Translated from French to English - www.onlinedoctranslator.

com
 Before you start
Mine is Needy. Let's just call it my nickname. Kind of like
Barbie or Betty. My real name is Anita but it's been years
since anyone used that. Jennifer always called me Needy
for short so it stuck.

To drag a name like that1didn't foreshadow anything

about my destiny, or what happened, as one might too
easily believe. I don't feel like I ever needed anything...
well, I did, revenge. Yeah, a good revenge is always cool.

1. In English: in need. Literally: in need. (NdT)

But for now, I'm just sitting stupidly in my room - well, my cell
- and my only occupation is twisting orange wool around two
hoops of rush before tying them to make a pompom like in
primary school. I have to admit that in seventeen years, I
haven't made much progress in basket weaving.

But then, there aren't many distractions either. Just a bed

with a pillow and a rough blanket, a dresser with two
drawers, and a barred window. No point looking outside; I
already know there's a six-foot fence topped with barbed
wire. It's not really a prison; let's call it a reformatory, like a
more or less secure asylum. They pump you full of meds and
if you mess up, they throw you in the hole. As they say in the
press, I'm at "Leech Lake Correctional Hospital for Women:
Leech Lake!" And yes, it's aptly named. What a pain.

When I can't stand going around in circles anymore, I read my

mail. I get tons of it: letters, packages, pictures, underwear. I
think I get more than Santa Claus and Zac.
Efron reunited.

Other than that, I'm not in trouble.

Sometimes people write to me that they are praying for me. They tell
me that everything will be okay if I just accept Jesus into my heart. I
try to pray out loud but it doesn't work. No one has ever come back.
No one has come down from the cross. I don't know... maybe I should
have gone to church when I was little.

Sometimes I get gifts from losers who saw my face in the paper
and want to marry me or something. They think they can get
me out of this ordeal. As if I were going to date a perverted
pedophile! That idea. I may be crazy but I'm not that desperate.

I keep Chip's picture on my dresser. You'd think I

couldn't stand the sight of him anymore. But no,
quite the opposite. I stare at it every day, trying to
erase that last time I saw him, ribs piercing his
ribcage, an arm torn off, and guts strewn across the
floor...

There's a knock at the door. Raymundo pokes his head in and

says that the workout started five minutes ago.Damn,
Raymundo. He puts my pills on the tray and closes the door. I
have no reason to feel anything, so I still take my meds. It
calms me down; more or less.

As I take off my pajama bottoms to put on my gym clothes, I

see the scars. I like them. They give me a little troublemaker
look. I spend a good minute contemplating the blisters that
stripe my thigh. A fucking fight.

I put on the shorts, then my little rabbit slippers. Don't laugh. I think
they're so cool. In any case, they're the latest chic with the orange T-
shirt and the parachutist fatigues that are the must here at
girlfriends.

They deign to let us go out to run and let off steam. On the badminton
courts, the sound system blares opera music at full blast. Here, the
most struck are the badminton fans. In the middle of a game, a
delighted toothless girl smiles at me, showing off her gums before
swinging her racket at her teammate's shins. Opposite her, another
wreck doesn't really seem to have understood the rules: she insists on
smashing her racket against the wall. All the goalkeepers watch the
spectacle with idiotic smiles.

Welcome to the Schizolympic Games. They're very into physical

activity around here. I hear it's supposed to channel the patients'
aggression. Let's just say the racket has replaced the hatchet. Back in
the day, the losers who jump rope in the other corner used to spice
up their jumps with caustic soda bombs.

Not a hobby for sissies. One of the chicks has her bandages come
off every time she jumps in the air.

Personally, I think they are trying to wear us down. That way,

there is no risk of mutiny. This kind of tactic is unlikely to work
with me. I am a fighter. It was even written and underlined in
red ink on my file: FIGHTER. During the medical examination, I
was able to see some of the qualifiers that I was given: on the
ANITA "NEEDY" LESNICKI file, we can read: HALLUCINATIONS
and also FOLIE DES
GREATNESS. Anyway, I'd be crazy. The murder wasn't really
my fault. That's what my mom said. Anyway, if I had
delusions of grandeur, wouldn't I try to have my own fan
club? Recruit some followers? I could, you know. If I told
them some of the things I've seen, the few bloodbaths I've
witnessed... I'd become their idol in the blink of an eye. But
no, I try to be discreet. It doesn't always work.
In the canteen, everyone has a girlfriend to sit next to. Even Toothless.
I take my stainless steel meal tray and sit down somewhere else, in
front of my toasted sandwich.

No matter how hard I try to make myself invisible, it never works. They
never leave me alone. Today, it's the dietician. She comes at me as if
she had been waiting for me to attack mytoast'em, chilling in my
corner.

— Just one, huh? she said.

— I like themtoast'em.

That's just me: staying invisible, not making waves. Just

waiting for her to go away.

—That's good, she says. But I'm not sure a toasted pastry will give
you enough energy to last you through the day. I'd recommend a
complex carbohydrate supplement.

I don't know why, maybe it's just because she's giving me

instructions, or she's just downright ugly, or her voice reminds
me of chalk on a blackboard, but the fact is that I'm losing my
mind. It's happening to me more and more lately.

— AND I RECOMMEND YOU TO SHUT UP!

Screaming, I jump up and kick him right in the

face. I'm still amazed at how quickly I react.

The other bitch of a dietician is on her knees, her nose broken;

she's pissing blood. Everyone starts screaming. Two nurses
rush in and restrain me. I struggle and quickly salivate a softie
that I spit right in her eye. Shit, it's all her fault. It takes two
more nurses to drag me down the hallway while I continue to
yell. Four thugs for a little girl like
me. I just have time to turn around to see her spit out a
tooth.

I end up in solitary confinement, of course. In tears. I guess it's

for the best. I don't really recognize myself anymore. I wasn't that
cracked, I swear. I would never have hurt anyone. I was normal,
before... well, as normal as a teenager in the midst of hormonal
upheaval can be. But after the murders started, I started to feel...
I don't know... seriously frayed around the edges... unstitched,
faded like those jeans I made in sewing class. Chopped up. Dead
inside.

Oh yeah, we still have home economics classes at my high

school.

This isn't my first stint in solitary confinement. And it's not as bad
as you might imagine. The concrete cell is a decent size: I can lie
on my back and stretch if I want. At the top, flush with the ceiling,
there's a small window. Just big enough to fit through, provided I
can magically hover five meters above the ground.

When I'm stuck here, I try to sleep, but it's even worse than
staying awake. There's no escape in my dreams: I see weird
shapes, laughing skulls, half-eaten faces. And I hear this song
constantly, on repeat. As soon as I close my eyes, I'm treated
to this stupid Top 50 hit, the drums etching its rhythm into my
skull.

Through the trees I will find you;

Heal the ruins left inside you

And the stars will remind you,

We'll meet again...1

1. Between the trees, I will find you/Repair the ruins left in you/And
the stars will remind you/That we will meet again... {NdT)

This song sucks.

To kill time, I replay the events in my head. Over and
over again. Does this story hold water? No. Did it
really happen? Yes. Will anyone ever believe me?
Everything suggests not.

I guess you want to hear this story. I guess I want to tell it, or
else I wouldn't have rambled on for so long already. And
besides, it'll stop me from dreaming. Still something.

But first, let's get one thing straight. A lot of people

ask me if I regret doing this.

I only regret not having done it sooner.

1. In the middle of a cauldron

The sign says WELCOME TO DEVIL'S KETTLE. POP. 7036. COME

SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING! Seriously... that's what they put there.
Along with... a town called "Devil's Cauldron"... A high school, a
pizza place, a stoplight, and woods everywhere. Basically the
asshole of the world, Minnesota. That's where it all went
downhill.

I know, "Devil's Cauldron" sounds very dark magic, but the name
actually comes from a waterfall. Technically, it's not even a waterfall.
Well, not a normal one: instead of cascading down a stream or a
torrent, the water tumbles down this hole and never resurfaces. No
resurgence or spring fifteen hundred meters away. No,
The water disappears, period. Scientists can't explain it.
They dropped all sorts of stuff on it: rubber bullets, red
dye, radioactive mud, babies... hey, I got you! No, I'm
kidding. Shit, what kind of city were you thinking? Still,
none of that shit ever came back out. Maybe it all goes
to another dimension. Or maybe the hole is just... super
deep.

I guess you want to know more about Jennifer; like everyone

else.Such a pretty girlthey all say,Gone too soon. Captain of
the porn cheerleaders, you know. But believe me, that bitch
had it coming.

Towards the end, her body was horrible, all gaunt and yellow. But
a few months earlier, Jen was still the hottest girl this side of the
bottomless pit.

Jennifer; me, my boyfriend Chip... we were all three normal. Like

our portraits in the high school picture, no more, no less.
Jennifer, captain of the cheerleaders, Needy the face, Chip the
cute drummer.

Some people try to make me believe that Chip Dove was a terrible
drummer, that he was just a loser and a geek. I don't give a damn. To
me, he was just music.

Okay, okay, okay. I know he sucked at drumming. All he

knew was “Land of a Thousand Dances,” one of those
old, syrupy tunes with “na-na-na” lyrics. Luckily for him,
playing in the pre-game band at his high school wasn’t
much work. So he was a killer behind the drums.

The cheerleaders would arrive in their fitted purple and

mustard yellow uniforms, clacking their little white boots in
time with Chip with his drums, and then unroll their
flags to make them twirl. And at the top, ladies and gentlemen:
Jennifer Check. She was truly magnificent. Dazzling mane of brown
hair, big breasts, wasp waist... the whole lot. Hard. You would have
thought she had stepped straight out of the centerfolds ofPlayboy.

These pre-match parades came back a little too often and I

even came to wonder if it wasn't just an excuse to show off
Jenny in her super tight miniskirt, waving her flag. At that
time, we were very close, practically two sisters. People had a
hard time believing that a hot girl like Jennifer could hang out
with a buffoon like me. I wore nerdy glasses and my hair had
never been blow-dried. But we had been inseparable since we
were in diapers. Sandbox friendships are forever. At least,
that's what I thought.

It was February, a Thursday, and the entire school was watching

the game. Jen waved to the crowd, and I waved back. Chastity, the
girl from bio class who was sitting next to me on the gym
bleachers, turned to stare at me and roll her eyes.

— You're lesbigay!

— What? I said defensively. She's my best friend.

Chastity mimicked my gesture.

—You look at her like you want to rub yourself against her. Like jerk
her off through her clothes.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" I retorted, scratching my nose under my

glasses.

— What? That loaded bitch?

— She's not loaded.

Poor Jennifer Check was far from rich, except to say the least.
his credit for male conquests. And even then, these
tended to slip through his fingers.

A little later that same day, I was taking a notebook out of my

blue metal locker when Jennifer came to stand in front of my
magnetic mirror to fix her hair.

She smiled at me:

— What's new, Monistat?

— What's new, Vagisil?

That was my usual answer.*

* . Both are drugs to treat vaginitis... {NdT)

Jennifer turned to watch Jonas Kozelle, our muscle man, pinch a

girl's ass. Her perfect little nose wrinkled in disgust. It had been a
long time since she had gone from young athletes to more
mature men.

“You and I are going out tonight,” she announced, rolling up the
sleeves of her pink sweatshirt. Her little pink and white striped top
rode up, revealing a flat stomach.

— Tonight? Where?

— Low Shoulder playsMelody Lane. It's open to everyone, so for

once we won't have to squeeze through the toilet trapdoor.

Chip may have been a musician, but I wasn't really into music.

— Who is Low Shoulder?

— It's this indie rock band from the city. I checked out their
MySpace page and the singer is super spicy. And there'll
be a bunch of other guys just as spicy just for you. Come
on, Needy! It's the weekend.

— It's Thursday, I thought it was a good idea to correct him, while slamming the door to my

locker room.

— At college, Thursday is already the weekend. And we'll be at college in

eighteen months.

She smiled. She and I were both eager to leave this

city... together. We fully intended to remain best
friends for the rest of our lives.

I raised my fist in victory: Yessss!

— University of Northern Minnesota, Duluth! Yeah!

— So? she pretended to ask.

Usually there was no discussion. She decided; I followed.

— Hmmm, I can't.

I looked away, trying to remain firm.

She came back to stand in front of me and gave me her hangdog look.

— Please, I beg you! What's your problem?

— I promised Chip I'd see him tonight. All alone.

Jennifer pouted and then made a gesture of drawing a cross in front of my nose.

— Boo! I'm crossing out your name!

I looked around to see if anyone had noticed. I hated it when
she did that in public. But I also hated telling her "no." I really
wanted to stay with Chip, in peace, and I felt remorse every
time I canceled a date with him, but I also knew that Jennifer
would eventually make me give in.

I decided to cut it short. Shrugging, I surrendered.

— What time is the concert?

— I'll pick you up at 8:30. My mother is going out with the

owner of this hi-fi store, so she won't need the car.

— He seems nice.

She snickered.

— Yeah, Mom says he has a heart "this big." So big that it

regularly gives her cystitis.

Berk.

She turned around, but said over her shoulder:

—And try to wear something cool, okay?

— OK.

I sighed as she walked away.

In Jennifer in the text, "put on something cool" had a very specific
meaning. Translation: I couldn't look too bad, but there was no
way I was going to outclass her. I could show my belly, but
definitely not my cleavage. Remember what I told you about her
boobs? I was pretty good. In fact, I was the one with the biggest
boobs, but I had to hide them all the time to avoid her feeling
threatened in her status as queen of the henhouse. She was
always the one who had to be the headliner.
when we went out: we didn't leave Jenny in a corner.

Striking poses in front of my bathroom mirror, I tried on

several tops and discarded them all. Too low-cut, too orange,
too cheesy. In the end, I settled on a tight little black tee with a
gray hoodie and wiggled my jeans down over my hips.

Chip was waiting, sprawled on my bed. It was cool to have

him there while I got ready. Cool to have someone who was
interested in me instead of Jenny. Chip and I had started
dating a year ago. He had approached me after a
cheerleading parade. I was so stunned that I stood there like
two idiots. Jennifer even had to answer him for me before she
went back to pretending he didn't exist. So, oddly enough, I
owed her something. Even if it wasn't like she was letting me
spend time with him.

When I came out of the bathroom, he raised an eyebrow.

— These jeans are really low-rise. You can almost see your hair.

— Chip! It's a rock concert! That's my rock'n roll look.

— Still, I can see your vulva.

With a sigh, I pulled my jeans up a little as he continued.

— I've never heard of Low Shoulder. Which one does Jennifer have her
eye on?

— The singer, of course!

And, taking a brush, I began to untangle my long blond locks.

Usually, I gathered some of them with a clip to clear my face.
With my hair as thick as horsehair, there was no question of
putting it back in a ponytail.
— Girls like Jennifer don't date drummers.

— Thank you very much, he said with a mock hurt look.

— Don't take it personally. I mean, she'd probably make an

exception for a drummer who's also a singer. This guy's got to be
about twenty-two, so he could go to jail for statutory rape if he
went out with her. But Jennifer finds him really spicy, so...

— “Spicy”? Fuck you, girls, with your cryptic language.

—“Spicy” means “crunchy,” I said as he grabbed me by the

waist to pull me onto the bed.

He sucked my earlobe.

—So you're a bowl of chili Rice Krispies, baby, he whispered

before kissing me.

His lips were soft and I kissed him back. His brown hair tickled
my nose. He wore it a little long, but not too long. Just long
enough that I had to brush it out of his eyes sometimes. Now I
miss not being able to fuck Chip anymore. It was heaven. Well,
the best I'd ever felt, since I'd never kissed anyone before or
after him. As he pecked my lip, he began to unbuckle my seat
belt.

Feeling guilty about having to leave him alone, I tried to speak despite his
gentle bites.

— Are you sure you don't want to come toMelody Lanewith us? They have
free popcorn. There's a vending machine inside.

The buckle was undone and he was already struggling with the zipper,
muttering:
— You promised me we'd hang out tonight. I
rented Orca. It's likeJawsbut with a harmless
whale.

— We're already lagging behind all the time. We're already more than lagging behind...

wait.

I pushed him away so I could sit back down. At that moment, I was
like a pointer dog that had just scented a fox.

— Jennifer is here.

— How do you know that?

And he stretched out his hands to me again. Then we both heard

it.

— Needy, stop jerking off and get off!

Chip looked panicked. He mumbled:

— It's still weird.

I stood up and finished brushing my hair. Chip had never
really understood the bond between us. Our friendship
was sacred.

“You always do everything Jennifer asks,” he groaned as he pulled his

pants back on. Well, maybe he had grasped more than I thought he
was capable of. Point for him.

“No,” I said, denying the obvious. “It’s just that I happen to like
doing the same things she does. We have a lot in common. That’s
why we’re lifelong friends.”

And I pulled the heart-shaped pendant out from under my T-shirt and
shoved it under his nose. It had the initials "BFF" engraved on it -Best
Friends Forever, friends for life, in English - overcoming a small
rhinestone diamond. The truth is, I really thought I wanted to do
everything like her.

He snorted, contemptuous.

— Actually, girls, you have absolutely nothing in common.

There, he was really starting to get on my nerves.

— Yeah, well, okay, Chip. Whatever you want.

I put on my glasses and stormed out of the room. I went

downstairs to find Jennifer waiting for me at the entrance.

