The Haunts
Chapter 1 — Witch at My Window

The bedroom Levy grew up in originally belonged to both his Ma and, before that, his Nanna, and if anybody else had seen it, they would have thought it was too sissy for a lad approaching adulthood. It was a beige velvet heritage damask on white wallpaper. Every Birchwood white baseboard moulding and trim added a luxury to the space that you would never see today. He sat on the bed his mother used when she was a child. It has wooden supports on all four corners but no canopy. On the Victorian-style dresser lay a heart-shaped mirror with scrawled representations of punk and Goth band titles, followed by faded bubble gum stickers defiled with felt markers from Levy’s continuous angst during his teenage years. The walls in his room that weren’t covered in flowered wallpaper were a faded, peeling pink that his mother kept promising to paint over but never did. When he opened the closet, there was a strange assortment of apparel, faded Doc Martens, and old Converse shoes that he had accumulated over the years and refused to donate or toss. The brooding, dark, yet asexually mixed outfit revealed more about Levy’s personality than the space itself. Without the black makeup he loved to wear in public, his gaunt features lacked the brilliance of order. His close-cropped black hair resembled stubble and fell over in front to cover his modest, deep-green eyes, which he would often turn away from during conversations.

Sheryl sat with her back to the ornate headstand of Levy’s bed, reading an old Heavy Metal magazine purchased from a used bookstore. Dressed in a black top skirt dress, fishnet stockings, and a matching corset that pulled her small bosom upwards. As a result, they resembled two pale loaves of bread rising from a pan. She had tattooed a little cartoon bat named Blinky on her left breast (without her Father’s permission, of course). Her legs spread slowly over Levy’s, who was reading a Rolling Stones magazine with an article on the Ramones. His back was to a wall covered in posters of bands such as Iggy and the Stooges, Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and, of course, the Cure. Sheryl had been biting her black nails and looking at Levy for nearly an hour, periodically sliding her legs over his groin for a reaction.

“Bored?” He feigned indifference.

“I could use a smoke.” She angled her head at him. “You want a smoke break?” She moved her legs out of the way as Levy motioned that he wanted to get up.

“Yeah,” he said, tossing the magazine he was reading aside, then getting off the bed. He still had his Doc Martens on, and with a free hand, he adjusted his ratty-looking Black Flag t-shirt, which he refused to remove since he had seen a video of them. He eyed her quizzically.

“You like that?” Sheryl stared at his crotch, then slowly rose and gave him a playful wink.

“Come on,” Levy guffawed, “silly girl.”

“Aren’t you even just a little curious?” She winked and gave him a naughty smirk.

He shrugged down at her before he stretched the kinks out of his back and shoulders. Then he let out a wide yawn before his attention gravitated to the black Goth kilt he wore. With his hand, he casually brushed off the stray hairs and lint that gathered on the material, then adjusted his belt and slicked back his whip of hair. “I don’t think about it nearly as much as you do. If that’s what you mean.”

“But when you do, what do you think about?”

“You mean do I think about girls or do I think about guys?”

“Yeah, that.” She abandoned the magazine on his pillow, and she sat beside the bed with her full attention. The makeup she wore was a gaunt mask that accented the ordinary-looking face behind it. She wore long eyelashes that tried to make her look a little older, but her face was just too young to pass it off. When she dolled up, she looked more like a cutesy Lolita than a morbid Goth.

Levy shrugged as he turned to the old dresser and eyed the jackknife his uncle gave him on his 16th birthday. After stuffing that into the side of his boot, he reached for his disposable lighter, which still had some life in it. It sat next to an ashtray stockpiled with ashes from abandoned plastic mini-cigar filters used beyond salvaging.

“Hey?” She snapped her fingers beside Levy’s pierced ear and said, “I’m talking over here, buddy-boy.”

He nodded his head. He had little to say about the question, so instead, he felt it best to change the conversation rather than sound as uncertain as he felt towards the discussion of his sexual appetites. “We gonna dress up first?”

Oh, Hell yeah,” Sheryl said. “But I’m not going dressed like this, so that means you’ll have to come on over to my house.”

“That would be a first. You’ve never invited me over before. Why the change of heart?”

