Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It began as a prank, and ended in murder.”

Ayngel Sinclair lowers the book, smiling sweetly. “Fantastic choice.” 

“It’s horrible. Low-brow horror.” The balding man scowls as Ayngel’s smile starts to falter. “It’s for my stepson.” “Very well.” Ayngel bares her teeth in the fakest grin she can muster as the register beeps and she slides the book across the counter with a receipt. “That’ll be 2.95. Thank you for shopping at B. Daltons.”

He rolls his eyes, turning to leave. Ayngel flips off his receding back, her smile growing more wicked. “Have a nice night.” 

“The Shadyside Mall is now closing, I repeat, the Shadyside Mall is now closed…” 

Tinny pop music plays over the speakers as the lights shut down, the horribly cold overhead ones in the shop left to shine down on her. Ayngel mouths the words as she fixes a pile of books, swaying on her feet. 

The phone rings. Ayngel mentally curses. Of course nobody has the decency to call before closing hours. 

She reluctantly picks up the phone with a tiny sigh. “B. Daltons, we’re closed.” 

“Since when do you work late?” An amused voice comes through the speaker, and the sound makes Ayngel smile, a real one this time. She sees it in her mind’s eye, Krow leaning on the counter of Shadyside’s trinket shop with a toothy grin and red and black hair falling in its face.

“Ever since my darling mother decided to spend all our money on cocaine instead of the gas bill.” Ayngel checks her nails, unable to keep all of the contempt out of her voice. Her mother raised her as her clone, only Ayngel is 17 and working 2 jobs and her mother is probably high at her latest hookup’s house. They are alike in only appearance. 

The line goes silent. 

“Hello?” Ayngel frowns. “Krow? You there?” 

The call goes dead. Ayngel chews her cheek, carefully placing the phone back in its holder and wandering out of the bookstore. 

Shadyside Mall is dead.

There’s not a single mall worker in sight, the glow of neon signs burning into her retinas. Her yellow platform heels click against the squares of tile, loud in the crushing silence. Ayngel glances around, hands twisting in anxiety. 

Bang!

Ayngel jumps, whirling around. Red, the custodian, walks past, wheeling his cart. He looks at her, exhausted. “Night.” 

Ayngel sighs in relief, the stiffness leaving her body. She doesn’t hear the clack of boots or the whisper of chains behind her. 

“Boo!” “Jesus Christ-!” She screams, turning around so fast it almost gives her whiplash to slap a blow up doll in the face. 

The person holding it cackles, wiping non-existent tears from under its eyes. The seraphim stops, expression turning murderous. “What the fuck, Krow?” 

Krow clears its throat, holding out an orange plastic cup with a pink straw and putting on its best pout. Ayngel knows it's utterly fake. “Forgive me?” 

She contemplates it for a moment before she sighs, accepting the peace offering. Pineapple, her favourite. “I do need a ride tonight.” “Yeah, just give me and Jessica here,” It shakes the inflated doll, with blue eyeshadow and ginger hair, and Ayngel isn’t entirely sure that it’s not a sex doll, “A few minutes to close up.” “You gave her a name.” She smirks over the lid of her smoothie. 

“Well, yeah, Big Tits just sounds disrespectful.” Krow glances at it with a genuinely confused frown. “Do people actually buy this shit? Is it a fetish thing, or like…?” “Oh my god, stop talking you weirdo.” Ayngel groans, whirling around to avoid its next words. Her best friend smirks, walking back to the gift shop.

“Krow…” 

“What?” It calls back, turning with a questioning frown. Ayngel stops, affectionately rolling her eyes with a beam. “I didn’t say anything, weirdo.” 

Ayngel turns back to B. Daltons, too quick to notice Krow rubbing its forehead with a confused expression. A fly lands on its neck as it turns away. 

The metal gate jams.

Ayngel stops, frowning as she tries to pull it down. It stops a foot or so off the ground and doesn't go further, no matter how hard she pulls on the chain 

Ayngel scowls. She’s already late, her brother and sister are probably getting hungry and Aluna still can’t use the stove. She almost thinks about calling her mother, dismissing the thought with a scoff. Even if she picked up, she hasn’t cooked anything other than frozen pizza in years. 

There’s a quiet bang behind her, and Ayngel pauses.

She turns around, peeking over the counter to spot a book, sitting alone in the middle of the floor. It just fell off the shelf, Ayngel tells herself to soothe her pounding heart as she leaves the gate half open. The smoothie is set by the register as she picks up the book, sparing a glance around. 

Nobody is here, she quietly scolds herself, calm down. 

She kneels to return it to its proper place, and just as she straightens up there’s another bang, this time from across the shop. Ayngel’s heart starts to beat faster.

“Alright, asshole, you got me!” She calls hesitantly, squinting for any sign of red or black in the aisles. “I’m spooked, okay? Quit it!” 

The seraphim picks up the novel on the floor, and Ayngel looks up as something crashes again, this time followed by a splash. She clutches the book against her chest, nervously looking around the corner to find her smoothie knocked to the floor, melted orange liquid creeping across the floor. Only, there shouldn't be drops of scarlet in the puddle, right?

Ayngel turns around with stiff shoulders, just in time to face a skull mask as it stabs her in the abdomen.

She screams, both of them glancing down at the book in front of her stomach that took the hit. Ayngel runs, and the figure in the skeleton costume does too, trying to pull her back by the ankles as she crawls under the gate. 

Ayngel kicks it in the face as she scrambles to her feet, not once sparing a glance behind her as she sprints for her life. 

“Krow?!”

Ayngel skids to a stop in the gift shop, looking around frantically for her friend. The punk tiefling is nowhere to be found, not a peep of rattling jewelry to reach her ears. What Ayngel does see is a phone, right by the register and covered in worn travel stickers that certainly weren’t taken from the actual destinations. 

Ayngel pulls it from the counter, crouching behind it as she dials the emergency number, fingers shaking as she puts it to her ear. “Sunnyvale Police Station, what’s the emergency?” “I’m at the Shadyside Mall,” Ayngel whispers, trembling as she starts to glance over the counter. “There’s, um-’

Her blood goes ice cold as she spots the figure slowly stalking in her direction. 

“Ma’am?” The operator asks as Ayngel drops the phone, scrambling towards the back area. “Do you need help? If you don’t respond, I’m going to dispatch officers to your location-” 

Ayngel’s back hits the wall as she cowers, terrified of breathing too loud as heavy, stomping footsteps slowly echo through the shop. She inches across the floor as the top of a hood appears over the shelves. The figure is short, barely visible over the stacks of lava lamps and Shadyside magnets, but the shine of the knife in its hands overpowers any hope of wrestling it away. 

The seraphim slowly rises to her feet, wincing as her heels make quiet clicks as she skims the wall, ducking out of its sight line. 

Something digs into her back, and Ayngel barely represses a scream as she whirls around. 

A wall of skull masks stare back at her, from fake wear and tear to neon pink. Ayngel lets out a barely audible breath of relief as she slowly backs away. If she can just make it to the exit, maybe she can make a run for it. 

Ayngel doesn’t notice the knife-wielding skeleton behind her among the masks until there’s an arm around her neck and it slashes across her stomach. 

Ayngel screams as blood spills across her favourite purple dress, elbowing it in the eye as pain spikes through her limbs when she runs, only making it a few steps before collapsing behind a shelf. The figure is panting, breathing heavily as it stalks through the aisles. 

She squeezes her eyes shut. She has never been a religious person, despite being an angel and living in a largely religious small town, but now Ayngel prays to all the gods that she never believed in for just one chance. 

Ayngel opens her eyes, and spots Jessica the Sex Doll, and a lightbulb glows in her brain.

The figure smells blood.

The girl is nowhere in sight, but the metallic scent of blood hangs in the air, like a glowing red trail towards its target.

Because that’s all she is. A target.

The skeleton spots the beaded curtain to the storage closet, UV strings of beads swaying slightly.

It creeps towards the doorway, no care for the blood under its shoes as the switchblade in its fingers shines in the purple UV lights. Everything is utterly silent as it stops, and the world seems to hold its breath. 

It shoves the curtains aside and stabs downwards. 

The blow-up doll whistles pathetically as it deflates, a bloody handprint across its face as cold air blows from the hole in its chest. 

“Hey!” The purple-haired girl slams a lava lamp across its head like a baseball bat. It crumbles to the ground as Ayngel breathes hard and fast, dropping the lamp and sprinting for her life. 

“Somebody help!” Ayngel shrieks, running towards the food court.

Blood drips onto the floor from her stomach wound, aching as electricity shoots through her chest. Her feet are sore from running, her throat aches from screaming, everything hurts. 

There’s a woman sitting in a chair, and Ayngel runs up behind her, panicking harder. “Please, you have to-”

The woman’s head falls off when she tries to grab her shoulder. Ayngel screams in horror, whipping her head around and screaming even more as the skeleton sprints at her at full speed. Ayngel picks up her pace, stumbling as she goes. God, this must be her punishment for skipping gym class. She knocks over chairs as she goes, screaming for someone, anyone, to help her.

Ayngel passes a man dead across a table, throat oozing guts, and her vision is blurred with sweat and tears and running makeup.

The main exit is a few feet away, almost in her reach, and her hopes start to rise, because she is going to make it and live and survive and get the fuck out of Shadyside-

Her ankle buckles under her, pale yellow heels twisting her leg as Ayngel cries out in pain, and all her hope vanishes in an instant. 

The pain in her stomach feels like a bruised knee as the killer finally reaches her and stabs her in the back.

Ayngel collapses, screaming and crying and trying to crawl away, leaving bloody smears across the floor as it pulls her back by the ankles, rolling her over and plunging the knife down into her chest over and over and over. 

Her lungs start to fill with blood and Ayngel’s tears finally start to fall, and she’s never felt more vulnerable and scared than she is at this moment. Who will take care of Aluna and Aldoro once she’s gone? They’re so young, her mother won’t be any help, and God Krow. They were supposed to get out together. What will it think?

The figure moves to stab her once more, and Ayngel uses the last remaining bit of strength in her body to yank the mask off. 

She immediately sobs as red and black hair falls out of the hood, and she must be hallucinating because it wouldn’t. Not to her. “Krow?”

Krow sways, glassy-eyed and pale, not a single sign of the funny, fierce person that she once knew. Ayngel’s tears drip down into the slowly growing pool of blood that stains her hair and clothes, and she chokes on blood as she pathetically pleads, “Krow, it’s me, please, it’s me please.” 

There’s nothing there, no matter how much she searches. Ayngel clings to the little air left in her lungs as Krow raises the knife, face numb and expressionless, preparing to plunge it straight through her chest-

A gunshot rings out, and Ayngel’s world falls to pieces. 

A hole opens in Krow’s forehead as it crumbles, a cold weight on her chest as she sobs, blood flooding her throat and spilling over scarlet. Its blood joins hers, the switchblade clattering to the floor as its fingers go limp. 

Ayngel manages to suck in one final, wheezing breath, before her head lolls to the side and the light in her violet eyes finally goes out.

Chapter Text

“I’m only happy when it rains-”

Rock music blasts from a boombox, practically deafening as a teenage girl scribbles something down on a memo pad. A shoebox sits at her feet, stuffed with keepsakes and mixtapes and all sorts of knicknacks. Rays of morning sunlight stream through the window as the girl stares at the note for a moment.

Dear Squidney, I wish we never met.

“I’m only happy when it’s complicated-” 

She scratches it out with a frustrated groan, shoving wild grey curls from her face with a huff and trying again, blue ink across sunny yellow paper. 

Dear Squidney, I hate you.

“What am I, desperate?” She mutters to herself, barely able to hear herself over the music. 

“And though you can’t appreciate it-”

The alarm clock on her bedside rings, shrill and loud. The girl snaps out of her trance, scowling as she reaches over and slams the off button. She scribbles something quickly, tossing it in the box and slamming the lid with far too much venom. 

Dear Squidney,

Go fuck yourself.

Love, Spidey.

“I’m only happy when it rains.”

There’s a wall plastered with newspapers.

A young boy hums along to his headphones, pinning up a new paper in his reach. Some are yellowed from years of age, some are newer and smell of ink. The newest one is a transcript in neat text, one that he stares at with an unreadable expression before reaching for a new pin. 

A freckled hand yanks the headphones off his head, dangling them in the air. “Dude, I’ve been calling you for 20 minutes-” 

“Hey!” He shrieks, bouncing on his toes as he tries to snatch them away. “Give those back!” “I’m not having us being late for school for your stupid nerd shit, I have band practice!” The taller boy holds them out of reach with a frown. “Oh please, like anybody cares about your attendance.” He scowls, grabbing them back and reaching for another paper. His brother grabs it before he can, squinting at the words. “God, what even is this-” He stops, a frown pulling down his mouth. “Holy shit.” 

“Some psycho went crazy at the mall last night and killed a bunch of people.” The smaller boy grumbles as he grabs it from his limp fingers. “Skull Mask killer. Just what we needed.” “See, this is why you have no friends.” “You don’t get it, Mohwee! This is exactly what I’m saying, people don’t believe in the witch but how else do you explain this?” “Oeca, this is the last time I’m gonna say this, get in the car.” 

“I’m telling you, It’s all Shelby Grace’s doing!” “Get in the car!” Mohwee snaps, and Oeca grabs his headphones, shoving them over his head as he stomps out of the room. 

Shadyside High is infested with couples.

They line the halls, making out and giggling to themselves and generally having no human decency as Spidey’s shoes click against the ground, because how can anyone feel love when her heart feels so empty? Like a gaping chasm in her chest, a hole in her heart that had previously been overflowing with all sorts of gross, sappy feelings. 

A couple is standing in front of her locker, faces pressed together and making noises that shouldn’t be heard within 60 feet of school property. It makes her nauseous. 

Spidey bangs on the locker next to them, ignoring their complaints and grumbles as they finally rejoin reality. They could go fuck themselves, for all she cared. All the energy was drained out of her, her mind wallowing in heartache. The numbers on the lock seem foreign, shifting into cracked hearts and wilted flowers in front of her eyes. 

Bang!

Spidey’s head shoots up, watching a hooded figure in green carve something into a locker a few numbers down, covered in sticky notes and pictures. He walks away as

Spidey takes his place, frowning for a moment. Whatever prank this was, Ayngel was going to kill them for vandalising her locker- 

It’s not vandalism. Spidey’s stomach drops to her feet.

The craving is a simple all capitals RIP, the sticky notes all carrying various generic sad messages. There’s an allium taped to the vents, and Ayngel is smiling in all the pictures. 

It is so clearly created by self-proclaimed 'good-doers' who didn’t know shit about her, and Spidey wants to kill somebody.

A piece of paper flutters to the ground as Spidey yanks her locker open, falling from the vents and landing softly at her feet. She crouches to pick it up, squinting to read the chicken scratch.

Meet me in the bathrooms, ladykiller :)

Really, even if she had many friends, there was only one Spidey knew had such horrid handwriting.

She slams the locker shut, note crumbling in her palm as she heads for the girls bathroom. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” Spidey deadpans. 

“She reaches from beyond the grave, to make good men her wicked slaves,” Someone behind her whispers, in a way that was probably meant to be spooky but really just sounded like a horrible mickey mouse impression. “You’re a dick.” “She’ll take your blood! She’ll take your head!” The boy grins, reading off the words sprayed across the stalls in bloody red, wriggling his fingers. “She’ll follow you, until you’re dead!” 

“You’re a horrible person.” If looks could kill, Mohwee would be dead on the floor. “Please, I’m hilarious. Besides, the guy was wearing a Halloween skull mask. How is that not fun?” “Fun?” Spidey says incredulously. “People died. Ayngel died. The dude was probably just some sad psycho who hated his life and thought, ‘hey! Why don’t I get out of here? And better yet, why don’t I take Ayngel and a couple other mall rats with me?’” 

Spidey spins on her heel, slamming her palms into the sink. “There is no ‘witch’ that made him go crazy, the only thing that made him go crazy is this town!” 

The green flannel in her hands hits the ground, and Mohwee looks over her shoulder at her face in the mirror, the smile falling off his face. “Are you okay?” 

Spidey takes a deep breath, the sound shaking a little bit on the output as she turns around, dragging a hand over her face. “Yeah, um-” She holds out the box, weathered on the corners as she winces. “I need you to give this to Squidney tonight.” 

“Yeah, absolutely not.” Mohwee snorts, fixing his hair, and the rejection is expected but not welcomed. “Come on, please-?” “No way, I am not getting involved in your ex-drama. Do it yourself.” “I’m not going to the game.” Spidey grumbles, grip tightening on the box. “I quit band.”

“So?” He raises an eyebrow. “Look, you put that hideous uniform back on for one more game, and then you never have to see her again. Bing bang boom, issue solved.” “Not happening.”

“You can’t just run away from all your problems, Spides.” Mohwee sighs, and Spidey glumly stares at her shoes without a response.

“You know nobody believes in this witch shit, right? It’s just like, fucked up Santa Claus or something.” He shrugs. “Look, you still have your uniform, right?” Spidey nods. “All you have to do, is play one last game. Easy peasy. Besides,”

Mohwee smiles his signature mischievous grin, backing into a stall to step up on the toilet and pry off the vent cover. “I’ve got something that’ll give you the balls to face her.” “Dude, why are you even in here, this is the girls bathroom?” “You think anybody would let me anywhere near the boys bathroom? I’ve got transgender cooties.” He jumps down, holding out a white cardboard box with a wide grin. “Candy store.”

Spidey squints as Mohwee opens it, and her face falls because that can’t be right. There are bottles of pills, plastic baggies of leaves, but that can’t be because- “You’re dealing again? I thought you stopped after Slimy Silvia OD-ed?” “Okay, one, she wasn’t a real OD. They brought them back.” He makes a gesture with his free hand, like slamming a defibrillator on someone's chest. “She’s fine. Two, honesty and integrity don’t pay the bills.” “You’re a moron.” “Oh please.” 

The boy knocks his shoulder into hers as they walk out of the bathroom, the loud chatter assaulting her eardrums. “I’m getting out of here, bitches. No matter how many assholes I have to bulldoze on my way.” “Inspirational. Where’d you get that from, the counselor's office?” Spidey remarks dryly. Mohwee opens his mouth, most likely to respond with an equally snarky comment, when the crowd parts and a boy sprints down the hallway.

“Long live the witch!” He shrieks, and it takes a moment for her to realize he’s dragging a plastic dummy behind him, a rope around its neck. Mohwee joins the students' cheers, whooping as they shriek with laughter. 

Spidey watches him go past Ayngel’s locker, something unreadable on her face. 

Spidey stands in a line up of band members, the box in her arms and a permanent scowl on her face.

The principal drones on, about sportsmanship and statistics and ‘you’re all winners in your hearts’. It’s all bullshit. Shadyside hasn’t won a game ever since the formation of their football team. Really, Spidey’s pretty sure the only reason it still exists is for the boys to look pretty and somewhat competent. 

“Out of respect for last night’s events,” The principal moves on, wheezy voice forcing her to wince, “Sunnyvale will host a candlelight vigil for the victims before the game. All player, cheer, and band attendance is mandatory.” The crowd bursts into groans and disappointed shouts. Spidey rolls her eyes.

She catches Mohwee’s eyes across the room. He shakes his head. Seriously?

Spidey responds by making a finger gun and pressing it to her forehead, pretending to pull the trigger. 

Her band uniform is unbearably itchy. 

Spidey scratches at her arms as she steps onto the bus, wearing that stupid uniform with a drum around her neck. Her frizzy, unruly curls stick out from under the feathered hat no matter how much she tries. Things are being thrown around the bus, shrieks and shouts that make  her scowl deeper. She feels like an alien.

“Didn’t you quit?” A footballer asks, and Spidey lets her face speak for itself. 

Spidey finds an empty seat, dropping like a stone by the window with a sigh, messing with her headphones until they fit around her hat, and lets the music drown out the noise as the bus pulls out of the Shadyside High parking lot. She taps out a faint beat with her drumsticks on the seat in front of her as they pass the sign announcing their entrance into Sunnyvale, rundown one-story cottages turning to white, pristine mansions. 

Now leaving Shittyside. 

God, they have pillars. Rich assholes. 

Spidey only reluctantly leaves her own world when the bus pulls into the stadium, alongside another that must be from Sunnyvale’s highschool. She tucks her sticks into her back pocket as they exit the bus, glancing around for Mohwee. 

The Sunnyvalers are also getting off their bus, and Spidey quickly retreats into the crowd before she can catch sight of any brunette, stupidly pretty cheerleaders. 

Worst plan ever, Spidey miserably thinks.

Chapter Text

“As Mayor of Sunnyvale, I have seen your suffering from the next town over…” 

The man drones on and on, on a podium in the middle of the field as Spidey watches, unimpressed. The crowd is a sea of blue and red, split down the middle with far more people on the blue side. The people clad in red are whispering and giggling amongst themselves, no regard for the grieving Shadysiders. 

“And I can proudly say, all of Sunnyvale mourns with you.” 