She wore a ton of makeup and not much else. The classic
look for a night out atMelody Lane. Okay, so she had her
white quilted jacket on over the ripped purple jersey and
denim mini shorts. The jacket had a faux fur collar; too
much so. I had always drooled over it... until it got covered
in blood. To top it all off, she had added a belt with studs
that spelled out the word LOVE.

She waved the car keys under my nose.

— Guess what our carriage is until 11:30? A 2003

Chrysler Sebring. And all mine! You're lucky to have a
cab like me to get to the club in style.

She wiggled her hips. Then stopped as Chip came barreling down the stairs
behind me.

— Oh, 'lut Chip, she said. You like bumpers?

Then slide his hands under her chest while throwing her towards him
with a goofy giggle.

—I think, um, you forgot two buttons, Chip remarked, trying

valiantly (but without much success, it must be said) to
look elsewhere.

— On the contrary, I think she remembered two, I thought it was a good

idea to correct her, stepping in to block her view.

Jennifer suddenly sniffed, looking suspicious.

— Hey, you two, didn't you just fuck?

"You're vulgar!" I cried.

I gave her a slap, which she returned.

We rubbed each other a bit and Jenny's breasts almost burst out
of her t-shirt. Seeing Chip's wide eyes, I stopped immediately.

—Okay, let's go to the club, she decided suddenly, having now established
her superiority as a guy trap.

As I locked the front door, Chip tried to fight back.

— First, theMelody Laneis not a club but a bar. Actually,

not even that: just a games room with draft beer.

—Let us go, Chip. You're just jealous because you're not invited, that's
all, Jennifer said.

— I'm jealous, he cried, following us to the car. This place

sucks. The guys there, they all have mustaches.

— Yes, you are jealous. You are so jealous that you are green with rage and you don't
even want to admit it.

We jumped in the car and Jennifer drove off. I rolled down the
window and waved at Chip. But he kept yelling at Jenny.
—And stop kidnapping my girlfriend!

But we were already pulling out of the driveway. Poor Chip. I should have
stayed home and had sex with him. I should have watched Orca. I should
have stopped Jennifer from going to theMelody Lane.

And then none of those people would have died. Well, at least four
already.

2. Instant X

Chip was right. TheMelody Lanewasn't really a club. Clubs

are for attractive city dwellers. Clubs have DJs and
champagne.Melody Lane, there was just a broken down
jukebox and a toilet covered in stickers.

The neon sign flickered as we walked through the gravel

parking lot toward the entrance. Located just outside the
town, the club was basically a rickety shack decorated with
hubcaps. The bouncer at the entrance drew a big X on the
back of his hand in black marker. Jennifer looked at the
damage, horrified. Getting crossed off was definitely not her
thing.

Inside it was dark. The bartender was passing a case

of beer across the counter to a guy in a torn T-shirt.

—I can't wait until I'm old enough to get drunk, Jennifer

announced. Ever tried a peach-flavored Boone?

— Yeah, it's so good, I lied.

— It's disgusting, you mean!

Then she flinched as she saw one of the high school
football players walk past her, eyeing her breasts.

— Hey, Jennifer, you look cool.

“You okay, Craig?” Then she rolled her eyes. As soon as he was far
enough away, she nudged me. “He thinks he’s cute enough for
me. No wonder he’s in remedial class.”

— Yeah. (I nodded absently. Looking around the room, I spotted a

guy from the high school.) Hey, that's Ahmet, the Indian! The guy
from the educational exchanges.

Jennifer had followed my gaze. An irritated grimace crumpled her

face.

— Why did you bring him back to us again?

—I think Principal Lundquist felt it would be good for,

well, you know... diversity.

She made an eloquent pout.

—I can't believe we traded a cute hockey

player for... this.
I shrugged.
— I think he's cool. He has an elephant statuette in his
locker room. I think it's cool.

I was already thinking about going to take a closer look. I was

pretty sure it had to be a religious thing. It's really cool to go to
church and worship elephants! It excited me, this multicultural
veneer that Ahmet gave to a whole bunch of stuff, just by his
existence.

We crept closer to the stage. Well, "stage" was a

quite a big word; let's say rather the "platform". Barely twenty
centimeters above the rest of the room. Which was packed to the
rafters... but it was mostly the regulars. The group had not attracted
many people, except Ahmet and us.

Jennifer pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her shorts. Then she

slowly pulled out a cigarette, holding it between two fingers as if
she were waiting for a lighter. I wasn't too worried about her
lungs or mine. She had a habit of always doing that to attract
guys, and usually she'd get them up before she had a chance to
light one.

And indeed, Roman Duda, camouflage cap screwed on his head, jumped
at the chance and came to stand in front of her, a little too close for her
liking. The guy was about twenty-five years old. Archinul. He downed his
bottle of beer, then stole her pack of cigarettes.

“Jennifer, you’re seventeen,” he admonished. “Right now, your

lungs are as pink as two nice lamb chops. Don’t go polluting
them with that shit.”

She responded by raising the cigarette to her lips while pouting at him. Here
too, he reacted just as abruptly.

— You know I could have you arrested for having some on you?

— Get me arrested. Others. You're not even out of police

academy yet, Roman.

Oh yeah, did I mention that this shining example of humanity

frequented this honorable establishment? In order to protect the
good people of our town shortly. I doubted he would be able to
protect a mouse from a cat. Or a teenage girl in heat from
herself.

"Two more months," he exulted. "And then I'll be in the police

force for good."
Jennifer leaned over and whispered:

— Are you going to handcuff me?

Before rubbing against him.

I looked away. I knew she had slept with him but I tried not to
think about it. I'm not uptight, but the whole thing made me
uncomfortable.

Roman let out a small groan before answering him in the

same tone:

— Don't mess around here. I want to keep my place.

— Look! I said then, to lighten the mood. There they are!

All four of them - singer, guitarist, bassist, drummer - had

the typical amateur indie rock band look: skinny as a
cuckoo, very dirty hair, probably not washed since the
start of the tour, and a look of ripped jeans or cargo pants
and tight T-shirt.

Still, the singer was really sexy. Brown T-shirt over a

long white shirt. Super tight jeans and big, inky eyes.
He had a... unhealthy look.

Next to me, Jennifer seemed to agree.

— We can clearly see that they come from the city.

She looked around at the rest of the audience, which consisted mostly
of good-natured farmers' sons in cowboy boots, with little bellies
bulging out of their jeans.

Roman eyed them warily.

— They look like a real bunch of...

—You can talk, Jennifer cut him off, with your big redneck look. Ah! if
there were a few more guys like them at Devil's Kettle. Stylish and
coughed.

I continued to ogle the members of the group.

— They do look cool, I muttered, putting my glasses

back on.

I watched the guitarist pull his guitar out of its case. He looked up
and caught my gaze. He licked his lips. I stood there frozen. I
swallowed.

—Hey, I think they're looking for two groupies, Jennifer remarked,

grabbing my arm. Come on! It'll be like inAlmost famous. I'll be Penny
Lane and you'll be the other girl.

— No, I interrupted mechanically.

I had trouble breathing.

— Don't be a prude, Needy. They're just guys. Fresh meat.

We have the power. She turned to look me straight in the
eye. Then she slapped her hands on my breasts. "Those
things are bombs. Point them in the right direction and
guys drop like flies."

I was fully aware that several guys next to us were

feasting their eyes on her and checking out her groping
my tits, as if we were going to have sex at any moment
and they didn't want to miss a thing. I shrugged her off,
knowing that she was absolutely right. I had seen her play
to her strengths so many times. But I didn't know how to
handle it. She was the sex bomb. I was just Needy, the girl
who was always in need. Yet when she
Approaching the corner of the stage, I followed her.

The singer met us there and eyed Jennifer expectantly. It

wasn't really a surprise to him.

— Hi! Hmm, we just wanted to get to know each other better, all
that? I'm Jennifer and this is my girlfriend, you know?

She blinked. She had started her sentences in a

questioning mode.

He smiled at her, or rather showed her his teeth.

— I'm Nikolai and this is my group.

He shook her hand. It was covered in heavy silver rings. And he

had a black crescent moon tattooed on his neck. Jennifer clearly
had a crush on him. I thought his name was really cool. “Nikolai”
sounded like a vampire hunter in an old black and white movie.

— Uh, yeah, Low Shoulder, right? I heard you guys

were really good... and that you could play your...
instruments really well.

It must be said that Jennifer had one essential asset, and it

was not her looks but her enormous nerve. She was the most
aggressive girl I knew. Able to charge into the crowd and do
whatever she wanted. She didn't need to tell this guy anything
special, just bore him with words to force him to notice her.
Her bumpers then only had to take over to help her conclude.
Okay, so let's say two assets. But above all, she had the gift of
the gab, no doubt about it.

— Actually, the guitar is, let's say, like an extension of my

body, Nikolai boasted.
A reply finally came to me:

— Hey, if I may ask you a question: why did you come and bury
yourself here in Devil's Kettle? You live in the city, right?

I found the remark logical. After all, we lived in the middle of

nowhere.

Nikolai finally turned his dark gaze towards me.

— Yeah. But you see, I think it's really important that we stay
in touch with all our fans, even in the most remote places.

It wasn't wrong.

—That's great. Can I buy you a drink? Jennifer said.

Clearly, she wanted some. But seriously, how was she going to
buy him a drink? We had a big black marker cross on the back of
our hand, we were in the middle of nowhere, but even here, we
continued to refuse to serve alcohol to underage high school girls.

— They serve here aSeptember 11 Memorial. It's a blue/white/red

cocktail. But you have to drink it straight down or it turns all brown.

Nikolai smirked.

— Uh, sure.

— I'll be right back!

And Jennifer ran towards the bar. I tried to slip to the corner of the
room to continue watching her. In any case, I didn't know what to
tell Nikolai. His gaze made me downright uncomfortable.
A big guy in jeans and boots put a Loretta Lynn song on the jukebox.
They must have decided to fix it. Then a couple started dancing a pas
de deux, right under the rockers' noses. Country vibes full blast, like
"we're going to taunt them."

The bass player approached Nikolai and they exchanged a few words in a
low voice. I couldn't help but prick up my ears. Hey, don't judge me! I had
nothing better to do. Watching Jennifer flash her breasts under the
bartender's nose was nothing fun.

— Dirk, and her? Nikolai asked.

My pulse raced. Was that me they were talking about?

— Who is that? Jan Brady1?

1. famBradv: one of the heroines of the American TV series The

Brady Family (NdT)

YESSS! It was definitely me they were talking about. I sucked in my stomach

and tried to look sexy.

— No, no, the one who went to get me a drink. That's her, man.

Oh, sure. They were talking about Jennifer. Nothing new.

— Chépa, Dirk agreed. (Hey, hey! Maybe he liked me better, after all.)
Are you really sure she...

— Look, I grew up in the same kind of backwater. You always run

into that kind of girl: the high school star. The local fairground
beauty, if you will. She imagines she'll be a singer or an actress
one day, without realizing that the rules aren't the same once you
get out of the sticks. Suddenly, you're not so remarkable
anymore.

There I was completely lost. He had seen her, right? Jennifer hadn't
really nothing like a fairground miss.

—You told us you were from Brooklyn, the bassist protested.

—What I mean, Nikolai said obliquely, is that she's a virgin,

no doubt about it. (I was speechless. He continued:) I've
dated girls like her before. All stuck-up princesses who
show off but never give in. And then... they leave you.

Damn, man! Jennifer was anything but a stuck-up princess and

she certainly wasn't a virgin!

"I don't know," Dirk repeated.

My friend wasn't fooled. I had totally fallen for him.

— Dirk, we didn't come all this way for nothing!

— Okay, okay. You know, I'm not just your bass player. I'm also
an individual, who has feelings, who happens to play bass. And I
deserve a minimum of respect...

He continued in this vein but I wasn't listening anymore. I was furious.

How dare they talk about my best friend in that tone! I sucked in my
stomach again and came back near the stage.

— Excuse me, I said, venturing to pull Nikolai's sleeve.

— Yeah, what? he replied, in a snarled tone.

— That's my best friend you're talking about. And you're right...

she's a virgin. And she's not going to sleep with weirdos like you.

Whereupon I turned my back on him, theatrically twirling

my hair in a tornado of outraged virtue.
Okay, true, I had lied slightly about her virginity. I wasn't
going to admit that my friend for life was a whore!

I walked back to the bar with a determined step. In the meantime,

Jennifer had still managed to get the coveted glasses. The cocktails
were served in these sorts of test tubes and, indeed, the mixture
was indeed blue, white, red.

“Tower number one isn’t full enough,” she complained, “and I

had to fight Roman to get them.” She noticed my furious
expression. “And what’s going on? Are you afraid of rock stars?”

—These guys suck, Jen. Forget it.

— I think I have a ticket with the singer. She looked at him

over my shoulder.

— Only because he thinks you're a virgin. I heard them talking.

— What? It would hurt me. (She straightened her shoulders.) Well,

if Nikolai wants a minx, I can play the minx too. (And she added
with determination:) I will be his Little Miss Sunshine.

— He's way too old for you!

Jennifer's glare. No way was he getting between her and a

guy. Never.

Suddenly the sound system came on and a feedback pierced our ears. I
grimaced as Nikolai grabbed the microphone and smiled at the crowd.

— Good evening Devil's Lake! The guitarist struck a thunderous chord.

— Devil's Kettle! corrected someone in the audience.

I turned around, imagining it must be Ahmet. But he was

lost in the crowd.

— Sorry. Anyway, we're Low Shoulder and we just want to have

fun with you!

Hanging at the back of the stage, the band's logo showed the black
and white silhouette of a car, seen from the back, and as if leaning to
the right. I couldn't really see it. I couldn't really see the band's name
either. Too alternative for me *. I was starting to think that these
guys really didn't seem clear. Especially this Nikolaï, with that evil
glint in his eyes. At that moment, I just saw him as some kind of
pervert.

* Our astute readers will of course have translated Low Shoulder as

low shoulder, equivalent to our road sign "non-stabilized
shoulder", hence the pictogram of the car in a perilous situation.
(NdT)

Then the guitarist struck another chord, just as shattering,

and the band launched into the most incredible, haunting
song I've ever heard. It's now part of our popular culture, but
at the time it was a revelation.

Through the Trees I Will Find You.

“Among the trees, I will find you.”

The first time I heard the melody, it was magical. Watching Nikolai sing
the lyrics was a shock. One foot on the stage monitor, he was
screaming into the microphone. The guitarist looked like he was in
agony, so focused was he on his playing.

Jennifer was totally hypnotized; she had grabbed my arm and was
devouring Nikolai with her eyes. And we weren't the only ones. The
whole room was under her spell. Low Shoulder was bewitching the
audience. I unzipped my sweatshirt. It was starting to get seriously
hot in the middle of this compact crowd.
A glint in my glasses made me look away. People were
raising their arms and waving them in time. It was crazy.
Jennifer and I were swaying to the music, along with the
rest of the audience. I closed my eyes, letting Nikolai's
voice fill my head.

I finally opened my eyes again and looked around. Something

strange to my left, against the wall of the room, caught my eye.
Like a dancing light. I thought people had their lighters out and
were waving them in time, but then I suddenly realized that
flames were licking the walls. And they were real flames. Huge
ones.A fire!

I stood there speechless, like a spectator at a movie. The fire reached

the top of the wall and shrivelled the posters stapled to the wooden
panels. The pennants hanging from the ceiling burst into flames like
matches. The whole wall was ablaze. It had happened so quickly:
suddenly, the room had become a bonfire. People recoiled, a woman
began to scream.

The other idiot bartender thought of nothing better than to push

through the crowd and throw a pitcher of beer against the wall, which
only made the situation worse. Don't they teach them the difference
between combustible and flammable materials in school anymore? Uh,
fuck, wait, they mean the same thing.

Eventually everyone realized that the fire was raging. But most of
them had just stopped humming and were standing there in
silence. It was both strange and frightening, the way they had of
standing there, as if they were waiting. What, for the fire to
spread? The musicians eventually realized that they had lost the
attention of their audience and they suddenly stopped playing. All
that could be heard was the crackling of the flames that were now
devouring another wall and reaching the ceiling.
And do you know what happened at that critical moment? Listen
carefully because it will be important for what comes next. I saw it, I
was there. This is exactly what the illustrious members of the group
Low Shoulder did: they put down their instruments and fled!
Abandoning all their gear in their haste. With the notable exception of
Nikolai. He was standing there, smiling. Really weird, the guy. He
looked at the room devoured by the flames and then looked at
Jennifer. To see him, it was, I don't know, as if everything was fine. As if
he was satisfied with the turn of events. Then he fled, too. I repeat:
Low Shoulder fled!

The group's rout finally broke the spell. The bar's customers woke up
abruptly, panicked. Chaos followed the general rush towards the
door which was the only way out. The fire was spreading, I saw a
blonde's hair catch fire. The girl screamed and rolled on the ground,
lifting her denim jacket to smother the flames. A guy jumped over
her in one leap to rush towards the door. Without even a glance at
her. The acrid smell of burning hair invaded my nostrils and suddenly
pulled me out of my trance.

Next to me, in the midst of this madness, Jennifer remained motionless,

as if in the eye of the storm.

— I know where to go!

I grabbed her and started dragging her towards the bathroom, I felt like I
was dragging an inert mannequin. She seemed hypnotized, stunned,
catatonic.

— Hmmm? she said as if she hadn't noticed the huge

blaze all around us.

— Come on! Hurry up! The toilet trap!