“Why would I?” She grabbed her little black leather Gothic-style purse. “We can smoke here and not get into trouble for it. My father so much as smells cigarette smoke, and he freaks the fuck out.”

“So the only real reason you come over is that my ma and I smoke too? I guess that makes sense. I mean, I’ve never had to hide it from her. Sure, she’s complained about my habit and is worried I’ll get cancer like Nanna, but that’s never stopped her from bumming one from me.”

“Speaking of which, where is she hiding these days? I haven’t seen her in like forever.”

“Me ma’s working late at a grocery store. So by the time she gets in, I’m getting ready to head to school.”

“Come to think of it, I never see your dad any more, either. Are you an orphan?”

“No,” Levy scoffed. “He just never bothers to come around.”

“Are your parents fighting or something?”

“How can they fight if they’re never around each other?”

As they stopped in front of Sheryl’s house, Levy stopped and looked up at it in wonder. He had heard that it was an old Victorian-style house, but he had never imagined how incredible it was to behold. Sheryl’s father, a widowed police officer, owned the refurbished house, which stood on the outskirts of Levy’s little neighbourhood. In an area that was still undeveloped. So unlike the suburban landscape of tight-knit clone homes and miles of trimmed lawns and solid concrete with miles of tarred roads that lead to multiple cul-de-sacs, her father owned a huge lot of undeveloped land, dotted with rustic-coloured bushes and giant oak trees that scratched at the auburn autumn sky. So for a couple of kids that loved to play dress-up in their spare time, Sheryl was way deeper into it than Levy could ever be. Her giant dollhouse home perfectly reflected it.

“Hold on.” She unlocked the door and glanced from Levy to his boots. “I know you wear your boots all over the place. But you must take them off at the door,” Sheryl announced as she closed and turned the lock that bolted the door. “Take them with you upstairs, but you can’t wear them around the house. My father will freak out if he sees black streaks on his white wood flooring. He’s very anal about that.”

“You get to wear yours in my house,” Levy countered.

“Hey there, Tubby.” She reached down to pet her purebred Scottish fold cat on the head as it rubbed her leg and meowed up at her. “That’s because you’ve never once removed yours at home. I’ve even seen you many times wearing your dirty boots on your bed. Something I’d never get away with here.”

Touché, Levy thought as he methodically took his boots off. His wet socks felt the coolness of the room, and it surprised him how hard, smooth, and cold the wood floor felt. How vulnerable his feet felt without his cumbersome footwear on. The jackknife he kept in his boot noisily clattered to the floor as he quickly snatched it up and dropped it back into his boot. He glanced up at Sheryl as she motioned for him to head with her upstairs.

Her bedroom astonished Levy when they entered her cozy little haven. There, she displayed an impressive collection of Goth and Lolita clothes. A mishmash of two separate yet identifiable fashion trends, she readily embraced Her princess bed wasn’t so much a hand-me-down. It was a refurbished antique with a unique canopy that had been draped and fastened to the ornate wood-carved pole with a gold-coloured cord. The frilly pillows that decorated it looked fluffed up, each edged with ornate trim. As Levy reluctantly sat on the puffy covers, he felt a faint streak of envy at how meticulous she was with her stuff. How spotless and organized her belongings were.

“You like this?” She held up a fluffy Victorian-style dress for Levy’s approval. “I had it specially ordered from a specialty shop in Japan.”

“I bet that was an expensive purchase,” he remarked almost curtly.

“So…do you want to try it on?” She offered. “I know it’ll fit you. All my stuff here seems to—except for the bras.” She giggled.

“Not right now,” Levy leaned back on the bed and kept looking at her. “I thought you wanted to get some smokes?”

“I do,” she carefully placed the plastic wrapped dress back into the closet, stepped over Tubby, that had been underfoot desperate for attention as she hurried over to her stylish white dresser with the gold trim. She opened the top drawer and withdrew an open pack of cigarettes.

She shook the package up to her ear and then tossed it into the nearby garbage bin. “Shit! Well, I guess now we have no choice but to make a trip to the confectionery.”

Levy nodded to himself as he sat on her bed and looked around her room at all the stuff she had. He couldn’t help but notice there was an obvious distinction between the two households. Feeling a thin sliver of jealousy. She had so much in her collection that he was feeling like he was part of it, like a doll to dress up, take out, and parade around with it. But the thought kept nagging at him and that was why was she so damn interested in him? Was he that different from the other boys that she had hung out with? Or was something there happening between them, something else he missed?

