#nonbinaryfiction

“Best friend.” I scoffed harshly, prying another rock from the cold earth. “Best friend--” I pulled a hard throw back, aiming for the top window on the highest tower of the mansion “--my--” I threw it. An instant later, and another terrible shatter. “--dick!”

So you’re—what? Some trans-masculine Apache helicopter?

Stevie’s sneering smile spiraled back to me, lighting fire through my shaking fists all over again. “Dickhead.” It wasn't that hard to get. Non-binary. Sam Smith and Jonathan Van Ness and countless others were all non-binary—and so was I. But Stevie didn’t try to get it because he didn’t want to. I didn’t even ask him to use they/them—all I wanted from him was to be left alone. But that would never happen as long as Ash was obsessed with him.

Ash never gave me shit about it. He was the first one to call me they. They don’t like peanuts. That’s what it was. Never had a sentence about peanuts meant so much in the history of the world.  Ash knew how important it was to be comfortable in your own skin. He’d fought for it every day for as long as I’d known him. Ash was never Ashleigh. He said his mom felt like Ashleigh died, but I  knew the truth. There never was such a person. There was always just Ash.

Ash knew how important it was to be truly seen—for who you really were—by everyone. The people close to you most of all.

I thought Ash would always be on my side. Then he started liking Stevie.

A fierce gust rattled through the surrounding forest, a dying sigh clattering dry leaves like bones. Crossing my arms over my chest, I held in a shiver. It was Halloween—I should’ve been at Ash’s house, trading him my Smarties for his peanut butter cups, not freezing my ass off throwing rocks at Skurdulka’s house.

“I hope you’re happy.” Looking up at the decrepit old building, I silently cursed Ash. A part of me understood, the rest of me wished Ash wasn’t such a fucking coward. I gritted my teeth. When I thought about it, it seemed like some kind of shitty rock-paper-scissors game. Or maybe a really backwards love triangle. Stevie was gay. For Stevie to like Ash back, there could be no doubt that Ash was a boy. And then there was me, non-binary—the capital of the Gender Gray Area.

So, of course, when Stevie said I identified as a ‘trans-masculine Apache helicopter’ (what a prick) Ash was utterly silent.

“Assholes.” I felt across the wet, cold grass and dirt for another rock. Ash was too good for Stevie anyway. Stevie wasn’t even good-looking and he was a jerk. He ripped people to shreds like it was his favorite hobby. It was surely the only thing he was good at. He was the school drama star, but he couldn’t act for shit—he just shouted every line.

Why did Ash need to convince Stevie he was a boy? And why was that more important than... well... me?

Just as I dug my dirty nails under another rock, I started, almost falling over. The matted weeds and bramble behind me rustled. Something was in there. Something big.

Photo by Yuri_B on Pixabay

Straightening, I gripped the rock tight and searched the shadows underneath the trees. A dark shape emerged, the weeds and shadows sliding off its head, then its shoulders—an enormous black dog.

It stood still on the edge of the clearing, staring at me. It’s size made my heart start pounding—I’d never seen a dog that big—but it was its eyes that made my breath stop. Red eyes.

I couldn’t think of a dog—or any animal—I’d ever seen with red eyes. Was it rabid? I drew a shaky breath. “What the f-fuck are you?” My voice caught in my suddenly dry throat. “The Grim?” A strangled laugh escaped me.

The dog didn’t move. It didn’t blink. It just stood there. Staring.

“Go on.” I cleared my throat. “Go on!” I waved a hand. I thought about throwing the rock, but held it. Maybe the dog was some kind of messed up, but it still didn’t seem right to throw rocks at it.

The dog didn’t move.

“What do you want? You want f-food?” The word caught when I realized its food would’ve meant me. It certainly wasn’t interested in fun-sized Skittles. “I don’t have any food. Go on. Go home.”

It’s deep bark made me start back. The giant dog advanced, cutting the quiet forest with loud, angry barks.

Shit. Shit! I stumbled backwards over my pillowcase of Halloween candy and almost tripped over my mask and wig. The dog walked slowly forward, pausing only to bark.

“Fuck off!” I pulled back my arm to throw the rock. The dog stopped, a deep growl emanating from its bared teeth.

My spine froze. It wasn’t a normal dog growl. It was a deep, guttural sound, like a bear would’ve had.

“Shit!” Throwing the rock, I turned and ran, sprinting around the trees and bushes towards the almost-caved-in porch around Skurdulka’s house. Snarling barks told me the dog was right behind me. Jumping over a pile of trash and lumber at the edge of the house, I reached the porch and took another leap over the three stairs, landing straight on the doorstep. The rotted wood cracked, but didn’t break, and I hurled myself towards the door. Miraculously, it wasn’t locked. Skidding to a stop inside the house, I spun around and threw my back against the door, muffling the furious barks now safely on the other side.

