With eyes ablaze in a fury of incandescent rage, the beast screamed, a thunderous bellowing cry as it allowed its diabolic glare to fall upon Alex. Looking up, he watched as its cracked lips curled into a hideous, monstrous snarl, its venomous roar sending flecks of spittle spraying like shattered crystals into the air, only to land squarely on his open textbook.Â
“Okay, now that’s just gross,” Alex muttered under his breath.Â
Towering above him and leaning forward in such a way that her shadow fell across the entire surface of his desk, Alex’s math teacher, Ms Croaker—whom her pupils had unkindly, yet perhaps accurately nicknamed The Beast—continued her reproach. “What was that, Mr Wessel? You have something to add?”Â
For a second, Alex considered mentioning that “having something to add” was pretty much the point of math class but decided against it. Judging by the size of the vein currently throbbing in Croaker’s forehead, one more flippant comment might make her head explode. He did, however, shift back in his chair in case she sent any more spittle flying his way.Â
Until The Beast had begun her tirade a few moments ago, the classroom had been silent, exactly as Croaker liked it. Having finished the algebra problems she had set for the class ten minutes ago, Alex had been happily busying himself by reading the latest edition of Folklore and Myth, a magazine that he had carefully and surreptitiously opened across the face of his textbook.
Now, having seen the magazine with its vivid illustrations of demons, witches, and werewolves spread across his desk in the place where the quadratic equation should have been, Ms Croaker’s temper flared. She lifted the magazine from the desk and flung it with impressive accuracy across the room so that it tumbled heavily into the trash can. She then produced a conveniently stashed pink slip from one of her side pockets that translated to a half-hour detention after school. Â
As the bell rang to signal the end of the school day (at least for those not on their way to detention), Alex resigned himself with a sigh to 30 minutes of boredom and a later-than-planned bike ride home. He threw his bag over one shoulder and walked out silently with the rest of the students, some giving him a pitying glance or a sympathetic nod. None of them gave a second thought to the girl deliberately lingering at the back of the crowd, waiting for an opportunity to steal a pink slip from the teacher’s desk and retrieve the crumpled magazine from out of the trashcan.Â
*
Alex Wessel was not the sort of student who typically ended up in detention. Were it not for Ms Croaker’s targeted campaign against him and his free time, he probably would have spent his whole high school career not knowing where the detention room was.Â
He supposed that her hatred toward him stemmed from their first encounter when, as he had filed past her and a group of other staff members on the way into an assembly on the first day of school, she had chastised and mocked him for wearing dark glasses inside.Â
“Take those off,” she had growled, “you’re not starring in a movie here.”
Alex probably would have complied without a word if not for the smirk she shot the other teachers.Â
Stopping where he was, he stared at her before dutifully removing his shades and folding them into his shirt pocket. He then explained that he had photophobia, which made him acutely sensitive to sunlight and harsh lighting, and he had to wear dark glasses to protect his eyes. He had suffered from horrible migraines for as long as he could remember. He knew his mother had explained this to the admin office when she registered him for high school.Â
“I can take them off, but it might be bad for my eyes. I’m luckier than some other people, though. Some people have actual allergies to sunlight. If they stay out in the sun too long, their skin can get all blotchy and red. A bit like the colour you’re going now. You don’t have that, too, do you?” Alex asked this with an exaggerated air of innocent concern, since it was clear to him and the other staff members that Croaker’s blotchy red face was due to making a tactless mistake.
As he turned away, Alex felt rather pleased with himself. He had outsmarted a bully of a teacher and made her look stupid in front of the others. He felt good about it until later that day when he discovered he was in Ms Croaker’s math class. And that the old dragon certainly knew how to hold a grudge.
Since then, whenever she found an opening, she would find some reason to belittle him or send him to detention, to the extent that the other kids joked about it.