As she prepared herself, Levy glanced at the mirror beside her bed. There were various trophies and awards. She excelled compared to her classmates. He had noticed her excellent grades and was truly impressed, especially since he only passed with a narrow margin on the same subject. While he experienced failure, she thrived. Sheryl had meticulously planned her entire future. However, Levy didn’t know what his future would be after graduation. He was unsure about whether he wanted to attend a trade school or a college. What would be his pursuit once he gained entry? Where was his passion focused? Levy had given little thought to Sheryl’s intelligence and drive until he saw it firsthand.

How do you afford all of this? He asked while sitting on her bed. Do police officers nowadays earn a significant amount of money?

Sheryl was in her puffy and frilly Lolita dress and reached out to stop Levy at the top of the stairs. “Before my mother died of lymphoma, she was a lawyer and was a natural with investments. Father has many fond memories of their life together here, so I doubt that he’ll ever sell this place even when I leave for college. I hope I meet someone that would love me that much.” She looked to Levy for a reaction.

Levy felt a deep sense of empathy for Sheryl’s loss, as his own grandmother was currently in a hospice. During his stay at her house, he slept in a bedroom that used to belong to her when she was a child. He knew that her passing would likely result in the house’s loss and half of her belongings to her other relatives. The house he lived in was willed to Nigel, his Mom’s older brother. This allowed Levy and his mother to search for a place to live. However, ever since grandma fell seriously ill, they have encountered financial difficulties because of the banks demanding repayment of the money owed. His father, unfortunately, had repeatedly showed his inability to provide any financial help to others. He and grandma had always disagreed on almost everything.

Many times his grandmamma referred to Levy’s father as a self-centred, money-hungry bastard, while his father contended to call Levy’s grandmamma a hippie cunt behind her back. Yup, there was bad blood in his family line.

“See this locket?” Sheryl bent closer and opened it. In it was a picture of her mother smiling. “She passed away when I was just five. This was her house before she and Dad met. Now, he maintains it in memory of her. He’s kept everything exactly the way she liked it. Even had her favourite blanket the way she left it. No one may touch, use or move the blanket or even sit in her spot. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Sure, I-I guess so…” Levy stammered with a shrug, “though it did sound rather obsessive.” He went to leave the room with her trailing behind him. He didn’t feel like getting dressed up, but he had accepted to put on a dark tartan skirt over a pair of black leotards that Sheryl had picked for him. “I just never knew about your Mom.”

“The conversation never came up, and besides, it all happened when I was too young to remember much. All I have are some shitty old photographs of her and some of her jewellery. Her choice of clothes isn’t my style.”

Levy kept quiet as he turned to leave her room and headed for the stairs.

Sheryl tapped his shoulder for his attention, then lifted her dress to show off her blanch white knee-high socks with ruffles at the top. She then reached out for him, “take my hand; these socks have no grip on these stairs. I kept asking Dad to put a carpet on the steps or something to keep me from slipping to my death.”

Levy took her hand like a gentleman; she slid a bit and bumped up against him. They exchanged a long, silent look into each other’s eyes. Levy gave a thin smile and then held tight onto the railing with his other hand. “Maybe you should’ve taken them off until we’re at the bottom?”

“This is fine…” she waved him on. “Go on; we’ve got cigarettes to get.”

Sheryl Chloe Fellman had a naturally average appearance, with no excessive grooming. However, she possessed a captivating allure that made her the object of secret admiration for boys and the envy of girls. However, when she finally did, she could capture everyone’s attention. Besides her exceptional academic performance and personal accomplishments, she possessed an insatiable fascination with the punk, Goth, and Lolita subcultures. Given that she lived in a mid-sized town like Linton, it appeared highly unlikely for her to find a young man who shared the same interests.

That was until she met Levy.

It was a fluke that they were in the same Catholic School, same grade and ideally in similar classes together. Both Sheryl and Levy were neither followers nor lone wolf types per se, but they recognized a fellow outsider in an instant.

“I don’t think this place has warmed up to us once since the day we’ve attended.” Levy closed his locker door and took in the occasional dirty looks from passing students.

