The Season

“The greatest crimes in the world are not committed by people breaking the rules but by people following the rules.”

-Banksy

“Yeah, sounds amazing,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can put into my voice, “I’m definitely going to watch with baited breath.”

Working alone, I’ve developed the habit of talking to myself. It helps to pass the time.

I roll my eyes at the screen in the corner of the too-narrow, too-hot kitchen where the news is on full blast. I can’t believe I’m stuck listening to this drivel.

A pretty anchor with perfectly coiffed blonde hair, a fitted pink dress with three-quarter length sleeves, and just enough cleavage flashes an overly toothy, sharp smile as she rehashes the rules of The Hunt for what feels like the seven billionth time. She’s just finishing up.

“... ring steel on steel under the full moon, and if she’s fast and clever, that lucky girl will be in the running… Literally.” Anchorlady gives a shrill laugh at her own wit and continues, “She’ll be hunted, tested, and courted by the princes of…”

Blah, blah, blah. What a snooze fest.

Gods above and below, she has an annoying voice.

“A truly life-changing experience,” agrees the suit-wearing troll beside her. His deep basso voice and gold ring bearing tusks are an interesting counterpoint to the traditionally conservative clothing. “It’s been over a hundred years since…”

“Oh my gods,” I moan to no one, “No one cares about your vapid reality TV dating gameshow. Where the fuck is that remote?”

Naturally, no one responds.

“You mean the last time a human lived long enough to become queen,” the anchorwoman with the sharp, sharklike teeth cuts off whatever the troll-guy was saying and laughs again. It’s a forced, high-pitched, unkind sound.

They go back and forth for a few seconds, clearly enjoying their verbal sparring. Their body language is dynamic… heated… horny. And I’m reminded that this whole thing is like a weird aphrodisiac, or maybe more like mating season for the fae.

It’s all ridiculously complicated with a million stupid rules, and I am so not into it.

Frankly, that nonsense seems like the sort of stuff my mother and the bubbleheads who I went to school with ate up like candy. But I just can’t find a single fuck to give.

“Eww,” I say under my breath, “Get a room.”

It hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already thoroughly sick of it, but it’s all anyone wants to talk about. Like this doesn’t happen every… I stop to count in my head… thirteen years? I think it’s thirteen years.

I’m not sure, but I know the girls are all atwitter about it. They say dreamy bullshit, like how they know they could make some fairy prince happy if he’d just sweep them off their feet.

“Someone save me. Someone take me away from this awful place,” I mutter under my breath with a scoff.

It all makes me want to gag. (Not like that!) The pageantry and plastic of it all. It’s clearly staged. I find it distasteful.

“Order Up,” yells one of the waitresses, and I sigh, turning and grabbing the ticket.

It’s a basket of fried Deathcaps. Yikes… poor dancers. If we have fae in the house tonight, they’re going to have a rough time giving lap dances. Or maybe they like it when the otherworldly customers get handsy with them.

I grab my PPE. Dragging on gloves, a mask, and eye protection, I open the bag and dump the ’caps into the silver fry basket. No steel or iron in this part of the kitchen, for safety reasons.

Then I drop the basket in the dedicated fryer and hit the timer. We keep our kitchen neo-kosher, with different magically walled-off areas for preparing various types of foods. The deathcaps probably won’t hurt me unless I eat them, but I’m not about to find out.

My attention to detail and willingness to follow exact rules to prepare food safely have helped me keep this job despite the high turnover everywhere else in the club.

Honestly, I could probably do better, but I love how much it horrifies my family to have to admit I work at a strip club and that I’m not even a dancer. If I were prettier, I’d have some value to them at least.

Liscentious is a lot like the other skeezy clubs down here on The Mile. But the boss only hires human dancers, and she seems to care slightly more than average about little stuff like sanitation and preventing food cross-contamination.

Our customer restrooms get cleaned at least twice a shift. It’s… kind of a big deal.

Don’t get it twisted, though. It’s still just a strip club. If you know the right people and tip well enough, you can get your cork popped in the champagne room by… most of the girls, and the poles have touched more assholes than a politician.

Not me, though. I’m no leggy beauty, and I don’t spend money on glam dust to fake my looks. I'd already had enough of that shit as a kid.

