Chapter 5: Something Wicked This Way Gone

I found myself engrossed by the illustration of the campus menace on the computer.

The dark figure, in all black with a full-face mask marked with bizarre symbols, was so mesmerizing that I had to force myself to reacclimate to Mr. Shulenmeyers‘s words.

“No doubt another nutbar obsessed with the Bramwell-Gates Legend, trying to spook the students. Don’t tell me you know nothing about this or didn’t notice the circus of security guards.”

“I thought they were here for me.”

“What? No. Billy, honestly, I don’t care about the book or if you ‘magically’ set a couple on fire.”

He air-quoted magically.

Damn. He knew about that.

“Your great-great-great-grandparents founded this arts institute, and your mother got me this job. She was a damn good cee-lo player.”

His hesitant tone and jittery movements made it obvious his focus hadn’t been on my words. It was on that weird scratching noise.

“Look, I have to get back to this clown show. I’ll tell you how we’re going to play this for the books. First, you’ll give Mrs. Nelson-Perkins a formal written apology. I’ll get Miss Bakirtzis to type it up; you can just sign it in the morning. Second, a day of campus community service.”

“Community service? For what, having a book? I thought you didn’t care what I…”

“Billy, this is Mrs. Nelson-Perkins we’re talking about. She’s old school. If I don’t give you some form of discipline, she can make things rough, even on me. Just show up. Hang out for 10 minutes. Make it look good. Grab that assignment from Miss Bakirtzis. Go on.”

“But Mr. Shulenmeyers, The Nameless One—”

“Let me stop you there. Do you have any proof?”

“Myles and Gene were there.”

“Your role-playing buddies? Do you think the board listens to them over Dane, the face of the school? Haven’t you seen his campus TV spots? Booyah!”

I rolled my eyes.

“I get it, son, but most of the staff is riding that little poser’s bandwagon. Play it smart, and the matter will resolve itself. Push the Dane angle, and you’ll get some real pushback. I support you either way. But I’ll let you call it.”

“Let’s do it your way.” I reluctantly flashed a smile.

“If only I could get my staff to follow my lead like you. So, any strange dreams lately? Anything weird?”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the air before I shook my head no to Mr. Shulenmeyers’s questions.

“Okay, don’t forget—sign the letter, grab that CS assignment now, and I’ll talk with Dane.”

“Thanks. Sorry about the golf game.”

I lazily made my exit.

My spirit was broken.

The instant I cracked open the door, the bustling office sounds swallowed the heaviness of my footsteps.

Before I could fully step out, Mr. Shulenmeyers shouted what echoed like a warning: “Billy, stay away from the weird. Stay out of trouble. And get rid of that book.”

“Sure.”

I departed from the office—completely forgetting to stop by Mrs. Bakirtzis as instructed—then hung a left and headed toward the archway to exit the building.

I had no more classes for the day, and the hurry in my step signaled my eagerness to get home.

For some ungodly reason, rows of students stood on both sides of the archway—strangely, all facing away from me.

I didn’t want to walk through them, but it was the only way out.

So I did.

As I moved into the herd, they turned toward me, perfectly in sync.

Their sudden movement froze me mid-step.

They had on masks—

Pure white.

Skin-tight.

A bizarre, stark black symbol—an open mouth at its center.

With a unified stomp, a low hum began to swell, hatching into an eerie choral song.

One side chanted, “Hocus pocus.”

The other side chanted, “Abracadabra.”

There were haunting, resonant tones in their voices.

A stabbing sensation shrieked down my spine.

Breaking from the edge of the line, a maskless student I recognized, Tiny Jem, darted toward me.

I could never forget him.

He was the unscrupulous toy collector who pitted me against the Nameless One for a vintage action figure.

As he got closer, his gremlin-like grin spread ear to ear and loomed large.

Then, almost with the showmanship of a magician, he launched a sheet bearing the same open-mouth symbol.

It sailed uncannily smooth against the wind and perfectly engulfed me.

To my dismay and disgust, the sheet was soaking wet and clung to my skin.

Worst yet, it reeked of melted candy and spoiled fruit.

I barely heard the words pierce the moist, grody covering: “Where did he go? The wizard’s cloak made him disappear.”

Embarrassingly, I struggled a little longer with my confinement than I’d like to admit.

Once I finally freed myself, the area stood shockingly empty.

But up ahead, he stood—The Nameless One—waiting at the end of the archway. A bright light behind him made his silhouette loom large.

My tormentors had to be his groupies. He orchestrated that freakshow.

He’d called it perfectly.

I was humiliated.

I’d had enough!

I stilled the energy inside, balled my fists, and barreled down the path to trouble.

***

“That’s crazy. You did what? Finally, payback!”

Nate, the self-anointed ‘alpha’ of our role-playing group—definitely the loudest—sharply squinted his eyes as he slurped from his gas-station foam cup.

Yet despite all his big‑man energy, he radiated the curiosity of a teenage courtier soaking in the spilled tea of the day.

Like everyone else in our eclectic band, Nate had an extreme dislike for The Nameless One.

He wanted to hear that our archnemesis had received some retribution.

But his imagination was getting way ahead of my story.

So I chose that moment to take a break.

His slurping triggered my desire for a soda.

“I’m thirsty, dude. Be back.”

I left Nate standing by the doorway.

He hadn’t even taken his leather coat off yet. Ha.

He must have had questions as soon as he entered.

Or did I bombard him when he crossed the threshold? Either way, it didn’t matter.

On my way to the snack bar, I saw Nate removing his coat and starting to mill about.