I pushed past two or three drunks who were heading in the opposite
direction to drag my girlfriend to the back of the room. We squeezed
into the cramped restroom, on the side marked "Ladies." I
climbed onto the toilet bowl, already decorated with a Low Shoulder
sticker, and pulled Jennifer up. Balanced unsteadily, I propelled her
through the narrow skylight. Usually, it was used to get into the club.
But tonight, it was the only way out. I hoisted myself up and dragged
myself out after Jennifer. Stumbling in the grass, we both moved
away.

I turned to look at the fire behind us; I knew there were

still people inside. People were pouring out the door, but it
was obvious they had trampled others to get out. People
like the blonde with the burning hair. People being
crushed to death. I covered my face; I couldn't watch this
anymore.

But I could still hear the screams... all the screams. My

voice must have been in it too. I heard sirens too. And the
cracking of bones and the hissing of flames devouring
them. There were dull pops, like firecrackers. They were
people burning, I knew. I heard gasps, close by.

Jennifer fell upon me, a coughing fit. She had torn her tights
going through the skylight but was still wearing her gray
boots. The gold heart on her “Friends for Life” medallion
sparkled in the light of the fire. I hugged her. Tightly.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “We got through this. Everything will be okay, you’ll
see.”

Suddenly, a long, bony hand gripped Jennifer's shoulder. It

was Nikolai.

—Thank God you're unharmed, he said. I've been looking everywhere for you.

I couldn't believe that this psycho was still coming

on to her.
—Maybe you should try to find your group again, I
suggested.

—Them? He waved his hand. They were the first ones out. They ran
towards the van like a bunch of faggots.

See? Even he admitted they had escaped! I glared at him as

the screams continued to rise from the burning building,
Jennifer fainted and covered her ears.

— It's really dangerous to stay around here, girls, Nikolai said.

Like,you oh! You know what, we should go to my van, we'll be
safe there.

— What? I yelled.

He wanted to lure us into his perverted lair?

He addressed me as if I were an idiot:

— Dangerous. Van. Safe. Let's go.

Jennifer pushed me away and fell into his arms.

— Okay, okay, she whispered.

“You’re in shock, Jenny,” he cooed, wrapping an arm around

her shoulders.

His other hand reached into his pocket. He pulled out a flask.

Here, drink this.

Of course, she took a swig. My best friend never

turned down a drop of alcohol when it was free.

"Aren't you even mad after everything that happened?" I shouted at him,
trying to adopt his style of speaking. Your speakers, your amps,
all the gear? It must have all melted and for your next gig, you'll
be forced to play a shitty acoustic set! It's enough to be pissed
off, right?

— We'll be able to get some new gear soon. I have a

feeling we'll make headlines.

I wasn't sure if he was talking about the group or the fire.

I implored Jennifer.

—Let's go, Jen!

— Yes, said Nikolai. Let's go to my van.

He led us to a shabby white van parked at the end of the access road
to theMelody LaneThe windows were tinted: it was impossible to see
inside and therefore to know if the rest of the group was already there.

Jennifer was now speaking in a slurred voice.

— I want to see your supervan. Come on, Needy, let's go with it.

Shit, what was in that bottle?

— Why? I ask you! We have to go get the Sebrings!
We have to go to theThe Eye, order Northwoods
Nachos with double Badger Sauce! Please! I'm
starving! (She was always up for nachos...) Please,
Jen, say, please!

— Needy, stop, will you? Shut up!

My best friend got into the van with the singer from Low Shoulder. A pale
guy who looked wiry, twisted and sinister like that petrified tree I had seen
when I was little. He helped her into the van and sat down.
cabin. I could have sworn he growled, baring his teeth at me.

I didn't follow them. I turned on my heels and ran into the woods
while behind me theMelody Laneexploded.

I never had Jennifer's courage.

3. Midnight Craze
I ran home. I was on the verge of tears as I fumbled for my
keys in the door. I just wanted to be home. Home. I didn’t stop
running until I was in front of my bedroom. I flipped the light
switch and stood there panting for breath. Then I made a
beeline for the bathroom to drink straight from the tap. That’s
when I saw myself in the mirror. My face was black with soot,
my hair was covered in ash, and my clothes were in tatters. My
mind began to process the enormity of what had just
happened to me.

I went back to my room, grabbed my cell phone, pressed a

memory button.

— Grmmblm, Chip grumbled.

I bet he nodded off instead of looking at himself.Orca.

— Chip! Jennifer is gone! She ran off with that rock band. And the
Melody Lanewas destroyed by fire! Oh my God, Chip!

Ashes continued to rain from my hair as I

paced the room.
— What do you mean, “destroyed”? Completely? Nothing serious?

I burst out laughing uncontrollably, which quickly turned into sobs.

— Oh yes. I think they are almost all dead.

— And you, are you okay?

— Yeah. (I continued to sob.) We went out through the skylight.

- What?

Come back down to earth, Chip!

— Well, you know, the bathroom window where all the girls too
young to get in sneak in. But everyone was trying to get out
through the door. They were crushed. Those who fainted were
trampled by the others, you could hear bones cracking. It was
screaming and exploding in all directions, like a million
firecrackers going off at the same time. And all those poor people
burning... that smell, like...

I finally fell silent. I couldn't breathe, sob and talk at the

same time.

— It's crazy.

Still as fucked up as ever. I sat up on the bed, trying to catch my

breath. I looked at the picture of the three of us on my
nightstand. Fuck. What were those weirdos doing to him?

— But Jennifer is still with the other creeps. They took her
in that awful van with tinted windows...

— Did you note the make and model?

Oh, no, he wasn't going to pull any punches.FBI Missing Persons.

Who remembers such details?

— I don't know. But we have to find her.

— We don't give a shit about Jennifer and that bunch of faggots.

with their sissy hairdos and mascara. People just
burned to death! In our city!

Oh, Chip, you and your redneck pride.

At that moment, there was a ring at the door. The noise was so shrill that it
pierced my ears.

I started to yelpsotto vocein the phone.

— Fuck! There's someone down there! I'm all alone, Chip! I'm freaking
out!

— Where is your mother?

— Exit. You're not leaving, okay? Okay?

- All right.

I ran down the stairs and then stopped suddenly on the landing. I couldn't
hear anything except our pet ferret scratching the floor of his cage.

— Silence, Spector!

I tiptoed back down, wincing at every creak of the stairs,

then slowly crossed the darkened kitchen, feeling my way
along the Formica worktop. And that fucking fridge that
hummed like a buzz saw. I stepped into the foyer and
looked toward the front door. I couldn't see anything but
the closed door.

I approached it slowly and peeked out. Nothing. I turned

on the porch light. It was deserted. I turned it off.

— Okay, nobody, I said into the phone. This is... this is really
weird. Maybe I'm going crazy. I'll call you back.
— Hey!

I snapped the phone shut. Who had rung the doorbell? I

opened the closet and groped through the clothes. A tennis
racket tumbled out and I jumped, but no one was hiding
there. I closed the door gently.

What the fuck was going on? It was the craziest night of
my life. I listened to the hum of the fridge. Suddenly, I
realized there was another noise. A "ploc-ploc-ploc".

I turned around. Nothing. I took two steps into the kitchen, listened.
Now the noise didn't seem to be coming from the kitchen but from
behind, toward the front door. "Plop-plop-plop." I whirled around,
flipped the light switch, looked out into the hall. And there, just
outside the door, covered in blood, was Jennifer.

A vision from a nightmare. Her white quilted jacket was now

dark red, and the gray boot on her right foot was turned
unnaturally, as if she had twisted her ankle. Her hair was all
matted together. She stood there, her shoulders hunched, her
head down.

— Jennifer?

She didn't answer, but I could still hear the noise. I suddenly understood that it
was her own blood that was dripping like that, from her sleeve, forming a
puddle on the linoleum. She raised her head slightly. I shuddered when I saw
that she was snickering. I breathed:

— What happened?

Still no answer. She watched the drops fall from her body,
with a detached air. Finally, she raised her eyes to look at me
again.

— Jen?
She suddenly ran past me to the fridge. I jumped and
backed away mechanically, it was as if the bogeyman had
decided to pay me a visit. Except it was Jennifer. My best
friend. I thought fast. I had to act. I had to call Chip, my
mother, Jennifer's mother, the emergency services...
someone! She was hurt, that was clear, and she needed a
doctor!

But then she did something incredible, as if I hadn’t already had

my fill that night. She opened the fridge and, in the glow of the
interior light, I could see her take out a roast chicken and drop it
on the green linoleum. Then she crouched down and began
tearing it apart, stuffing large chunks into her mouth. This gave a
new meaning to the expression “midnight snack.” I said the first
thing that came to mind:

— Uh, Jen, Mom bought this chicken at the organic market. I wasn't
supposed to...

She started screaming. I mean screaming. My hair stood on end. I

stumbled backwards and hit the edge of the kitchen table. I caught
myself on the back of one of the chrome chairs.

Then it got worse. She threw up... and it wasn't chicken. A blackish
magma shot out of her mouth, with such force that her whole
body shuddered. It wasn't just bile. Jennifer was vomiting the
most vile, disgusting stuff I'd ever seen. It was black, thick, sticky,
and it stank - like a dead skunk that had been left for a week in a
trash can full of badger juice. And there was a ton of it, at least
three liters, maybe four.

Then this blackish mass began to... move. I don't know, I guess it was dark,
but I would swear under oath that this viscous slime was moving. A whole
bunch of little ridges had sprung out of it and began to ooze onto the
ground and then climb the walls. The cherry on the cake was that this thing
was undulating. It was alive. I began to faint, to
I could see flies buzzing in front of my eyes, but I took action anyway. I
grabbed Jennifer and tried to slap my hand over her mouth. I wasn’t
going to let her continue to spew that black bile all over my mother’s
beautiful retrokitsch kitchen. It had taken Mum weeks to find the pale
green shade of the cupboards that matched the original linoleum
exactly.

I slipped on the drool as I grabbed her, then Jennifer fell to her knees
and pulled me with her, convulsing with laughter. I wanted to free
myself but she suddenly turned and pushed me back, pinning me to
the wall. She was so strong! I couldn't move. My hands slid down her
arms to close around her wrists. Panic took over me, at the thought
that she was going to throw up this gruesome horror in my face. I
squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could, pursed my lips, all the
while trying to figure out how I could hold my nose.

It took me several seconds to realize that something was

wrong. As I gripped Jennifer's wrists like that, I realized that
her pulse was beating... as if in super slow motion.

- That...?

Jennifer brought her face close to mine and began to sniff my hair,
then my earlobe. Don't get me wrong, huh. This was anything but
lesbigay. No, this was different. More like a wild animal sniffing out its
feast. I felt her lips against my neck and on my carotid artery which
was throbbing faster and faster. Her lips parted and I felt the tips of
her canines brush against my skin. But then, her fangs caught in the
chain of my medallion... the gold heart "Friends for life" hanging from
my neck. She hesitated, still holding me in this strange embrace. So
calm that I couldn't tell if she was still breathing.

Then she pushed me away abruptly and bolted for the door. The next
moment, she was gone.
I couldn't believe it. I mean, seriously, what exactly had
happened? Maybe it was a dream? A hallucination? I pinched
myself.Ouch, I was wide awake.

I went back into the kitchen and found the huge puddle of black slime on
the linoleum. It was there and it was there. And someone was going to have
to clean all that shit up before my mother got back.

4. The Fourth Dimension

I spent the rest of the night scraping and scrubbing, between bouts of
nausea. The smell was too much. We didn't have those masks at home
that everyone started buying in anticipation of a terrorist attack. My
mother had always thought that before we got it out of the closet and
stuck it on our noses, we would have had a hundred times the time to
breathe the stuff in and be gone from life to death. I had tried the
broom first, but it didn't work. I had to resort to mops. It took me all
night. What I would have needed was an industrial vacuum cleaner.
Like the one I had seen on a cable TV commercial one day. At least that
thing wasn't moving anymore, if it ever did. I wished it had all been a
figment of my wild imagination... but a trash bag full of blackened
mops and rags was tangible proof otherwise.

The next day, I sat through biology class on autopilot, lying there in a
slump. My ribs were covered in bruises, either from falling through the
skylight or from Jennifer's crushing embrace. Both, probably. Even
with my glasses on, everything seemed blurry.

News of the fire had spread. But even the respect due to the
dead could not stop my comrades from chattering. And I did not
have the strength to turn around and glare at them.

— I heard Needy and Jennifer were there and they must have
“To hack my way out with a machete,” a blonde
whispered behind me.

— Look, she's not even moving, replied her girlfriend.

— It's called 'post-traumatic stress,' the blonde added, a little

louder. My father was part of the intervention in Iraq and...

— Hello Monistat!

It was her. Jennifer, standing in front of me. On the other side of my pallet,
all smiles, as if nothing had happened. I stood there for a second, staring
at her without saying anything. That's true: basically, I was convinced she
had run off to die. I certainly didn't imagine seeing her again. She was
dead.

And yet, there she was: resplendent hair, superb yellow and
white striped sweatshirt, denim miniskirt held up by a white
plastic belt. And, cherry on the cake, a cute little rubber duck
mounted as a key ring attached to the zipper.

— Are you... are you okay?

— Yeah? Why, should I be feeling bad?

— But last night, at my place, you were all...

She waved the objection aside.

— Needy, you're delusional. I scraped myself a little when you dragged me

through that skylight, but otherwise I'm fine.

Slut? I saved his life!

— We had to go through there! The whole room was engulfed in
flames.

She sat down next to me and rolled her eyes.

— You really have a tendency to overreact. Remember, in
camp, when you thought it was an earthquake when it was
just two guys with their music turned up loud?

The two guys behind us snickered and Jennifer gave them a

smile.

— Lots of people died, Jennifer, I said, recovered enough now to

give the other two acorns my death-killing look at the same
time. They died of suffocation or trampling. More than half the
spectators didn't manage to get out. It's... it's all over the news!
In the national press! All those young people. They're dead.
Dead!

— Who do we know?

— We all know them!

She shrugged.
— I guess it's bad luck for them.

Then she proceeded to rummage through her bag and pull out a
stick of lipstick, which she applied carefully before smacking her lips.

— What's wrong with you?

—And what about you? she replied immediately. I mean, apart
from your obvious flaws.

I rubbed my eyes, looked at my hands. My nails were black and

stained with blood. I knew I hadn't been dreaming. I'd spent the whole
night scrubbing the carnage off the kitchen linoleum. I couldn't
understand why she was so keen on acting like nothing was wrong.

—Spit it out!
I didn't realize I said it out loud.
— Don't talk to yourself, Jennifer grumbled. You're starting to get crazy again
and you're making us look like two dykes.

I raised my hands to put them under her nose, so she could see the
dried blood. But before I could plead with her to behave like a human
being, she wrinkled her nose.

— Yuck! You really need a manicure. You better fix

that soon.

That was the moment Mr. Wroblewski chose to enter the room and walk to
the stage with measured steps. The professor had an artificial hand,
something that would give you goosebumps. No one knew exactly what
had happened to it.

"I'm sure all of you who were able to come today already
know about this abominable fire," he began. "This is a grim,
grim day for our village and believe me, I've known some
tough ones in my female dog of a life." He raised his claw
slowly.

We all had our eyes glued to his prosthesis.

I heard a sob from the back of the room and turned to see Jonas
Kozelle crying like a baby, wetting the plastic cover of his
notebook with tears. Jonas, the most imposing soccer player the
local team had ever known, wasn't too well off in the brain
department. I barely knew him. He lived right next door to Chip.

Jennifer snorted, barely holding back a laugh. I glared at her.

— The school administration has decided that today

will be a day of mourning and psychological
support. We have lost eight of our dear students —
including Ahmet, our Indian correspondent - several
parents of students and our beloved Spanish teacher,
Señorita O'Halloran.

At this last mention, he stifled a short sob. I myself held

back a small tear. For Ahmet.

— No way! Jennifer cried. O'Halloran burned?

— Shh! I spat at him.

Mr Wroblewski had recovered sufficiently to continue.

— This tragedy is beyond comprehension. More than ever, we

need to stick together and give each other courage. Put aside
your little teenage squabbles about who is "too cool" or who is
"too lame." We need to come together, to harness our
energies as one man.

Next to me, Jennifer began to giggle and tried to hide it with a

coughing fit. It must be said, Professor, that the expression was,
to say the least, unfortunate.

Several minutes of silence followed as he tried to use his claw to

extract a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes. Then
suddenly he cried out:

— We're not going to let this damn fire win!

I expected that... Jennifer retorted:

— It's already done, he won.

— God bless you all, my children, the professor concluded with a

smile before sitting down, in tears.

Jonas was now shaking with uncontrollable sobs. A tiny

scrawny boy leaned over to take him in his arms. Without
This is probably the first and last time I will see such a spectacle.

— Oh, look at that: united in sorrow, my stone-hearted

neighbor commented mockingly.

The bell rang and I slunk out. I needed to talk to someone normal,
someone who would tell me I wasn't crazy. I ran down the hallway
and around the corner to the locker room. Luckily, Chip was there.
He was just slipping some chopsticks into his backpack.

He looked up just as I was about to hit him.

— No rehearsal today, he announced to me.

—Nothing at all today, I confirmed.

—It's surreal, isn't it? He shook his head. I mean, when

just one person dies in Devil's Kettle, it's like the world
stops turning.

