Chapter Text
Richard Goranski was not the person he pretended to be. There was something else controlling him, something sinister. Rich sat by, stagnant and idle within the confines of his own mind, watching in abject horror as the spirit that possessed him made him unrecognizable.
In Freshman year, Rich Goranski was a suicidal nobody. As if by magic, he seemingly changed overnight. He went from a scrawny loser to the biggest bully at school, terrorizing everyone in his path. He worked out excessively, cut the sleeves off of all of his shirts, and dyed a red stripe in his hair. Of course, it wasn't technically him who did these things. Whatever agenda that the spirit had, it seemed hell-bent on destroying Rich's life, and making him into a monster.
One chance encounter with Jeremy Heere in the bathroom at Middle Borough left Rich's brain feeling fuzzy, the emptiness of his mind filling him with an icy dread. It wasn't as though the spirit had fully left, but rather that it began to take breaks. Instead of piloting his body at all times, it left him alone for a few hours in between, allowing Rich to exercise whatever sliver of bodily autonomy he had, and make his own choices for the first time in two years.
Rich's head felt emptier than ever. He lay across the leather couch at Jake's house, drinking from a red solo cup filled with some sharp-tasting liquid that he never asked the name of, and he was utterly miserable. He should have been having the time of his life, making out with his friends and playing beer pong, but instead he felt like a caged animal.
It felt wrong, calling Jake his best friend. Of course, Jake was Rich's closest friend, but Rich was not the person Jake thought he was. Rich never wanted to shove kids into lockers and call them slurs, but the spirit that resided in his body didn't seem to care. The aggression that Rich displayed was only further egged on by Jake, and Rich's stomach felt twisty when he thought about it for too long. Jake seemingly liked watching him bully people, even though Rich could hear himself screaming inside of his mind with every kick, punch, and insult that he made.
Maybe it was the fact that he was three drinks in, but Rich felt the familiar icy feeling begin to ebb away, and his mind began to scream at him, demanding he find a solution before he succumbed to the mindlessness that accompanied being taken over. What he needed was an exorcist, or something that could force this spirit out of him. The closest thing to an exorcism he would get, without having to contact the Vatican, would be a Bible- at a party full of inebriated, horny teenagers. In other words, Rich Goranski was absolutely screwed.
He wandered through the halls of Jake's house, forcing doors open left and right as he sifted through his manic thoughts, desperately seeking a Bible. His classmates split around him like the Red Sea, distancing themselves from what seemed to be a horribly unstable Rich. Rich fumbled through the guest bedroom, tearing books off of the shelf with a panicked vigour. He was certain that he'd become the topic of conversation at school on Monday: Rich Goranski, the bully who had a psychotic break at the biggest party of the fall. He couldn't bring himself to care about something so trivial, when his life had already been destroyed.
He shoved past Dustin and Ryan, barrelling into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He ran both hands through his hair, tugging harshly as he stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes widened in fear as he noticed the tiny wisps of smoke that coiled from his lips. It had been years since he'd last seen it happen, and he would never forget the consequences. His mother had died because of it, and it was nothing short of a curse.
"Have you ever heard of knocking?" A shaky voice rang out, startling Rich from his thoughts. He spun around, turning to face the source.
A filipino boy sat against the bathtub, the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt bunched in his hands. His chest rose in uneven breaths, and his eyes were puffy. His cheeks were stained with tears, and the skin on his lips had been bitten raw, a few red smudges indicative of blood.
"Headphones." Rich noted, looking him up and down. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.
He felt his stomach begin to turn, unsure of what to do. Michael had been the target of his ruthless attacks, something that Rich had never wanted but could never stop.
"Why would you give a shit about me?" Michael spat, furiously wiping his tears away with his sleeve.
"Hey, I'm sorry." Rich said, softly. He slid his back down against the bathroom door, pulling his knees up to his chest. "I'm just trying to help, I didn't mean to overstep."
"You don't sound like yourself." Michael laughed, humourlessly.
"There's a reason for that, but you wouldn't believe me." Rich admitted, keeping his eyes off of the other boy. "Do you happen to know where I could get a Bible?"
"Unless you're about to tell me that you've been possessed, I seriously doubt that." Michael mused, raising an eyebrow. He analyzed Rich's face for a moment, before his features twisted into an incredulous stare. "No fucking way."
"It's a long story." Rich frowned, reaching up and pulling at the dry, cracked skin of his lips. A metallic taste filled his mouth, as his hands began to shake.
"You're actually about to tell me that you've been possessed?" Michael scoffed, shaking his head. "What the fuck were you going to do with a Bible, anyway? It's not like anyone here knows how to perform an exorcism!" He buried his head in his hands, barking out a laugh.
