Bewitching Circumstances

by bluemoon1996

The Most Stupid of Heists

… On the edge of town, down old Jane's Lane, only one house was ever built. A once stately Victorian manor that may have overlooked the land that was once rolling fields. Sitting on its own, the old fence was so overgrown you wouldn’t be able to see behind it easily, but its heavy wrought gates were as strong and secure as ever . The city lights didn't reach it, leaving it in darkness at night. Trees with lower hanging branches seemed to lurk on the land, thick creepers giving the illusion of nature trying to pull the house down into the depths of the earth.

The owner rarely left the land. Apparently she had a garden of sorts that she got most of her supplies from, and when she was seen, it was as if she skulked. Few people visited, but once, sometimes twice a month, a tinted car would slowly make its way there, though no one knew why. It was commonly accepted that the owner was their town's sole witch.

No one knew her secrets, because no one had managed to make it all the way to her home, but that? That was about to change…

----------

Jemaul pulled out the piece of paper with the details of the task on, skimmed it needlessly for about the eighth time since they had snuck out, and stuck it back into his hoodie's pocket as he walked, sneakered feet striding across the grass. The town itself was actually getting more active than usual as people prepared for their halloween activities. Pumpkins to be carved, decorations to be hung, candy to be bought, all of the things that most people would jot down on their ‘to-do’ list in preparation for the autumnal celebrations. Not that most people had trespassing and potential burglary on their last minute to-do list. "So, Matt… any regrets? Wanna chicken out?"

Matthew shook his head. "Hell no, man," he said, smirking, "we're gonna be the first kids in town to actually get inside Granny Rag's house! We're gonna be legends, man! Legends!" A brief gust of wind caused Matt to shiver in the waning light as he pulled the hood of his jacket lower over his face before stuffing hands deeper into his pockets. "Though now that you mention it, I do regret not bringing a thicker jacket; it's damn cold out."

The cold didn't bother Jemaul as much, and he only nodded. "Then we might as well get moving. I figure if we climb over fence on the north side we can avoid being seen." He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "I sound so professional."

Matt couldn't help but roll his eyes at his friend's glee. "Glad to see that larceny is in your blood. But we still need to be careful; Momma will gut me like a fish if we get caught."

"You think you're the only one?" Jamaul muttered. "Dad'll tan my hide. Twice. If I'm lucky. But that doesn't mean I can't have fun with it. Didn't I find the way to sneak out of school from the chem labs?"

Matt couldn't help but scoff in derision. "Chem labs? You do realize that you are the only one who calls Coach Bilbrey's class that, right?"

"It gives them a more welcoming and homey feel."

"You make it sound like he's Walter White and we're cooking up crystal meth in there," Matt replied flatly.

"Have you smelt that place at the end of the day?" Jemaul responded blandly. "You could use that reek to make bear repellant."

"Well, I can't help that you have him last period, while I’ve got him first, when the room is still all nice and clean," Matt said, quickly pushing his glasses up on his nose before stuffing his hand back in his pocket. "And changing subject now: so did you get your costume all ready for tomorrow?"

"Had to dip into what I was saving for my new source book, but I got everything," Jemaul grinned. It wasn't like he needed more manuals anyway. He didn't use half of what he had.

"You're trying to buy another man? Jeeze, you're as bad as I am for historical stuff. All I had to do was buy an old officer cap off of eBay and that only cost around 40 bucks."

"That's how much the contacts cost me," Jemaul sighed. "I really should have gone with a simpler concept. At least Dad pitched in to cover some of the costs for the suit, since I can use it for other stuff after."

Matt nodded in agreement before chucking to himself, "I can still use the greatcoat too afterwards even if it makes me look like I'm going to shoot up a school."

"Should have just gone with the Wizard Warden," Jemaul grumbled, trudging through the underbrush. They were avoiding using the road proper. "But noooo… I had to go all out..."

"Well, you did go the whole nine yards with that Springfield guy from that one anime last year. The only time I think you'll ever wear that again is to a con," he idly replied, "and that's why I went commissar. All I needed was the cap and a few other things and boom I look ready to put a Bolter round in some heretics."

"What can I say, I get carried away easily," Jemaul said with a shrug. He started counting off on his fingers. "Particularly when I have enough funds to pull it off or get nitpicky with the details, and since I save for new books a lot, I do have funds generally.” He paused for a moment, seemingly in thought, before quietly muttering, “maybe I should just pick up LARPing."

"You'd transcend into the next level of nerdhood dude," Matt laughed to himself. “You want any more fuel for the idiots who are the only reason we're doing this?"

So maybe there had been a little more to their planned technically criminal activities than just becoming local legends. Motivation in the flavour of blackmail. Blackmail from some douches too cowardly to actually do it themselves. Jemaul sighed and irritably broke a branch that was in arm's reach. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. The faster we get over the wall, the faster we can get to the house, and the faster we can sneak in, take the picture, and grab something sufficiently spooky before performing all that in reverse with ill-gained goods. Ah, the glamour of the delinquent lifestyle."

"Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear," Matt chuckled to himself as he looked up at the street sign to see the words Jane's Lane in black letters. "Only a few blocks left to go." And with that, Matt set his pace to a brisk walk; partly out of the urge to get there faster and partly due to the cold.

"No hesitating," Jemaul reminded his friend. "We go straight. If we stop, we might actually come to our senses and cut and run, which would not bode well for our continued everything at school. Hate that guy."

Matt nodded, "I know, and yeah, Justin can shove a red hot poker up his ass," he spat.

