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Flea Bitten

Prologue

By Roofles

Warning: Blood, death, violence

Author's Notes: This Story is being turned into a book like Socially Awkward was. Thank you for understanding.

Ding

The sliding door chime went off as Stanley flipped the page on the magazine, he'd grabbed from the nearby rack to kill the hours of the nightshift he'd been put on. The boss didn't seem to care if he was reading something from the store, as if it'd promote sales or something. She did have a major issue if the teenager was on his phone.

“Welcome to Super X Mart." He said in a dry, bored tone as he glanced up. “A convenient stop for all your quick-shopping needs." Stanley repeated the forced corporate slogan in a dry tone as he turned the page without looking up.

No one entered making the teen glance up in confused boredom.

“Hello?" He called out without moving from the spot.

The sliding glass mechanical doors were to the side of the front counter. They were wide open but there was no one there. A cold breeze blew in and Stanley could see the sun setting in the distance over thick forest of Maine. A good sign for the teen who just wanted his shift to end already so he could get home and jump online.

His friends were waiting for him. They had schedule gaming night before his boss, Jodee, a real bitch, had scheduled Stanley last minute onto this shift. He knew it was because she favored the other coworker, Michelle. The two were probably out drinking this late Friday night while Stanley was stuck inside working.

“Stupid store," Stanley just grumbled bitterly to himself looking back down at the magazine. It wasn't interesting or captivating in the least. The closing shift for the Super X Mart was just that boring.

No one came here. Anyone who did was in and out before Stanley could say a friendly hello. Not that the teen bothered half the time. Most were just coming off the freeway to get some gas. It wasn't like Stanley needed to go out and help any stray car coming through.

Everything was automated, for the most part. Leaving Stanley very little to do in the end other than stock shelves and hand out the bathroom key.

“Just another couple of hours," he noted glancing at the time on the wall. It read 7:05. At least this wasn't a twenty-four-hour kind of convenience store. It was just a small locally owned store that was trying to stay going.

It was located off of I-95 and was mostly overlooked due to the dense forest surrounding the small side road. It was a terrible location and unless one was desperate for gas, or a local, there was no reason to go down the dead-end road to the store. GPS barely worked out here as it was.

Stanley had gotten the job after his dad had strong armed him into it. Threatening to kick him out unless he began pulling “his weight around here." Stanley wasn't even sure what that meant. At least he didn't have to deal with people and the extra cash helped buy some recreational activities for the days off.

Smoke on his days off to get through his days of work. A vicious cycle.

Ding.

Stanley let out a loud yawn, not that he cared if anyone saw as he looked up from the magazine again at the door open.

“Welcome to-," he began but once more there wasn't anyone there. “The hell?" He cursed tossing the magazine onto the counter and going around the chick out what was going on. “This shit broken, again?"

He stepped outside and got a face full of the frigid night air to greet him. It stung his cheeks, and he was glad he had worn a thicker flannel today. Adjusting his John Deer hat, Stanley stepped out to look around.

“Hello?" He called in an annoyed voice. “Ethan is that you? You're ass better not be pulling another one of your lame tricks!" Stanley scowled, not wanting to clean up something Ethan had done again.

Last April fool's day Ethan had set up a mannequin out in the woods looking in towards the store. Throughout the night, his best friend had moved it closer and closer until it was against the window and had nearly given Stanley a heart attack when he had gotten back from a bathroom break. Ethan had set it up behind the counter dressed in an apron with one of Stanley's spare nametags on it.

“Ethan!" Stanley shouted stomping his feet. The ice crunched under his boots as he looked around the empty gas station out front of the store. It only had one pump and wasn't even owned by the Super X Mart.

A chill wind blew, and the snap of a twig made Stanley jump, quickly retreating back inside. He hated horror movies and hated when Ethan would scare him like this. It was already September and the pumpkins had come out. The orange and black covers fill their town of Bangor, Maine with the holiday theme. Everyone in the town seemed to celebrate the harvest festival that came along with the season.

