Skag Demons

Skag Demons

Commissioned by: Zeroth17

Written by: Danni Lynn

10,000 words

September 28th, 2023

Skag Demons pt. 1 “Skag Demons,” pt. 1 “Skag Demons: Purgatory,” pt. 3 “Skag Demons: Limbo.”

Synopsis: Meet Michael Carradine, an on and off again addict trying to survive the everyday hells of his shitty high school, friends, and family in the slums of Brooklyn. When a brand-new drug, called Blitz, hits the streets, strange things start to happen. Michael may be a cynical bundle of hedonistic sarcasm but there are just some lines that should not be crossed.

Rating: R

CW: Drug usage, violence, language, sexual situations/ implications (nothing explicit).

Every day in this shithole always started the same.

The scream of my old man's alarm clock rattled the walls of our small apartment. I rolled over with a groan, digging my fists into the crusty corners of my eyes as a chip bag crinkled under my shoulder and a beer bottle fell with a clunk onto the floor. There was a shuffling from the other room and then a heavy fist slammed on my door three times. If that old bastard had to wake up and be miserable, so did everyone else.

“God dammit,” I muttered. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and kicked off the stinking blankets I had not washed in months from my bed. A collection of dirty magazines, with their wrinkled covers littered the floor of my bedroom alongside two empty boxes of Little Debbie cakes, and a few empty cans of soda that had stained the carpet. Tacked and taped up posters of Pink Floyd, AC/DC, Kiss, and Iron Maiden, covered my bedroom walls showing various cover albums and art. Nirvana, Rhapsody of Fire, and Slayer were not to be forgotten, but they were out of sight on the other side of my bedroom door.

Scratching myself, I started to get up when my dad's voice boomed from downstairs where he had now moved on to the kitchen.

“Michael! Get your ass down here right this minute! Or I'll make you regret it!”

“Good morning to you too...” I pulled on a black Slayer T-shirt, attempted to flatten my short, bleached hair, and put on my white hoodie and white khakis that were left on my floor before making my way downstairs.

Mom was downstairs sitting on the living room couch, just within sight of the kitchen with her legs stretched out before her and her eyes glued to the ceiling as she rode off another round of downers. My sister, Mary, sat on the floor scratching her arms and tapping her feet with a distant look. I was honestly amazed to see her awake and down here so early (which was something she rarely did since dropping out of high school,) but I could never quite tell if she actually went to bed or not. There was an unlabeled bottle of pills next to her with the lid off and her thin pale arms displayed her history of track marks.

Dad was in the kitchen wielding a spatula like a weapon as he handled a searing pan of bacon over the stove. He was still in his boxers and a heavy tuft of chest hair looked like a potential fire hazard as he cooked. The second that man ever awoke the coffee pot was turned on and the bacon hit the stove. When the bacon was nearly finished, he dumped the eggs into the pan and mixed it all together to avoid the need for other dishes.

To give you a clear picture, my parents were the kind of people who thought just because they were parents and because my dad decided to stick his disk in my mom a few times and got her knocked up makes them important role models and functional members of society. But due to their drunken rampages of their teens I know we were unplanned, and they were still fuck ups to this day and they sure knew it. Maybe that's why they had beaten both my sister and I so hard since we were six. Maybe they thought making us feel inferior made us look up to them somehow. Maybe they thought it made them unbeatable? But every day I saw this man's ugly mug I thought, what would happen if we struck back? I didn’t think he'd have the balls to deal with it.

At my approach, dad turned around and pointed his dripping spatula at me. He reached for the table with a spare hand and picked up a green Grant which he pushed into my hands.

“Go to school. Go to the grocery store. And, straight home,” he growled. “You are to get only the breakfast fixings, Oreos, booze—and don't you touch any of mine—coffee, and some lettuce for your sister.” The stubble under his red nose was already twisting far past a 5 o’clock shadow and quivered as he scowled at me. Dad put the spatula down and raised his finger. “And if you wander anywhere else or I find out you use this money for a quick fix, I will break out my belt and beat your face in. Just you make me!”

I snatched the cash and wordlessly pushed it into my pocket. I grabbed a dirty bowl off the counter and accepted a spatula full of eggs and bacon before choking down my breakfast and making a run for the door.

“Go to school and go to the grocery store before you come straight home!”

“I heard ya!” I yelled back over my shoulder. I ducked out the door before he could throw another threat my way and hurried off to school.

 Believe it or not, I walked straight to school. Our rundown apartment complex, a cornerstone of the Brownsville community, was about six blocks from the public high school. Halfway between was the local meat shop where dad worked as a butcher and on either side of his shop were boarded up and abandoned properties. The streets in that area of Brooklyn received little to no care from the state department and much of the asphalt had eroded into unrecognizable patches of dirt. Potholes and fissures in the roads filled with oil and water and gathered all sorts of goodies like thrown away needles, all kinds of garbage, and used condoms the local hospitals passed out to the homeless like candy.

We lived in the worst of the slums. Some would say it's hell on earth but others, like me, said it's all I know. You could be an impoverished family in the slums of New York City but if you knew where to go and who to talk to, you could get anything you wanted. For example, I knew who ran each corner and block. I knew which cops were the bad ones. And I knew the best abandoned houses to go to throw a raging party or to hide away for a few days to get a fix with all my friends and the gang. It might not have been the best thing for a 17-year-old to do, but I didn't care. I went to school just for the hell of it, the free lunches, and to earn a few hours a day away from my old man’s wrath.