I’m just a fry cook. I make onion rings, French fries, fried mushrooms (regular or deathcap), chicken strips, toad strips, and cheese sticks. Sometimes, I hack up some extremely questionable raw meat and throw that into one of the no-drip baskets if we have ghouls or other carnivores in the house.

It’s not glamorous, but I get hazard pay for working with food that’s toxic. It means I don’t have to have a roommate. I can afford my own cheap ass little fifth-floor walkup downtown.

I work alone because we only serve things you can deep fry or serve raw from a fridge in under five minutes. The boss lady likes to keep it simple.

That’s why she doesn’t hire other anthros. Sorceries, fae, spectrals, and all the other marvelous, magical, or monstrous types work in specialty clubs because they require more upkeep. It takes specialized equipment, or accommodations, I guess.

That’s what I’ve heard from the girls who worked mixed clubs in the past. According to the boss, nonhuman anthros cause more trouble. I don’t know anything about that, but it sounds like racist bullshit if you ask me.

Frankly, I couldn’t care less if you’re a rougarou, or a space alien, or a pixie, or whatever. I just wanna pay my rent, feed my cat, read books, play video games, and be left alone.

You won’t catch me at some monster show where the only thing preventing you from getting whammied by a succubus is a magic barrier, or where they have cage dancers who go full shift furry, or fang out vamps. That sounds scary as hell.

I don’t mess with magic, but I’ll drop a dozen deathcaps and an order of breaded toad cutlets for anyone. It’s not glorious, but I get paid almost as well as the girls without the cardio. I’m not good in front of a crowd anyway. I'd rather be sweaty from the heat of a kitchen than from floodlights and the expectations of strangers.

At least what I do is honest. I don't have to plaster on a fake smile.

Still, I'm always glad when the night is over. What was it someone said about not dreaming of work?

"I have no dream job. I do not dream of labor?" I mutter to myself as I collect my keys from the tiny locker by the door.

The irony of the fact that I'm quoting an actor doesn't escape me, but I'm too exhausted to laugh at my own cynical banter.

A dozen fryers means a dozen vats of boiling oil, and while the magical barriers keep the deathcaps from accidentally ending up on some poor human’s plate, they don’t do shit to stop heat from moving around the enclosed space. Summer is the worst. It’s technically autumn now, but the heat has barely abated.

“Thanks, global warming!” I think sarcastically as I feel a bead of sweat roll from the nape of my neck all the way down my spine. It dips below the band of my jeans and tickles the skin as it slides between my ass cheeks.

By four in the morning, when my shift ends, I’m ready to take my sweaty, greasy self home. I just wanna slide into the ancient clawfoot tub in my tiny bathroom, put on some music or a book on tape, scrub off the day, and maybe get friendly with the handheld shower head for a few minutes before I fall into an exhausted sleep so I can do it all again tomorrow.

A shower and an orgasm sounds amazing right about now. Thinking about that is probably why I miss the keyhole when I reach for it.I jam my fingers against the steel side of my ancient car as the sound of my matching steel keyring, with its silver bell bauble, hits the metal grate I’m parked on top of.

“Fucking OW!” I yelp, shaking my hand and sticking my sore fingers in my mouth.

The sound lingers ringing out through the predawn parking lot in an unnaturally loud, echoing chime that reverberates oddly. I shake my head, thinking the weirdness must be an artifact of how tired I am. Ten-hour shifts are a bitch, but hazard pay.

I've had my eye on a couple of new books and a really nice gaming headset I want, and there's this adorable cat-tree for Poob...

Then I hear a strange, far-off sound. It’s not like anything I recognize, and yet something in me resonates with it, responding viscerally. It’s eerie, beautiful, dangerous, and absolutely, unquestionably a part of some heinous, unearthly fuckery.

The kind I avoid like the plague.

It comes to me again, sort of fading in and out. The tune, if you can call it that, is morphing into something I can only call sinister. It’s also moving toward me very quickly.

I look around the parking lot, but it’s as empty as my social calendar has been for the last year. The girls are probably grinding out the last few tips of the night, but the kitchen closed an hour ago. In the distance, the sky is starting to lighten quickly, but it doesn’t reach us here at the bottom of The Mile.

The single watery yellow street lamp seems too far away from where I’m standing in the dark by my beater of a 1967 Lincoln Continental. I affectionately call her the Land Whale. She’s big enough to hide me when I crouch down to get my keys.

