bunny-lovin
Sept. 5, 2011, 5:48 p.m.
Monster Madness: Chapter 1: Eek!
T - Words: 3,862 - Last Updated: Sep 05, 2011 Story: Closed - Chapters: 1/? - Created: Sep 05, 2011 - Updated: Sep 05, 2011 456 0 0 0 0
Author's Notes: Thanks for reading! :)
Chapter 1: Eek!
Blaine Anderson sat in the Dalton Academy common room, his heart heavy in his chest. He listened to the crackling fire until his ears could take in nothing else. The leather couch beneath him was comfortable, but the air felt dry, making it hard to breathe. He refused to look at his surroundings, half-closing his eyes so that he could avoid the eyes carefully watching him. All his thoughts were fuzzy and unclear.
He felt a hand gently touch his knee.
“Blaine, are you listening?” Blaine pulled open his eyelids so he could meet the dark brown gaze that was trying desperately to confront with him. Wes removed his hand and tried to smile. “I know you don’t exactly approve of this, but really it’s for the best.”
“For who?” Blaine demanded. His voice remained calm, but he clenched his already tight fist and struggled to get to the relaxed state he was in before.
“For us, Blaine. For the Warblers. For everyone here at Dalton. It’s not just a matter of us as individual people anymore. It’s school pride. You know how prestigious the Warblers are. If we lose Regionals, we’ll be nothing. You—”
“Listen to me, Wes. Just for a second, please.” Blaine sent his most appealing look to the Warbler head. “I know that the Warblers are like rock stars. Heck, I probably know that better than anybody. But if they’re so elite, why isn’t everyone’s talent being showcased? Why is it always me that gets the solos? I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, but really this whole idea is getting quite tired. I’m tired. We need to mix it up a little bit. And I’m sure the other hopeful Warblers who never seem to get past the second level of solo tryouts would agree with me.”
Yes, it was true—Blaine Anderson was exhausted of being in the spotlight. Throughout his years at Dalton Academy, Blaine thought he couldn’t be happier. He had gotten away from the horrible bullies who had harassed him at his old school, and had somehow found heaven, a place where he was so appreciated and loved it brought tears to his eyes. Blaine had been the lead soloist for almost two years now. But somehow, as all the responsibilities of that had piled up with every performance, his nervous system was getting the best of him. He felt stressed and agitated before each performance, and all that was asked of him haunted him at night, until he was suffering from insomnia. The other Warblers stopped looking at him in admiration, but with envy and spite. Worst of all, the normal thrill and adrenaline rush of performing had left him entirely, leaving him with nothing but a soulless voice and a false smile.
Blaine felt like the Warblers needed something new to really mix them up. Something more than a bunch of synchronized blazers boop-bopping in the background. But it was made immediately clear to him that Dalton was a place of tradition, and that such a thing could not be done. And now the Warbler Heads were once again approaching him, requesting that he take all the solos for Regionals.
“I already sang all the solos for Sectionals. I mean, what do you expect me to—” A sudden, unexpected rush of emotion hit Blaine, and his voice cracked. His eyes were suddenly overwhelmingly watery, and he silenced so it wouldn’t be made apparent.
Wes glanced to his right at David, appealing to him for assistance. David focused his gaze on Blaine and forced a wide grin that looked like it could split his face in half.
“Indeed, Blaine. You were our lead performer for Sectionals and you did an amazing job. We know from experience that you are the best singer that we have. Your stage presence is indispensable to us.” David’s voice was incredibly optimistic, which clashed horribly with Blaine’s dark mood. “I know you don’t view yourself with much value, Blaine, but you have to stop. The fact is, the Warblers can’t replace you. And if you don’t perform your best at Regionals, we’re going to lose.”
This isn’t about self-worth! Blaine felt like shouting. But he caged it all in, trying to seem as professional and reasonable as he always was. He turned to his last hope, the Warbler Head that was still of his age and his first friend at Dalton. He turned on all the charm he had left in him.
“Thad,” he said in a smooth voice, “don’t you agree with me? Don’t you want to have a solo for once? I know that was your dream last year, and you have so much talent. I, personally, would love to hear you sing again.”
Thad wasn’t looking at Blaine, but instead down at his clasped hands. His eyes seemed contemplative.
“Forget about me,” he mumbled. He then looked up to meet Blaine’s gaze, his eyes burning with obvious jealousy but also with a clear purpose. When he spoke again, his voice was solid and impossible to argue with. “I don’t matter. We need you, Blaine.”
Despite his knowing that they wouldn’t give up on him easily, Blaine was taken aback by this announcement. It sounded so desperate, so pitiful.
“Yes,” Wes agreed immediately, noticing Blaine’s hard expression softening. “We need you, Blaine. And that isn’t an overstatement.”
