The wedding was an unremarkable affair. Nate and Charlie, both in their ill-fitting suits, sat together while Sam tended to her duties as one of the bridesmaids. She was visibly agitated in the caked-on layers of make-up and form-fitting dress that her mother had insisted she wear. The ceremony was held at a small wooden awning that overlooked one of the numberless lakes found in central Minnesota.
Several hundred floating candles had been set adrift in the silver blue water, where they bounced lazily on the gentle gray swells. Neat rows of chairs lined the grass next to a long, white cloth that led from the main building of the small resort to the pavilion. At the center of the wooden structure stood a balding man, grinning like an idiot while rivulets of sweat poured down his pasty skin.
Sam hadn’t been entirely certain who he was or how he knew her mother; apparently a friend of a friend who had registered on the internet to perform the ceremony. He somehow appeared thick yet not at all strong. The kind of guy who looked like he’d excel at bowling, but would only show up for the last thirty minutes of your apartment move, get winded, and then eat far more than his fair share of the complimentary pizza.
Lights had been strung in rows overhead between broad wooden posts that ran along the length of the seating, while a local string quartet played Canon in D for the sixteenth time. As the minutes ticked by, it became painfully obvious the musicians only knew a handful of songs, and even those were a struggle for the bloated violist who kept sweeping his long, greasy hair out of his eyes with a strange head-bobbing motion.
Were Nate and Charlie more observant, they would have noticed the setting was actually quite lovely. As Sam’s mother walked down the aisle in full wedding regalia, Charlie leaned over to Nate. “Does she think she’s fooling anyone with that veil? Cut the crap lady, you invited us. We know it’s you under there.”
Nate snickered as an old woman with a harsh face and an impossibly blue hat sitting two rows in front of them turned to glare at Charlie. “Quiet you!” Her jowls jiggled as she hissed, her skin so loose she may have been wearing an ill-fitting silicone mask of a human.
Nate smiled apologetically. “Sorry, he has asthma.”
Charlie took a pull off his inhaler, and waved weakly. The old hag looked confused for several seconds, before she muttered, “I’m sorry for your loss,” glared at her husband who was dressed like he was about to try and monopolize the railroads, and turned back to the ceremony.
“How many marriages is this for Mrs. Meyer?” Charlie whispered.
“Five, I think?”
“You’d think she’d learn by now.”
“I’m sorry, are you speaking from all your none experience with the opposite sex?”
“Listen, Nate, I may not have gone on many dates-“
“Any dates,” Nate corrected.
“But I do know one thing. A relationship is a lot like a fart. If you force it, it will be crap.”
The old woman shot daggers at them again, her mouth pinched tight. The friends stared at her, unblinking, until she turned away.
Charlie studied his friend’s face for a moment. Nate’s eyes were glued to Sam. It wasn’t the first time Charlie had noticed the distracted stare.
“When are you going to ask her out?”
“The old lady? Probably at the reception.”
“No, Sam.”
“Why would I ask Sam out?”
Charlie raised a single eyebrow. “Because you obviously like her?”
“What? No! We’re just good friends is all.”
“Nate, you and I are good friends, and I’ve only ever caught you staring at my junk twice.”
“Wait, what?”
“But you are constantly staring at Sam’s boobs. So either she has something caught in her cleavage, or you, my friend, are having impure thoughts.”
The old lady’s pinched face returned with a vengeance. “Will you two shut up!” she hissed.
“Lady, I think I’m starting to understand why your children don’t call you anymore.”
Her mouth dropped open, as if sharp words wanted to come out but got lost in her turkey throat. She finally muttered something about kids these days before turning back to the ceremony and trying unsuccessfully to tune them out.
“Can we just, you know, listen to this?” Nate asked, exasperated.
“Sure, yeah, whatever.”
Charlie watched his friend for a moment, glancing between him and Sam.
“I know she gives you a boner.”
Nate’s jaw tightened as he stared straight ahead.
“Not a penis boner though. A heart boner.” He poked his finger into Nate’s chest as a vein in Nate’s forehead bulged. “In here.” His mouth now inches from Nate’s ear, he whispered. “A heart on.”
Nate ignored his friend for the remainder of the ceremony, which was exactly like every other wedding ceremony between relatively agnostic adults well past their prime. Vows were exchanged that started with “You are my best friend…” Trite poems were read with voices shaky with emotion. Candles were lit in a symbol of unity, while everyone ignored the obvious subtext of the candle burning out, leaving nothing but ash and melted wax in its wake.
Thankfully, they adjourned after an awkward kiss that made Sam roll her eyes and suppress her gag reflex. The bustling crowd of heavy breathers made their way into the brick reception hall, where tables were neatly set with polished silverware and thin glasses with white-cloth napkins jammed inside.
Sam had mentioned - well, more complained - that her future step-father was a neat freak on several occasions. She had once seen him eat popcorn with a spoon. But even knowing this, Nate and Charlie were still puzzled by the army of autonomous vacuum charging stations lined up against the back wall. The legion of cleaning robots scuttled across the polished checkerboard floor, causing more than one drunk cousin, who all resembled someone who would sell skunky weed to junior high kids, to trip.
