So, welcome to the first of yet another sporadic Electric Widget.  I'm of two minds about posting fiction.  Theoretically, I'm a professional writer, or at least I'd like to be.  So putting stuff up for free is kind of counterintuitive.  Most of what I write is either abysmally bad and will never see the light of day, or is something I'd like to sell professionally.

But there are a few pieces I can share, and maybe some publisher will be reading and will think "Hey, that guy is pretty good.  We should hire him to write something."

Probably not, given that I have 6 subscribers, but who knows? :)

Anyway, without further ado, I present a little bit of oWOD Werewolf fiction that started off as a character description.  I was trying to do something new with the boring old "Character X is tall and thin, with piercing eyes... yada yada yada" thing, and midway through the second paragraph I realized my narrator had a crush on the character I was trying to describe.  The rest of it just spilled out in one of those easy writing sessions that make the normal (horrid) ones seem even worse than they really are.

Given that the oWOD is dead, long live the nWOD, I can safely assume this would never be published ligitimately, so I hope you enjoy it.

What He Doesn’t Know, What She Can’t See

By David Goodner

I see her every day, ya’ know?  Sitting in the back of the room, near the door.  She looks at the door a lot, nervous like, like she’s worried about who’s gonna’ come through.
God, she’s pretty, beautiful even.  She always wears ragged out clothes, like that green army jacket that can’t be warm enough.  I want to give her mine…  But I’m never gonna’ get the chance.  The guys on the team already call her the Ice Queen.
I see her every time I come in late from lunch, which is, like, all the time.  Her eyes hit me as soon as I open the door, and they don’t leave ‘till I’m past her.  Sometimes I say “hi” and smile to cover up how much she freaks me out.  Her eyes are weird, green or blue or yellow.  I can’t tell which.

She never says “hi” back.

She hardly ever says anything.  Except sometimes, when nobody’s done the reading and someone gives Mr. Kennith a lame answer, she’ll say something.  Her voice is quiet, but everybody can hear her, and she’ll say something that makes everybody in class look stupid.
When we do group work, with all the desks in circles, I try to sit where I can see her.  She has this thing where her hair falls down over her eyes when she looks down, and she keeps brushing it away.

*    *    *

He’s looking at me again.  Is he stupid? (well, of course.)  Does he think I don’t notice?  He’s kind of cute, I guess.  His hair is short and black.  He’s on the basketball team, a forward or something.  His eyes are like Daddy’s in that really old picture of him and Mom, all bright and soft, gentle blue.

I wonder when Daddy changed, when his eyes froze to the way I remember them, when he decided he needed to hurt me, but let’s not talk about that…

I think his name is Jim.  Jim Elmore.  I know its Elmore, ‘cause Mr. Kennith always says “what kept you, Mr. Elmore?  We’ve all been waiting,” whenever he comes in late.

I wish Mr. Kennith would just leave him alone.  Stuff happens, and five minutes is no big deal.

I don’t know what he wants.  Well, yeah, I do.  He wants to fuck me.  I could tear out his throat with my teeth, but he doesn’t know that.  He’s just like all the rest.  They call me the Ice Queen when they think I don’t hear, the ones who don’t call me the Bitch Queen instead.  I don’t care, as long as they leave me alone.

*    *    *

I have Study Hall right after Basketball.  Sometimes I just skip, but I saw her in the library the other day, so today I tell Mrs. McReedy that I have a paper due in English and I need to do some research.  She knows it’s bogus, but she lets me go anyway.

The school library is big, and musty, and dull.  I don’t think I’ve been in here three times before.  I don’t see her anywhere.  Last Thursday she was pushing a cart of books, so I guess she’s a library aide.

The Librarian, Mr. Gallows, is the school scary guy.  He looks like he’s about a thousand years old, with real bushy hair, all grey and black, and his eyebrows almost meet in the middle.  He wears a black suit and tie with a vest.  When I go to ask him if she’s there, I can’t remember her name.

“She’s kinda’ thin, and her hair is real red, and she’s got this green jacket,” I tell him.  “Her name is T-something.  Tanya?”

“Tina.  Tina Avery,” Mr. Gallows says like I’m an idiot.  “Why do you need to see Tina?  Your hall pass says that you are here to study for English.”

“Yeah… That’s right… She’s in my English class.  I need to ask her some stuff about class.  I missed a day ‘cause of the game in Albany.”

I figure I snowed him when he says, “Today has been rather slow.  Tina is in the back, at the study carrels.”

So I say thanks and head back there, and then he says “You be nice to her.”

Mr. Gallows is weird.

Before I get to the back of the library, I just stop.  What am I gonna’ say to the Ice Queen?  But I’m stuck in the library ‘till the end of class. 
And there’s her eyes.