Blaine sighed, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. He was tired of his position, but he was much more tired of this conversation. The three hopeful gazes that he was met with overpowered his stubbornness.
“Fine,” he sighed. Wes jumped excitedly in his seat. “Okay, I’ll do it…but please consider everything I’ve said. It means a lot to me.”
“Sure, Blaine,” David said, already contentedly rising from his red velvet armchair. “Whatever you say. But for now, we should retire to our dorm rooms. Remember the saying, ‘The early Warbler catches the worm!’”
He and Wes laughed over that, but Blaine and Thad remained solemn in their thoughts.
They don’t care about what I said at all, Blaine thought glumly, a flash of irritation passing over his face. He watched as Thad and Wes rose to join David on walking back to the dorms. Wes glanced back at the junior Warbler.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“In a minute.” Blaine tried to smile. “I’ve just got something to do first.”
The Warbler Heads shrugged at each other before exiting the room. Blaine stared into the crackling fire, feeling the heat spread throughout his whole body, taking the shape of anger by the time it reached his brain. Why did this have to happen? Who had said he wanted to be the lead soloist in every competition? He was always being forced into things he didn’t want to do. Performing just wasn’t fun for him anymore. Did no one understand that?
He launched himself off the couch and stormed out of the room. After a few long steps, his fury cooled a bit, allowing a bit of that Dalton formality to creep back in.
I should just go to my room and try to sleep, Blaine thought rationally. Maybe things will be better in the morning.
He heard the familiar, clicking footsteps of black dress shoe heels on marble as two students made their way down the hall connecting with his.
“So who do you think is going to take the solos for Regionals?” a voice Blaine could not recognize inquired.
Another voice snorted in response. “Who do you think? Blaine Anderson, of course.” The name was said in a high-pitched tone intended to humiliate. “That junior’s totally full of himself. He’s not that great. The other Warblers worship him like he’s a god or something. He probably forces them all into submission. I can’t see why he won’t step down for at least one song, even at practice.”
At that statement, Blaine felt a hard lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. This was the worst he had ever felt at Dalton, the most isolated he could’ve ever imagined himself there. He walked briskly down the hall, passing the two boys who immediately broke out into a whispered conversation over whether he had heard them or not. But instead of walking upstairs to the dorm rooms he kept going, each step swift and precise, until he reached the large, wooden doors that led outside.
Blaine shivered in his thin blazer as he sat in the driver’s seat of his small Hyundai, watching his breath rise to the roof of the car in wispy clouds. He cursed himself for not at least dropping by his room to pick up his jacket, but nothing could be done now. He didn’t know quite what he was doing, but he knew he had to get out of there and drive around a bit to clear his head.
He started the car and turned the air conditioning knob all the way to the red side. Buckling himself in, he pulled out of the student parking lot and onto the long, thin road that connected Dalton to the highway.
It was only seven-thirty, but it was already almost pitch black outside, being January. It wasn’t snowing, but the wind blew harshly. Blaine shivered just at the thought of having to get out of his car.
When he finally began to thaw and the Hyundai obtained an adequate degree of toastiness, Blaine turned on the radio to get his mind off his Warbler problems. He skipped by station after station of ads or country music, in search of the newer, popular songs that kept him connected with modern culture. Just as he was about to skip again, he heard familiar lyrics sail out of the speakers.
No, I’ve never felt this way before.
Yes, I swear it’s the truth
And I owe it all to you.
Blaine found himself smiling despite himself, remembering their competition at Sectionals, the…what was it? New Directions? Something like that. They were from McKinley High, he knew that much. Their performance had greatly impressed him. They couldn’t have been more different from the Warblers. Each one stood out, making themselves known, despite them not having solos. He remembered how the solos were shared. He remembered how they were duets, and how this song was one of them, and how much he had enjoyed watching them perform. He remembered how they had danced with as much spirit as they exuded from their singing.
Yes, very different from the Warblers indeed.
Blaine tried to recall some of their faces to mind. He remembered the blond couple who had sang this particular song, and how the girl was very beautiful, and the boy remarkably handsome. He remembered the Latina girl who was also gorgeous and had a very unique, but impressive, voice, and the two talented dancers.
He was suddenly hit strongly by the image of a slender boy with honey brown hair, singing with a smile that made him glow like the sun. Blaine remembered how his eyes would stray to that boy although he had sung back-up the whole time. He suddenly remembered the ease with which the boy had danced, the glide of his hips swaying, how everyone performing seemed to love him.
As the “The Time of My Life” grew to a close, Blaine realized with a start that he had been singing along to it. Recently he had stopped singing when he was alone, even in the shower.
What was the way to McKinley again?