As I walked farther, the buildings around me grew taller and twisted up into the sky. Colorful swathes of spray paint and street art stretched up the brick and cement sides, showing portraits of artists holding their faces in a mind-bending yellow-pink-and-lime-green splash of color. It looked like the personification of tripping on skag. If you got high enough, your whole world turned into a pleasant array of colors and good feelings. It felt better than getting laid and lasted longer too… I twisted a cruel smile across my lips. My old man couldn’t stop me if I did want to spend his money after getting groceries today. I know I’ve been telling myself to get cleaned up and to stop burning my money on drugs, but sometimes the temptation to piss him off (and enjoy the ride) is just too much.

Skipping across a piece of sidewalk that had been removed for construction but was never replaced, I passed under several darkened neon signs. At night, a few markets and gas stations provided a little light to our slummy neighborhood, but besides the pink neon glow, it was mostly darkness here.

On the corner of the next building I passed, just above the doorway, my gang’s symbol, a black skull with red dripping from it, decorated each building on the street as a stamp, an announcement, and protection for those who joined us. The empty eyes of the skull watched the dark road as the morning mists barely lifted off the cracked sidewalk.

Turning a corner, I kicked an empty can down the road as I passed by darkened doorways. Both sides of the street were clustered with tall brick buildings. Stoops lined the sidewalk and what little walking space existed was crowded by telephone poles that were cemented right into the middle of the sidewalk or by the piles of trash that were a permanent fixture despite the garbage men's best efforts.

Ahead of me, a pair of feet protruded from one of the stoops and a bedraggled man sat up on the steps. He had on a heavy Carhartt jacket with holes in the elbows and a worn pair of boots with laces tied around the middle of the shoe to keep the sole in place. I could smell him from ten feet away. I checked over my shoulder and stepped into the street when no cars were coming and continued on my way.

As I walked, the neighborhood brewed a cacophony of sound. Some woman was yelling at her man, their voices bleeding through the open window of a third-floor apartment. Two drunk hobos on the street past a shared bottle between them while another man took off with some old lady’s purse. Keeping my head down as I passed, I stepped over potholes and kicked whatever items got in my way as I made my way to school. As I got closer to the high school, the sidewalks got busier and soon filled with students shuffling with tired eyes and big yawns. One girl, with their hair done up in braids, clutched her books, looking a little too eager to start learning. Someone tripped her and her calculator went flying. I kicked it as I passed by and entered the school’s front doors.

If Brownsville was hell on earth, Harold Sanford Public School was the devil's icy 7th level of Hell. It was a classic inner-city school, but we all knew this was the kind of place that you didn't just survive. It was sheer luck for anyone who graduated from here in one piece. Either you knew what crowd to stick to or you learned how to turn invisible to get through this shithole.

The school was quite regular, if not for miscreants like us. The halls were a grid connecting the various classrooms, rundown gymnasium, and the closed down theater. Lockers lined the halls wherever they could be fit, but for any new visitors, you might have to take a second to recognize them as layers upon layers of graffiti stained every wall, ceiling, and floor. Crude drawings, threats, gang symbols, and names covered every inch. It was like a bathroom stall at some club where everyone scribbled on the walls and urinals, but here? It was everywhere. Some hallways felt like walking into a fun house with the vibrant colors screaming at you from every angle.

For our proud history, to set the stage for this miserable place’s reputation, there was a scandal in the 70s when the original gymnasium burned down after some burnouts accidentally set the building on fire. Someone once told me it was just the kids wanting a week off from school, but others told me it was to get rid of a teacher who was known for hitting the kids. (He and several other died in the fire.) Old fashioned punishment was a thing in these halls in the old days and even one or two teachers now and then might be pushed to the edge but the real danger at Harold Sanford were the students who fed on this dark history in an attempt to try to come out on top and in control of the student body.

In the early 2000s, a theater teacher got sacked for putting cameras backstage in the changing rooms and then in 2010, the principal got busted for buying drugs from a 10th grader. That little shit must have been so proud of himself.

As you might be able to tell by now, this school was only a hive of future criminals, prostitutes, and other freaks. That run down place was only good at turning out absolute demons to terrorize the community. If I were to guess, we were only two accidents away from a condemnation from City Hall itself.

I shouldered my way through the hallway and went up to the second floor. The second floor was known for having one of the biggest and best bathrooms. A skinny kid stood out front with his hands in his pockets and watched me nervously as I approached. Not that the teachers could ever do anything but for the sake of bossing someone around, he was probably the lookout for the day. I patted him roughly on the shoulder before passing and pushing open the bathroom door.

The bathroom door opened to reveal a smoke wreathed haven from the overrun hallway. My girlfriend of nearly three years, Sarah, was there leaning up against the wall with a joint between her lips. She was a sight to behold. Dressed in ripped denim jeans, a thin purple tank top, a black leather jacket and matching leather boots, she looked like some kind of rock star. Sarah had short black hair that framed her thin face, matching her black lipstick and thick eyeliner. When she was feeling creative, she liked to paint her eyeliner into little patterns but if you asked me, I could never really tell the difference. But of course, she always made a point to tell me if I forgot to notice a change in her appearance.