“Yeah, really looks like they give a shit.” Mohwee mutters from his place next to her, glaring daggers at the handful of bored and laughing Sunnyvalers. “The only people who came are the ones who had to.” Spidey hums in response, too focused on craning her neck and standing on her tiptoes to search the red side of the crowd. 

“You’re hurting my ego here, Spides.” “Sorry.” She mumbles, falling back on her heels with a sigh. “Just… a little distracted, is all.” “Yeah, that’s a word for it.” Mohwee rolls his eyes, adding on quietly; “‘Over her’ my ass.” 

Mohwee says something else, but whatever it is drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears because there she is. 

Among the cherry red uniforms, shining among the rest like a star in the dark of space, is a girl in a Sunnyvale cheerleader outfit, with long brown hair tied back with a ribbon and a pair of old, worn-out goggles. Her eyes are glued to her feet, arms wrapped around herself protectively, and she’s the only one in sight that isn’t smiling or talking. Even if she wasn’t, Spidey doubts she would notice anything else. 

The worst part is that she’s still as beautiful as ever, and Spidey’s unruly heart breaks a little bit more.

The girl looks up from her feet, sensing someone’s eyes on her, and when her eyes lock on Spidey they flash with something melancholy and fuck she can’t do this. 

“Spidey, what- where are you going?” Mohwee hisses as she spins on her heel and darts away, ignoring the quiet complaints as she bumps into other students. 

The thought of facing her makes her sick.

Spidey has never been good at feelings.

She’s always felt more deeply than others- tears overflow and make rivers, anger explodes into fiery balls of destruction, and it's near impossible to wrangle her expressions into what is an acceptable reaction. It’s always been easier to run away from her problems, to shove down all those emotions and thoughts and feelings until they condense into a stone at the bottom of her lungs that feels rather suffocating. It’s not ideal, and certainly not healthy, but it's far better than letting them spill out like colourful yarn.

She won’t lie and say it’s pleasant, though. 

Spidey finally drops down on the concrete ground, leaning her head against the pillar behind her with a sigh. The box sits at her feet, inanimate and unknowing of all the memories inside, tainted sickly green with grief. She pulls off that dumb looking feathered hat, fixing her bangs with a sigh. 

Her eyes start to well with tears against her will. She’s already forgotten you. 

She scrubs them away as fast as she can, blinking hard and fast. It’s fine. That part of her life is all in the past now, it doesn’t matter anymore, Spidey should just move on and stop giving a shit-

A pair of blue sneakers enter her vision, and Spidey looks up, letting out a shaky exhale. “There you are.”

“I… didn’t think you were coming.” Squidney Mewell shuffles her feet, looking uncomfortable. Good. “I thought you quit band.” 

“Yeah,” Spidey responds, clipped and cool as she gets to her feet, “I did. Here,” the drummer kicks the box toward her, sliding across the ground until it comes to a stop against her shoes. Squidney glances between her and the box, anxiously chewing her bottom lip as she kneels down and takes the lid off. Spidey stares at her cheerleader uniform.

Squidney never liked red, she distantly recalls.

“Is this my stuff?” There’s a quiver to Squidney’s voice as she gazes at the contents, a sweater and mixtapes and a strip of photos of the two of them. Two years of notes and sussys and fading memories. 

Spidey tries to keep her voice even. “Ding ding ding.” 

The floodlights around the field go out.

Candles are passed around, lit with the flames of others. Mohwee accepts one from the person beside him, and as the flame flickers he wonders how Krow is doing. It must be devastated. He hasn’t seen it since yesterday. 

Sheriff Keldor is on the podium now, a young ginger woman standing next to him with an anxious expression. He’s talking, but Mohwee tunes it out with no troubles. He’s kind of an asshole once you actually talk to him. 

Oeca wanted to come. Mohwee said no. He’d like to keep him far away from Shadyside for as long as he can.

The high schoolers are near the front, but in the back are the rest. The parents, the friends, the partners and siblings and loved ones. There are two children with purple hair and halos that he’s sure are Ayngel’s brother and sister. Their mother is absent. 

“There is no peace, nor answers, found in the past.” 

Mohwee sighs to himself, and wonders when things will change. 

“Please, can we just talk-?”

“What is there to talk about?” Spidey keeps walking away, tone cold and harsh. “Okay, you broke up with me, remember? So stop acting like I’m the bad guy.” “Well, I’m not the one who moved to Sunnyvale.” She whirls around, and Squidney’s eyes are wide and hurt and it almost makes her hesitate. “You made the choice, I just made it official.” 

Squidney takes a shaky breath, like she’s trying to calm herself down. “My parents got divorced. It wasn’t my choice-” “Oh please, you couldn’t wait to start your new fake life with your fake-ass mom! How’s that going for you, by the way, has she finally remembered she has a daughter?” “That’s not fair. You don’t know anything about me.” Squidney says, voice trembling on the syllables. 

“Don’t I?” She tilts her head, and the laugh that bubbles out of her throat is bitter and cold. “I know you were always too afraid to tell people about us. I know that.” 

Squidney looks exactly how Spidey feels- close to tears.

“I know Ayngel was your friend. And you left her behind.” “Stop it.” “You left all of us behind, and now look where that got you-” “I said stop-” “I bet you didn’t even come for her, huh? You only came because it was required, because we just meant nothing to you-” “God, shut up!” Squidney snaps, whirling around. 

“We can not wallow in the darkness,” Sheriff Keldor speaks into the microphone, like the self-centered asshole he is, “we must find a pathway to the light.”

A scoff from the Sunnyvale quarterback is loud in the quiet night air. “What we should do is light a fuse, and burn down Shittyside.”

“What did you say?” A Shadysider football player frowns, stepping out of the line towards him. Mohwee’s eyes dart between the two. S eriously? We’re doing this at a memorial?

“You don’t get it.” “Oh no, I get it. There’s not much of a future in Murder Capital with a lesbo, huh?” Spidey smiles bitterly. “I mean, best case is dead on the mall floor after a double shift, or you know what, maybe if you’re lucky you’re the one holding the knife.” 

“I said,” the Sunnyvaler puts pressure on the words, getting up in the other boy’s face as he throws the candle aside, “it’s not a tragedy when it happens every other week. It’s a joke.” 

“Jesus, you’re doing it again.” Squidney snorts, sky blue sneakers squeaking against the concrete. “Doing what?” “You know, ‘welcome to the suck! Shit is doomed!’” “Shit is doomed!” “It doesn’t have to be, Spides, God, it’s like you want to be miserable-”

“At least I know who I am.” Spidey croaks, and Squidney falters. 

The Shadysiders and Sunnyvalers step towards each other, the crowds meshing together yet still divided. Nobody’s listening to the speech anymore. Mohwee nervously glances in the direction Spidey left. She’s gonna kill me if she misses this. 

“Stop being mad at me for wanting a different future!” “Is it really your future if you’re pretending to be someone else?” 

“Say that again, motherfucker!” The Shadyside player shoves the boy in red. He staggers back with a snort.

Spidey picks up the box of all their memories, and forcefully pushes it into Squidney’s arms. 

The Sunnyvaler swings his fist at the Shadysider, and all hell breaks loose. 

People start screaming, and Spidey’s scowl falls away to be replaced by confusion. What the actual fuck?

Everybody is screaming.

Mohwee watches in horror (and mild amusement) as the fight breaks out, footballers in blue and red punching and kicking and swearing. The Sheriff has come down from his podium, trying to pull the instigator off his opponent, and it’s really funny watching it all blow up in his face. The cheerleaders are screaming, half the crowd has left, it’s utter chaos. 

Man. Someone better be recording.

Mohwee spots one of his bandmates, hat long gone as he and a footballer exchange punches. He’s skinny and sloppy. They’ll eat him alive.

“Suck it in, bitch-!” He yells, before an elbow hits him square in the face. 

“Shitheads!” He shouts, holding an ice pack to his cheek. They’re on the bus back home and it’s a boiling pot of body odor and bruises and frustration. “They think they can ruin our vigil, then go waltzing back into their mansions like we’re some reject pile they can step on!” “No!” 

Mohwee, despite his incredible humility and modesty (said no one ever ), relishes in the cheering. Something bubbles under his skin, begging to be released. “Well we are not the reject pile! Shit ends tonight!” 

“What are we gonna do?” Someone shouts. “We’re gonna go kill those preppy assholes!” He yells back gleefully, settling back into his seat with his ice pack and a grin as the bus bursts into cheers. 

Someone stands on a seat, raising his fists. “When I say Shady you say Side! Shady-” “Side!” “Shady-!” “Side!” “When I say-”

Spidey, lying in the farthest backseat, tunes it all out.

Two years of my life, she thinks miserably, all for nothing.

Breakups have always been described as something temporary, something resolvable. You’re sad for a few weeks, eat chocolate, cut your hair, then you get a glow-up or show him what he’s missing, all while falling in love with a new boy toy. It’s supposed to be fixable. 

Spidey thinks she’ll never be fixed. Like her toy plane in 2nd grade that she flew into a tree and caused the gears to break.

Spidey sighs, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Stupid witch. Stupid Sunnyvale, stupid Shadyside, stupid Squidney-

A light makes its way through her eyelids, and Spidey opens them with a frown. 

She sits up, getting to her feet as the blare of a car horn rings through the night, barely there over the screaming in the bus. A red Nissan is driving a few feet behind the car, swerving wildly and honking like lunatics. The driver-

Is wearing a skull mask.

Someone throws a bottle at the back window, shattering the green glass and splashing amber liquid across the back door and Spidey’s blood boils.

“Mohwee, get your ass over here!” She yells, storming forward and unceremoniously yanking him out of his seat. “Ow- Dude, what’s got your tits in a twis…” He trails off as she pulls him towards the emergency exit, his expression getting stormy. “Oh fuck no.” 

“Sunnyvale pricks.” She breathes as another boy stands up through the sunroof, whooping as he tosses another beer bottle at them. “Go back to Hell, psychos!” They shout with laughter.

He has a fucking skull mask too.

“Hey, Spides…” Mohwee starts, the angry expression melting off his face, “Isn’t that…”

Spidey follows his eyes, and her stomach lurches and oh she’s gonna be sick . “Squidney.”

The brunette is in the passenger seat, glancing between the bus and the driver nervously. Her lips are moving, talking, and Spidey obviously can’t hear what she’s saying but her heart finds its way up to her throat and squeezes-

“Open the door.” She says, a vile ringing in her ears as she reaches for the yellow cooler next to her.

“What-” “Open the door!” She snaps, and Mohwee stares at her for a moment, confusion in his wide dark eyes, before he pulls the lever and the door swings wide open. He grabs the other side of the cooler as she pulls it out from its crevice.

“Help me.” She pops the lid off, and prepares to dump out its contents, and the adrenaline rushing through her veins feels like nothing compared to the anger and pain and hurting. “On three.” “Spidey, what the hell-” “One,” “This is a horrible idea-!” “Two-” “Spidey!”

The unnatural force behind his words makes her look up, and Mohwee’s face goes pale. “Your nose-”

Scarlet drops on the collar of her shirt as her fingers slip, and time moves in slow motion.

The entire cooler tumbles out of the emergency exit, ice and drinks crashing into the car’s windshield as the cooler hits the hood. Time slams forward, and the smell of burning rubber and gas is suffocating as the car swerves, spinning out off the road and into the forest and she can barely hear their screams but holy fucking shit. 

“Stop!” She cries out, blood gushing from her nose as she shoves through the gaping onlookers. “Stop the bus!”

Squidney’s head hurts. 

She blinks the spots from her vision, wincing at the pain in her ribs. She’s the only one awake, the driver and backseat passenger passed out in their seats, unconscious. That tiny, resentful part of her mind says thank goodness. 

Crazy assholes.

Her fingers blindly fumble for her seatbelt, the pressure on her chest disappearing with a faint click as she falls out of the car and lands on damp red moss. The front of the car is destroyed, windshield shattered and the wheels ripped to shreds. It looks like a scene from one of those documentaries Spidey used to like. 

Spidey. 

Her face had been horrified. Squidney shakes her head to rid that image from her brain, only succeeding in sending red hot pain through her skull. Ow. 

The moss squishes under her palms as she crawls, her legs sore and trembling. Faintly, she wonders where it came from. She hasn’t seen red moss before, at least not in her memory. 

There’s something dripping down her face, and when Squidney wipes it up her fingers come away red. 

Squidney sighs to herself. This day can not get any worse. 

She sets her hand down, and she can barely register the solid object under her fingers before her vision fills with angry, desperate red. 

The forest vanishes, replaced by flashes, images, almost too fast for her to catch anything but a glimpse- pages of a book, a twisted, warped-looking tree, a woman’s disheveled face as she screams in agony and pain and rage-

A hand falls on her shoulder, cool and comforting and familiar in that aching way, and Squidney is yanked away from her trance. 

“Squids, holy shit.” Spidey breathes, wiping blood from her lips with her thumb, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think- are you okay?” “Did you see her too?” Squidney whispers, fingers clenched. Spidey’s brows furrow. “Who?” 

A twig crunches. 

Squidney looks over Spidey’s shoulder. There’s nothing behind her except for trees and dirt and the faint light of the road ahead. She’s suddenly very aware of how dark it is.

Spidey follows her gaze, and the sound of breaking sticks and leaves grows louder, and a shadow passes behind a tree and Squidney stiffens, knuckles white- 

A dark-haired boy stumbles out of the trees, nearly tripping over a red piece of wreckage, and she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. It’s only Mohwee.

“Jesus fuck, man.” He drops on his knees in the moss, features etched with concern. “What, did the tree win?” “...What?” “Shut up, and help me carry her-” “She’s fine, Spidey- Squids, tell her you’re fine.”

Squidney opens her mouth, pausing, but the only thing that comes out is crimson, splattering on his clean white shirt.

“Oh, ew.” Mohwee wrinkles his nose. “She’s not fine! She’s probably bleeding internally, we need to get her to the hospital-” “How many fingers am I holding up?” “Mohwee-” “Come on, I got this.” He glances over at her, and either Squidney’s crazy or his face softens just a bit. “I got this, alright? Now tell me.” 

She stares at him for a moment, before sighing in resignation. “Three.” “There we go.” Mohwee gets to his feet, starting to jog back the way he came. “Guys, we found them-!” 

Squidney watches as Spidey opens her mouth, and after a moment snaps it shut. 

“Spidey Army?”

“Yep,” she says, popping the p like mint gum. “Is that your real name?” The ginger woman raises an eyebrow, skeptical. The badge around her neck announces her name as Ash. “It’s on my birth certificate, yeah.” Spidey resists the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

“You want to tell me what happened?” She clicks her pen. “The car crashed. Pretty simple.” ‘Was it pursuing you?” “It was driving behind the bus, if that’s what you count as pursuing.” The lies roll off her tongue, practiced and smooth like honey. 

“You know something funny?” Ash doesn’t wait for an answer. “The driver said that before the crash someone opened the emergency exit.” “That’s weird. I didn’t notice.” “Didn’t you?” She cocks her head. “He also said he saw you with the cooler.” 

“Did anybody else?” Spidey raises a brow.

Ash exhales, tucking her pen into her pocket. “Maybe you were… only messing around. Maybe things got out of hand.” “Miss, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re questioning me. I’ve told you everything I know, now can I go?”

The woman hesitates before pulling a business card out of her pocket and handing it to her. “Here. If anything happens, call me.” “Thank you.” Spidey turns to leave, walking away with the full intention of throwing it out as soon as possible and much more confidence than she feels.

That doesn’t last long.

A hand hooks around her forearm, spinning her around. “My car is ruined.” The driver snarls, spit flying off his lips. Spidey can’t remember his name for the life of her- it was something terribly basic, like Tom or Peter.

“Yeah, well, Daddy will buy you a new one.” She responds icily, yanking her arm out of his bruising grip. Tom-or-Peter glances over her shoulder, twisting his mouth in what has to be the least genuine smile she’s ever seen before wrapping his arms around her in a false copy of a hug.

Spidey immediately stiffens. She doesn’t like hugs in general, let alone from rich, sweaty assholes. 

“The next time I see you and your little friends,” he hisses in her ear, still with that stupid smile on his face and if he doesn’t let her go in the next five seconds she’s biting his face off, “You’re all dead.”

Spidey settles for shoving him off harder than necessary. Tom-or-Peter sneers, and out of view Ash watches them with an unreadable expression as he walks away.

Chapter Text

A day passes without a word. 

Spidey eyes the phone as she cleans up, scowling at the beer cans lying everywhere. “Dad.” She grumbles, throwing them in the recycling with more force than needed. 

The news plays out in the background over the buzzing in her brain, like an annoying fly that crawled through her ear in her sleep and is now making itself a nuisance. The sink is filled to the brim with bubbles, sweet smelling and hiding scalding water as she violently scrubs the dishes. 

Squidney looks at her, wide-eyed and worried, and the words are on the tip of her tongue but Spidey has always been nothing but a coward.

She slams a cup into the draining rack, sighing as she leans her elbows on the counter and buries her head in her hands. They broke up. It’s over. Whatever was there before is long gone. 

So why can’t she get stupid Squidney out of her head? 

“I’m here with Mall custodian Red D. Doons- Red, what can you tell us?”

Spidey returns to her task, scrubbing at sauce residue on a plate. The repetitive motions are somewhat calming. 

Her eyes shift to her worn-out shoes, Squidney’s blood staining the rubber. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, I mean- it was a nice kid, always cleaned up after itself, polite enough- always thought it was rather odd, but it was decent to me. I don’t know what happened.” 

Her attention momentarily drifts to the TV, a news banner sliding across the bottom as the newscaster holds out a microphone to a man with sunglasses and- is that a sock over his head? 

Then the screen shifts to a picture, and the drumstick she’s been anxiously twirling snaps between her fingers.

“The Skull Mask killer has now been identified as Krow of Shadyside, a local high schooler and mall worker-”

They’re lying, is Spidey’s first instinct. Krow would skin itself before hurting Ayngel.

But there on the screen is Krow’s yearbook photo, its bangs brushed out of its face for once and wearing a bored expression. It’s unmistakable, the red and black hair, the horns, the jewelry- every little detail screaming Krow’s name, down to the scar along its forehead and the red ring around its pupils.

Her heart gains another crack.

Spidey snatches up the remote and turns off the TV, stomach rolling. She can’t watch this. The buzzing is back, louder than ever, and her back crashes against the counter as she sinks to the ground, curling in on herself, and Spidey has never been good at feelings but she knows this one to the tips of her being. It’s suffocating, clogging her lungs with grey, rainy clouds. 

Maybe it should have been me. 

The harsh ring of the doorbell snaps her down to earth. 

Spidey shakily sucks in air, getting to her feet and crossing the living room. Her heart is beating hard enough that it feels as though it’ll rip through her flesh. 

Her fingers are trembling as she unlocks and opens the front door, and there’s… nobody there, actually. 

Spidey frowns, momentarily distracted from her incoming anxiety attack as she steps onto the porch. “Hello?”

No childish giggles or delivery workers are waiting for her. Just eerie silence.

Probably just stupid kids playing ding-dong ditch, Spidey thinks, still on edge, moving to go back inside. Can’t blame them, not like there’s anything else to do in this fucking town-

That’s when she sees it. A figure down the street, partially hidden by a bush, standing still in the shadows on the sidewalk.

Wearing a fucking skeleton costume.

“Hey, jackass!” She shouts, trying to keep the tremor from her voice, but she’s not sure if it’s from fear or rage. “See you got the full costume, huh?”

The figure doesn’t respond, stock still. Spidey’s gut twists in a knot. 

“Fuck off, you cunt.” She mutters as she slams the door. Nobody but her would hear it, but it's more so the principle of the matter. 

Sunnyvale prick, Spidey scowls as she returns to her place, crouching to grab a new bottle of soap. Probably wants revenge for his stupid car.

Krow would hate his guts, her brain supplies unhelpfully, and Spidey unkindly tells it to shut the hell up.

Spidey finally straightens, giving the bottle a shake. She would call Mohwee, but he’s working overtime this week. A small part of her is glad for that, because if he’d heard about this he’d be crushed. Probably more than her, he was closer to Krow than she was. 

The girl wipes her hands on her jeans, preparing to return to her dishes, when something outside the kitchen window catches her eye. She squints in the dark, until her vision adjusts and the blob solidifies and Spidey sees red. 

The figure is back, standing right outside her kitchen window, staring at her with that stupid skull mask-

And the knife in his hands reflects the moonlight, the shine making her fists clench. 

“Asshole,” she breathes, snatching a freshly washed kitchen knife out of its block and storming towards the back door. How dare he come to her house in that dreaded costume, carrying a knife like a bloody lunatic, and yet she’s the fucking psycho?

If that’s how you want to play, game on. Spidey fumes as she yanks the door open, fully prepared for whatever fight he wants-

He’s long gone. The only thing in the figure’s place is grass and the cool night air. 

“You’re pathetic!” She yells. The only response is the chirp of crickets. 

“Come on, come on-” 

Oeca grumbles as he furiously mashes the buttons on the controller, eyes glued to the screen. Flashes of blue and white and green light up his face along with the basket of laundry he’s supposed to be folding. He’ll work on it eventually. 