None of his other teachers ever sent him to detention, and on his first visit, his attendance seemed so out of character that Mr Lamb, an English teacher who had taught Alex back in junior high, had asked him what was going on.Â
Months later and many Croaker-endorsed detentions later, Mr Lamb had become accustomed to Alex’s visits, often meeting his submission of a pink slip with a wry, knowing smile that seemed to say “Croaker again?” while Alex could only roll his eyes and nod.Â
Alex didn’t mind detention. He was a friendly kid who got along with most everybody, and the other students who landed there left him alone. He usually spent the time finishing his homework or reading. Today, however, there was a strange addition to the crowd.Â
Jaime Tanner, a girl in Alex’s class since grade two, also showed up in detention for what was perhaps the first time in her entire life.Â
Greeted with the same lift of the eyebrow from Mr Lamb that Alex had received on his first visit, she quietly crossed the room and sat at the desk next to his. She was wearing a pink hoodie with a cartoon cat on the front and had her copper red hair done up in French braids with a long section loose to frame her face. He supposed she was pretty with a cute spray of freckles, a small button nose, and eyes that crinkled when she smiled, which she did often.
Catching Alex’s eye with the faintest hint of a grin, Jaime reached into her backpack and retrieved the battered copy of Alex’s Folklore and Myth magazine. Then, as Mr Lamb dealt with protests of another detention inmate who was loudly pleading his innocence, she reached across and placed it onto his desk. Alex grinned broadly in appreciation as Jaime settled to her own reading, a thick novel with horses on the cover.
Now and then, Jaime would steal sidelong glances at Alex from the corner of her eye, always finding him engrossed in his magazine. He was taller than her by a few inches and had white blond hair that fell forward over his eyes which, between his hair and his glasses, were always well hidden. She wondered if, someday, his icy blue eyes might look at her with the same fascinated enthusiasm he showed for his magazine. She knew she was suffering from a big, hopeless crush—the kind that makes your heart race and your face turn pink. The kind you’d even dig through a trash can for. Â
While he might not think of her in the same way, at least not yet, being stuck in the same place meant they would leave at the same time. Maybe he would offer her a ride home on the back of his bike when it was time to go. It wasn’t like she lived far, just a few houses down from his. To her, that was worth more than the time in detention. Â
*
The demon Agathokakologos harnessed his energy with focused intent. His form seemed to liquefy, shadows weaving and reshaping, sculpting him into a smaller, less imposing figure.Â
During the metamorphosis, Agathokakologos’s stature dwindled, condensed into a form better suited to blend in with the world he was about to enter. His features softened, the dark aura diminishing to grant him an unobtrusive air to facilitate his integration into the foreign realm.Â
His horns, once conspicuous symbols of his infernal heritage, gracefully withdrew into his skull, erasing any overt evidence of his demonic origin. Eyes that once glowed with the intensity of Hell’s fires now held an enigmatic depth.Â
In his new form, Agathokakologos focused his power to conjure a portal by channelling the darkness into a swirling vortex, a rift between the realms. As the portal solidified, he crossed the threshold from his familiar inferno into an uncharted realm, his presence stepping out from a slit in the fabric of reality. Agathokakologos stepped onto the hard, smooth ground, and his senses absorbed the myriad sensations of his environment—the sun low overhead, the whisper of a breeze, and the scent of asphalt. The portal, ever ephemeral, sealed behind him, leaving no trace of its existence.Â
Agathokakologos found himself in a deserted area cloaked in the late afternoon’s fading light. The concrete wall of a building cast a long shadow, extending like an inky silhouette against the ground. Discarded pallets and broken-down cardboard boxes formed a haphazard arrangement, forgotten remnants of the bustling commerce that had occurred earlier that day. A back door creaked open, and a weary employee wearing a blue vest emerged, the weight of his shift evident in the slouch of his shoulders. The scent of cigarette smoke wafted through the air as he leaned against the wall, his long puff interrupted when he saw Agathokakologos.Â
“Hey, what the—?” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of astonishment and disbelief as he took in the demon’s human form. He stepped back toward the door he had left propped open, his cigarette dangling, forgotten in his fingers.Â
Agathokakologos remained still, his enigmatic gaze fixed on the employee. The two shared a tense moment, the air heavy with unspoken questions and a sense of the surreal. The employee’s bewildered expression slowly transformed into disbelief and uncertainty as he processed the unusual sight before him.Â
He was looking at a heavy-set middle-aged man with an angular face and thick jowls, bags under his eyes that gave his face the appearance of someone who hadn’t slept for centuries, and thin blond hair stuck out in tufts. His skin was pasty white all over his body.
