just as quickly," Maddy thought, shaking her head slightly to clear her mind. — Is this Aunt Alice's house? — Danny asked, pointing to the very first group photo in the box as they sat down at the table together. He looked a little tense, but overall, he seemed normal. That's probably what all kids were like at fifteen, although Maddy wasn't sure. — Yes, — she said, taking a sip of her tea. — This photo was even published in the newspapers. The McDowell family was quite scandalous for its time. Your great-great-great-grandfather was even excommunicated from the church for marrying a member of the local Native American tribe. However, he was so determined that he moved to a village near the reservation and built a house there, — Maddy pointed to the woman in the center of the photo. She was dark-skinned, with rough features and black hair. ― He called her Chokka in his diaries, but unfortunately, she didn't have any official documents. This woman was the only one sitting on a chair in the photo. She also had a dress that was clearly worn without a corset. Instead of looking at the camera like everyone else, she was looking off to the side, her large fists tightly clenched around the fabric of her skirt. — How tall is she? — Danny's natural question was not long in coming. It was too obvious that the woman sitting in the chair was almost the same height as all the other people in the photo. The people standing on feet. — Eight and a half feet, — Maddy replied readily. — There should be a picture somewhere with a height scale. McDowell was a doctor, and he was initially interested in Chocky and her family as a curious phenomenon. They were all so tall. But in the process, as is often the case, he fell in love with his subject. Maddy watched carefully as Danny pulled the next photo out of the box. He seemed a little too sad for a boy who should have nothing but cold space, physics, and pretty schoolgirls to worry about. He studied Chocky's features, scratching the edge of the photo, which showed her standing next to a growth chart with another member of the McDowell family for comparison. Compared to the giant woman, Chocky, who stood almost five feet ten inches tall, looked like a child or a midget. — In his diaries, he called her a muse: intelligent, with a penchant for the sciences, and a polyglot, — Madeline always felt a slight thrill as she looked at the photo of the tall woman. In her family, the last person to be tall was her grandmother. She was thin, long, and stern, like a prison warden. — In his diary, MacDowell mentioned that Chick was not well-liked in her native tribe. They said that she and her family were Wendigos, mythical giants who fed on human flesh. But in reality, they ate regular meat. Deer and rabbit meat, mostly. That's how our family got the recipe for the bloody steak and herbs we had for dinner tonight. Maddy looked at her son. At the mention of dinner, he quickly licked the corner of his mouth with the tip of his red tongue, reminding her of a cross between a human and a dog. At dinner, the teenager enjoyed eating the meat, ignoring his sister's disdainful comments about the appearance of the congealed blood, which was usually discarded in expensive restaurants due to its unappealing appearance. This was understandable. The gelatinous clumps resembled worms or leeches to the average person. But Danny ate every last drop without saying a word. And it seems that it was very difficult for him to resist licking the plate. ― Did you like it? — Maddy asked cautiously, setting aside her cup of tea. — Yeah, — he replied readily. — I'd like to have that for lunch tomorrow, too. If it's okay. — I'll see what I can do, — the woman smiled, putting her arm around her son's shoulders and trying to kiss him on the cheek. He actively struggled to avoid close contact. Maddy smiled and let go of him. This was much more like her boy. Danny looked again at the photo of the tall woman against the backdrop of the height scale. He took a more relaxed and casual sip of his tea with milk. Maddy still didn't understand how he could enjoy this disgusting thing and why he had chosen to adopt this habit from the villagers, and Alice in particular. ―And who is this? — he asked, pointing to the girl next to Chocky. — This is Sarah. Jeremy McDowell's twin sister, — the girl in the photo was smiling broadly and looking directly at the camera, which was unusual for photographs of that time. She had a large freckles on her face. Her hair was braided and styled in an intricate hairstyle at the back of her head, with ribbons tied around her forehead like a headband. — She looks like Jess, — Danny smiled at his own thoughts. — Aunt Alice used to do for her hair like that. ― Who looks like Jess? ― his sister peeked into her brother's room through the open door, curious. ― Gossiping? ― she furrowed her brow sternly. — You're too boring to gossip about, — Danny said, turning away with a straight back and taking another sip of tea. Jess stuck her tongue out at him. It seemed like old times. Maddy smiled as she pulled another photo out of the box.