“Up up, down down,” he mutters, tossing popcorn in his mouth, “Left right left right B.A start-!”

The screen flashes with the victory logo, and Oeca throws up his hands in celebration, pumping his fists with a big grin. A bit more practice, and he’ll wipe Mohwee’s high score from existence. 

The grin doesn’t last long, wiped off his face as the phone rings. 

Oeca groans, reluctantly getting to his feet and heading for the phone on the kitchen wall. The house is utterly silent other than his footsteps, planks creaking under his feet. What remains of his dinner sits by the sink as he picks up the phone with an overdramatic sigh. “Listen, we don’t want to expand our life insurance, if you call this number again I'm gonna frame you for tax fraud-"

“Dude.” Spidey’s voice deadpans, and Oeca blinks in surprise. “Oh. Hey Spides.”

“Some Sunnyvale asshole is messing with me.” She says, crackling through the speakers, and now he can hear the anger bubbling just below her carefully calm tone. “He’s fucking stalking my house.” “Seriously?” He pops a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “That’s messed up.” “No shit it’s messed up- look, is Mohwee home yet?” “He doesn’t get home til ten.” “Fuck, then can you please just tell him to call me back when he does?” “Sure, but I can’t confirm he won’t until the morning; he’s always tired after extra shifts.” He shrugs. “Can’t you just call the cops or something-?” 

Something across the house shatters.

Oeca’s head whirls around, mouth twisting in a confused frown. “Hey, um, I’ll call you back.” “What- Oeca-?” 

He hangs up before she can finish. The silence hits him like a brick. He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s a scrawny young boy home alone, in the middle of the night, in Shadyside. 

Oeca grabs a candlestick from the table before starting down the hall. He’s not a total idiot.

His steps are quiet, sidestepping the squeaky floorboards instinctively like its second nature. He holds the candlestick tight to his chest, forcing the quiver in his fingers down as he peeks around the corner.

The screen now illuminates a destroyed living room, like a tornado stopped by and decided to cause mass chaos. The laundry basket is knocked over, clothes spilled across the floor, and the curtains flutter in the wind. The window is broken. 

Oh, Mohwee’s gonna kill me, Oeca realizes, and then his eyes land on the main concern, his brain adding on; never mind then.

A figure in all black stands with their back to him, stiff with something in their hands. Oeca, looking much braver than he feels, steps out from behind the corner, “Oi, creeper, what the fuck-”

The figure slowly turns, and the words die in his throat as a Halloween skull mask sits under the hood where their face should be.

He ducks back behind the wall, heart pounding so fast he thinks he might have a stroke right that second. The stalker’s in his house. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. 

Logically, he should run to the neighbours. But right now, the slightest noise makes his breath catch in his throat, and he would really love to be less fucked than he already is. 

The floor creaks once, and then there is silence. Creepy, cold silence. Oeca hesitantly looks around the corner after a few moments, eyes wide. 

The breeze ruffles the curtains, not one skeletal figure in sight. 

The candlestick clatters to the floor as Oeca slums with relief, dragging a hand over his face. Scariest experience of my life , oh my god.

He should call Spidey before she thinks he’s been murdered. He’d hate to see how that would go.

As he turns to leave, something catches his eye.

A discarded shirt lies innocently on the torn-apart couch- far from the rest of the clothes. It’s too big to be his, and there are faint blood splatters across it, which means it must be Mohwee’s shirt from last night. He told him everything, at least an abridged version.

Oeca slowly steps forward to pick it up, and it's in that moment that he sees the holes tearing it nearly to shreds- almost as if someone took a knife to it. 

Mohwee returns the phone to its hook and considers banging his head against the wall.

“You okay?” His coworker Kyle frowns in concern. He’s a decent guy, somewhere in his thirties and perfectly accepting of Mohwee’s weird as hell schedule. So long as you don’t ask about the long, thin scar stretching up his cheek, he’s nice. There’s not many people who will tolerate his whole… himself. “That didn’t sound like good news.”

“No, no- it’s fine.” Mohwee sighs, running a hand through his tangled curls. He’s so fucking tired. “Are you alright if I leave, something’s happened and I just-” “Dude.” Kyle gives a look. “You’ve been working overtime for weeks. It’s an hour until closing. Go home.” “You’re actually a saint.” He groans, already untying his apron. “I’ll bring you cookies tomorrow to make up for it, I promise.” 

Kyle watches him intently, something he can’t identify in his expression. “Are you sure everything is alright?” 

“Of course,” Mohwee smiles that tart, unnatural smile he always uses for adults, “You know, I just gotta-”

“-Kill that fucking pervert!” Mohwee fumes, spinning on his heel, out of his work uniform. “What the hell do you mean he broke into the house while you were alone? With a fucking knife?” “Calm down, I can practically see the flames coming from your mouth.” Oeca remarks dryly. “I’m fine, he just kept- sniffing around our laundry like a pervert.” “Like that makes me feel better!” 

“Sunnyvale asshole.” Spidey mutters as she burns a trail through the floor with her pacing, biting her nails to the stubs. “Are you sure it’s him?” “Yes, I’m sure- the last time I saw him he literally threatened us!” “So he thinks, just because he’s blond and perfect and shit, he can prank us on our turf?” Mohwee’s tone bubbles with frustration.

“You’re right. Fuck this.” Spidey smiles bitterly, whirling around and stopping her pacing, arms crossed. “Fuck that guy.” 

“Hello?” Oeca speaks up, wearing an annoyed scowl. “We’re forgetting the most important part- fuck, Squidney.” 

Spidey stares at him for a moment, before her mouth tightens in a line. “Yeah, fuck her. She needs to put her dog on a leash.” 

Spidey snatches a set of car keys off the table as she beelines for the front door. Mohwee watches her go until the door slams and he snaps back to reality. He pulls Oeca out of his chair, ignoring his squawks as they follow behind. 

Shadyside Memorial Hospital is a pathetic little thing. 

There isn’t even another floor, about twenty rooms on a single story, and no operating areas. That’s for Sunnyvale General, the maze of clinics and doctors that it is. 

Of course, Shadyside doesn’t have as much need for hospitals as it does Morgues.

The receptionist is an older woman with dark hair and hollow eyes, who doesn’t look up from her nails as they walk in. Spidey waits a solid minute for her to notice them, before giving up and simply ringing the bell. She doesn’t even look at them, sliding a clipboard across the counter. “Sign here and take a seat.”

“I need to see a patient. Squidney Mewell?” “Visiting hours ended at 8.” She sends a glare in her direction. “You’ll have to come back another time.” 

Mohwee coughs, stepping forwards and gently pushing her aside. He rests his arms on the counter and smiles, and Spidey can tell from the innocence that he’s biting his tongue as he says, “Tell Nurse Callum he has a patient, would you?” 

The woman gives them a weird look, but obeys. 

“Callum,” Mohwee clasps his hands as a man walks out, with fox-like features and faded orange hair, “Lovely to see you.” “What do you want?” “I’m offended. Anyways, I’m in need of your assistance.” “I’m sure. Unfortunately there’s a new security protocol in place. Kept coming up short on blueberries and bananas, if you know what I mean-” 

“I need to see a patient.” Spidey steps in front of him, fists clenched, and god she can’t believe she’s willfully doing this.

As Callum escorts Spidey through the automatic doors, Oeca turns to Mohwee, his nose wrinkled in confusion. “Blueberries and bananas?”

“Vicodin and Percocet.” He supplies casually, like that’s not a crazy thing to say. “Come on, I’m starving. I’ll buy you candy from the machine.”

Chapter Text

The hospital jello tastes like crap. 

The painfully artificial cherry flavour sticks in Squidney’s mouth, and she winces at the texture, resisting the urge to spit it back in the container. Her stomach churns, nausea brewing in the depths of her stomach. 

Then again, her mother just left, and she tends to do that. Also she has two broken ribs, which isn’t very helpful. 

Squidney stares at her spoon, swallowing hard before raising it to her mouth with a cringe. Ew. 

“Cute sweatshirt.” 

Her head snaps up and finds Spidey’s bitter, humourless sneer looking straight back at her. She drops her plastic spoon, glancing down at her Sunnyvale athlete sweater. It takes a few seconds to unclog the words from her throat. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Yeah, well, I won’t be long.” The false smile melts away like ice cream on a summer day, and Squidney is almost glad because she always hated seeing that mockery on her face. “You need to tell your little friend to fuck off.” “What?” Squidney’s eyes crinkle, confused. “Who?” “The idiot driver who’s stalking me.” Her eyebrows raise. “Ring any bells?”

“Him?” Squidney frowns, straightening up a little in bed. “No, he’s been here-” “Look, I don’t give a shit what you think, you need to tell him to back the fuck off. He broke into the house while Oeca was alone with a knife.” “You’re wrong.” Squidney doesn’t act on the worry burning her from the inside out. “That can’t be right.” “For fucks sake, Squidney-”

“Great news, they’re transferring you out of this shithole tomorrow.” The curtain parts, and the Sunnyvale quarterback steps through, the muscles in his jaw tightening once his eyes land on Spidey. Squidney shrinks despite herself. 

Spidey does not have that same instinct. “Perfect timing asshole.” She scowls, crossing her arms, and she’s always been short but never less intimidating, “Where’s your costume, huh?” 

Mohwee pats down his pockets, making a frustrated noise. “Shit.” 

“What?” Oeca stops studying the snacks in the vending machine, glancing over at his brother. “I don’t have money on me, crap- you got any?” “You know the answer to that.” “Fuck.” He lightly hits his head against the metal. “I literally haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, I swear I’m gonna wither away before I turn 18.” 

Oeca watches him for a moment, chewing his lower lip, before pushing him to the side with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh shut up, you big baby, give me a second.” “You liar, I should have known you-” Mohwee blinks, watching him tap a few buttons, fingers flying. “Dude, what are you doing?”

The words have barely left his mouth before the machine whirls to life, all of the shelves rotating and dropping candy bars and baggies of chips. Mohwee’s mouth falls open. “Where the fuck did you learn that- is this legal?” “Firstly, the internet is a wonderful place.” He crouches to the flap on the bottom, throwing a deadpan look in his direction as he grabs a handful of candy. “Secondly, and I can not stress this enough, you are a literal drug dealer.” 

Mohwee is still gaping at him when Oeca shoves a snickers in his mouth, holding out his armful of snacks. “What do you want?”

Mohwee quickly comes to the conclusion that he raised a lunatic. Like that wasn’t obvious.

“Would you just listen to me for five seconds, he’s been with me all night!”

“He’s a horrible guy, Squidney!” Spidey cries, ignoring how the driver throws up his hands. She really couldn’t care less. “You’re so fucking scared of being yourself, you don’t even know who you are!” “You’re insane- you literally put me in the hospital, and now you’re here screaming at me!”

That seems to hit her, even just a little. Spidey inhales sharply. “Listen, that- that was all an accident, I got a nosebleed, and it slipped-” “Slipped, right.” She snorts. “Is that what you told people?” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “It means that everybody was right about you, you are total, utter, chaos!” 

Spidey rolls her eyes, and Squidney’s mouth is on autopilot, blood boiling over like toxic acid. “So don’t blame me, when you wake up in ten years, just like your dad! Old, and drunk, and going nowhere!”

Spidey’s face drops like a stone, and Squidney’s eyes blow wide. Those words hang in the air for a moment, like pollution, slow poison destroying everything and anything it touches. 

“Go to hell.” Is Spidey’s simple response, wobbling with barely restrained rage. “Congrats on getting out of Shadyside, Squids!” The nickname burns like iron. “You want a medal? For getting out of the slums and leaving behind the only people who actually gave a shit about you? Here it is! Good job! All you had to do was suck it up, literally, and swallow some Sunnyvale-”

“You know what?” Squidney hates every shaking syllable pouring from her lips, but her anger is stronger than her guilt. Her ribs ache from the yelling. “I never want to see you again!” “Well, good for you, because the feeling is mutual!” Spidey jabs a finger in her chest, cheeks flushed and trembling in rage. “Have a nice goddamn life!” 

Her sentence is punctuated by gurgling.

Both their heads whirl around, watching as the quarterback chokes, blood dribbling from his mouth, as he looks down at the knife through his chest, darkening the area around it and holy shit.

The knife is yanked out of his chest, and he crumbles like a rag doll, eyes wide and unseeing. Standing in his place is a small figure wearing a skeleton costume.

“Holy fuck-” Spidey cries out, and that’s when they lunge for Squidney.

Squidney screams, ripping her legs from the sheets and falls hard onto the ground right before they plunge the knife into the empty mattress. Spidey grabs her shoulder and shoves her towards the door, fingers blindly fumbling until they wrap around the IV pole that she then immediately swings at their head with a scream. 

It hits the back of their head hard enough that it makes her skull rattle. She drops the pole and sprints towards Squidney, grabbing her hand and dragging her eyes away from the driver's limp corpse. “Go go go-!” 

The figure stumbles to their feet as they disappear, and follows. 

“What do you think they’re doing in there?”

“Knowing Spidey, probably being passive aggressive and dancing around their feelings.” Mohwee responds, tossing another chip in his mouth. “I swear, you and those two are gonna give me grey hairs.” “Oh, don’t act like you’re any better.” Oeca rolls his eyes. “Your impulse control is non-existent.” “Neither is yours.” “You raised me! Who’s fault is that?” “Alright, alright.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “You got me. It’s maybe my fault.” 

Oeca opens his mouth, pausing as his lips suddenly are suddenly pulled into a frown. “Dude. You’re not seriously wearing the shirt from last night.” “Remind me, whose job was it to do laundry?” He raises an eyebrow, watching as his mouth snaps shut. Mohwee sighs, zipping his sweater up over the holes and blood splatters. “Not a word.” 

The doors down the hall burst open with a bang.

“Run!” Spidey shouts, running straight past them, Squidney right beside her. Mohwee turns to Oeca, wrinkling his nose. “Did they get back together?” 

A figure in a skull mask rushes past them as well, and Oeca screams, Mohwee hooking a hand around his arm and pulling him behind him. 

The entrance is empty when they reach it, and Oeca’s shoes slip against the slick linoleum as Mohwee desperately searches his pockets. “The keys, do you have the car keys?” “No, I don’t have the car keys dumbass-” 

His eyes find their way to the empty ambulance, and a lightbulb in his brain goes off. “Hurry up!” “What- Oeca, you are 14, don’t you dare get in the driver's seat-”

Squidney’s body is warm next to her.

Spidey faintly registers her hand in hers, warm and soft as she glances around the corner. The back of the stalker is what greets her, slowly wandering the entrance as if waiting for them. Her heart pounds in her ears, even as she shoves down the quiver in her limbs. Not now. 

“Come on,” she whispers, and Squidney doesn’t resist as she quickly pulls her behind the front counter. The stalker is panting, breathing hard but steadily. It's unsettling in the silent waiting area. 

The doors are only a few feet away. Maybe if they make a run for it-

Her hand touches something wet. 

Squidney and Spidey glance down, pulling their fingers away and finding crimson on yellowed pages. Squidney’s eyes land on something beyond her shoulder and the colour drains from her face, clamping a hand over her mouth to stop a sob.

Spidey turns her head, and finds the receptionist slumped against the wall, throat a mess of blood and guts, dark eyes staring into nothing. It looks like a horror movie, only she smells the metallic scent hanging in the air and this is very real.

Spidey gags a little.

A pair of rubber slips come from the hallway, hiding under pink scrubs, and Nurse Callum’s voice drifts towards them. “Hey, you can’t wear that mask in here, what are you-”

The strangled cry that should come from a dying animal, not from a living, breathing person, is the last sound he ever makes.

The two teenage girls watch in horror as Callum collapses, red spewing from his throat and making horribly pathetic gurgling noises as it spurts from his mouth. They die out in a few seconds, and Spidey’s brain is fuzzy with adrenaline and her only thought is what the actual fuck is happening. 

The knife is still embedded in his jugular, and holding the hilt is the stalker, skull mask staring straight at them.  

Squidney screams at the top of her lungs, and Spidey doesn’t think before driving her boot into where their nose should be.

“Go go, run!” She cries, scrambling to escape the corner they’ve trapped themselves in. Squidney pulls herself over the counter, jumping and stumbling a bit before darting for the exit. She’s always been quick- it comes with her cheerleading training. 

Of course, then the stalker grabs the hood of her hoodie, and that doesn’t matter anymore because now there’s an arm around her throat and a knife struggling to find its way to her eye and Squidney is screaming her head off. 

Spidey doesn’t think before lunging and tackling them to the ground; Squidney sinks her teeth into their elbow, forcing their fingers to spasm and the knife clatters to the ground, sliding across the floor. “Come on, hurry up!” Mohwee cries from the parking lot, hanging out of the ambulance doors. Squidney breaks free, racing for the exit, and Spidey shoves the attacker to the floor. They hit the ground hard, all the air in their lungs leaving with a grunt. 

The skull mask slips over its head in the process, and her brain turns to static. No.

Because staring back at her is Krow’s pale, greyish face, stoney and expressionless.

There is none of the familiar snark behind its eyes- or anything, really, not even resentment. Its bangs have parted, just enough for her to see the small bullet hole in the center of its forehead. A trickle of something, almost like ink, makes its way slowly down its face.

In short, it looks like a corpse.

“...The Skull Mask killer was shot down just last night, after taking its final victim…”

Krow- Skull Mask- pulls the mask over its face once again, and Spidey’s feet are rooted to the ground, like a tree waiting to be chopped down-

“Spidey!” Squidney’s voice is what reaches her, and she turns and runs. 

“Let’s go, go, go!” Mohwee unceremoniously heaves her into the back of the ambulance as Squidney slams the doors behind her. Skull Mask is already on its feet, stalking towards them. The ambulance lurches twice, nearly hitting a street sign before it speeds away from the hospital. 

Skull Mask stands where the vehicle used to be, watching them leave. It’s the same as Spidey’s house, only now its blade is coated in crimson. 

Chapter Text

“You are still employed at the mall, right? Do you have access?”

“Those aren’t my cans.” Red says from the cell, behind bars as Ash spray paints a smiley face on an old pizza box. “You’re right, Red. These are mine.” She straightens up and angles it for him to see. “Look man, why would I tag my own place of work? That’s just more work for me. I’m telling you, somebody’s framing me.” He sits back, crossing his arms. Even after searching him, he reeks of alcohol. Ash can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she would place good money on him glowering hard enough to singe her twin pigtails. 

“You know, you should have some respect for this tragedy.” She shrugs. “Families are grieving loved ones, I doubt you’re doing them any favours.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a farm, carrot-top?” Red calls sarcastically as she leaves. The cell is cold, burning against his inch of exposed skin.

“Why won’t you take us seriously?!”

“I don’t have time to listen to the ramblings of teenage girls.” Sheriff Keldor says dryly. His desk is a mess, the wood barely visible through empty mugs and stacks of paperwork. “If you have a real crime to report, take it up with the lady out front.” “We know what we saw!” “The psycho killer my officer shot dead?” “Yes!” Squidney fumes, desperation hiding behind her tone. “Yes, that’s what we’ve been saying, what is wrong with you?”

“Can I help you?” Spidey turns in her seat, finding Ash’s green eyes drilling holes in her skull.

“You told me to come to you.” Her voice feels small now. 

“We should not be this close to a police station in a stolen ambulance.” Mohwee hisses. “That’s the point, dumbass, we’re hiding in plain sight. Like Bundy.” 

Mohwee gives him a weird look. Oeca brings his knees up his chest, muttering, “Ted Bundy? The serial killer? Stalked his victims?” “Didn’t he get caught?” “Well, yeah, but…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Never mind.” “What the hell even is your deal with serial killers? Usually kids get excited over sprinklers or sugar, not the latest massacre.”

“Know thy enemy, I guess?” Oeca shrugs, feeling rather small as he shoves a Smarties in his mouth. 

In truth, he doesn’t quite know why. Maybe it’s just his way of pretending there’s a way out. 

“Yeah, okay weirdo.” He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. There are hollow circles under his eyes, shoulders drooping like a wilting flower. Oeca cocks his head. “You okay?” “Yeah, man. My friend went nuts, died, and is now chasing us down. I’m great.” Mohwee responds with a dry tone, getting to his feet and shaking the pins and needles from his arms. “I’m just- gonna go clear my head, okay?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response before hurrying away like a mouse. Oeca sighs, biting into a chocolate bar. Moron. 

“And you saw this person?”

Ash slides a photo across the desk. It’s the same one from the news, the one that will be graffitied in every yearbook with horrible words and devil horns. For now, this copy is clean. “Yes!” Spidey exclaims. “Yes, Krow, that’s who we saw!”

Ash responds by sliding over another picture. This time, Krow’s blood is red as it drips down its forehead, mask off and slumped over a body in a purple dress.

“How do I look?” Ayngel asks mockingly as she does a little twirl, the bottom of her new lavender dress flaring out. “Stunning.” Spidey responds dryly, getting a piece of popcorn thrown at her face for her remark. 