The two friends waded through the sea of sweaty uncles, overdressed aunts with excessive cleavage, and tipsy acquaintances as they searched for their name cards. Sam watched them from the head table, her crooked grin on full display.
“Are we not supposed to eat?” Charlie asked, as they brushed past the crabby old woman who was once again attempting to murder them with her eyes.
Nate ignored the comment, straining to read the elegant calligraphy that sat on top of each pristine white plate. The tables were filling up fast, and he felt awkward about them being the only ones still wandering around.
Finally, they found their seats, near the far left edge, close to the head table. The chairs were unusually small and uncomfortable as they crammed in, knees pressed up against the bottom of the table that sat about a foot lower than the rest.
It wasn’t until they noticed who they were sitting with, that they realized they had been put at the children’s table. They both glared at Sam, who burst into laughter.
“I’m going to punch her in the boobs for this,” Charlie muttered. There was an audible gasp from the seven- and eight-year-olds sitting around them. Nate elbowed Charlie.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Maybe don’t make vulgar threats in front of a bunch of kids?”
“Sam knows what I am. She knows what she got these kids into.”
Each place setting had several forks and spoons to either side and smaller plates, the purpose of which would remain a mystery to Nate for most of his adult life. One of the tiny plates had a small, white flower carved out of what appeared to be white chocolate.
Charlie began to play with his table settings as Nate zoned out. Nate did this frequently, so much so that his mom had brought him in to be evaluated for being on the autism spectrum. After many lengthy evaluations and tests, the doctors were forced explain to his parents in detail that Nate was not on the spectrum, he was just incredibly disinterested in anything his parents had to say. Or most anyone else for that matter.
His father dismissively referred to him as “one of those creative types,” and simply avoided conversations with his son, doing his best to refrain from expressing his deep disappointment that Nate was more of an indoor child. Nate had once shown interest in soccer, but that had only made things with his father worse. “You play sports with your hands, Nate!”
His mind drifted back to the conversation Charlie was having with a small red-headed girl sitting to his left, Charlie’s mouth half-full of the bread and butter he had helped himself to from the communal basket at the center of their table.
“…Yeah, I’d say I hate things way more than I enjoy things. If I think about it, for every one thing I like - for example, this bread - there are twenty or thirty things I hate. I hate my room, my crappy car that never works right, my breath, most TV shows, social media. I’m even thinking about how much more I’d love it if I was eating toast instead of plain bread. Like, who was the brilliant mind that first took a bite of bread, and then demanded it be cooked again? A genius, that’s who! Then I’ll go to my friends house to play video games or whatever, and I’ll realize I hate their carpeting, I hate how the only snacks they have are saltless pretzels, and how his room smells like boiled turnips.”
“My room does not smell like boiled turnips.”
“I’m sure I’m talking about someone else.”
“You don’t have any other friends.”
Across the room Sam sat, bored, her chin in her hand. The rest of the wedding party were out socializing, drinking, and generally making fools of themselves. She hated every minute of this entire farce. Her mom had met Brenden only sixth months before, and Sam had disliked him from the moment she saw his tan, leathery skin, artificially white teeth, and obviously dyed hair. He was unnaturally skinny and tall, like too little man stretched to cover too much body. She was probably being irrationally unkind, but her mom’s desperation for companionship over the years had slowly whittled away at Sam’s sanity.
“Hey, you’re giving off an incredible energy, and I had to come over here and see what your deal was.”
Sam turned to see an overconfident boy (calling him a man would be an insult to men everywhere) a few years her senior grinning down at her, a bottle of some hipster sounding beer clutched in his left hand.
He was dressed in a dark-blue suit that had been clearly tailored to fit his frame. His neatly trimmed facial scruff and carefully mussed hair indicated someone desperate to appear casually handsome, and made him look like an anthropomorphic roofie.
She rolled her eyes, and turned away from him. Undeterred, he pulled out the chair next to her and sat down, sending an overpowering waft of cologne her way.
“I’m Carl,” he said with his rehearsed smile.
“Cool,” Sam replied with as little disdain as she could manage, which is to say an unhealthy amount. Unfortunately Carl remained undaunted.
“So my buddy has this new girlfriend. They’ve been dating for a couple of months, and she discovered that he’s still friends with his ex. They’re not fooling around or anything, just friends, but she wants him to cut if off. Do you think he should?”
Sam sighed heavily, still not looking at him. “You know, I’ve always thought garbagemen and pick-up artists should switch titles.”
“Come on, I’m fun! Give me a chance. Do you like music?”
“Do I like music?”
“Yeah…”
“No. I’m literally the only person ever born who doesn’t like music. I also hate movies, puppies, and dessert.”
Carl laughed as he took a swig of beer. “You’re funny.”
“Thank heavens you think so. I don’t know what I’d do without the approval of a random straight white guy.”
“Do you have any pets?” he asked.
“A dog.”
“What kind?”
“An Oriental Orthodox.”
“I love that breed. I don’t have a dog, but I’ve always wanted like, one of those cute Chihuahuas, you know?”
“So a cat that barks?”
He took another drink, his mind probably weighing the likelihood of this scenario ending with him touching her butt.
“Ask me what the most interesting thing about me is,” he finally said.
“I don’t care…” Sam said, now exhausted by the conversation, but unsure how to best extricate herself from it. Carl gave off a distinct date-rape vibe that she didn’t want to provoke.