***

When Jazmin looked at the clock, it was well past midnight. Tomorrow she would be groggy and sleep-deprived, and she would feel like a lump of overcooked pasta for the rest of the day. But there was one upside to this: she had finally sorted out her father's scattered stories about the "family trade" by date. He could talk about Jeremy Fenton for hours, quoting from his personal writings and the Hammer of Witches. Jack had never been particularly good at organizing information, and as she thought about it now, she remembered the neat piles of old photographs of her mother's family on her brother's desk. — He chose the easy one, — Jess said wearily, cracking her back, and sighed in relief. The idea of contacting the Salem archives to check out some of her father's less credible tales had stuck in her mind. From behind the half-closed door, the girl heard soft, shuffling footsteps in the hallway. She couldn't help but listen, don't recognizing the sound of footsteps. Her father had a loud, stomping gait, where he placed his entire foot on the floor, exacerbating his own flat feet. Her mother had a military-like marching step. Danny often moved like a shadow, his soft sneakers making almost no noise as he sank into the short-pile carpets. But this gait was different: it was painful and shuffling, as if the walker was dragging a wounded leg and stumbling, almost falling. No one in her family had ever done that. Trying not to make too much noise, Jess carefully approached the door, peering out into the dark hallway through a small crack. The figure was small. The thin legs were buckling, as if the poor man's knees were refusing to serve him. The shadow would pause, unable to lift its leg and take a step, and after a few unsuccessful attempts to lift its foot from the floor, it would drag its bare leg, rustling the short pile of the carpet. The head, with its disheveled hair, would tilt to one side or the other, depending on which leg was supporting it at the moment. His hands and fingers twitched erratically, making him look like a foreign organism. From the darkness of the hallway, she could hear the creaking of tooth enamel and a faint, quiet murmuring. Jess covered her mouth with her hands to muffle the noise as the door to her parents' bedroom creaked open slightly. The figure had already reached of the stairs leading to the first floor when the headlights of a lone car penetrated the house through the large windows of the entrance hall and illuminated Danny's face. Not some twisted monster like in cheap horror movies, but her own brother, ready to take his first step down the stairs on wobbly legs. The mother slipped quietly out of the parents' bedroom, gently taking the teenager by the shoulders and gently moving him away from the edge of the stairs. She whispered something in his ear, carefully leading the boy to the door of his own room, and closed the door with many stickers behind them without making a sound. Danny still did not open his eyes. Jess turned away from the door, resting her back against the jamb, and slid to the floor, trying to process what she had seen. Her brother was a sleepwalker. How long had this been going on? Why hadn't her parents said anything? Her brother was sick, and wouldn't it be better for everyone to know, so they could keep him safe from harm during his nighttime trips? Her imagination painted a vivid picture of her brother's body lying on the last steps of the stairs with his neck twisted. Jess shook her head, slapping her cheeks to dispel these terrifying thoughts. "Somnambulists are possessed by spirits. During their nocturnal walks, their weak souls are overpowered by the ghostly invader, at least according to the writings of Jeremy Fenton, who was known in Salem for his ability to accurately determine which patients were possessed and which had intentionally allowed evil spirits into their bodies." "If this is another of your stupid experiments on ghosts..." the girl gripped her hair with her fingers and pulled it slightly, clenching her fists tightly. Her heart was beating too fast, anger slowly burning in the depths of her brain.