Squidney must realize the same thing because she sucks in a breath, face draining of colour. Spidey wants nothing more than to take her hand, to squeeze it gently in some sad form of comfort. 

Spidey adverts her eyes. Get over yourself. 

“Okay, I… I know how this looks, but I’m serious, that’s who I saw.” “...Okay. Let me get the right paperwork.” Ash reaches behind her for a form, and Spidey’s hope bubbles up despite her best efforts to keep it cool and dead. Maybe she is different. Maybe everything will be okay. 

“Real quick- for the report- was it more… Dawn of the Dead, or Night of The Living?” Ash asks, the corners of her mouth quirking up, and that hope is killed with an electric fly swatter. 

“You don’t believe us.” Squidney says numbly. It’s a statement, not a question. 

“Listen, we’ve had calls, reports of Skull Mask copycats all weekend. It’s probably just a classmate messing with you.” Ash smiles, and Spidey wants to rip her face off. “My suggestion? Go home, take a nap. Maybe mediate. It’s nothing.” “...Are you kidding me-”

“Got a call from the hospital.” The sheriff rounds the corner, frowning at them for a moment before turning to Ash. “Lady sounded real worked up. Let’s go.” 

Squidney and Spidey exchange a glance, and they already know what they’ll find.

Ash eyes them with something she can’t place, before opening her mouth. “Actually, how about you take care of these two? I’ll check it out.” “Seriously?” “Yeah, it’s almost the end of my shift, anyways. I’ll do it.” Ash grabs her keys, moving to let the sheriff take her place and darting out the door. Sheriff Keldor gives a heavy, exasperated sigh, glaring at them out of the corner of his eye as he shuffles through papers. 

Spidey eyes his belt, and that’s when a horrible idea pops into her head. 

Mohwee is having a horrible fucking day.

He heavily considers vanishing into the sewers grate as he rounds the corner onto Main Street. Could zombies get down there? Probably. Are they even zombies? 

This is so fucking crazy, he thinks half-heartedly. 

Mohwee has never believed in monsters. That was Oeca’s thing. Sure, there are real life monsters. Bills and Sunnyvalers and adults treating him like a weird stain on their precious couches. Those existed, and Mohwee is more than familiar with them. Oeca, however. His monsters are much different. 

“I’m telling you, the witch’s curse is real!”

There is no such thing as curses, he mentally facepalms, chiding himself for even considering it. He’s just a teenage boy who copes through pretending there’s a reason for… all this. All the tragedy, and killing sprees, and locked doors. 

And Krow.

“Don’t I get a friends and family discount?” “No. $18.59.” Krow stares at him deadpan, the corners of its mouth lifting just a bit as Mohwee grumbles and searches for cash. Neither of them bring up the dark purple, finger shaped bruises hiding under its collar, or how his fingers tremble with exhaustion when he passes it a wad of cash. 

“Have a perfect day!” It says, high-pitched and cheerful, and Mohwee snorts because yeah right. Like Krow could ever be anything but itself.

A police cruiser rolls by, sirens ripping a hole in the memory and he wrinkles his nose at the flash of ginger in the driver’s side window. He remembers her from the crash. Kind of stuck-up. And ginger. Gingers are weird.

“You always hurt, the one you love…”

He frowns, turning his head as a voice drifts towards him. It’s not a radio, too clear for that, and there are no instruments. The voice is sweet, and melodic, and strangely blank. It’s very eerie, and a normal person would most certainly run the other.

But Mohwee’s curiosity has always outweighed his caution, and he is anything but normal.

The street is lit by streetlamps, the few stores lining the sidewalk dark and empty. It’s late. He and the voice are the only presence within the block, up until you reach the ambulance where Oeca is most likely eating more stolen candy. One of these days he’s gonna get diabetes, I swear.

“The one, you shouldn’t hurt, at all…”

Mohwee’s eyes eventually land on a small figure, curled into a ball at the base of a lamppost. No wonder he didn’t see him at first. All he can see of them is a pink sweater and bubblegum hair.

“You always take, the sweetest rose…”

“I’m telling you, once you see the hospital you’ll know we’re right-”

“Yeah yeah, save it for the news.” Sheriff Keldor scoffs, escorting her to the door by the arm. His grip is tighter than necessary, nails digging into her skin under the sweatshirt. Spidey lingers behind them, trying to avoid talking herself out of it.

This is such a stupid idea, she thinks. Just do it, you pussy. A voice that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated Mohwee responds.

“I’m dead serious, you’ll see.” Squidney yanks her arm away, trying to maintain her composure even as her voice wobbles with rage. “Then you’ll believe us.” “Alright, little missy, that is enough-”

“You monster!” Spidey lurches forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and trying to reach his throat to dig her fingernails into the soft flesh. She’s so dead. “You’re supposed to protect us!” 

“Young lady!” He shouts, grabbing her by the wrists, eyes ablaze and face filled with fury. “Do not test me!” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Spidey breathes, sucking in a breath. It feels unnatural, her fear, “I-I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.” “Take your friend!” He shoves her towards Squidney, who catches her before she can stumble. Her hands burn like hot iron in hers. “Go find your boyfriends, tell them you need to relax!”

Oh, if only you knew, Spidey thinks as Squidney drags her away, soft and burning like ash and making her mind go fuzzy. He doesn’t notice the empty space on his belt as he returns to his desk.

“...And crush it, til the petals fall…”

Mohwee, against his better judgment, takes another step, frowning in concern at the silhouette by the lamp post. There are wilted flowers woven into a crown, braided into his bubblegum pink hair. They don’t seem to notice his presence, continuing to sing softly. “You always break, the kindest heart-”

“Hey, um- you good, man?” He asks awkwardly, crouching down to his level. Maybe they’re high. Do people on drugs sing in empty streets at night? How would he know?

The boy finally stops singing to slowly look up, empty blue eyes falling on him. That isn’t his main priority- the biggest issue is the blood splattered across their face, trickling from his mouth like liquid lipstick. It’s only now that he’s close that he notices the same colour along his arms, decorating harsh slashes scarred into their wrists.

Mohwee’s face twists in confusion. “What the fuck-?”

The boy’s mouth contorts in a smile, wicked and horrible, and with a quiet flick he slashes the back of his knees with a razor blade. 

“Spidey, slow down, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Squidney shouts, stalking after her as fast as she can. She doesn’t have any shoes on, just the grippy socks the hospital gave her. Spidey doesn’t look back, rushing to where they parked the ambulance.

Oeca raises an eyebrow when they turn the corner, still eating chocolate. “Lovers quarrel?” “Shut the hell up.” Spidey groans. “They didn’t believe us. We’re on our own.”

“What the hell was that back there?” Squidney shoves herself between them, jabbing a finger in her chest. She doesn’t let herself notice the red exploding at the tips of Spidey’s ears. “You could have gotten us arrested! You can’t just- attack a cop!” “Yeah, well, if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have gotten this.”

Spidey pulls a gun out of her flannel sweater, and Squidney’s jaw drops. “You stole a cop’s gun?!” “Fuck yeah she did.” Oeca breathes, eyes lighting up. “We need something to protect us, alright?! And now we need to leave before Skull Mask can catch up-”

Spidey looks over Oeca’s shoulder, face falling into an incredulous expression. “Where the fuck is Mohwee?” 

Mohwee is so dead.

The boy keeps singing as he tries to run, making it only a few steps before he knocks him to the ground, on his back in the middle of the street. Blood gathers under his knees, and it’s no time at all before they’re on him, razor perfectly poised to rip the vulnerable flesh across his throat. 

Mohwee’s fingers find their way to his neck, and for a moment it seems to work, the attacker choking and gasping. He doesn’t want to kill this boy, not at all, but he also doesn’t want to die, and his brain is flashing red with emergency sirens that bleed into his vision. 

Unfortunately for him, the universe hates his guts.

They rip his hands away, accidentally pulling a golden locket off his neck in the process that glides along the road, out of sight and out of mind. Mohwee’s legs fight to kick him off, their hands struggling with each other, but he has the better angle and all it does is smear more blood against the pavement. 

And he’s still fucking singing.

“Get off me, you fucking psycho!” Mohwee shrieks, and the boy only laughs, high and maniacal, as his razor glints silver and blood-streaked in the light of the street lamps, prepared to drive it into his neck. Mohwee squeezes his eyes shut.

A twin pair of gunshots blasts against his ears, and something sticky splatters across his face.

Two bullets land in the boy’s back and he crumbles, falling to the side with an inky, dark substance flowing from the holes. Mohwee sits up, a mass of flesh by his head and holy shit that’s an eyeball, that’s disgusting.

Spidey lowers the gun, eyes wide, and she’s clearly as surprised as he is. “Where the fuck did you get a gun?!” 

“Move, dumbass!” Oeca cries from behind her, and Mohwee glances over to see the wounds slowly closing up, the attacker’s hand starting to twitch.

“Shit-!” He yells, stumbling to his feet and running past them. The gun clatters to the ground as Spidey does the same, followed by Oeca. Squidney only stares, watching in horror as the boy stirs and straightens up.

Their eye heals over with a sickening squish, numb sky blue, and as he stares unblinkingly at her face they start the song from the beginning. “You always hurt, the one you love…”

Squidney turns on her heel and sprints, something indescribably bad settling in her chest.

“...The one you shouldn’t hurt, at all.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand, bullets didn’t stop him!” Squidney whirls around.

“How’d you figure that one out?” Oeca asks sarcastically as Spidey locks the front door, shutting the curtains before spinning to gesture to Mohwee. “What the fuck was that?! We left for five minutes, how did you nearly get murdered!?” 

“I-I don’t know, how is it my fault, I- the bitch seemed normal!” He protests rather weakly. There’s still pitch black blood speckled on his face. “Normal bitches don’t bleed black fucking blood, Mohwee!” Spidey looks on the verge of combustion. “Well he was normal until he attacked me with a fucking razor blade!” 

“Hold on, wait wait wait wait-” Oeca steps between them, searching for something on Mohwee’s face. “A-a razor blade?” “Yeah, for like, old-timey shaving, or in this case slitting his-” “Wrists, they cut their wrists.” He breathes. 

Squidney looks up, catching Spidey’s eye. A bad feeling brews in her stomach.

“He was singing a song, wasn’t he? An old song, like on the radio- you always the one you love," "-The one you shouldn’t hurt at all.” Mohwee trails off, staring at him incredulously. “Jesus, dude, how the actual fuck did you know that?” 

Oeca slams a pile of papers down on the coffee table. 

“Christ, can you even carry all that?” Spidey mutters, raising an eyebrow at all the newspapers. Oeca pays her no mind, fishing through the pile for what he’s looking for. He barely restrains a grin, despite their situation. Finally, his oddness pays off. 

“There it is!” He pulls out a weathered, yellowed newspaper, shoving it into Mohwee’s hands. “This is Acho Gee. The boy who attacked you.”

The very same teenager smiles up at them, lacking the blood and vacant expression and making up for it in a fresh flower crown and a nervous smile. They look nothing like a killer. 

The headline disagrees. Teenager Fillets Friends!

“That’s him, alright.” His brother swallows, sliding it across the table. “Jesus Christ.” “They took a razor and killed his dad and 6 friends. Then he killed himself. Slashed their own wrists.”

“Wait, why didn’t I hear this on the news?” Spidey questions next to Squidney. The girl in question is utterly silent, looking sicker by the minute. “I mean, this is a big thing, isn’t it?” “You didn’t hear about it because it happened 20 years ago. 1974.” 

Oeca can’t be bothered to look at their shocked expressions as he rummages through the stack of paper. “Acho is one of Shadyside’s killers, just like Skull Mask.”

He hesitates before setting down the newest paper, the headline announcing the mall massacre. “Or- Krow, I guess.”

They’d been friends once. Krow was the only one who wasn’t weirded out by his knife collection.

“And then, 1980-” He slams down another one, “Masked psycho murders a bunch of kids at-” “Camp Nightwing.” Squidney finishes, her face pale as she pulls it towards her with shaky fingers. Spidey drills holes in the table with the force of her refusal to look her way. “I remember, my babysitter was there. I didn’t know what happened to him until years later.” “It happens in Shadyside over and over, people snapping and turning into killers!” Oeca grabs more papers as he talks. 

“1953, The Prom Queen burned her highschool gym to the ground and killed an entire graduating class. 1922, Grifter Guts Girls, and on and on!” “So what, there’s just a bunch of knockoff copycats after us?” “Or they’re the real killers.” “You realize how ridiculous this sounds?” Spidey says, twinged with desperation, searching for some sort of reasonable explanation.

Oeca opens his mouth, cut off by Squidney abruptly standing and darting to the next room. Spidey hesitates, something longing on her face, before getting to her feet.

Squidney crosses the kitchen and spits in the sink.

Scarlet splatters across the stainless steel as Squidney wipes her mouth with her sleeve. The grey fabric comes away rust coloured. 

Squidney lets out a sigh, sinking to her knees. The yellow and white checkered tile is cold against her legs, uncomfortable and harsh. That small, traitorous part of her brain recognizes it from all those years baking sugar cookies with Mohwee. Oeca was always too young to join, so he was their official taste tester. They always came out burnt when she tried, but Mohwee’s were always perfect.

There are no burnt cookies in Sunnyvale. Just perfect, store bought, plastic tasting pieces of sugar. 

Everything in Sunnyvale is like that- cold, shiny plastic. White marble and the fakest smiles she’s ever seen. It makes her wonder what’s real and what isn’t.

Sometimes she doesn’t know if she’s even real.

“Squidney?”

The girl finally looks up, noticing Spidey nervously shifting in the doorway, eyes the colour of rain clouds staring intently at the ground. There’s a bundle of clothes in her arms, a pair of worn-out running shoes on top. 

“I- um,” She slowly drops beside her, shoulders stiff and fingers clenched. Squidney wants to hold her until all the tension disappears, flowing away like dirty water down the drainage system. “I thought… you know, you could use these. It’s better than what you have on.”

Squidney accepts the extended clothes, glancing down at her outfit. No shoes, a Sunnyvale sweatshirt over her hospital gown. Not meant for being chased down by murderers. 

There’s a white sweater at the top of the pile, soft and fuzzy with navy blue stripes, and she lets herself smile at the sight. “This is my favourite.” “I know.” 

Spidey smiles, lips pink and soft looking, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Squidney is filled with something that almost feels like grief.

“What’s happening to us?” She whispers, partially hoping it goes unheard. “There are people trying to kill us,” Spidey offers weakly, “Dead people, if you believe the guy who excessively eats crayons.” “You know that’s not what I mean.” Spidey inhales shakily. “Yeah. I do.”

Squidney shakes her head, preparing to stand. She’s not having another argument, not now. 

“I know I always give you shit for not being yourself.”

Squidney’s head shoots up, but Spidey still won’t look at her, even as she twists her fingers with a sigh, “the truth is, I don’t know who I am either. Outside of Shadyside. Which I guess makes you more real than me.” “So what? You’re giving me a pass?” “No.” 

That’s more than fair, in her opinion. 

It’s hard, being… them. She knows that. She knows of long before they ever even met, when her mother muttered dirty slurs under her breath and sent glares at the back of her curly head. She knows how hard it was for anybody to take Mohwee seriously, turning up their noses at him if he got lucky. 

She knows of screaming and shouting and broken vases as her mother kicked Spidey out of the house, turning to her with spit flying.

Below her ribbons and perfect grades, Squidney is terrified. It’s like her mind is trapped in a golden bird cage- pretty, yes, perfect, but trapped nonetheless. 

Still, at least her view is pretty. The others don’t get that privilege. 

“You were right.” Squidney quietly admits, scared of disturbing the quiet. This is their first conversation in months that hasn’t involved shouting. “Maybe shit is doomed. I mean, look at us, we’re together for one night and-” “-Dead people are trying to kill us.” Spidey ends with a sarcastic tone, but there’s a quirk to her lips that gives away her amusement.

At least that weird, fuzzy feeling that Spidey gives her is real. She doesn’t know what she’d do without that.

“These aren’t just random copycats.”

Oeca turns to him, and if you weren’t familiar with it you wouldn’t recognize the glee behind his eyes, right alongside the fear and hesitation. “Shelby Grace is sending her minions after us.” “But the witch isn’t real!” Mohwee protests, scrabbling for logic. “It’s just something babysitters make up to scare kids!” “Listen to me for five seconds, for fucks sake!” 

Oeca starts on a familiar tangent, only this time Mohwee is actually listening. “1666; Shelby Grace was hanged for witchcraft. That’s a confirmed fact. Just around that time-” He sets down a poor photocopy, a drawing of a church pastor with no eyes, “-Sausage Miller went on his killing spree. He, um-” 

For the first time, Oeca looks a little nervous. “He killed kids and… cut out their eyes.” “Jesus fuck, dude. You need to get a new special interest.”

He flips him off, ignoring the remark. “Ever since she was executed, she’s been possessing people and turning them into killers to get revenge on our town, it all makes sense!” “What, like the nursery rhyme?” “Yes! Exactly!” He rummages for a new picture as Mohwee frowns, trying to remember the entire thing. “Before the witch's final breath, she found a way to cheat her death. By cutting off her cursed-”

Oeca slams a pair of pictures on the table a little too enthusiastically, and Mohwee falters at the sight of a woman with dark brown hair and devil horns, cutting off her own hand with a sharp, twisted looking dagger. “...hand, she kept her grip upon our land.”

His eyes trailed to a childish drawing, warped stick figures emerging from a severed hand. “She reaches from beyond the grave, to make good men her wicked slaves.” “And you called me crazy!” He smiles triumphantly, as if being chased by undead killers wasn't as important as being right.

Stubborn little shit.

“Okay, let’s say… maybe the witch is real. Maybe she is pissy and sending her weird, zombie minions after us. Why is she so mad at us?” Mohwee eventually says, once he gets the words unclogged from his throat. Oeca’s smile falters, and he knows he doesn’t have an answer. 

“I saw her.”

The two’s heads whirl around to find Squidney standing in the doorway, clutching the frame for support. Spidey is right behind, biting her nails down to the stubs. She’s pale but determined, staring at the image of Shelby Grace and her hand with something like recognition . “Last night. I didn’t realize it then- I thought I hit my head.” She trails off, swallowing to bring herself back to reality. “But I know what I saw. I saw her.” 

A flash of red, a woman’s face frozen in agony as she screams and screams and screams-

“I saw the witch.”

The ambulance shakes as Mohwee jumps out of the back doors, fixing the headlamp somehow on his head along with his goggles. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that.” Spidey snorts, tossing a teasing grin his way. “I can’t believe you’re above wearing it when we are in the middle of the fucking woods and dead maniacs are after us.” He retorts immediately, giving her a sugary, mocking smile as he walks away towards the woods and yeah she deserved that. 

Squidney takes his place, in the navy blue and white sweater along with a pair of slightly torn tights under a grey skirt. She manages a much more tired smile as she passes, holding a flashlight. Spidey takes up the rear as the four enter the forest, leaving the ambulance and the empty road behind.

They’re already far away when a figure rushes past, making the lights on the vehicle flicker and shut off. 

“This place gives me the creeps,” She mutters to herself, following behind the shine of Squidney’s flashlight. 

She… doesn’t know what they are anymore. Exes? Strangers? Reluctant acquaintances? It makes her head spin, giving her a migraine. Her stomach does a flip- in a good way.

It only takes a few minutes to reach the crash site, the remains of yellow caution tape swaying in the breeze. The front of the car is utterly smashed, and Spidey hates to think about what could have happened if that branch poking through the windshield moved just an inch.

“Well fuck,” Mohwee mutters, clearly sharing her opinion. Squidney’s shoes sink into the moss as she kneels, eyes darting back and forth.

Her nose wrinkles as she thinks, and Spidey’s stupid heart beats faster.

“So I got out of the car… and I think… I was crawling, and my nose was bleeding.” Squidney frowns, patting the ground and digging her fingers in. “I swear, something was-”

Squidney pulls out a clump of moss, and with it chains. 

“Oh, what the hell?” Mohwee laughs, high and hysterical, as Oeca pulls the chain from Squidney’s fingers and holds it up. There’s a lock on the rusted chains, broken and crusted with dirt and something that looks suspiciously like blood.

Carved into the metal is the name Grace.

“Holy fuck.” “This is…” “Shelby Grace’s body? Yep. It’s definitely that.” Oeca swallows hard, and Spidey turns away to push away more moss. 

A chipped, yellow bone appears, and Spidey can only stare.

These are bones. These are Shelby Grace’s bones. Dark tendrils of dread curl around her organs.

“Well, now we know why she’s so pissed.” Oeca scowls, “Squidney disturbed her grave.” The girl in question anxiously shifts, eyes locked on the uncovered skull. “Hey, this isn’t her fault-”

“Okay, it doesn’t matter whose fault this is.” Mohwee interrupts before they can escalate. “Let’s just- put the bones back, rebury them, and make them go away!” “Mohwee, that’s so fucking stupid-” “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” Squidney shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, it works in the movies.” 

