Thursday—it was a day just like any other for most, but for Andy, time was ticking, and the days seemed to be blowing by. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, now Thursday—Andy only had until Sunday before the moon was full and his humanity was lost—yet here he was, sleeping in bed, totally exhausted and blissful in his slumber. Some days, despite the painful hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat, he felt as though he could sleep forever. Ah, but such things were not meant to last forever—before the boy could get a wink more of rest that morning, he was rudely awoken by aggressive rapping on the front door. Before he could even style his hair or slip out of his jammies, the boy made his way to the front door, dreading who could possibly be knocking at this hour—especially after all the trouble he’d gotten himself into—and sure enough, as soon as he opened the front door…

A familiar serpentine shape filled the doorframe.

“Hello, Mr. Kessler.” Hudson spoke without his usual lackadaisical cadence and had jumped right to a voice of stern authority—the boy only had to make an educated guess of what this was about.

“...Mr. Hudson,” Andy greeted with a sweat. “Could I help ya with somethin’?”

Hudson raised a brow and entered the home, nearly pushing the boy out of his way as he slithered inside. Andy hesitated to say anything more, just following the man inside toward the dining room. There, Hudson began to tap his fingers on the kitchen table, beckoning the boy closer.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Kessler?”

Gulp. Andy did as instructed, and scooted onto one of the chairs, feeling much smaller before the giant than he ever had before. His head kept hanging low. Hudson, on the other side of the table, remained standing tall over the boy. The light reflected brightly off his glasses. The silence was deafening—and every time Andy felt it was about to break, it only got quieter. The moment the man began to speak, it was like the loudest hiss he’d ever heard.

“So, Mr. Kessler,” Hudson’s voice boomed. “Meet anybody interesting lately?”

The question rattled around back and forth in Andy’s mind, like a screensaver that bounces from corner to corner. The boy could hear the beads of sweat dripping from off his face and onto the table. Staring at his feet, he did his best to shake his head.

“Not a whole lot, sir. I ain’t really a people person.”

“Really? Is that right? You haven’t been gettin’ involved with the wrong crowd, I take it? Haven’t been nosin’ around with a couple of hooligans right off the bat? Gettin’ into places where you don’t belong?”

“Sir, I—”

Hudson slapped his palm hard on the table.

“I gave you this home, Andy Kessler, and I gave it out of goodwill—so for you to go and immediately squander that trust? For you to deliberately go out of your way, to break into my office, to stir up trouble in my town? Why, I ought to serve you right up to the Order on a silver platter.”

The dishes seemed to rattle with Hudson’s slap, the ground shaking just a bit, causing Andy to jolt and tremble.

“Well boy? You got somethin’ to say for yourself?”

Despite this overwhelming sensation of fear welling up inside of him, however, something else began to build up inside. Resentment? Rage? He debated whether or not he should bite back, considering the woeful tale of his predecessor—but the urge became stronger and stronger as the man continued with his patronizing tone.

“I think,” Andy started, going over the words in his head once or twice before he said them, confidence rising with his boiling blood. “...I think you’re a rotten bastard, Mr. Hudson!”

Hudson’s eyes widened behind his glaring specs. His forked tongue furiously lapped at the air, the man stalling in anticipation for whatever Andy had to say next.

“I mean, where do you get off, hidin’ somethin’ like that? You really weren’t gonna let me have one inch of closure? I think I deserve to know that man lives here, that he’s walkin’ free by your orders! You don’t think I deserve to know that? What, just because he’s some big head honcho in your fancy Boy Scouts troop?”

“...Are you finished?” Hudson asked with a tinge of venom.

“Screw you.” Andy replied, his bite not quite as filtered.

“Alright, then. We’ve both done something we ain’t too proud of. Is that it?”

Andy shook his head. “This ain’t nearly on the same level.”

Hudson sighs, tapping his fingers on the table, rubbing his aching head. Andy watches as the man’s face contorts through various stages of frustration, ultimately culminating in a cool, albeit strained acceptance.

