Friend
If I weren't real, could I still be your...
A dull yellow light flickered above he fox's head, while the sound of a whirring fan went on tirelessly. The room was small, the carpet old and stained, and the walls made of splintery wood. 'At least it has its own bathroom,' the fox thought as he eyed the toilet through an open door. Boxes filled the bedroom, one of which he had opened up on a small bed. As he pulled out books from the cardboard container, a knock rattled over the bedroom door. Immediately after, it opened.
"Alpo!" a deep voice called out. Once the door opened, its handle banging against the wall, taller gray fox stood there with his hands held at his waist and an unpleasant look on his face. The years of hard farm work showed in the aged wrinkles, and Wilk's muscles showed well through the tight short-sleeved shirt.
Even though he had dealt with this for years, Alpo never really got used to it. It would be better to say he had simply turned part of himself off. As he smiled up to his father obediently, his thoughts drifting off to unrelated things. "Yeah, Dad?" At that, he wondered why his father's fur was such a deep gray, and not simply because of age. None of their other relatives had that fur.
"I know you're a bit on hard times, and just getting readjusted will take awhile," he started, holding a hand up while he talked. "But you still have to do your part. Putting out feed and stuff, just like you used to. I told you that before you came back, right?"
"Yeah, I know," he nodded, eyes halfway shut while he eyed his books again. While he pulled them out and placed them on a small bookcase nearby, his father's voice went on. It must have been for awhile, because the sudden shuffle of feet towards him told him he had missed something important. The hands clenching his shirt collar and pulling him up told him that the voice was angry for it.
A deep growl came from the old male. "You had better start listening better. Unlike the city, you have to actually do your part around here to earn your place." He then sneered, "I don't have to treat you like a son. Besides, you're an adult now. So do what's expected of you."
After the hands let go, he fell to his bed. But his facial expression did not change, and he merely nodded to the farmer. "I know, Dad."
"Alright, that's done." Wilk wiped his hands over his already dirty shirt, surely failing to clean anything in the process. Still, the look on his face was a happy one, and he slapped the younger orange fox on the back. "Just put the tools up back in the shed and then go to bed. Or grab something from the kitchen if you're hungry." Without any care or further effort, he dropped the pitchfork and left the barn.
Blood seeped from his hands, and sweat had soaked his fur. His clothes were not really appropriate for working like this, shorts and t-shirts having proved to be wildly ineffective at covering himself from mud, bugs, random cuts, and the other assorted things he was unaccustomed to. When he tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes, he smeared blood in its place.
Once the barn door closed and he was alone, save for the animals locked in their pens, he sat down on the ground and sighed deeply. Now, he did not have to hide from himself. "Jerk," he sighed. Ever since Mom died, Wilk had changed. Or maybe he never did, he was always pretty neglectful, but at least she kept his attention on something other than Alpo's existence. "Damn it, why did work have to go south? It's not like I asked to be here, don't punish me for it. If Mom was still around, then...!" He did not bother finishing his sentence, instead settling for grabbing a handful of hay and dirt and throwing it at the door where the gray fox had took his exit. The door rattled in place, a few creaks of wood and squeaks of rusty metal echoing in the big barn room.
It was late now, and the sun was barely giving a glimmer of light as Alpo made his way over the unpaved ground. Only a path that had been formed from years of walking over grass gave him any direction. If not for having been familiar with the location, one would get easily lost. At least the rain had stopped, but the mud was going to ruin his tennis shoes. He would wash them later and go out to town to get some boots. "Why couldn't he just wait a couple days to let me unpack and buy some shit to help out? Like better clothes," he muttered to himself while he fumbled around with a pair of keys in one hand, the other arm busy holding up various sharp and pointy tools.
No light had been installed in the shed, only a window in the back gave any light. At this time in the late evening, it was fairly inefficient in aiding the bare eye. Although he knew Wilk would be mad later, the fox simply dropped the rusty tools to the ground. He really did not feel like finding their proper places in whatever shelf or box they belonged in without any light, and even if he did have some, why was he expected to remember where everything went when he moved out years ago?
