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Pete kicks the heels of his converse into the concrete as he waits for the bus, nervously checking his watch for the third time in the past minute. The last sliver of burning white sun has just slipped beneath the horizon, night slowly bleeding in from the top of the sky, and Pete hopes he won’t have to wait in the dark. The bus is usually a few minutes late, but it’s almost been ten and Pete is starting to worry he’ll be late for meeting Richie and Ruth at the library, his only two study buddies and famously punctual friends. He should probably text them.
Reaching automatically for his phone, Pete realizes that the familiar weight of metal and plastic is missing from its usual place tucked into his front pocket. He freezes, frantically searching his other three pockets, then peering under the metal bus stop bench and scanning his eyes over the surrounding sidewalk, panic building in his chest. He probably dropped his phone, or it must have slipped out of his pocket somehow, or maybe he forgot it somewhere. Ted is going to kill him .
“Hey, did you drop this?”
Pete whirls around at the sound of a voice from behind him, his glasses nearly flying off of his face as he turns. He clumsily pushes them back up the bridge of his nose, the somewhat familiar face of a girl coming into focus in front of him. She raises her eyebrows and holds up his phone.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks.”
Pete pockets the phone and returns to the bench, the bus still nowhere in sight. The girl follows, taking a seat next to him and tapping her boot against the ground, checking the time on her phone.
“This bus always takes forever,” she gripes, picking at her nail polish. “Um. Don’t we have biology together or something?”
Pete turns to look at her, her face finally registering in his mind. “Oh, uh, yeah. You’re— you’re the mayor’s daughter. Stephanie Lauter.”
“Yep.” She squints and looks at him. “And you’re uh… Peter, right?”
Pete nods slowly, unsure why a certifiably cool and popular girl has decided to make conversation with him . He shifts in his seat, shoulders tense, waiting for the catch. Like Max Jägerman is gonna pop out from under the bench and punch the shit out of him for thinking he has permission to interact with the Stephanie Lauter.
He doesn’t though, and the air remains comfortably still, pink and orange clouds hanging low in the sky as night sets in. Checking his watch yet again, Pete confirms that the bus was supposed to arrive a full fifteen minutes ago. Part of him is anxious (like it always is), but a different, slightly louder part of him is thanking his lucky stars for leading him to the same bus stop on the same night as Stephanie Lauter. The chances must be a million to one, seriously.
Stephanie pulls a lipstick tube out of her pocket and touches up her burgundy lips, smacking them together and sighing. “So, where’re you headed?”
“Oh, the library,” Pete replies, suddenly embarrassed for going somewhere as uncool as the library on a Friday night. “I, uh, we have that biology exam next week, so.”
“Oh shit, I forgot about that,” Stephanie caps her lipstick and shrugs. “Whatever.”
“Uh huh,” Pete clears his throat. “What about— what about you?”
“Just meeting some friends,” she says casually. “If the bus ever makes it.”
Pete checks the time again , and realizes he never texted Richie and Ruth. He should really do that.
“It’s been getting dark so early lately,” Stephanie continues, eyeing the pinkish glow barely bleeding over the horizon, the last of the sunlight almost completely slipped away. “I like being out at night though. Everything feels more… alive, at night, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, yeah I guess so,” Pete shivers slightly as a breeze rustles through the branches of the trees. He’s actually somewhat scared of the dark, a fact he would never admit to anyone (as if Max and his friends need more bullying ammunition). It used to be worse when he was a kid and still believed in monsters under his bed and creatures stalking people through the night, but now it just unsettles him a little. Makes him hyper aware of his breathing and raises goosebumps all over his arms. “It’s… it’s really quiet at night. At least here.”
Stephanie hums. “This town in general is really quiet. Just this little island in the middle of a lake. And half of it is the Witchwood.”
“Do you think you’ll leave for college? Like, go out of state?” Pete asks.
Stephanie laughs. “Oh, yeah . As soon as I graduate I am getting as far away from my dad and this town as possible. Aren’t you?”