***

— I don't like this, — the man said, nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of the squad car as his partner loaded his gun and tucked it into the holster under his white jacket. — Will you say again that it reminds you of Homs Castle? — There was a slight annoyance on his dark face. — You react like this to every eccentric rich person's home. Pull yourself together. — I think the intelligence is screwed, —the man said, straightening his shirt cuffs and pulling up his white gloves. — It's a waste of time. ― After the attack on the co-owner of Plasmius-Geneticist, our informant went missing. Along with the promised samples. The only witness is currently in the hospital under barbiturates, mumbling something about mummies. This guy probably had a hand in everything. — In the darkness of the night, his partner's eyes seemed almost completely black. — If we're going to find any leads, it'll be here. The maximum problems this cheesy mug can cause us are a couple of minor lawsuits. Let's go already. — There are still civilians there, aren't there? — The man peered through the black windows of the empty castle, hoping to see some movement inside. — Cleaners, cooks, and other servants. I'm telling you, our people have made a mistake. It's impossible for just one person to live in such a large house. — Enough already, — the partner sighed wearily, getting out of the car, and the man had to follow him. — At most, they're farm workers, but they live in small shacks nearby. There are no living people inside. Even if Masters allowed the dirty proletarians into his castle during his absence, which I highly doubt, what could they do to us? In his peripheral vision, the man saw a shadow pass by the far wall. It was so quick that it could have been a figment of his imagination, but not in their line of work. He adjusted the lapels of his white jacket, feeling the holstered weapon beneath the fabric. This gesture provided him with a sense of reassurance. On the first floor of the northern building, a window stood open. The light tulle curtains had been blown out by the draft, and they were already stained with the recent rain and the autumn leaves from the nearby tree. The man took out his gun and cocked the hammer, staring into the blackness of the open window. It was too quiet. There were no birds or animals to be heard. Even the wind seemed to have fallen silent. In the silence that followed, he could hear his own heart beating. A blow to the back of the head. His vision blurred. It seems partner was shouting something at him or the attackers. He tried to join the fight. But vague dark silhouettes surrounded them from all sides, wringing their hands behind their backs and pulling canvas bags over their heads. After a few more punches, the man passed out with the thought that this was too clean a job for the hillbillies from the farm.

***

Looking at the two unconscious bodies in front of her feet, Diana shifted half her weight onto the crutch with a groan. In the vampires' eyes, the reflections of the electric lamps burned with an alarming blood-red sheen. The rare visits of outsiders of these creatures have never pleased. And even the prospect of being allowed to drink real human blood from still-living bodies would not have calmed them down. Over the past centuries of witch hunts and the holy Inquisition, they understood all too well what happens after uninvited guests go missing on their lands. The young ones poked their noses out from behind the door, occasionally licking the air with their forked tongues. It was as if they could actually taste the blood from the white man's broken head, which was still in the air. — Grimley, help me get to the lab, — Diana said, leaning on the shoulder of one of the farm workers. — Vlad should have had a amnesiac left for a situation like this. The rest of you split up. Some of you keep an eye on these geniuses, while the others search the area. We need to make sure they don't have any backup. If you find their car, proceed as usual.