“You look like you like your men, like you like your coffee.”
“Ground up and stored in my freezer?”
“No, tall, dark, and handsome.”
“Ah, then no, I don’t.”
“I write poetry,” he threatened. Sam was half-horrified at the prospect of hearing the kind of poetry he wrote, half-intrigued by how terrible it would be. “I wrote one while I was watching you during the ceremony, would you like to hear it?”
“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”
He cleared his throat, pulling out a moleskin notebook from his vest pocket. His tenor changed to one of intense self-seriousness as he began to read.
“Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art. Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night, and watching, with eternal lids-“
Sam burst into laughter. Full-blown belly laughs. It would subside for a moment, until she would look at Carl, and the fit would begin again, sending tears rolling down her cheeks.
Carl feigned laughter, as if he were in on the joke. “You like it?”
This made Sam laugh even harder, cradling her stomach. “Oh, I’m sorry. Oh, stop. I just… I can’t.” She finally regained control of herself, carefully wiping her eyes to not smudge the thick eyeliner her mother had insisted she wear. “Does that ever actually work?”
Carl feigned ignorance. “Does what work?”
“Passing off Keats as your own writing.”
Carl thought for a moment, studying her face, before snapping his book shut. “You’re the first person to notice.”
“Oh, that just makes me sad.”
Carl quickly lost interest in the conversation. He began to scan the crowd like a shark sniffing for blood in the water. He locked in on a particularly well-endowed girl, her breasts practically pouring out of her dress. Sam followed his gaze. The way she was bouncing to the mind-numbing pop song all but guaranteed at least one nipple would be making a public appearance at some point during the evening. Especially if the song was, to quote the busty maiden, “her jam.”
“Good choice,” Sam said. “I don’t remember her name, but in the only conversation I’ve ever had with her she was explaining that she only ever drank soy white mochas, not because she’s lactose intolerant, but because she’s complicated.”
Carl grinned like a rattlesnake. “Perfect.”
“I can’t promise you won’t get herpes though.”
“Why would you even say that?” he demanded. “Herpes isn’t even a big deal these days.”
Sam’s eyebrows arched as she smiled.
“Like, almost everyone has herpes anyway. It’s not even a big deal. You can even get it from like, being kissed or whatever, by someone with a cold sore.”
“Oh… poor Carl,” Sam said through her ever deepening grin. “Good luck with your date rape!”
Carl’s expression hardened. “That’s not funny. I should have known you were one of those rape culture people. Out to ruin everyone’s life with false accusations. What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“Funny how that works. Rapists are always innocent until proven guilty, but their victims are always liars until proven honest.”
“Well aren’t you a fat bi-“
“You know, Carl,” she cut him off. “I once saw a guy tuck one of those industrial sized tubs of mayonnaise they sell at Costco under one arm, pop the lid off, and stroll around the grocery store scooping handfuls of mayo into his mouth.”
Carl’s face was both confused and horrified.
“It remains one of the worst things I’ve ever seen in my life. But this conversation, was worse.”
Nate finally relaxed as he saw the handsome gentleman who had been hitting on Sam walk off in a huff. He glanced down as a Roomba bumped gently into his left foot.
The bride and groom finally took their seat at the head table, and the disinterested waitstaff began bringing out the overcooked entrees; either rubbery fish or chicken so dry it resembled jerky. Their waiter, a middle aged man with teeth far too hefty for his mouth, set a plate of chicken in front of Charlie.
“Excuse me,” Charlie said, gesturing to the white chocolate flower in front of him. “I’d like a different dessert. This flower shaped thing tasted awful.”
“Sir, those are hand sanitizing lotion bars.”
“Oh,” Charlie said, looking at it thoughtfully. “I’d like a new hand sanitizing lotion bar, please. Someone took a bite out of this one.”
The waiter, without changing his world weary expression, ignored him. Charlie dug into his food with a ferocity that scared the small children near him. When he noticed their wide-eyed stares, he paused momentarily, grease dripping through the thin hair on his chin.
“You’re awful judgmental for a group of moonfaced kids so ugly you’re unfit to play anything in your school play other than a ham sandwich with a hearing aide.”
One of the little girls ran from the table to her parents, who listened intently and then sent their most vigorous scowls in Charlie’s direction. The rest of the kids avoided eye contact for the remainder of their meal, speaking only in terrified whispers.
“Charlie?” a voice cracked from behind them. The hair on Nate’s neck stood on end. The prepubescent voice unmistakably belonged to Gary, Sam’s cousin.
During one of their many sleepovers, Sam, Nate, and Charlie had gotten into a lengthy debate akin to Aristotle’s Categories about the taxonomic differences between a geek, a nerd, and a dork.
The deliberation had raged deep into the night and involved not one, but two whiteboards. In the end, they had concluded that a geek was an individual with an abnormal obsession around a specific interest. One could be a tech geek, a basketball geek, or a car geek. The term did not necessarily overlap with either nerd or dork, although both nerds and dorks invariable overlapped with some sort of geekdom.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
A nerd was someone with classically nerdy interests. Hobbies that in the days of yore might have resulted in bullying; role playing games, theoretical mathematics, board games, quantum physics, video games, comic books, eastern European history, the things that traditionally had been associated with being equal parts uncool and unsuccessful with the members of the opposite sex. While most nerds share a distinct lack of physical coordination, this was more of a generalization than a hard rule.