Stanley was one of the few exceptions, despite what his parents wanted. It wasn't like they were even together; he couldn't figure out why they both were still pushing him so hard. They should just give up and quit as they did with their marriage…

He wanted to jump on Twitch, play some online games with his friends, and smoke to forget about his shitty, boring life. Not be stuck in this dead-end job, killing his Friday night and just-,

There was a noise from the back room and Stanley got up, snagging the broom as his thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

“It better not be that rat." He cursed wandering around the counter, down the rows of shelves, and towards the back door. Stanley had to unlock it from the oversized keyring he'd been given. There had to be thirty keys on the keyring, and it took far too long to find the right one needed.

His boss, Jodee B, insisted they needed all the keys. A nickname she got being in the same class with another Jodee. Stanley figured the B stood for bitch because that's all she'd been since he'd gotten the job despite knowing each other from school. No wonder the previous employee had just up and disappeared without a word.

Who'd want to work for someone like that?

Unfortunately, Jodee was on good terms with his father, and it had been his recommendation to pawn off his son to fill the empty job that had opened up. The previous employee hadn't even turned in their two-week notice! She had been livid, and desperate, not wanting to lose her days off. His dad would check in at least once a shift to make sure Stanley was here. Calling his cellphone as if trying to bait Stanley into taking the call and getting in trouble for it.

His father would call on the store's landline soon after to make sure he was there. Always checking in. Being a hard-ass and a real bastard that had never gotten over Stanley refusing to join the military as he did.

“No wonder why mom left." Stanley rolled his eyes, flicking the backlight on. He held up the broom as if it were some sort of weapon. “Come out you rat bastard," he stomped into the room wanting to scare the thing back into hiding. Or, hopefully, into one of the countless traps he'd set.

The back door leading out to the trash cans was wide open and the chill wind blowing made the door knock against the wall several times. It must've been the sound he heard. Shivering, Stanley walked over to inspect it.

“I could've sworn I locked you…" Stanley wasn't sure as he peeked outside. There wasn't anyone and he shut the door, making sure to lock it this time. Only to find the lock wasn't working properly. It had broken, hanging uselessly from the bolt. “The hell?"

Ding.

“Fuck this night!" Stanley quickly made his way back into the store. His boss hated it when someone came in and he wasn't at the counter. Like anyone would bother robbing the place. They had, at most, fifty dollars in the till.

The sliding doors were open, and several fall leaves were blowing in. The lights flickered above, and Stanley could hear thunder boom outside, the rains picking up.

The weather report had mentioned it would rain tonight. It neglected to say it was going to storm this bad. Stanley still had to bike home!

“Hello?" Stanley swallowed the building fear in his chest as he slowly came back over, broom in hand. Not daring to put down the only weapon he had available.

He crept closer to the door, shaking as he held up the broom now with both hands.

“I'll call the cops!" He warned only to jump back into the shelf as a small furry body landed in front of him. It was a small black cat. “Fuuuuck youuuu!" Stanley threw the broom at the feline. The cat ran inside and hid underneath the counter. “Wait, hey!" He cursed following after it.

It was most likely one of the strays they had around town after the animal shelter had been shut down. Unable to keep up with donations, and in this economy, it had only been a matter of time before it went under.

He hated this town. Dead-end jobs with no growth.

“Come on, little guy, I won't hurt you…" Stanley crouched down trying to reach in to grab the black ball of fuzz cowering away. Most likely scared by the storm rolling in.

The cat hadn't hissed at him. It hadn't done anything as it cowered in fear underneath the counter, curled up on itself. Stanley got down on his hands and knees, looking at it. It looked terrified. Its eyes were wide, ears folded back but it still didn't hiss or make a sound. As if afraid too.

“The hell got you so spooked?" Stanley tried to keep his voice friendly but was getting annoyed by this entire night. He just wanted to go home and-,

Ding.

Stanley stood up, hitting the back of his head on the counter, and cursed. He turned around expecting to see no one.

“Seriously, what the fuck is going on!" Stanley cursed, rubbing the back of his skull. There was something there at the front of the door, but it wasn't a person. It looked like a brown bag. “The hell…?" Stanley took a step closer, figuring this was one of Ethan's tricks.