Jamaul pulled his hood up, muttering something about self-entitled fools. Between the dark jeans and hoodie and his natural skin colour, he would hopefully be able to remain unnoticed in shadowy areas. That was the intention anyway. "Any idea of what would be a good thing to snatch?"

Matt frowned, his brow furrowed as he thought. "Hmm.. Something old I guess? Maybe a necklace or some piece of jewelry? I know my Mema has nearly fifty years of accumulated jewelry so...maybe just find one that looks sufficiently old and or creepy, snatch it, and bolt."

Jemaul rubbed his nape under his hood but said nothing more until they got to the property line. "We are going to hell for this," he grumbled, pulling out the note again. It had a rough map of the property he had made from Google Earth. It had been horrible quality, and the streetview camera never covered that part of town, but it was better than being totally blind.

Thank God for the internet, a part of him thought bitterly, a thief's best friend.

"Like I said, northside is the best bet," he said, tapping the map. "There're trees on both sides, so we can use them to get over. Easier than trying to climb the fence alone."

Matt nodded, then sighed. "Well, let's get this over with. I still can't climb trees to save my life though..."

"And yet, you're gonna climb this tree to save your social life," Jemaul said without much compassion. "Do you want a leg up, or a hand up?"

"No I can do it myself," Matt frowned, shaking his head, "but thanks for the offer nonetheless."

"Suit yourself." He eyed the tree for a moment before taking a running start and leaping up to grab one of the thicker branches, swinging his legs forward and 'walking' his lower body up with the momentum. He didn't quite make it all the way, almost falling back, but he managed to hook his ankle on the ridge.

Exhaling in relief, he shimmied and wiggled the rest of the way up. Once there, he scrambled up to a higher branch without too much difficulty and grinned at Matt, throwing down a low taunt. "Still got it!"

"Show off," Matthew said flatly before running towards the tree himself and leaping for the same branch that Jemaul had used and missing spectacularly, running into the fence with a hollow thunk.

Stepping back, he ran at the branch again and this time managed to grab it. And with all the finesse of a necrotic corpse, he managed to get his legs around the branch and shimmied his way towards the trunk. And after several failed attempts and falling off twice, he managed to get on the tree. "Not all of us are monkeys like you," He said, panting slightly as he looked up at Jemaul.

Jemaul had been shaking his head slowly, one part snickering, one part sighing at Matt's attempts. While he wasn't the most athletic person, a combination of a natural love of veggies; rampant fidgeting; a tendency to run and leap up and down stairs, habitually jumping off them and balconies alike whenever he had the chance; and overall good genetics kept him on the moderate side of fit, even if his endurance was lacking.

"I don't care what you say or what your pride has in mind, but when we are booking it, we are booking it. I'm 'Maneuver 7'ing you into the tree," he grumbled, climbing closer to the fence and picking a landing point that wasn't overgrown hedge.

Matthew just glared up at him as he too climbed a bit more up the tree to look over the backyard, leaning on a branch as he did so, "Jeeze, I've see-"

Suddenly, there was a loud, resounding crack as the branch, which Matt had been leaning his weight against, gave way and broke off. Matt flailed his arms in a frantic, futile attempt to regain his balance.

“Shit!” Matt yelped, giving a loud, pained grunt as he landed on his back, his feet awkwardly raised and lodged partly into the hedges. The unusual position only added to the sense of discomfort he had suffered from his sudden and unexpected reunion with Earth.

"You're an idiot," Jemaul sighed. He hopped down, landing on all fours to lessen the fall as much as he could, but he still had to shake his hands and legs out a little to ease the sting.

It took but a moment for Matt to get to his feet and, after dusting himself off, lower himself into a crouch as well. "Let's try the second floor first. That's usually where bedrooms are and she's gotta have a jewelry box or something."

"Common rooms might be good too," Jemaul suggested, thinking on it a little. "Bedrooms tend to be personal stuff. Living and sitting rooms? More general display."

"Whatever, let's just get in there and get out," Matt whispered harshly, looking up at the old home in front of them. He couldn't help but have this small feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. It always happened when he saw this old house. He shook his head. Now was not the time for getting jumpy; they needed to remain cautious. "Come on, let's get this going. I'm already starting to have second thoughts," he whispered as he started heading towards the back porch.

"Window," Jemaul said, pointing to one of the open ones on the first level. It opened over a garden with unusual looking flowers, but it looked like it should work. "Unless you want to try the door."

"I was planning on the door," Matt nodded as he started moving towards the porch again. However, the old weathered wooden steps let out a loud creak as he stepped on one, and he immediately stopped, his heart freezing in his chest before he, just as slowly, brought his foot back down to the ground. "Change of plan: we do the window instead," he said, taking a step back and heading to the window.

"Of course," Jemaul said softly, rolling his eyes in disdain as he picked his way over the flower bed to the creeper covered wall. "Just knock on the door. 'Avon calling!' Brilliant." He spat on his hands, not without making a face, and grabbed the window ledge, pulling himself up just enough to try and get a peek into the room.

"What do you see?" Matthew asked in a quiet whisper.

"I see the promised land," Jemaul said in an awed voice, "a mythical world of cheer and happiness, with bunnies and butterflies and pretty flowers, winged horses, muffins and fairies frolicking among them and what the hell do you think I see? It's a room. Looks like a retirement home."

Matt just rolled his eyes, "well get your ass inside so I can get in, too!"

"Not gonna fall this time?" Jemaul snarked before scrambling awkwardly for a secure foothold, huffing a little before he managed to pull himself in. The fact that there was a small table under the window was almost his undoing, making it awkward to get his legs over far enough to shift his center of gravity to the other side of the window, but he barely managed to avoid making a mess, or falling down as his friend had earlier. He perched on the window sill, a warding hand held out at Matt as he looked around the room, listening for anyone moving in the house.