I leaned towards him and sighed:

— Just breathing again makes me feel guilty.

— Words.

Chip closed his locker and slung the bag over his shoulder. It was cool to have
someone who understood me. He just had to understand everything from start to
finish.

I followed him into the hallway.

— Chip, I have to tell you something a little special. It's about

Jennifer.

- What?
I stopped him and pulled him towards the wall so I could speak to him
confidentially.

—You know last night when we were talking on the phone and
someone came to the house? Well, it was Jennifer. But she
didn't say a word. She just stood there smiling, but it was an
evil smile. She looked like she'd been beaten up or shot or
something. She was covered in blood! And she puked up this
really gross gooey stuff like a squashed dog with knitting
needles on it.

I suppressed a shiver. A feeling of nausea came over me when I thought of the

smell.

— Yuck. Like those porcupine balls my mom makes. With

the rice grains sticking out?

— Yes! Almost as disgusting.

Seriously, no one knows what puking means until they've been

forced to taste their mother's meatballs.

"It's probably because she inhaled a lot of smoke," Chip

suggested, trying to sound reasonable.

— No. I shook my head. It was something evil. (And I

knew full well what it was.) I mean, that stench, worse
than the smell of skunk or shit or anything natural. No, it
was downright vile.

“You should really go see the school shrink, Needy. I don’t mean
this to be mean, I’m really worried about you.” He patted my
arm.

— Chip, I'm not talking bullshit and I'm not crazy.

— I never said that. It's just that everyone is a bit

overwhelmed by this story. It's kind of normal to feel...

— . . . badibulgué?

I looked up, frustrated, to find Colin Gray walking toward

me. Colin was a nice guy but he was on a goth trip. Black
Rimmel and nail polish, studded bracelets and all the
accessories. He even had a piercing in his lower lip, but I
had always suspected it was fake. I mean, this is Devil's
Kettle. His mother would have killed him.

— 'lut Needy!

— Oh, hi Colin.

I felt Chip move closer to me, possessive.

Colin leaned over to whisper to me in a melodramatic tone:

— I heard you were there last night. In the burning

trenches.

Well. The Gothic wanted to indulge in death and

horror. Well, I wasn't going to play his game.

— Uh, yeah.

He expected a little more, but I just stared at him

without saying anything.

— Well, I'm glad you're not dead. Seriously.

Oh, that was very kind! He really meant it!

- THANKS.

As he walked away, Chip eyed him warily.

—And how come you're friends with Colin Gray? I thought
Colin Gray only talked to walking corpses.

I couldn't help but glance at the girls across the hall, all dressed in
black, dresses, bracelets, leather, the works. The goths were their
own little exclusive club, but one day the girls had thrown a
tantrum for some reason or other and all decided to become
feminists, seceded, and named their little group the "Dead Girls."
They had given several poetry readings in the cafeteria. One of
them even accompanied herself on the accordion. I think her
name was Trish.

— He's just a friend, that's all, I said. We're in a writing workshop

together. He's really good, you know. He's so dark and so
sensitive...

— Oh, I can understand. I'm like that too, even if I

don't show it by acting like a poser.

I smiled at him and stroked his hair, pushing a strand

behind his ear. He was so cute when he was jealous.

— Are you walking me home?

— Of course I do, baby.

He put his arm around my waist and we walked out.

It was warm for February in Devil's Kettle, but hey, what

with global warming, huh? The snow had already melted,
revealing layers of dead leaves forgotten since last fall. As
we drove through town, trampling the rotting, crunching
leaves, Chip tried to comfort me.

— This whole night must have passed like a fog for you.

— That's the problem. There's nothing wrong with her! Not a single one
obscure point. I remember everything perfectly, in detail, like in HD. The
group, the fire, everything, I tell you. And especially what happened
afterwards.

— “Afterwards” is exactly where it gets stuck for me.

—Please. I really need someone to believe me. Jennifer

was...she was destroyed. Ruined. She was dying in the
driveway of our house, Chip, I saw her. I used my first aid
class to feel her pulse. And I could tell she was dying. I could
feel it from the inside, I mean. We've known each other so
long that it's like I can feel what she's feeling sometimes.
We're kind of like ET and Elliott.

“I believe you,” he finally said, shaking my hand.

That was all I wanted to hear.

— Thanks, Chipper.

— Damn, he said, looking down. Your hand is really burning.

I looked at her in turn. Certainly, I felt exhausted, and perhaps a

little feverish. I was paying for my sleepless night.

— Uh, maybe I'm hatching something.

— Don't worry, everything will be fine, Chip told me.

He hugged me tightly and I hugged him back. It felt so

good to hear someone say that to me.

Even if it was completely false.

 5. The Freak is Chip

As soon as I got home, I took Spector out of his cage and took him
into the kitchen. No one would have guessed that someone had
covered it all in blackish vomit.

— Do you want a grilled bolognese sandwich, Spector?

He just ran off to get his ball. I guess he wasn't hungry. I took the bread
and the bolognese out of the fridge and put a frying pan on to heat. As
soon as the sandwich started sizzling in the hot butter, I turned on the
kitchen transistor radio.

Guess what they were playing on the radio?

Heal the Ruins Left Inside You.

I put down my spatula and stepped away from the pan. I didn't know what
to do. Listening to that song again... I felt trapped.
Luckily, it ended and the DJ announced the song.

—That was Low Shoulder, the local band who became the
reluctant heroes of the Devil's Kettle tragedy last night.

What do you mean "heroes"? What "heroes"? That wasn't my feeling. I

turned off the stove and retrieved a plate from the draining board
while continuing to listen to the presenter.

— Witnesses say the boys helped many victims escape this

hell, at the risk of their lives. That, ladies and gentlemen, is
what I call committed rock.

And come on. That's why I insisted so much on telling this part
of the story. Those morons had only helped themselves!

I slid the sandwich onto the plate and slowly cut it

diagonally. Had everyone gone mad in this town? Had I
so the only one who reminds me of what really happened last night?

— We've already had tons of calls to the switchboard for this

song. And guess what? We have the great honor of having the
members of Low Shoulder right here with us in the studio! So,
how did you guys handle it?

Ah, I felt like we were going to have fun. I took a bite of

my toast and chewed slowly as Nikolai answered.

— We're hanging in there, man. It's not easy. But the real
heroes are the people of Devil's Kettle. I hope we can convey
a tenth of their courage and energy in our next album...

I turned off the radio. It was too much. I slumped back in my

chair and dropped the rest of my toast. Spector reappeared and
began to nibble on it. Suddenly, I felt really bad. I felt like
throwing up. Maybe I had the flu.

My mother burst into the kitchen in her pajamas.

— Mom? I didn't know you were awake!

— I just had another one of my night terrors.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked around the kitchen.

— It’s 4 p.m., so in principle we should talk about “daytime

terror.”

— Okay, okay, I've been all confused since I started

working again.

Mom sat across from me on one of the orange and green vinyl chairs.
She looked so tired. Her hair was all messed up. And there was more
gray than usual in her bleached blonde.
— What did you dream about?

—I dreamed that people were trying to nail you to a tree with

hammers and huge stakes. Like Christ. (She crossed herself.
Mom still went to church.) But I won't let them do that to my
little girl! I'm a tough mother bear!

I smiled at her. She was the best mother, protecting me

even in her dreams. I reassured her:

— I can do just fine on my own.

Actually, since Dad left, that's pretty much what I've been
doing. I knew it was hard enough for her with the daily
chores.

"You'll see," Mom said. "One day or another, you'll come

begging me in tears and I won't be there."

She grabbed my hand and squeezed it very hard.

It tore me apart to do this to her while she was in such a

weary state, but I had no choice.

— Hey, Mom, did you happen to have a chance to listen to the news before
going to bed when you came back this morning?

She watched Spector peel the Bolognese sauce off my toast and drag it
to the corner of the room while I told her what had happened. Well, I
basically told her there had been a fire and people had died. No need
to burden her with details.

When she went back to work that night, I tried to read a comic
book Chip had lent me in my room. But in fact, I mostly stuffed
myself with cookies. After my nausea earlier, I suddenly felt much
better and I was actually starving. I ate so fast that I almost
swallowed them whole. I could have devoured
cedar shavings from the garden beds without being able to tell the
difference. I emptied the bag of cookies and turned it over on my
desk, hunting for any chocolate chips that might have escaped me.

My phone vibrated. It was Jennifer. Her radio was blaring one of

those stupid hits so loudly that I barely heard her say:

— Oh, I feel really great!

— Good for you.

—You know when you kiss a guy for the very first time and your
whole body starts vibrating?

- Yeah.

— Well, that's just as well.

Unbelievable.

— Glad for you. I'd still be a little depressed, you know...

about that giant funeral pyre in the middle of our city.

— Bougetoncul dot com, Needy! That's in the past. Life

is really too short to moan about over-grilled pork
skewers.

— Lovely comparison, Jen.

— I tell it like it is, period. And besides, you should be

happy for me. I had the best day since, let's say, the
invention of the calendar.

And she started giggling like a lunatic. She really had a serious
problem. Someone had kidnapped my best friend and replaced
her with an android. My call signal manifested. Saved by the bell.
— I have a double call.

- Let go !
On another day, that's probably what I would have done, but she was getting on
my nerves.

— I'll only be a second.

— Boo, I'll cross you out!

I ignored his remark and switched to the other line. It was Chip and he
looked terrified.

"I must see you right away!" he cried.

I could hear a cacophony of discordant piano notes behind him. It

must have been Camille, his little sister. She could be downright
annoying.

— I can barely hear you.

— Camille plays the piano.

Ah, so I was right. Then I heard her tell him to shut up

and she told him to shut up. Ah, kids!

— Can you meet me at McCullum in ten minutes?

—A quarter of an hour, I corrected.

Then I hung up, leaving him with his still squealing sister.

— Jen, I have to go.

“I am all-powerful,” she announced to me, overjoyed.

I didn't have time for that kind of nonsense.

— Okay, if you say so, but I have to meet Chip at McCullumPark.

— You know, I'm starting to find Chip really cute. Tell me, is it
true that he's hung like a donkey? Tell me a little about it!

Oh my God. I couldn't stand that Jennifer had her

sights set on Chip. He was the only thing I had left, all
to myself. Not her.

“I have to go,” I said, and hung up.

I sat there for a minute, praying that she would forget about Chip and leave me
alone. Then I jumped up and went outside, grabbing a sweatshirt in the process.

Ten minutes later, I was in the park. There was a volleyball

court and a large lawn, as well as a gravel parking lot. The
place was very dark at night because it was surrounded by
trees. It was a meeting place for lovers, but on the phone,
Chip hadn't seemed to have that kind of idea in mind.

I climbed the hill behind the lawn and, when I reached the top, I
immediately noticed a bustle below. There were a bunch of police
cars with flashing lights, and a large area had been cordoned off
with a yellow neon barrier. Chip was there, staring at the cop cars.
I suddenly became aware of what I was seeing.

— Why are there cops around your house?

And I grabbed his arm, panicked. His arm was firm.

Chip is here, safe and sound, stop panicking, I said to myself.

— It's not my place. They're at Jonas Kozelle's.

Oh, it was Jonas. Well, then it was normal. I relaxed
slightly.

— What, he tried to smuggle peyote to sixth graders again?

— No, Needy. Chip choked back a sob. He was murdered.

I squeezed his arm tighter.

- What?

—Ouch, he said, removing my hand from his arm but without letting go.

He took a deep breath to keep his balance, then told me what

he knew.

—Someone completely dismembered him in the woods behind the high

school. And... partly ate him.

—Partially eaten? I repeated, in shock. (Someone had eaten

Jonas Kozelle.) But who would have done such a thing?

“I don’t know,” Chip whispered. “It happened right after

school. No one’s supposed to know yet, but my dad went to
talk to the cops. Jonas’s mom is completely catatonic. She’s
staring out her window, frozen like a zombie mannequin.”

Now that he had told me, I did indeed notice a figure at the window of
the Kozelle entrance. It was too much.

— It can't be a coincidence.

Chip leered at me.

- How so ?
— First a death trap with the fire last night, then a psychotic
cannibalistic killer who eats the most muscular guy in the whole
school? Others!

— Stop freaking me out like that, sweetie.

And it's true that he looked terrified. But I was starting to get
angry.

—Listen, Chip. In most small towns, a terrible tragedy

happens, maybe once every ten years. But this time, we
had two nightmares in the space of twenty-four hours. It's
total anguish!

— What do you think it is? A supernatural thing?

I shook my head.

— I don't know. I'm extremely intelligent, but I'm

clearly stuck here.

I gave him a half-hearted smile and shrugged.

— Well, well, the black streak will end eventually, right? The worst is behind
us, right? That's for sure. Forced. Obliged. Don't you agree, do you? There
will be no more new victims.

Chip was seriously losing it.

I shook him:

— You're shaking like a leaf.

— Uh, I'm cold, he said, recovering somewhat. It's just freezing in

here.

To lighten the mood a bit, I offered him my sweatshirt. The

person concerned protested:
— It's pink!

— Pink is cool! Rappers wear pink.

It was my turn to shiver. Neither one to catch the other. We
were scared to death. Chip pulled me to him and kissed me. I
tried to find some comfort in his arms, but no, no way. I knew,
deep down, that something worse, much worse, was coming.

6. Needy loves lollipops

The following week, there was a candlelight vigil in front of the rubble
of theMelody Lane. The whole town was there, with candles in cups.
The orange fence that the police had surrounded the site became a
commemorative stele: white crosses, bouquets of flowers, stuffed
animals and photos were piled up in front of the plastic panels. It was
as if Princess Diana had been inside the bar.

Jennifer stayed out of sight and my mom had to work. Chip and I
stayed back from the crowd and, to be honest, we didn't hang
around for long. People started singing that damn song, it was too
much for me.

And the stars will call her back.

There was also Jonas' funeral. I wasn't planning on going.

It's not like we were friends, and I really didn't want to be
with a bunch of groupies sobbing over a guy they'd never
spoken to when he was alive. But Chip was his neighbor,
and he wanted me to go with him to keep his spirits up.
I shouldn't have worried, though. Almost the entire school was
there. It wasn't exactly a private funeral. We learned that Mr.
Wroblewski had discovered the body. He was sitting in the
front row, crying his eyes out. Poor Mr. W. He was a
hypersensitive guy.

Then everyone went back to school. The days went back to normal
but we were all still too dazed to enjoy them. Well, almost all of us.
Jennifer continued to strut through the school hallways like a
queen. In Technicolor when we were all in gray. You have to
imagine her with a bright pink jacket decorated with hearts, pink
heart-shaped earrings, a cute little panda on a keychain hanging
from her belt. Jennifer Barbie. But a brunette Barbie. The rarest
version.

The high school students put flowers in Jonas' locker by jamming them
into the shutters of the door, and they put teddy bears at the foot of
the locker. Eventually, the flowers faded, but no one bothered to
remove them. They were left to rot where they were. It was already
March, and the police still hadn't found a single suspect to arrest.

We had become world famous. Devil's Kettle was finally on the

map. Our one and only bar had burned to the ground and
someone had eaten our football linebacker. The whole
country poured out its overflowing sympathy for us and all the
newspapers ran headlines about "The Bar from Hell" or "The
Cannibal Killer." Cameramen and reporters lined up on every
street corner. All of America delighted in seeing the local
rednecks shed their little tears for the camera.

After a month, I noticed that Jennifer didn't look as radiant

anymore. I had ignored her most of the time; I was frankly too
outraged by her behavior after the fire. But one day in bio
class, I took the time to observe her. I noticed that
Her skin looked gray and Jennifer had lost weight: unhealthily thin.
She had big dark circles under her eyes. I began to think that maybe
she had a heart after all, and that maybe the tragedy had finally
gotten to her.

— I would like to make an announcement, Mr. Wroblewski said.

As you all know, it will be a month since the tragedy of Melody
Laneand the murder of Jonas Kozelle.

Dressed in her purple cheerleading uniform, Jennifer leaned on the table

with her head in her hands.

— The feeerrrme, she growled, but I felt that my heart was not
in it.

I whispered:

— Are you feeling okay?

Mr. W. cleared his throat.

— As I was telling you, Needy and Jennifer, I finally have some

good news to share with you. The members of the rock band
Low Shoulder have decided to extend a helping hand to our
community.

An excited murmur ran through the rest of the class. Almost

overnight, everyone had become fans of these weirdos. Chastity,
who was sitting in front of me, wearing a T-shirt with the band's
logo, had straightened up, almost to attention, as if ready to enlist
in the Low Shoulder Militia.

—As you know, their song "Through the Trees" has become our
unofficial anthem of unity and hope. So they're about to release a
special edition single, with three percent of the proceeds going to
benefit families in our city who have lost a loved one.
The other idiots in the class were already whispering among
themselves as if Santa Claus had just arrived. I was far from
being as impressed. I noticed:

—And the remaining ninety-seven percent?

- Pardon ?

Mr. W. looked at me, looking bewildered.

I repeated:

—Ninety-seven percent. I mean, it's kind of petty, right? I

looked at the others, but no one seemed to get it. Petty,
you know? It means greedy, exploitative, filthy. Am I the
only one taking vocabulary lessons?

— Yes, Mr. Wroblewski conceded.

Chastity turned around and sniffed, contemptuous.

—The Low Shoulders are American heroes, Needy.