A sudden appearance of twinkling lights heading my direction makes me hold my breath. The light is off somehow. Just... not right. It makes me see double and a haze lingers around the edges of my vision like a frame.

I can hear even more now. The discordant melody has layers under and above... or maybe around the other sounds. Drums accompany the the sound, deep, rhythmic booming.

I hear dogs… and other snarling things. I swear there are horse hooves and a horn being blown. The sickening, sultry, vile cacophony is building like a crescendo.

It feels like madness and ecstasy, and why isn’t anyone else in the parking lot?!?

I’m having trouble holding on to my focus as I try to pick up my keys. I watch, stupidly, as my fingers grasp at keys that always seem to be just slightly to the side of where I see them. Something is wrong with my aim, or my eyes.

It’s like being drunk, or maybe high. I’ve never been high, so I’m not sure, but it doesn’t feel normal. It’s this damned music. I feel like I’m about to go deaf, and just when I think I can’t take anymore…

I grab ahold of my keys, and the sound stops. It’s so abrupt that it leaves my ears ringing and my head spinning.

I stand up and let out a little scream of surprise at what I see.

Arrayed around me and the Land Whale in a wide semicircle, just a few dozen feet away, is the strangest group I have ever seen. There are horses, and stags, and dogs, and wolves. Some things I don’t have a name for, and others I can’t see completely, as though they're only part way into this reality.

There are beautiful women with pointed ears and powerfully built men with antlers. Some have tusks like the anchor on TV. More anthros than I can name, and things that don't look human at all, but have eyes that show brilliant minds. They come in all shapes and sizes, and wear clothing from bygone eras alongside suits and dresses from modern boutiques.

They are a mishmash of wild forms and strange geometry.

Cringing internally, I notice the light, which doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere particular, has illuminated me. Only then do I see that there are spectral forms with cameras, and I swear to the gods a centaur holding a boom mic. But it’s not until I see the anchorwoman with the pink dress and shark teeth that my brain kicks back into gear.

I know what this is. I know what this is!

But… what are they doing here?

It doesn’t make sense. Are they actually going to go inside and make one of the insipid girls I work with into some kind of TV star? I’m about to say something when the anchorwoman turns to face the cameras.

I realize she is holding a microphone in her hand, and everyone is looking at her now. I wonder if maybe I should go, but a strange little voice in the back of my head says not to move.

I wonder if maybe it’s like the T-rex in that old movie, and they won’t see me if I stand still. I chuckle aloud at the thought. It’s just a tiny explosion of air, but it draws all their eyes back to me.

I blush and wave at them. It’s a lame, silly little gesture, but I’m not sure what else to do.

I really need to get out more. I’m terrible at meeting people, and I spend way too much time in my own head. This is so awkward. I sholud be able to talk to them without feeling like I forgot my lines for the big audition.

Anthros may not be human, but they're just people with different cultures and skills. Surely I can talk to them.

Part of me wants to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. Part of me wants to barf, but I stand there with a stupid half-smile on my face, just watching to see what happens next. I can feel my heart in my throat. It's pounding so hard I swear it's making my teeth throb. What do they want?

Should I say something? I feel like I'm going to pass out. Then I realize, oh... I'm having a panic attack.

I take a deep steadying breath. Name three things you can see.

One: To the anchor woman’s left, a strange small creature with the most disgusting hat I have ever seen that oozes something brown down the side of his face calls out in a completely normal voice, as though this is just another Tuesday, “We’re live in 5… 4… 3…”

Then it (he?) holds up two fingers. Then one.

Two: The anchorwoman with the sharp grin comes alive in front of the cameras, suddenly animated and excited.

“With dawn fast approaching, we didn’t expect anyone else to ring the bell, but we have a surprise last-minute entry.”

Three: I look down at the keys in my hand. The small silver bell, the shiny steel ring, and four keys. One for my car, one for my apartment's outer stairwell, one for the door, and one for my padlock for my locker here, at work. Then what she said registers.

“A what? Who did?” I babble, tripping over my words and making no sense.

I didn’t mean to interrupt, but she rounds on me, perfect blonde curls floating around her head like a special effect. As she stalks over, I realize we aren’t built on the same scale. She’s tall and slender. Definitely not human.

It’s like I’m one of those funny little eight-inch figurines, and she’s a magical, evil Barbie doll.