“Here, come help me, we should see if there’s something we can wrap her bones with.” Mohwee stands, followed by Squidney, the two making their way to the car. Squidney beelines to the trunk, wrenching it open with a grunt and pulling out a soft looking, lavender picnic blanket. 

“This should work, shouldn’t it?” “I mean… yeah, but isn’t that-” “She gave it to me. I never got to give it back.” Squidney swallows. “So I guess it's mine now.” 

A twig snaps before Spidey can respond. 

All four heads whirl around, searching the trees, and it’s only now Spidey realizes how silent the woods are. “Let’s… do this quickly.” “Way ahead of you.” 

Oeca gets to his feet slowly, taking a few steps away and shining his flashlight through the branches as the others work behind his back. The beam is harsh, light passing over logs and leaving spindly shadows on the ground. 

He swears one of the shadows move.

“Shit, help me move this-” Mohwee tucks the blanket around the skeleton, gentler than he has to, cringing as the bones click against each other. Spidey knots the ends into a cocoon, struggling to tear her eyes from the bones. If she didn’t believe it before, the lack of a right hand was pretty damning. 

Was Shelby the pure embodiment of evil? Yes. Is she currently sending undead serial killers after them? Maybe. She still isn’t sure what to believe. 

Was she only 16, a year younger than her, and hung for the entire town to watch? Yeah. 

To be honest, if the legends are true, Spidey thinks, I don’t blame her for cursing us.

Squidney loops the chains around her arms, pulling to try and uncover any remaining bones. She curses under her breath, the chain grinding roughly against her arms. 

Something warm runs down her lips.

Squidney pauses her attempts to wipe her nose, her fingers coming away red and sticky. A memory tugs at the edge of her mind, begging to be let in.

Her bloody fingers sinking into the ground, hitting something solid and her vision flashing red-

There’s a ringing in her ears as Squidney turns, eyes catching on the remains of Shelby Grace’s right arm. She reaches out slowly, the other two paying her no mind, and her blood-stained hand locks around her humerus. 

Almost immediately, the woods disappear in a sea of crimson.

“You-”

A twisted, gnarly tree, a rope swinging from its dead branches, the pages of a book flipping fast, pictures and unknown languages there and gone like a dream.

“It’s you-”

Flies swarm her vision, clogging her throat and eardrums with their wings, and the same young woman lets out a agonised scream before her neck snaps like a twig-

“It’s YOU!”

“Squidney?” 

Squidney yanks her hand away like it's on fire, nearly smacking Spidey in the face. She doesn’t seem to care, cradling her cheek in a way that’s almost painful. “Your nose…” She whispers, wiping away the crimson with her thumb, and their faces are achingly close and if she just leaned forward an inch-

“There!” Mohwee’s voice rudely knocks them back to reality, and Spidey practically jumps away like she has a contagious disease. Squidney supposes in her mother’s opinion, she does. 

The skeleton is gone, hastily covered by red moss that Mohwee pats down to just to be safe, before leaning down to whisper, “We’re sorry.”

Squidney can practically hear Spidey’s eyeroll. 

There’s something in the back of her head, lingering in her subconscious like the buzzing of a fly. Squidney wipes up the last of the blood, the woman’s voice hissing softly in her ear. “It’s you…”

“Did it work?” Spidey shouts to Oeca, a few feet away and frowning at the shadows. He snaps out of whatever trance he’s been caught in, darting his flashlight over the foliage. None of them feel any different- then again, there was no sign that anything was different in the first place.

The tug on her mind is stronger now, and Squidney straightens, rising to her feet. Her legs are shaky. Her vision is starting to blur around the edges, red seeping in. “You…” 

Oeca takes another step, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

His flashlight shines on a tall figure sprinting straight at him, axe in hand.

“Holy shit-!” He screams, stumbling out of the way just as they reach him, but the figure doesn’t seem to care, charging head on towards the group-

Towards Squidney.

The woman gives one final shriek, rotting fingers outstretched, “It’s YOU!!” 

“Squidney!” Spidey cries, ripping her from the vision and out of the way just before the figure’s axe can split her skull open. They pull it from the shattered window, close behind as Spidey drags her through the forest. 

The shock wears off and Squidney’s feet pick up, now pulling Spidey along as they run for the ambulance. The lights are on, and Oeca is waiting at the door. Spidey shoves Squidney towards him, clambering in right as the figure emerges from the trees. 

There’s a sack over their head, hiding any ghost of a face, but a headline on Oeca’s papers rings in her head.

Masked Lunatic Takes Lives at Camp Nightwing. 

“Mohwee, fucking drive-” “I’m trying, you whore!” He yells, and just as the engine starts to roar the Camp Nightwing raises their axe over their head-

It lodges right in the pavement where the vehicle used to be as it drives away.

“What the fuck was that?” Spidey cries, handing Squidney a tissue as her nose starts gushing away. Squidney accepts it without a thought, thoughts running through her mind like a fast flowing river. 

Only one she manages to catch. 

“That- that’s the Camp Nightwing Killer.” Oeca manages, breathing hard. Running so much in one night- this is his real hell. “I don’t care which psychopath that was, alright, how do we not die?!” “I-I don’t know, there’s not exactly a beginners guide to ending a centuries long curse-”

“They’re not coming for us!” Squidney’s voice rises, and the truck goes silent. She swallows hard. “They’re coming for me.” 

The silence is worse than the snap of bone and creaking of a rope. 

“What?” Spidey is the first to break the quiet, eyes wide with confusion, and maybe it's just her traitorous imagination, but there’s horror under there too. “What are you talking about? “I saw- I saw her again.” The remnants of her whispers ring in her head, bouncing around her skull. “I disturbed her grave. She wants me.” 

It takes a minute for anybody to respond, still reeling. Oeca frowns, realization clicking into place behind his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right- Nightwing ran right by me. It was like they didn’t even see me- they just went for you.” “Guys, this is ridiculous.” Spidey snorts, smiling even though everyone can see the desperation behind it. “Come on, I mean look- Acho went for Mohwee, right? And Skull Mask came to our houses, why would they do that?” 

“Because it wasn’t us they were after.” Oeca whirls around, climbing into the front area. “Mohwee, stop the car!” “I’m driving, from undead serial killers, mind you, do you want me to crash-” “For five seconds, moron, now stop the car!”

The ambulance jerks to a stop, and Oeca drags Mohwee out of his seat, ignoring his protests as he fumbles with the zipper of his hoodie. “Skull Mask didn’t want Mohwee, or me, it wanted this.”

Under the hoodie, Mohwee’s shirt is torn and covered in specks of blood. “Squidney’s blood.”

“Why are you still wearing that?” Spidey wrinkles her nose in disgust, obviously avoiding the topic at hand. “Oh, like you ever wash that dumbass flannel-?” “It doesn’t matter, what matters is that Squidney bled on the bones and now they’re out for blood! Her blood!”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Spidey fumbles for any other explanation, the desperation clearer now, because how could anybody want Squidney dead, “Skull Mask stalked me, it came to my house, how do you explain that?”

Nobody responds. Squidney gently nudges her shoulder, expression pained as her eyes dart to her feet. “Spides…”

Spidey looks down, and Squidney’s blood stares back at her, painted against the white rubber of her shoe. 

“Oh my god,” Mohwee snorts in disbelief, “We're stuck in real-life Jaws. And surrounded by murderous sharks. This is fucking insane.” “Okay, well- if you’re so set on going off movie logic, how did they survive Jaws?” “Not by skinny-dipping with the bait, that’s for sure.” Oeca folds his arms. “She’s not bait!”

“Yeah,” Squidney breathes, an idea climbing its way through her brain, “yeah I am. Mohwee, do you know how to get to the school from here?” “I guess…?” “Right, you need to get back in that seat and get going before that fucker comes back.” 

“Squidney-” Spidey catches her arm as the ambulance starts down the road, and Squidney must be clinging to wishful thinking when she sees her looking almost distraught.

“If I’m what they want,” She inhales shakily, choking on the words, “then let’s give them what they want.” 

Chapter Text

Mohwee lets the lost and found bin slam against the ground, wincing as he waves his arms. “Think I pulled a muscle.”

“Come on, you can’t have any of Squidney’s blood on you.” Oeca says as they rummage through the bin stuffed full of clothes. The high-school hallways stare down at them ominously. 

“Not much I can do about that.” Squidney grumbles, even as she accepts a bundle of fabric from Spidey. “We meet back here in 10 minutes, okay?” Spidey says, but Mohwee is always humming merrily as he enters the boys bathroom. Oeca gives them a wary look before following.

Squidney starts down the hallway towards the science lab, and Spidey reluctantly hurries after her.

Spidey grew up on ghost stories.

All sorts of stories, happy and horrible- tales of hysterical wives, of soldiers fighting unseen demons long after death, of rebellious children disappearing and never coming back themselves. 

And of course Shelby Grace and her killers.

All those tales just come with growing up in Shadyside- it’s a part of them, engraved in their bones like runes. Even the littlest of children know the stories, though the gory ones are saved for late.

Spidey wonders if Squidney remembers those stories.

Spidey scrubs at her arms, the leaky faucet spraying freezing water- that’s the only temperature there is. Her skin is vile red, and she doesn’t know if it’s from moss, blood, or uncovering a new layer of skin. It’s harsh and unpleasant. The sticky feeling makes her watch to claw her skin off.

Her shirt is stuffed into her bag, leaving her in her sports bra. Spidey eyes the dark t-shirt innocently laying to the side and sighs. She wants her flannel back, and her Pixies shirt. This sucks.

A crash hits her eardrums like a bullet, and Spidey jumps out of her itchy skin.

“Sorry.” Squidney mumbles, fixing the uncomfortable metal stool as she rises to her feet. Her back is turned, goggles placed carefully on a table, a curtain of long brown hair hiding her face. 

As soon as her heart slows to a reasonable pace, Spidey finally notices the dark spot on her sweater.

It’s big- stretching over the shoulder, indistinguishably dark in the lack of light… more of a stain really. When Spidey takes a small, hesitant step forwards, she spots the clean slice through the fabric.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, trying to be gentle as can be when she grabs her wrist to turn her around, “you got hit?” “It’s stopped bleeding and stuff.” Squidney mutters weakly, “No big deal.” 

“Squids, we have an entire plan revolving around your blood.” Spidey says dryly, even while she steps away to find the first aid kit. “I would say it's a big fucking deal.” 

“...Oh.” Squidney’s voice is small. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” She slams the kit onto the counter, waving her over. Squidney perches on the edge of the stool, arms wrapped around herself as Spidey rummages for antiseptic. “Take that off.”

Squidney does so without a word, folding the sweater in her lap. Her back is still to her, a stretch of tan skin, lean from years of woodwork and athletics. Right at her shoulder is a clean rip- blood staining the skin around it like an ink blot. Squidney was right, the cut has stopped bleeding, but she’ll definitely need stitches. Once this is over they’re driving her straight back to the hospital.

Spidey takes a shaky breath, soaking a cloth in antiseptic. Her blood is vibrating in her veins. 

“I’m sorry.” Squidney finally speaks up, her voice steady but quiet. “This is all my fault.” “It’s fine. This will hurt like a bitch.” Spidey doesn’t bother sugarcoating it, wiping away most of her blood.

It leaves pink smears across her skin, refusing to go away. 

“No, not that, I mean-” Squidney stops, making a little noise of frustration as she tries to gather herself. Spidey waits, silently cleaning the wound. Her bra strap is soaked through cherry, but she doubts there’s a suitable replacement in the lost and found. Besides, it's not ruined. It’ll be fine.

“I mean,” she starts again, more determined, “I’m sorry for all of this.”

Spidey’s hand stills, caught off guard.

“For- for pulling your guys into this.” Squidney twists her fingers in her lap, sniffling. “For leaving. For trying to- pretend to be anything other than myself. I’m sorry.”

“...You don’t have to be sorry.” Spidey whispers, fumbling with the gauze because her fingers are violently shaking. “You’re not the one chasing us.” “They wouldn’t be chasing you guys if I didn’t bleed on the bones.” Squidney says, wincing as Spidey plasters the bandage against her wound. “I was afraid- scared of… of the way you made me feel.”

Spidey’s heart squeezes.

“I was terrified.” She says in hushed tones. “I mean- you know how hard it is being like us. And my mom…” “Is a rat bastard?” “One way of describing her, yeah.” Squidney lets out a breathy laugh. “But then… all of this happened, and I got to see you again, and you just- can’t stop making me feel that way, can you?” 

“I do try.” Spidey’s voice quivers under the sarcasm. She takes her hands away from her shoulder, twisting them behind her back. “There. That- that should be good for now.” Squidney’s hand raises to her shoulder, feeling for the bandage. She turns her head, and Spidey catches a glimpse of her warm smile. It fills her chest with pink, heart-shaped bubbles. 

“I ruined your sweater.” “Didn’t care for it anyways.” Spidey shrugs. Truthfully, it was a sweater Gran had got her a few years back- before she got food poisoning and died. It was a nice gesture, really, but nothing like her usual style. The neat, colourful cardigans were always Squidney’s thing. 

Squidney sighs, turning fully in her seat, and a familiar ember of something sweet burns in her chest when she talks. “This is going to sound… absolutely insane, but… this is the first time I’ve felt like myself in months. I forgot what that felt like.” 

Her fingers hook in the belt loops on her jeans, and Spidey smiles around the pink on her face, looping her arms around her neck. Their faces are closer than they have been in months, and for the first time in a long time Spidey doesn’t want to cry when she looks at her.

“You make me feel… like me.” Squidney confesses, with a soft smile on her even softer lips, and Spidey takes her chance, lurching forwards and pressing her lips to hers. 

The boys bathroom isn’t nearly as exciting as he expected. 

Mohwee really didn’t expect it to smell so bad. To be fair, he was raised as a girl for 11 years, by a single mother nonetheless, and therefore learned basic hygiene. He doubts any of the other, ‘real’ boys know what deodorant is. 

And yet he’s the weirdo. Dickheads.

He pulls on the shirt he found in the lost and found- a baggy, blue, suspiciously stained thing- over the bandages wrapped across his chest, tucking it into his pants as he fixes his hair and adjusts his goggles- the one thing he refused to take off. They might as well be superglued to his head. 

“Mohwee?”

A meek, thin voice catches his ears- not thin in the way where it's papery or weak, it just never fully came to itself. Mohwee watches as a pair of dark eyes peek around the stall door, followed closely behind by a pale face, awkwardly shuffling his feet.

Oeca looks smaller without his overalls and red sweater, replaced by jean shorts and a Spiderman shirt that probably belonged to an eight year boy before this. His curls, lighter than his own but just as unruly, are even messier with the absence of his hat. “Alright, come on, let me check you over.” Mohwee waves his hand, pushing that damn stray curl out of his face one more time.  

Oeca silently complies, sticking out his arms and watching as Mohwee turns his wrists over, tongue between his teeth as he searches for any specks of missed blood. If they had even a drop of her blood on them they were utterly fucked.

“You know, when I said the curse was real I didn’t think to this extent.” He says dryly once the quiet gets too much, pushing hair off his face so he can check. Mohwee snorts. “You jinxed us, bro. With your nerd shit.” 

“You really think this will work?” Oeca frowns. “I mean, Spidey literally shot one of them, and it healed instantly.” “Even undead creatures can explode, Oeca.” Mohwee rolls his eyes, stepping back to grab his brother’s hat. “You’re all clear.” “Fucking finally, I feel like a preschooler- hey!”

“What?” Mohwee laughs as he pulls him into the tightest hug possible, ruffling his hair. “Can a guy not hug his smartass little brother?” “Get off you stupid fucking idiot-” “Alright, alright, okay.” He snickers as he jams the hat on Oeca’s head, pulling it over his face while ignoring his squawks.

“Come on, you nerd,” Mohwee waves his hand, still laughing a bit, “Let’s hope those two aren’t at each other’s throats.”

Squidney might just be on fire.

Not literally, obviously. If so, she would be a lot more stressed than she is now. Actually, the room is rather drafty, cold air seeping through her exposed skin. And Spidey has always run cold. 

Her insides are warm, though, because she’s kissing Spidey and Spidey is kissing her back. 

Her lips taste familiar, like cherry cola, and Squidney has never liked soda but now she might be addicted. She’s addicted to her, like a human is addicted to oxygen. 

Spidey is pressed up against the wall, fingers finding their way through her hair, soft and gentle and Squidney feels like she might just melt into putty right this second. All the whispering, negative thoughts in her head that sound mysteriously like her mother are silenced by the feeling of their skin fusing together, and if Squidney has to die tonight at least she’s dying happy.

It’s not exactly the fairytale kiss she imagined. It’s messy, and hungry, and at the worst possible time imaginable, but the utter want overpowers any qualms she might have had.

Squidney, for lack of better terms, is head over heels. 

Thud.

Spidey quickly pulls away, and Squidney’s mouth is swollen when she follows her gaze, still in her kiss induced haze and missing the warmth immediately. There’s nothing there, just swaying blinds and old science equipment. The world beyond the window is a pitch dark void. 

Squidney abruptly remembers their situation, and reluctantly steps away. Spidey swallows, straightening up and twisting her fingers as she reaches for her new shirt. Her lips are red, and her face is flushed cherry. “We should get going.” 

“...Yeah.” Squidney whispers, turning away with a rock in her stomach. Of course she regrets it. They ended on horrible terms- obviously she doesn’t want to kiss her. The spark of hope in her chest flutters out just as quickly as it lit. What the fuck is your issue,-

“Squids?” 

Spidey’s voice sounds a little sheepish as she mumbles, like she’s forcing the words past a block in her throat. “I missed you. A lot.” 

That spark flares to life once more. 

“I did too.”

“Fuckers.”

Mohwee mutters, checking the clock on the wall. 5 minutes late. He’s this close to bursting in there and smacking the shit out of both of them, the idiots. They know they can do this when they’re not being chased by low-budget horror villains, right? They don’t have to be oblivious morons right now? 

Seriously, this is ridiculous. 

“Do you think they got attacked?” Oeca whispers, tapping his fingers against each other as he shuffles his feet. “Nah, we would have heard screaming. They’re just being dickheads.”

“I’m sorry?” “Jesus Christ-” he jumps out of his skin, whirling around to throw his hands up. “Dude!” “I couldn’t resist.” Squidney grins, mischievous in a way he hasn’t seen since when they were kids. That gives him pause.

Spidey is silent, eyes glued to her shoes. Mohwee spots pink spots on her cheeks, and the pieces click together in his brain. His eyes go wide. “No.” “Shut up.” She hisses. “Now? You do this now?” “Okay, I didn’t exactly plan this, okay?!” “What are you talking about?” Oeca asks innocently, but his eyes are filled with wicked mischief. “Oh, you sweet summer child. See, there’s this thing called third base-” “Mohwee Munch, I swear to fuck-” 

“We should get going,” Squidney interrupts before they can start shouting, face warm as she glances around, “we need to be ready for when they get here.” The two sober up, sharing a look before nodding. 

Oeca clutches a pocket knife to his chest, his mind far away. 

Chapter Text

The girl’s bathroom is not an ideal location for a murder plan. 

(Is it murder if they’re already dead? Fuck if she knows.)

“Take this, motherfuckers.” Mohwee hisses as he and Oeca dump out bottles of clear liquid on the floor, like a thin layer of seawater. In the corner, Spidey holds a switchblade above Squidney’s palm, a bucket of water waiting below expectantly.

“Are you sure about this?” Spidey whispers one more time. “You can still back out.” “No.” Squidney shakes her head, quivering chin held high. “I need to do this. Just- be quick about it.” “...Okay.”

Spidey inhales sharply, squeezing her eyes shut as she quickly tears the blade across Squidney’s hand. 

The brunette winces, watching as blood pools in her hand and dribbles into the bucket, staining the water a cloudy crimson. Spidey waits until there’s enough before quickly wrapping gauze around the cut, mumbling apologies all the way. 

Squidney offers up a smile, weaker than she wanted, but it puts her at ease anyways. 

Soon enough, the plan is ready, and Spidey is regretting every decision made to get to this point.

“Be-” She closes her eyes, gathering herself before she starts sobbing. Get a hold of yourself, Spidey. “Be careful, alright?” 

“I’m always careful.” Squidney shrugs, standing in the last stall alone. “Careful is my middle name.” “Your middle name is Christine.” “Close enough.” 

Before the stall closes, Squidney gives her a wink.

Moping Squidney’s blood across the gym is not something Oeca thought he’d ever be doing. 

He mindlessly hums as he drags the mop in a messy line, a trail really. It leads out of the room and down the hall, straight to where he knows Squidney is waiting. Just like Mohwee said. Jaws. He’s careful not to get any on his borrowed sneakers. 

He doesn’t feel quite as brave as he looks. 

The fear tugs at his lungs, ever present. It’s not a new feeling. The only difference now is that his literal life, and the life of his brother and friends, are on the line. No pressure. 

Stupid curse. He kicks at the bucket. Oeca hates being right. 

A clatter sounds down the hallway, and Oeca freezes into place. 