A dork then, was a subset of nerds. They held all the same traits as a nerd, but lacked any sense of shame or self-awareness. A nerd knows what they are, and generally avoids standing out to the best of their ability. Self-loathing is a staple of the nerd, a trait which the dork lacks. They wear their pants too high, don’t grasp the basic tenants of hygiene, talk and laugh a little too loudly, and either don’t understand or simply don’t care about normal social cues.
Nate felt a certain kinship with dorks, and in a way, admired the unabashed passion with which they lived their lives. He couldn’t imagine sitting down on a bus next to a complete stranger and explaining that since Aragorn is a descended of Elros, who is Elrond’s half-elven brother who chose a shorter life, Aragorn is actually Arwen’s first cousin.
Gary, for all of his unique charms, was a full-fledged, raging dork. His hair resembled a mop left sitting out overnight. Awkwardness poured out of his skin, making anyone within earshot uncomfortable. It certainly didn’t help that he had a tendency to make inappropriate comments about Sam, complimenting the way her jeans flattered his cousin’s butt.
Nate could usually politely tolerate Gary, but Charlie was another story altogether. Charlie hated Gary, hated him with a passion that was inexplicable to everyone, most especially Charlie himself. Yet somehow, despite all the sarcastic remarks and invectives Charlie heaped upon Gary, the poor kid was oblivious to Charlie’s complete and utter disdain for him.
“Charlie, I thought that was you,” Gary said as he closed the distance between them before Charlie could escape, his knee slamming painfully into the table as his legs tangled in the small chair he was seated in. “Did you get my texts?”
Nate’s jaw almost hit the floor. “You have Charlie’s cell number?”
“Thanks to Sam, yes,” Charlie said through gritted teeth. “Calm down, Gary, yours aren’t the only texts I’m ignoring.”
“I was really hoping you would come to my rap battle,” Gary continued unabated.
“You do rap battles?” Nate asked, bemused.
“It was my first one.”
“How did it go?” Nate was equally fascinated and horrified by the idea.
“Not great. They saw my grandma drop me off and it was pretty much over from there.”
Nate had so many follow-up questions, but their conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone tapping on a microphone.
“Is this on? Can you hear me?” Sam’s new step-father, Brenden, said, as a whine of feedback unsettled the room. He was so lanky it seemed as though his arms ought to have an additional elbow joint to make him appear less like a grotesque spider in human form.
“Sorry, Gary, looks like they’re doing the toasts. We’ll have to chat later,” Charlie said, doing his best to feign disappointment. Gary winked and disappeared back into the faceless crowd of relatives.
“I sure do miss the days when you could lose touch with people,” Charlie said to no one in particular.
Brenden cleared his throat loudly, and the room fell silent.
“Good evening and welcome,” he began, his voice unnaturally throaty and thick. “Diane and I wanted to thank everyone for coming out to celebrate. Before we get too far into the evening, I wanted to make sure it was clear; I am in fact the groom, not the hundreds of other men who are drooling over my lovely wife.”
There was a brief patter of scattered laughs, followed by a thick awkward silence that hung in the air like an oppressive heat. Nate’s hands reflexively begin to sweat, even though the palpable discomfort was, for once, not his doing.
“Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying the excellent food my lovely bride picked out. It certainly cost us plenty.” One of Brenden’s useless brothers burst out laughing, slapping the table with his giant hand while Diane shot her new husband an icy stare. An ideal start to her fifth marriage. “And for those of you who know me, I hope you all appreciate how difficult it is for me to be holding this microphone without bursting into song.”
Charlie stared up at the sky as scattered laughter again rippled through the crowd. “Zeus, I haven’t asked you for much in my life. But please, please let him sing a show tune.”
Brenden’s grin was all gums, as though his teeth had been filed to small nubs. “We appreciate everyone who made an effort to be here with us on this special day. All the friends, and family who came from out of state. Even you, cousin Dale. Or should I say, he who should not be named.”
Even the inside jokes were not landing. Brenden began to sweat, tugging nervously at the collar of his white shirt, which had a slight orange tint where his fake tan had rubbed off.
“And most especially the members of Big Treble in Little China, my acapella group from college over at table fifteen. Standup, fellas.” A table of heavy-set men, unaware of how far past their prime they were, stood waving to the crowd, soaking up the attention like a toddler on their birthday. “Let’s hear it for Big Bill, Squib, Dingle, Medium Bill, Hayfever, Unibrow, Dollface, Little Bill, Poindexter, Scrimshaw, Piss-pants, and of course, Double Dan. You will be hearing more from them later in the program.”
“Praise Zeus!” Charlie shouted, causing a momentary look of confusion from Brenden before he continued. “But before all of that, we have asked Samantha, the beautiful daughter of my blushing bride, to say a few words.”
Sam stood, smiling in a way that, quite frankly, terrified Nate and Charlie.
“That’s not good,” Nate said.
“I’ve never been so excited and scared in my whole life,” Charlie said, as Sam took the microphone from the scarecrow that was her new step-father.