Sharkface Barbie holds out her microphone and leans down a little to ask, “What’s your name, little volunteer?”

Her body language and tone are condescending.

“I…” I hesitate, remembering a lesson we all have beaten into our brains at an early age, “I don’t think I’m supposed to give it to you,” I say after pausing too long.

Her smile widens from almost-pleasant to a grin that would make a cartoon villain proud.

“Clever little thing,” she says to the camera, “She must have been watching the show earlier when we got… oh what’s her name,” she snaps her fingers and one of the figures in the background calls out, “Wendy…"

Another one, a woman with bird wings instead of arms, adds, "Yeah, Wendy Anne Micah,” in a rasping voice.

The crowd laughs. This must be some sort of in-joke, and as usual, I am on the outside.

“No,” I say without thinking. My mouth gets ahead of my common sense a lot.

Her attention snaps back to me, feeling more than ever like a shark bearing down on me in the water.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” she asks through gritted teeth.

I fidget with my key ring, and the anchor woman, along with some of the others, starts to look subtly uncomfortable.

“I… I don’t like reality TV.”

She laughs that grating, cruel sound, and it’s a thousand times worse in person than it was on TV.

“Then why,” she grits out furiously, “did you volunteer?”

I just look at her in confusion, and then I recall something from back in school. I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to fae history, but there was a chapter about bells. I feel like something is scratching at the back of my mind. A thought trying to get loose.

Something about ringing bells.

No... it wasn't from school... Something I heard tonight.

“Steel on steel,” I say to myself and look at the keys in my hand… at my steel and silver keychain, and then I look down in horror at the steel grate I parked my car on top of.

I had done it. Not on purpose, but I had rung steel against steel out in the open, under the moon, on the first night of The Season.

“Oh Hell No!” I say and look up at Shark Barbie, shaking my head. I almost laugh again, but the look on her face is deadly serious.

I wring my hands a little and try to explain, “It was just a mistake. I dropped my keys,” I jingle them, and this time I see her flinch slightly.

“A mistake?” She says incredulously, “A mistake?!?”

She advances a step toward me, towering above me. I try not to cower, but I edge back slightly toward my car, wondering when I had stepped away from it.

“I don’t think so, you wretched little creature. There are no mistakes when it comes to The Season. You rang the bell, and now we get to hunt you until dawn,” she looks up at the slowly lightening sky and scoffs, “It’s just a couple of minutes away… maybe you’ll make it,” her cruel eyes rake down my curvy, slightly chubby body dismissively, taking in the pit-sweat, grease stains, and my stringy mass of unkempt hair under it’s unflattering hairnet.

“Tell you what little mistake. We'll give you a fair chance. If it’s too easy, I’ll be disappointed that I came in person… and it won’t make for a good recap episode when we show all the failures,” she adds with a nasty grin, “So, I’ll give you a teensy head start. I’ll walk back to the line and count to five before we come for you. All you have to do is evade capture. If you can run or hide until dawn, you’re safe. That seems pretty fair, right?”

The crowd behind her laughs uproariously. She doesn’t wait for an answer, and I don’t plan to give one. I’m tired, not stupid.

These beautiful, monstrous things are The Wild Hunt, and they will rip me to shreds if they get their hands on me tonight. Fortunately, I have a plan... of sorts.

Okay, it's just the vaguest sketch of an idea, but I have to try something.

As she turns and crosses the space with those incredibly long legs, I spin around and slide the keys into the lock on the Land Whale’s door. They go in like a hot knife in butter.

No fumbling this time. Not when my life is on the line. My head is clear now.

She reaches the line as I yank the door open, throwing my body into the car. I slam the door.

“One,” she yells across the scant 30 feet of space that separates us.

I put my key in the ignition and turn it, and my massive steel-bodied car roars to life.

“Good girl,” I say to her.

“Two!”

I turn the wheel hard and keep turning. This boat has never had power steering. My foot presses down on the gas, and I start to make the wide U-turn I need to get out of the parking lot.

“Three,” I can no longer see Shark Barbie’s face, but I hear something in her voice that I don’t like at all.

The Land Whale is not fast in a tight spot, but we manage to get turned around and pointed at the exit to the staff parking lot. There’s a small bar blocking the egress, which I would normally have to stop and wave my employee fob at, and then wait a few seconds as it grates up and out of the way ponderously.