— No, not at all. I was there, Chastity. The truth is, they didn't
help anyone escape the fire at all. I don't even know where that
rumor came from.

— A rumor! she exclaimed, outraged. Arumor? It's the

truth. It's on Wikipedia!

I looked around for Jennifer's support, but she had put her head
on the table and decided to pick up.

When the bell rang, I followed her down the hallway.

— No offense, but you look pretty knackered. Is everything okay?

— No, I feel like crying. I feel like my skin is

crack. My hair is dull and brittle. I feel like one of those
ordinary girls!

I tucked a strand of my "regular" hair behind my ear.

— Are you going to get your period or what?

— PMS is a joke, Needy. It was invented by the

macho men in the media to make us look crazy.

I looked at her from behind my glasses, (it's true that she looked
pathetic.

— Don't look at me like that! I'm fine. I'm just

coming down, that's all.

Go back down? An idea came to me, which explained everything. —You started
smoking hash?

— No! Forget it. Forget what I said.

Colin Gray came over and greeted me. He was wearing a

purple hoodie with black stripes. In our town, even the goths
wore hoodies. It was the unofficial uniform of the town. Then
he eyed Jennifer nervously and gave her a strangled “lut.”

— Hey, Colin, she said. Can I copy your English homework? I never
had time to finish it.Hamlet. Is he sleeping with his mother?

I was shocked. And one, Jennifer had never spoken to Colin.

Never. And two, it was always my English homework she
copied!

— No, I don't think so, Colin replied. In fact, let's just say I wanted
to ask you something.

— Oh, you want to know if I'm going to go out with you?

— No... well, yes. But how did you guess?

He was nervously fiddling with his black leather sleeve. I couldn't believe my
ears. I must be dreaming. My gaze shifted from one to the other, incredulous.

— Keep up your spiel, Jennifer whispered to him.

He took a breath to give himself courage and continued.

— Well, we have a good laugh in class, you and I, so I thought maybe I

could invite you to the movies or something. They're showing the
Rocky Horrorin night session atJewel, next Saturday.

—I don't like boxer stories, Jennifer retorted.

Colin wanted to correct her.

— Uh, isn't Rocky the... oh, never mind.

He caught himself just in time and retreated. He sped away, his

tail between his legs.

— Hmm, a waste of time, I remarked.

— I'm used to guys inviting me.

She shrugged.
Sure, but I was still shocked that Colin would make a
pass at her. Since when did a goth have the nerve to ask
out the cheerleader captain?

—Colin is a really nice guy, I ventured.

— He's into zombie rock. He wears nail polish. I've got more balls than him, she
blurted out, without question.
— Well, I think it's really cool.

Without meaning to, I had started defending him. She looked at

me, suddenly interested.

- Really?
She turned to look at the figure walking away down the
corridor and began to bellow:

— Colin! Wait!

He stopped. Turned around.

— Hey, how about you come over to my place tonight? she

said. I just gotAquamarineon DVD. It's the story of a girl who is
half sushi, or something like that.

Colin's face lit up. It was strange to see him smile.

— Great! It's okay!

— I'll text you my address.

- Cool.

And Colin ran away before she could change her mind. I was fuming.
What aplomb, this girl! I couldn't believe it. Colin, she didn't give a
damn. She just wanted to get her hands on him. And especially not
let me have him!

I felt someone put an arm around my shoulders. I jumped in

surprise. It was Chip. I had been so absorbed in the charade that
had unfolded before my eyes that I hadn't heard him approach.

— Hey, Chip! Jennifer said, still in flirtatious mode.

I put my arm around my boyfriend's waist and pressed myself against him.

— Hey, do that at home, she said before walking away.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

—Still talking to your “friend” Colin? Chip asked.

— No, he was just trying to date Jennifer.

Chip looked relieved, which warmed my heart. So he really loved

me. There was no way Jennifer could steal him from me. I hugged
him tighter.

— Are you coming tonight? he asked me.

— Sure, I would be happy to.

—I went to the supermarket to buy some condoms, he murmured, not a

little proud.

I leered at him, raising my eyebrow.

— Uh, it has nothing to do with your visit, he thought it was a good idea to clarify.

But yes, of course.. But hey, no problem. As long as he

bought them just for me.

That night, I danced on Chip's waterbed, gently rocked by

the waves. His room was a cozy little nest. I felt safe there.
The walls were covered in wood paneling... well, fake wood.
He had posters of rock bands everywhere. I leaned lazily
against the brown velvet headboard and casually threw a
dart at the target. Chip leaned over the wall to plug in an
incense burner.

— It's for the atmosphere, you see. It's "jasmine jaspé".

Then he leaned down to kiss me, which threw me against his nose.
I put us back on the bed and kissed him back.

— Mom also has summer scents, if you're interested, he thought it would be a

good idea to mumble.

— No, I said, that's fine. It wasn't long before he was

shirtless and I was in just my white bra. He showed off a
fluorescent orange condom.

I looked at the packaging.

— “Whirlwind of passion,” I read on the cover.

“It’s supposed to be more enjoyable for girls,” he admitted shyly.

He was so cute.

- Cool!

And I kissed him again.

As this was progressing nicely (I won't go into details, it's

private!), I started to feel really funny. Like my appetite for him
was growing, but it had nothing to do with a normal, healthy
sexual appetite. More like that of a wild, violent, unhealthy
beast. A feeling of being possessed. I gripped him so tightly
that my nails scratched his arms as I began to cry. As if I was
completely subject to an external will.

I pulled him abruptly towards me and bit him on the shoulder. Hard. He
pulled away from me, grimacing.

— What? Am I hurting you? he worried.

I started to cry. Then to moan, It was like an experience

of disembodiment. I had no idea what was happening to me and I
was powerless to stop it. I began to see things. A black, viscous ooze
that oozed from the walls, entered through the windows, filled with
thorns. Skulls, demons... worse than the worst acid trip. Well, I guess,
I've never taken any. In any case, I was making my own little horror
movie. I saw people burning. Then I started screaming.

I rubbed my eyes like crazy and Chip started

shaking me.

— Needy, what's going on?

I was still screaming. My voice had become hoarse and raspy. I threw
myself out of bed and quickly got dressed. I felt like I was suffocating,
and I put my hands to my throat.

This time, Chip became downright worried.

— Is it because of me? Didn't I prepare you well enough?

Poor thing, he thought he was responsible. But the truth

suddenly hit me: it wasShe.

I rushed to the door.

— Needy!

"I have to go," I said hoarsely. "Like a hundred-year-old

smoker with twenty cats in her throat. I'm sorry, I feel... I
don't know... I feel something really ugly coming."

— What do you feel coming...? He seemed completely lost. But come

on, what are you talking about? We don't need to continue. Hey, you
know you really worry me?
He wanted to catch up with me, to get off the bed.

I stopped him with a wave of my hand.

— I'm sorry, Chip, I'm really sorry, everything is wrong. It's not
your fault.

And I ran away, leaving the poor boy all alone, naked in his
room.

I rushed into my mother's little European car and slammed the door.
My hand was shaking so badly that I had trouble getting the key into
the ignition. I managed to start it and immediately the car radio
started blaring. That damn song again!

We'll meet again...

I started banging my fists on the dashboard.

— Shit! Shitty shit!

I was hysterical, I should never have gotten behind the wheel, but I
floored the accelerator and took off, screeching the tires.

The street was plunged into darkness. The trees were racing past
in the beam of my headlights. I wiped away my tears, took a deep
breath. I tried to focus on the two white lines on the sides and
keep myself in the middle.

Something suddenly leapt out of the shadows and the image burned
itself into my mind. Off to the right, under the trees, a figure had
emerged and was standing at the side of the road. Jennifer, pale, in
jeans and a white top... her chest and chin dripping with blood. She
was grinning like a vampire. I screamed, jerked the wheel to the left
and the car went sideways. The back end slid into the ditch. I stomped
the gas to get out and risked a glance through the windshield. She was
gone.
I was sweating. Total panic. What the fuck had I seen? Was this
real? I started to press the accelerator again. The engine
revved, but the tires were spinning in the mud. I shifted back
into neutral, back into gear to try again, and the moment I
looked up again, I got the fright of my life.

The deserted road gleamed in the moonlight. Everything was a little damp
and foggy. A vague shape appeared out of nowhere: Jennifer, rushing
toward the car, a giant bat, her arms spread wide, her mouth distorted by
a scream. With a deafening noise, she smashed against the windshield,
which she starred into. Then she remained crouched on the hood, smiling
at me through the network of cracks. A smile with bloody teeth. She was a
witch, a harpy, a monster from hell. Anything but a seventeen-year-old.

I heard an alarm wail in the distance... then realized it was my

own voice, screaming in terror. The tires finally regained traction
and the car swerved out of the ditch. The lurch threw Jennifer
onto the road. I sped off without asking for more. I was shaking
so much I could barely keep my bearings.

The radio had been playing all along.

"You'll have recognized Low Shoulder, of course. The band is playing a

benefit show at Devil's Kettle next month. You could say they know
how to give back to their fans. Now that's generosity!"

Someone should skin this presenter. Seriously.

7. The doll that says “no”

I rushed home in the dark.

— Mom! Mom? Oh, please, be there!

But of course, she wasn't there. She had been right. I cried for her and
she was gone. I collapsed into a fetal position on the kitchen linoleum,
sobbing uncontrollably. Eventually, exhausted, I regained my
composure and was able to think about all this shit.

I had always been able to sense what Jennifer was feeling, but
never to this extent. That must have happened to me when I was
with Chip. I couldn't think of any other explanation. But where
had this wave of emotion come from? What had happened to
her? And why was she covered in blood again? Where was she
now? Had I simply run over my best friend? Was it my fault? Was
she dead?

A memory suddenly came back to me. One day, we were little,

playing with dolls in the sandbox.

— I'll be the beautiful Betty and you'll be the other one, Jennifer
commanded, handing me a naked doll, one arm missing and her hair
shaved.

—Why should I be ugly Ashley?

"You can choose between ugly Ashley or Kevin. Whichever
you like," she said, suddenly leaning back on her hands,
waiting for my decision.

But his gesture had been a little too abrupt.

—Ouch! she cried. Shit!

Already five years oldyshe tried to swear like an adult.

— What's wrong with you, Jennifer?

She held up her hand to show me: a thumbtack had stuck

itself into the palm. We stuck them in our dolls' ears as
earrings. I grabbed her hand and slowly removed the
damn. The wound was still bleeding so I put my mouth to it
and sucked. I always did that with my boo-boos, so I
figured it should work the same for her.

I gave him his hand back.

— That's better, right? But you'd still need a bandage.

Jennifer was silent for a moment. Then, in a very solemn tone,

she announced:

— We're sisters now, you see.

I nodded.
— Don't tell my mom about it. She'd make me get an
injection.

— I will never denounce you.

I snapped my eyes open. Had blood connected us? It was

all so weird. It deserved more thought and less tears.

I tore myself off the kitchen linoleum and staggered upstairs to my

bedroom. I undressed and collapsed on the bed, my head on the
pillow. I began to think. Suddenly a voice rang in my ear.

- Cuckoo!

I bolted upright and flicked on the bedside lamp. In its

soft glow I saw Jennifer lying on the bed next to me. Still
wet from the shower, probably trying to wash off all that
blood. She had pulled on one of my T-shirts. I screamed
and jumped out of bed, dragging the blanket with me.

— Enough shouting for today! You're so predictable, she said,

it's tiring.
She was leaning quietly against the headboard, as if she were at
home.

— Get out of here!

—But when we have sleepovers, we sleep in the same

bed, she noted with a wink.

Suddenly, I felt too tired to fight. And she was right; I had to
stop screaming all the time. I slowly let myself fall back into
bed. What do you think I was supposed to think? One
moment, Jennifer is covered in blood and flying through the
air, the next, she is in my room, fresh as a daisy. All I wanted
was to be back with my best friend.

She reached out her hand and tenderly stroked my cheek.

— See? I don't bite.

I was shaking like a leaf. She pulled me against her chest. I felt
her heart-shaped locket imprint on my cheek. I had kept mine,
too. I didn't know what to do anymore.

— Hey, that's not my t-shirt.evil Dead?

— Shh! she whispered.

She lifted my face and caressed my lips.

I was mesmerized. It was the same kind of spell that Low

Shoulder had cast on the audience atMelody Lane. She leaned
down and kissed me. Her lips were softer than Chip's.

I jumped and pulled away abruptly.

— What the fuck is going on, damn it?!

— Wow! she said. I've never heard you string two swear words
together in one sentence before.

— I saw you! I saw you! The car... I...

— Calm down, you're a bit stupid.

She was making fun of me.

— I'm calling the police.

— Go ahead, rat me out. I've got the cops in my pocket. I'll get one of their
juniors, have you forgotten?

Right. Roman Duda was fucking her. So there was nothing sacred in
this city anymore?

— What do you want?

I was exasperated.

— I want to explain a few things to you. You've seen too

much already, and best friends don't keep secrets from
each other, do they?

She looked really serious. I nodded, unable to answer. I had a hard

time imagining how she could explain this complete delirium to me.

—Remember the night of the fire? I was pretty shaken up. I

almost died. (She paused for a moment, then suddenly spilled
the beans.) You know, those Low Shoulder guys? Really
unhealthy guys. Basically, agents of Satan with killer haircuts. I
realized that the moment I got into their crappy van.

Typical Jennifer. It's only once they're all buckled into

their van that she realizes that hot guys aren't lambs.
 8. This sacrifice sucks

So here's what happened, according to Jennifer. Believe it

or not, you're free to believe it. I wasn't sure at first, but
now I'm convinced it's true.

Flashback to the night of the fire. Jennifer, raw and on edge from
her brush with death, finds herself huddled in the back of the van.
Nikolai was driving. No one spoke. The tires could be heard
screeching on the gravel. She asked:

— Hey guys, where are we going?

—In the woods, Nikolai replied, full of enthusiasm.

— The woods? For swinging, is that it?

— Of course, Nikolai exclaimed. General orgy!

The others laughed. Jennifer looked at the walls of the van and
saw that there were all sorts of things drawn in fluorescent paint:
goat heads, pentagrams, cabalistic signs. They rounded a corner
and several books slid to the ground at her feet.Spells and
Incantations. Summon the Beast and Black Mass.

Jennifer jumped up and reached for the door handle. But the
drummer grabbed her by the ankles and threw her to the ground.

— Are you rapists?

— You'd like that, Nikolai said, smiling.

She struggled but the drummer held her firmly.

The said drummer doubted out loud his virginity. Again, like me at
Melody Lane, Jennifer was mistaken, imagining that they were looking
for an easy girl. Neither she nor I had imagined that they really
wanted a virgin because, frankly, who would be interested in that
these days? Sacrificing virgins is so outdated. Still, she lied to them,
too.

— Of course I am, I'm a virgin! I've never had sex. I don't

even know how to do it. So maybe you'd better find
another girl. One who knows what she's doing.

—I told you so, Nikolai pontificated. In these small towns, all the
girls are uptight and stuff. My high school girlfriend, Amy? She
told me she wanted to wait until marriage. Really, she was just
looking for a guy with a bigger car. The bitch.

He burst out laughing insanely.

Dirk didn't look comfortable.

—That sucks, man.

— Dirk! I didn't ask your opinion! Nikolai shouted.

He braked sharply. The guys got out quickly and Nikolai grabbed
Jennifer by the arm to drag her out. They reached a clearing in
the woods and looked up.

— A waxing moon. As the ritual provides.

—If you say so, the drummer conceded.

All four of them surrounded Jennifer, frozen like statues in the

moonlight. Despite her panic, Jen still found them damn sexy. But
then Nikolai suddenly headbutted her.

She surely hadn't expected that and she collapsed in

screaming. She saw thirty-six candles.

Nikolai rubbed his head.

—I was dying to do it but I didn't realize it would hurt this much.

Dirk looked concerned.

— I don't know if we should continue this thing.

I always knew this guy had a good heart.

Nikolai shut him up.

—You're kidding me, right? Dirk, you really want to be a

waiter for the rest of your life? I'm sick of fifty-cent tips,
cleaning toilets every four and a half hours, and sleeping
with supermarket cashiers, right? I'm sick of it.

— Hey, man..., was all Dirk could manage to say, pointing at Jennifer lying on the
ground.

She began to come to her senses and tried to get up.

— Do you want to be as rich and famous as a member of Maroon 5?

Or do you want to remain a suicidal mega-badger?

—Maroon 5, Dirk finally admitted, a little sadly.

Dirk was just as bad as the rest of them, after all.

— So get your fingers out of your ass and go get me the ritual!

Nikolai saw Jennifer trying to move and he grabbed her arm

again, digging his nails into her flesh. Meanwhile, Dirk had
returned to the van to sort through the books in the back and fish
out a sheet of paper that he brought back to the
singer.

— Is that all? one of the group members asked in surprise.

— I got it from the Internet, Nikolai explained.

The others helped her drag Jennifer to a kind of rock that served
as an altar. She later realized that they were very close to the
waterfall and this hole leading straight to hell. No doubt this was
the origin of the name of the site.

She tried to resist by digging her feet into the ground, but the
four of them had dragged her. And besides, she was still dazed
from the headbutt. But she struggled nonetheless and called for
help. Dirk slapped her. The other three held her down on the slab
while Nikolai read the sheet.

—We are gathered tonight to sacrifice the body of... (he

paused, unable to remember her name) that bitch from
the Devil's Kettle town.