His movements are jerky and slow when he straightens, peering past the open gym doors. The hallway is coated in darkness, shadows stretching, and there’s no more sound other than his quickening breathing but he knows he heard something other than that nagging little voice in his head- he’s not crazy.

Everybody else would beg to differ, the voice says smugly. Fuck off, he responds. 

A classroom door slams, and he drops the mop, bolting in the other direction. Shit, shit, shit-

Mohwee hates the smell of blood.

The tang sticks in his nostrils, coppery and cool and it overpowers the janitor’s lemony cleaning bleach. He doesn’t know which he prefers. He hates lemons just as much. 

The stairs are tricky- it’s hard to drag the mop down the steps, painting scary, pale scarlet against yellowed, cracked tile. The poster for 76’s colour wars is stark against weathered walls, splatters of paint splashed across a white banner. 

Mom always refused to put him in summer camp. Mohwee kind of understands it now. 

A distant hum crawls down the halls, and Mohwee goes stiff, slowly turning his head.

A figure dressed in pink struts around the corridor, softly singing a 60’s tune as he carelessly swings their razor. 

“So if I broke your heart last night…”

Acho Gee drags the razor across the poster without a care in the world, continuing his hum over the horrid scratching sound as the poster splits along the tear. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Mohwee whispers, scrambling to get away as they approach the steps. This shit better work, or I swear-

“It’s because I loved you most of all.”

“They’re coming!” Oeca whisper-shouts, stumbling towards her.

Spidey looks up, eyes wide. She’s standing by the bathroom entrance, three trails leading under the door. “It’s working?” “Yeah, too well.” He squeezes into the corner beside her. 

Mohwee rounds the corner, out of breath. “The weird pinky bitch is back,” he pants, “And he’s creeper than ever.” “Mohwee, for fucks sake-” Spidey grabs his wrist, dragging him to his place. A line of fire extinguishers rest at the other side, along with an extra bottle of liquid, and Mohwee passes her a lighter with a hiss, “If you get us killed, I’m going to murder you.” 

Spidey mentally flips him off. 

And then she no longer has any coherent thoughts because it’s time.

A hum stretches down the way Mohwee came, the click of chains and the stomp of boots following from separate hallways. Spidey allows herself a quick deep breath before opening her eyes, alert and on edge.

Krow rounds the corner first, because of course it does.

“Losers.” A younger version of Krow smirks from a tree branch, idly kicking its feet as Spidey glares, still panting, a few feet below. “Fuck off.”

Its mask is thrown into sharp contrast, the folds of the face becoming hollow, eyes empty and hidden. Other than the stray strand of red hair falling out of the hood, it's entirely indistinguishable from the person she knew, cloaked in darkness as its boots leave quiet thuds floating in the air.

Acho appears at the end of the left hallway, brown roots hiding under bubblegum pink and smudged eyeliner ringing his eyes. If it weren’t for the bloody sleeves stark against their pale skin, he could seem almost normal. Like a boy she’d pass in the hallway. His voice is sweet. “You always break the kindest heart…”

Spidey squeezes Mohwee’s hand a little tighter when he stiffens.

The stomping grows louder, a flash of red rounding the corner and storming towards them as the Camp Nightwing Killer runs their way. A pair of brown work boots are the source of the noise, an orange counsellor shirt under off-coloured, dirty red flannel. The sack over their head makes them look inhuman.

God, please let this work or we’re all doomed.

Skull Mask walks past her, just a few inches shorter, and her heart threatens to break her ribs as it shoves the door open, darting inside.

It works at least. It doesn’t bother looking their way.

Acho catches the door behind it, practically gliding inside with light footsteps. He still smells like grass and flowers from when they were alive. 

Under it, they smell like rot.

Nightwing slams shoulder-first into the door before it can close behind Acho, barging in like a tank, and the resulting bang makes Spidey instinctively flinch. 

As soon as it swings shut, Oeca hurries past her, twisting a length of rope into a knot and hooking it around the knob. A series of bangs rattle her skull as Spidey dumps out the final bottle of gasoline, Mohwee watching anxiously with a fire extinguisher in hand. She pictures the stall doors being broken down, one by one, until they reach that final door-

Hurry the fuck up, Squids, Spidey pleads. 

The three prick up their ears, listening for the telltale sign of footsteps. There is only an inhuman roar, and a snap that can’t be distinguished between a pipe and Squidney’s neck. 

And then, the sweetest sound Spidey’s ever heard.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK-” Squidney’s voice echos frantically from a vent above the door- the one that leads to Mohwee’s drug stash in the bathroom. A head of brown hair appears through the gaps, white soles kicking at the grille until it crashes to the floor with a clatter. Squidney follows only a second behind, stumbling to her feet. 

“Shit, come on-!” Spidey hooks her fingers around her wrist, pulling her into the corner behind her, and tosses the lighter into the gas.

It lights immediately, flames flickering and slithering under the door like a fiery snake. It fogs up the tiny glass window, orange and red clogging it with smoke and sparks. The four wait, holding their breath as a trio of voices start shrieking and screeching- she faintly recognizes one as Krow’s high, shrill tone. They sound utterly inhuman.

One final boom rocks the hallway, smoke pouring from under the door, and then there’s only silence. 

“Told you.” Squidney says finally, eyes sparkling with mischief. Spidey wants to punch her.

Fuck, this girl.

The cloud of mist from their fire extinguishers stings her eyes until they water, the hiss tearing through their general silence. Ash clogs her throat, leaving a horrible taste on her tongue. 

“Come back from that, motherfuckers.” Mohwee hisses, waving the nozzle around, and Spidey has to agree with the sentiment.

The bathroom is charred to black, walls coated in ash, and the air is thick with heat that makes sweat gather on her neck. The windows are fogged with smoke and powder, and the sinks are coated with…

Guts.

Slimy, black guts, sticking to every open surface nearby. It reeks of burned flesh, and Spidey makes the mistake of looking up just as a glob of… something splats to the floor. Relief flows through Spidey’s veins, warm and golden.

Holy shit.

“We actually did it.” Squidney breathes, a smile growing on her face. “Fuck yeah we did!” Mohwee spins her around, the two giggling and cheering. 

Spidey doesn’t pay them any mind, staring at the lump of guts in front of her. They did it. We fucking did it. 

And then the glob starts to move.

It slowly slides across the floor, through the thick coat of ash and blood and gunk, a quiet squishing noise crawling at her ears. Spidey’s stomach plunges.

Oeca steps in front of her, a frown creasing the corners of his mouth. “What the fuck…”

The glob slips towards another one, and becomes a bigger glob. 

Spidey and Oeca watch on in horror as another piece joins it, one by one, until a pile forms, the lump pulsating as it seems to form something, and then-

A bloody, skeletal hand emerges from the pile, coated in the same nasty guts it reaches from, and surges towards Oeca's face.

Spidey reacts the quickest, ripping him away and shoving him into a still processing Mohwee and Squidney. “Shit, fucking move-!” “Holy fuck!” “What the fuck is that?!” Squidney shrieks, Mohwee already pulling Oeca halfway out the door. “Come on, we need to go!” It didn’t work. Why the fuck didn’t it work?

Spidey is going to strangle Shelby Grace. Nevermind that she’s been dead for three centuries. 

As the two bolt out the door, Spidey catches a glimpse of sludge covered bones, three sets of hands emerging from the ever growing flesh, and curses at whatever gods she pissed off this time. 

The back offices are never used.

Their original purpose is lost to time, now a hotspot for stoners and couples sneaking a quickie. It smells of cigarette smoke and weed as they cram into the closest one, cluttered and cramped and making Spidey feel extremely claustrophobic.

God, she should join track and field after this. 

“Let’s go, they’re coming!” She cries, attempting to push a desk in front of the now locked door. Not for the first time, Spidey appreciates the years of carrying heavy instruments across town. “They’re gonna keep coming!” Oeca snaps. “We’re fucked!” Mohwee cries shrilly, looking concerningly close to pulling his hair out.

“No, no, we are not fucked.” Oeca looks at Squidney, hunched with her arms wrapped around her torso, and something resolute settles into place. “She is.” 

“What?” Spidey whispers, hot irons that feel suspiciously like fear wrapping around her ribs and burning her insides. “They’re coming for her.” Oeca inhales, fists clenched. “We put Squidney in the hall, and we end this now.” “You’re suggesting killing her!” “I’m being reasonable! Okay, you can’t shoot them, maybe they’re really strong! But we just fucking exploded them and it didn’t work!” 

“You can’t be serious.” Spidey scowls, looking around as her desperation slowly shifts to hysteria. “You want her to die?” “I mean,” Mohwee speaks up, twisting his fingers together, “that’s not exactly what he’s saying-” “You too?” She stares until he looks away in shame, hurt boiling her organs. “Have all of you gone fucking insane?!” “We can’t run anymore! You’d let us all die to protect her!” 

Spidey thinks this time she might actually be sick. 

“It’s the only way.” He doesn’t look at Squidney, even as a flicker of doubt flashes across his face. “Squidney’s got to go.”

The silence rings like a bell in her ears, filled only with the sound of her heart threatening to break out of her ribs. 

Squidney sighs, the sound gentle and defeated. “He’s right.”

“No,” Spidey whispers in horror, the rest of the words sticking in her throat. “I don’t want you guys to die for me.” She slides off the desk, raising her quivering chin. “I’m going.” “No, you’re not!” 

Her skin still tingles from the science lab, like liquid electricity snuffed out with a cloud of suffocating ash.

“It’s my fault, anyways.” Squidney smiles sadly, tight and gloomy. “Nobody else is going to die for me.” “You can’t.” She pleads, feeling smaller than ever, like that helpless little girl with the plastic crown and bug-covered bed sheets. I can’t lose you again stays in her brain, unheard by everyone but herself. 

Squidney smiles at her, familiar mischief glittering in her eyes right along sadness, and suddenly she’s that equally small girl with blue ribbons and a smile that blinded anybody who managed to bring it to existence. 

And then she’s gone, darting past her to the door.

Spidey tries to grab her, but she’s already expecting that, dodging it with ease. Oeca is already unlocking the door, fingers trembling only slightly. “No, no, no, Squidney-!”

She doesn’t make it more than a few steps before Mohwee grabs her by the shoulders. He doesn’t move when she kicks and hits. “You can’t, you’re killing her!” 

“I’m sorry Spides.” Is all he has to say. 

The last of her hope dies with the click of the lock.

Oeca thinks- knows- that this is all his fault.

That’s just his thing. Everything he touches withers eventually. He’ll never know if that’s a him thing or a Shadyside thing. 

He did hope he’d have longer with this. 

“Let me go, let me go-!” Spidey cries, shoving and pushing against his brother, but Oeca has been wrestled into a headlock enough times to know that Mohwee can be fucking strong when he tries. Or maybe he’s just scrawny. He hasn’t touched a soccer ball in years. 

“You’re letting her die!” She sobs, and Oeca thinks it hits him fully once he sees the tears gathering in her eyes. He doesn’t think he’s seen Spidey cry ever, even during those years- where he’d come down for breakfast and find her already at the table, puffy-eyed and picking at scrambled eggs. 

He likes Squidney. She’s one of the few who treat him like an actual person and not some oddity to gawk at. She’s been in his life since he was four and Mohwee dragged home a new friend from school.

And now she’s locked out in the hallway, waiting to be slaughtered. Like a sardine in a shark tank. 

So yes. This is certainly his fault.

He wants there to be another way. Desperately, he wants for it all to return to normal, even if that normal is Shadyside and its many horrors. This is unfair. Squidney is the last person to deserve this.

But, of course, the universe has never been one for happy endings, and Oeca is in no way different. 

He turns away before he has to look at Spidey’s tears again. He’s never been good with feelings.

Oeca’s eyes drop to his bag, yellowed papers peeking out the top, and like an angel sent from heaven a line drops into his head. 

…As the sole survivor of the Camp Nightwing Massacre, the frightened girl claims to have saw the witch…

“Oh,” he breathes, barely audible as his eyes grow bigger than saucers. “Oh, shit.”

Squidney is very, very familiar with death.

When she was 7, her grandfather dropped dead. A stroke, the reports said, likely from his blacked lungs after years of cigarette smoke. Another Shadyside crackpot, gone too late.

Squidney had been confused, of course, but not for the reasons you think. Her grandfather had been a nice man, quiet, with round glasses and cherry candy that he always snuck into her lap before she went home. He was her dad’s dad. A perfectly nice, admittedly boring old man. Not a crackpot or whatever the Sunnyvalers whispered behind their backs at potlucks. 

Her father had smiled through his watery eyes at the funeral, patting her on the shoulder. She didn’t understand the concept of tragedy at that, so she merely blinked. “He’s in a better place now.”

Her mother had scoffed. “Please, Paul. Anything is better than this dump.”

Squidney had wondered briefly that night, lying in her frilly bed and staring up at her blank ceiling, why her mother didn’t just leave. Vanish. Disappear, taking all of her expectations with her.

She learned later in her life that it wasn’t nearly that simple. Nobody gets out of Shadyside, no matter how hard they try.

Squidney thinks that this was meant to be.

The blood trails out from her feet, the trail stretching down the hall, past weathered navy blue lockers and around the corner, out of sight. Her blood, the same pumping through her veins and rushing past her ears. It’s the only sound beside the own rise and fall of her chest and the banging on the door. 

“Let me go, what are you doing-?!”

Get a hold of yourself Squids, she squeezes her eyes shut, this is your apology. 

Even as a child, Squidney was lonely. It ached, a bleeding gap in her chest where a heart should be. She still feels now, buried deep in her lungs and leaving cold clouds of misery where she walks. All she’s ever wanted was somebody to love, and to be loved in return. 

She lost that when she lost Spidey. And now she’s taking it back.

A pair of stomping footsteps crack the quiet, and Squidney pries her eyes open. 

It takes a moment, a brief, painful moment, for them to appear. A charred figure, caked in ash and guts. Squidney holds her breath as it solidifies, wisps of burnt hair reforming and disappearing under a sack as the crunch of bone attacks her ears.

A bloody axe swings in their hands, and Squidney starts hyperventilating.

Even of her own accord, death is not a welcome sight. Squidney doesn’t not want to die. She wants to live, and bake shitty sugar cookies and cheer and kiss her girlfriend until they’re both dizzy. She wants to live for once, not just float by like a leaf pulled along by the wind.

Death stares her in the face in the form of the Camp Nightwing Killer, and Squidney can’t bring herself to look back.

God, I’m so sorry you guys.

She stays ever still as they start jogging, the axe rising over their head, and Squidney schools her breathing into something more rhythmic, because she is going to die but she won’t go out afraid, even if the blood under her feet starts feeling like a death sentence and her knuckles threaten to break with how hard she’s clutching her shirt and please please please just do it already-

Two hands grab her shoulders, warm and calloused and real, and pull her away just before the axe lands in her skull.

The axe hits the door and the four of them scream in unison. 

“What the fuck is happening?!” Squidney shrieks, and somehow the shrillness doesn’t make her recoil. It’s a relief, a warm, glowing one, and Spidey can barely restrain herself from kissing that terrified expression off her face. Instead she settles for folding her hands tightly between her own, “You’re not doing this alone.”

“There’s another way!” Oeca shoves himself between them, pushing a paper into Squidney’s face with sparkling eyes, and Spidey would kill him if he wasn’t a fucking genius. “G. Sings!”

The paper in his hands proclaims, in large dark letters; BODIES FALL AT CAMP NIGHTWING!

Under it, in small writing, a subheading reads; Survivor G. Sings saw Witch!

“What?” Squidney breathes, snatching out of Oeca’s hands as another swing hits the door. Mohwee curses, lodging a chair under the handle, and then a desk. 

“After a night of bloodshed, the still traumatized girl claims that amongst the carnage she saw the witch,” She reads it out loud, the colour returning to her face. “Just like you! And if she survived-” “There may be a way for me to live too.” 

A crack breaks her eardrums as the axe breaks through the wood. “Son of a bitch-” Mohwee shrieks, holding the knob shut as the door rattles with the force of their swings. Oeca drops the paper into Squidney’s hands and hurries over to help him. 

“Where’s the fucking phone book?!” Spidey throws open a cupboard, resisting the urge to cover her ears as the bangs ring through her head. In the very back of the cabinet lies an old, yellowed pamphlet.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Oeca snaps, the two boys perched on top of the desk as their only barricade breaks and splinters and Spidey slams the book on the counter, flipping to the ‘S’ section. “I am!”

At the very bottom, just under Simpson, is G. Sings.

“I found it!” Spidey practically rips the phone from the receiver, the dial tone unheard over the crashing and screaming. She slams the numbers with shaking fingers. The axe blade shines as its ripped from the door and comes right back.

“This is the Sings household,” a miserable, sugary voice crackles in her ear, “If you’re hearing this, I’m not home right now-” “Fuck!” “-Please leave a message after the beep.” 

“Hi, um, you don’t know me, but this is Spidey Army-” she fumbles over her words, the terror turning them to molasses, “you survived the Camp Nightwing Massacre, and I think you’re the only one who can help us-”

A clawed, bloodied hand slips through the hole in the door and grabs Mohwee by the hair.

“Ow ow ow fuck get it off get it off-!” he screams, thrashing and kicking as blood matts in his hair and Spidey’s nerves writhe with panic. Not again. Please, not again-

And then a blur of black and red lunges for the hand, and Oeca stabs his pocket knife through Nightwing’s palm. It retreats. “Hurry!” There’s no more venom. Just fear.

Spidey redials the number, praying to gods she doesn’t believe in when Squidney grabs the phone and slams it down, brown eyes wider than plates. “She died!”

“What? No, she survived, that’s the whole point-” “Yes, she did, but first she died!” Squidney’s words are almost too fast to follow as she points out a paragraph. “‘Paramedics found her in the woods, her heart had stopped but local girl performed CPR-’ that’s it!”

“She’ll take your blood, she’ll take your head, she’ll follow you until you’re dead.” Spidey whispers to herself, the truth hitting her like a baseball to the teeth. 

“I’m dying tonight, one way or another.” Squidney says bluntly, eyes sparkling with a solution, “You have to kill me, and then just like this G. Sings lady, you bring me back.” 

Her voice may shake on ‘kill’, but the determined look on her face is more than enough to convince her. 

“Let’s go kill you then.” Spidey squeaks, and immediately regrets her words.

When Nightwing finally breaks down the door, the only trace of them is the gentle breeze from the open window screen. 

Chapter Text

The hospital is soaked with blood.

Ash’s boots squeak against her brakes, shiny black soles tinted vermillion. She looks down at them for a brief moment as the wind rushes past the windows, slowly cruising Main Street. The lifeless eyes of the corpses stare at her whenever she blinks.

Death will never get easier for her, no matter how much she witnesses it.

She sighs, looking up again and continuing her route home. The streets are lit by the faint light of streetlamps and nothing more, all of Shadyside fast asleep tucked in their beds. Good. She’s had enough murders for a year.

The two teenagers from the mall linger out of sight, bullet and stab wounds on full display and glistening with blood.

Wait. 

Ash frowns, pressing her foot down until the car stops. That’s not a hallucination. 

A dried up pool in the center of the street, glimmering in the low light as Ash steps out of the car. Not fresh, but recent. It’s still slick under her feet. Something crunches under her feet and she immediately recoils. Please don’t be flesh please don’t be flesh please don’t be flesh-

It’s not flesh. Thank god.

Ash pulls her foot back, staring at what looks like a small heart locket, silver glittering through a coat of dried red. She gently picks it up by the chain, cool between her fingers. 

It doesn’t open when she tries, shut by rust and blood. She doesn’t need to see what lies inside.

At the very edge of Shadyside lies a house.

It is an average house, at least for everybody else. Wilted flower boxes, dried grass, leaky gutters. Ash feels out of place on the porch, chewing her nails as she scribbles a note on her notepad in red pen. She probably won’t even read it, the devil on her shoulder hisses. 

You owe her this much, the angel whispers. 

Ash bats them both away, hesitating for only a moment before slipping it through the mail slot and darting back to her car. She should go before she gets spotted- her reputation doesn’t need the hit. 

The note flutters to the hardwood, falling open and free for the sole occupant to see.

It’s happening again.

“Alright bros.”

Mohwee drops an armful of pill bottles on the counter, the pharmacy door wide open behind him. The Grab and Bag, Shadyside’s only grocery store, is dark except for the bluish overhead lights. Mohwee’s picture is on the employee of the month wall at least 5 times. “Five months ago, my dear science partner Silvia accidently ingested too much of a certain substance and missed our presentation. Not important in this context. She was dead for three minutes. But…” He does a drumroll, snapping his fingers. “They brought them back!”

“And now we’ll do the same for me?” Squidney asks weakly. “See, and this is why you’re the smart one.” 

He dumps out a handful of bottles, sorting through the pastel pills until there’s three piles in front of them. “Okay, pile one is going to take the edge off, basically painkillers. You’ll feel like you’re being choked by a unicorn. Pile two is to bring down your core temp- you will get nauseous.” Mohwee glances up, a brief flash of worry crossing his face before he returns to his task. Spidey squeezes her hand tighter.