After leaving back outside and locking the shed again, he briefly thought it was silly to even have a lock. "Who would come out all the way here just to take your crap?" He scoffed, shoved the keys in his pocket, and turned to see Wilk standing about ten feet away from there. He bit his bottom lip, hoping he had not heard that last comment.
"Sorry, did you forget something? Some last minute work, Dad?" The fox chuckled nervously in an attempt to sound casual.
The other's clothes seemed awfully clean, and all skin of it was blurred. Thinking it was the dark, he came closer and rubbed his eyes. It turned its head-shaped mass to him, and opened only was could be assumed to be a mouth as if to talk, and screeched the sounds of nails scratching chalkboards.
His own scream was high-pitched, louder than in his worst nightmares as a child. The fox stumbled back and almost tripped while the unknown creature took a step forward towards him. As it did, it seemed to more phase in and out rather than carry itself in its pace, like a shadow disappearing and reappearing as a light flickered over it. After recovering from his paralyzing fear enough, Alpo bolted towards the house, not looking back even when monstrous shrieks filled the air, and seemed to never get more distant despite his struggles to run faster than before.
The sudden loud slam of the living room door made Wilk jump in his recliner and spill some of the canned beer over his lap. He growled, and looked up. "Damn it, be more careful about closing that." When he looked back to the glow of the TV in front of him, his face became more relaxed, instantly forgetting the existence of the younger creature.
Alpo opened his mouth to speak, or rather to yell, but he stopped himself. There was no way Wilk would believe him. As he stood there, panting and wondering what he could say or do, it gained the elder fox's attention. "You're breathing louder than the TV, come on."
"There's, there's..." he stammered, and hugged himself to try to stop his shivers.
"Yes?" Wilk asked, not very interested in what the comparative child had to say.
A pair of hands grabbed the gray creature's shoulders, and claws dug in enough to get a yelp. Before anger took over the drunken male, Alpo yelled with sudden insight, "There's someone out there, I think he was trying to steal your tools!"
"What?" Even Wilk seemed surprised and confused. No one had tried to actually do that before, even though he was always concerned about it. "Wait here," the gray male stated with a controlled anger, and stood up to walk to his bedroom. Alpo was tempted to follow, but it was only a moment later that his father was walking back to the front door, a shotgun in one hand, bullets in the other as he loaded the barrels.
Alpo reached out and grabbed his father's shoulder again. "Be careful, I think he's some kind of crazy."
Wilk shrugged the hand off. "I'll be fine. Just stay back, like I said. And lock the door until you hear me come back."
Two loud blasts of a thundering gun shattered the sound barrier outside, and all Alpo could do after was wait. It felt like hours had gone by, even though it had only been minutes, and fear prevented him from looking out the windows to see what was going on. Not that it would help much in this dark.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, there was a knock at the door.
"D-... Dad?"
"Yes, son." The voice was calm, a bit monotonous even. "Everything's fine now. Open up."
Slowly, he inched towards the door, reaching for the lock on the handle. "Where's that guy?"
"He ran off. He was afraid of the gun." Wilk made an awkward laugh, reminding the fox of his own attempt to be casual earlier.
As soon as the handle was unlocked, the door swung open. It was like a gust of wind had pushed it, and it knocked Alpo on his back. When he looked up, he saw the monster an arm, which turned into a dark blade, and slashed down at the helpless victim.
A loud metal clang woke the fox up. Voices around him were laughing, and he was not sure why. He rubbed his eyes clear and looked around the fuzzy lights and faces. There was an old bear sitting on a bench at the front of the room with a smirk on his face, while a bunch of children were at their desks, all looking at him with mostly amused faces, along with a couple of shocked ones. The whiteboard at the front had simple algebra on it, something he had always had trouble with when he was a kid. Alpo looked over and saw a diet soda can laying next to him. Then something clicked in his head.
'I remember this.' He squinted at the can, then looked slowly around the room. The teacher had thrown it at him in math class when he had fallen asleep that time, and he had cursed in his surprised in that still-dreaming state. He would not be punished for it, but the teacher would continue to harass him a bit.
"It's okay," the bear shrugged as he turned back to the board and continued to write the lesson out. "He's already made his decision to fail."