Panting and bracing myself firmly against the door, I waited for heavy paws scratching against the other side. But nothing came. The barking stopped.

Swallowing, I tried to listen for paws over the sound of my pulse thundering in my ears. Something scraped against the porch. My shoulders tightened and my hand instinctively flew to the door handle when something tapped against it. The door handle gave a shiver, then a loud, decisive, click. After a moment of silence, the boards creaked, and something stepped down the stairs.

But there was something strange. It didn’t sound like the clatter of a dog’s paws. It was steady, even. Like a person’s footsteps. 

haunted house with graffiti - Photo by Florian Olivo on Unsplash

For at least a minute, I stood, rooted to the spot. I couldn’t go outside and face that dog again. But I was in Skurdulka’s house. No one went in Skurdulka’s house in the daytime, much less at night, on Halloween. Blinking, my eyes adjusted to the darkness, picking out amorphous outlines everywhere. Thin shafts of moonlight crept through the dusty windows at the back, revealing a curving staircase, broken banister and an upper floor. A chandelier hung askew overhead like a giant, hanging bat, barely peeking out of the blackness blanketing the ceiling. To my right and left were open doorways. I could make out the crumpled carpeting leading to each, but beyond was yawning darkness. The world could’ve ended where that carpet ended, and no one would have known.

Nope. Nope, nope, fucking nope. There was no way in hell I was spending one more instant in this creepfest. Deciding I’d rather get my foot devoured by a real, living dog with rabies than get my soul sucked out by an immortal ghoul, I turned at pulled at the door handle.

It didn’t move.

Icy panic streaked up my spine. I twisted hard in every direction, pulling and wrenching, but the knob wouldn't move. The door shuddered, but refused to give.

Fuck. It’s locked.

My heartbeat raced. I was trapped in Skurdulka’s house. The most haunted fucking location in the state. I tried to calm down. I just have to find another way out. It’s just a house. It’s just a dark, creepy house. Man up. There’s nothing here.

Looking into the mansion’s dark innards, I almost believed my calming mantra. But then something struck me; the door had opened a moment ago. Now it was locked. Dogs couldn’t lock doors. So who—or what—locked the door?

It can’t be locked. It’s just stuck. Just really, really stuck. That had to be it. Because dogs can’t lock doors and there’s no one else around. No one.

With my pulse thundering in my ears, I fumbled for my smartphone. Throwing darting glances around me, I tried to look everywhere at once while I looked for my flashlight app. Clicking it on, the blue-white light beam shook in my hand.

It’s just a house. Don’t be a chickenshit. Just find another way out. And sprint your stupid ass all the way home.

Swallowing hard, I took small, shuffling steps into the foyer. Up the stairs, there were three large, cracked windows along the hallway. They looked like they might’ve been stained glass, painting the white moonlight in pink, blue and purple where it shined through the dust. I thought about leaving through those windows, but that was the second story, and that was not a jump I wanted to make.

On my right, my flashlight revealed a broken end table, what looked like piles of rubble and trash and, in the corner, oddly enough,—I squinted to look closer—a grand piano. The walls were cracked and the windows were boarded up, but the piano looked strangely… pristine.

Well. I swallowed hard. Glad that’s not creepy.

I turned the beam to the left. It looked like it might’ve been a sitting room once, but the big, curving sofa had caved in, and something had eaten holes in the fabric. The coffee table was demolished. Papers and shards of something littered the floor. Looking closer, I caught my breath. The windows were boarded up there as well, but one was missing two boards. Just enough for me to crawl the hell out of here.

Just get to the window and leave. There’s nothing in the house. Just get to the window and leave. I repeated that in my head as I shuffled, as quietly as possible, across the foyer, into the next room.

Floorboards creaked upstairs.

I froze. Slow footsteps moved above me, thunk, thunk, thunk. A door creaked open. It sounded close, like it came from the upper hallway in the foyer. Thunk… creak… thunk, thunk. Footsteps, loud, on the stairs.

Shit! Adrenaline coursing through me, I bolted for the window. The space at the bottom, underneath the splintering boards, wasn’t big enough for me to fit through. Taking hold of the lowest board, I pulled hard, trying desperately to wrench it from the wall. The rusty nails loosened, but not enough.

Behind me, something growled.

With the phone shaking in my hand, I slowly turned. I knew before I turned around what would be standing there. Skurdulka.

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