A thin stream of smoke passed from Sarah’s pouty lips before she noticed me entering the bathroom. She stood up from the wall and came over to throw her arms around my neck and plant a kiss on my cheek. As she did so, she playfully pressed her chest up against mine while her favorite necklace, a guitar pick with White Snake’s logo on it, dangled from her neck.

She really was a promiscuous one, but that's what I loved about her. She knew how to make the other men jealous, and boy did I love showing her off.

“Hey, baby. What took you so long to get here?” Sarah said. She kissed me again, pressing her full mouth against mine and sucked on my bottom lip before I could answer. The smoke from her blunt wafted up my nose and I wished we were anywhere but here in school.

“The usual. It's not exactly a short walk. Especially across this kind of neighborhood.”

“Or maybe you should try leaving a little earlier if you want to spend a little time with me before class...” Sarah teased. Her voice was wrapped in the thick color of a Brooklyn accent and each strangled vowel danced in my ears as a seductive allure.

I playfully pushed her off me and snatched her blunt from between her fingers and popped it between my lips. “You know I barely wake up as is. And what, do you want me to miss a good breakfast before I leave the house? Do you think you're worth that much?” I took a hit and passed the blunt back to her before wrapping my arm around her shoulders. Sarah giggled and rolled her eyes.

The other students, and some members of my gang, smoking in the bathroom mostly ignored us as we talked. We finished off the last of her blunt before the bell rang for first period. I gave Sarah a quick kiss on the cheek and then headed to algebra.

Class was pretty easy if you at least pretended to follow along. I usually followed the rule of keep your eyes to the front of the classroom and let your mind wander and any teacher would believe you if you ask them just to repeat a question as long as you don't look like you're doing something else. The thing was, if I at least looked like I was there and attended class, then I would avoid suspension whereas if I start skipping left and right I might run into some problems with the administration. Not like they can do much, but I'd rather spend a day at this horrible place then go back home.

My friend James and I, a self-proclaimed chem-wiz, sat in the back of the classroom. James didn’t care much for math outside of the basics and usually spent his time doodling in his notebook or staring out the window. James has been held back in school for a year, making him 18 years old, and was the leader of our gang. He always wore a dirty wife beater that showed off his arms and rather thuggish build. But, when we were just in class and were not out prowling the streets or intimidating gang rivals, he was quite chill. I often told him he wasted his talents peddling stolen goods and trying to make money for drugs. His moms were always disappointed in his life on the street but in the end I couldn’t judge. I was just like him.

“Hey man, did I miss anything?” I asked as I slid into my seat. Mrs. Sanos, one of the younger teachers at Westford, had already begun class. Luckly, she didn’t notice my entrance as she collected homework from the front row. 

James didn't look my way as I sat down. He put a finger to his lips and jutted his chin toward two students who sat in front of us. The two girls in front were leaning together, whispering.

“He said it was something brand new on the street. Something he has never seen before,” one said. The other girl's eyes went wide as she tapped anxiously on her desktop.

“Well, did he say what it was? Where can we try some?”

“I don't know, he said it was really strange. But it's supposed to give you the best high you'll ever experience in your life. I think we'd be lucky to find anyone who has any left by the end of the day.”

James eyed me as the two girls whispered. He stuck out his bottom lip and raised his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes. I leaned forward and tapped one of the girls on the shoulder.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?” I asked.

The girls ducked their heads down and looked at me in surprise.

“Don't pretend I can't hear your whole conversation. I'm only a few inches away.”

“Okay, okay. It's a new drug on the streets. My brother told me about it and said it's a real new hit. It’s supposedly out of this world.”

“What's it called?” James asked, his interest piqued.

One of the girls smiled and looked me straight in the eye. “It's called Blitz.”

***

After school, I went to the grocery store and started walking home like I was told. It was a real bitch carrying everything but as I turned to go toward my street, I stopped with my toes on the curb. I had some change in my pocket leftover from the groceries and it was only 4:00 PM. Dad wasn't closing up the butcher shop until 6:00 PM and mom wasn't going to notice me missing if I didn't head home now.

Shifting the groceries in my arms, I pulled out the cash I had left and counted. I had 20 bucks. This should be enough to get me one gram of angel dust. The old man told me not to, but I could just tell him that the moody cashier he didn’t like stiffed me and kept the few extra bucks.

Even if he planned on counting out every penny I had left when he got home, the want—the need—for just a small hit was too strong. I didn’t care if I had homework, I didn’t care if I missed dinner because I had passed out in my room upstairs. It was worth it. I swallowed and gave in.

Just one gram. Then I would go home.

***

My dealer, Nicky, always set up shop behind Walmart. I walked in the parking lot to the back of the building dragging my feet. I wished I didn't need this, or I wished I felt that I could get through my day without buying some more drugs from Nicky. The last time I was here, I told her that was the last she was ever going to see of me.

“I’ve heard that before,” she had said. I groaned and continued to the back of the building. I was going to get whooped for spending this money too. I had tried to cut back, because I felt like it, but in the end, I didn’t follow my own rules. I did whatever my inner whim decided without giving much care otherwise. Who cared if I hated myself for giving in again? I wouldn’t be aware much longer after I had my hit tonight.

Nicky was in her usual spot, leaning up against the cinderblock wall by the dumpster. She grinned as I approached. Nicky was one of those would-be-attractive types if she wasn’t so hooked on her own product. What had been a lithe, supple body, was sucked away to only bones and skin. Her once admirable hair hung limp and her eyes were sunk-in with deep circles.