“I— I don’t know.” Pete admits, realizing he’s never actually considered it. “My brother never did. He said he wanted to once but… I don’t know. It never worked out I guess.”
“Yeah. Hatchetfield is weird like that. My dad likes to say cryptic shit about it all the time, about the things that supposedly happen here.” Stephanie turns her face towards the sky, dusk casting an indigo shadow over the world as the first stars begin to appear.
“Like what?”
“Mysterious disappearances, cults, beasts living deep in the woods. Regular horror-movie-town shit I guess.”
“Oh, baloney .”
Stephanie chuckles. “Yeah, well. My dad says that things just… grow, in the Witchwood. They grow big, and different , or something like that. I’ve never heard anything, though.” She glances his way for a brief moment, then returns her gaze to the sky.
Pete shivers again involuntarily, internally blaming it on the wind, which isn’t a total lie. It’s a weirdly cold night, even for mid October. That creeps him out even more, and he can’t explain why. Maybe it’s the darkness becoming denser by the minute or the bus running twenty minutes behind schedule at this point, but he can feel the hair on the back of his neck tingling.
Stephanie notices the goosebumps crawling up his exposed arms and pulls off her flannel, offering it to him. “Here. You look cold.”
Pete stares at it for a second, dumbfounded. Stephanie Lauter wants him to wear her flannel. She’s looking at him expectantly, hands lightly clutching the mass of green and black fabric and holding it out to him. He briefly wonders if her hands are warm, and feels his cheeks heat up despite the breeze. Stephanie Lauter wants him to wear her flannel . Pete almost looks around for a hidden camera, but there’s no catch. Ruth and Richie are going to freak out when he tells them about this. Pete really needs to text them. Why does he keep forgetting to do that?
“Wear it,” Stephanie drops the flannel into his lap when he fails to take it from her hands. “I don’t really get cold.”
“Th—thanks,” Pete mumbles, gingerly picking up the flannel like it’ll burn him. The fabric is soft and slightly cool to the touch like it had been permanently infused with the night air rather than just worn. It helps though, the wind softens as he slips his arms through the sleeves and wraps the flannel around himself.
Stephanie watches him put on the flannel, smiling slightly. “You know, you’re kinda cute under those glasses and suspenders.”
Pete freezes, eyes darting around and looking anywhere but Stephanie’s face. “I… Um,” he stutters, heart pounding. Stephanie Lauter thinks he’s cute. Stephanie Lauter gave him her flannel and she thinks he’s cute .
She smiles wider, without showing her teeth. “Yeah… and your hair, it looks so soft.” She reaches up a hand and slowly brushes it through his locks, gently pulling the strands back from his neck, her cold fingers grazing his ear. Pete’s breath hitches, his eyes going wide. He feels his heart stall in his chest, genuinely forgetting to beat as a dizzying almost-panic rushes through him. Just then the streetlights flicker on, bathing the sidewalk with a milky, white light. A deep shadow conceals half of Stephanie’s face, the other half so pale in the dark it almost looks like it’s glowing.
“S—Stephanie—“
“You can call me Steph.”
“Steph, um, what are— what are you doing?”
She draws her hand back, letting it fall to her lap. “Sorry.”
“It’s— um, it’s okay.”
Steph looks up at him with dark eyes. He can see the streetlight reflected in her gaze. “I’m just, I don’t know, worried? It’s dark, and cold. That flannel’s like, really thin. And you could be waiting here for… hours, maybe.”
The bus. Pete had almost forgotten about the bus, how long have they been waiting? Half an hour, probably even longer. He tries to check his watch, but can barely make out the numbers in the dark.
“Maybe—maybe they changed the bus schedule,” he stammers, suddenly very nervous. He doesn’t remember seeing anything like that on the website.
“Maybe,” Steph agrees, resting her chin in her hands, her face turned away from him. “Maybe we should just go home.”
Pete looks out over the dark road, hoping to catch a glimpse of headlights, hear the sound of wheels over the bumpy pavement. But the night is still. He doesn’t remember this street being so deserted— completely devoid of any cars or people. It feels a lot later than it is. He’s tired, suddenly.