That was until he saw the red ooze seeping from the bottom of it.

There, on the rubber welcome mat, was a brown-furred head, slightly tilted facing toward him. The large moose horns gave away the severed head instantly and Stanley found himself shrieking in fright as he jumped over the counter to grab the phone, his blood running cold.

“Police, firefighters, freaking anyone!" Stanley's teeth chattered as he kept glancing back at the door, his whole body shaking as he grabbed the landline.

The phone was dead. There wasn't even a dial tone as he pressed the buttons on the plastic receiver several times quickly.

“No, no, no. Please, please, please!" Stanley could feel the sting of tears in his eyes as his heart leaped into his throat as the lights above turned off.

“Fuck this!" Stanley had enough of this damn night, this stupid store, and this spooky ass shit. He was already moving through the side door, into the employee-only area where the small office was. He locked the door behind him just as he heard it again.

Ding.

He held his breath. That horrible sound of the front doors opening again. And this time, someone came in. Heavy steps that scratched against the floor as a ragged breath sniffed in the otherwise silent dark room. Stanley covered his mouth with a hand, glancing over at the computer screens in the office. The security camera should've been directly above the counter.

With the power out, all the screens were dark. He couldn't see a thing. But he could hear it.

The scratching against the floor and the crash of the cash register being knocked over made his heart jump again, banging against his chest as if trying to escape as he whimpered pitifully clasping his other hand over his mouth to keep the sound contained.

The flimsy office lock wouldn't be able to stop someone from breaking in.

Stanley just prayed that the freak would just take the cash in the till and leave. He was going to quit this job. Try to go for a streamer gig or something safer, or remote, he could do it from home. No more of this public service crap.

A crash came from the other room and announced one of the shelves had been knocked over. He whimpered again; a pitiful sound filled with the misery building up inside. A small meek sound that a mouse might make. It was all it seemed to take. Whatever was out there, stopped in the other room at the sound. Ears perking up.

Everything went deathly silent and still.

Stanley had to hold back the scream in his throat as he pressed against the wall, trying not to move. Trying not to breathe, not trying to make a single sound as he held his breath. His heart hammering in his chest.

Then he heard it.

The distinct sound of sniffing came from the other side of the locked door. It grew louder, closer as whoever was there pushed against the door with their head. The frame creaked but didn't give. The sniffing only grew louder, more eager, desperate, and hungry. Snorting and sucking in lung-filling breaths as it tasted the sweet scent in the air.

Scratching at the door. Its head thumped against it, shaking its frame. A body pressed against the wall just on the other side, so close to Stanley, he could practically feel it. A thin barrier of plaster separating the two.

Then the handle jiggled as if being tested.

The metal knob twitched and shook. Slowly turning before stopping. Being played with. Toyed with. See how much it could take, before breaking.

Stanley wanted to reach out and hold it, to make sure he locked it but was afraid too. Afraid to do a single thing. He'd never been so scared in his life as the door shook as the handle twisted and protested against the lock. Metal screeched and his blood ran cold. The handle being forcibly turned, bending, breaking, snapping…

Just as he thought his time was up, there was a loud hiss and a screech from a cat from the other room and whoever was there turned around towards the stray cat that had fled inside. Glass shattered, something spilled over the floor and an ungodly sound of a frightened, wounded animal filled the store as something was torn. The horrible sound of ripping leather was the last straw as the blood-curdling cry of the wounded animal ended with a wet slap against the floor.

Stanley was already making his way towards the window in the office before whatever was there could remember he was here.

Unlocking it, he opened it up without carrying about the screech the old, weather-worn window made being open. The sound from the other room stopped as Stanley just stood there, looking back. Then he heard it. A single nail scratched against the door as if asking to be let in. Stanley scooted his boss's desk over and climbed on top, wiggling his fat ass through to fall outside onto the cold, wet concrete. It hurt. The pain brought back some of his senses that fear had stolen from him. He didn't care about the bump or the scrap to his knees as he got up and ran towards where he had locked up his bike.