“My name is Jennifer,” she whispered.

Which had the gift of exasperating him.

— You call yourself “Shut Up When I Talk to Satan.”

— I beg you. Please let me go. I will do

whatever you want.
—I only fuck 30Cs, honey, he taunted. You're an 35B at best,
even with your Father Dodu cutlets.

There, it was low. Seriously low. He reached into her bra and
pulled out the gel pockets she was indeed using to push her
advantages. True! When I told you I was the one who had it best.
It was too much. Jennifer wanted to spit in his face but the mollard
landed in her hair. He smoothed it down and answered calmly:

— I'm gonna cut you up like a pumpkin. Don't you know who
you're dealing with? We're allied with the Beast. (Then he did what
all the bad guys do. He spilled the beans.) Do you realize how hard
it is to make a name for yourself in indie rock these days? He
waved a finger at her. There's so many of us, and all sexier than
the last. If you don't get on Letterman or on the soundtrack of
some lame movie, you're screwed. We want our own dope,
groupies who have their own groupies. We want to tour stadiums.
We want more. Satan is our last hope. So we want to make a big
impression on him, Jenny. We need to carve you up. And then our
friend Dirk will walk around wearing your face as a mask. (The
man looked scandalized.) Hey, I was just kidding, man!

The most terrifying thing was Nikolai's calmness throughout.

—Maybe you should just get yourself a press agent,

Jennifer suggested. Get some T-shirts made, some
accessories... hey, I could hand out some flyers!

Nikolai pretended for a moment to consider the suggestion.

—You know what, that's not a bad idea. I mean, we need

the publicity, right, guys? Except... Nah, I better rip you
open so I can see your guts.

The others burst out laughing. They were all in on his delirium.

Mr. MacCinglé had lured his buddies to the brink of madness.

He resumed reading the ritual.

— Out of pure malice, we offer you this virgin.

And to exhibit a huge cutlass. He raised it in the air and stopped his
gesture to admire the reflection of the sparkling blade.

—Man, that's a super murder weapon, Dirk exclaimed.

Clearly, he too had definitely fallen to the dark

side.

— It's a hunting knife, Nikolai thought it was a good idea to clarify.

- Nice!
Nikolai stopped the blade vertically above Jenny.

— OK, let's go.

Again she tried desperately to struggle. It took

four of them to hold her down this time.

—Oh, Jenny, my little Jenny, he cooed.

They all started singing along as Nikolai proceeded to

stab her. Incredibly brutally. They stabbed her and
slashed her and beat her, basically to make sure she
was dead. Like, dead as hell.

9. Who put the “fun” in funeral?

Jennifer cleaned the undersides of her fingernails with a stick she had
stolen from my dresser, all the while continuing to nonchalantly relate her
horrific story.

— Normally, when you torture her, an ordinary girl faints or

something. But I'm so tough that I stayed with them the whole
time. I could feel them cutting me under the ribs, ripping me
open, then going back up to my heart. Then Nikolai threw the
knife into the waterfall... to get rid of it.
I stared at her in disbelief.

— They... they killed you!

— I'm here, right? she protested, shaking her head.

(Before concluding:) Well, yes. They cut me up like sushi.
Normally, that would have killed me. But for some
reason, well no!

— Maybe so, though, I murmured.

— Never mind. Anyway, I don't really remember

what happened next. I just came to my senses a
few hours later and somehow I went home.

— Yeah, well I remember, I said dryly. How

could I forget?

—I couldn't bring myself to hurt you. I mean,

we're really friends. But I was so hungry, I
needed something. Even now, I know, somehow,
when I need to get my strength back. And when
I'm full - like now - I'm kind of invulnerable. I can
do stuff like that.

She stuck the stick into her arm before pulling it through
the flesh. I jumped. It was utterly disgusting.

"It's really nothing," she said, unperturbed. "Look."

She pulled the piece of wood out and the wound healed before my
eyes. I couldn't help but touch her skin. There wasn't a mark.

— It's as good as the X-Men, right?

I looked her straight in the eyes.

— What do you mean by "when my stomach is full"?

She shrugged.
— Well, a full belly. Like lots of choice morsels.

But I still didn't get it. Well, I didn't want to. I

nodded. She had really lost it. "Choice morsels"...
morsels of what? I dreaded guessing.

“Forget it,” she said. “You’d report me anyway. Even if no

one would believe you. You’ve always been the doomsayer.”

She looked at me and rolled her eyes, like I was some kind
of hysterical crybaby, just because it upset me to see
people die.

But I still had questions for him.

—And my mother's car? Why did you rush at me at that

moment? Why were you covered in blood? You didn't even look
human!

She patted my arm.

—You should talk to someone about all these crazy ideas you're
having right now. You know, you're worrying us all. Especially
Chip. I think he's starting to change his mind about you.

That was the last straw. I exploded:

- Cleared !

— My God, are we not best friends anymore?

I screamed:
— GET OUT OF HERE!

She gave me a flirtatious smile.

— Come on, let me stay tonight. We can play mommy and

daddy like we used to.

I backed away, curling up. With a sigh, she got out of bed and
went to my window. Which she opened wide.

- What are you doing ?

My room is on the first floor. No way I'm sneaking out the

window.

— You told me to get out. So I'm getting out fast. (She climbed
the ledge and crouched on the edge.) See you at school!

And she jumped out the window! I rushed but the yard was
empty. She was gone. I was starting to believe in her superhero
powers for real.

The next day at school, I heard from Colin. Poor, sad boy. His
remains had been found in a construction site on the outskirts of
town: one of those crappy developments where all the houses
look the same and where, for some inexplicable reason, the
developers are convinced that people will want to live in the same
shoebox as their neighbors. A security guard driving around the
construction site had spotted Colin’s car parked outside the gate.
The boy had been disemboweled and eaten, just like Jonas. No
one knew why he had been there or who had eaten his organs.

But I was starting to get a sense of who was enjoying

these "choice cuts" in our town lately. Jennifer had
told me she needed to feel "full"? And that might
explain why she looked so crappy after a
moment, before she glowed again. Also partly explain some of the
strange sensations I had been experiencing lately. What I had felt
was her hunger, her unease, and then this pleasure of being sated
with fresh teenage flesh. I wasn't quite ready to accept this theory
yet. But the clues were piling up in the back of my brain and
before long, I was going to
having to play Nancy Drew leads the investigation1.

1. A series of detective novels for young adults, created by Edward

Stratemeyer in the 1930s and signed by the pseudo-collective of
Carolyn Keene. (NdT)

Colin's funeral was held near Our Lady of Perpetual Blood. A

truly apt name. Well-kept paths wound between imposing
marble monuments. There was a small grave dug at the back
of the cemetery and that was where the ceremony took place.

I showed up early and waited. I felt responsible. I don't know how I

could have avoided it, but somewhere I felt like I had betrayed Colin.
His family seemed overwhelmed. They would be, if only they were.
They surrounded the grave, looking groggy, while the rest of the
congregation stood back. There were also a couple of press
photographers. The world was beginning to know Devil's Kettle well.
The priest began his eulogy:

— We are gathered here to celebrate the memory of Colin Gray, taken

prematurely from his family...

I heard sobbing in the distance. I looked up like everyone else and

saw several dark figures appear on the ridge. A procession of goths,
among them the very last Dead Girl, marched solemnly in single file.
They were all dressed in black, capes, chains, fishing nets, combat
boots, and tons and tons of mascara. And all of them, without
exception, were crying. It was like being in a Greek tragedy, with a
funeral hymn on the accordion.
A girl scattered rose petals on the ground. They approached the
grave and stood near the family.

The priest cleared his throat:

— Are these...?
Mr. Gray opined.

— Colin's friends.

A goth named Kevin threw himself onto the freshly turned

earth.

— Colin! Take me with you! My place is down there, with you in

the darkness!

These goths, always so melodramatic!

One of the Dead Girls pulled him back. It was Chloe, I think.

— No, Kevin. These are only his earthly remains. He is with the
angels of the kingdom of darkness now. Fly, Colin! Soar into the
firmament!

Chloe lit a bundle of sage and waved it in the air. The smoke
made Mr. Gray choke. The girl was seriously kidding herself if
she thought she knew anything about the realm of darkness.
As for me, I felt like I was becoming an expert on the subject.

Kevin addressed Mr. Gray.

— Is it cool for you if we camp here for a few days? We'd

like to commune with his corpse.

Mr. Gray was speechless.

Chloe stepped in.

—I need to ask you something, Mrs. Gray. Um, Mr. Feely—

you know, the high school shrink?—he says it's really
important for me to express myself.

"Young lady, perhaps this is not the time," the priest growled.
But Mrs. Gray waved him away.

— It will be fine, she said.

— Okay. Well, is it true that Colin had a date with Jennifer

Check the night he was killed?

Chloe had said Jennifer's name like it was a swear word. I

covered my face. I couldn't believe she was bringing it up at
Colin's funeral. And in front of Colin's mother! She continued:

— Because Jennifer Check? Well, she's a big slut. She thinks she's
special just because she's popular and is considered "attractive" in
"polite society." But in reality, she's nothing but a mega-slut who
listens to Fergie and wears Hollister. Plus, she has herpes on her
lips and elsewhere.

This, first news, for me, if it were true. Disgusting, indeed!

—So, just to confirm, Colin didn't have an appointment with

her, did he?

The Grays looked at their shoes without saying anything. Chloe lost her temper.

— Oh my God! I knew it! That whore!

Amen, my dear sister.. Kevin brushed his arm in an attempt to

calm her down.

— Hmm, Chloe? Maybe you should go after the person

who murdered Colin instead. All Jennifer Check did was
invite him to come seeAquamarine.

Chloe's moans grew louder:

"That's even worse!" she screamed, and this time she was the one rolling around
on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum.

Mrs. Gray began to cry, her face in her hands, and her
husband hugged her to comfort her.

—Colin wouldn't have liked that, Kevin commented with a shake of his
head.

This is when the real show began.

Mrs. Gray snapped her head up and glared at the boy
before shouting:

— Ah, you think so? (And adding to the sarcasm :) Yeah, you're
right. I'm pretty sure my son wouldn't have liked to be eaten by a
cannibal and buried before his eighteenth birthday! Wow, you
must have known him really well!

She was spitting and waving her arms around.

— Jill..., her husband said, trying to pull her back.

Kevin had turned white as a sheet, absolutely terrified of the

harpy he had just released.

—By the time they found Colin in that godforsaken house, he

looked like a lasagna with hair! I should know better. I had to
identify his remains! (Her scream suddenly turned into a low
growl, which was even more terrifying.) My boy is not
not in the realm of the undead. He's not fluttering around in the...
in the firmament with his wings of magical flame. He's in a
prohibitively expensive rosewood coffin, and won't get any further
than right here, six feet under. (She leaned over menacingly to
Kevin, and spat in his face.) So, you can take your pain and shove
it wherever you want! I have the monopoly on pain!

Before collapsing, in tears, in her husband's arms.

I almost applauded, but I thought that would be inappropriate.

10. Hell his homework

They had a big memorial service for Colin at school a

few days later, and we got another lecture about the
curfew, the advice to always go out in groups, the
best way to grieve, and blah blah blah blah blah. But
no one seemed to care anymore. Grief was already
an outdated emotion. I had insomnia, and I hadn't
spoken to Jennifer since that night in my room.

To tell the truth, I hadn't really talked to anyone. I was

completely absorbed in my research. I spent the last few days
of March searching for answers on the Internet, but Google
wasn't much help. If you type in a query with the keywords
"demon virgin hunting knife" you'll come acrossSweeney Todd
, Thomas Hardy or David Bowie. Plus blogs by seriously ill
guys. So I fell back on the good old paper method, spending
entire afternoons and weekends in the town's small public
library, hunkered down in a corner reading old, yellowed
tomes about witches, demons and other myths. I had the
feeling that if I studied enough, I could
to pass the test: one where if they succeeded, people would
live. If they failed, they would die.

The building was old and musty, with beige carpet and a few
very tired desks. I set my sights on the one furthest from the
door, tucked away behind the shelves. Mr. Stein, the librarian,
convinced as he was that I had decided on my own to write a
history of our town, kept bringing me soporific treatises on
land consolidation and water supply. I was looking for
anything to do with the occult, assuming that the name of the
town must derive from a story of witchcraft or Satanism. Mr.
Stein was always hovering around me, but otherwise he left
me alone. To do book research was to belong to the same
brotherhood as him.

I read a lot of books on ancient history, Germanic

tribes, ritual murders in Africa, and the Bible. I even
read every ghost story available, then every witchcraft
story in New England and the Midwest. I had become a
walking wiki of the occult. But it took me a very long
time to figure out what had really happened to my best
friend and why she had started eating our classmates
alive.

I had come to the conclusion that Jennifer was some kind of

psychotic teenage serial cannibal. She must have killed Jonas.
She had felt all flu-like and sick at first, like me, and then, right
after she had eaten him, we both felt much better. She must
have killed Colin when I had a panic attack with Chip in his room.
That explained the strange hunger I had felt then. I don't know
why, but I was also convinced that she had eaten Ahmet. My
only assumption was that she couldn't handle him.

But I still couldn't believe she was possessed or

that she had been turned into a demon. She had these weird
powers, she had to maintain them, but she was still Jennifer
Check. She was still my friend... right?

March turned into April. Every morning on my way to school,

bundled up in my hoodie, I would walk past the football field
with its huge banner announcing the quarterly dance and see
Jennifer and her cheerleading squad chatting away, as if no
one had been eviscerated.

In class, if I stared at her too long, I would start having

visions: Jennifer's grinning skull, Jennifer as a rotting
corpse, Jennifer as a monster with a mouth full of rows of
fangs. I could hear blood roaring in my ears, flies buzzing
around me.

I was totally lost.

I had even come to neglect Chip, who was trying valiantly to act as if
nothing had happened. He attributed my state to the shock of Colin's
death, but to him it was because Colin had been my friend, not
because my crazy best friend had killed him.

I had thought a lot about Jennifer, Colin, and Chip. I knew that the
more I loved Chip, the more I had to stay away from him. It was
like in all those train station novels. I had to push him away to
better protect him. And it really sucked that it wasn't because I
had dangerous superpowers.

One morning, Chip came up to me and pulled me out of my thoughts.

— Hey! (He nudged me.) I just bought our tickets for the high school
dance. Have you made reservations for the buffet yet? (I looked down
at my feet without answering. He continued:) For your dress, what
color are you planning on wearing? How about magenta red? You're
definitely a winter girl. My mother says that these girls should wear
warm, majestic tones, just like magenta red.
Or at a pinch, teal red.

— That's right. I forgot that your mother is a salesperson at

Avon.

— Well, today we call them "commercial attachés," he

corrected me.

I felt like it was going to be hard. But I knew I had to do it.

To save him.

— I can't go dancing with you. I can't see you at all

anymore.

— Huh? Why?
—Because she covets everything I have.

— But what are you talking about?

I looked wistfully at his messy brown hair and strong

arms. I suppose he deserved an explanation. He wasn't
going to like it, but I owed him that much.

— Not here. Let's go somewhere else.

I took him by the arm and pulled him into the school courtyard.

— What's going on? Are you leaving me?

He was panicked.

I found a quiet bench in a secluded corner under a large ficus tree. I pushed
him onto it and sat down next to him.

— Okay. (I paused, not knowing where to start. I got straight

to the point:) Jennifer is demonic.
— I knew that. I've heard it before.

— No, I think she's really mean. Not just 'hell.'

Listen, I have to show you something.

I opened my bag and pulled out a huge black binder with

“JENNIFER RESEARCH” written on the spine. I scanned
through my library photocopies and web page printouts.
Chip cringed slightly.

— Needy, I really care about you. I really do. And I'm scared of
what's happening to you.

Chip was so sweet. But he needed to shut up and listen to me.

— Please, just let me show you.

Seeing that he had little choice, he simply nodded.

— So I went through the occult section of the library five times

in a row.

Finding the photocopy I was looking for, I shoved it under his nose.

— Does our library have an occult section?

— Well, not very big, I admitted, but yes, indeed. Okay, so

you can find things likeThe Blue Grass*, the biography of
Sammy Davis Junior and still some obscure and downright
esoteric texts. Who knows? Read this anyway.

* Go Ask Alice, in the original version. Originally published in 1971 as

an anonymous diary, it is actually the work of American psychologist
Beatrice Sparks, who partly used the confessions of her patients to
compose this account of the tragic experiences of a teenage girl
under LSD. (NdT)
He stumbled over the first word, so I read for him.

— “Demonic transference.” That’s what happens when you try to

sacrifice a virgin to Satan without using a real virgin. (Chip stared
at me like I was one of those people who wraps their heads in
tinfoil to keep aliens away. I continued anyway:) That’s what
happened to Jennifer! The Low Shoulder guys wanted to sacrifice
her in the woods, but they didn’t realize she hadn’t been a virgin
for ages. That makes sense then! Read on. (I took the binder back
from him and read the page myself:) “If the human sacrifice is
impure, the goal will still be achieved, but a demon will take
possession of the victim’s soul, who will now have to consume
human flesh to feed it.” See?

— That's it, yes., Chip said slowly.

He still didn't make the report.

— She eats boys! It makes her beautiful and resplendent and her
hair is magnificent. And on top of that she becomes, as one might
say, invulnerable. I don't know more. What I do know is that when
she is in withdrawal, she becomes weak, ugly and shriveled, well, I
mean, ugly in her eyes. It's because she needs to feed! She needs
their life force!