The voice sounded real enough, but was this some kind of dream, or some afterlife of being stuck in the worst place he experienced? A lukewarm liquid dribbled over his lap, which caused him to look down. A puddle of drool had ruined a library book that had been hidden behind the math book cover. He looked over its true cover, and saw the title. "A Terrible Nightmare," he whispered to himself. "I remember this, too. My favorite book from back in these days. Felt like it explained me a bit," he laughed a little at himself and those emotional childhood memories.
When he looked back up, everything was a blinding white void. He, his desk, and his book floated in the glowing abyss. "Mister Dem? Hello?!" Alpo's voice echoed until the emptiness faded back into silence and black, and he shivered from the growing cold. "Well, I guess it was just a memory after all. I'm dead now, huh?"
The black blade was still swinging down at him, and missed the fox when he turned over to his side at the last second. But the weapon had moved so fast that it had been a blur, and he had no idea how he really accomplished dodging that. His body had moved on its own, and continued to do so. Alpo threw his fist up to the lurched creature, smacking him in the face with what was already in his hand. The book cracked hard enough into the shadow creature's face to break the cover. After a pained screech, it dissipated into a brief fog before disappearing completely.
"Huh. Well, that was easy," he melodramatically stated, eyebrow raised. He stood back up, dusted himself, and took a good look at the book. It was the same one from the dream, or flashback, or whatever it had been. The book, faded and corn at its corners, had plenty of pieces of tape and glue inside to keep all of its pages intact. But he was sure this was not one of the books he had brought over. Had Wilk started reading children's books? The thought was laughable, but the age and condition of the book was appropriate.
There was one oddity of the book, something he was certain was never there before. Under the title, it said Part I. If the author had made another book and reprinted the first one to say that, it would make sense, but when Alpo checked the copyright date on the back, it failed to clear anything up. "What the hell?" His eyes went wide as he read it out loud. "2014?"
Another shriek from outside, the same as before. It definitely belonged to the creature. No time to reread childhood memories, he ran into his father's room and slammed the door shut. The only lock on it was a chain, and he slapped it locked as fast as he could. He turned and looked around the elder's room. With the light having been left on, it was easy to observe around. Stacks of clothes were laid out over the floor, at least being neatly piled. They were clean, too, but Wilk hated putting clothes away, and now he had no wife to do that for him. Other than that, it was a plain room, a single bed in one corner, a table next to it with a phone, lamp, and box of shotgun shells placed on top. Above that was a large hunting knife. Wilk liked to show it off sometimes, always saying some Indian made it for it as a sign of friendship.
"What else are friends for?" he said, and grabbed the knife from its wall rack. He could see the empty space above it when he did, probably where the shotgun had been.
The bedroom door was knocked partly open, the chain lock keeping it shut enough to only allow a black arm through. Alpo screamed and stood back, holding the knife in front of him threateningly. "Open up," the monster asked in Wilk's voice again. "It's okay now."
It made tears well up in his eyes. "What did you do to Dad?"
Like some malleable putty, the creature began to ooze through the cracks of the door, Wilk's head taking shape from it as it partially formed on the other side. "He left you. You're alone now, just like you always have been."
The monster reformed fully inside the bedroom, its appearance now with no clothes or distinguishable features other than a mass of fog, vaguely resembling the same of a normal creature. It slowly approached him, and Alpo threw the knife at it. But it went right through it like the monster was nothing but air. "Stay back!" Alpo screamed, failing his arms as the thing grabbed his shoulders, opened its mouth, and moved to bite him.
It was an odd time to remember. In that book, the character's father hated him because he was not his real son. The father turned out to be some sort of demon, and although in the end the monster was defeated, it lived on in the child's mind, suppressed only through will. Was this that story? Why did so many scary stories have bad plot twists at the end?
"Then," Alpo growled, clenching the knife still in his hand, forcing his scared body to move as he demanded. "I'll just have to make this an action novel."
The blade stabbed into the monster's side. Or at least it would have, but his arm was grabbed with the thing's maw and bitten into. "Gah!" Wasting no time, he used the book once more to bash the monster's head repeatedly. Even when it finally let go and reeled back, he kept hitting it, until it dissipated again.