“Now listen, son,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Mr. Kessler. Please. I know this seems like some…cruel joke. I know you’re probably real hurt right now wonderin’, why oh why, would Mr. Hudson keep such a thing from me? The fact is, I’m doin’ the best I can right now to try an’ keep everyone happy. What we have here, it’s a very delicate situation, and, say, if word were to get out, it could truly spell the end of us. Now, I know that seems heartless, but…we’re really treading a thin line here. I can’t go havin’ one of our only capable leaders thrown into prison, causin’ moral outrage and the public to panic. I can’t have these good citizens here, doubtin’ their one line of defense. Every day, those damned hunters get closer and closer to our home.”

Andy scowled. “I don’t care. Your ‘capable leader’ hurt my mom.”

“I understand why you’re angry with me, Mr. Kessler,” Hudson says with a sigh. “But I urge you to consider what I’ve said.”

“Why should I trust a word of what you say?”

Hudson throws up one hand, shrugging his shoulders.

“Ain’t sure,” He said. “But I am the one payin’ your rent. Remember that the next time you’re thinkin’ of breakin’ into my office. I’ve got my eye on you.”

After his little outburst, Andy’s face turned back toward the floor. Before long, he steps off his seat and goes to grab his bookbag—although Hudson beckoned him back to the table with a hiss.

“It’s lawn day.”

“What?”

“Don’t forget to mow the lawn. There’s a mower in the shed.”

Right. His chores. Even as a runaway there was no escaping the grind. After Andy acknowledged Hudson with a sway of his head toward the outside, Hudson followed suit, pointing the boy in the direction of the shed before straightening his tie and boarding Merryweather, who was parked just outside by the docks. Upon his wormy steed, Hudson gave a wave and flashed a fake smile.

“Au revoir, Mr. Kessler!” Hudson called, departing. “And don’t forget—next time you pull a stunt like that, you’ll be spending your night behind bars.”

Finally, Andy could roll his eyes with confidence, the man’s suffocating presence was far enough away. Who did he think he was? His appearance didn’t betray him, Hudson was just as slimy as you’d expect.

Andy felt a sour lump curl in his gut, churning with rage. With a weary sigh, the boy trudged to the back of the house, the sodden grass squishing beneath his worn out sandals. The smell of damp earth was comforting—it reminded him of home. He loved anything that reminded him of home.

Hmmm. The mower beckoned, the boy’s worker-bee mind stimulated, fingers itching to yank on the ignition and get a whiff of that familiar smell. Anything to distract him from these feelings of frustration he was having—even if that something was to the benefit of the man who just berated him. That may have killed his motivation just a bit, but just as quickly had it been reinvigorated by the hot water he’d been stewing in. This might have been the only chance at a home he could get at this point, and darn if he wasn’t going to throw all that away over…hurt feelings. Any other kid might have shirked their chores after getting an earful from Hudson, but nose to the grindstone, Andy figured, if he had to eat a frog, he might as well do it first thing in the morning. Get all the unpleasantries out of the way first.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Opening the shed doors and spotting the mower, Andy pulled it out and got to looking for the ignition. There’s the ripcord—maybe he could try to start it dry. One, two, three, rububBROOOOUUU! The mower’s motors whirred to life and sang a song akin to cicadas screeching in the arid summer, that homely scent of gasoline and stale grass quickly filling the air. Now this was something he could get used to—no magic, no tomfoolery, just a nice and simple gas-powered engine. Walking the mower off of the concrete base and into the grass, the boy mowed, and mowed, and mowed…he mowed until every last patch in that yard was spotless, evenly trimmed and dandelion-free. The chore gave him some time to think, reflect on the days, what his plan was for the future.

Three days. How was he gonna fix this in three days?

He had a lot of time to consider the question, but no line of thinking on the matter seemed to bring him anywhere closer to a satisfying conclusion. Maybe it was something he’d have to take to his new friends—so long as they weren’t gonna be more trouble than it was worth.

Heck, though, knowing Hudson, this whole notion was just one big dangerous line of thinking. If he found out about Andy’s continuing ruminations, hoh, boy. He didn’t know what the stigma was behind getting his cure, but he sure didn’t like the prospect of a prison cell.

Was all of this even worth it?

The thought lingered while the boy wheeled the purring motor toward the shed. Just past the hour of noon, Andy went inside and gathered his things, placing them all in his bookbag. A few notebooks, some pencils, a ham sandwich for lunch…everything set and put in its proper place, the last thing he was sure to do was spray his pale legs down with the last of his sunscreen. Just a few days in, he’d already made a bit of a mental map of the town, and following Vick’s prior directions, Andy strode his way down the dirt road and onto the pavement of the walkable city streets.