“Thank you, Brenden, for that wonderful introduction,” she began. “Before I get too far into my speech, I would first like to start with a public service announcement. Aunt Deb, are you here?” Sam scanned the crowed for the meaty arm her least-favorite Aunt raised. “Could you stand up, please?”
Aunt Deb stood, slightly embarrassed, but grinning from ear to ear, holding her six-week-old baby who looked like a bitter old man. “Aunt Deb, if you could please stop telling me your newborn’s weight and length every time we talk, that would be wonderful. You have told me on at least three separate occasions today alone, and frankly, I don’t know what to do with that information.”
Aunt Deb laughed nervously, before sitting back down. “I also wanted to congratulate my Aunt Fran, who I just found out is expecting a new baby any day now. And here I thought you were just fat.”
Aunt Fran blushed an ugly shade of purple. “We’re adopting, actually.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “So I was right then. The only reason you haven’t eaten your phone is because it’s an Apple.” The tension in the room was thick enough to taste. “Still puzzled why all Americans seem to eat like they have free healthcare.”
After a pause, she continued:
“I looked up advice on how to start a wedding toast, and found that universally, this was considered the best way. So here goes. Webster’s Dictionary defines Brenden as: not my real dad and never will be.” More skittish laughter.
“When I first met Brenden, I was, like I’m sure many of you here were, impressed by him.” Brenden grinned broadly. You could practically hear his tiny teeth grinding. “It takes a special kind of confidence to pick your nose and wipe it under the table of the chain Italian restaurant you’re eating at on a first date.
“Soon Brenden went everywhere with my mother and I. Movies, dinners, all of the quiet times I used to enjoy with my mother ceased being solitary activities. Not that I minded. With Brenden around, everyone near him is bound to appear more clever, beautiful, and charming. There is a power in contrast.”
Sam gazed at her Mom, kindness cracking through the sarcastic facade for a moment.
“Mom, I love you. You’re funny, and beautiful, and kind, and any man would be lucky to have you in his life. I know it hurt when dad left.” Her mom covered her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes. “But I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, I never blamed you. I’m old enough to understand how relationships can fall apart. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it’s not your fault.”
Her mom nodded as a tear slide down her cheek. Sam turned back to the crowd.
“You see, my mom is my hero. I love my dad, but he hasn’t always been a reliable guy. But my mom has always been my rock. And Brenden, well, what can I say about Brenden. He is also here.”
There was a long pause, and Nate and Charlie stifled their laughter as best they could.
“Brenden, I’m just so glad you finally found someone with low enough self-esteem to marry you.” There were several gasps, which only encouraged Sam to go harder. “Let’s be honest. Brenden is no prize pig. Brenden is so boring he thinks mayo is too spicy. I once saw Brenden without a shirt on, and he’s so skinny his nipples actually touch. Brenden once told me he’s a lover, not a fighter. I’m sure you’ve all heard his catch phrase before.”
There were nods of ascent, and some claps.
“But I think that’s because Brenden realized he can’t punch loneliness.”
Brenden stared daggers at her, before noticing the crowd watching him. He relaxed, pretending to be in on the joke, straining to laugh in a naturalistic way.
“I always thought Brenden looked a bit like a marionette, who came to life in order to become a sex offender.”
The wait staff began to disseminate cake. Charlie took two pieces, and began to take bites far too big for his mouth. One of the massive chunks fell off his fork to the floor, and before he could snatch it, one of the Roombas sucked the mess up.
Charlie sat back up, staring intently at the robot. “This is how the war with the machines begins.”
“But I have no doubt Brenden loves my mom,” Sam continued. “How could he not, given how far out of his league she is. He even invited himself along on her bachelorette party. Because obviously, why would a woman want to go anywhere if there were no men to judge and control her?”
“Okay, thanks, Sam, let’s wrap this up,” Brenden said through his teeth.
“You got it, Brenden. I know Nietzsche wishes God was alive to see this day, the day my mom slummed so hard that several of us considered an intervention.”
Two of the bridesmaids whooped loudly at this. “And now we know who my mom’s real friends are.” She reached down and picked up her glass of ginger ale. “So I’d like to propose a toast, to the new couple. Brenden, you may have the build and gray skin of a methamphetamine addict, but for reasons that remain a complete mystery to everyone here, you seem to make my mom happy.”
Her mom smiled, and reached out to take Brenden’s hand. His glare finally broke as he beamed at his bride. “I hope that the two of you are able to make something more than a meth house. I hope you can make a meth home. Cheers, everyone,” she said, before taking a gulp of her drink. The crowd replied in unison, and followed suit.
Before she handed the microphone back to Brenden, Sam said “Oh, and Brenden, if you ever hurt my mom, I know where you sleep, and I will cut your balls off.”
Brenden initially laughed, but the smile faded into an expression of real fear as he accepted the microphone. Sam smiled so maniacally at him that Nate and Charlie thought she might actually stab a fork into his eye.
Sam sat down without so much as a sideways glance his way, her face beaming. She looked over at her friends who were red-faced with suppressed laughter, both giving her the thumbs up.
Brenden cleared his throat. “Well, uh, that was something, wasn’t it? Now you can see why, on a dazzling day like today, she’s usually busy pretending the basement is Mordor or Game of Thrones or something equally heartbreaking.”
