Into the Night

Resting in pieces

The immortal gripped the steering wheel tight enough to expose the knuckle bones underneath her delicate flesh. She redialed the same number twenty times and more and left numerous voice messages. They began as innocent, responsible, messages to a teenager's parent. Her voice would remain calm, she'd recollect the events as accurately as possible, then she'd remember the fact she's trying to get ahold of her sister not schedule an appointment at the damn dmv.

"Lilith, you old hag, call me back damn it!"

If she was lucky, it was still her number. If she wasn't, then she ditched the number yet again and she wouldn't hear from her until she chose to call her. Which could mean hours or years. Immortality made the issue callback time irrelevant.

The sun rose to greet the bus traveling to the east. It swerved precariously through the morning traffic. Around minivans, other school buses, and the occasional line of ducks crossing the road.

"Why are there so many ducks in this season!?"

She screamed out the window, frightening a young girl pointing at the precocious birds. Her mother pulled her out of earshot, just in time to miss the tirade of profanities leaving her mouth.

Her hair slipped out from beneath her wig. Which composed of natural dark red hair. Strands of which were stuck to her sweat drenched skin. Slamming back copious amounts of energy drinks would have shut down a human's body. Instead she drove onward. Her contouring smeared in areas they weren't supposed to blend, her lipstick stuck to her teeth, and the profuse sweat bled her eyeliner and mascara. She would have put on waterproof versions of both, but frankly the mental image of North Dakota made her decide otherwise. A green monster energy drink rattled in her hand as she sucked the last few drops.

"Your effing son is passed out in the back of a bus full of dead people. Not the first time I told that to you, I know, but this time is different. This time I'm calling it a monster road trip instead of a Cthulhu's day off. An homage to Ferris Bueler's Day Off, but with your son Ben, a tentacle monster named Ben who gets really offended when you call him Cthulhu. Or when you bring up H.P Lovecraft. Or how he crushed on him throughout their childhood and how he rejected him when he revealed his true form included tentacles. Or how he inspired the image of Cthulhu."

She scratched underneath her wig with a long acrylic nail.

"Have you noticed that most of your sons turn out gay? Does that support the nurture or nature argument... "

She rambled on as one of the unconscious teens began to awake. The young witch's eye's fluttered open, returning her to the world of the weirdly living. Her psyche could have sent a nightmare, but it chose mercy instead. It gave her the pleasure of a blank slate.

With only a vague set of guidelines from the mental reset, she rose straight up with hair thrown into a bird's nest. Rust colored dust scattered from the rumbling bus floor, staining her clothes brown. Clothes she forgot that she agreed to wear for reasons she couldn't recall.

"What the hell am I wearing?" The young witch mumbled to herself.

Roughly she yanked her arms out the sleeves of the fitted trench coat, to reveal a simple black v-neck spotted with red and green paint. She never claimed to have fashion sense, or to care about clothes. The coat, while new and expensive, made the stuffy bus unbearable.

Charlotte felt the hairs on her neck rise as she pulled herself to her feet, one hand on the floor and the other clenching the bus seat in front of her. She turned around to face a large metal box with black body bags stacked around it.

Her brother's name was signed on the shiny metal surface; written with a flat black marker.

"Holy crap, I'm actually doing this," the young witch muttered.