I don’t even glance at where my electronic pass hangs on my rearview mirror. I don’t want to see what’s behind me, and there's no way I can afford to wait for the gate to creak its way open.

I hope I don't get fired for this.

“Four,” the voice booms out like thunder, and I realize the shark behind me is more powerful than she seems.

I press down on the gas, shifting gears, and hear my tires spin on the gravel before they finally get the traction we need to leap forward.

“Five,” the voice sounds too self-assured as I smash through the barrier, and the Whale and I go tearing down the back alley, headed for the main road.

Too late, I realize The Mile is going to be full of morning traffic, and all I can do is hope and pray that there’s an opening for me when I get there, or this chase is over before it started.

All the dancers, bouncers, managers, waitresses, and other late-night cooks are getting out and heading home after a long night of work. Morning shifters will be coming in to open other businesses, like the burger stands and coffee shops.

I hope they’re all running late this morning, but I know I'm never that lucky.

I hear the sound of that awful, fear-inducing horn as it blows again. The chase is on. A quick glance in the rearview as I barrel down the narrow confines of the alley shows me the light and the figures within it.

The horses and stags and other mounts come galloping at me faster than any mortal creatures. If I had tried to run on my own stubby legs, I would already be dead.

I shift gears as I reach The Mile and wrench the wheel. This shouldn’t work, not in the Whale, but somehow she makes the turn.

Miraculously, I don’t hit any other cars, though they’re all over the road and none of them is moving as fast as I want to go. As fast as I need to go. So I clumsily weave around them, barely making it past modern electric vehicles with their sleek, slim profiles.

An elf on a motorcycle with a camera pulls alongside me, and I see two flying demon things filming while winging backward, managing to hover ahead of me. I smile sheepishly and wave at the cameras.

“Damnit! Why did I do that?” I ask absolutely no one as I swerve and run a red light.

I slide between a red sedan and a small blue truck, both going the other way, across the intersection, just as I notice the police car parked off to one side.

I don’t stop.

Behind me, the Wild Hunt boils through traffic like a tidal wave, gracefully going over and around the vehicles like they do this every day. Maybe they do. Maybe I should get out more, or at least watch more TV. I bet the girls back at the club would know this pop culture bullshit trivia.

They’re gaining on me. It's only a little, but a little is too much.

The police car doesn’t pull out into traffic. I don’t understand why, but I’m very grateful. Going to jail because I chose not to die over a dropped set of car keys would suck!

“It’s not fucking fair! It was an accident!” I scream in frustration and slam my palm into the steering wheel.

All around me, cars are honking, and the sound of that maddening, almost-music that accompanies the Hunt is getting closer to me again as I have to slow down to maneuver around a series of small, almost perfectly evenly spaced cars in alternating positions, taking up both lanes.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, left. I make it past them, but clip the front end of the last car with the rear bumper of the Whale. They’ll be fine, and my ancient behemoth probably doesn’t have a scratch, but I’m going to be in a lot of trouble.

If I manage to escape. If not... well, I don't need to think about that.

Ahead of me, the road is strangely empty as it heads up the hill to where I usually turn off to go home. There’s a break in traffic, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Unfortunately, like her driver, the Whale has some junk in the trunk, and that curvy backside is slowing us down on the upslope.

I glance in the rearview and see Shark Barbie has pulled ahead of her pack. She rides one of the stags. It tosses massive antlers from side to side and slavers from its terrifyingly fangy maw.

I thought stags were vegetarians! This one looks like it could eat me in two bites if the crazy bitch riding it doesn’t get me first. They’re gaining quickly now, and I’m losing speed on the sharp incline.

She has a shining silver bow in her hands, and the arrow is knocked and ready to fly.

If I stay on course, I’m not going to make it to the top! At least, not without a bolt in my brain. I've seen elves shoot on TV, and even once or twice at sporting events as a kid.

Arrow beats car.

I want to rage cry. I can see the sky getting lighter above me. The hunter and her beast are almost on me. The Whale is doing her best, but it’s not going to be enough. Then I have the stupidest idea of my life.

Something I've only ever seen done in a video game.

I wink at the cameraelf on his bike, giving him a grin that must be maniacal, and wrench my steering wheel again as I tap the brake. He swerves out of the way just in time.