— Do you really think Jennifer killed Jonas and Colin?

He expressed himself by clearly detaching the syllables.

I nodded vigorously and added:

—And probably Ahmet, the young Indian, too. I know she's not
herself anymore. You don't understand what I saw. She showed it
to me!
— Needy, I really think you need help...

I kept silent. He hadn't believed a word of my story.Shit. He

continued:

—I really think you should talk to the school psychologist.

Well, you know, just to get your head straight. I realize
you've been through some tough times, he added softly.

— You don't believe me! You think I'm crazy!

He took the binder from my hands and closed it.

— It's not that I don't believe you. I just don't believe any of
this.

And tap the binder with his finger.

I could see why he didn't want to catch my contagious madness.

Except I wasn't crazy. The others were. But when you're the only
sane one, you're considered crazy. It's subjective, you see.

“It’s not true,” I whispered. “This is a nightmare.” I turned to

look him straight in the eye. “It’s risky for us to be seen
together.”

He frowned.
— Wait, are you saying you're breaking up with me? I'm not your
boyfriend anymore?

— I know you're next on the list. I can feel it.

— And the ball, then?

— We don't care about the ball!

— Not me! I already ordered your brooch. It's an orchid and I
got it for twelve dollars!

I soften a little.
— Okay, listen, I'll be at the ball. I have to keep an eye on Jennifer.
Just promise me you won't come near me.

He looked at me with puppy dog eyes. My stomach turned. I

was sick. But there was no way I was going to let her sink her
teeth into him.

— I don't think I want to anymore, anyway.

He handed me the binder back and walked away. I watched him go, my heart heavy. I
loved him so much and I had ruined everything.

It took me a while, but I was starting to get the idea

that Jennifer Check was a real slut.

11. Being a pampered woman is not so easy.

The theme of the dance was “Through the Trees.” Everyone

still loved that damned tune. The festival committee had
taken it literally and spent the first half of April making papier-
mâché trees to transform the wooden gymnasium. As if there
was a shortage of them around here.

The day of the dance came quickly. Colin had died about a
month ago, and his death had occurred a month after
Jonas's, so I was pretty sure Jennifer was going to need to
feed soon. I figured she'd jump at the chance and pick her
next meal that night at the dance. And I figured she'd pick
Chip precisely because I wanted to
prevent. First an athlete. Then a goth. I knew his next
dish would be a geek.

I got dressed in my room. Mom had come home the week

before with this incredible 80s revival dress she had gotten
from a coworker. It was a magenta red hue, with a bunch of
accessories, puffed sleeves, a big bow on the hip, laces in the
back, the bottom forming a tulle skirt with ruffles, cut short in
the front and with a train in the back.

Chip would love it. Too bad he wasn't my date.

Spector circled my feet, nibbling at the loose ends of

tulle. Mom was behind me, holding a hot curling iron.

— You look great, she said to me.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

— No, I look like a big pig.

"No," she protested. "You're model-sized. I always

thought you looked like Cindy Crawford."

— Who is that?

— One of the biggest stars of our time! She even has a

beauty mark like you, except hers is on her face.

I felt a burning sensation on the back of my neck.

— Ouch, you're too close with that thing!

— Well, if Chip gives you a hickey, you can always say I

burned you.

— Mom, I already told you. Chip and I broke up.

— All the more reason to look attractive. Be quiet.

She wrapped another strand of my hair around the barrel of the

curling iron.

— What are you going to do to my hair?

— A perm.
- Mom!
— Well, you're already pretty well equipped for everything else,
might as well have the hair in tune!

When she was done, I looked like a poodle or, at a pinch, the
bride of Frankenstein. She took off my glasses, which was
almost a relief. I couldn't stand to look at myself or the golden
"Friends for Life" medallion hanging around my neck. But
somehow it felt right to keep wearing it until the end.

My mother took out the digital camera and took several shots of
me in the living room, with the armchair covered in its plaid
blanket in the background. Then she came and stood next to me
and reached out to frame us both. But when we looked at each
other on the screen, Mom had her eyes closed and I looked
unhappy. I guess that's because I was. Still, it pains me that these
are the last photos she has of me.

The decorations in the gymnasium made your eyes

bleed. The trees they had made looked like green and
purple bruises, and it looked like a joke shop had just
exploded, leaving balloons and bits of streamers
everywhere. A large banner proclaimed:

“THROUGH THE WOODS: SPRING CELEBRATION”.

A lousy DJ played lousy music. Every time a song
ended, there was a big blank. This guy couldn't
even do combos.

I saw the Dead Girls zoning out in packs. Armed with a pin, Chloe
was popping the balloons. Punctuating each pop with a phrase
like: “This is my heart,” “pop!” “This is my soul,” “pop!” “Everything
I’ve believed in,” “pop!”

A few morons laughed at my dress as I pushed through the

crowd looking for Jennifer. Fuck that. I was on a mission. She
was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Chip, so after filling
a plastic cup with cranberry juice, I leaned against the wall to
wait. I was willing to wait all night if I had to. I wondered if she
would bring a date.

Couples were struggling on the dance floor and the minutes

were ticking away in slow motion. A glance at my watch: Mickey's
arms that acted as hands confirmed that both of them were late.

Mr. Wroblewski stepped up to the DJ’s podium and grabbed the

microphone. He was wearing his 1970s tuxedo over a blue
ruffled shirt. His clip glinted in the glare of the disco ball. The
music faded to a muted level so he could speak.

— May I have your attention, please? (The audience fell silent but
appeared annoyed.) Welcome to the grand dance of the term. I hope
you will all have the opportunity to consume the shortbread and fruit
juice so generously provided by the parents of the students. (There
was a few scattered applause, mainly from the organizing parents. He
continued:) But the real surprise is yet to come. We have some very
special guests tonight. These young people have been very kind to
temporarily interrupt their sold-out national tour to come tonight, free
of charge, to play for us!
A murmur ran through the audience and I heard Chastity let out a cry
of joy. I swallowed my generously offered fruit juice the wrong way.

Mr. W. paused theatrically. Then he raised his metal claw

into the air and announced in a cheerful voice:

— Young people, please give a standing ovation to... Low Shoulder!

Girls rushed towards the stage, shrieking as soon as the

spotlights came on to reveal these dumb puppets, as they
started a remix of their same damn song. The band's
emblem was pinned to the stage curtain behind them. I
finally recognized that the leaning car was a road sign
indicating an unstabilized shoulder. "Low Shoulder" in
English. Totally useless.

Still no sign of Jennifer or Chip. Finally, my poor

neurons connected and I nearly wet my little white
panties.

— Chip! I cried out loud.

I staggered toward the gym doors, hampered by those

stupid high heels my mother had seen fit to dye the color
of the dress.

I stepped outside into the crisp air. It was a bit foggy, and a
faint glow surrounded the few streetlights surrounding the
parking lot. I kicked off my heels and ran barefoot toward
McCullum Park.

People don't suspect my speed. I'm fast. It's just that I

never show myself on the cinder track because I look so
ugly in shorts. And then, Jennifer always told me that
athletics was a dyke thing. But I am. Well, fast, I mean.
Even wearing this postpartum dress, I traced on
asphalt. Had to. Chip's life was on the line.

12. A Chip by half

I ran to Chip's first. I clung to the last shred of hope that

he wasn't gone yet. I collapsed on his porch, panting,
and slumped against the doorbell.

It was her little sister Camille who opened the door for me. She was a
charming little girl, with long braids and a round face. She was licking a
water ice and her cheeks were all smeared with red.

— Hey, hi Camille! Is Chipper home?

I did my best not to scare her, but I think the pitiful sight I made,
slumped on the porch in my bright red puffy dress, gave me
away. She eyed me up like I was a stranger who had come to
offer her razor blades on Halloween night. She went back to
licking her ice cream. Dead end.

Luckily, her mother arrived and pulled the girl away.

— Needy, is there a problem?

She had immediately gauged my condition.

“Where’s Chip?” I asked imploringly.

I beg you, please let him not be gone yet.

“He left for the ball a good twenty minutes ago,” she replied, perplexed.
“He should be there by now.”

Shit.
— He went there on foot? Mrs. Dove, you mean that in this
climate of danger and depravity, you let your son wander the
streets alone at night?

I staggered to my feet.

"Well, it's only five blocks from here," she protested,

eyeing me up. "My God, your hair is all...

I interrupted him.

— What path did he take?

No time to explain my permed hairstyle to him.

— He usually cuts through the park. How about you try...

But I had already left. I heard Mrs. Dove cry out behind me,
stunned:

— Anita?

I reached McCullumen Park swimming, my feet bleeding. Or maybe it was

the shoes that had rubbed off. It was hard to tell. I caught my breath as I
scanned the surroundings, but there was no sign of Chip.

I called out to him. I waited and suddenly heard a scream to my

right. I lifted my skirt and sprinted toward Murphy's Pool.

It was the city pool, which had been abandoned for a long time
because we realized that three-quarters of the time it was really
too cold in Minnesota to go swimming and it was deserted. Now
kids would sneak in to skateboard, spray paint the walls, or shoot
up. There was a fence that kept people out, but everyone climbed
over it. It was the perfect place to murder someone.

I was going too fast to brake and I hit the fence, shaking
this one. Frantically sliding my bare feet into the steel
diamonds, I climbed the fence. I cut my hand open on a
metal spike but kept climbing. That fucking fence was so
high. I heard Chip start screaming again.

“I’m coming!” I said, out of breath.

When I reached the top, I jumped down the other side and landed rather
roughly on the concrete. My arm was bleeding and it hurt like hell, but it
would have taken more than that to stop me. Zigzagging through the
rubbish, I knocked over the mouldy deck chairs that cluttered the
"beach".

Groping through the darkness, I stumbled into the pool. A

murky glow bathed the murky waters. “HOPELESSNESS” had
been spray-painted on the far wall. Like an omen, and not a
good one. I heard Chip’s moans before I saw him, and I
clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle a gag.

The pool was half-filled with dirty, foamy water, probably a

mixture of acid rain and melted snow, and Jennifer held Chip
against the ladder. His shirt and chest were torn, and I could
see his ribs protruding. Even after the carnage, I noticed he
was wearing a magenta bow tie and an orchid in his lapel. His
face was contorted with pain when he looked up and saw me.
He said my name, but he didn't make a sound.

— Holy shit!
Jennifer hadn't even noticed I was there. She was too busy
eating him raw. I climbed up onto the diving board and
crossed myself. After all, it wasn't cheap.

— Saint Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, give me the

strength to crush this bitch.
Then, with a kick, I dove at Jennifer just as she raised her head. I
landed on her shoulders with a big splash. Right on target! I pulled
with all my weight to tear her away from Chip, wrapped her legs
around his neck, and pulled her down. The water was freezing.

She pushed me away and surfaced with me, gasping for

air from the cold. I grabbed her by the hair and slapped
her face. I looked over to the edge of the pool and spotted
a bomb abandoned there. Perfect! I grabbed it and aimed
at her eyes. She screamed and then convulsed as black,
spiky goop sprayed from her mouth and covered Chip and
me.

— Stop playing video games! she shouted before rising

straight into the air to levitate three meters above the
water level, like a witch.

I could finally see her dress. It had been white with thin
straps and black satin ribbons under her breasts and
rump. It must have been nice before it was ruined by my
boyfriend's entrails. Jennifer wore long white gloves that
were now all red.

Her outfit aside, she didn't look that great. She looked
like a walking corpse. She clearly needed to feed. Her
eyes were an odd color, paler than usual. And her
mouth showed a row of sharp, black teeth.

—Because she flies too? Chip croaked.

— She's just levitating, Chip. No big deal about it.

I helped him slide up so that he was resting on the steps leading

to the small bath.

When Jennifer spoke, it was no longer with her voice. It had

metallic resonances. Demonic, I would say. She moaned:

— My God, why do you have to undermine

everything I do? You're such a bad sport.

I looked up and glared at her.

—And you, you're just a bitch.

— Oh, that's a nice insult, Pollyanna. Do you have any more

spicy ones?

Something inside me suddenly snapped. I know, I know, it had

been a long time coming, but like I said before: sandbox
friendships are forever. That is, until a filth-spewing, boyfriend-
eating harpy comes along and puts an end to them.

—You know what? You were never a good friend, ever. Even
when we were little, you always had this habit of stealing my
toys, spilling lemonade on my bed, and making me be Ugly
Ashley whenever we played with dolls.

—And now I'm eating your boyfriend, she said, laughing.

See? At least I have some ideas.

—Why do you need him especially, huh, anyway? (I couldn't

help myself. I looked at him and burst into tears.) Why do you
need the only boy who ever loved me? You can fuck anyone,
Jennifer! The cutest guys in school, the mailman, a teacher...
You could probably even make yourself a huge star like Chad
Michael Murray! So why Chip? Why him? Is it just to annoy
me? (I struggled back to the edge of the pool.) Or to reassure
you?

Jennifer slowly descended to land on the 'beach' as I pulled

myself out of the water to confront her.
—I don't need reassurance! she hissed. What a joke!
Me! How could I need that? I was the Snow Queen.

— Yeah, I snickered. Two years ago. When you were still

popular.

I crossed my arms, all disgusting with slime.

“I’M STILL POPULAR!” she exclaimed in a voice so shrill that I

closed my eyes to protect myself from her flood of bile.

But I knew I had her. I decided to deliver the final blow.

— Besides, you wereAlreadyemaciated!

Jennifer looked horrified. She backed up against the fence, the links
squeaking in protest. Her eyes were blazing.

"I'm going to devour your soul and then shit it out, Lesnicki!" she began to
growl.

And when I say "snarl," I mean it. He sounded like a wild animal. I
heard a scraping noise behind me and glanced briefly behind me. Chip
had somehow managed to drag himself up the steps to get out of the
pool, and with some difficulty he was slowly trying to retrieve a boat
hook that had been placed nearby on the edge. One of his arms looked
half-eaten.

I turned to my ex-best friend to distract her.

I noticed:
— I thought you only picked on boys.

—I'm bi, she smiled with all her horrible sharp teeth.

Then she threw herself at me, roaring, her jaws gaping. Her eyes were
sparkling. I thought I was lost.
But Chip suddenly stepped in, brandishing the boat hook like a spear. Jen
came and planted herself on it, launching herself at me. Impaled, she
collapsed on the beach. I screamed as Chip collapsed, overcome by the
effort.

I leaned down and put my arm under him to support him. It was hard
to look at him, with that gaping hole in his chest. He was my hero. I
had come to save him and I owed my life to him! So much for my
theories on sexism.

Jennifer slowly straightened up and, inch by inch, removed the

metal rod from her abdomen.

—Ouch, ouch, ouch, she said.

— You were hurt!

I was surprised. And I who took her for an invulnerable superhero. The
blunder had left a gaping hole from which blood oozed. She looked at me.

— Do you have a tampon?

I shook my head.

She continued:

—I thought, "It doesn't hurt to ask," I was sure you had

your period.

Then she began to climb the fence, grimacing in pain.

I screamed:

— Where are you going?

— Stop yelling. I'm leaving, she said without turning around. (Then
She gave us a look and said :) Losers like you are
not worth it.

—Why give up now? (I was hysterical.) He's almost

dead. Get your ass back, you bulimic pig, and finish us
both off!

—Nah, she said. You kept saying I was a bad friend all
these years. I might as well add fuel to your fire.

And with a final snicker, she jumped to the other side. Through the
fence, I watched her walk away into the mist, hating her with every
fiber of my being.

Chip growled again, pulling me roughly out of my daze. I held

him in my arms, covered in blood and black goo. His injuries were
horrific. In addition to his exposed ribs, his arm had been torn
off. There was a large wound on his neck where Jennifer had
attacked him with her teeth. I clamped my hand there in a futile
attempt to stop the bleeding.

— Oh, Chip.

I was desperate. It was too late, far too late.

— Needy, he breathed. You're always right.

—I came too late. It's all my fault! (Hot tears streamed

down my cheeks.) I let him get his hands on you.

— No, he forgave me. It was I who should not have followed her.

So he had followed her here? Lord, what had she told

him?

— I'm going to call for help.

Shit, maybe for once the cops could surrender.

useful.

I dug through his pockets and retrieved his cell phone. I wiped it
on my dress to clean it of the black slime, even though my
clothes couldn't have been much cleaner.

— Oh no, Chip moaned. I'm almost out of my package.

I smile at him.

— The SAMU number is still free.

He smiled back at me.

— Damn, it's true. You're always right.

I dialed 911, but nothing happened. I shook the phone, tapped it on the
cement, dialed the number again. No beep, no light, nothing. It was dead.

— It doesn't work anymore. It's covered in Jennifer's drool.

The bitch.

Chip began to cough, choking on his own blood. He

blinked.

— Hey, I think I'm going...

His voice had become so weak. I held him tighter and whispered in
his ear in a firm voice:

— No. You're not going anywhere!

Hi No-Question, meet Needy. Needy, meet No-

Question...

He tried to sketch a smile that turned into a grimace of pain.

— I'm done, Needy. I'm going to die. I think I was already dead before
you got here, it was your voice that woke me up.

I felt a lump in my throat. As long as I live, I will

never hear such sweet words again. How had it
come to this?

“I love you,” I sobbed, smearing him with snot.