“Post-Malone kid, I was expecting a visit from ya,” she said.

“No, this was supposed to be a surprise,” I countered. I lifted my arms in an open shrug as if to say, “ta-da.” Nicky snickered. She kicked a gym bag between us and nudged it with her foot as if in invitation.

“What can I get’cha?”

“One gram of the usual.”

Nicky stooped down. Her bag was half-full of little baggies of pre-measured angel dust. People around here couldn’t afford much at one time unless they swiped something good. As she picked up a small bag for me that was probably as light as a feather in her hand, I remembered the conversation I overheard in algebra today.

“Hey, have you heard about any of that new stuff on the street?” I asked. “Something called Blitz?”

Nicky froze. She looked up at me from a crouch. “Where did you hear about that?”

“At school. Everyone is talking about it.”

“I don’t know. It’s some pretty powerful shit. I don’t know if I want to give it to you kids.” Nicky looked nervous. She wringed her hands and looked off to the side. You couldn’t tell me she hadn’t tried the stuff herself yet. I was not about to be deterred by her sudden appearance of a conscious and good morals.

“Are you selling? What’s it like?”

Nicky stood up and put a hand in her jacket. She pulled out an even smaller package with a bright emerald-green dust inside, just the size of her thumbnail.

“Dang, someone’s been cooking up some fancy shit,” I said.

Nicky shook her head. “You can take it any way. Smoke it, snort, or injection. But I’m warning you, it feels like nothing you’ve ever had before. It’s like a unicorn craping rainbows and pissing lightning in your brain. It’s extreme.”

“Jeez, that does sound like something.” I pulled the twenty out of my pocket and looked at it. If I were to get high tonight for the first time in a little bit, I mines well make it special, right? “How much? I only have a twenty.”

“Take this. It’s half a gram. That’s more than enough to give you and the gang a taste.”

***

Back at home, I arrived to find my mom and sister high as kites in the living room. Not much had changed since I left that morning for school, but they now were both sprawled out on their backs on the living room floor. I stepped over them to enter the kitchen when my mom grabbed my ankle and tugged on my pants.

“It's all colors... I'm bathing in colors...”

“Oh, hell no,” I groaned. I shook her off and then went to the kitchen to drop the grocery bags on the floor. Then I went back to the living room and sat down on the floor. There was a discarded syringe by my mom's shoulder. I tapped on the cylinder and held it up to the light when a drop of bright green liquid rolled down the needle.

“How long has this shit been around?” I reached into mom's pockets, combed the ground around them, and looked under the couch cushions to find only debris. They had already used all of whatever they had bought. I leaned over and knocked on my sister's forehead as if it were the front door.

“Anyone home?” I asked. Mary did not open her eyes but she opened her mouth and smiled with a giggle.

“Michael? Michael! How was school?” Mary whispered.

“It was nothing special. I'm shocked you're even aware enough to remember I go to school.”

“How could I forget my little brother is going into the 8th grade? I wish I was still there... But how could someone like me go back to school…” Mary’s voice petered off and her head rolled to the side. Go figure. It was amazing she remembered I even existed.

The back door of the house slammed open, and dad came back from work. He stamped his shoes on the floor before kicking them off and tossed his lunch box on the counter.

“Michael!? Mike—where are my groceries?!” the old man shouted.

“They are on the kitchen floor!” I yelled. I got up to present the groceries, but dad already had his hand out, waiting for my change.

“I didn't get any change.”

His face turned purple, and his big nose wrinkled in anger. “Did you go and buy drugs with my change again?! Boy, what did I tell you?!” he snapped.

“I didn't! Remember that dumb bitch at the checkout counter that you don't like? She overcharged me for the booze. I swear!”

“Did you forget your fake ID?”

“Yes, I would totally make such a stupid mistake!”

“BOY—”

A knock sounded from the front door. I used that distraction to duck out of the kitchen before dad got his hands on me. I opened the front door to reveal James, Sarah, and the whole gang behind them.

“We're all going to a nightclub. No questions!” James declared.

“I’ll go anywhere,” I said. I leapt out the door and slammed it shut behind me.

***

James took us to an old warehouse behind the neighborhood a few blocks away. It was in the middle of a few forgotten streets where most properties were abandoned. The pounding music and screams of the partygoers could be heard from a distance, like a siren calling everyone into the sweaty pit of ecstasy.

When we arrived, we all gathered at the entrance and put our heads together as I dug into my pockets and pulled out the sample of Blitz I had bought earlier in the day. Under the black lights nearby, it lit up with an iridescent green glow and shimmered as if it was coaxing us in for a taste. I opened up the bag as my head began to ring with all the noise and chaos around us. Everyone dipped their fingers in, scraping a little away with their fingernails until we each had enough to try. We held the Blitz up under the lights, clanked our hands together as if they were red solo cups, then snorted the little samples.

The first sensation that hit me was an instant burning in my nose. It felt like I had just breathed in a thousand tacks, but the prickling began to spread as if light had leaked directly into the bones and veins of my face. I threw my head back and howled at the rush.

Sarah planted a sloppy kiss on my right ear and then James ushered us all into the party inside. I could barely make out the whirling bodies and flashing lights around me as I got sucked into the mayhem. My heart was racing, and it felt like every cell in my body was dancing.

