PIGEONBURG, TENNESSEE...

“Shit.” I mumble, the bitter October air greeting me as I shut the door behind. I pull the mute flannel coat tighter to my body. It’s well over 20 years old. Father Time has taken its toll on the disheveled jacket. Still beats any other jacket. I bury my hands deep in the pockets, before beginning the trudge towards the end of the alley.

The alleyway leading to the side door entrance of the famed Sparky’s Bar and Grill’s isn’t too long, spanning just a few measly car lengths. On nights like tonight though, it feels like an eternity. The brick wall on my right, and the rusted metal walls of the restaurant to my left seem to stretch on forever. I walk past the sedan. Groaning, I grab my head. It's already spinning, and I haven't even sat down yet.

As I exit the alleyway, I look up at the metal building. The sheet metal walls have faded over time, going from a clean matte black to a gray and rusted mess. There are more rust splotches across the building than last year. Need to replace it soon. I look at the antenna, strapped to the same pole that runs from above the roof into the ground. That's been there for a minute. Need to look at replacing it too.

Ugh.

I walk up to the wall, collapsing into it as I slide to the ground, landing on my butt. I tense up, bringing my legs closer to my body in a shitty effort to combat the cold. Wind's picking up.

It's like clockwork at this point. Pulling the cigarette out of my pants pocket. Grabbing it with my lips and covering the wind as I light it. Picked up the habit a long time ago. Long enough I don't remember when I wasn't holding a cigarette.

It's funny how time slips away.

I take a drag, watching the toxic smoke fade into the night.

Main Street’s empty, per usual. It’s barely illuminated by old dull streetlamps and swinging stoplights. Leaves blow across the road like tumbleweeds. Buildings around have all closed down for the night.

All except Sparky’s.

A bright light near blinds me as I go to take another drag. I wince, looking down Main Street through my hands as I try to catch a glimpse of whatever it is. A massive, unfamiliar charter bus lumbers by. It’s in a hurry, zooming through the intersection. It passes by the brick building, stopping right in front of the newer ‘Snack Falcon’ convenient store. The brakes screech as the bus gently lowers itself.

The bus door swings open, and someone steps out. He's got a backpack on, and something bundled at his chest.

I squint my eyes trying to get a better look at him. He walks under a pale streetlamp, and I choke on my cigarette smoke. The little pleasure of my cigarette is gone. The brief escape I'd needed doesn't work anymore.

My eyes go wide as I recognize him.

* * *

I watch as the bus turns at a stop sign, disappearing. I take my hoodie, throwing it on in an effort to combat the cold.

The bleeding on my chest has stopped. There’s still a bright red line across the chest, but I think with enough time it will mend itself to a long scratch. It’s burning though.

I expected to see more people walking around, especially on a Saturday night. Looking around however, the street is barren. Nothing but shaky stoplights, and some leaves gently flying across the road.

I don’t recognize this convenient store in front of me. It’s small in stature, however the bright lights inside light up the small parking lot.

I grab my stuff and start making my way towards the store, limping in the process. My legs are still sore from the ride, and the running. My back is cramped, but the one thing trumping all of that is my hunger. I’ve not had a decent meal since yesterday’s lunch. A chicken wrap from the campus dining hall, and a side of fries. As much as I never really liked the food there, I could kill for another wrap right now. My stomach cramps in pain. I need food, now.

Walking into the Snack Falcon, I am immediately met with the bright interior. Compared to the cold and bleak darkness outside, the bright lights of the convenience store create an almost sterile, hospital-esque atmosphere. I briskly walk towards the candy section.

Normally I’m not a junk food eater, but at this point I could give less of a crap. I immediately grab a candy bar, ripping it open and shoving it in my mouth. I feel my face grinning as the chocolate melts inside, feeling relief wash over me as my stomach has something to eat other than its own acid. I grab other candy too. I don’t care at this point if I get cau-

click.

The sound of a gun clicking freezes me dead in my tracks. I feel a small rod press against my back, sending a chill up my spine. My heart pounds as a southern voice starts talking.

“Now I’ve worked here for over a year, and not one single person has managed to get away with robbin’ my store. Now, I’ll be honest no one has tried but, I don’t intend on lettin’ you be the first.”

