Carson, with his secret fascination for dusty books on folklore and the comforting weight of a mojo bag in his pocket, felt the sting of each word like a physical blow. He yearned for it to stop, for a reprieve from the constant knot of anxiety in his stomach. Turning to the whispered lore he’d always found solace in, an idea, dark and desperate, began to take root. A voodoo doll. A way to finally fight back, even if only in the realm of shadows, even if none of his other spells ever worked at least he'd feel better.
Under the cloak of a moonless night, the house silent around him, Carson sat on the floor at the foot of his bed. He’d painstakingly crafted the doll, a crude likeness of the hulking figure that haunted his days. Pins lay scattered beside him like fallen stars. At the stroke of midnight, a chill snaked through the room. He held the doll tight, his heart hammering against his ribs, and began to speak the words he’d practiced in hushed whispers: "Open the door, Papa! Open the door and bring Travis to me!"
At first nothing happened and then Carson heard the creek of his bedroom door as it slowly opened. On the other side, a form stood before him. It was Travis. Not the boisterous, confident Travis of the hallways, but a softer, sleep-rumpled version, clad only in grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Carson’s breath hitched. He hadn’t anticipated this… this close proximity, this unexpected vulnerability. He found himself unexpectedly captivated by the curve of Travis’s shoulder, the faint outline of muscle beneath his skin.
He swallowed hard, trying to remember the anger that had fueled his spell. “I… I summoned you,” Carson began, his voice barely a whisper. “Because… because you have to stop. Stop bullying me, Travis.”
But as he spoke, the resentment he’d nurtured began to unravel. Looking at the ethereal figure before him, a different kind of ache bloomed in his chest. He didn’t just want the torment to end. He wanted… something else. “I… I wish you could be my friend,” he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I wish you would… like me. Maybe even…” He trailed off, his cheeks burning.
The spectral Travis simply watched him, his expression unreadable. When Carson finally fell silent, the translucent figure vanished, the bedroom door closed violently snuffing out Carson's candle and leaving the room feeling strangely empty.
The next day at school was a blur of anxiety. Carson braced himself for the usual taunts, his shoulders tight. But as he walked past the trophy case, a figure detached itself from the group of usual jocks who hung out there. It was Travis.
Carson’s heart leaped into his throat. He flinched, expecting a sneer, a cruel joke. Instead, Travis’s gaze was surprisingly soft, almost hesitant.
“Carson,” Travis said, his voice lower than usual. He took a step closer, and Carson could smell the familiar scent of his cologne, a scent that had always been intertwined with fear, but now… now it felt different.
“Carson,” Travis repeated, his eyes meeting Carson’s. “Last night… I had this… strange dream. It felt so real. And… and I realized… I don’t want to bully you anymore. I never wanted to bully you, I just wanted your... I don't know, your attention, you know? In fact,…” He paused, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “In fact, Carson, I think… I think I like you.”
Carson stared, speechless. Had he misheard? Was this some elaborate new form of torture?
Travis took another step, his gaze earnest. “I do. I really do. Would… would you go out with me tonight and talk all about it or just sit together. Anything, as long as we are together?”
Carson, completely bewildered, could only nod. He was still trying to process the idea that Travis liked him when he suddenly remembered the voodoo doll. He had thrown it away, thinking the spell had failed.
"Oh no!" he said to himself. "I threw the doll away last night!" His eyes widened in horror. It was trash day!
At that very moment, miles away at Carson's house, the sanitation worker hoisted Carson's trash can into the truck. The mechanical arm lifted the bin, and the contents tumbled into the dark, churning abyss. With a metallic groan, the worker pressed the button. The compactor whirred to life, its massive metal teeth grinding down on the refuse.
Back at school, Carson watched in disbelief as Travis's body contorted violently, his bones snapping, his flesh tearing. A fountain of blood erupted from his mangled form, splattering the trophy case and the horrified faces of the students around him. Travis crumpled to the floor, a broken, bloody mess. The scent of cologne was replaced by the coppery tang of death. Carson screamed, the sound swallowed by the horrified gasps of the onlookers.
Carolina Dean
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