His spot check bringing up nothing but the mismatched old-fashioned furniture, knick knacks and photos—both old and faded to modern, and colored,. Oh, and the always lovely smell of old person. Just wouldn't be complete without it. "Seems clear."

"Well are you going to get out of the darn way so I can get in too," Matthew asked flatly.

"Hold your horses, princess," Jemaul grumbled. He carefully climbed down, in case Granny Rags was sleeping somewhere in the house, and shifted the table away from the window with his leg so the far less coordinated Matthew wouldn't have a most unfortunate accident. That done, he stuck his arm back out so he could give Matt a helpful pull in.

Matt took Jemaul's hand and with his friend's aid had a much easier time getting in the house than he did climbing up the tree. Matthew couldn't help but look around a bit at the room and breathed in the funky smelling air, gagging slightly. "At least Mema febrezes her house," he muttered under his breath.

"Task at hand," Jemaul said, pulling out his cellphone.

He nodded. "Yeah, something old and creepy. Living room first?"

"Um, yeah," Jemaul said, looking around the room once more. It didn't lack in 'old' things, but the creepiest thing was the doll on a shelf. Aside from that, it was classic old lady. Photos, ugly furniture, horrid wallpaper, flowers in a vase, white ceramics with cutesy pictures. He took careful and slow steps, cautious of creaking boards. "Are you getting that Dolores Umbridge feel, or is it just me?"

Matt nodded in agreement as he looked closer at some of the ceramic plates. "Damn, some of these are old as hell:! Let’s see...1948... 1954... 1960... 1969... I think that one is from the Queen of England's coronation," he said with a hint of fascination in his voice.

"Oh yes, get your fingerprints over everything," Jemaul muttered. "Brilliant move, history nut. Those are the wrong kind of creepy. That's just old person creepy. We need witch. Those don’t even register ‘crazy cat lady’ on the Creep-O-Meter." Without waiting for Matt, he moved on to the next room.

When he realized he was alone, Matt quickly got out of history nut mode and followed his friend into the next room.

The first surprise was the television. A large flat screen television. The second surprise were the children’s toys in one corner. Jemaul scratched his head. "Um… do witches need HD?"

"Well, they don't air anything on crystal balls anymore," Matt stated matter of factly, though this was belied by the smarmy grin on his face. "Well anyways, look around for anything old and creepy." He remained quiet as he looked at the nicknacks and whatnot on a coffee table.

Jemaul took the proof photo while Matt looked around. "I see nothing except generic old lady stuff," he said after a minute of quickly inspecting their surroundings. "We've gotta go upstairs. If she's got anything arcane, it isn't stuff she'd leave out in open."

"Fine, the quicker we move the better," Jemaul added reluctantly. He looked worriedly out the window. "She's never in town for long, but I don't know if she leaves for anything else." As thrilling as it was to be breaking into someone's house, he was still hearing the the voice yelling 'THIS IS A BAD BAD BAD IDEA, IDIOT!' in his head.

Matthew and Jemaul left the mundane first floor and made their way to the second, taking separate sides of the hall. The first door Jemaul checked was a bathroom, the second a bedroom that looked set up for a child. "Anything on your side?"

Matt shook his head as he closed the first door he had opened. "Just a bunch of musty old coats and a few hatboxes in this closet." He made his way over to the next door and opened it; his eyes widened as he grinned. "Jackpot mate! I think I got her room!"

"Finally," Jemaul said in relief, hurrying over. "Can we just grab something? A comb, hand mirror, notebook bound in human skin..."

"You don't take the necronomicon, haven't you ever seen Evil Dead," Matt replied as he quickly slipped inside the room. And he couldn't help but let out a low whistle at what he saw, "damn... Just damn."

In contrast with the rest of the house, the bedroom certainly fit their expectations. The room was large enough to take up perhaps half the floor, and only a small portion was dedicated to being a traditional bedroom. The rest was steeped in the occult. Numerous candles, each one thick and slightly misshapen as if hand made, were set on shelves, some further marred with the melted wax that had run down their sides and hardened, others looking trimmed and cleaned. There were a few animal skulls and several large jars with unidentifiable powders and herbs.

A small cauldron was set neatly to one side, surrounded by a commercial bag of coal, a small round barbeque and a camp stove. A bookshelf, crammed with a wide assortment of reading material, familiar and strange alike, also held a tome on that side of the room. They could make out what looked like a university level text on biology beside an old looking tome with its spine marked with some cursive characters they couldn't understand, a series on Flora and Fauna of North America mixed with some hand-labelled with the names of various native tribes.

Without a word, Jemaul snapped a few more pictures.

Matt's jaw hit the floor as he looked about the room dumbstruck. "Well... I guess she had to hide it all somewhere. We gotta find something that won't easily be noticed." With that, he went over towards a shelf and started looking through its contents.

"Again with the fingerprints," Jemaul muttered, pulling his sleeves down to serve as impromptu mitts as he pulled a book from the shelf and read the title. "Third Notations on Spirit Calling, Aboriginal American Volume. Yeah, I wouldn't call this hidden away."

"Well, she's gotta keep it all somewhere," Matt repeated himself under his breath as pulled his sleeves over his hands as well, "Anything over there?"

"The basement would have been more traditional," Jemaul argued, putting the book back and looking for something else. "But considering the camp stove, this is clearly a modern witch. Huh. How about this?" He pointed to an amulet of sorts that apparently got knocked off a shelf. It looked like a greenish stone that someone had carefully scratched spiral runes into. A few bands of wire were coiled around it as a setting, and it was attached to a braid of leather cord and a somewhat cheap looking gold chain.