“Maybe you should try a different shade of eyeliner?” Sheryl smirked, “believe it or not, black doesn’t always go with everything.” She held up one of her eyeliners, and it was a pale white colour.

“I’ll marginally stick to the dress code here, but I still don’t see why I can’t wear makeup to class. I mean, girls can—well… sort of.” Levy held his books close to his chest. A fellow student attempted to slam his shoulder onto Levy, causing the teenager to keep from hitting anyone else or tripping over. A trick many in the past had done to Levy enough times to get him holding onto his books so tightly that his knuckles were white. He hated being a victim of bullying, but he wasn’t much of a fighter. He hated fighting; it just felt so uncouth.

“Not as much as I would like to put on anyway,” Sheryl griped back. “I can’t wait to be out of here and in university. Maybe there I can express myself the way I want to without being judged by the local idiots.”

“No way is it that bad for you, is it?”

“Bad enough to be stuck here.” She looked and gestured at what she had to wear. “I mean, look at this shirt and stupid skirt I’m forced to wear—not to mention these damn ugly shoes. I mean, who would want to know what Catholic School you go to, anyway? They’re practically all the same, right?”

Levy looked down at her shoes and then at him. There was a difference in quality and condition. Hers looked so spit polished they shined, and they even had a cute little Hello Kitty Head on the leather straps. His pair, however, had to be replaced. Its bottom scuffed in places and had holes in the soles. He had repeatedly asked his father to give him some money to get a new pair. But there was one year left to go, and so he wouldn’t need them anymore. At least that was what his father had said over the phone.

So when Levy pointed out in a passing conversation with Sheryl, she offered a solution.

“You could always wear a pair of mine?”

Levy considered the alternative, and once he found that his foot size was the same as hers. Their friendship rose to another level.

One day they were having lunch (which comprised sharing a smoke and a big bag of chips) and watching the other students go about their business. Sheryl turned to Levy to ask him something that no one else ever had.

“Hey, since you can fit my shoes, how about we see if you can fit my clothes too? I have a skirt that would look great on you. So how about it, you game?

Levy took a long drag from his smoke. “Sure.”

What the Hell, right? He could fit her shoes, her clothes, and his father couldn’t say shit about it. I mean, he barely came home anyway. His father was a bugger to get him to do anything with, and so Levy had spent more time with his Ma and his nanna than anyone his age. Who both had him wearing what other kids in the neighbourhood considered being girly clothes when, in fact, they were hand-me-downs from his ma’s and Nanna’s childhood. At one time, he had no choice but to wear an old pair of corduroy pants that was his mother when she was his age. So clothes in Levy’s eyes were and should always be genderless.

They took a shortcut through the alleyway towards the park that led to the local confectionery. They passed by an exposed backyard decorated with a broken down tricycle, a dirty wading pool, and a clothesline full of damp clothing that barely moved in the breeze. Children under the age of six went screaming around the open yard stopped to watch as the two estranged teenagers walked by. They gawked at the two misfits passing by. One of them dressed like a doll, while the other just registered as an oddity of sorts. To the youngsters, Levy was some skinny guy who kept blowing his hair out of his face, with a black tartan skirt on, clomping his way down the alley in a pair of spit shined boots. At the corner of his eye, Levy noticed the kid’s look of confusion as they passed. The conversation Sheryl had picked was adding to his anxiety to those that were listening in to their discussion.

“Would you rather have males or girls?” Sheryl twisted her small umbrella, which she had brought with them in case it rained. The gloomy sky had become cloudy the moment they went for a walk.

“I dunno.” Levy eyed the little kids, who stopped playing to gawk at them. Their curiosity unnerved him. “I don’t see a point to this question. So neither I would have to say.”

“Is there a dick in your shorts?”

“Yeah,” He blushed and turned his head away. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, where do you imagine yourself wanting to put it?” She smirked at his apparent discomfort.

“I don’t — you know — think about it as much as everyone else does. And even if I did, it’s not something I like to brag to others about.”

“Oh, come on, everyone does!” she coaxed him further. “Everybody fantasizes about someone, so who do you think about doing it with?”

“Could we talk about something else? I think those brats over there are listening.”

Sheryl looked back and made a scary face at the children, then flinched aggressively and laughed as the children screamed out of sight.