He stood there, panting alone in the quiet bedroom until he collapsed on the bed. The crimson slowly oozed from the bite marks in his arm, and he hoped he had not gotten infected with anything. It oddly did not hurt much, but he still tore part of the bed sheet to wrap around himself. After that was finished, he noticed the back of the book had broken off, now on the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, and saw the About the Author page. It only took a few minutes to run to his room, grab his laptop, and find a contact e-mail page online.
Even if it sounded crazy to type up, he wrote only exactly what happened, and clicked to send. There was a steady and repeating electronic beep, and everything became white.
"Here again?" Alpo rubbed his eyes in the white void, but his eyes seemed to adjust, and he realized bright lights hung from a white ceiling. Trying to rub his vision did not help, and he saw that his hands, his arms, his whole body looked gray. A trick of the lightning, he thought. A gasp at his side brought his attention over, and he was soon hugged. Though he still could not see well, he could tell the figure was big, and the scent was familiar. "Wilk?"
"What?" the familiar male voice asked confusedly. "Alfred, I'm glad you're awake. They, they weren't sure if you ever would."
The younger fox tilted his head. "Alfred?"
"Honey, are you okay?" A feminine voice asked, belonging to a black fox that appeared once she moved from behind Wilk. "They say there was head trauma."
He froze and stared at the female with extreme shock. The medical monitor became louder and more erratic. "N, no, you're...!"
Wilk squeezed his son dearly, and turned his head. "Maressa, call the doctor!"
After his vision cleared, he saw the laptop sitting on his bed with a notification on its page stating that the message had been sent. The door of his bedroom opened, an out-of-breath gray fox leaning on the handle.
"Dad! You're alright?" Alpo stood up and hugged his father, who quickly pushed him back.
"I'm fine." His breath gradually became normal. It was good to see he carried no wounds, though he held his side as if he had a cramp. "Did you call the cops."
"Uh..."
A growl. "Damn it, Alpo, you have to think rationally and stay calm even in extreme situations like this." The elder pushed himself from the door and hurriedly walked to his bedroom to use the phone.
Alpo followed, once more not sure how to say what he wanted. The last time he tried, he half-lied, and his father was almost hurt. "I saw Mom."
"What?" Wilk stopped just as his hand touched the phone on the table, but only for a moment. He shook his head, lifted the phone from its place and dialed for emergency help. "Quiet, I'm on the phone now."
"But her name wasn't Marina. It was, Maressa?" He nervously played with his fingers, knowing that he sounded crazy. "Do you know anything about that?"
The phone was slammed back down onto the hook, and Wilk eyed his son without turning his head. Alpo was afraid to even breath with such a stare, and waited for his father to say something next.
"Don't say that name again. Promise me," he demanded with a slight baring of his fangs.
More than anything he wanted to give in, lower his head, and obey. But some nagging thing in his gut made him press the matter. "Why? What's wrong with the name Maressa?"
The older fox pounced at him, and the impact brought both of them to the ground. "What are you doing?!" Alpo yelled while trying to shove him off, but the other male's weight made it impossible.
"I'm not leaving!" It was all Wilk screamed, over and over.
The world was only getting more confusing. Wilk had vanished, so did the farm. Instead, reality had been replaced with a mashing together of scenes. Before Alpo stood several TV screens, all with different images or short looped video clips. "What is all this?" None of the images struck any specific memory of his, yet they all seemed familiar. One got most of his attention, and as he focused on it, his vision was more absorbed into the screen until he was completely in the scene.
His parents were both sitting in the front seat, himself in the back. Alpo didn't even bother looking out the window at the scenery, only staring at his black-furred mother. Eventually, she noticed that in the mirror, and smiled back to him.
"What, do I have something stuck on my muzzle?" Her voice was as sweet as he had always remembered. Any time he felt bad, need help, was bored, or lonely, he would always call her up and hear those comforting chocolatey words.
Alpo smiled, and shook his head. "Sorry, it's just been so long."