Diane’s mouth pulled tight.
“So, let’s hear it for Sam,” Brenden said, as a smattering of applause fluttered through the room. “She did the best she could. And now we’ll hear a few words from my best man, Skid-mark Scott…”
#
Sam’s flashlight led the way up the crooked path that cut through the thick underbrush, carefully avoiding the roots and brambles that Charlie and Nate repeatedly got tangled in. They had been walking for about twenty minutes, their legs still stiff from the long drive north to the Iron Range.
“Where is this place?” Charlie grumbled after stubbing his toe for a fifth time. He was sweating profusely from the effort of carrying both his backpack and their cooler full of food. He could see his breath fog and twirl in the rapidly cooling night air. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Not much further,” Sam said. “I think…”
Nate and Charlie continued to grumble. An early fall freeze had killed most of the mosquitoes, but there were certain to be numerous wood ticks they’d have to remove before going to sleep.
The brushwood gave way to an immense, old-growth forest, with white and red pine trees too thick to put your arms around. The trail became easier to follow, although Charlie kept a wary eye out for poison ivy.
Sam stopped for a moment, shining her light down at the map she had been consulting every five minutes or so. “Maybe another half-mile.”
Nate moaned. His back ached as he shifted the weight of their tent in his arms. Sam was the only one unbothered by the hike, though it didn’t hurt that she only had her backpack to contend with. A fat june bug buzzed out of the darkness past Sam’s head, and crashed straight into Charlie’s neck.
Charlie screamed, his voice shifting to a register so high a blind person might have thought someone was murdering a five-year-old girl. He dropped the cooler, which thumped heavily to the damp ground, and began flailing his arms wildly as the bug’s sharp legs tangled with his hair.
Nate and Sam watched, bemused, as he ran in a circle, tripping and stumbling over vegetation until he finally crashed into a heap on the hard ground. The bug finally freed itself, and skittered off into the darkness.
Charlie slowly stood, brushing the dry pine needles and dirt from his legs, trying to slow his heavy breathing. He finally noticed his friend’s stares.
“You, uh… okay there, Charlie?” Nate asked with a wry smile.
“I hate bugs,” Charlie muttered as he stooped over to pick up the cooler that had thankfully not opened during his undignified panic. He shuddered at the memory of the scraggily legs touching his soft flesh. “I don’t trust anything that wears its skeleton on the outside.”
“But you love lobster,” Sam said.
“Yeah, that doesn’t mean I want one as my best friend, even if he does sing catchy but racially questionable songs.”
“I’ve always wondered how the Little Mermaid decides which animals are her friends, and which ones are her bra,” Sam said, as they resumed their journey, dry branches and leaves crunching under their feet.
Normally, Nate would have laughed at her joke, but he was out of breath. His ego would never permit him to ask for a break. But even in the dim light, Sam could see his flushed cheeks. “You doing okay there, Nate?”
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
“Have you ever thought about, you know, jogging or something?”
“I can’t think of a more pointless hobby. Surely people who run have to know that humans aren’t food anymore, right?”
They began to clamber up a steep hill. Rocky outcroppings covered in green and ruddy moss jutted out of the ground to either side. Nate was light headed, and Charlie was fairing no better as he sucked down a helping of bitter asthma medicine. At the crest of the hill, they finally came to a small clearing on a stone shelf that overlooked a silver lake.
The stars and moon were out in full force, the glittering lights reflected perfectly on the glass-like surface of the lake, as if the placid water were simply another portal to the heavens. Without a word, the three friends made their way carefully down the steep slope to the campsite.
In the center of the clearing was a fire pit, the stone ring stained black from countless bonfires it had housed. On either side, two logs had been set as makeshift benches. The ground was covered in dried pine needles and rust colored dirt. Their footsteps were the only sounds cutting through the eerie silence as they set their bags down. The sickly sweet perfume of the pine forest hung thick in the crisp night air.
Nate began to setup the tent while Sam and Charlie collected wood, sticks, and some loose birch bark for a fire. Several shooting stars arced brightly through the night sky. Sam popped open the cooler and tossed a water to Nate, who after bobbling it for a moment, drank it greedily.
Charlie began to construct the foundation of their bonfire, carefully layering small twigs and branches in the center, while stacking larger pieces of wood in a log cabin shape around it.
“Are you guys still playing SplatterBots?” Sam asked as she poured a can of beef stew into a heavy metal pot.
“That’s a bit of a sore subject,” Nate said.
“Why?”
“Charlie, uh… he had a bit of a meltdown, and swore off video games forever.”
“Oh. Again?”
Nate nodded.
Charlie didn’t look up at either of him as he worked. “I just got tired of being so good at the game, you know? There were so many uncoordinated dorks.”
“So anyone worse than you is an uncoordinated dork?” Sam asked.
“That is correct.”
“What about people who beat you?”
“They’re sad losers who have nothing better to do than play video games all day.”
Sam thought for a moment. “So then-“
“Yes. I am exactly the correct amount of good at video games.”
He brushed the dust from the palm of his hands, flexing his fingers that had stiffened in the cool night air. “Who has the matches?”
“Nate?” Sam said, turning to her friend.
“I brought the tent.”