Everyone was huddled in the gaming area, killing time.

Myles scrolled through his cell.

Gene cursed. He and Jammer, our classmate and unofficial third roommate, were playing War Damage.

“Guys, did you hear about Billy’s standoff with The Nameless One outside the Dean’s office?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

“So, what happened to The Nameless One?” pressed Nate.

They were all suspiciously quiet.

“We’ll let Billy tell it to you, Nate. It’s his story.”

Since I’d made it safely to my sanctuary, I may have overindulged in recounting the story.

Myles and Gene got the rawest and most winded version.

Unfortunately for Jammer, she got swept up in my mania at least twice.

Once directly, while we chit-chatted during her habitual routine of booting the gaming PC. The other indirectly, as she shot side-commentary while I spewed the craziness to our GM, Weird Nikki, over my cell.

Weird Nikki had called to remind everyone she’d be a little late. Like everyone else, she’d heard the rumors and wanted to check on me.

Not long after the call, Nate arrived. He turned out to be my final sounding board of the evening.

After an unsuccessful bid to gain answers from the others, Nate finally floated over to me.

“No one’s giving me extra details.”

His excitement veered into skepticism.

“You sounded so fired up! You charged him! Continue. You barreled down the path to trouble…”

“Yeah, those were my words.”

I took a long sip of soda and cleared my throat. Nate deserved to know how it ended.

“I didn’t know what had gotten into me. Guess it was a culmination of everything. I imagined that I looked like Ulysses rushing a Cyclops. Or maybe more like a maniac on the loose. As I got close, I saw no alarm in his eyes. But tears were flying from mine. I knew there was no way back, only forward.”

“You kept running, didn’t you?”

“Right past him. All the way here. Didn’t look back once.”

After my confession, Nate’s elation crumbled, but I breathed a sigh of relief.

It felt good to get that off my chest. Conversely, I had started to feel a bit of anxiety over Nate’s misinterpretation.

“Dude, unbelievable.”

“Not really… Everyone else knew what I did. Your reaction surprised me.”

Unlike the others, Nate forced me to reevaluate my actions in the archway. And it made me uncomfortable.

I had already depleted my magic, so I had nothing but my fists.

But I wasn’t scared, right? I wasn’t a coward, right? I felt rage and hatred!

I had every intention of ramming The Nameless One at full speed.

Unrestrained in my rush toward carnage—even if he ended me.

But, at the last second, my guardian’s voice, sharp and sudden, stopped me.

“Mr. Shulenmeyers said to stay out of trouble. I had just left his office.”

“Yeah, you did say that. Good point.”

Thankfully, Nate accepted my words.

“The Nameless One’s been bullying you for years, Billy. I know you occasionally use words as a defense, sprinkled with a small spell. But face it, the only way to shut him up is by being willing to get your hands dirty. I heard it in your voice. It’s coming.”

Nate heard the rage and hatred I felt.

“So what about the book?”

I don’t know why, but Nate’s cold redirect in conversation shook me.

It was something in the way he said, “the book,” but I shrugged it off.

“Weird Nikki suggested I should show everyone after the game.”

“Okay. Cool. You think Gene has had any luck against Jammer this week?”

Nate and I split as we walked toward the others.

“Ha! Nasty kill, Jammer. And with a knife, ouch. Gene, this is not looking good, my friend.”

Gene glared over at Nate.

I knew what mayhem was coming next—same pre-game activities as every week.

Jammer owned Gene’s ass.

Nate trolled.

Myles napped.

I walked on.

I needed a little me time before Weird Nikki arrived.

I had to cleanse my mind of The Nameless One. Even more importantly, I needed to find a quiet corner and hash out ideas for tomorrow’s big sociology presentation.

As I walked, I took out a small notepad tucked in my jeans pocket and read the pitiful list I had scribbled.

“Nah.”

I pushed it back into my pocket and surveyed my playground.

It’s time for a little side quest.

Escapist action, not schoolwork, sounded more appealing.

My access to an almost unending supply of money never interested me.

I rather enjoyed my meager existence compared to Becca.

I ate average meals.

I only wore bargains.

I’d get a lift or walk.

No indulgent vehicles that screamed, “Look at me! I’m wealthy.”

But I had one guilty pleasure—my undying love for entertainment.

I poured tons of my inheritance into converting the original but abandoned Bramwell-Gates student center on the old campus grounds into my home.

The upper level contained my living space, but the open-floor lower level was the crown jewel of the renovations.

I spared no expense.

The few people who have seen the place are usually left stunned.

So many things to do, but what?

Pool table?

Ping-pong table?

Nah, both buried under junk.

I glanced at the cluttered stage with our nu-metal band instruments.

Meh.

The electronic hum and soft jingles of the slot machines brushed my ears for a hot second, but after my bad day, I wasn’t feeling lucky.

Maybe I’d catch up on reading. New comics and manga were waiting.

Meh.

In the back, the theater tempted me—especially the reclining leather seats—but I didn’t have time to watch anything.

Eventually, I found myself doused in the soft neon glow of the arcade. Maybe the gaming scores triggered it, but I heard… the haunting musical tones of the archway.

Then I saw his eyes.

His face.

That smug, cocky silhouette.

The Nameless One had re-invaded my mind.

Our history ran deep, too tangled to simply shut off, stretching all the way back to childhood.

And damn it, he was right. The impulse to tear his ego down was a flame I couldn’t control.

Maybe today wasn’t the day to face him.

But like Nate said, “It’s coming.”

I wanted to blow something up, and I knew exactly what to play.