"Yeah, it has, hasn't it?" A smile, something unusual to be seen on Wilk's wrinkled muzzle. "You moved out awhile ago. I'm glad you're coming back for a little visit."
Maressa interrupted him, and pointed out a window to a restaurant. "Will, here we are, don't drive past."
Once they parked, they all exited, and Alpo kept dumbly looking at his parents. 'Are they real?,' he asked himself. They felt real, but they were so different than everything he remembered. As his parents walked through the door, he had lagged behind. "Hurry up!" his father impatiently called, waving an arm to him. He shook his head free of his daze, and briskly walked towards the door just a tired screeched from turning in to the restaurant, someone apparently in a hurry to get some food. The giant metal bullet crashed into him, and he felt his bones break and tasted his own blood before everything faded.
Alpo fell back, coughing in the black emptiness. He felt over his body. At least it felt fine now, but he looked up and saw the TV screens again. "3D tech has gotten pretty far," he groaned, and picked himself up and looked at another screen.
The medical beeps returned, but his parents were gone, replace with only a lone doctor checking up on him. The doberman leaned over him to look in his eyes, and smiled. "It's good see you're awake again. We were afraid we might have lost you there. Now, try to relax. How do you feel?"
A pain he failed to notice during his last hospital visit dully ached away over his whole body. "Like I'm jacked up on morphine. It still aches a bit."
"Not a surprise. Pain killers only go so far, unfortunately." The doctor picked up a clipboard and pencil, and begun to take notes. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions. They might seem odd, but we have to make sure you don't also have brain damage. What's your name?"
"Al..." He hesitated, which made the doctor raise a brow. "Alfred."
A scribble over the paper later, the dog continued. "And your parents?"
"Will and Maressa." That time, his voice was a little more confident.
"Last names?"
That time, he more than hesitated. His face went blank as he scrunched his face in thought, not sure what to say. He still only had memories of his 'other' life, whatever it was, and all he knew of 'this' life were fragmented emotions and passing senses of familiarity. He never had a last name, as far as he knew, but...
"It's alright. You don't have to answer right now, or anything else. You'll probably remember later," the doctor assured him with a voice of comfort that somehow felt less genuine than whenever his mother did the same. "Just try to rest up." And with that the doctor turned to leave.
A paw suddenly gripped the doctor's wrist, which startled him slightly. "No, I know it. Pokina... Right?"
"Good," the doctor sighed with relief. "Your parents were worried. You didn't seem to know their real names before."
"My brain just feels a bit like scrambled eggs right now," the fox chuckled, and waved the doctor off.
"I'm fine. Just tired. Can I rest now?"
The doctor nodded, and turned again to leave. "Of course. Get plenty of it."
Each time his vision faded back into empty space of TVs, he felt more drained, but also more complete. "Well, that means you're not dead after all. Lucky you." A gray fox stood behind him, arms crossed as he rolled his eyes.
"Will?" That look was the other, the grumpy. "No, you're Wilk. Done trying to kill me?"
"Thanks for remembering my name, and I wasn't trying to kill you," he shook his head, and walked closer to stand next to him. He looked around at the TVs. "Oh, look at you, all over television. You must be famous now."
The shorter fox growled. "Shut up."
"Hey, that's no way to talk to your father," the elder smirked, and shook a finger at him. Then, he used the same finger to point to another of the several screens. "Let's watch this one. Always a favorite of mine."
A gray young fox cub was sitting alone on a swing after school. The swing set itself was rusty and old, the school dilapidated, and all of the effort clearly having gone into the sports field where most of the kids played soccer and football during recess. The sky had grayed, and no one was around. Thunder echoed in the distance, signaling a rain soon to come.
"Alpo," the fox sniffled the name out, and rubbed a tear from his eye. "Why do the other kids make fun of me, beat me? Why do the teachers not help? Why is life so miserable?"
The voice sounded like his own, and he knew this fox was the same one he saw himself be in the hospital. As it all began to dawn on him, he reached out with his phantom hand, rubbing the fox kid's shoulder. "I don't know. They're just jerks."