With an incredulous shake of his head, the employee finally found his voice. “Hey, man, you can’t be walking around here like that! Put some clothes on or something,” he blurted out, his tone a mix of annoyance and confusion at the man’s nudity. He stubbed out his cigarette on the side of the wall and fumbled to put it back into the package, his eyes darting back to Agathokakologos as if making sure he weren’t just seeing things.Â
Agathokakologos’s silence only deepened the employee’s nervousness, and with a last glance over his shoulder at the naked man, the employee scurried inside, slamming the door behind him.Â
Standing still in the deserted area behind the store, Agathokakologos gradually realized that his current state was indeed unconventional in this realm. His encounter with the employee allowed him to understand the expectations of the inhabitants of this world, prompting him to consider the need for clothing.Â
Navigating the perimeter of what he could now see was a Walmart, Agathokakologos moved deliberately, his steps measured as his eyes scanned his surroundings. A row of parked cars lined the building’s side, and he headed toward them in search of suitable coverings. The hum of distant traffic mingled with the scattered voices of shoppers, their footsteps resonating against the pavement. He slipped between two cars, and the glimpse of a blue coat draped over the back seat of a sedan caught his attention. He fumbled with the door handle, unsure of its operation, but successfully opened the unlocked door after a moment. Agathokakologos retrieved the coat and slid his arms into the sleeves, the coat’s folds draping around him. The fabric settled in place, feeling foreign against his skin.Â
Agathokakologos scrutinized his reflection in the tinted window of an SUV, touching his cheek with curious fingers until the sound of approaching footsteps pulled his attention away. A woman carrying two fabric shopping bags walking toward her car paused mid-step, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Agathokakologos’s unconventional appearance. Shock rippled across her features, and her gaze remained locked on him, disapproval evident in her expression as she took in the feminine coat above his bare legs and feet. Agathokakologos met her gaze for a fleeting moment, his eyes enigmatic and inscrutable. She rolled her eyes and gave a dismissive snort before turning and walking off. Agathokakologos moved away from the parked cars, his bare feet slapping the pavement.Â
*
Having finally escaped from his incarceration in the detention room, Alex hurried toward the bike rack with Jaime trailing closely behind. The late-April afternoon sun bathed the school grounds in a warm, golden glow as if nature was taking a deep breath after the chill of winter. For a second, Jaime hovered closely and hesitantly behind Alex as he bent toward the wheels of his bike, hoping by sheer force of proximity that she could convince him to offer her a ride. Â
“Thanks for digging the magazine out for me,” Alex said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder. “You really didn’t need to do that.”Â
“Don’t worry about it. It was nothing,” Jaime shrugged.
“You wanna ride home?” he asked finally.
 Jaime nodded, trying not to show how desperately she had hoped this exact scenario would unfold.Â
“Only, it’s getting late, and I think we need to leave right now if…” Alex cut himself off, allowing his words to hang like one half of an unfinished bridge.
“If what?” Jaime probed, kicking herself immediately for asking instead of simply accepting the offer and jumping onto the bike.
“Nothing,” said Alex, who had now straightened up but still avoided eye contact. He seemed nervous. Not because they were alone together, which was why she was nervous, but because he seemed to suspect they weren’t alone. Even as he spoke, he seemed to be looking around the place, over her shoulder and toward the edges of the buildings and the tree line. Scanning and surveying.
“I just—” he began to clarify. “It’s getting late…” he hesitated for a moment. “So, I’m going to take the path through the woods to save time, but,” again, Alex trailed off, leaving Jaime to construct the rest of the sentence for herself, which she did effortlessly. Alex, she now realised, wasn’t nervous at all. He was afraid. And with good reason.Â