He slipped twice on the wet pavement and nearly lost his traction as the door in the office burst open, thrown to the side, and smashed, embedding itself into the wall with the force used to push it open.

Stanley didn't dare to glance back as the door to the office was broken down and something rushed after him. The window creaked in protest and claws scraped at the wall as something reached after him, clawing at everything it could with a long, furred-covered arm and nails so long they might as well be fingers.

His hands were shaking so bad Stanley could barely undo the combination lock on the bike chain. It took three attempts before the chain came undone. He just left it there on the ground. Stanley jumped onto the seat and took off as fast as his fat stubby legs could pedal down the road without looking back. Hoping to find someone. Anyone.

Whoever was there could have the damn store as far as he was concerned!

“No minimum wage job is worth this shit." He shuddered, figuring some kind of junkie had snuck in. They would sometimes come by and rummage through the garbage cans. Usually, they'd stay outside and not risk coming in.

But that was only before they took something. Hopped up on fentanyl or something, Stanley wasn't sure, they'd do whatever they could to get their next fix.

Stanley was not about to fight someone for a minimum wage job. The store could fire him and clean up that damned mess.

That was their problem to deal with as he biked down the road. The night was setting in, and it was getting harder to see as the cold, icy rain fell around him. He was just glad he had the mind to buy a bike light. The narrow roads made it hazardous to ride even during the day. The slick wet and icy leaves littering the road weren't helping as he kept pedaling.

His legs were already hurting, his throat stung from the cold night air and still, Stanley didn't dare to glance behind him.

He'd go home, lock the door, and just hide away in his room. Stanley didn't care if his father yelled at him again. Didn't care about anything but getting out of there.

A car drove past on the other side and honked at him. Stanley flipped them off, turning around about to say something when he saw something in the distance staring at him. He didn't have time to find his voice as he nearly peeled off the road, quickly correcting the bike and pedaling faster than he'd ever done in his entire life.

Those two glowing eyes watching him flee into the night.

All he needed to do, hopefully, was to get back home. His dad had an old rifle above the fireplace that Stanley was sure he kept loaded. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't human, he was sure. He wasn't exactly religious, but the thought of demons crept into his mind as he turned a sharp corner down his street, making his way home a good thirty minutes later.

He was sure he'd lost the junkie. They couldn't keep up without a car or bike of their own. Stanley created as much space as he could between him and whatever the fuck that was.

Stanley ditched the bike in the front lawn, running the rest of the way up to the door. He didn't care about the mud he'd track in. He was glad his father never locked the damn door as he threw it open. Out here in the middle of nowhere, there usually wasn't a need for it. Stanley made sure to turn each lock as he slammed the heavy oak door shut behind him and collected himself.

It hurt to breathe, and his heart was pumping so quickly he was afraid it'd burst at this rate.

Resting against the window embedded into the middle of the door, he took several deep, calming breaths. He was soaking wet and cold. But he was alive! That was all that mattered.

Swallowing loudly, he dared to turn around and look out front down the road he'd come down. There were two houses to the side, down the road a ways. Ms. Joharris was on the right and the Montgomery sisters on the left. The neighbors were old and were most likely asleep by this time. They'd be no help as Stanley fished out his phone with a shaking hand.

He quickly undid the lock, glancing down at the device, the bright screen momentarily blinding him before looking back up.

“Shit!" He cursed and the phone slipped from his shaking, wet fingers as there, in the middle of the small cul de sac at the end of the road, stood a shadowy figure facing towards him with glowing sunken eyes.

Stanley scrambled over the floor to find the phone without taking his eyes off whatever it was. He hunkered down, afraid to be seen through the tinted glass. He couldn't fully make out whoever was there.

It looked like a man wearing a heavy coat of some sort. Its shoulders were large, head sunken in and dipped down towards the ground as if it were sniffing it. Long, gangling arms kept their bulk from falling over. Clawed fingers digging into the road. But it was those eyes. Those eyes facing forward, facing towards Stanley that held the human in their paralyzing gaze. It took everything he had to hide away from the window.