"Sometimes, I want to give up. But that's why you're around instead, right?" The kid smiled, and looked up to his invisible friend.
"Yeah. I guess it is," he whispered back, just as it started to pour.
The TVs slowly flickered out, their power draining until there was nothing left. Alpo stood there, head lowered to the ground. "Aw, cheer up!" a sarcastic voice laughed, and slapped him on his shoulder.
"You've got a friend. Kind of an odd one, though. Named you after his own two names and all. Kind of uncreative, really."
"So, that's what I am..." he muttered to himself, then turned his head to Wilk. "And you're just an impression others left. All the bullying. But you're right. I guess he is odd... Why do you look like his dad? He doesn't seem like a bad guy."
Wilk shrugged. "Everyone likes to be a rebel with their parents, right?"
"Maybe." He looked back into the darkness, past the TV screens. There was one other thing to do. "Stay here."
"Aren't I supposed to be the one who says that?" Predictably, he seemed annoyed as his 'son' walked on, and yelled. "Where are you going anyways?"
Alpo stopped for a moment, just long enough to talk over his shoulder. "I have to go help a friend. It won't take long, I promise."
He saw himself back in his bedroom in the farm. It was silent, and all the lights were off. A chilly wind blew despite being indoors, freezing the remnants of sweat and turning his fur spiky and hard. Once he walked out of his room, he could feel it. The dread, the fear, the complete mix of every dark emotion he ever knew to exist, and perhaps one or two others. It was radiating like ripples in a pond, and he knew where to go.
Across the muddy farm, through the grass and crop fields, he dragged himself off to the tool shed. The lock had been broken, and the door left slightly open. Alpo took a deep breath, and opened the creaky old door. The scratching of rusty metal made him wince, but once it was opened, the moon and stars of the night sky provided barely enough light to see inside.
The dark figure stood in the back, groaning and shrieking like it always did. Even though he had expected it, the sight of the unshapely horror and demonic sounds still made his head spin. Alpo's teeth began to chatter, but through sheer will he forced his foot to step forward. The other creature did the same.
"I, I know you! I know what you are, and now I'm going to put an end to this!" Alpo held up a fist defiantly and shook it. He received little more than a shriek of laughter, or at least what he assumed was one.
The thing leaped at him, and Alpo barely managed to dodge by throwing himself face-first into the ground. It hurt, but the monster would have hurt more. "Puh!" The fox spat out some dust from his mouth before he quickly stood back up. But as he turned around, the monster was already there, on all fours like a feral dog, even taking the shape like one. With its now improved movement, it leaped again, and this time it did not miss.
Despite his struggles on the ground, all he could do with the shadow dog was keep it from biting him by holding his hands against the mutt's maw and tilting his head left and right to guard his neck. Black oily drool dribbled from the thing's open muzzle, coating the nearly helpless male beneath him in putrid-smelling gunk.
"You won't devour me," he laughed to himself. The creature roared, and Alpo punched it. "Shut up! You're the same as everything else here. The images, the memories, the people..."
He knew what he had to do. If it failed, it would be all over, but he had to take the risk. In an instant, he let go of the monster's mouth, and embraced it around the neck in a tight hug, moving the creature's head into his chest. It took the thing off its guard, easily forcing it in the embrace. It started to struggle and snap its jaws, and Alpo would only be able to hold the monster down for a few moments before his arms gave out.
"It's okay, it's all over now," Alpo whispered a copy of the creature's words from before in between its yelps and screams. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. There's a good, loving home waiting for you."
Every passing word made he dog thing struggle less. "Just let go, you know? It's okay. We're going to be fine. I know a good friend who'd like a pet dog anyways. Or, pet shapeshifting shadow. Whatever you are."
The illusion wilted, crumbled. The metal of the shed in an instant underwent thousands of years of decay, turning to dust, and the earth beneath blew with rain water and wind, until all that remained was the universe, the shadows, and himself. He could feel all the rage and hate of Wilk, all the fear and desire of the thing that had haunted him. But most strongly, his feelings of love, compassion, and courage. Everything started to become the same feeling, nothing weakening, nothing fading.
Then, from the hospital bed, Alfred opened his eyes.