"That'll do," Matt quickly said, "grab it and let's get out of here. This room's already giving me the creeps." He gave a small shudder; he didn't want to stay in there anymore than needed.

Nodding, Jemaul slipped it in his pocket, awkwardly because of his sleeve-gloves. He took one last look around the room and at the bookshelf. There had been one book that interested him, and they were already breaking, entering and stealing… He left it behind though. Stealing because of blackmail was different from stealing because of greed. "Time to make like… nevermind. Let's just go."

Matt nodded. "Good, I swear these skulls are looking at me," he gave another shudder.

"Hopefully it's your imagination and not some weird security," Jemaul muttered, pulling Matt out of the room and closing the door behind them before heading for the stairs. "Back out the window. We can move the table back behind us, then use the other tree. Hopefully she won't even realize it's missing."

Matt nodded in agreement, silently happy to leave that creepy room behind. "And then it's a straight shot to Justin's casa, and our social lives will still be in existence on Monday."

"Remind me to slap you next time you invite me to one of his parties," Jemaul muttered as they headed for the stairs. "His or any other member of his little posse."

"I hate them too but I can't help if I'm trying to keep you from being a recluse," Matt sighed. "You literally have, like, five friends that aren't online."

"And yet, my great foray into the vast world outside my home and books has landed me right into criminal activities." Jemaul rolled his eyes. "Aside from being the stereotype of the 'nerdy black kid', I get to be 'that bad black kid', and I'm also proving that yes, friends are bad influences who get you into trouble. Well played, Matt. Well played." He silently and mocking applauded. “May as well let my pants sag and wear gold chains.”

Matt just quietly rolled his eyes as they silently made their way to the top of the stairs. "See I'm teaching yo-".

A door downstairs closed with a solid thunk! Matt's blood ran cold. "Shit! She's back!" He quietly hissed, his eyes widening.

"Oh Fuuu-," Jemaul bit back his curse and silently motioned for Matt to hurry while slowly creeping down the rest of the stairs, trying to keep from making any sounds or stepping too heavily.

Matt quietly followed, basically tiptoeing his way down the stairs as he practically hugged his friend's back. He bit his lip to keep from swearing any more.

One step as a time, they crept across the hall, barely keeping their panic under control as Granny Rags moved about in the front room. The stairs were in the hall, which had entrances to the front room, the living room, the kitchen and the sitting room they originally got in through.

"You go first," Matt whispered, gesturing for him to do so, his eyes darting to the door to the front room every few seconds.

"So I can catch you when you fall?" Jemaul sassed in a low tone that was in somewhat poor taste. He carefully pulled the table he shifted mostly back into its spot under the window and climbed unto the window sill. "Come on."

Matt nodded and quietly started slinking towards the window. As he drew closer, he got out of a crouch and returned to a standing position, ready to take Jemaul's place when he was outside.

"And who are you two?"

Matt stiffened up like a deer in headlights, his eyes growing wide and his blood running cold as, slowly, he turned around, his eyes falling upon the figure looming there in the doorway.

It was Granny Rags.

“Um… h-hi!?” Matt stammered lamely, his voice functioning without orders from his brain.

She wasn't very tall, and she certainly, wasn't very pretty. But her razor sharp eyes, set below her wrinkled brow and above her narrow nose, pierced the darkness and bore straight into the boys’ eyes as a frown stretched her thin lips in a line. She stood without any hints of a stoop, apparently strong in her old age, just as the pictures had hinted. She had her hands crossed, with two large rings on her left hand and on on the right, glinting as she tapped a finger on her elbow. She wore the 'I am very disappointed' look, and she wore it extremely well.

Jemaul didn't know where she came from, or when she got in that position. He was certain he was watching out, but she was just there… and damn, but that look of hers suddenly brought to mind every misdeed, bad word, and bold-faced lie he had ever told in his life. It nearly made him want to fall to his knees and spill his guts, confessing to and begging forgiveness for every small misdeed performed in the past seventeen months that would have brought about this disappointed look. Fortunately, he was also good at being apathetic to lecturing looks, just the same as many other teenagers around the world.

"Book it!" He yelled, “jumping” out the window, though it was more a “controlled fall” and tumble into the flower bed.

Matt didn't need to need to be told twice; in the blink of an eye, he lept for the window and landed outside on the ground with a solid thunk before quickly getting back on his feet. "I'msosorryma'am," he hollered back to the window as he started making his way back towards the tree, running with all the grace of a wounded gazelle wearing high heels.

Jemaul, with adrenaline pumping in his veins and terror flashing in his mind, did his blood proud, and proved that Usain Bolt was just one of many sprinters to come from the island. Faced with the witch in person, he remembered all the horror stories he had grown up with about magic, obeah, voodoo, witchcraft, the Dark Side of the Force, and…

He reached the tree before he could mentally complete the list, tapping into the secret art of 'Panicked Mother Moves Cars' to almost fly up the tree, only remembering Matt when he was half way there. "Dammit!" he yelled back. "Move it!"

At that, Matt picked up the pace and reached the fence in a matter of seconds. "Come on! Let's get the hell outta here!"

"Then do it already!" Jemaul gave Matt a rather aggressive yank up into the tree before he dragged Matt up. After that, he kinda just abandoned the guy to his own skill and jumped over the fence.