***

If it weren't for the late-night walk, Danny could have called this morning perfect. He felt rested and full. He was a little sleep-deprived, but that seemed like a minor inconvenience compared to yesterday. The taste of blood still lingered on his tongue, accompanied by the pleasant bitterness of the spices. The warm, almost raw steak looked unusual. Jess had even refused to eat yesterday, watching him lick the blood off his cutlery. However, he wasn't particularly interested in it, either now or at dinner the night before. After he vomited his stomach up at school because of an inedible lunch, anything that could satisfy the ghost hunger was fine with him, regardless of its appearance. Maddy handed him two lunch containers. — It's a little more spicy today than it was yesterday, ― she said, pointing to the box where the teenager smelled meat the most. ― I know you liked it, but this steak disappears quickly, so if you suddenly feel that the food has gone bad, don't be greedy and throw it away, okay? Woman hugged her son, carefully placing a small business card in his hand. — You're scheduled to see Miss Glumel at four-thirty. Don't be late, — she whispered in his ear. It was another little secret that, like when he was a child, his father shouldn't know about. A small thing compared to the monsters he already had hiding in his closet. — I won't, — Danny said, trying to extricate himself from the suffocating embrace and putting his lunch in his backpack. "Even if that annoying blob of ectoplasm appears again, I won't be late," Danny nodded slightly to his own thoughts. It was in his best interest to arrive at Miss Glumel's office on time today and avoid any delays at school. This doctor had been dealing with Danny's sleepwalking for a long time, and his childhood mind was filled with images of her bright dress with orange and black triangle and the colorful scarf that hid her dreadlocks, which looked like thick black snakes. She always smelled like sweets, and her dark eyes always looked kindly at her patients through the large lenses of her pink glasses. His mother always spoke to her quietly so that he wouldn't hear. She always told him not to mention her name in front of his father, who wasn't particularly fond of headshrinker. Danny jumped on the school bus and plopped down next to Tucker, who had taken seat for him. — You look better today, — a voice from the back of the car made the teenagers turn around. Wes was leaning against the back of their seat, his sunglasses perched on the top of his head. As usual, he was surrounded by a group of three cheerleaders. They were thin and pale, but still damn beautiful. — Don't tell me you're going to hassle us about Sam, — Tucker rolled his eyes, adjusting his glasses, which had slipped down his nose due to the weight of the lenses. — I've already told Dash that we'll handle it, — Danny said, throwing his backpack onto the seat between him and Tucker. Too late, he realized that this move can open the snack box and leave him without lunch again. — Hey, calm down, — Wes raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. — I don't know what Miss Manson told you about me, but it's not true, — he smiled, especially compared to Dash, who flashed a Hollywood-worthy smile at every opportunity. — People like you don't talk to people like us without a reason, — Tucker said, staring at the basketball player with a slight squint. — You didn't care about Danny's health yesterday, and you probably don't care about it now. So, what do you want? — Tucker, that was rude, — Danny said, nudging his friend in the side. Sophie giggled quietly, covering her mouth with her hand. The popular girls were always amused by the way Tucker and Danny interacted for some reason. — You'd better not think I don't give a damn, — Weston said, nervously scratching the worn-out back of the seat. — I really care about the interests of those whose stomachs turn at the thought of Miss Innovation's ideas. — Are you going to ask us to hit her like Baxter did? — Danny ran his hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back from his forehead. — I thought we had until Friday. — I'm offering to cooperate in order to subdue the proactive lady in a more humane way than the traditional beating, — Weston looked serious. — It's pointless to have conversations with Manson. She's so convinced of her own rightness that she won't listen to any arguments. Unlike adults who are afraid of lawyers and attorneys like my mother, — Wes smiled slyly. It wasn't difficult to guess what he was up to. — I need your help, Fenton. Everything will return to normal by Friday, unless you're averse to boring bureaucracy.