“You didn’t bring any, Charlie?” Sam asked. He shook his head. “Great! So who’s going to hike back to the car and drive to the closest gas station?”
Nobody was particularly enthused by the idea.
“Charlie, weren’t you in Boy Scouts?” Nate asked. “Can’t you start a fire with like, two twigs or something?”
Charlie sighed. “That takes forever. Did either of you bring a first aid kit?”
Sam dug in her pack and pulled out a sizable red bag with a white cross on it. “I’ve known Charlie long enough to realize that he will hurt himself at some point this weekend.”
Charlie rifled through the contents, finally pulling out a small bottle of tiny metal filings, his face victorious. He looked at Sam seductively. “Give me some sugar, baby.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious, did we bring any sugar?”
Sam dug through the cooler and handed a tupperware of sugar to Charlie. “Don’t use it all, I’m making cobbler tomorrow.”
After scanning the ground for a suitable flat rock, Charlie knelt in front of his miniature log cabin, placed the rock in the center, and sprinkled a tablespoon of sugar onto the stone. He then opened the small bottle and poured roughly the same amount of the metal granules onto the rock.
“What is that?” Nate asked as he watched over Charlie’s shoulder.
“Potassium Permanganate,” he answered as he gently mixed it with the sugar using his pocket knife. “It’s a disinfectant and used to treat fungal infections.”
He then grabbed a thick branch, and pressed the stub into the mixture. Winking at his friends, he pressed hard with a twisting motion and, within a few scant seconds the mixture sizzled briefly before bursting into flame. He tossed the stick aside, and began to feed the fire small sticks and leaves.
“Where did you learn that?” Sam asked, attempting to mask how impressed she was.
“Was I the only one paying attention in Chemistry?” he asked as the fire picked up steam, quickly growing to a full blaze.
“I got an A in chemistry, and I don’t remember how to start fires in the woods with random supplies being on the curriculum,” Nate said, warming his hands all the same.
“Then you were doing it wrong,” Charlie said. “Thanks to Mr. Porter, I know how to make napalm, gun powder, and pipe bombs.”
“How does he still have a job?” Sam asked, as she poked at the fire with a random stick. As the tip caught fire, she began to swing the stick, drawing lines and shapes in the air with the glowing orange embers.
“Before I forget, Nate, your half of the food supplies comes to fifteen bucks,” Charlie said as the fire popped and crackled.
“But I’m the one who paid for them!”
“Yeah, but you didn’t get anything from my list.”
“We’re camping Charlie, we’re not going to make spaetzle.”
“Then what’s the point? Just kill me now.”
Sam smirked as she set the pot of stew into the outer edge of coals that had formed. Charlie slid another log carefully into the flames, making sure not to disturb their meal.
Sam sat on the log between her friends, and pulled out her phone. Nate was keenly aware of the warmth of her body as she put her arm around him.
“Smile,” she said, as they all made awkward faces. She snapped a couple of photos, and began to examine them.
“You know, I think I finally figured out why I look so bad in photos,” Charlie said.
“Because of your face?” Nate said.
“No. It’s because-“
“Because of your pubic hair chin beard?”
“No, it’s-“
Sam interrupted his thought. “I’ve always wondered why you look surprised in all your selfies. Did you not know you were taking your own picture?”
Charlie sighed. “Sam, your shoes are untied again.”
Sam, for some reason or another, was practically helpless when it came to dressing herself. She claimed she had never learned to tie her shoes, although her friends suspected this was merely an attention-seeking affectation.
“Tying your shoes is more of a suggestion. Like self-esteem or underwear,” she answered as she sat back in her spot opposite her friends. “Are we going to play tonight?”
Nate shrugged. “Didn’t you say you had a surprise for us?”
Sam’s eyes bulged. “I almost forgot!” she squealed in glee as she dug into her backpack. “Brenden has been trying to buy his way into my good graces. First I asked for a unicorn-”
“Sam, we’ve been over this,” Charlie said. “Unicorns aren’t real. That was just a regular horse that you kissed.”
“-and I managed to convince him to get me this.”
She withdrew an ancient-looking book, bound in cracked leather. Nate thought that the browned and curled pages would turn to dust when she slowly pulled it open. The binding dryly creaked in protest.
“What is it?” Charlie said, his eyes filled with wonder as she passed the book over to him. It was heavy, and you could feel the age of it. There were strange characters and diagrams sketched in black ink. Some of the lettering appeared to be Arabic, some Hebrew, and some Latin, as though through the years different owners had added their notes and thoughts to the inscriptions.
“An ancient copy of the Clavicula Salomonis,” Sam answered. “At least according to the person I bought it from on the internet.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Charlie said as he gingerly turned the page. On it was a gruesome drawing which, if it did not actually date to the dark ages, did an incredible job aping the artistic style.
It showed a man, his four limbs stretched and tied to horses that were pulling in each direction, while a robed figure held a curved, ceremonial dagger that glowed an eerie blue high over his head, ready to plunge it into the man’s chest.
In the sky, a broken moon hung, as if it had been exploded into fragments. The starry sky was menacing. Charlie couldn’t explain it, but it was as if there was something malevolent in the dark between the stars, something hungry. An involuntary shudder ran up his spine as he handed the book to Nate.