Most guys never get that far, and she’s got a good body under the Salvation Army clothes, too thin though.  But her eyes… blue and gold and green, and hard, but hard like thin glass, like they could break real easy and spill out whatever’s inside.

I swallow around the lump in my throat and go over.  She’s sitting at a desk, reading.  She’s got her headphones on.  The CD case says “Switchblade Symphony.”  I’ve never heard of them.  I’m about four feet away when she looks up.  I can see her whole body go tense, and I remember this time when we went on vacation and this deer was in front of the car all of a sudden, and it didn’t move.

“Uh… hi,” I say.  I want to kill myself.  God, I sound so lame.

She just takes off her headphones and puts them around her neck.  Then she says “Hi.  Need some help?”

“Yeah… I mean, no.”  Someone please just shoot me now.  “I mean, I wanted…”

She’s just looking at me, and her eyes aren’t hard or cold at all, just sorta’ sad.  She brushes a lock of her red hair out of her face, but it falls right back.

“I wanted to ask you… if I could borrow your notes from English on Friday.  I missed ‘cause of the game…” I finish, taking my rightful place as the biggest coward on the face of the Earth.

“Sure,” she says, smiling a little, like she’s afraid someone will see her and tell her to stop.  “I’ll go make you a copy.”

She gets up, slipping her Discman into one of the huge pockets on her pants, and starts to walk to the office.  I reach out and grab her wrist before she gets past me, and her whole body goes stiff, and even though she’s not moving I can feel her pulling away.

I let go, and she draws her arm back to her body.  I’m not sure how I did it, but I made her mad.  “Uh… you don’t have to do that.  I’ll just take them home and copy them myself,” I tell her.  “I don’t want to bother you too much.”

Really, it’s because if I don’t take them with me, I won’t get the chance to give them back later.

“It’s OK,” she says.  “Mr. Gallows lets us make copies for free as long as we use wasted paper.  You don’t care if there’s sideways encyclopedia pages on the back, do you?”

“I guess not,” I say.

She goes to the front desk and I can hear the office door open and close.  I look down at the book she was reading.  It’s called “Demonology,” by somebody named James Stuart I, with annotations by Ryan Thomas, Ph.D.  Must be some kind of old horror novel, I guess.

She comes back with a bunch of copies and I say thanks and go back to Study Hall to lick my wounds. 

When Mrs. McReedy asks me about my research, I tell her the book I needed was checked out.

*    *    *

I get home as fast as I can.  There’s a meeting in the Park tonight, and I’ve got homework in History and Algebra.  Sarah is going to ask me if she can go again, and I’ll need a good excuse why she can’t.

On the subway, I can’t help thinking about Jim.  It would have been funny, if it hadn’t been so pathetic.  I could tell he was trying to ask me out, but he couldn’t do it, so he asked me for a copy of my English notes.  I thought stuff like that only happened on insipid TV shows.  I would have said “no” anyway, so maybe he was better off not asking.

I get home before anybody else and start on my math.  The History is pretty easy, especially since one of my past lives actually lived during the Revolutionary War.  She hates giving me answers, though.  I used to be a bitch.

Sarah comes back from her friend Amber’s house, and she wants to tell me what she did today.  I let her sit in my lap, even though she’s getting too big, and we talk for a while.  Then, about six, I go change clothes and tell the Barrows that I have to go.

Donna asks me how my day was, and I give her the Reader’s Digest version.  She’s really nice, but she asks so many questions.  She’s a nurse at Forest View Retirement Home.  I don’t know how she stands being surrounded by slow death all the time.  Peter said she used to be an ER nurse, but she quit even though her new job was less money.  Maybe slow death isn’t as bad as fast death.

Thinking that, I look down at my hands.  I notice that I forgot my handcuffs, and run back to my room to get them.  I like to feel the weight on my wrist.

Sarah doesn’t pester me too much when I try to leave.  Peter rented “Sleeping Beauty” on the way home, so she’s distracted. 

The subway takes me pretty close to Central Park.  I get off early and walk the last few blocks because I really hate the subway, and there’s this creepy bald guy at the other end of the car who keeps looking at me.

Tonight isn’t a Moot or anything, just a meeting.  Nick, who’s this big, tough Shadow Lord, wants to beat up on me for a while.  He thinks a Black Fury should be able to fight.  Actually, I like sparring, and I want to learn to fight better.  I’ve been lucky so far, but my luck won’t hold forever.

*    *    *

That night, me and some of the guys go to see a movie.  After it’s over, we’re heading home and I see Tina leaving Central Park.  She’s wearing a black spandex thing and her army jacket.  Her hair is all wet and dark with sweat, and she takes a towel out of her gym bag to dry it.