The lights grew brighter as a kaleidoscope shattered into my vision and twisted everything before me. At one point, I think I was on the ground, and I remember feeling something sticky. I think I busted my lip on some broad’s metal-studded crop top, and then there was just an overwhelming rush...

***

Red and blue lights punctuated the nighttime air. There were screams. My face ached. I think I was on the ground again... Sarah was next to me, wiggling her arms as if she was still on the dance floor but our backs were on the cracked asphalt of the road outside. A light mist of rain soaked the scene.

James appeared in the space above me, his face bloodied and his nose a little crooked. He opened his mouth, but I only imagined crystalline blue and red drool coming out of it. I opened my mouth to laugh but James grabbed the neck of my hoodie and dragged me up onto my feet. He shook me and then suddenly the night injected itself into my lungs and the cold air brought me back. I was out on the street with the others, and there were cop cars all along the street with officers running into the warehouse to break up the party. James was still screaming.

“Go, man! Go! start running!”

***

“—the newest fad is a local drug called, ‘Blitz.’ Officers broke up a Brownsville party last night after neighbors reported numerous fights breaking out at the scene. Sixteen people were rushed to the hospital for serious injuries. One has been life flighted to critical care—”

I woke up back in my living room on the floor. I was warm and something heavy lay over me. The light of the TV flickered on the wall, and James was sitting up on the couch with his knees drawn to his chin. Several others were passed out on the floor as well.

My head felt like it was fit to split. I moved my hand to cusp it, but my arm was stuck under something. I lifted my head and looked down.

Sarah was sprawled across me butt-ass naked. She was drooling on my chest and her pale ass was lit up by the news playing on the TV.

“What the hell happened?” I muttered. I pulled my arm out from under her and shoved her off me. She slumped onto the floor, completely knocked out. I got up and dragged myself to the couch.

“Damn, what year is it?” James groaned. His eyes were heavily lidded and bloodshot. He looked like he had seen better days.

“Something in September?” I moaned back.

Two lady newscasters on the television sat at their news desk with an onslaught of videos airing behind them showing drugs and arrests happening across the city.

“Apparently, we weren’t the only ones to get our hands on some new Blitz last night. It’s making waves,” James said.

***

Later that morning, we all dragged ourselves to class. We attempted to put together the events of the night before but the newscasters’ retelling of the fight—that we vaguely remembered starting—pieced together more than we remembered.

The sky above was dark with a brooding storm. Sarah hung on my arm, pressing it between her breasts as we walked. She kept trying to kiss me and even licked my chin at one point.

“Hey, knock it off,” I said, shrugging her off. Sarah snickered and made a grab for my junk.

“Whaddya say we skip first period? I know an empty place we can swing by for some fun first—”

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked. I dodged her hand and hurried to keep up with James and the others. Sarah followed closely behind, giggling at odd intervals, and posing in seductive ways anytime I looked back at her. What the hell was going on.

***

James and I arrived to algebra class a little early and decided it was a good day to just put our heads down on our desks and sleep through the lesson but when we entered the classroom, it was empty. Instead of a bustle of students setting out their textbooks and calculators, we were so early that only two male students and the teacher, Mrs. Sanos, were in the room.

Right next to me, James bristled and lunged forward before I could even register what was happening. The two students had Mrs. Sanos pinned with her face smashed against the classroom’s whiteboard. A vibrant bruise was blossoming on her cheek and both her stockings and dress were torn as the two boys ripped at her clothes and made wild grabs at her body.

The entire moment slowed down to my mind. The room darkened and sharp bluish white lights appeared as if the entire room was awash under a black light. Shadows flickered at the corners of my sight, enunciating my frozen fear.

“Fuck off, you ANIMALS!” James screamed. He jumped and grabbed one of the boys, throwing them to the ground and then punched out the other. I followed, driven more by reactionary instinct, and stomped on the student on the ground. Mrs. Sanos, now free, dropped to the floor with a cry. Other students rushed in as James, with me following, dragged the two monsters out of the classroom. They scratched, yelled, and spat, but James’ fury was unmatchable.

In that moment, I remembered back when I first joined James’ gang.

“We steal, we fight, we drink, and we have fun,” he had said. He had pulled out a switchblade and pressed it to my throat with his other hand clasped like an iron grip on my shoulder. “But we never cross the line—we never take advantage of or rape the women.” It was a specific rule of his and I respected him for it. But I never saw such an anger unlocked in his rage before.

***

After beating the shit out of those two guys and running them out of the school building, James ran up to the second-floor bathroom and began hitting the stalls, whirling a dozen punches straight into the already beaten metal.

“Hey—hey!” I yelled. I grabbed James’ shoulders and pulled him away before he could hurt himself. Instead, he whipped around to face me with his arms raised before he registered who I was and backed off.

“What the hell man?!” James yelled back. “Back off!”

“Calm down! Dude, what has gotten into you? Why do you care so much?!” I countered. James snarled and pushed me. I put up my hands but did not dare to retaliate if he decided to lay me flat. I’ll admit, I wanted to throw up when I saw those students attacking Mrs. Sanos, but I don’t know why it triggered James so much.

James hit his chest and then clapped his hands together. He began searching his pockets and then pulled out another bag of Blitz that he must have bought last night. He started to open it up, but I snatched it away from him.

“No, man. You need to calm down, you are already way too wired from whatever happened last night and just now,” I argued.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?!” James snapped. “You barely did anything back there. You just stood back like a coward!”

