Bogleech.com's 2017 Horror Write-off:
Submitted by Reggie
My flesh is crusted over with decaying foam and loose shreds of fur, my unblinking plastic eyes trace your every move, and trust me, you don't even want to know what's going on under my jeans. Clearly, you must think there's some sort of story to this, some sort of tragic accident like I got stuck in a fire at Chuck E Cheese or something. It wasn't. It was my own doing.
No. I didn't want it happen. No. It wasn't intentional. I didn't do it myself either. But I brought it on myself. You know what I mean?
Back in high school there was this kid. Kinda weird, normally quiet, but very emotional when upset, you know the kind. Yeah, you probably see where this is going. My friends and I... we were awful to this kid. God, I can't even remember his real name, only the... things we called him. You know, I say 'my friends and I'but I can't really remember them participating much. They thought it was real funny, sure, but they weren't the ones who... they didn't instigate it.
It started off pretty mild. Name calling, teasing, some light vandalism, stealing his homework. It just got worse and worse. I started stealing his inhalers and vandalizing more important homework and class projects. It got... weird sometimes. I'd sit behind him in gym and pull his shorts down when he got up. He once made this weird wolf sculpture and I stole it and pissed on it before slipping it back in his bag.
You know what makes it all worse? The kid kept hanging around us, like he thought we were friends. I don't think he really ever had another kid give him attention before, he didn't have the frame of reference to know this wasn't normal. Fuck. It made it so easy.
Spirit Day rolls around one year and this guy shows up in a furry wolf costume. I didn't know who it was until he walks up to me and takes off his mask. You know I started to make a horrible, horrible plan. I told him his costume was cool and asked if I could come over to see how he made it. The poor bastard said yes.
We walk past this empty, dug-out lot between his house and the school, he's still wearing his wolf costume and he's talking when I just shove him into the hole. I come in after him and kick the head off his costume. I pull his backpack off. I tell him to take the rest off. He's crying and asking why, I say I want to try it on. He takes it off, I take it and the head and leave him in the mud wearing just his underpants.
My friends were waiting for me a block away at their house by one of their dad's crappy oil-can barbecue in the dump they called a backyard. I held up my trophies and they cheered. I skewered the head on a stake and we set it all on fire. We whooped and shouted. We were like animals.
Next thing I remember I'm sitting in the office at school. "Did you steal his costume?" I told them no, of course. But inside I was annoyed. 'He was asking for it'.
My dad drove me home. "Did you do it?" I didn't respond. "Okay." He seemed disappointed. He didn't beat me and wasn't going to. My parents weren't abusive. They did everything right, I was just a crappy kid. I know, you were probably expecting a sob story, but I don't have one.
I couldn't sleep. I... thought I slept. It all felt like a strange dream. I'm not sure when, but at some point I must have snuck out of the house because next thing I know I'm outside, approaching the lot that still smells of burning.
There it was, silhouetted in the middle of the yard, stake plunged into a pile of trash, looking more like some tribute to some feral deity than a charred lump of foam and hot glue has any right to.
There it was, something dark and primitive that I had stirred that afternoon. And then it spoke. It spoke through the melted plastic eye sockets with the voice of some deranged cartoon.
"Ah, so you're the schmuck responsible for all this, ain't ya, funnyboy? Come a little closer lad, let's have a chat..."
I don't know why... I did as it said. I walked forward and sat in the mud. My head was stuck, fixed forward to stare into the charred black voids of eyes. I could smell the stench of burnt plastic and feel abrasive ruined material twist around my arms like snakes.
"I know you've pulled pranks before but this one... this one was a real knee slapper, wasn't it? Tell me. What was the punchline?"
"That's what I thought. You didn't write one. But I did!"
A shrieking laugh rang in my ears.
"Stand up. Put me on. You made this. It's yours. Wear it with pride."
What happened next was... I don't know. I don't know if I passed out or if I repressed those memories. All I know is when I woke up in my bed to the acrid stink of charred plastic and a burning itch all over my skin and my face... I touched my face and ran to the mirror. I had on that horrible burned mask, the same as it looked in the lot except with fresh white plastic disks for the eyes. I couldn't pull it off my head. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife in a panic. I'll spare you the gory details and tell you it didn't work.
It wasn't quite foam anymore. It wasn't quite flesh either. I've been to more doctors than I care to count and I still don't know what it is. It's not aging well, though, yeah, that's probably the least of my problems.
By the time I got released from the hospital, the kid had disappeared. They never found him. His parents vanished soon after. I know what conclusion you're going to jump to, and yeah, rationally, that's probably what happened. You're going to think I'm just trying to make myself feel better, and maybe I am, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm a living fursuit, my world isn't rational.
The gods used to walk among us, disguised to test us. Damn. I sure failed that one, didn't I?