Matt quickly clambered up the tree and over the fence. Surprisingly not falling on his face, he landed on the ground in a crude roll before getting up and running. He didn't stop till he found himself under the same street sign as before. When he got there, he doubled over, his heart thumping like crazy in his chest as he panted like mad.

Jemaul ran past the sign then doubled back, sitting on the ground without any reservations. "Dear Lord, that was terrifying."

Matt nodded, still panting heavily. "T-that w-was too damn close, man...too damn close!"

"I looked a devil in the face and I did not cave," Jemaul giggled, giddy from the post-rush crash. "I mean, did you see the look on her face? It was like she was looking at my soul and ready to… do... all sorts of… wibbly… wobbly… timey-wimey things to it."

"Let's just give that damn necklace to Justin and get back home..." Matt said, standing back up, looking visibly calmer than he had before.

Jemaul pulled out the amulet and dangled it in the air. "I swear, having a social life better be worth this..."

"I hope so, too," Matt said, simply nodding in agreement.

----------

The rumours had been around for while, and she had been content with them. Less so with the moniker 'Granny Rags', but every boon had a catch to it. She had little need or reason to leave her land and little patience for any prolonged interactions with the townsfolk in general. The urban legend of her and the whispered tales might not have been truly believed by most adults, but it was enough that they would still avoid her the best they could. The stories had long since ensured her privacy, and a few of her charms secured it.

Sometimes it was easiest to hide the truth in the truth.

She didn't lurk or skulk around seeking pets to steal away and use in some crude blood letting ritual or cast curses on children that wailed selfishly when they didn't get their own way, but she did practice magic. Her wards fed off and built on the fear and unease the stories planted, keeping her home nice and private, people too uncomfortable to get too close. It made getting her deliveries a pain, but it was a minor grievance when compared to the security and privacy such bewitchments provided.

But then there was Halloween. All Soul's Eve. Samhain. Hallow's Eve. Whatever you called it. The walls between the mortal world and the planes naturally thinned, having mixed effects on all forms of magic. Most times it made her wards even stronger, her entire home too terrifying a prospect to even consider without warm blankets, a fire or light source and good company, preferably in hushed tones.

"Of all the years for the wards to fail, it would be the one time some brats tried that dare." Granny Rags, or to be more correct, Delilah Daphnes, fumed as she skulked through her house, trying to determine if anything was damaged. "Hooligans!” she huffed, “The lot of them!"

She set a candle at few of the windows, lighting them with a flick of her fingers, continuing to mutter to herself. She headed upstairs to her private room. "Maybe it was just a 'break into the witch's home' dare. Would be the first one to actually work. Of course, it would happen when I wasn't around to actively dissuade them."

"Still… takes spunk to get through the wards, even if they were waning. And to run instead of giving up or freezing under a Gaze. Maybe I should let them have their little victory." She chuckled to herself and put away the new supplies she purchased and got things together for her own celebrations.

Her opinion changed when she realized what was missing.

---

Matt couldn't help but laugh smugly as him and Jemaul made their way to their homes. "The look on Justin's face man! He looked like he shit those stupid ass eighty dollar jeans of his when you showed him those pictures! Idiot probably thought we'd have chickened out!"

"I wish I could have gotten a picture of that one," Jemaul snickered. "Over-entitled jerk was too chicken to check out the place himself and didn't think anyone else would. Let the record show: Jemaul always rises to the challenge. And… Mathew, too… I guess...," he added after a moment.

"I'm so happy that you think so highly of me as to mention me at all," Matthew said sarcastically, playfully punching Jemaul in the arm. "The ever-honorable Jemaul... Oh, and Matthew too."

"Every great individual needs another great one to stand beside them," Jemaul acknowledged with a sober nod. He grinned. "I, unfortunately, had to settle for you. It was a half-off sale."

Matthew just rolled his eyes again. "Well at least my folks are outta town for the weekend, so I don't have to answer any of momma's questions about why I'm out so late and have her read me like an open book." He looked up the street sign and couldn't help but smile a little; only two blocks till he was back in the warmth of his home.

"I told mine I was going out somewhere for the evening for once," Jemaul said with a shrug. He didn't add that 'don't do anything to get in trouble' was one of the stipulations. Thankfully he and Matt had avoided breaking that one, however narrowly.

"Well either way, I'm just ready to get out of this damn cold," he said, shivering slightly. "Thank God my costume has a great coat; otherwise I'm gonna freeze tomorrow night."

"You've been complaining about the cold more than usual," Jemaul said, shaking his head. "And for you, that's saying something."

"Well this darn jacket is absolutely worthless at keeping anything but the slightest of breezes out," he said flatly. "Hell, the only reason I still got this is sentimental value." He stuffed his hands a bit deeper into his pockets with that.

"Make your excuses, I won't judge much more than I already have." Jemaul patted Matthew on the shoulder. "Which, admittedly, is quite a lot. Anyway, got anything else planned for tonight, Oh Great Guide to the Vast World of Social Activity?"

He shook his head. "Nope, just gonna go home, fire up my Xbox and play some Fallout before hitting the sack." Only one block left to go before he got back home.

"Alright then, I'll head home too. I need to iron my suit for tomorrow and stuff anyway," Jemaul said, lamenting his costume choice once more. The three piece suit looked good on him, but it took so much effort.

"You could always just do that tomorrow, you know," Matt said, raising an eyebrow, "because, knowing you, you'll be working on it till it's two in the morning."

The duo stopped as they stood in front of Matt's home. It was a rather simple one story brick home with a fairly well kept yard and a small driveway, currently empty. "Well, see you later, dude," Matt said, quickly giving Jemaul a hug.