“You need to take a five minute interval between pile two and three, okay, pile three is what knocks you, I swear to god you take that ‘take five’ or else it’s all going to shit!” He waits for her quick, frantic nod. “You need to make sure you take these in order, and you-” Mohwee jabs a finger in Spidey’s direction, “need to make sure her heart has stopped. That’s when we break out these babies.” 

“Epi-pens?” Oeca wrinkles his nose as his brother holds up two handfuls of yellow and orange sticks. “This is epinephrine, also known as adrenaline, this is what brings her back, this is Jesus!” Mohwee shakes them in their faces.

He’s having way too much fun with this. Spidey resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Squidney’s blood marks the spot.”

Spidey whispers, painting blood across Mohwee’s sweater with her fingers. There’s a similar X on her t-shirt. 

For once, Mohwee’s smile isn’t teasing when he looks at her. “Knock 'em dead, Spides.”

A few feet away, Squidney rewraps the gauze around her hand, smiling bitterly as Oeca watches silently, dark streaks across his blue shirt. “Remember how an hour ago you were ready to murder me?” 

Oeca’s face stays stoney, and her face falters. “You can leave. This isn’t your fight.” “Remember how you decided to sacrifice yourself for us?” He whispers, head held high, and Squidney immediately feels guilty about the pang of relief in her chest. “We’re ending this together.” 

Oeca awkwardly pats her on the shoulder. It’s likely the most affection he’s ever shown her. “Die well, my friend.” Squidney feels the beginnings of a real grin quirk up her mouth.

“I’ve got front door patrol then,” Oeca sighs, gnawing on his lower lip as he backs up. “Nope, wait a minute-” Mohwee strides over, ignoring his surprised squawks as he gives him a tight hug, his feet lifting a few inches off the ground for a second. “You’re such a dork.”

“Love you too, bud.” His voice is muffled by his hair, but he can still hear the smile in it.

“Are you sure this will work?”

Spidey glances up from the pills, eyes tracing over Squidney’s worried, pretty features. “I mean- what if we fuck up and just kill me?” She snorts, high and nervous and wavering. “I don’t want to die, Spides.” 

“What, don’t tell me you’re backing down now?” Spidey tries to joke. It’s not very funny, but Squidney tries to laugh anyway. She appreciates the effort. 

Spidey sighs, reaching out to cup Squidney’s face. Her eyes are watery- she’s always been a pretty crier, compared to Spidey. She tries at a comforting smile, and it probably looks quite forced but Squidney smiles back anyways. A small warmth stirs in her chest. 

“When you left, it was horrible.” She finally starts, and the girl in front of her frowns. Clearly she remembers it as vividly as she does. “I stayed in bed for a week, and the only reason I got out is because Mohwee bribed me with cookies. I thought my life was over. That it was only night shifts and pepper spray and beer cans from here on out. Just like my dad.”

Her voice breaks at the end. She can’t help it. Squidney gently grabs her wrist, smoothing a thumb over her knuckles. 

“But now-” she smiles, swallowing down tears that threaten to spill over like rain clouds, “Now I have another chance with you. And I’m not letting a stupid curse take you away from me again. Because you, and me, are the way out.”

A tear slips down Squidney’s cheek, and Spidey gently wipes it away, her sharp edges softening for a moment as a sudden burst of confidence forces her mouth open. “When this is all over, I am going to take you on a date.”

“Really?” Squidney snorts, thick with tears, and Spidey is probably crazy but there might be hope buried under those words. “Yes, really! We’re gonna have a picnic, and listen to The Pixies, and drink milkshakes and make out and have the best night of our goddamn lives.” 

The lights start to flicker overhead as her smile drops. “But first we have to kill you.”

Squidney inhales shakily, nodding hesitantly as she accepts the first pile of pills and a water bottle. She takes a swig, before swallowing the brightly coloured pills in one go. A split second passes as Spidey watches her gulp down the lump in her throat. 

A hand slowly makes its way to her hair, and Spidey, the lingering terror at what’s to come tensing her muscles, is more than happy to indulge her.

Squidney’s mouth is salty with tears, but there’s still the ghost of mango chapstick underneath.

Now is certainly a weird time to go shopping.

Still, Oeca thinks as he carefully swerves through the shelves by the front entrance, Mohwee has an employee discount. Not like he’ll get in trouble. They can barely afford to put products on the shelves, let alone invest in security cameras.

Even so, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he enters another aisle. It’s fucking freezing. He’s anxious, and bored, and frightened out of his mind. He needs to do something.

Oeca quietly picks up a can of hairspray, reading the back ingredients before dropping it in his basket. Just in case. 

A distant crash raises his shoulders to his ears. Fuck. 

Mohwee wonders when Kyle went home.

That’s a stupid question. He always leaves at 9pm, on the dot. Why, he doesn’t know. Old people things.

Either way, the back room is deserted when he enters, dark and cold and cluttered. He fumbles for the lightswitch, tripping over more than a few boxes before he succeeds.

Metal pillars dig into his elbows no matter where he stands, shelves carrying heavy boxes full of stock. The boy shines a flashlight over the ceiling beams, sneakers squeaking against linoleum, when he hears it.

“You always break, the kindest heart…”

Mohwee stiffens, glancing behind him. Only the faint red light of the emergency exit greets him. 

Man up, dumbass. He shakes his head. He’s almost a foot shorter than you. You can totally kick his ass.

He immediately dismisses that sad encouragement. He’s so fucked. 

Mohwee snatches a box cutter off a stack of cardboard. Just in case. 

The hum grows as he passes a back door, something dark red smeared across the glass. “With a hasty word you can’t recall.”

Squidney feels way too relaxed.

It’s likely the most carefree she’s ever felt, what remains of all her thundering thoughts floating away, replaced with perfect emptiness. Her vision is fuzzy, bright colours glowing behind her eyelids as a girl’s concerned face swims in front of her.

She likes this girl, she remembers. A lot.

Her limbs buzz as she reaches for her face, smiling wide and unguarded as she strokes her too twisted fingers through tangled grey curls. Squidney giggles, her mouth stuffed with cotton. She’s very pretty.

Freckled pale features contort with an emotion she can’t place in her drugged state as a handful of colourful capsules appear in her hand, and Squidney’s bliss disappears as they’re simultaneously forced into her mouth.

She spits and whimpers and attempts to get them out, but there are far too many and the girl’s hand is still over her mouth and her limbs feel far too awkward and heavy to do anything but flounder. She feels like she’s drowning.

“Swallow, just swallow, please, I’m so sorry,” the girl whispers, voice breaking down the center like a glowstick, and she wants to comfort her but her brain is too muddled and there are too many pills falling down her throat. “Please just swallow.” 

What was her name again?

God, this is the worst.

Spidey’s watch slowly clicks down as Squidney rocks back and forth, expression open and pained with her arms around her stomach. Two minutes left. Just two minutes, and then she won’t have to watch her love be utterly miserable as she dies.

Just two, agonisingly long moments. She can do this. 

Squidney ceases her rocking, throat bobbing as she leans over and vomits. Fuck, nevermind then.

“Shit, son of a bitch-” she hisses as Squidney wipes her mouth, lower lip wobbling as she stares at the half dissolved pills in the puddle of vomit. The smell burns her nostrils. Spidey’s anxiety rockets, alarm bells ringing loud and harsh in her mind. Her skin prickles as she gathers up the final pile. Fuck it. 

As she does so, a soft, clumsy hand finds its way to her shoulder, tapping it with awkward fingers. Spidey looks up, watching Squidney’s mouth move with no words coming out. “What?”

“There’s-” She chokes out, eyes far away and trained on something over her shoulder, and Spidey leans forward, desperate to make out the slurred words escaping her lips, “Behind you-”

Spidey turns and immediately screams. “Holy fucking shit-!” 

Skull Mask runs full tilt in their direction, knife raised above its head, mask empty, and Spidey keeps screaming as she scrambles back, forcing Squidney behind her as it bears down on them and her brain is screaming too loud for her to hear anything but pure terror and holy shit it’s over I’m going to die in a fucking grocery store oh god-

An inferno of flames engulfs Skull Mask’s upper half, an halo of orange scorching the ivory plastic as it flails, waving its knife wildly at the source of the fire.

A small, pasty source.

“What are you doing, fucking go!” Oeca shrieks, pressing down on the nozzle of his hairspray and continuing to blast Skull Mask with his makeshift flamethrower. Spidey doesn’t bother considering it, yanking Squidney to her feet and running past him. 

Squidney’s dragging feet knock over the bottle, pills spilling and rolling out of sight. There goes our plan.

“I need to die,” Squidney stutters, repeating it over and over, each time growing more and more desperate, and Spidey’s heart gains another crack, “You need to kill me, I need to die-” “I know, I know, I’m figuring it out-” Is she begging? Whatever, who gives a shit about dignity right now?

The panic seizes her legs, clogging her throat as she glances around, because Squidney needs to die right fucking now and their only plan has gone to hell and Spidey is so lost, like her map has taken her in circles and she’s somehow stuck at the bottom of the ocean. 

Squidney needs to die. 

Her eyes land on the deli’s lobster tank at the end of the aisle, like the light at the end of the tunnel, and an idea that burns propels her and Squidney forwards.

Oeca is fucking terrifed.

He ducks behind the bakery counter, trying to keep his hyperventilating to a minimum. It’s not a hard spot to fit it- he’s always been small, able to fit into tiny cracks without much effort. He always thought his height was infuriating- another reason for people to see him as less than competent. At least it's paying off now. 

Oeca manages a glance around the corner, through the metal rack of baking trays. Skull Mask shakes off the final remains of flames, half of its face charred to ashes as it looks around for its victims. He ducks back behind the corner, the fear swirling his vision.

Fear is a sickening feeling. It makes bile rise in his throat, acidic and sour and tasting of bad memories and spoiled milk. Fear is not something you can afford to show in Shadyside. Oeca does not like fear. 

It rests in the bottom of his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his too-quick breathing to a reasonable pace. This is not a video game, or a shitty horror movie. This is painstakingly real, and Oeca is scared, no matter how much he bottles it up. 

The silence crashes over him like waves on a beach. It’s quiet- too quiet.

As soon as the thought enters his head, a clawed hand pulls him up by the hair.

Oeca shrieks as Skull Mask pulls him over the counter, its knife just inches away from his throat before he catches it by the wrist. It shakes for a moment, shining menacingly in the bluish overhead lights, before his fumbling fingers wrap around a muffin tray and slams it back into its head. 

An inhuman growl rises from Skull Mask’s throat before it shoves him into the nearby bread slicer, the machine whirring to life as Oeca attempts to push himself to his feet. He doesn’t get a chance before Skull Mask grabs his hair again, claws digging painfully into his scalp and threatening to pull out more than a few ashy curls.

It slams his head into the counter, once and then twice, the cruel taste of copper filling his mouth, and Oeca screams for that is all that is left to do. 

Mohwee has always been a curious young boy.

Even as an infant, his mother always said he was an explorer. Crawling out of his playpen, giggling at potential dangers before his mother whisked him away. He’s never been particularly cautious. 

It was going to bite him in the ass eventually. He didn’t expect it to hit him 17 years later though.

The freezer is empty when he checks, lined with shelves of deli meat and pre-made cakes. The cold air hits his skin, a surprising pleasant presence against his sweaty limbs. Living through a real-life horror movie requires more running than he thought. Mohwee is so fucking out of shape.

A scream chills his blood more than the freezer ever could. “No no no, let me go-!”

Mohwee knows that scream. He knows it buried deep in the hollows of his bones, high and shrill and filled with terror. 

He slams the freezer door, far too focused on the screams of his younger brother to notice the pink shadow lurking in the corner. 

They’re utterly silent for once as he takes a step towards his target, flicking his razor, the serrated edge shimmering vermillion as they ready it behind his neck-

Mohwee spins around, stabbing the box cutter directly through Acho Gee’s throat.

Acho falters, crumbling to the ground as thick, ink coloured blood gushes from the killer’s neck. Mohwee doesn’t wait for him to get back up.

“Fuck fuck fuck, no! No, get off!-” 

Mohwee whirls on his heels, bolting down the way he came as Oeca’s screams bounce off the walls around him.

Spidey’s knees hurt.

Knobby limbs dig into the cooler beneath them, a hand on Squidney’s neck like hot iron brands. They share a wary glance as shrill, terribly familiar screams crack through the air like thunder. “Please, no no no no no!”

“Finish it.” Squidney whispers, knuckles white against the rim of the tank. 

Spidey’s bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

Spidey forces Squidney’s head underwater.

“Fuck off, get off me-!”

Oeca screeches, kicking and screaming as Skull Mask attempts to drive a switchblade into his chest. A sharp elbow gets it in the eye, head snapping back as it makes impact. Oeca kicks at its knees, the only thing stronger than fear being adrenaline. It collapses, and Oeca staggers to his feet. 

There are too many thoughts in his head, slipping through his fingers fast and loose like marbles on a racetrack. Any logic has been replaced with the pure, animalistic instinct to run.

A gloved hand curls around his ankle, dragging him down with an embarrassing yelp, face bouncing from the cold blue linoleum, and suddenly those hands are around his neck and Oeca can’t breathe. 

The boy claws at its cloaked fingers, choking on nothing as those hollow, charred, plastic eyes stare right through him, both nowhere and everywhere at once. He wheezes, the life draining out of him with every second he spends under Skull Mask’s grip. Any pleads he tries to scream come out as strangled gasps. 

Oeca does not want to die here. He certainly doesn’t want the last thing he sees to be that fucking skeleton costume.

His vision starts blurring around the edges, black clouds creeping in at the corners, and his fingers are too big and heavy to keep moving, falling limply by his sides. 

Nobody gets out of Shadyside. Not alive, anyway.

A sharp crack splits the air, and suddenly Oeca can breathe again.

He sucks in a gasp of air, coughing from the force of it. His ribs ache, pushing against his far-too fast heart. He pushes himself up anyways, staring at Skull Mask’s crumpled body just inches away. What little isn’t charred to ashes is stained red against false ivory.

“Jesus fucking christ!” A dark-headed figure drops a broken pipe, his edges solidifying into willowy limbs and horrified features. Oeca feels his eyes get watery in an instant. “We gotta go, like, right now, that creepy singing guy is right behind me-”

Oeca bursts into tears.

“Oh, oh god, shit-” Mohwee frantically looks around as he sniffles, clearly checking for monsters before dropping to his knees beside them. “Come on, man, we need to leave this very second-” Oeca only cries harder, shaking with silent sobs. Fuck, he nearly just got murdered. 

God, he hasn’t cried in- years, in fact. This is the worst time imaginable. 

Mohwee sighs, taking one final look around before softly wiping away his tears, smiling small and sad. “It’s all gonna be okay. Alright? You can trust me on that one.” 

Mohwee has never lied to him. Well, maybe he has, but not about this.

Oeca swallows down his tears, jerking his head in a nod. Mohwee’s expression falls in relief. “Alright, come on, let’s get going. Can you walk-?”

The wooden handle of an axe slams over his head.

Squidney looks like an angel.

A twisted, fallen one, brown hair floating around her head like a halo as she thrashes under Spidey’s fingers. Even with water replacing precious air, Squidney knows how to fight for her life. Bubbles float to the surface as water replaces the oxygen in her lungs, kicking out at Spidey’s knees. She has to fight to keep her arms steady. 

With every popping bubble grows the sting of heartbreak.

All Spidey has ever wanted was to be normal. Live in some perfect little town in the middle of nowhere with a normal amount of crime, have a sober dad who planned out surprise parties, like boring boys, feel something. 

Being normal sucks. It's impossible for Spidey to be anything but herself.

Still, the thought lurks in her ceiling, from years of staring up with numb expressions and a painfully empty house. That maybe if she was normal, she wouldn’t be here. Drowning the girl she loved as the screams of her only friends bring further tears to her eyes. 

Fuck, she hates crying. It makes her eyes hurt.

Squidney’s hand wraps around hers, squeezing it tight enough to turn both their knuckles white, and Spidey takes a shaky breath before pushing her head deeper.

“Fuck, let him go-!”

Mohwee has never been good.

A good sibling, good friend, good girl. That was never a word people used for him. Rambunctious, if they were being polite. Confused, if they thought they were being nice. Selfish if they were rude.

None of those are false, by the way. At this point, they are no longer insults, simply- descriptors. Things that everybody knows, pinned to him like sticky notes that he wears with pride.

He’d like to think he did one thing right. And that was raising Oeca.

The boy in question screams his name as Mohwee rights himself, grabbing the axe before it can split his skull in two and pushing back into his attacker. Nightwing stumbles with the force, but of course it doesn’t knock them down for long.

When Mohwee was 4, his mother came home with a wrinkly little thing. Kind of ugly. His younger brother, she told him. 

He didn’t like him all that much, to be honest. He was rather boring. Slept a lot. 

And then the baby had smiled at him, wide and toothless, and Mohwee was utterly hooked.

Mohwee, in a familiar burst of impulsiveness, lunges at the killer, knocking them to the ground. The axe falls through their fingers, sliding across the floor, and he is filled with a shaky, stinging feeling of hope. It’s weird. He hasn’t felt that in a while.

Nightwing grabs him by the hair, slamming his head into the squeaky floors he mopped only a few hours ago, and that hope is dashed in an instant.

When Mohwee is 6, he meets a strange little girl in his first grade class. She sits in the very back, wearing a little plastic crown and reading instead of climbing the monkey bars and glaring at any kids who make too much noise.

Her name is Spidey, he learns once he scours the attendance sheet. A fitting name. 

Mohwee walks up to her one day, holding the thin blue bracelet he made himself (with help from his mum), and declares them best friends with a toothy grin. She seems surprised before hesitantly accepting. It spirals from there, years of puberty and change and one disaster after the other.

Spidey is always there. That is the one thing that never changes. 

His skull bangs against the floor, over and over, a cruel symphony of cracks that rattle his brain and ring in his ears along with Oeca’s screams. 

The only noise more powerful than that is the whirl of the nearby bread slicer. 

Mohwee is 8 when he introduces himself to the girl next door. Well, not next door. Across the street, two doors down. Close enough.

Her name is Squidney. She is perfect, and polite, and everything he is not.

They get along like a house on fire. 

She has a tricky streak under all her frills, something that perfectly fits with Mohwee’s surprisingly thought-out mischief. Even when the world tried to tear them apart, the two were superglued together.

He introduces her to Spidey when they are 13. You know what happens after that.

Inky, too-sharp nails string him along, kicking and yelling and desperately trying to pull away but the grip is too tight and Mohwee is so fucking tired. His doom grows ever closer. 

His goggles fall off in the scuffle, skidding across the floor with a metallic thud. 

His mother goes when he is 12. Breast cancer is a bitch.

They have no living relatives other than each other, at least not on record. Dad left long before Oeca was born- good fucking riddance. Shadyside’s social services are non-existent. 

Mohwee’s mother was a lovely woman. Shame where she happened to be born.

The boy’s head hits cold metal, the whirl of blades dangerously close to his head and a bloodied, warm hand pushing him towards his inevitable fate. This is what he’s meant for, huh? Dying on the floor of a goddamn grocery store?

Mohwee starts dealing when he is 15.

It is not ideal- he knows what drugs can do. He’s seen it, not on TV, but through the windows as police cars flash red and blue in his neighbour’s driveway. Drug addiction is common in Shadyside- a way for people to ignore the terribly unfortunate circumstances that are their lives. Mohwee has never seen the appeal.

But the Grab and Bag isn’t enough anymore, and he is not making Oeca get a job. Never.

His cursing slowly turns to pleading, begging, even- this is humiliating. A bread slicer. How ridiculous. He wonders how they’ll frame this one. Maybe they’ll say he tripped. He’d love to see that one. 

Mohwee wonders what’ll happen to Oeca after this. He doesn’t get much time to dwell.

Studies say that people get 7 final minutes before they die as an apology. Good, to make up for the bad. The smell of sweet roses, a mother’s kindly voice, that movie that made you laugh so hard you nearly peed yourself.

Mohwee does not get 7 minutes.

A few dark curls catch in the serrated blades of the bread slicer, matted with slowly drying blood, and maybe it's good he won’t get a funeral. Nobody should see him like this. 

Mohwee’s head enters the slicer, brain and bone torn to shreds, and he wonders no more.

Mohwee stopped screaming.

Spidey’s limbs are tingling, sharp and electric as more water splashes onto her clothes. He was screaming, and swearing, and then he was begging- Spidey has never heard him beg in her life. He was too stubborn for that.

And now he’s quiet. Spidey thinks that’s worse.

Oeca is loud, however. Faint shouting (sobbing?) that rises and falls as he presumably worms his way through the aisles. Spidey swallows hard. That’s good. It means he’s still alive. Why the fuck does drowning take so long?

Squidney is slower, skin soft under her dirty nails, and Spidey chokes down hot tears as she silently pleads.

“Shit!”

Her head spins, watching as Oeca appears around the corner, stumbling over his own lanky feet. The sight of him gives her only a moment of relief.

He’s covered in blood. 