The familiar adrenaline of shock now bounces around my body. That chest tightening, gut-wrenching feeling that crawls up your spine. It took so long for the adrenaline of running for my life to wear off, but here it is back in an instant. Dropping the candy bar, I raise my hands and slowly turn around to see my captor. My eyes widen, and I gasp as I realize who it is. The tacky Hawaiian tourist shirt, the blonde ponytail, the beaten-up trucker hat, it could only be my high school best friend-

Stevie Quentin!

“No freakin’ way…” Stevie utters in shock, lowering his mis-shapened gun as he slowly backs away from me.

“Blake Autumn you mother trucker!” Stevie yells out in excitement, throwing his hands up.

I give Stevie a panicked look, “Why on God’s green Earth do you have a gun at work?! Also, you work here!?” I ask frantically, more questions buzzing around my brain.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been workin’ here for a hot minute now. Also, this my friend is a modified paintball gun!” He then starts playfully firing it around.

"Bang Bang!" He shouts excitedly, Stevie's beaming smile shining through. That accent of his is as thick as I remember.

A lot of people find that voice really obnoxious, and that’s coming from other Tennesseans. Most of us here have an accent to some degree, but Stevie’s is so thick that sometimes I even have a hard time understanding him. It doesn’t help that he’s missing his two front teeth, which only provoked high school bullies. At the moment though, it may just be my favorite sound. The most familiar thing to me right now is that stupid southern accent.

As Stevie holsters the gun, he crosses his arms.

“I keep that thang on me Blake, you hear?”

"Stevie, you can't just point a gun at someone like that! This isn't the wild west." I say still a little panicked.

"Boy don'thchu lecture me with an outfit like that! You got no right to talk."

I look down at my outfit. Dirty blue jeans, and a thin dark blue hoodie. I was in a bit of a rush when I left, so I didn't have time to change.

Stevie then smirks. "You look like the homeless guy, who smokes pot outside of a gas station after dark." he smirks, crossing his arms. He looks proud of that one.

I quickly retort, "Oh yeah? Well, you look like the guy, who sells me the pot, outside of a gas station, after dark."

We both chuckle and come in for a high five.

“God Blake, I’ve missed you so much. When I heard you were coming back, I got so hyped man!”

“Yeah, I’ve missed you too,” I pause, confused. “Wait, how did you find out I was coming home?!”

“Oh!” Stevie shouts excited. He pulls a bright orange folded-up piece of paper out of his back pocket, and hands it to me. “On this.”

I question the crumpled-up paper and begin unfolding it. Before my question can be answered though, a sound catches us off guard. It starts off subtly, but the whistle of the wind slowly gets louder. Stevie and I both look towards the source of the sound, the front doors.

The metal doors of the convenient store rattle as the current gets stronger. Me and Stevie step back and watch as a powerful gust of wind blows the convenience store doors wide open, shattering the glass.

We both struggle to stay standing as the violent air hits us like a freight train. Fog from outside begins pouring its way inside.

The force of the wind is so powerful it starts knocking various snacks and food off the shelves.

Stevie looks around frantically, screaming in anger, “My store!”

The fog then switches directions and begins pulling us instead of pushing. Everything in the store begins to fly out the doors like a busted airlock. Our grips on the ground loosen, and I feel my body being dragged towards the doors in an unnatural fashion. Eventually I lose my footing and fall, slamming onto the ground. Stevie soon follows and falls next to me. We try grabbing everything we can- the shelves, floating bags of chips, even the door frame, but our strength can’t keep up as we are thrown out the doors, and into the cold parking lot outside.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

* * *

There’s no way in hell it could be him. He should be gone, living a new life across the country. What the pfff....

I peak around the brick building next to Sparky's, trying to see if I can see him again.

No luck.

I lean against the wall, pressing my fingers to my forehead as I try to make sense of it all. My migraine is coming in, fast.

As I go to peak again, a huge blur of fog zooms past at lightning speeds. Panicked, I grab the brick building, holding on as the wind grows harsher by the second. I try to peak again, seeing what the commotion is. Fog engulfs the convenient store's front.

I feel my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. I feel the hot rush of heat in my ears. Two figures fly out of the doors of the store. They tumble to the middle of the parking lot.

Tia’s heart suddenly sinks. That face. That stupid face.

It is him.

It is Blake Autumn.