“Why the hell am I a coward? At least I don’t explode off at every little thing! If you ask me, I think you started the fight last night. You don’t know how to control yourself when you go too far.”

James sneered, his lips curling. “You are so selfish. You think being fucked out of your mind on angel dust and stuffing your face with junk food makes you deep and complex. But in reality, you’re weak and you’re a fucking loser!”

***

After school, I kept my head down and slowly made my way home. I listened to The King sing “The Ghetto” on my phone as the first dreary waves of fall lowered the temperature of the city street and dark clouds hung over head. A light rain started just as I listened to the opening lyrics.

“As the snow flies, On a cold and gray Chicago mornin’...”

I don’t know what went wrong. I was the kind of guy who wanted to be blitzed out, just feeling the good feelings without a care in the world. I wanted to be alone, listening to music, passed out on my bedroom floor with the syringe at my side.

But no. Sarah had been acting weird. My sister and mom were even more far gone in their addictions and now James was becoming unhinged. How could he call me a coward? I didn’t even care enough about what was going on to react in a cowardly way. I had been disturbed. He couldn’t hate me for being shocked at what I saw today. But since last night and when we watched the news this morning, James felt as if he was ready to jump on anyone and anything that set him off. Those two boys deserved it, don’t get me wrong but... it was all so weird. How the hell did they think they could dare to attempt such a thing? Would Mrs. Sanos even come back to work after that?

“And his hunger burns, So he starts to roam the streets at night, And he learns how to steal, And he learns how to fight...”

As I walked on, the weather grew darker. A man tweaked out on the street and a fight broke out between a group of students hanging out on the side of the road. Someone in the distance screamed...

I stopped in my tracks and looked down at my gang tattoo, a black skull with red cracks. The red stretched and dripped, bleeding from the back of my hand.

“And as her young man dies... In the ghetto...”

***

At home, I kicked off my shoes and stepped in through the front door. I just wanted to go upstairs and go to sleep and try to forget about all that had happened that day. I still had a stash of some Doritos from my last binge in my closet and maybe there was some beer in the fridge. When I was younger, my sister, Mary used to say I’d gain three-hundred pounds eating and drinking the way I did. Somehow that still hadn’t happened yet, but I was sure going to make an effort tonight.

The smell of something metallic hit my nose and made my eyes itch a little. I rubbed my nose and looked around, seeing nothing but the front room and the stairs going up to the second floor. The smell was strong. I tasted it in the back of my throat as I breathed it in. It stuck and made my mouth dry.

“What the fuck is that?” I muttered. Did dad bring some meat back from work that he hadn’t put away yet? I was never too eager to see him wield his giant butcher knife and slam it into the flesh of some fat-laced flank. It always made me cringe.

I went into the living room when I stepped on something warm... and wet. I looked down.

There was a dark red pool—almost black—on the floor. Red speckles and streaks lined the carpet and as I froze in my tracks, I dared to look up and immediately regretted it as my whole body twinged and I instantly fell to my knees, vomiting all over the floor.

The living room was a bloodbath. The bodies of both my parents were on the floor but beyond knowing that it should be them, they were unrecognizable. Blood, viscera, and chunks of their flesh were strewn about the room as if some psycho had decided to blend them up and finger paint with their fluids all over the walls.

I coughed and sputtered as I began to push myself backward, back over the tile of the front room. My hands, slick with my own vomit and the blood, slid across the floor, failing to find any purchase. I scooted back until I hit the far wall. I felt faint.

“How was school today?”

A girl’s voice cut through the heavy blood-stink of the quiet room. I jerked upright onto my knees. It was Mary.

Mary stood in the middle of the living room in her favorite pair of black underwear. Her pale thighs and her stomach were covered in blood. There were bloody handprints scattered over her body as if she had gone through phases of covering herself in it or alternately attempting to wipe it off.

“I wish I could be good enough to go to school...” Mary whispered. She giggled. She held dad’s meat cleaver in her right hand. A belt was tied around her bicep on her left arm and there were small bags, a spoon, a lighter, and her old syringe on the floor.

“Mary?” I whispered. I rubbed my eyes to see if I was really seeing this correctly. As I did, Mary’s face contorted between toothy giggles and red covered scowls. “What the hell did you do?”

“What did I do?” Mary echoed. “What did I do?”

It was horrifying. “I know they were shitty parents but WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!”

Mary giggled. She held up the knife and traced her finger over the blade’s edge. Then she suddenly sat down and stretched back on the floor, spreading her arms out like a sick and twisted fallen angel. I dry heaved, unable to stand up. I half crawled, half hobbled over and snatched up the remaining drugs on the floor. The green dust was certainly Blitz, but this was much worse than any ordinary meltdown or drugs-induced paranoia. Did she get into something like flakka? Or bath salts?!?

“What the hell are you on?!”

“What the hell are you on?” Mary said. She dropped the cleaver which fell to the floor with a muted thud and put her blood-covered forearms over her eyes. Her smile spread. “What the hell? What the hell...”

I scrambled to my feet, dropped my school bag, and lurched into the kitchen. I scattered the dirty plates on the counter and grasped the first cell phone I found. I dialed 911 as laughter began to sound from the living room. I closed the kitchen door and pushed a chair up under the handle.

“911. What is your emergency?” an operator said.

“Hello? I need an officer at 22 South Street in Brownsville. We live in apartment J, one of the old brick townhomes—”

“And what is your emergency?”