“This must have cost a fortune,” Nate said as he flipped through the pages.
Sam nodded. “It’s supposed to be a real spell book. One that was passed down from court wizards and cultists over the years. The seller even said Aleister Crowley once owned it, but one of his apprentices realized it was an authentic copy and stole it.”
Nate snorted. “Seems likely. And then they sold it to some random teenaged girl.”
She smirked. “It’s probably a fake, but it’s still pretty dang cool.”
“Agreed,” said Charlie.
Sam flipped through the book until a particular diagram caught her attention. “Should we try one?” she asked, her finger tracing the strange shapes on the page.
“One what?” Nate asked.
“A spell.”
Charlie laughed. “Don’t be stupid. Spells aren’t a thing.”
Sam shrugged. The strange words pulled at her, like the letters tugged at her throat, urging her to read. Her eyes glazed. Charlie and Nate exchanged a concerned glance as her lips began to move, her voice a whisper as she read.
“Ch'yar ul'nyar shaggornyth Iä Behalah cf'ayak'vulgtmm, vugtlagln vulgtmm,” Her voice grew louder.
“Uh, Sam?” Nate said tentatively. If she heard him, he saw no indication. Her voice grew stronger as she read, and the trees around them began to sway and move as if a violent wind had picked up, although neither Charlie nor Nate could feel a wind in the still night air.
The shadows grew as Sam read, as if they were pressing in on their fire. The light of the stars intensified even as the light of fire dwindled. Nate’s ears popped as the atmosphere became thicker, more oppressive and heavy somehow.
“Sam, I think you should maybe stop,” Charlie said nervously. He acutely felt the inexplicable corruption that he’d sensed in the drawing all around them.
Still, she continued, her voice thick and throaty. “Behalah cf'tagn glw'nafh fhthagn-ngah cf'ayak 'vulgtmm vugtlag’n.”
Nate glanced at Charlie, his lips suddenly dry. “This is fine, right?” he asked nervously. “She’s just messing with us?”
Charlie, not wanting to be the first to panic, shrugged as nonchalantly as his terrified body would allow.
Sam’s voice reached a fevered pitch. “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Behalah n'gha-ghaa naf'lthagn.” She then screamed as the book burst into flames.
Charlie and Nate both jumped to their feet. Charlie, thinking quickly, grabbed a stick and slapped the book out of her hand, knocking it into the fire.
Nate grabbed Sam as she collapsed, catching her as she slumped to the ground, his hand inadvertently grabbing her left boob.
“Nice,” Charlie said, grinning. Nate quickly removed his hand, blushing a deep red. Sam blinked heavily, shaking her head as if waking from a long nap.
“Did Charlie touch my boob again?” she said weakly, causing Nate to laugh.
“No, that was me. Sorry. You blacked out or something.”
Sam slowly pulled herself up. Leaning over, her mouth began to water in the horrible way it does when you’re about to vomit. She swallowed hard, and spit onto the ground.
“So, uh… that was weird. Right?” Charlie said.
“Yeah,” was all Sam replied. Nate grabbed her a bottle of water from the cooler and handed it to her, which she took gratefully and sipped. The color slowly returned to her face. She saw the book burning in the fire.
“Well that sucks,” she said.
“Sorry, it, uh, caught fire in your hands. I was worried you’d get burned,” Charlie said sheepishly.
She examined her hands for injury, but, seeing none, shrugged as she took another drink of water. “Probably for the best. That was…” she trailed off.
“Yeah,” Nate and Charlie said in unison.
Sam smirked at them. Her eyes widened as she stared skyward. “Was that there before?”
Sam and Charlie turned to follow her gaze. A bright spot of light had appeared in the night sky to the west. Its color was difficult to pin down; it seemed to shift between deep purple and green.
“I don’t think so,” Nate said softly. The light was growing in intensity, and was moving, leaving a trail of sparkling light that streaked and curled behind it like a comet. The colors shifted again, displaying bright bands of light unlike any of the known colors in the spectrum.
The light intensified as several smaller pieces cracked off of the main body, spiraling out in fractal patterns. The three friends were speechless as they watched. It was horrifying and beautiful at the same time.
Charlie was the one who finally broke their stunned silence. “Guys…” he muttered, as the light grew more intense. “Guys, I think that’s a meteor.”
“What color is that?” Sam asked, her voice trembling. She received no answer.
“Guys,” Charlie repeated. “I think it’s heading straight for us.”
The friends began to panic as a loud sizzling noise rent the air. The light split into a thousand pieces, and filled half of the night sky. The crack of the explosion, though delayed, was immense, and the three friends began to scream, clinging to each other as a shockwave blasted them to the ground.
Trees began to collapse around them as the ground danced drunkenly under their feet. The air filled with the sound of thunder as rocks were rent. It felt as though the earth itself was going to split open. As Nate stared into the terrified faces of his friends, he realized that though their mouths were open he could no longer hear their screams over the chaotic roar enveloped them.
The light expanded until his entire field of vision was filled with the searing, indescribable color, if it could even be called a color by anything other than metaphor. The inside of his head erupted in pain, like giant claws were scraping against the inside of his skull, leaving long grooves in the bone.
The blistering light was the last thing any of them remembered before they collapsed into the stygian darkness of unconsciousness.