* * *

Me and Stevie tumble across the ground, rolling across the parking lot. My skin burns as it grinds against asphalt under me. The wind has stopped without warning, leaving us in the middle of the freezing cold parking lot.

Fog has covered the lot.

“H-what in Jack Daniel’s backside is goin’ on?!” Stevie asks angrily. He grabs his nose, disgusted at the smell.

“And-... Oh God, why does it smell like two skunks doin’ it on the side of a freeway?!” As Stevie shakes his hand, wiping the smell away I get a whiff of it myself and panic. I look around, trying to find them to no avail.

No, no there’s no way. They couldn’t have-

The thick fog around us then begins to move, swirling around with fluidity. The kind of swirl you’d see on top of a mocha, or a cappuccino. It circles around the parking lot, encasing me and Stevie.

We're trapped.

Amidst the moving fog, shadows begin to form. The outlines all have pointy hats on, and short capes that drop down to the knees like ponchos. There’s a few in front of us, but as I look around again, I quickly realize these shadows have surrounded me and Stevie. I spin in fear, speechless of what's happening. I know who it is. It's the main reason I ran home. The cult that has made my life a living hell-

The Cloaks.

Stevie walks up to two figures in front of us, unstartled. I desperately try to stop him, but he ignores me.

"Who dares oppose the Snack Falcon?!" he shouts triumphantly, waving his hands in a dramatic fashion. The shadows say nothing.

"I'll have you know; I've been watching over and protecting this establishment for over a year now, and I have not let a single scratch come to thi-..."

He is cut off as one of the shadows shoots a lightning bolt from his fingertips. The deafening sound of the rod crackles through the air as it flies straight right into Stevie’s chest. Stevie’s body violently shakes for a moment, before flopping to the ground. I run up to him, dropping to my knees. Stevie now lays sprawled on the ground.

“Eugh~” Stevie grunts.

The shadows then begin to approach me and Stevie. They all move in unison, their feet stomping like booms from a bass drum. As they exit the fog, the streetlights above illuminate them.

There’s a line of Cloaks at the front, with a faint shadow of more behind. Most of the Cloaks around us are dawned with the normal Cloak outfit- a ragged Cloak that covers down to the knees, and a scarf covering the face. However, it’s the one in front of me that sends a chill down my spine. He’s got the stern look, a chiseled jawline, and a million-dollar smirk. He was the richest kid at Gibbet university and is the leader of the Cloaks.

Mitch McDonnell.

"Woah! That was so cool Mitch! Do it again, do it again, do it again, oh puh-lease do it again!" The Cloak next to Mitch shouts excitedly. The backpack they’re wearing bounces as her short stature jumps in a giddy excitement. Their screeching voice rings in my ears, making me recoil in pain.

Mitch ignores the Cloaks pleas as he approaches me. The excited Cloak’s hat tilts forward as they lower their head in defeat.

Mitch then holds his arms out, as if he's expecting a hug from me.

"Blake my pal! It's been too long, why haven't you kept in touch? Good friends keep in touch with each other. We are still friends, right Blake?"

"What did you do to Stevie?!" I frantically ask, backing away from him.

“He’ll survive."

Stevie groans under me. "Blake... you forget I've been tased before."

I reach down, helping him up.

Mitch shakes his head as he looks down on us. "You should worry more about yourself Blake. You’ve gotten yourself into quite a pickle, haven’t you?”

Mitch radiates cockiness with every word he speaks.

I pause for a moment, glancing back at Stevie before looking around at the other Cloaks around me. They all stand in the same pose with their legs shoulder-width apart, and their arms crossed. Military-esque. No matter how much I hate Mitch, he’s right. To say I’m a pickle would be an understatement.

I stand up to face Mitch. Just looking at him makes my gut spin. He seems to tower over me, and that’s only because he’s floating off the ground. I gulp, struggling to find some courage.

"Why... did you follow me home?" my voice trembles.

"Blake, you are smarter than you think. You know why, you’re just too scared to admit it.” Mitch’s face changes to a cold look.

"Well now hold on a minute!" Stevie shouts. We both look at Stevie, as he grips his fists, giving a defiant stare.

"Hey!" The shrill one exclaims. She begins running towards Stevie, "No one Interrupts the Liege!"

Stevie doesn't move as the minion begins charging him, fist drawn back.