For a split moment, Oeca catches her eye, and his face lights up with something that looks suspiciously like hope-

And then he trips, crumbling with a cry as his ankle twists, and Spidey almost lets go.

Three stomping pairs of footsteps join the sound of splashing as Skull Mask drops to its knees, raising a knife over Oeca’s throat, and her stomach plummets. 

“You always, hurt-” Acho emerges from the plastic curtains, smiling maliciously, a wound in his neck closing up as the razor flicks out into position, “The one you love-”

Spidey looks up and spots the sack-clad figure storming her way, axe rising over their shoulder, and squeezes her eyes shut. 

Squidney sees white.

Not red, not black. Just… a sea of white. It’s bright but not blinding. Comforting, almost.

For a moment she forgets that she’s currently drowning. 

The air is escaping her lungs with every second, water filling her mouth, but Squidney doesn’t panic. She doesn’t feel scared anymore. 

Not a horrible way to go out, if Spidey’s there. She was always afraid of dying alone.

A weight lifts off her chest as Squidney goes limp, a final sigh escaping her lips as one last flash of red enters her vision, a girl’s stoney face staring her down, dirtied and scared but determined. 

Squidney can’t make out what she’s saying from the movement of her lips, and then she disappears, and so does she.

Squidney’s heart stops.

Two things happen when Squidney Mewell dies in her arms.

The first is Oeca sits up, shaking like a leaf as he stares at where Skull Mask was moments before. The store is utterly silent, not a lyric nor stomp to hit their ears. 

The second is Spidey’s gut-wrenching sobs as she pulls Squidney from the water, painful and ripping at her flesh. “Fuck, fuck- get the epi-pens, go-!”

Oeca disappears as he does so, staggering to his feet as Spidey pulls them both to the ground. Squidney’s body is limp, flopping in her arms. Her lips are blue. Her face is unnaturally pale- like a ghost. 

“No,” Spidey sobs, cradling her head in her lap like delicate porcelain, “No, no, no this isn’t fair!” 

Oeca falls beside her, epi-pens spilling from his arms as he shoves a handful into Spidey’s lap. His hands are violently shaking. Spidey snatches up the first one, pops the cap off, and immediately stabs it into Squidney’s arm. 

She doesn’t even twitch. 

“Spidey-” Oeca whispers while she grabs another one after the other, plunging them into Squidney’s skin, voice breaking like a twig, “She’s-” “Don’t say it.” She whispers. “Please don’t say it.” 

Squidney looks peaceful. She could be sleeping, except for her skin growing colder under her fingers and her still, unmoving chest. Squidney isn’t supposed to die. She’s supposed to be safe, far away from Shadyside and all its horrors and Spidey herself. She can’t leave again. 

It feels horribly wrong when Spidey stacks her hands over her chest and starts pushing down with all her might.

Spidey has taken exactly one first aid class- required, for gym class. The only chance she had at passing that class, truthfully. It wasn’t very advanced- three of those plastic dummies and the nurse, half giving instructions, half trying to stop the football players from breaking them even more. She was likely the only one actually paying attention.

Squidney’s mouth doesn’t taste like fruit gum anymore when she breathes down her throat- just saltwater. 

“Shit.” Oeca mumbles through the fog of adrenaline, arms coming to wrap around his knees, repeating it like a fucked up mantra. “Why isn’t it working?” Spidey manages through sobs, racking her brain for the little information she knows about CPR. Squidney’s face slowly pales to the colour of the linoleum underneath. “Where’s Mohwee, tell him to come help-” “He can’t.” He says miserably. 

Spidey looks down on her love, lifeless on the floor, and a tear falls onto her collar.

“Please, Squids.” She whispers, Squidney’s corpse no longer visible through her tears. “Please, I love you.” 

Spidey, if asked what happened later, will not know how she did it. She’ll say it just worked out that way, luck of the draw. Luck does not work that way in Shadyside. She will not remember the faint crackle of something unexplainable in the air, under her fingernails, in her lungs. Maybe it was just the force of her own love, gushing from her heart and through her veins. Nobody will ever know. 

What she will remember is the shudder of Squidney’s chest as her heart restarts. 

Squidney jolts up, foamy, colourless vomit spurting from her mouth, shoulders shaking with the force. “Holy shit-” Oeca shrieks in surprise, jumping back with eyes wide as plates. “Squidney,” Spidey sobs in relief, and can’t say anything else as she falls back into her arms, solid and breathing and alive. 

“Dying sucks.” She eventually chokes out, once her throat has cleared of any watery bile, and Spidey snickers. “No shit.” “Oh my god.” Oeca says simply, flopping on his back and staring at the ceiling, blood tangling in his hair. 

Everything will be fine now. Surely. 

Chapter Text

“Interview with Spidey Army, Sunday October 3rd at 10:56 am.”

Ash slides the recorder away, exchanging it for a pad and paper. Spidey sits across from her, the cold metal of the chair digging into her spine. She barely feels it. “How about we start with what you told me?”

Spidey thinks her smile is supposed to be comforting. It falls flat on its face. 

“We, um,” The words feel like metal on her tongue, “We stopped by the pharmacy to… pick up Squidney’s prescription. It was only supposed to be a quick trip, but then the lights went out, so we hid until they turned back on.” “And that’s when you called the police?” “Yeah.”

“What happened to your arm?” Ash gestures to the slash on her forearm. Spidey swallows down the glint of a blade swinging in her vision. “I just fell on some glass.”

“I fell on some glass.” Oeca says numbly, leg bouncing under the table.

“I fell on broken glass.” Squidney smiles weakly.

“Squidney, come on,” Ash says gently, “You look pale. Like you just- came back from the dead.” 

Squidney’s fingers tremble. “...Finding our friend was a shock.” 

“Okay, I’ll go over this one more time, just to be sure.” Ash takes a deep breath. “The junkie-”

“You mean Mohwee?” Spidey frowns.

“He wasn’t a junkie.” Oeca snaps, briefly forgetting his misery.

“He was my best friend.” Squidney eventually manages.

“He’s to blame. For everything.” Ash sits back, and Spidey has never been particularly violent but now she really wants to punch her stupid face. “That feels too easy, but that’s what this department will go with unless you have anything else…?” 

Spidey bites her tongue, both to prevent cursing out a cop and bursting into tears. “It’s just another Shadyside tragedy. You know, the guy taking care of his family for 4 years, succumbing to the quick cash of drugs. Quick and easy, right?” 

Ash sighs, glancing around before leaning forward. Her eyes are snake-like. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” She says in a low voice. Spidey swallows. “I didn’t listen. But I’m listening now.” 

Her fingers tap out a beat on her leg. She doesn’t seem to notice it. “You’ve just got to let me help.” 

Spidey gnaws her lower lip bloody, thinking of dark curls and those stupid goggles he was so attached to. All those years of late nights and trashy drive-ins and tears. Those plastic containers filled with cookies because nobody else remembered her birthday but she didn’t like cake. 

“Do you really want him to go down for this?” Ash asks softly. 

“Spidey, shut up.” Mohwee rolls his eyes, shoving the container into her hands as she weakly protests. “I know you better than you know yourself.” 

“No.” Spidey smiles bitterly, eyes stinging with restrained tears. “But he’s dead.” 

Oeca wants to sink into the mold green carpet. 

The front area is otherwise empty, other than a man in handcuffs casting him weird looks. He can’t really bring himself to care at this point. The sun is out, partially hidden by clouds. The whirl of the bread slicer is white noise at this point. That could have been me. Probably should have.

Maybe they’ll send him away. Oeca plays with a fraying thread on the armchair. Mohwee was his only guardian, so unless he has some long lost aunt or whatever, he’s on his own. 

The grief is worse than the fear, most definitely. Like cinder blocks, pulling him under. 

“Hey, Freckles.”

Oeca looks up, watching as the man scoots his chair closer, holding out his cuffed hands. Is that a sock on his head? “Help a guy out?” 

The boy looks down at his lap, tugging on his fingers. He doesn’t have the energy to tell the man to fuck off. 

“Oh, I get it.” He scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “Big bad criminal, right? You really believe that? Well let me tell you something, kid, ignoring me makes you just as bad as them. And I know damn well you don’t want that, do you?” 

Oeca stares at him incredulously, internally fuming. Who the fuck do you think you are? His eyes are dangerously watery.

Mohwee would help him, a soft voice in his head chides. Oeca hesitates. 

Nobody else is around when he checks. Nobody but the man sees him pick a paperclip from the desk next to him, fiddling for a few seconds before tossing it to the ground with a fake cough.

His face lights up with surprise, softening into something inexplicable as he sticks his foot out, pulling it towards him and hiding it under his shoe.

“Oeca.” The boy in question looks up, watching Spidey stop by the exit, Squidney quiet by her side. He’s suddenly well aware of the fact that he looks like shit. “Come on. We’re going.”

He stands with shaking legs, eyes glued to the floor as he stalks their way. An arm blocks his path, clad in a red suit jacket and holding out a thin piece of cardstock. A business card, for Red D. Doons. There’s an address and a phone number written underneath. 

“Owe you one.” Red adds under his breath, waiting until he hesitantly accepts it to lean back in his seat, falsely casual.

Oeca speeds past Spidey out the door, head down and nails in the process of being bitten down the beds. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years, eyes rimmed red. 

A woman enters just as he leaves, scowling at him for a moment before turning. Spidey’s stomach sinks. Oh, fuck me. 

“Squidney.” Her mother hisses, reaching out to grab her by the arm. Squidney is frozen, her hand falling from hers and leaving her standing alone. Spidey misses her presence immediately, palms tingling. 

Spidey feels like a stain. A ugly, unwelcome stain on precious white silk. 

“See you tomorrow, I guess.” Spidey mumbles, shrugging and twisting her hands behind her back as her heart lodges in her throat. 

Squidney’s mother turns up her nose, preparing to whisk Squidney away, but her feet are stuck to the floor as she hesitates, glancing between the two. There’s something… odd on her face that sucks the air from Spidey’s lungs.

Squidney sighs, gently tugging her arm away. “No,” she murmurs, adding on even as her hands shake when she steps towards her because she’s sick of being afraid, “See you tonight.”

With that, Squidney cups her face between her palms and kisses her, soft and sweet. 

Spidey only snaps out of her surprise when Squidney pulls away, smiling softly even as her mother drags her away, a hilarious expression of enraged shock on her features. She gives her one final wave through the blinds that Spidey returns slowly, smiling in a lovesick daze. Fuck, now she’s a sap.

Spidey doesn’t like feelings. Especially love. You drown in love, rotting into sugar and wilted roses until you are nothing but a melted, shattered mess of what you used to be. And yet…

For the first time in a long time, feeling doesn’t seem like such a burden. 

Squidney looks out of place in her room.

She’s a floral figurine in her sea of band posters and lost pens. Spidey mutters an apology, swiping the remains of a failed knitting project off the covers. Weirdly enough, despite the sharp contrast, she feels like the final puzzle piece slotted into place.

Her mattress sinks under their weight, adding to the mountain of quilts and dirty clothes. Grey curls and dark brown waves fan out over her yellowed, ancient pillow case. The tinny whirl of her stereo twists into music in the quiet, like yarn under her needles. Their tangled limbs do not feel dissimilar. 

Spidey grasps her hand, rubbing her thumb along her knuckles. Her fingers feel clunky, heavy and unmoving with grief. There’s still blood caked under her fingernails. 

And then Squidney tilts her head, rosy lips curling into a smile, and Spidey feels like she’s glowing.

And then of course, because she can’t have anything good for more than five minutes, the doorbell rings. 

“Oh, fuck off.” Spidey groans, dragging herself off the covers and dropping her feet to the ground. The doorbell rings again. “What time is it?” Squidney props herself up on her elbows. A flash of white bandages peek out from the collar of her floral shirt. “Like- seven. Or something. I bet you it’s Mrs. Woodsbare.” “Your neighbour?” “Yeah, the nosy bitch.” She grumbles, reluctantly shutting the door behind her.

The house is quiet as she takes the steps two at a time, crossing through the kitchen to reach the front door. Spidey straightens, rising on her toes to look through the too-high peephole. 

Nobody’s there.

A stab of anxiety pierces her lungs. Spidey slowly backs away, all her muscles locking up with stiff worry. 

She makes it three steps before she bumps into flesh and jumps out of her skin.

“Holy shit-!” Spidey yelps, whirling around to find Oeca glumly chewing a slice of pizza. “Don’t fucking scare me!” “I thought you heard me coming.” “Where did you get pizza?” “I ordered it.” He gestures to what is indeed a cardboard box on the coffee table. “Don’t worry, I used my money.”

Spidey exhales softly, heart slowing to a reasonable rate. “You didn’t have to do that.” “Yes I did. Spidey, I am not dying from food poisoning after all that.” His face contorts into disgust. She slaps him upside the head. “I am a wonderful cook!” “Eh. Sure. Whatever.” Oeca mumbles, shuffling his feet. The remains of shiny tracks still stick to his cheeks, dark eyes dangerously glossy. 

“Get the fuck out of my kitchen Spides, you’ll burn the damn house down!” Mohwee hits her over the head with a whisk. 

Oh, what the hell.

Spidey awkwardly throws an arm around his shoulders, executing what could qualify for one of the world’s most uncomfortable hugs. Neither of them are good with affection. Oeca sniffles in her arms. “Weirdo.” “Dork.” She lets him go, because as much as she loves him dearly she is not doing that. 

“You let me know if you need anything? Extra blankets, pillows, yeah?” “Yeah, yeah.” Oeca lightly kicks her ankle, but the hints of a smile tug on his lips, so Spidey counts it as a win. 

He scurries away, silent as a mouse, as Spidey takes two plates from the kitchen and approaches the pizza. Just simple cheese, because Squidney doesn’t care, Oeca is picky, and Spidey can’t stand the texture of toppings. She grabs two slices, one for her and one for Squidney, and considers grabbing some lemonade. Her mouth is concerningly dry from shouting.

The phone rings, breaking her thoughts into tiny pieces to be reassembled later. 

Spidey hums to herself, a quiet, soft tune as she sets the plates aside. Two wide strides later and she’s plucking the phone from the receiver, fingers nervously drumming against the plastic. “Army Residence.”

Only the faint crackle of the landline responds. Spidey quietly curses, running a hand through her curls. She needs a shower after this, both to wash her hair and the blood off her hands. That’s just sweat. “Hello? Look, if this is a prank call, I will find you-”

“You’re still alive.” A cotton-candy laced, dull voice whispers, a twinge of surprise hiding behind it. Spidey’s fingers freeze. “Who is this?”

“You called me.” The audio crackles and buzzes as somebody shuffles, a faint quiver on their vowels. “You wanted to know how I survived the Camp Nightwing Massacre?” 

Spidey’s stomach drops to her toes. G. Sings, then. Okay. That’s… something.

“We stopped it.” She says, unable to keep her words round and soft, sharpening like blades as she adds, “But thank you for your prompt reply-” “You think you’ve stopped her?” The voice laughs, a bitter, melancholy thing. “You haven’t stopped anything. You’ve just delayed it. She makes the rules.” “...Who?”

“The witch, of course.” 

A hiss sends chills down her spine as she sits up, wide-eyed and alert. The sound bounces around her head, maddening and deafening. Squidney’s hands tighten around Spidey’s navy blue sheets. “...Squidney…”

It’s not Spidey’s sharp but smooth tone, or Oeca’s blunt and cool chatter. It’ll never be Mohwee’s cheerful, too-fast rambling.

Something under her skin churns, like an itch she can’t scratch, a vile feeling that raises bile in her throat, tasting far too like saltwater for her comfort. Squidney rises to her feet, buzzing around her ears growing louder and louder, consuming everything and everybody she knows until there’s nothing left.

All those faces and all those voices, the memories of herself and her identity, slip through her fingers like soap bubbles, and suddenly Squidney is not herself. 

Deep underground, lost to time and humankind’s feeble memories, is a cavern.

A small one, carved into the center of twisting tunnels and unheard of pathways. The air stings with magic, painful and inexplicably evil. An evil that lurks, leaching into the very rocks and stone of Shadyside. 

In the heart of this cavern stands a figure. You will not recognize this story, but it is older than the town itself.

This figure perches at the edge of a terrible, terrible symbol, scorched into the dirt by no human hand. Deep rivers of blood flow through the lines, the curves and angles, a torch the only source of light yet far too bright. 

In front of this horrible thing lies a list.

Names, hundreds of them, buried in the wall, carved there for anybody stupid or brave enough to find them. You will not know these names, but the innocent people above the cavern will. Every killer, every murder, every blood stain- its cause lies here. 

The figure, cloaked in black robes stained in goat’s blood, chants. Words that contort, perfectly accented in a language too powerful for any mere mortal to understand- at least not at the cost of their sanity. The spell is harsh, the very syllables dripping with malice and contempt and evil.

At the very bottom of the wall, right under Krow, the name Squidney Mewell carves itself into the wall.

“You touched her bones? You saw her face?” 

“It’s over.” Spidey repeats, too thin and wavering for even her to believe it but it has to be true, because then that means that it was all for nothing. “We got rid of the killers, we got rid of the witch, it’s over now!” “It’s never over.” G. Sings’s tone shakes with the force of her misery. “She’ll find a way, no matter what. And once she does…”

A fly buzzes around her head, the lights flickering overhead in seemingly a pattern. 

Syncing with the quiet footsteps behind her. 

“...She’ll come for you.”

Spidey whips around as the floorboards creak, the one that’s always squeaky no matter how much she tries to fix it, fear spiking in her gut. 

It’s only Squidney. Only ever her. 

Spidey doesn’t know what she’s seeing, eyes far away and trained on her at the same time. Squidney’s face is sickly, eyes sunken and empty. She looks like death. Two, or maybe three flies fly around her head. 

It’s not over.

Squidney’s zombie eyes fall, down down down, skating over her edges and messy parts, and Spidey follows, because she would follow her anywhere. All the way down to the knitting needle embedded in her abdomen, blood growing around the wound.

Squidney’s hand rips it out with a sickening squelch. 

It’s not Squidney.

Spidey chokes on a cry, stumbling back into the wall at the perfect time to miss Squidney’s lunge forwards. 

Spidey’s basement is cold.

Drafty, too. Oeca has to stand on two boxes and his tip-toes to close the little window high up on the wall. Even then, the cool air blisters. 

The leather of the pull-out couch sticks to his legs as he sits, sagging under his weight. There’s a off-coloured splotch on the wall- a badly patched, fist shaped hole. It’s cramped, small and filled with boxes of random shit, but it’s not like he’s got another place to stay.

He wants his room. He wants his room, with the peeling blue walls and red sheets and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and he wants his brother back.

Oeca, even with his grades and age and general personality, is not stupid. Mohwee’s not coming back. People don’t survive their head being ripped to shreds.

For a brief moment, the quiet drip from the leak in the ceiling turns cherry red, dripping from the mess of Mohwee’s head.

Oeca bites his lip and tries not to cry.

He’s got his backpack, at least. Stuffed with comic books and cassettes and clothes and his schoolwork- is a dead brother and being chased by killers enough to get him out of his science test? Doubt it, Ms. Stockton is a hardass.

A small sob escapes his throat at the absurdity. The tears start falling, and now they won’t stop, because now he’s alone and it’s too quiet and Mohwee is dead. Properly dead, just like everybody said he’d be one day.

Oeca kicks his backpack, knocking it over and scattering its contents. Fucking Shadyside.

A loud thud from upstairs breaks the silence. And then another. And another. Oeca glances up, confusion creasing his features.

“Shit!” 

Spidey shrieks, kicking as Squidney latches onto her ankle, her heel making contact with her face and forcing her grip to loosen. Her vision is blurry with adrenaline and tears.

Spidey grips the phone still in her hand, white-knuckled, and swings. The phone cracks against Squidney’s skull, head whipping back with an inhuman, high-pitched growl. She claws for her throat, long and thin fingers stained crimson.

Squidney isn’t a killer. Or a puppet for Shelby Grace to yank around. 

The Witch is gonna fucking pay.

Spidey kicks out her knees, dropping her to the floor, but Squidney is still waving around the needle, glistening with red and trying to drive it into her neck.

“Squidney-” Spidey sobs, choking on tears as she tries to get out from her grip, the searing pain in her stomach spiking as she jams her knee into the wound, making her breath hitch, “please, it’s me, it’s me-!”

“What the fuck?!” 

A pair of heads whirl around, Oeca standing frozen in the doorway like a shadow. Spidey takes the chance to wrap the phone’s cord around Squidney’s neck, pulling it taunt. Squidney lashes, lurching for her throat with a shrill shriek.

A pot comes down on her head, and Squidney slumps, unconscious. 

“Again, I say,” Oeca hisses, eyes wide, breathing hard and fast as his voice pitches up, “What the fuck.” “Help me with this.” Spidey sniffs, curling the cord around her limbs until she’s properly restrained. As well as someone can be restrained with a telephone cord. “But-” 

“Squidney’s not feeling like herself right now.” Spidey croaks, clutching her bloodied stomach and staring at Squidney’s too pale face. 

It’s not over.