Taking a few familiar corners here and there, following the striking iconography of the town and its various landmarks, it was not long before the derelict building came into view. Rather than the quiet corner it appeared to be the other day, however, this time the building was surrounded on all sides by Ranger Scouts and curious onlookers. Andy tried to squeeze his way past the crowd of monster folk, wriggling past a few odd fins and scales, holding his backpack tight. The crowd seemed the most congested just in front of the entrance, where a small kerfuffle was going on—it appeared as though Balrog had come down from the mountaintop to personally escort Vick’s entire printing press out the door. Of course, just at the giant Orc’s waistline, the scrawny Vampire kid did his best to push back.

“This..is..a violation..of free speech!” Vick cried out as he pushed against Balrog’s weight. The Orc snorted and lifted a leg, knocking the boy right out of his way, and continued to stride toward the crowd. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Balrog parted the crowd of onlookers with each thundering step he took—nobody wanted to stand in his way for long.

The crowd and the Rangers began to dissipate after the scene was over. Vick, coughing, picked himself off the ground. Dusting himself off, looking as though he was just about to go for round two, he suddenly spotted Andy. As if he didn’t look angry enough, the sight of his pompadour’d peer made Vick’s blueish face ripe-red with rage.

“You..!” He growled, stepping toward Andy, jabbing a claw into the boy’s chest. “This is all your fault!”

Andy stumbled back from Vick's jab, his hands raised defensively. "Woah, hey! I didn’t do anything!"

"Like hell you didn't!" Vick snarled. "You had to just go up there and run your mouth! Well, I hope you're happy now!"

"Look, I'm sorry about your doohickey, but I swear, I didn't mean fer nothin’ to happen," Andy stuttered. “What...is happenin’, anyways?”

The Vampire began to pace back and forth, hands raking through his slick hair in agitation. His lips trembled a bit, eyes shooting to the ground. He seemed a bit embarrassed all of a sudden, his fangs grinding behind his pursed lips.

“…I wrote an article about Butcher attacking you.”

“You what?”

Vick rubbed his face. “I thought it was just empty threats! I didn’t think those psychos would actually come and take my press away. Honestly I’m…surprised how fast they caught on,” He furrowed his brows. “This has got to be in violation of…of something! But I can’t exactly call the Rangers about it.”

Andy huffed and shook his head, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his skull.

"An article? Vick, what were you thinkin'?”

"I know, I know," Vick groaned as he paced. "But the people deserve to know the truth!" He kicked a pebble in frustration, sending it skipping across the pavement. Andy’s shoulders slumped.

"Look, I get it, but pissin' off Hudson and his Rangers ain't gonna help nobody, least of all me."

"So what, we just let them sweep it under the rug?”

Andy threw up his hands. “Maybe! Just for a little while, at least.”

"No—no way! I can't let them walk all over us like that!”

Andy sighed, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. He looked at Vick’s expression, the determination in his eyes. Even if he did have a knack for stirring up trouble, there was something about it that inspired him.

"Alright," Andy conceded. "We don’t stay silent. But we gotta be smart about how we go about it.”

"And how do we do that?" Vick asked.

"Well, first off," Andy began, scratching his head, "We gotta gather evidence. Proof that somethin' fishy's goin' on here."

Vick raised a skeptical brow. "I highly doubt Hudson would leave any incriminating evidence lying around for us to find. He’s probably already thrown everything in the shredder.” He donked himself in the head. “Ugh. I should’ve taken a picture.”

“I dunno. There’s gotta be somethin’. Think.”

Ding ding. As if on cue, the two heard the bell of a bicycle as Cici rode up. Her bike skidding to a halt, she climbed off, head tilting.

“Hey guys. What’s going on?”

“Hudson stole our press.” Vick groaned.

“He did?! Crazy. Wanna go egg his house?”

Vick pursed his lips. “Nah, he’d know right away it was us. Andy thinks we should go with something more subtle.”

Cici blew raspberries.