So do I as a glowing projectile spins past my window.

The weight in the back end is enough to flip us around. He manages to keep his agile bike out of the way, but I lose all my momentum a couple of dozen feet from the top of the hill as I come face to face with Shark Barbie and yank my parking brake to bring myself to a stop.

She has the good grace to be stunned at my audacity and reins in her mount as I take my keys out of the ignition and open the door.

“Planning to die with some dignity,” she asks with one perfectly arched eyebrow.

Her tone almost sounds impressed. I watch her dismount, with the ornate silver bow she got from… somewhere. I don’t have time to wonder where she was hiding it.

I push down the parking brake, and as I step out of my car, leaning ever so slightly on the door. My weight is enough of a subtle push. The Whale begins to inch forward almost imperceptibly. Gravity, don't fail me now!

I smile my best, most self-assured, cheeky grin at her, even though inside I am screaming. Then I hold up my keys and ring the silver bell on them intentionally.

This time, she does more than flinch. She cowers back, recoiling like I threw something at her. In her distraction, she doesn’t notice the Land Whale rolling toward her and her mount.

It’s not moving fast enough to hit hard, but it is made of steel.

Her party has fallen back by a hundred yards or so. They’re fast, even supernatural, but I’m so close I can feel the heat of the morning sun starting to bake the concrete behind me, and they are waiting for her to make the kill.

I ring the bell again just as Shark Barbie starts to move again. She’s ready this time, but I can see the sound hurts and disorients her. Behind her, I notice the rest of the hunting party covering their ears.

Then I turn and run.

Twenty-four feet

For just a moment, I’m the only one moving. The world falls away around me as I focus in on that spot at the top of the hill where I can feel the sunshine reaching out for me.

I can't see the golden line yet because of how steep the hill is, but I know it's there, right over the crest somewhere on the other side.

Twenty feet. It's just a few more steps.

A sound behind me. That shrill, venomous laughter.

Eighteen feet

Something clatters to the ground with an odd ringing tone, and I hear her footsteps. I don't have to look. I know she's dropped that wicked-looking bow, and she's chasing me. Predators always chase you if you run.

Sixteen feet

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. I hear the solid ‘thud’ as the Whale knocks into the massive stag, and its trumpet of pain. Damn! She must have gone around the car.

Fourteen feet

I wasn’t sure fae animals had the same allergy to the metal as their humanoid companions. Maybe it doesn't matter. I hit the monster with a car.

Just twelve feet to go!

Behind me, that swelling crescendo of madness is licking at my heels, but I can see the top of the hill where the light has just begun to touch the street now. I realize the sound is only part of what causes the effect. The rest is her.

I falter as I run into the silver arrow she had aimed at my head. It sticks out of the street, and turn my ankle sidestepping it, almost going down. I manage to catch myself and stumble forward, but it hurts like hell, and I hear the collective intake of breath from the rest of the hunters.

I’ve read enough stories to know better, so I don’t look back.

Ten feet

I can make it!

Eight feet

I realize I’ve dropped my keys.

"Shit!"

Six feet

I’m almost there when I see the two flying demon things make sudden identical faces behind their cameras. There's only one move left that might save me, but I'm no athlete.

I leap forward and up, flying through the air spurred on by nothing but pure human chemistry and my own audacity.

It's not enough.

Something as hard as steel wraps around my injured ankle. I feel the bones as they grind together under inhumanly powerful pressure. Firey pain lances up my leg all the way to my hip and I scream.

I come crashing into the earth. I scrape my palms and knees, and my head hits the asphalt hard. Only the tips of my middle fingers touch the line of brilliant sunlight before she drags me backward. I go scraping across the filthy pavement as she hauls me in.

I was so close!

It’s not fair. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to drop the keys… twice. I was just tired after a long night of work. Being clumsy shouldn't be a death sentence.

I feel hot tears of frustration and terror sliding down my cheeks.

“Let go. You’ve lost. Be gracious,” I think the voice is directed at me, and I tense up, waiting for the unseen horror wrapped around my ankle to rend me limb from limb.

I won’t give her the satisfaction of looking at her now. I don’t want her to watch the light go out of my eyes.

I don’t want to die, especially not like this. On camera. A spectacle

Instead, I hear a pouty huff, and the hand lets me go.