I break off from the group and cross the street.  The guys ask me where I’m going, but I just tell them I’ll see ‘em at school tomorrow.

When I catch up with Tina she’s at the corner, waiting for the crossing signal.  She looks flushed, like she just had a workout. 

I learn slow, but I do learn, so I don’t grab her this time.  I just yell, “Hey, Tina!  Wait up.”

She turns to look at me.  “Oh, hi.”  Not the most enthusiastic greeting, but better than “drop dead, creep.”

“Hi,” I say back.  “What are you doing here?”

She looks back over her shoulder at the gate into the park.  “Karate lessons,” she says.

“Cool,” I say, wracking my brain for something to keep the conversation going.  “What style?”

The signal changes, and she starts out across the street.  I have to jog a few steps to catch up.

Over her shoulder, she answers me.  “It’s this obscure style you never would have heard of.  I can’t pronounce it very well.”

“That’s cool,” I say.  I can almost see the reflection of the neon “STUPID” sign on my forehead in a car’s windshield.  “Where’ you headed.”

“Home.  My subway stop is about three blocks away.”

“I’ll walk with you,” I say, pulling up even with her.

“Whatever,” she says.  She’s not carrying her CD player, but I know if she had it she would put the headphones on.  That’s the way she closes people out, that and her sunglasses.

We go down to the terminal and I search my pockets.  Thank God, I have a subway token.  I don’t know why I’m still following her.  The train arrives, and she gets on, and I still haven’t managed to ask her out.  Hell, I haven’t even asked her how she was doing.

“I can get home by myself,” she says, and I can tell I’m starting to piss her off.

“I don’t mind,” I tell her.  “This city can be dangerous at night.”

It was supposed to be all cool and macho, and she was supposed to be impressed, or get kind of mad and amused all at once, but she gives me this unreadable look and just says, “yeah…”

The train stops a few times before she gets off.  The terminal is almost deserted.  There’s just this homeless guy curled up in the corner, all in rags and this big coat and with a beat up old hat.

Tina looks over at him and her nose wrinkles up like she smells something rank.

I sort of move around so I’m in between her and him.  “Don’t worry.  It’s just a bum.”

She looks scared, really scared.  I’ve never seen her show any emotion this strong before.  She grabs my jacket and pulls me toward the steps.  “Let’s get out of here,” she says.

The old guy gets up slowly.  He does smell pretty bad, I notice as he staggers over to use.  He grins real big, with ugly, rotten teeth, which is all I can see under the greasy old hat and the ratty scarf.

“Hey, Girlie, you’re not supposed to be here.”  His voice is rough and high pitched.  He giggles.  “You’re going to be in big, big trouble.”

I look at his hands.  They’re big and bent and gnarled and covered in scabs.  Tina is still pulling on my jacket.

The old guy is right in my face.  The stench is overpowering, and he’s all ugly, with red eyes.

“Back off!” I yell, and shove him away.

He staggers back, just a little.  He never stops laughing while he takes a swing at me.  I almost get my arm up in time.  I hear Tina shriek.  Everything is moving slow, like in a movie.  Then my head explodes.

*    *    *

Jim goes down from a backhand.  His head cracks up against the tiles with a distinctly unhealthy thud.  I don’t have time to pay much attention.  The vampire is still advancing, and Nick says Leeches usually come in groups.

I can feel the Rage coming.  My vision starts to go red, but I fight it back.  If I Rage out now, Jim is dead, and probably me too.  I drop into a fighting stance as the weight of my Crinos form settles around me, all the time trying to remember everything I can about Leeches:  never look them in the eyes; you’re stronger most of the time; go for the head.  Also, Nick says that the leeches in New York are pack animals.  If you can make one run, the others are likely to run, too.

Sure enough, two more come out of the shadows at the back of the terminal.  I rush the first one, the ugly one.  The smell of him fills my nostrils.

He bares his fangs.

My Rage rises in me, but I control it, and I’m moving like lightning.  I hit him twice before he can react.  Once, my claws bat down his arms.  Then I have his throat in my jaws.  His flesh is cold and dead and unclean.

He hits me before I get a good grip, and I feel my ribs buckle.  I shake him in my jaws, doing my best to ignore the sour-rancid-sweet taste in my mouth and the pain in my chest.

One of the others is closing fast.  His fangs are out and he has claws instead of hands. 
The ugly one isn’t moving anymore, so I throw the body to slow him down, and let out a howl that echoes through the tunnels.

Too late to dodge, I see flames dancing across the third one’s hands, and a tongue of fire lances out at me.  I spin to get away, but my side explodes in pain.  The all-consuming fear rises in me, but I choke it back.  I can’t run now.  My gym bag took the most damage.  It’s burning.