Mary began to scream. I jumped and grabbed a fork sitting on the counter. “It’s my parents—I think my sister—”

BOOM!

The whole house shook. I ran to the window in the front entry way. Outside on the street, people were running about, screaming with their hands in the air. It looked like some sick joke as if they were acting out an invasion sequence from War of Worlds but instead of creepy aliens and machines, it was people attacking people. It was a full-fledged riot.

Fires roared from buildings up and down the street as far as I could see out the window. Guns were fired frantically as explosions created a war-like frenzy. I still held the cell to my ear but it was useless now.

“Never mind,” I said. I dropped it and ducked as a mob of people rushed by my building.

Suddenly, Mary appeared behind me with the cleaver raised in her hand.

“You can’t hurt me!” she screamed. She slashed down, barely missing my arm by an inch.

“What the fuck?!” I pushed her away and dashed out the front door into the chaos in the street. I stumbled and ran, but it felt like all of reality was warping in front of me. The dark skies above were choked with green smoke and the constant gunfire made my head ring.

Across the street where the bums who were usually high on skag were strewn across the ground instead, twitching. A thick green drool dripped over their lips and clotted into their beards. It looked like—

James suddenly appeared from a nearby alley way and ran at me full speed “Mike, watch out!” he yelled.  We hadn’t spoken since our argument, but he rushed past and dragged me along with him as he ran.

“What is going on?!” I yelled. James continued to run before pulling me down another alleyway he deemed to be safe. “James, what’s happening? What’s going on?!” I started to panic as I sucked the cold into my lungs. My heart was racing and pounded against my chest like a bad trip. Maybe I was hallucinating right now. Maybe I came home, and Mary had never murdered anyone. Maybe everyone was just passed out on the floor and maybe I joined them. Maybe I am just blitzed out and comfy in bed where I like to be—

“Snap out of it! Do you hear me?” James demanded. He was leaning over me after I had apparently fallen onto the ground in my confusion. I grasped James’ arms, and he pulled me back onto my feet.

“I’m sorry, what is going on?” I asked again.

“I said, the new drug on the street, Blitz, has been making people go wild. I stopped using it since Mrs. Sanos was attacked in class. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I was getting off another addiction around that time and I didn’t want to see the mistakes I had been making,” James explained.

“What are you talking about?”

“I think the Blitz is laced with something. Or its tainted somehow. It’s making people do wild shit and some of them have been... changing.” James got quiet as he said the last part. He pushed me behind him, and we both flattened ourselves against the alleyway wall.

Out on the street, as the gunfire and screams continued, a lithe being walked by. Dressed in ill-fitting and torn clothes, the creature had long limbs, sharp claws, and spikes running down its back. Its skin was stretched and torn, bloody, with a purplish hue. It opened its mouth and long yellow teeth stood jagged above its lips.

“I think its turning people into... those,” James whispered. His voice was small.

“What is that supposed to be?” I asked, trembling.

“Dude, I am fucking sober and clean and I’m still going to say... I think Blitz is turning people into demons.”  

“What?” I didn't even get a chance to ask him what he meant because as I turned to look at James in disbelief, one of the so-called demons appeared at the other end of the alleyway and launched itself at James. The monster was on him in a second, clawing and tearing his winter jacket and exposing his wife beater, now bloodied, to the wintery air. James screamed but his voice didn't reach my ears as a sharp whine pierced my mind and everything became hazy. It was all too much. I clasped my hands on my ears and kneeled onto the ground, pressing my forehead against the pavement, and squeezed my eyes shut.

Just wake up. Keep your eyes shut and wake up. When I woke up, everything was going to be fine. I was going to be in my bed, and I was going to have those annoying ass crumbs all over my shirt. I was going to see my Iron Maiden poster staring right down at me. None of this was happening... none of this was real...

A sick dragging sound overcame my thoughts and my eyes, regrettably, flashed back open. Someone wearing a pair of closed-toe, leather high heels stepped in front of me and poked my face with their toe. I looked up and a women stood over me with thigh-high leather boots and she was naked except for black leather belts and halters covering little of her skin. Great striped and curling horns stretched from her head and large leathery wings extended from her arms.

If I woke up from this moment right now, I promised to never do drugs or even drink ever again in my entire life. I tried to close my eyes but a black tail from the creature whipped me on my shoulder and forced me to look up again. There was something strangely familiar about her and I recognized a resemblance in the short black hair and now smeared black makeup.

“No... Sarah?”

The succubus smiled. She put her hands on her hips and tapped her long claws on her belt.

“Hey, baby,” she crooned.

This was too real to be dreaming. I jumped up onto my feet and made a dash back to the main road. I got as far as the sidewalk before her long tail shot out and knocked me off my feet. I skidded across the pavement and rolled into a small pothole, soaking my waist, and momentarily trapping me as she—whatever and whoever had been my girlfriend—pounced.

“Don't fight back, I know how much you missed me,” she said. She cackled as her long claws tore at me and she tried to force herself on me. I kicked and bit, trying to fight back the succubus when a spurt of blood suddenly doused my face and she fell back with a little gasp. I pushed her off me and scrambled backward in panic. Another crack and then a whole round of gunshots exploded causing people and demons alike fell to the ground. Men in military uniforms and heavy boots rushed up the street with weapons in hand.