"Yeah, have a good one, Matt," Jemaul responded. "I might as well swing by after breakfast. No school is best school."

And with that, Matthew turned away from his friend and made his way into his house.

----------

The sounds of shotgun blasts and animalistic roars filled the poorly lit living room as Matt sprawled out across the living room sofa. Once or twice a month, his mom would have to leave town for a weekend due to her job and it was during this time that he was king of the household. Lord of the land. Emperor of Golden Sofa! He could do whatever he wanted as long as there was no evidence when his mom got home.

And tonight, he was plopped down in the living room playing one of his favorite games. Humming to himself, he almost jumped out of his skin as he felt something jump on his legs.

A pair of yellow eyes stared up at Matt from the his feet and he couldn't help but mentally facepalm at his unneeded jump. "Damn it, Trouble, you nearly gave me a heart attack," he said to the black cat now curling up on top of his legs. The cat just looked up at him and meowed before putting his head down.

"Laziest cat ever," Matt muttered under his breath, chuckling to himself as he got back to his game. There was plenty of nosalises that needed some buckshot facial reconstruction and he wasn't about to deny them that just because the family cat had curled up on his legs.

After a few minutes, and during a lull in the game, Matt's shoulder suddenly felt itchy, and without missing a beat, he reached back and scratched it before returning to his game. Within a few seconds, a spot on the back of his neck started itching, and he reached to back to scratch that as well.

However, it did not stop itching, so he started scratching harder. After several seconds of vigorous scratching, he stopped and it still hadn't gone away. And as soon as he stopped scratching it, a spot on his right forearm started to itch as well, painfully so, and when he scratched it the pain only seemed to increase.

"What the fuck is going on?" He hissed, scratching his arm as more spots of painful itchiness started popping up all over his body. Trouble let out a hiss and hopped off of Matt's legs as he got to his feet and hurried to the bathroom, scratching himself like mad. He needed a mirror now!

By the time he had reached the bathroom a few seconds later, it felt as if he had a million ants crawling about under his skin, biting and stinging the muscles underneath. When he flipped on the light, he let out a surprised scream at his reflection in the mirror.

His skin had turned almost black! "T-the fuck," he quietly muttered in confusion to himself as he reached up to touch his face and felt hardly a thing from either his finger or cheek. He pressed down and his cheek didn't budge, it held firm and through his deadened touch felt harder.

"The fuck is goin-," the rest of his sentence was drowned out a strangled scream as he doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. His insides felt like they erupted in fire as he staggered away from the mirror, the back of his legs hitting the edge of the bathtub before he lost his balance.

With a panicked yelp and the sound of ripping plastic, Matt was flat on his ass in the bathtub, his feet over the edge and the now ripped privacy curtain underneath him. Clutching his stomach as his insides continued to burn inside of him, Matt watched his legs in morbid fascination as the darkened skin seemed to take on a more glossy texture as what almost seemed like carapace plates from an insect started for-

*Crack Crack*

One of Matt's hands shot up to his mouth and he bit on his knuckle hard in an attempt to suppress his scream of agonizing pain, tears forming in his eyes, as he watched in abject horror as his legs brutally snapped into a new shape. His knees and ankles seemed to move up his legs before his eyes as his feet felt like they were hit with a sledgehammer; his bones mashing together into one mass. He could taste copper- or was it blood?- in his mouth as his nerves were frying themselves on the pain as he started to feel dizzy.

He pulled his wounded hand away from his mouth and stared at it for a moment, his thoughts sluggish from the overload as he watched his fingers, deadened and numb as they were, curl into a fist despite his brain screaming the command for his hand to open up. The nails of his fingers dug into his darkened skin hard enough to draw blood. He lifted up his other hand from his pained stomach, only to see the same thing happening to it as well. His fingers seemed to be melding together, just like his feet had moments earlier.

His vision started darkening as several of what looked like large boils started to form on his forearms. And with his last few moments of consciousness, he saw one of the boils burst only to see clear through to the other side of his arm as his skull started to warp and change.

----------

It was getting late, but there were still people out and about on the street. Jemaul wished he had brought his bike so he would ride home rather than having to foot it, but since he hadn't, and he still needed to get home, and so he alternated between jogging and walking, keeping up a steady clip, still a bit invigorated from the thrill of what happened. His tire was punctured anyway.

Of course, he was praying that Granny Rags didn't file a police report. He had still had his hood up when they were spotted, so maybe if he shelved the top for a few months he would be good. It was a shame, he really liked that hoodie. Still, he was one of the only two people to actually get into Granny Rag's place. Assuming the rumour mill worked properly, it would stay within the school kid circle and not seep outside. That… would pass cool and go into 'oh crap.'

"Okay, maybe I really should have reconsidered. Social life be damned..." Jemaul swallowed, a new panic smothering his elation and slowing his steps as he made his way home. he was still in a downer mood when he got home.

"Hey, I'm home," he called out as he closed the door behind him.

"Jamie's back!" someone hollered just before crashing into him with an energetic hug. His little sister Lori clamped her hands around his waist and attempted to squeeze the life out of him. A fluffy afroed head buried itself in his gut before it turned, aiming a beaming face, a gap in the smile, at him. "Hi Jamie! Mommy said I can stay up late tonight!"

"Hey, Timbit," Jemaul said, ruffling his little sister's head. She clung to him as he headed to the kitchen. "Mom, you around?"

"Hello, Jamie. Had a good evening?" their mother's voice came not from the kitchen, but the living room. Their entire family had nicknames. His came from Lori, who took forever to learn how to say his name, calling him 'Jamie' for everything. It stuck. Their mother has the weirdest one. Carl. Apparently she had been a tomboy.