“Is that better?” She brought her attention back to him.

Levy said nothing and kept looking ahead.

“Come on, Levy, you can tell me. Are you straight, bi, or gay?”

Levy came to a complete halt. “Honestly? I’m unsure of who I am. Even though I was born a man, I’m not sure what my preference is. Maybe I don’t think or act the same way other males do. Since I’m not very competitive and all. Nor have I ever thought of trying to lose my virginity. Shit, I don’t even have a clue what I want to do once I graduate, to be honest. All I know is that right now, is that I need a smoke.

“Oh, come on,” Sheryl stomped her feet and made a face. “You’ve got a dick under that skirt of yours, right?”

“Yeah…” he uncomfortably mumbled as he turned to another shade of red.

“You must’ve pulled to something or someone. Nobody living today that I can think of doesn’t have a sex desire.”

“I do, it’s just that… I don’t let it run my life.”

“Such a shame, Levy,” Sheryl admitted with a hint of disappointment in her voice as she walked past him.

“Why is that?”

As they passed by a fenced-in yard, a rock sailed over and clocked Levy in the right temple, close enough to his eye. Levy’s ears rang like a school fire alarm. His head threatened to explode, but he screamed and buckled to the gravel road and held the side of his head, cursing with such profanity that even a sailor would’ve blushed. Meanwhile, Sheryl crouched down beside him to see what had happened.

“Levy!” She panicked, and look around, and all she saw was that they were alone in an empty alley. “W-what happened?” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Some fucking twat just threw a fucking rock and hit me in the goddamn head!” Levy brought up his hand, and sure enough, there was blood. Not a lot, but enough to get him in a panic.

“Hey?” The one both knew from the neighbourhood as Conrad peaked between the gaps of the wooden fence that blocked entry to his parent’s yard. “What the fuck’s going on here? What’s with all the screaming like a pussy?”

“You did this, you fucking tard!” Levy turned on Conrad. “I saw that rock coming from your yard. I’m going to-”

Conrad unlatched the gate to the fence and opened it wide as he and his three lackeys stood outside the yard in the back alley, scowling down at him, looking to kick some ass. Conrad punched his other hand like he was eager to smash it into Levy’s face.

“Finish your sentence, ass wipe.”

Levy gritted his teeth and gave Conrad an accusing look. He knew what was coming next. But before he could protest, Conrad and his buddies shoved Sheryl aside and started kicking Levy while he was still on all fours.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sheryl protested, but one boy named Darrel pushed her back down, called her a frilly whore. The third one went to grab her, but Conrad pushed him back and told him not to bother her.

“Leave her alone. Her dad’s a cop, you shithead!”

“So?” The one (she and Levy later learned his name was William, and he had a juvenile record a mile long for someone so young). “She’s a fucking freak like this little fuck wad.”

“Do you want what he’s getting?” Conrad looked to the other two, and they looked uncertain how this was going to go.

“No,” William gave in.

“Right now, where were we?” His attention settled back on Levy.

Levy stared straight ahead to the end of the alleyway; and there he saw an old woman pushing an overstocked shopping cart. She looked like a homeless lady by the way she donned layers of tattered clothes and how the dirty, half-ripped plastic bags had completely covered her cart. Pausing, she turned to face him. Her hair started to blowback (as if a gust of wind had struck her full in the face), her eyes looked pitch black like pools of utter darkness and despair. A cruel, almost toothless smile appeared on that dirty and wrinkled old face. Do it; he could hear her say in his head with a cackle. Unleash your potential! She cackled in his head.

Levy’s hand traced down to the inside of his boot. His small jackknife was there, and the thought of flicking it open and stabbing a bully surfaced in his mind. Better yet, Levy pondered; stick it in a place that would guarantee the leader wouldn’t fuck with anyone ever again. He eyed Conrad’s crotch.

After all, Levy sneered, this is what you get for being a Machiavellian asshat!

“What the fuck?” One of Conrad’s henchmen stood back and pointed to what was in Levy’s trembling hand.

“You fucking little shit-stain, that better not be what I think it is!” Conrad kicked Levy right square in the face.

Levy’s head snapped back and out he went.

The last thing he heard was Sheryl screaming out his name.

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