“Hey, look where not bein’ subtle got us,” Andy said. “I think this whole fiasco with shutting down the press is a good start. No doubt folks’re gonna be talkin’ about it an’ askin’ why. You’ve already got ‘em talkin’ with your article, Vick. Just keep stirrin’ the pot. Eventually we’re gonna find somethin’ to pin Butcher and the Rangers to a wall—we can’t underestimate the power of the people, ya know?”

"But like I said earlier, Hudson wouldn't leave anything incriminating around. He's not stupid." Vick said.

"Maybe not, but he's not infallible." Cici chimed in. "There’s always a paper trail somewhere."

Andy nodded. "Exactly. We just need to find it."

"And risk getting into hotter water?" Vick asked, incredulously. Andy raised a brow. Was this what he always sounded like?

"We'll just have to be more careful this time," Andy said. “And not go runnin’ our mouths prematurely.”

"The first step is to figure out where we should start looking," Cici said. "Do we have any leads?"

Andy pursed his lips thoughtfully. One idea rose to the surface, although he loathed to acknowledge this one in particular.

“What about Butch’s place?

"No offense," Vick began, his tone skeptical. "But Butch’s place? Butch ‘the Butcher’ Davis? Seriously, do you have a death wish?"

“Maybe,” Andy shrugged. "I dunno. Sometimes you just gotta risk it for the biscuit."

How corny. Vick recoiled as if he’d been physically struck. Cici straddled her bike as she tipped her head back in laughter.

"Andy's right though," she said once she'd caught her breath, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her handlebars. “This could be our last shot—what if we documented a trip to Butcher’s? Caught his guilty ass on camera?”

“He’d smash the camera, is what would happen.”

“Hey now,” Andy snapped his fingers in front of Vick’s face, catching his attention. “You’re the one who set me on this path, don’t you go backin’ out now. Are you gonna let these guys get away with this, or not?”

Vick groaned. “I thought the plan was being subtle.”

“It is still, I think. Not illegal to go to someone’s house, is it?”

"No, but I'd imagine it's pretty illegal to break in," Vick replied, massaging his temples as if he could physically rub away his migraine.

"Who said anything about breaking in?" Cici interjected. "We're just doing some investigative journalism, right?”

“Right. I don’t reckon they’d arrest us just for that.” Andy said.

“Alright,” Vick nodded a few times as he peeled his hand away from his face. “Say we won’t get in trouble. Do either of you even know where this guy lives?”

Andy and Cici looked at each other, the both of them shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads. The Vampire groaned again. He had a feeling that he was never going to get anywhere with these two. Still, something was ticking away in that brain of his, a vague idea of what they could do to remedy their situation.

“Alright…if any place’s gonna have records on the Ranger encampments, it's gonna be city hall. They’ve got loads of records and blueprints just filed away. Entire city history is in there—it’s gotta give us some clue of where to start.”

“Good thinkin’,” Andy nodded, as he turned toward the foreboding building in the distance, its stained-glass gaze glaring at them from afar. “...Do you think they’re gonna let us in though?”

“...Maybe not me, but I’d say they might be willing to listen to you.” Vick replied.

“Why’s that?”

The Vampire smirked coyly. “You’ve got that look about you—goody two-shoes kid that was just too soft-spoken to say no. I’m sure they’d listen if you can play the part.”

Andy stared forward with a vacant expression, Vick raising a brow. He tapped the boy’s shoulder with the backs of his knuckles.

“Jeez, lighten up, will you?” He said, Andy responding with a ‘myeh.’ “Look, all I’m saying is it’s worth a shot. They’re way more likely to trust you than me.”

Andy scuffed his heel against the ground. The idea of him snooping around wasn’t particularly appealing, but time wasn’t exactly a luxury they could afford. If they had a way in, they had to take it. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next. The city's secrets felt like those sharp claws sinking into his shoulders—an uncomfortable itch he couldn't ignore.

"Alright. I'll do it."

Vick clapped Andy on the shoulder in celebration. The boy flinched.

"That's the spirit!" The Vampire cheered, though Andy raised a finger.

“Hold it. What exactly am I gonna be lookin’ for? I don’t wanna spend any more than a few hours on this.”

“Don’t worry,” Vick slung his arm over Andy’s shoulder as they walked. “I’ll fill you in along the way.”