***

Penelope Spectra's office was the place that had a lot of rumors associated with it at Casper High. Some of them were good, and some of them were not. It was said that the office itself had been created after a particularly notable death within the school's walls. The method of the student named Sydney's demise varied from time to time, but what remained consistent was that it was after this incident that the administration decided to hire someone like Spectra. Some even claimed that she had been in her position since the office's inception. That's more than half a century. Looking at the woman in the old-fashioned bright red suit with the huge shoulder pads, Polina was almost ready to believe it. ― So, Miss Sanchez, I hope you understand why you're here. — The therapist's voice was filled with a sweetness that made your teeth grind. She was smiling widely and seemed to be trying too hard to be friendly. Intentionally raised her voice to sound cute, as unpopular girls often did to get guys to call them cute. — Because I had a fight with Ms. Tetzlaff, — Polina said, fidgeting on the uncomfortable chair. Spectra's office didn't have a recliner or a comfortable couch like the ones in movies. She made all her visitors sit on the most uncomfortable wooden chair in the world. — That's right. It's good that you're aware of your mistake, — Spectra looked at the student through the lenses of her old-fashioned sunglasses. — I think we can work through this unmotivated aggression. — My aggression is motivated, — Polina moved to the very edge of her chair, straightening her back and abandoning her attempts to sit comfortably. — Tetzlaff has insulted my girls too often before. You should deal with this witch, not me. ― What makes you so sure? — Penelope was smiling. The tone of her voice reminded me of kindergarten teachers. She treated her visitor with a slight condescension. ― She told them to watch their weight. In practice, she'll slap one of them on the thigh and tell them that real cheerleaders' legs shouldn't shake like jelly. It's not up to this woman to worry about other people's fat. And since Manson joined the school board, she's become her ardent defender. Not only are we now eating some vegan garbage, but my girls are even getting smaller portions in the cafeteria, all because of her. — My dear, this is a sign of concern, — Penelope removed her glasses and set them aside. — Your teacher is worried about your health. Excess weight is the new cancer of society. It's a problem that needs to be addressed, and the sooner the better. — None of my girls are overweight, and they never have been, — Polina felt a sense of resentment growing in her chest. Her girls, like herself, were the best and most beautiful. This was whispered behind their backs. It was spoken about in the jealous conversations of insignificant freaks like Manson. It was proven by the admiring glances of the boys during their performances. ― It's hard to notice a problem in your friends, and even harder to notice it in yourself. — What are you getting at? ― prickly resentment made the girl's voice tremble. — Nothing, honestly, — Penelope raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. — You're a very pretty girl, Miss Sanchez. And very confident. These short skirts are usually not something that girls larger than XS can afford. The new wave of feminism has obviously helped you feel more comfortable, but that doesn't change the fact that this will eventually become a problem for you. Polina looked at her legs. A couple of new bruises from her recent fall in training had already turned purple. She hated bruises, but she loved her legs. The boys loved them too. Even the strange guy who always hung around with the quirky Manson would stare at her, naively believing that he was doing it discreetly. And she enjoyed looking at herself in the mirror. The way the elastic of her knee-high socks slightly tightened around her skin above her knees. On the fold of her chest in the neckline of her sports top, which she had intentionally cut even deeper. The way the line of her skin on the inside of her thigh looked like the graceful wing of a seagull when she sat down in her swimsuit, leaning slightly forward. — Miss Sanchez, I hope you don't hold a grudge against me, — Spectra's voice brought her back to reality. ― It's not for me to tell you how to look, but your teacher and I are sincerely worried about your health and do not wish you any harm. After all, you're a popular girl and you deserve more than the slippery stares of your peers. Trust my experience, they will stop looking at you like that when a slimmer girl appears on the horizon. Polina gripped her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. ― Miss Manson is the epitome of a good figure, and you should take her and her diet as an example. She's slim, fit, and strong. She manages to combine sports, studies, and even activism. You understand how challenging it is, right? Her intentions are noble - to rid our school of unhealthy food and athletes of excess weight. In fact, she has taken on your role. You have clearly failed to monitor your team's nutrition. The wood creaked under her fingernail. Polina gripped the edge of the chair so tightly that she felt her little finger's nail crack under the seat. The sharp pain fueled her rage. Her imagination painted a vivid image of the crack in her pink nail polish filling with blood. If Manson was the epitome, why wasn't she surrounded by a crowd of admirers? Why did even the quiet, blue-eyed Fenton choose to ask her to last year's dance instead of his gothic girlfriend? Why, if she's so perfect, does she have to eat lunch alone? ― Miss Manson took my advice and achieved so much. I sincerely hope that you will do the same and reach even greater heights than she did. Take control of your life, so to speak. Polina took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her heart was beating too loudly in her chest. She exhaled slowly, looking the school therapist straight in the eyes. They were green and bright, like a radioactive swamp in an old cartoon. Her friendly smile slowly faded from Penelope's face, which was covered in several layers of foundation and powder. — You're right, — Polina said, slowly rising from her seat. She used the pad of her thumb to feel the broken nail on her little finger, which was wet and hot. She had torn the nail to the meat. She examined the injury, casually and almost lazily. — I'm responsible for my girls, and I need to be responsible for their nutrition, not some crazy vegan. I firmly believe that visiting her nail artist after school would be more beneficial than this office.