“I guess so, yeah,” he says blankly.
“Were you meeting anyone?” Steph asks, turning to look at him. Her eyes glitter in the light of the street lamp.
“I— yeah, actually,” Pete realizes with a start that he forgot to text Richie and Ruth again . “I should probably—“ he reaches into his pocket. “Where’s my—“
“Are you warm enough?” Steph asks, fully facing him now. “The night gets really cold around this time of year.”
“Where’s my phone?” Pete asks, frantically patting his pockets as fear bleeds into his voice.
“You shouldn’t walk home alone,” Steph continues in a low voice. She looks him up and down, then meets his gaze again. “Max likes to hang around here sometimes, he’ll probably kick your ass if he finds you. And what about all those beasts in the woods?”
Pete shivers, transfixed by her gaze, eyes locked on the glowing image of the streetlight flickering within her pupils. “I’ll be… fine.”
Steph reaches into her pocket and pulls out her lipstick, reapplying it slowly without ever breaking eye contact. Pete’s breathing quickens, watching the bold strokes of burgundy carve out a dark shape against deathly pale skin.
“I could walk you home,” Steph offers. The cap of the lipstick makes a sharp snapping sound as she closes it and slides it back into her pocket. “You know. Just to be safe.”
“You— you don’t have to do that,” Pete tries to subtly edge away from her but his limbs are stiff with cold and impossibly heavy, like his bones have turned into magnets, pinning him to the metal bench. He wishes the bus would come.
“I really don’t think the bus is coming,” Steph says, as if she’s read his mind. Part of him feels like she has. “Let me walk you home. And then you can get warm, have a hot drink. Order a coffee from Beanies, maybe? Or tea, or hot chocolate. You like hot chocolate, don’t you?”
“Steph, I— I can walk home by myself,” Pete’s voice wavers and cracks, and he’s still unable to tear his gaze away from hers. There are stars in there if he looks close enough, little white pinpricks in a sea of darkness. He can see a sliver of the moon rising from one side, the gleam of the streetlamp merging with its silvery halo.
“I don’t mind. Come on, you know you don’t want to be alone,” her voice is almost a croon, she shifts ever so slightly closer. He hears a sharp, metallic tapping as she hits her fingernail against the metal bench, over and over.
“You know, you’re not such a nerd, huh? I wish people could see that. I wish they could see what I see. ‘Cause under these,” she reaches forward and pushes up his glasses, letting them rest on the crown of his head. Pete’s vision goes slightly blurry, but somehow Steph’s eyes are still perfectly clear. And he still can’t look away. “You’re actually pretty cool.”
Tap, tap, tap.
She leans closer. Pete watches her pupils dilate, sucking all the light into their depths like black holes. He can feel her breath blow over his neck. It’s cold.
Tap, tap, tap.
“ Come with me .”
Before Pete can even think to react, Steph wraps her fingers around his exposed neck, so cold they burn, and darts forward in one quick, calculated movement. Pete feels a sharp pain under his jaw as she sinks her teeth into his skin, cleanly puncturing his veins and sending red hot blood spurting from his neck. His entire body goes rigid, his eyes flying open as he’s released from his trance moments too late, limbs flailing under Steph’s iron grip. She draws her face back from his neck, smiling with teeth and fangs as his blood drips over her lips and onto her white shirt. She looks down at him with deranged, hungry eyes.
Pete squeezes his own eyes shut, bright dots like stars blinking in his vision as blood runs down his neck, soaking into the fabric of Steph’s flannel. He slips clumsily off the metal bench as she releases him, dizziness overtaking him when he tries to stumble to his feet. A strangled gasp of shock and pain escapes his throat, already feeling venom thrumming through his veins. Very distantly, he hears the rumble of tires on asphalt.
There’s a loud hiss as the bus pulls up to the side of the road, puffing exhaust into the cold air and sliding to a stop with the crunch of dead leaves under tires. The doors swing open as Pete goes unconscious, the shadows swallowing him as he falls.