"Um, yeah," Jemaul said evasively. He poked his head in the room. "What's this about the Timbit staying up late? And where's Dad?"

"Just half an hour," Mom answered. "After her class’s halloween party, she's going trick or treating with the Donovans and having a sleepover. Your father already went to bed. He's leaving for work earlier tomorrow. Any plans for you?"

"Um… the party, hanging out with Matt, sleeping the day away?"

"I figured as much," Mom chuckled. "I might be gone by the time you wake up. Just make sure you two don't get yourself in trouble."

"S-sure thing Mom," Jemaul winced. A little too accurate, there. "I'm gonna go now… get my costume ready… and stuff..."

On that less than enthusiastic note, Jemaul slipped away and retreated to his room. He didn't want to get caught up in that cycle of fret and worry, so he put his costume and all it's elements together somewhat haphazardly, tossing the duffle in a convenient spot. Pulling his shirt off and leaving it hanging from his closet, turned off his ceiling lights and crawled into bed with a book, switching to the bedside lamp, fully intending to lose himself in the words. At some point, he gave in to the inevitable and dozed off, falling asleep.

He was back in the witch's house. Granny Rags loomed over him, layers of old cloth and ragged flesh hanging off her body, her chest vanishing into obscuring shadows. A hand emerged from the gloom as her eyes blazed with matchless detail, casting a light that partially revealed the rest of her facial features. A bony finger pointed at him and opened her mouth, wordless rage pouring forth, the volume pushing him back. Jemaul turned and ran.

How dare you!

Dogs chased him down the hallway, barking and wailing with police sirens as he raced towards the window at the end of the hall. They nipped at his heels, additional motivation to keep his burning calves pumping. The window was closed, but he didn't slow down, hurling himself through it, arms protecting his head.

I punish you!

Glass shattered and crashed around him, cutting his clothes and flesh, drawing out painful hisses, his momentum carrying him right over the edge as blood poured from the numerous wounds. He started falling to the mixed doom below—roiling darkness, tossing flames, waves crashing against the jagged wind and sharpened rocks so far below, quickly drawing closer as he hurled down.

I curse you!

He spun in the air, tumbling, eventually looking back in the direction he came. Granny Rag's cold piercing eyes glared judgement at him and her massive hand, ivory nails like talons, slammed into him, driving him into the-

"AAAAH!" Jemaul yelled, almost flying out of bed in a tangle of sheets and crashing heavily onto the ground. His entire body was a collection of pain and aches, his clothes and covers filled with his sweat as he took shuddering breaths.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered over and over. Dreams normally didn't terrify him, but that one did. Even worse, the pain wasn't fading fast enough. His body felt covered in the countless lacerations the glass shards caused, even if it felt more like stinging scratches from wrestling a vicious thorn bush than gashes.

His back was by far the worse, battered to an extent he never experienced before. Whimpering, Jemaul struggled out of the covers. His shorts got pulled down some, and he kicked them the rest of the way off. They were too sweat soaked anyway.

"What kind of dream was that," he moaned, heading to his dresser to get a face rag and a new pair of shorts, but instead, he grabbed his towel. A shower would be better. It was late, the clock putting it just past midnight, but as sweat soaked as he was, it would be more comfortable. Keeping the lights off so he wouldn't wake anyone else in the household, he navigated with the night lights they had out for Lori's sake and relied mainly on memory to find what he needed before stepping under the shower.

The cool water did help ease his frayed nerves and soothe the stinging pain some, and he spent maybe a minute of just standing under the spray. He was clean and feeling a lot calmer. The pain was still there though, but he mostly able to ignore it, letting the water work on it. His back still felt twisted and pained, but it was still better. He didn't realize anything was wrong until he started washing.

There were things on his skin. He didn't pay much attention to them at first, but he kept finding more, and they stung when he brushed them. Like picking at a fresh scab. Stupid dream. What kind of dream left that kind of lingering pain? Shutting off the water, he reached for his towel as he slid the curtain aside, freezing as the night light provided enough illumination to clearly make out his arm.

Pale stripes of something covered his arm. Correction, his whole body. Shock stealing his voice, his thoughts helpfully connected the stripes with the pains he was still feeling. As if acknowledgement was the trigger, the pain doubled, dragging another muffled cry from him as they darkened and started growing, gaining width and length. It was some sort of hair. More like fur. Spreading out from where he got cut in the dream, feeling as if scalding water was being poured on his flesh with each inch it progressed. He scrambled out of the tub, hyperventilating from his efforts not to scream, his wild movements knocking bottles of body wash and shampoo down, almost pulling the curtain down as a shift sent him tumbling to the ground.

Muscles started rippling and sliding cross his body in the most nauseating sensation, and only the pain that came with it kept the contents of his stomach in place. He collapsed, curling into a ball as if it would help ease his suffering, either the bath mat or his towel wadded into his mouth to muffle his cries. He refused to wake his family for what he feared was the retribution of a witch. He shuddered and spasmed, trying to find consolation in the mantra 'It can't get worse.'

It got worse.

It was as if someone stabbed him in the back with red hot spikes. A initial jolt that made all his thoughts pause and wonder 'was that pain?' Only to spiral into a unanimous agreement that 'Oh fuck that hurts!' as something forced it's way out of his body, ribs and shoulder blades creaking, maybe even cracking as inch by painful inch they emerged. Even as it forced it's way out it still hurt, the new parts of his body a mess of new muscle and nerves that stung from the very air, much less anything it touched. The lesser pain was from the base of his spine as bones sprouted from there. But even that was like saying it was only a small bullet.