***

Until lunch Sam was as quiet as a mouse in the school basement. After picking up her tray, she left the cafeteria and went outside, where she wasn't watched by many people who had defiantly refused to eat the school lunch and were instead eating home-cooked meals. During the first period, there was a commotion as more than half of the students were late for the bus and had to walk to school. In the morning, many students spent almost twice as much time cooking for themselves due to their parents' busy schedules, not just Alice from the cheerleading squad. The teachers were furious, and almost no one completed the first lesson, spending a lot of time talking to the latecomers. "All complaints to Miss Innovation" was the short answer to the question of why they decided to spend time to cooking lunch in the morning when ready-made meals were served at school. Danny almost felt sorry for his friend, who was sitting alone on the porch steps, picking at her food with a fork. Tucker nodded to his friend. This conversation was going to happen anyway, either now, between friends, or later, after the school board meeting, which Weston might use to completely destroy her. It's not that the guy was a bad person, quite the opposite. Unlike Dash, who didn't suffer from his starstruck, Wes suggested talking to the depressed goth girl after witnessing her being teased during break. However, his friends decided to handle it themselves. — Hi, Sam, — Danny said as he approached his friend, clutching a box of still- edible steak. It wasn't the most appropriate choice of food for the occasion, but he hadn't given it much thought. —Do you mind if we sit here? The girl nodded, sniffing. She didn't seem to have any time for lunch today. The portion of food remained untouched. Maybe a little more salted by her tears. — It's nice to have a quiet lunch like this, isn't it? — Tucker tried to keep the conversation going, but he didn't look at his friend's face. A white cat, which they had seen yesterday, came into view. The curious animal was obviously attracted by the smell of Tucker's meatloaf, and the boy didn't hesitate to cut a piece for the little predator. — Nice cat. I wonder where it came from at school. — Sam, I'd like to talk about yesterday, — Danny awkwardly scratched a dried-up speck of blood on the lid of his lunch container with his fingernail. The smell of the steak made him lick his lips in anticipation of lunch, but first things first. — I think I should apologize first, — Sam said, setting her untouched lunch aside. The cat, which had already finished Tucker's food, sniffed at the contents of her plate and wrinkled its nose in disgust, shaking its head. — I wanted to change everything so much. I thought I was doing better, but in reality...— She paused, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. — Are you feeling better today? Yesterday, you looked like you had died after lunch. — Well, technically, I died a long time ago, — Danny said with a sigh as he opened the lunch box. The smell of bitter herbs, spices, and iron filled the air. — But I'm fine, especially since I started paying more attention to our preferences. We have some strange tastes. — Yeah, — the Goth turned away, barely noticing the clotted blood on the meat. — I almost killed you a second time. I convinced you to go through the portal, and now... Well, Weston warned me that this diet wasn't for everyone. — It's never too late to back out, — Tucker said, cutting another piece of roll and popping it in his mouth. — Wes going to chew me out at today's meeting, — Sam sighed. — I'll have to go to Miss Spectre's after class again. — Is that our school shrink? — Tucker asked. — So you're going to them, too? ― Yeah. I couldn't sleep well after the portal incident. Have a nightmares almost every night, ― Sam tiredly ran a hand over her tear-stained face, but abruptly stopped in the middle, raising her eyes to Tucker. ― Wait, what do you mean, "too"? The guy silently pointed to Danny, who was slowly chewing on a piece of tough steak. The fibrous meat was difficult to chew, but that was part of its appeal, satisfying the ghost more than a well-done chicken. — Sleepwalking, — the teenager explained, swallowing a piece of meat. — It hasn't happened to me in a while, but now it's happening again. I don't think my trip to the Ghost Zone has been good for me. Why didn't you tell me you were having nightmares? ― Why didn't you say anything? ― The girl replied with a question. — There was no reason to tell. It only started again a couple of days ago. But Tak has always been aware of it since we met, — Danny carefully cut a new piece of meat, moving the knife along the muscle fibers. It would have been more convenient to do this at the table. However, the atmosphere in the cafeteria was not the most pleasant. — When I first stayed the night with him, we were about five years old. I thought I'd die of fear when this freak got up in the middle of the night and started wandering around the room like a zombie, — Tucker said with a smile. He had long since become accustomed to his friend's quirky behavior. He had even adapted to his partial death. I often told him stories about my grandmother, who was from New Orleans, and the voodoo and other dark practices that were believed in her community when she was a girl. ― How long have you been hanging out with this Spectra? ― Danny exhaled slightly, silently pleased that the conversation was going easier than he had expected. ― I was usually sent to a specialist with their own office in the city center, but maybe it would be easier with a school specialist? But these rumors... you know, there are a lot of strange things being said about her. — Yes, I know, — the girl sighed, looking down at the white cat, which had turned its attention from the teenagers to a sleepy bug. — I think I shouldn't have listened to her. — What did she say to you? — Tucker put his lunch aside, his guard up. Danny could feel it too. A slight chill down his spine. ― After that portal incident, I had nightmares every night about Danny being fried on an electric grill. And all those smells of meat were so similar to how he was baking inside. I only told Miss Spectre that I was having nightmares about burnt people, not that it was you, and she advised me to get rid of the triggers. She supported the idea of an ultra-secondary menu at the school council. Told me during our conversations that I was doing the right thing, that it would be good for everyone, and I believed it, — the girl said, putting her face in her hands. — Oh, Sam, — Tucker said, putting his arm around her shoulders. Danny looked around the school building. The windows of the therapist's office were visible from here, and they were tightly shuttered as always. There were many rumors circulating about Penelope Spectre, one of which claimed that she had held the position since it was first established. The Phantom was more drawn to this absurd rumor than any other. There was something about it that was sticky. It was a small ball of filth that refused to be dismissed. Wes, who had been listening to his friends' conversation all this time and was ready to intervene, had just realized that he had definitely gotten involved in something he had not intended to. Fenton had always been a strange kid, but he would never have thought that he was that strange.