My ankle feels like it's been crushed flat, and I don’t dare try to stand on it. I can feel the bones grinding together at my slightest motion.

I crawl forward to where the light is reaching out to meet me.

She said I only had to make it until dawn. Just a couple of minutes. I made it far enough to touch the light... if only barely. My whole body is shaking like a leaf. The emotional roller coaster is too much.

Without wondering where the traffic has gone, I sit there in the middle of the road. I pull my legs up to my chest, sitting fully in the sunshine, and I wrap my arms around my knees. I just stare at where the line of sun is advancing on Shark Barbie and another figure I recognize.

Where did he come from?

I look for the rest of the Wild Hunt, but they’re mostly conspicuously absent. It’s like they melted away, disappearing in the dawn light. I could almost believe I hallucinated the whole thing.

Almost. But a few figures remain.

The two oversized figures, the two little flying demons with cameras, the centaur with the boom mic, the creature with the drippy hat, the motorcycle elf, and a couple of others are still here.

“Rules are rules,” chides a deep, resonant masculine voice I have heard plenty of times before.

I listened to that voice all night because of the missing remote. He's the other one. The co-host. The anchor… troll? I don’t know what his species is, but he has my keys in his massive hand. They’re pinched between two fingers.

"If this poor child has to abide by them," he gives me a kindly glance that makes me feel like I have an ally in this bizarre nightmare, "Even though she claims her entry was an accident, then so too do you, my dear."

He reaches out, putting a finger under her chin and raising her eyes to his fondly. I watch as her shoulders slump in defeat. They are locked in on eachother for a long moment.

It's ... uncomfortable, at least for me.

Then he turns his gaze back to me with that thousand-watt anchor-man... troll... whatever he is grin.

“That was very impressive, young lady.” His eyes seem kind, “What’s your name?”

The adrenaline draining from my system makes me stupid and shaky. I have blood on my hands, grease in my hair, sweat all over my body, and tears running down my face. I’m sure it must be a repulsive sight. I futilely try to dust myself off.

All it does is smear my own blood on my already stained shirt and torn apron. Eventually, I manage to get to my feet slowly, and almost tell him my name as I reach out for my keys.

“I’m…” I stop, realizing what I was about to do... for the second time tonight.

Gods I'm stupid sometimes!

I take a shaky breath and start again, “You can call me Lucky,” I say, hoping it’s the truth.

His face twists into a mask of rage and fury that is truly something to behold, and he crushes the silver bell between two massive digits as easily as I would pop a zit.

Then he schools his face again just as quickly, and it’s like it never happened.

“Rules are rules,” I hear Shark Barbie say from where she stands behind his bulk, throwing his words back into his face, “Be gracious, my love.”

He sighs wearily.

That’s when I hear my car crash into something further down the hill.

“Fuck,” I say involuntarily.

“My,” he says in the tone of a disappointed father, “That’s rather crass.”

Then, as if to soften the blow of his words, he smiles. It looks so genuine and happy that I, too, feel joy, for just a moment. I forget I am looking at someone who could crush my skull in his bare hand.

Delicately, he hands me the keys, which I slip soundlessly into my pocket. I’m glad to have them back since it would be hard to open my front door without them.

“We’ll clean up this mess, Lucky girl. Go home and bathe,” he sniffs in my direction, and the rich tone is chiding, designed to embarrass me and placate the shark, “You need it.”

He turns back to his... co-host... paramor? Whatever they are, I'm just glad they seem to be done playing their fucked up little game with me. I need a bath, a long sleep... and probably a trip to the hospital, or at least an apothicary.

I don’t know what else to do, so I turn and limp slowly to the sidewalk, and move painfully up the road toward the turn-off for my street. The bones can't be that broken if I can hobble along on them... at least I hope that's what it means.

Maybe I'm just too bone weary to process anything right now. It does feel swollen, and I'm having a hell of a time putting any weight on it.

I wince at the thought of spending my hard earned hazard pay on something as stupid as a broken bone. Really, they should be paying for it, but I don't even want them to think about me ever again.

My phone and wallet are in my car, but I don't dare risk trying to get past them. I just want them to forget I exist. Plus, I don't think I can make it all the way down The Mile and back up the hill again today.

The nearest magic shop that might have something for my ankle is this direction anyway.

At least I don’t live too far away.

It's only a few miles.

I can make it.