“Fuck me," Stanley fumbled with the phone calling emergency services. It didn't ring. It couldn't find service and connect. “The fuck!" He wanted to throw the damn thing as he dialed 911. Still, there was no connection. “How does a cellphone not work?"

He kept dialing and calling. Trying to call his friend Ethan. Trying to call his dad. The text message just kept saying “Trying to connect" as the semi-circle continued to spin in the middle of the screen.

There was movement from the corner of his eye and Stanley dared to peek through the window and nearly wet himself.

Pressed up against the glass was a large snout with a round black nose and fangs longer than Stanley's fingers. The thing was sniffing once more, snorting hot breath over the front of the glass misting it as Stanley hid to the side, hunkering down and hoping, praying once more it would just leave him alone.

Drool smeared over the glass as the snout rubbed against it, down it, back and forth as a slimy red tongue licked over the front leaving behind a trail of slime like a slug. Stanley couldn't be sure, but he thought it was smiling as those bumpy black lips pulled upwards in a sneering, gleeful expression.

Nails sunk into the thick wood and the scraping sound made Stanley's chest tighten. Claws dug into the wood, peeling it as they dragged down the front leaving several claw marks as that breath misted the window closest to his face.

Stanley closed his eyes, holding his phone. His legs were shaking so bad he wasn't sure he could run if it broke in. He was helpless and it, whatever it was, knew that.

Then he heard it. A voice so twisted and yet familiar that Stanley dropped his phone.

“S-Stanley." The voice croaked from the other side, that snout so close that if there wasn't a door between the two, Stanley would've felt the heat of it's breath against his face.

He swallowed, holding his throat as if struggling to breathe.

“Stan-Ley…" And it chuckled. A sound that was more sick and twisted than humorous. “I'll. HUFF. And. Puff." The claws scraped against the glass forcing Stanley to cover his ears. “And blow your house down…"

Stanley, hunkered into the corner, closed his eyes, and covered his ears, shaking so bad his knees were knocking together.

The door handle shook. The frame of the door shook. The wall seemed to shake as two large hands pounded against it. And it laughed. A mad cackling sound a hyena might make as Stanley cried in fear. Nails scratched over the wood, over the glass, clawing and scraping at it.

A body hit the door, shaking the wall. Then once more. And a third time. The door held as Stanley just covered his face.

Then there was silence.

A long-drawn-out silence that stretched for countless minutes. Stanley didn't move. He barely breathed as he sat there, hiding in the corner. Afraid to move. Afraid to speak. Afraid to do a single damn thing until he couldn't take it any longer. The silence was killing him, and he dared to look out the window.

There wasn't anyone there.

The rain was washing the drool off the window, and he could see down the street. Lightning flashed as he took a hesitant step back, away from the door. He needed to get his father's rifle. Get a gun. Something to defend himself. He'd lock himself in his room and just-

Another step backward and he felt it. A solid mass of fur and muscle stood behind him. Rainwater dripped off its fur and he could smell wet dog as his body locked up and froze.

Before Stanley could say a thing, before he could do a single thing, he felt it. A sharp prick of pain that stuck into his side like four hot pokers. And the warmth of blood running down his side.

Stanley couldn't even scream as a hand closed around his face and rough paw pads squeezed until his eyes threatened to pop out of his skull.

“Sta-n... Ley…" It spoke in a low growl. It sounded… amused. “You forgot… to check… the back door…" The snout brushed the side of his face, whiskers tickling his cheek, as it leaned over him, hugging Stanley close against its chest, in an, almost, loving embrace.

Stanley's voice was muffled around the hand closed around his face. He couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe as those fingers pushed further into his side, wiggling around, and making him scream in pain.

Blood splattered the window and a body hit the floor as it was twisted with a horrifying snap. Blood stained the carpeted floor as the storm continued outside as the front door was unlocked, one after another.

Then silence.

A silence that was only replaced as the body of Stanley Williams was dragged out the front door, over the step and down the street, through the rain, and into the woods dotting Maine's landscape…

….