I know, it's anything but romantic, but it was real life, not one of
those fairy tales with a happy ending. It was probably the worst
ending you could imagine.

— Yeah, me too, he replied. And you look really hot in that

evening dress.

I barked a laugh.

— You're clearly delusional.

He reached out his good hand to stroke my face. Then looked me

straight in the eyes.

— No. When you die, you suddenly see things much more
clearly. You can tell right from wrong. Real things have a kind
of halo around them, like you do right now. And I know for
sure that you are perfectly hot.

I started sobbing again. You might imagine that I was running

out of tears by now, but it seemed like I had an endless supply
that night. It had taken me far too long to get to this point. It
had taken my boyfriend dying in my arms to convince me that I
wasn't such a loser after all. I didn't need Jennifer's blessing. I
should have known that by now.

"You better get out of here," he said. "The police are coming and I
don't want them to do anything wrong, if you know what I mean."
say.
I hugged him tighter.

— No question of abandoning you.

— But I have to go, he breathed.

— No! I cried hoarsely.

His eyes closed. His body went limp. My love was gone.

I screamed. I buried my face in her open, mutilated chest. I anointed

myself with her blood and vowed to make her pay.

Oh my God, Chip, I'm so sorry.

13. Dance of Death

I finally realized that Chip was right. He wasn't an idiot after all. If
I had stayed, the cops would have definitely taken me into
custody, and that was out of the question. I had things to do.

I kissed him one last time and gently lowered him to the
ground. I stood there staring at him for a few moments,
soaking up his face, then left him. I managed to get over the
fence in the opposite direction, but gravity did most of the
work. Then I hobbled back to the gym. No more need to
press. Chip had already had his last dance.

The surroundings were plunged into complete darkness. In Devil's

Kettle, we don't have many street lights. I came out at the edge of
the high school parking lot bathed in a vague acid yellow light.
Near the handicapped spots, two young morons were licking each
other's noses. I stopped to stare at them. It was beyond me that
people could get off at a time like this. The girl finally noticed me.

— What are you looking at, you idiot?

— Just your guy trying to put on a front for you.

It was low, I know. Bitterness was already beginning to overflow from my

heart and flood my soul.

— What did you say? the guy asked.

I looked down and slowly my brain took stock as I realized the

sight I must have presented to them: my filthy, torn dress—
not great to begin with—and my hair all matted together. I
was covered in blood, with patches of black slime on my
knees, legs, face, arms. I was gasping for air, short of breath.

I leaned over and, placing one finger against one nostril, expelled a
clot of blood through the other. I could breathe again.

The guy looked at me more closely.

— Are you supposed to be goth or something?

I straightened up, bowed my head.

— Do you know that the Goths were actually a Germanic

tribe that conquered Rome? They didn't dress in black.
They wore plain linen tunics. I'm still surprised no
one else knows that.

They stared at me, wide-eyed, for a second before

resuming their muzzle-licking session. People never learn
anything. I resumed my limping journey toward the gym.

My first idea had been to sneak in, but then I finally let the door
slam behind me. Stealth mode was no longer of any use. I
crossed the room, leaving bloody footprints that the train of my
dress finished spreading on the waxed floor. I was a princess
crossing the dark enchanted forest full of gnarled trees, in one of
the original uncensored versions of fairy tales. Before the big
Hollywood studios got their hands on their works, the Brothers
Grimm had written some pretty twisted stuff.

No one stopped laughing or dancing. No one even blinked as I walked

through the crowd. It was as if I were walking the streets of New York.
I've been there once before. A bunch of weirdos can walk around there
without attracting any attention.

I had my eyes glued to the band. Low Shoulder was playing an

endless instrumental, weighed down by distortion and by flights
of sticks. It was incredibly bad. Nikolai was the first to notice me.
He was wearing a black blazer and red tie over a gold shirt. He
was playing the role of the lord of indie glamrock. Not really an
improvement on their initial look at theMelody Lane. As soon as
he saw me, he elbowed Dirk. The bassist was wearing a red shirt,
collar open, tie knotted carelessly loose around his neck. His hair
was slicked back in a faux Iroquois cut.

I reached the foot of the stage and looked up at Nikolai. I pointed

two fingers to my eyes and then extended them in his direction.
De Niro type. It freaked him out. He grabbed the microphone.

— Thank you! You are all really great! (Then, leaning towards Dirk,
he said:) We have to get out of here.

Poor Dirk was completely lost and he turned to the other musicians,
looking bewildered. Nikolai then pointed at me. I was not unhappy
that he recognized me right away. Dirk took off his bass and then they
both signaled to the other two to leave the stage. The people around
me started to grumble about this impromptu interruption. As the
group came down from the stage, Nikolai stared at me. I approached,
he shuddered. All smiles, I said:

— Why don't you sing your hit again?

They scampered away like wimps. Then I turned back to
the room. No one moved. So I hobbled out and went
home.

For once, I didn't have to fumble to open the door. With a punch, I
smashed the window and slid my hand inside to operate the lock.
Without turning on the kitchen light, I retrieved a tea towel decorated
with cute little chicks and stuck it to my slashed arm. Then I climbed
the stairs almost on all fours to reach my room and get to bed. I
stayed there for a few moments lying on my back, trying to
reconstruct the sequence of events but without success. My neurons
had given up the ghost, I was definitely exhausted. I rolled onto my
side and curled up like that, but in the light of the alarm clock, I saw
the framed photo on my nightstand: Chip, Jennifer and me. Smiling.
Happy.

There are better ways to fall asleep.

I stared at the picture until daybreak. When she came back,

Mom tried to shake me off, but I was complacent in this inertia
that was like catatonia. She took a washcloth to
roughly wash the carnage off me before bandaging my arm.
Then, after a kiss on the forehead, she left me alone. She knew
about Chip: he had been on the morning news.

It was newly promoted Officer Duda who made the macabre discovery.
Bad times for a rookie. I guess they didn't know what to do with
Jennifer's putrid drool because no one ever talked about it. They
probably wanted to avoid a mass psychosis. Three teenagers
massacred and zero arrests. I'm not the one to blame them.

When I finally got out of bed, I was very quiet. And no one thought to
send the police to question me either. I think people came to ring the
doorbell once, but Mom threw them out. She can be mean when she
wants to be. But even if the whole town had seen me covered in blood
at the end of the ball, they had also seen me parading around for a
good fifteen minutes at the beginning of the evening... so I more or
less had an alibi. Everyone concluded that I had simply found it and
that I had become schizophrenic. Which was not wrong after all.

14. Flight in the feathers

I didn't go to Chip's funeral. It was beyond my strength to be

around a bunch of fake assholes who pretended to have known
him or cared about him. All they knew about him was that he
played the snare drum. None of them could have imagined that
he had a heart that big, the biggest anyone could ever dream of
in this town.

I didn’t go back to school. I had other assignments to complete

and at most a few weeks to devote to this final exam. So, while
Mom was at work or snoring on the couch curled up under her
embroidered tapestry “God Save This Home,” I prepared
for the final fight. I had messed up at the pool and it had cost me
dearly. Next time, I would be ready.

I found the toolbox my father had left in the garage. I inventoried its
contents in detail, looking for the ideal weapon. I wanted a hatchet.
For want of anything better, I set my sights on a hammer and a
wallpaper cutter. I considered going to the hardware store to buy new
blades, then changed my mind. Rusty iron would be even better.

I went to the municipal gymnasium every day. Nothing fancy: just a

room equipped with a worn gray carpet, fluorescent tubes, and a
mismatched assortment of dumbbells, donated by good souls. I
started with a five-pound in my left hand and a three-pound in my
right, then alternated between them. My only partner lifting weights
was an elderly lady in a purple tracksuit. She must have been in her
seventies. She didn't do much weight training; she had a hard time
lifting her old legs.

At night, as soon as Mom left for work, I went to Jennifer's. But not to hang
out, like before. No, I stayed hidden in the bushes, watching the house and
looking out the windows. I watched her, waiting for the moment when she
would weaken and lose her tone. The moment when she would have
consumed all the life force stolen from Chip. I had to surprise her before
she went to feast on someone else.

After a few weeks, I decided I was ready. And decided she was too.
I put on my brand new pair of combat boots, pulled my hair into
two braids. I put on a gray balaclava and pulled on mittens.
Although it was May, the air was still chilly, especially after dark. I
slipped the box cutter under my belt and grabbed the hammer. I
took one last look around my room. I probably wouldn't see it
again.

I went downstairs to my mother's room. The pile of scratched lottery

tickets and the bottle of Valium by the bed filled me with sadness. I
I was about to make her life a little more complicated, but I had
to. The time had come. The time to close Jennifer Check's
account for good.

Once I arrived in front of her house, I sat for a few minutes on the pile
of wood placed under her window. The wind rustled in the branches. I
saw the moon drowned in the clouds that passed in front. The sky was
agitated. I would be lying if I said I was not nervous. Even weakened,
Jennifer remained a kind of infernal creature endowed with strange
powers. Who knew what she was still capable of? I had to count
exclusively on the element of surprise and that would only last a
moment.

A glance out the window confirmed her presence. She was

lying on her white bed with a pink canopy. She was wearing a
small top and cut-off jeans. Her skin was grayish, her hair
stringy. Seeing her room in this light, I realized how ridiculous
it was. It was a setting for a five-year-old princess. Pink floral
wallpaper, white furniture, glittery carnival masks hanging on
the wall. Her mother had decorated it like that for a birthday
when Jennifer was very young and nothing had changed
since. I was still jealous of this fairytale room. I had always felt
like she was a princess and I was a slut.

I saw her get up to turn off the light. It was still dark. I could hear my
heart beating and the leaves rustling in the wind. I climbed over the
woodpile and rolled up the window. I crouched down, breathing so
hard I was sure she would hear me. The moment had come.

On your marks, get set, go!

I dove in with a war cry. Jennifer only had time to half-

raise herself on one elbow and say "hey" before I was
already in the room and swung the hammer at her head. I
missed and made a hole in the wall. The hammer remained stuck in the
plaster. Time for plan B. I threw myself at her, straddling her to pin her to
the bed, and began to strangle her. Adrenaline was coursing through my
veins and I couldn't help but scream.

— You killed him! You monster! You filthy turd of azombie!

She tried to pull away and her claw-like nails

dug into my arms.
I continued to strangle him with one hand while with the other I took the box
cutter and pulled out the blade.

She kneed me in the kidneys and then croaked:

— Do you still buy your weapons at Casto? You're such a

lawn mower.

I increased my pressure and cut her off. She was always quick to
respond to everything. It had always horrified me. I brandished the
box cutter, preparing to cut her to pieces. My arm was already falling
but, fighting back with the energy of despair, she bit my neck. Then,
putting all my weight on her throat, I forced her back down. I
straightened up to my full height and stabbed her, drawing a large X
on her chest. Blood began to spurt from the cuts and I screamed:

— I'M CROSSING OUT ON JENNIFER!

She gasped in pain and looked down, stunned, before looking up

at me. A feeling of triumph washed over me. So she wasn't
invulnerable.

Suddenly, I lost my balance, as if I was on a merry-go-round and the

ground had given way beneath me. I shook my head and realized that
we were both rising into the air! The bitch had started levitating again
and was pulling me along with her. Instinctively, I took her
scissoring his hips while grabbing her hair with one hand
to stab her again.

She struggled again and almost got the upper hand, but I held on. My
head hit the ceiling and I leaned on it to try to bring us back down. As
we continued to fly through each other's feathers like two harpies,
suddenly outside the clouds parted and in the reflection of the
moonlight, I saw the necklace with the "Friends for Life" medallion
gleam on her throat. Without even realizing it, I had squeezed her
neck so hard that the chain had become tattooed in red. This had the
effect of redoubled my fury. The show! In a rage, I tore off the charm
and sent it flying to the other end of the room.

The jewel clicked against the mirror and Jennifer's eyes met mine
for a moment. In that tiny fraction of a second that seemed like
an eternity, it came back to us both that we had been friends.
That we had been two little girls, one brunette, the other blonde,
who had sworn fidelity to each other for eternity. I guess eternity
isn't what it used to be. Chip's features flashed before my eyes
and I jumped. For a brief moment, I released my grip.

I tumbled hard, destroying the bed in my fall. She immediately dove

towards me, trying to crush me under her weight, but I had
anticipated this. I flipped her onto her back and straddled her once
more. This time, I wasn't going to miss.

There were no last words, no good words, no goodbyes, no

memorable phrases. I was possessed by a single, unique motivation
that I considered fully justified. So I simply raised my arm to stab her
again... right in the heart this time. A stream of blood spurted out,
splashing the white bedposts and the pink sheets. A real carnage. I
remained planted there, looking at her body shaking with spasms,
not knowing what to do anymore.

A bright light suddenly blinded me.

— Jennifer? My baby?

Oh my God! Mrs. Check. She had just flipped the switch and
discovered me, perched on her daughter's dying body, a bloody
box cutter in my hand. I can hardly blame her for losing it. She had
no idea that her daughter had turned into a demon spawn.

— Needy?

She grabbed me and pulled me off the bed, throwing me to the floor so
she could go back to pick up her daughter. Jennifer was gasping but still
breathing. I dropped the box cutter, which fell onto a copy of the
cheerleading club's quarterly newsletter, and walked over to the pietà
hanging on the wall in front of me. Then, without turning around, I asked,
very politely:

— Mrs. Check? Is she dead? Did I get her?

Jennifer inhaled and then suddenly vomited a stream of blood onto her mother.
Then, finally, she died. Her head tilted back and a trickle of black drool dripped
from her mouth.

His mother screamed, but I was smiling. It was over. I felt

free. Victorious. Proud. I had saved the world.

The strangest thing, all things considered, was that I hadn't

found her that tough. I mean, she had fought and struggled well,
but when it came time to deliver the final blow, she had simply
looked at me mockingly. As if she were daring me to do what I
wanted. Until the last moment of her existence, I would
ultimately always do what she had decided. And it seemed to me
that she wanted me to kill her. For once at least, we had agreed.

I have to admit that dying had given her a real boost of youth.
The corpse she left behind was absolutely hellish.
 Now that you know…
Of course, this time the cops showed up and took me away as
soon as Mrs. Check called 911. I didn't try to run. Instead, I
stayed by Jennifer's body to wait for them, in case she came
back from the dead. I've seen too many movies where the
heroes get tricked by a resurrected corpse. But Jennifer didn't
flinch.

As they handcuffed me and dragged me into the paddy

wagon, I was on cloud nine, basking in my success, gloating
about saving everyone's lives and being so damn awesome.
There was never a moment of doubt about my guilt. And of
course, there was serious question about my sanity.

To tell you the truth, I don't know who Needy Lesnicki is anymore.
I'm not the same person anymore. I'm a person who says bad words,
hits nurses and sees things that aren't there. A seriously damaged
person.

But sometimes changes are good. They can reveal new sides of
your personality. For example, none of the books or websites
devoted to the occult that I had consulted had mentioned this
detail: when you have been lucky enough to survive the bite of a
demon, it happens that you inherit part of its powers. And that for
once you have some luck in your female dog of life.

For dinner, I'm passed a vague stew through a small hatch at

the bottom of the door. I sniff it and wrinkle my nose while
casually scratching my neck. It's itchy as hell where Jennifer bit
me. Plus, the wound seems to have gotten infected and their
antibiotics haven't helped.
I sit back down and cross my legs. I close my eyes and concentrate.
I've been practicing a lot and I think I've got the hang of it. I feel the
concrete floor moving away, I rise into the air. I reach the narrow
skylight at the top of the wall, I look at it and I pulverize it. Needless
to say, I've picked up a lot of cool new stuff.

Outside, the moon is shining. I haven't perfected the

landing yet, so I crash rather than land softly. I roll in the
dirt and stand up again. It's time to go on tour. I cross the
lawn to the security fence with its rolls of barbed wire. I cut
a Needy-sized hole in it and climb through. I continue on
my way and hit the road, in my cozy bunny slippers, my
thumb carelessly raised to hitchhike. Not much traffic
tonight.

After a few kilometers, I hear a splash below. This

must be the place where the waterfall resurgence is.

Something glints in the moonlight. I slide down to the stream and

crouch on the bank to pull it out of the water. A hunting knife. I
guess not everything cooks in the cauldron, after all. I slip it into
the belt of my bathrobe and continue on my way.

After a long while, a station wagon approaches and I give him another
thumbs up. The driver slows down, stops and rolls down the window. He's
a perverted old man who undresses me with a dirty look. It's my little
bunny slippers that must be exciting him.

—And where do you plan to go like that, young lady?

— Eastbound. Heading toward Madison.

— East, huh? That's good, that's my direction. But I warn you, you'll
have to give me a little something, or you'll be the one giving of
yourself. You understand?
— I don't have any money, so we'll have to make do with me, I answer
immediately.

— It works, said the pervert. Climb into my cart.

I obey. As we drive, I turn up the radio. That same old song

again. This time, I repeat the words:

Through the trees I will find you

Heal the ruins left inside you

And the stars will remind you

We'll meet again...

— Can you tell me why you're going east? the guy asks me.

— I'm this rock band.

"They must be a hell of a group," he observes thoughtfully.

The song ends and the DJ seems to have heard his remark: "What
a song! We thought we should play it in honor of Low Shoulder.
They're playing in Madison tonight. It's going to be a memorable
concert!"

I agree:
— Yeah, tonight is going to be their last.

I smile and lean back against the backrest. I'm ready.

END