I pull it off my shoulder, glad that I decided to leave the strap pretty long, and throw it at the bastard Leech who burned me. 

The melting, burning nylon bag hits him in the face, and that’s enough for them.  The Vampires turn and run back down the tunnels.  The ugly one’s body is still laying in the subway tunnel.  I hope he gets hit by a train.   

My rage is all gone, and I sink to my knees back in my real body.  I want to collapse altogether, but there’s no time.  My ribs are still tender, and my whole left side hurts with a hot, throbbing itch.  At least my clothes weren’t ruined since they go into limbo or somewhere when I change.

My hands aren’t too bloody.  I use the inside of my jacket to wipe off the blood, mouth, too.  Can’t forget that.  Then I look over at Jim. 

He’s not in good shape.

My muscles feel like molten lead, but I rush over and cradle his head in my lap while I check his injuries.  I really don’t need to know what’s wrong with him, exactly, but one of the Gifts the spirits taught me lets me heal wounds.  With my soul, I feel the cracks in his skull and the blood leaking inside.  His life-force is ebbing away.  He’ll die if I don’t do something.
I’m so tired, but I gather all the energy I have left and ask Gaia to help me.  The Goddess answers and I dip my soul into his, so for a second we’re as close as any two people can be.  My energies caress his back into life, and I can feel the bones in his skull knitting back together, the tissues healing.  His breathing stabilizes, his heart starts beating in perfect 4/4 time, and I know what Donna felt when she worked in the Emergency Room.
His eyes flutter open and he looks up at me.

“Jim, are you OK?” I ask, even though I already know.

“What happened?” he asks.  His voice is still a little weak.

“What do you remember?” I need to know.  I know he can’t have seen me change, but what else might have seen?

He touches the back of his head gingerly.  “There was this homeless guy, and he was bothering you, and… and?” he looks a little blank.

I smile down at him.  “You don’t remember the shoving match?”

“No.”  He sits up carefully.

“You pushed the guy away, and he tried to hit you.  Then you fell and hit your head, and I screamed, and he ran away.”  I help him stand up as I answer.

He looks around.  Luckily, he doesn’t look down the tunnel.  “Where’s your bag?” he asks, all confused.

I want to laugh, or scream, as I sort of herd him up the stairs before he can notice the smoldering pile of nylon, or the dead body.  “The old guy took it when he ran.  If he wants my spare clothes and a sweaty towel, I guess he needs them more than me.  I keep all the important stuff in here anyway,” I tell him, pointing at my hip-pouch.  “I just want to get home, OK?”

*    *    *


So I guess I wasn’t much of a protector, and I still didn’t ask her out.  We walk about five blocks to her apartment building.  She’s favoring one side, so I know the bum hurt her more than she’s telling me.

Her parents, or guardians, or whatever, seem real nice.  They make sympathetic noises when she tells them what happened, and Mr. Barrows insists on driving me home.  But he can’t find his keys, and Mrs. Barrows is making tea in the kitchen.

So for a minute we’re alone.

The lump in my throat feels like a watermelon.  “Uh… Tina… I kinda’ wanted to ask you something, sort of.”  I keep going while I can, ‘cause if I stop now I’ll never get another chance.  “Do you maybe want to go out with me some time?  The Drama Club has this dance coming up, and I thought maybe we could…”

She’s sitting on the couch just across from me.  Actually, I sat down on the couch to be across from her.  Anyway, she’s all curled up on herself and she leans forward on her knees.  She puts a finger to my lips, and her touch is so light that I could be imaging it. 
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her touch anybody on purpose before tonight, not even to shake hands.

And she says, “Jim, shhh.”

I stop talking, which is good, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I was about to say something stupid.

“God, this is rough,” she says.  “Jim.  I don’t want to go out with you…”

I knew that’s what she was going to say, but knowing didn’t make it any better.

And she’s still talking.  “I don’t want to go out with anybody.  Not right now, ya’ know?”

So I have to say, “Yeah, I understand.  No big deal.”  What else am I gonna’ do?   Tell her she’s a bitch?  If I thought that I wouldn’t want to date her.

“It’s not you, not at all.  You have to understand that.  My life… right now…”  I can tell that it hurts her, and that she’s trying to make me feel better, but that just makes it worse.

It would be easier to hate her, to say something to make her hate me, but I say, “Yeah, OK, but we’ll still see each other in class, right?  And maybe we can go out to a movie or something some time, just as friends.”

She says, “yeah, maybe,” and looks down into her lap.  She leaves out, “and maybe a giant meteor will smack into Jersey tomorrow.”

Then Mr. Barrows comes out with his coat and his keys, and we head out.

Before we’re out the door, Tina says, real soft, “Jim?” and I look back at her.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”