It almost drowned out the sensations of the bones in his limbs stretching, fragmenting and reconnecting, grinding against each other as they fused in places. His face burned as his skull warped, bulging in places, twisting in others, cranial structure splitting and rearranging before coming back together.

By the time the the pain started fading, Jemaul was out of tears, his new muzzle soaked with them, the mat he cried into wet with both tears and drool. He might have blacked out, or just zoned out from confusion and pain, he wasn't sure. He lay there, twitching his new legs, eyes still wide with panic and fear.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed to croak out, curling up tighter, pulling the hooves his hands had become close to his barrel, the wings he didn't yet realize existed pressing close to his body. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Please make it stop hurting..."

"Hello?" a curious voice called. "Is someone there?"

Jemaul instantly snapped back to what passed for sanity for him when he heard his sister calling. He scrambled to his feet, hooves initially finding little purchase on the bathroom floor, as the door opened. Lori peeked in, and their eyes locked, both parties frozen. For his part, Jemaul made a lot of observations. He seemed a lot shorter, though that could have just been because he was standing on all fours. He was able to see a lot better than he should have. The room seemed more or less regularly lit, despite it being in darkness before. The muzzle just at the lower edge of his vision was purple, which bugged him for some reason. And finally, Lori was grinning.

"Pony!" she shrieked, leaping at him and tackling him with a hug. "Oh my gosh where did you come from! Are you from Equestria? Why are you in my bathroom? What happened to your cutie mark? Do you work for Princess Luna? What's your favourite colour? Can you stay for breakfast? Are you my guardian pony? Can we be friends? Can you take me flying?"

Jemaul's head was spinning, and Lori's gush of questions wasn't helping. He managed to cover her mouth with a hoof. "Be quiet Timbit! You're gonna wake Mom and Dad!"

Her look of elation was replaced with confusion. She pushed his leg aside and stared. "Jamie?" He nodded. "OH MY GOSH JAMIE! You're a pony! Why are you a pony? Were you always a pony? Am I a pony? Is Mummy and Daddy a pony too? Are you from Equestria? Are we all from Equestria? Did we move here because some big meanie took over and all the ponies had to run away to other worlds through the forest of pools and we came here to be safe and now it's time to go back and be heroes and save everypony with the magic of friendship and family?"

"Calm down!" Jemaul yelped, covering her mouth again, his ears folded flat. He gave her a look of disbelief. "What are you… I mean, where in the world did you come up with that? And the forest of pools is from Narnia, and you need rings."

She licked and slobbered the bottom of his hoof. He quickly moved it away with a shudder and she met his glare with a grin.

"Okay…. maybe the old standing closet mummy got from grandma?" Lori asked innocently.

"Still Narnia, still no!" Jemaul groaned. "Why aren't you freaking out?"

"You turned into a pony! That's so awesome! A bat pony! Luna is best princess!" Lori said happily.

Jemaul just stared at her with increased confusion. Here he was, having suffered through being transformed into something, and his little sister was going on about crazy things that didn't make sense. "What are you-"

"Kids? What are you doing up?" a baritone voice called.

Jemaul paled, even through his new fur. He covered Lori's mouth again, ignoring the frustrated look on her face. "Morning Dad! Lori woke up and needed to use the bathroom!"

"She shouldn't be up this time of the night," their father scolded. He sounded like he was right outside the door.

"I know that, I don't plan on- HEY!" Jemaul yelped as Lori bit his leg.

"Hi Daddy! I'm going back to bed soon." Lori said cheerfully. "Jamie's just helping me clean up… I sorta made a mess… But I got to say hi before you left for work and I went to the sleepover! Yay!"

"I suppose that's true," their father sighed. "Just make sure your sister is back in bed soon, Jamie. And don't make too much noise to wake up your mother. She has work in the morning."

"Okay, Daddy!" Lori beamed, though their father wouldn't be able to see it through the door.

"Sure, Dad," Jemaul groaned, awkwardly rubbing the spot where Lori had bitten him.

"Good. Have fun at your sleepover, Lori," Dad said.

Jemaul took a chance. If this happened to him… "I might spend the night at Matt's tomorrow. Is that cool?"

"It's fine with me. I'll let your mother know. Now go back to bed, kids."

Their father's footsteps faded as he left. Jemaul exhaled and raised an eyebrow at his sister. She grinned back before whispering in a sing-song voice, "you owe me, Jamie."

"I… fine. Whatever," Jemaul facepalmed, and hurt himself when he found a hoof was harder than he expected. Lori giggled as he groaned. "Okay, just… tell me what you mean by pony..."

"Depends."

"Depends on what?" Jemaul ground out.

"How much are you willing to pay?"

Comments

[Alondro]

We must perform the proper tests to ensure that Granny Rags is actually a witch!

*places her upon one side of a large scale, and a duck upon the other... the duck side goes down*

A WITCH!! BURN HER!!!

[EverfreeSparkle]

"I hate them too but I can't help if I'm trying to keep you from being a recluse," Matt sighed. "You literally have, like, five friends that aren't online."

If that is what a recluse is, then I must live in an ice cave in the middle of Antarctica

Really liked the transformation sequences.

[DualKitsune]

...Lori is channeling some serious Cutie Mark Crusader/Pinkie Pie there. Kinda scary...waaaiiiittt...How many friends are going to be at her sleepover??!!

[JazzyWaffles]

She licked and slobbered the bottom of his hoof. He quickly moved it away with a shudder and she met his glare with a grin.

what the FUCK

[bombthrowinglunarist]

8183033
i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/001/204/425/dee.jpg