Simon Finkel vs The Cheerleaders From Hell
Part One
by The Preve
Inspired by the picture "Cheerleaders Having Some Fun," by Voloh
No one saw him come in. No one really noticed. The halls were packed with students hustling between classes.
The few who did notice were genuinely shocked, both at the ethereal beauty of the boy, and the fact no one else seemed to see him. These few were the odd students; the ones likely to end their lives drugged or boozed out, or spend them in and out of psyche wards.
The lucky few recognized to have the Sight might receive training. These were the ones slated by Fate for the Dark Arts, as the modern versions were known.
It is not to say the other students, the blind, weren't aware of the boy in some fashion. A boy might acquire an inexplicable erection, or feel unexplained anger. A girl would experience a flash of heat in her groin, or a feeling of lust.
To look at the boy, was to see a vision of all the teen idols of the decades; the object of worship of generations of girls, the hidden desires of men, young and old. All distilled and amalgamated into the creature walking down the hallway.
His hair was a deep, flaming red, short, except for two tufts standing up from the sides. His eyes could be described as light brown, or hazel or, if one looked too closely, deep red as blood. His face displayed a snub nose, with small sensual lips, pursed in a mild puckish smile.
The smile expressed his character: mischief, of the most evil kind, the kind he enjoyed so much, and the fun he was going to have, nearly made him cum with anticipation.
He walked down the corridor, sneering and confident in his sneakers, dark blue jeans, white tee, and red jacket; golden words, "Used to be an angel," blazed and burned on its back.
He strode into the gym, past the boys' locker room to the girls', where the cheerleaders were finishing up. Most were gone. He knew that, timing his arrival for the three remaining.
Kate Jackson, Naomi King, and Cece Bryant, the Tyrannic Trio of Madison High, were still in their uniforms, lingering between classes, chatting about the event of three days ago.
"It was a fucking bust, that's what," Kate, the Bitch Queen, snorted.
"What'd you expect? Cheap movie pyrotechnics?" Cece, the Enforcer, responded. "That 'Grimoire' was some idiot's attempt to write a horror novel."
"Well, I thought it was interesting," Naomi, the Sweet (as arsenic flavored honey), smiled.
The other two sneered at her, but they knew better than to snark. Naomi was far smarter than her ditzy demeanor suggested, and her mastery of vicious rumor mongering, couched in the sweetest delivery, was legendary.
"So much for the end of the year blowout," Kate grumbled.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," an unfamiliar voice chuckled. "In fact, I'd say the fun's just getting started."
The voice was soft, male, but with a mellifluous cadence. The accent was mildly English, with an indeterminate lilt.
The Tyrannic Trio turned, ready to unleash unholy hell upon the unknown male, probably some idiot geek who didn't know better, intruding upon their meeting place. The excoriation and subsequent beat down died aborning on viewing the interloper.
He looked like a relic from the 1950s; a slightly prettier James Dean, or a Ron Howard channeled through Abercrombie and Fitch.
He was neither tall nor short. His deep red hair and strange brown eyes were the most distinguishing features about him.
"Who the fuck are you?" Cece, the one most prone to profanity, asked.
"Actually, the question should be, 'Who the hell am I?' although fucking describes a sizable part of my duties. I'm sure you three have a good idea though."
The trio weren't clueless, just skeptical. Yes they'd played with a "spellbook" from some old dead aunt of Kate's, and sure, nothing happened other than a rotten egg smell, but deep down, none of them really thought someone, or something, would show up.
"You could just be some snoop," Cece said. "Some fuck face who perved on us while we did that thing."
"Nope, I'm the genuine article. You summoned, I came. I'd've come sooner but I had prior commitments. I'm a busy guy."
"Still doesn't mean we believe you," Kate said. "We need a demo."
"Well, in spite of my looks, I'm not too showy. I'll just settle for intimate secrets no one else knows. Let's see, common knowledge. You're all eighteen, from affluent families. I wouldn't call them good completely. Some skeletons on your trees you three."
The three girls smirked. They never looked too close at their families' pasts, but all three knew some stories here and there.
"Now for the intimates no one could know. Kate, you knew your dad raped Stephanie Melieu, your French exchange classmate, and that he threatened her into silence. You hacked his emails and blackmailed him. She hung herself after returning to France, you know. Not that it matters to you. You got a nice new car out of the deal. Among other favors."
The girls looked at Kate in shock. She'd always played Daddy's Little Girl. They assumed that's how she scored the new convertible. Kate's expression was ice cold. Inwardly, she reveled in the memory. The power she felt confronting her father. She wanted more.
"I categorically deny everything," she stated flatly, "My daddy loves me."
The stranger smiled, "Yeah, keep saying that. It makes me all shivery." He turned to Cece. "And we have Cece, the toughest and the strongest. Probably that lingering mob influence in your family."
"Fuck you," Cece spat.
"Echoing Ray Robertson, the halfback you seduced, (id est) raped, at the prom two months back. Nice touch, the spiked beer. He's a big boy and tough. A girl getting the best of him looks bad. One of the reasons he's kept his mouth shut. Shame and humiliation factor in too, but that poor freshman on the swim team. Whatever did she do to you?"
Cece's face was a mask of fury. She didn't like her shit aired in public. It warned the weak ones away. She despised the weak, like that freshman. The "strong" she targeted for the challenge.
"A true alpha predator. I like that," the stranger licked his lips.
"And finally Naomi. Sweet, beautiful, innocent Naomi. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Sorry, I couldn't keep a straight face."
Naomi's lips curled into her sweet, disarming smile.
"Let's see, framed Charlene Petersen as a cheater on the math exam. Got her out of running for Eliza Doolittle in 'My Fair Lady.' Didn't care if it might have also screwed her chances at a scholarship to Juilliard. Slut shamed and doxxed Cindy Caspian for having the nerve to outdo you in the beauty contest. I'd ask how you got those photos of her skinny dip, but I already know. Heard she had to move because of all the strange men showing up at her house.
Also, for the piece de resistance, created the whisper campaign that effectively broke up Brooke Simmons and Jeff Sadler, all so you could get him for one night. Shame, they were really good together. Destroying the possibility of true love for a one night fuck? Beautiful."
Naomi remained smiling; the smile of a hollow, soulless mannequin.
"So now, you summoned me. You want to deal. Just state what you want, I'll see what I can do. Oh, don't be elaborate. Just cut to the chase."
Kate, "Power."
Cece, "Wealth."
Naomi, "Fame."
"Oooo, the usual then, other than revenge. Should be easy enough."
"So what do we do?" Cece asked, "Sign a contract in blood or something?"
"Or something. I don't do contracts. I do exchanges. There's a couple of things you each have to do for me. It requires a bit of trouble on your part, but it should be fun. I will say sealing the deal requires you each to take a gap year in your college plans, but don't worry. I'll run interference."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Kate.