One demon that had been tearing into what looked like the last of my gang was shot dead a few feet away. A pair of soldiers pointed guns in my direction, but I instantly put my hands behind my head and stayed still. I closed my eyes and wished for the whole thing to be over as I surrendered to them.

***

A single fan rotated above me with a rattling click after every six rotations. Even though I knew it to be true, I was still not in bed at home, as I often wished I was. Instead, I was at a rehab facility.

It had been six months since the attack on Brownsville. The news chalked it up to be a new severe case of the street drug, Blitz, being laced with synthetic cathinones, which apparently caused mass hysteria, hallucinations, and violent outbursts. Not a single news station ever admitted that there were demons and succubi wandering the streets and no one ever mentioned what had happened to anyone who had been so grotesquely transformed by the drug.

It had been six months and that event still felt fresh. I wasn't sure what to do with it. The only things that made sense were the bullshit charges I was given when I was arrested by the national guard. But besides that, my entire world and everyone I knew had disappeared.

***

“Who would like to start first today?” Cindy, a group leader at the rehab center, sat in the circle where the rest of us drab souls sat on plastic folding chairs drinking shitty coffee. We had a few chats a day that were usually of an open format to discuss our rehabilitation and “journey” to overcoming addiction. I hated the sad fucks who were here and had never tasted Blitz for themselves. I think I was jealous. There were more things than I could count that I wanted to forget with the pills I downed.

“Michael? Would you like to start today?”

            “With what?”

“You've been with us for a few weeks now and haven't shared your story. How did you find your way to us?” Cindy asked.

“I was forced to do six weeks in prison after the Blitz incident six months ago. I was a victim and was attacked but was arrested anyways by the National Guard. My charges were drug possession, reckless endangerment, destruction of property, and assault. An old uncle of mine bailed me out of jail but when I was on my way out, some fucker decided to shank me and I spent two weeks in the hospital.”

“And what sent you our way?”

“I got hooked on medical morphine. In the end, I was as weak as they say, and I let myself get hooked on a substance again. I guess you can't blame me after everything that happened but back then I told myself I wouldn't do it again if I survived that day. Now I'm here.”

“Thank you for sharing, Michael.”

The circled murmured a collection of “thank you’s” and continued to sip their drinks. Talking about it did not make me feel better. Admitting the shit you had done out loud was ten times worse then actually committing or going through such acts in real time. To have to look in the eyes of these people who didn't know what a pull Blitz had, who didn't know the power it had over the community... Kids went crazy in school. People were attacked. And every time I brought these things up, when pushed to, it enlisted no more than a murmur from the burnt out souls around me. If it were appropriate and I wanted to get locked up again, I would scream. I would break my chair and pour my coffee onto my own face just to feel the burn. But in the end, I did not. I just sat there, weak, and terrified.

James was right. I was a coward.

A door at the end of the room opened up and a rehab worker stepped through.

“Michael? There's someone on the phone for you.”

“Can I get that?” I asked the coordinator.

Cindy nodded.

I got up from my chair and went to the door. The worker led me up to the front office and handed a receiver to me.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Mike?”

It was the unmistakable rough voice of James. I pinched my eyes shut and shook my head as if I had just heard an apparition speak.

“Who is this?”

“It's James. I was allowed to make one phone call and I had to talk to you,” he said. My heart thundered and made me feel faint.

“What do you mean? I don't understand how I'm talking to you right now,” I demanded. “I thought you were dead for six months! But you actually just disappeared, and you only thought to call me right now?”

“I want to explain everything but there is something I have to tell you first—”

“I thought you died. I watched you die!”

“Well, I wish I did. It hurt like a bitch, and I've been in the hospital the whole time but not the public hospital. Just listen for a second, I only have a short time to talk to you. I'm here with Sarah and the others. We all had a weird reaction to the Blitz drug and while I was just attacked the others... transformed. I think they might be dying,” James explained. His voice rushed and all his words tumbled together as the information came my way.

“You really are going to have to slow down so I can piece this together. I've been detoxing for a few weeks and cannot deal with their gibberish right now,” I said.

“I am not messing with you!” James snapped. “We are all here rotting away in some sort of research facility. They want to know what happened to us. They want to know what these mutations are, but I don't know if they're ever going to let us out of here.”

My thudding heart began to climb up into my throat and strangle me. I did not understand what he was saying. The fact that he had survived, and the others were still alive was too much. It also meant that what I saw had actually happened and was not just a hallucination as everyone here had been telling me it was…

“Where are you?” I asked, “tell me where you are, and I will come get you.”

“I can't tell you that. I just wanted to talk to you and see if you were okay,” James said.

“James, I'll only be okay if you answer my questions!” I slammed my fist down on a desk and the receptionist who had been standing nearby jumped back and started waving for someone to come assist.

James started to speak again but the line went dead. The single connection between us disappeared and I had no idea where my friends were being held. I needed to find them. I needed to figure out what happened to us. The room before me began to waver as if I was back on skag but strong hands clasped my arms and dragged me to my room as I kicked and screamed.

I was pushed into my room and given a sedative. Old Mason, my roommate, who was extremely aged in appearance due to his krokodil habit, just sat placidly in his bed, staring at me as I melted down. I crawled onto my mattress and began to sob. The orderlies stayed in the room to make sure I did not get violent but all I did was melt further into the mattress, willing it to swallow me whole and end this entire mess once and for all.

Sources: “In the Ghetto” by Elvis Presley, Gladys Music, Inc.