Rich opened his mouth, before closing it again. There was no explanation he could offer that would be believable, and that wasn't good enough.
"You're going to sit here and tell me that this tough guy, bully asshole Rich Goranski is just a facade, and that under your stony exterior, is a decent human being? Fuck you. Every time you shoved me into the lockers, called me slurs, or publicly humiliated me doesn't just disappear because you're suddenly nice to me when I'm crying. Is this some kind of joke? You're expecting me to believe, after all of that, that theres some poltergeist thats responsible for every shitty thing you've done in the past? Yeah, sorry if I find it to be fucking unbelievable." Michael seethed, sarcasm dripping from each word.
Rich flinched, shutting his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, fighting off the tears that welled up in his eyes. He tugged harshly at his hair again, grounding himself.
"Listen, I-"
"No, you listen to me!" Michael interrupted, standing from his seat on the edge of the bathtub. "You don't just get to treat me like human garbage for two fucking years and then expect me to believe that you're possessed. Like I'm supposed to believe in ghosts that can take over people's bodies. What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, you're going to have to try a lot harder than that." He began to pace across the floor, eyeing Rich as if he were dangerous.
"Fuck, Headphones. Calm down, will you?" Rich's eyes met Michael's, and he shook his head slightly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Oh, sorry for being afraid that my bully is going to hit me, it's totally never happened before!" He quipped, sarcastically.
Rich felt a wave of anger wash over him, and a familiar presence forced its way back into his brain. His brain felt impossibly hot, and his fingers went numb, an unbearable searing pain spreading through the rest of his body.
"Fuck, God." Rich wheezed, gasping for air. "No, get the fuck out of my head!" He felt a sharp sting as his nails raked down his own face, scratching open the skin on his cheeks. Grey smoke began to flow out of his eyes and mouth. Embers rose from his hair, conjoining with the grey wisps of smoke and formed a shifting crown. His body became enveloped by a scorching hot aura, his skin glowing white-hot. He let out a pained scream, the sound bouncing off of the walls.
"What the fuck is going on?" Michael shouted, before letting out a strangled yelp. The smell of melted rubber wafted into the room, and without warning, Rich's body erupted into flames.
Michael was stuck. He was trapped in the bathroom with the source of the fire, and Rich was blocking the door. He glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. His gaze landed on the shower head, before an idea formed in his head. He stepped shakily towards the bathtub, reaching up with an unsteady hand. He unhooked the shower head from the hook, pointing it at Rich. He fumbled for the tap, hearing the sound of water crashing through the shuddering pipes. He grabbed the metal rod from the faucet, yanking up until it went silent. A second passed, before a gentle stream of water began to pour from the shower head. He doused Rich in the water, retching at the loud sizzling noise that assaulted his ears.
The flames had been extinguished, but they'd already done an alarming amount of damage. Rich's flesh had been severely burnt, and the smell was enough to make Michael vomit, almost causing him to black out. Thick grey smoke filled the room, and Michael could hear the sounds of discordant screaming from outside.
"I think the rest of the house caught fire." Michael said, running his hand through his hair. "We can't stay here."
"Hurts." Rich gasped, letting out a pained moan as Michael grabbed his hand. Michael's hand instinctively jerked back as it touched Rich's, the unnatural heat of his hand burning his skin.
"I know. This is going to suck, but I need you to cover your ears."
Michael waited until Rich covered his ears, before taking a deep breath. He raised his fingers to his lips, blowing around them. A shrill whistle rang out, sending uncomfortable chills up Rich's spine. The sound echoed in his head, enough to give Rich a throbbing headache. The whistle grew louder, causing the glass surfaces in the bathroom to explode. The shards from the ceiling light rained down on the two boys, slicing into their skin and sending a spatter of blood onto the walls. With a rush of adrenaline, Michael wrapped a towel around his fist, punching through the cracked glass of the window. He beat out all of the glass, and reached out for Rich's hand.
"What the fuck was that? My brain is melting." Rich complained, wheezing out his laboured breaths.
"Come on, man. I know it hurts like a bitch, but we have to get out of here, like yesterday." Michael climbed through the window, helping Rich through. He stumbled down the awning, approaching the edge. The distance from his position to the ground wouldn't be enough to kill him, which was all of the reassurance that Michael needed. He grabbed Rich, tumbling off of the awning until they hit the ground.
A plume of smoke erupted from the house, a startling boom shaking the ground. Michael looked down at his leg, and let out a pained whimper. His leg was horribly broken, and there was a significant amount of blood pouring from the wound on his shin where the bone pierced through. The adrenaline slowly began to ebb away, and Michael's vision swirled with black spots. The darkness enveloped him, and he succumbed to the pain.