"Innea!"

As Mitch shouts, his eyes light up a bright red. the minion's body whips backwards.

"What the-!" Me and Stevie exclaim.

It was as if she'd been pulled by a rope. There's nothing there though. Just thin air.

Mitch had pulled her back with telekinesis.

"Shut the hell up. I won't have you speak on my behalf." Mitch berates his inferior, slapping them across the head.

Stevie steps forward, "Who in the blue hell are you, and what do you want with my friend?!"

Mitch looks down, smiling. He turns to his army behind him.

"We are the Cloaks! Friends of the darkness. Wielders of magic. And stalkers of the night. Your dear friend Blake Autumn was chosen to be our blood sacrifice. Our fuel for the magic we use in our cloaks. He was to be the reason we continue living, until he escaped!"

Stevie looks back at me, "What kind of DND game is this?!"

"It is a game he's now destined to participate in." Mitch continues, "I, being the gracious cult leader I am, gave your friend Blake an opportunity to prove himself! A three round competition to prove why we don’t kill you, the best 2 out of 3 winning."

Mitch turns back to me, "I call it- Blake Autumn's Finest Hour!"

"Pfft." Stevie intervenes, "That's a stupid name."

"Can you think of one better?"

"...No."

I shake my head pleading, "Why me Mitch?! Of all the college students to choose from, you had to pick me??”

It sounds cruel saying it out loud. I look down in embarrassment. I want to recoil into my skin. If I were a turtle I’d bury myself into my shell and never come out.

“We chose you because we needed you. A lonely pathetic college kid. A more than suitable sacrifice. You wouldn't have been missed.”

"Oh that's horse shit! I've been here for a year and a half, missing my best friend. And you wanna come all in here with your fancy magic cloaks and throw us around like some piece of- aaheegh!"

"Stevie!" I shout. Mitch had reached up, striking him with another lightning bolt. He falls to the ground, writhing in pain.

Mitch then turns, looking away from me. He gazes upon the stars, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I could kill you right here and now Blake. Hell, I probably should save us the trouble, but I feel like having some fun with you."

The wind around us begins to pick up again. My body sways as I struggle to stay afoot.

Mitch, unfazed, turns back to me, "Because you’ve caught me in such a gracious mood Blake, rather than a disqualification I am going to let the first-round of our contest count as a forfeit. Round two is starting in a bit dear boy, and I’d really hate for you to miss this one. It just wouldn't be fair now, would it?” I feel my heart drop, my throat drying up.

Just when I thought I had gotten away, the rug gets pulled from under.

This can’t be happening.

“Now, in just mere moments everything will come to fruition, and we will finally be able to restore ourselves to our former glory! We will be the most 'impotent' beings known to man!" Mitch shouts with confidence, arms on his hips.

The Cloak next to Mitch interjects with a cocky attitude, "It's 'omnipotent' you nitwit."

Mitch throws his hand out, slapping the shorter Cloak across the shoulder. They cry out pain, letting out a tiny squeal, before rubbing her shoulder as she slumps down. It’s only now that I realize it’s a girl.

“Will you shut up?!”

Mitch takes a moment, readjusting himself before turning back to me. “My point is, we shall reign a beautiful reaping upon this world like bulls on a parade and turn it into something truly beautiful!”

The Cloaks all around us erupt into a loud cheer as the wind grows at a much rapid pace. Soon, it picks me and Stevie’s unconscious body up off the ground, and into the air. I try to fight it again, but to no avail.

I don’t know where we’re heading, but it can’t be good.

* * *

As the fog and wind dissipate, the flat concrete yard soon grows empty. The robed people quickly make their way up the hill into the Northwest part of town.

I enter the parking lot, sporadically checking in case one of those things are still lingering. I approach the tipped over bulky suitcase with his name on it.

In addition, there’s an orange, crumpled up piece of paper. I pick up the flier and begin reading it.

“Come on down to the address listed below for a night of thrill, action, and suspense! Watch what is perhaps,

maybe, and probably the craziest fight in history! Local resident Blake Autumn will take on a mysterious

opponent in a fight for the ages! We promise you, it's gonna be the most Earth-shattering event of all time!”

“Blake...” I choke in my mutter, glancing at the building atop a hill, where flashing lights blare, and the robed people close in on.

“You idiot.”