As Blaine approached Lima, he realized how stupid he was being. It was now almost eight-thirty. The school wouldn’t even be open. He didn’t know what he was doing.
“Whatever,” Blaine said aloud to himself, and hearing himself denying his general mannerisms gave him strength. “I was in the mood for a drive anyway.”
He reached the McKinley area a little after nine. The sky was completely black, but there was an obvious glow that broke through the darkness. Blaine drove towards it, and was surprised by what he saw.
McKinley was still very much buzzing, the football field up in bright white lights that could blind someone if they stared too long. Loud cheering was audible, and he could see people hopping up and down on the bleachers and football players jogging across the field.
A football game! Blaine thought with a grin, not believing his luck. Blaine loved football, and he hadn’t seen a live game in forever.
There were a bunch of vehicles parked all along the road, but Blaine managed to squeeze in somewhere that would only take a five minute walk to get to the field. As he got out of the car he was hit by the sting of the biting wind, which slowed him down quite a bit. He clutched his arms and tried to bring his blazer tighter around him. Despite this, he could barely breathe from the mounting excitement.
As he approached the field he could hear loud music. Blaine squinted his eyes in confusion and approached the bleachers with a sudden spring in his step. They were absolutely packed, and the audience had their eyes attached to the field. No one paid any attention to the small, Dalton boy who snuck his way onto the bleacher steps. He leaned against the ice cold railing and felt his jaw drop at the spectacle before him.
Dance, dance, dance ’til you’re dead!
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance ’til you’re dead!
It was clearly halftime, and the performers, including the McKinley High football players, were all dressed up in a horrific, zombie theme. They danced and twitched like they had truly just come to life. Their song, a mix of “Thriller” and “Heads Will Roll,” completed the amazing yet terrifying performance.
Blaine had never seen such a thing, such a blast of imagination before. As a zombie performer in a wheelchair danced past him, his face instilling real fright in Blaine’s heart, he realized that the New Directions were the ones out there, not cheerleaders. His eyes grazed over the large group of them, subconsciously seeking out the sweet-faced boy he had seen at Sectionals, but with their makeup and torn clothing, it was impossible to tell any of them apart. He sighed and simply began enjoying the performance.
The midnight hour is close at hand.
Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrorize y’alls neighbourhood.
Blaine felt a shiver pass through him, and not from the cold. Although he would never admit it, he was deathly scared of things like zombies, vampires and ghosts. He could never watch a horror movie without it keeping him awake for months. And to be honest, this part of “Thriller” had always freaked him out a little.
Keep calm, Blaine, he told himself. You’re being irrational.
But some of those performers were really starting to freak him out. Some of them looked too realistic for his liking. And they reached out their hands to the crowd, who were cheering like mad. Blaine took one look at their discoloured, clawed hands and immediately backed away from the railing.
The song came to a close, and the football field was covered in mist so the performers could sneak away. Blaine was disappointed, but at the same time he breathed out a sigh of relief. His heart was beating a little too fast for his liking.
In a few minutes, the football players were once again assembled. Blaine realized in shock that the McKinley team were still dressed as zombies. One of them suddenly moaned, “Brains.” Blaine’s heart fluttered in his chest. Why was everything scaring him? Suddenly, another one said, “Brains.” Then one more. Then one more. Soon the whole football team was groaning, “Brains” in the most disconcerting way possible. The crowd began shouting, “Brains” in time with them.
Blaine felt like he was in some type of horror movie. He felt pity for the other team, who looked just as disconcerted as him. He actually became so frightened, he decided that it had been enough fun for one night and that he should probably head back to Dalton.
He snuck down the cement bleacher stairs and went back onto the sidewalk, heading back to his car, the shouts of “brains” lingering in the air for a few moments. It was very dark and the football field was the only thing lit, so Blaine squinted to find his car in the remnants of light that escaped. He tried to control the fear the halftime performance had provoked, holding it down with every step.
He suddenly realized that he could hear footsteps behind him. He told himself not to get spooked, but began to walk a little more quickly. The footsteps increased with him. Blaine continued walking faster and faster, but the footsteps continued matching him. As Blaine was about to switch from a jog to an all-out sprint, a sweet voice called out, “Wait a minute!”
The voice was so musical and innocent that Blaine stopped, his rapid breaths visible in the cold air. He turned around to face his pursuer, and let out such a high-pitched shriek—an “eek” like the damsels in distress in comic books—that he blushed right after.
He was only a couple of metres away from a zombie, one so terrifying he figured it would be haunting him in his nightmares for a long time. There was skin hanging off the side of its face, which was all grey, its eyes sunk in and with black gums and rotting teeth. The brown hair was muddy, mussed, and hanging in clumps. Torn, mouldy-looking clothes and gnarled hands with long nails presented themselves to Blaine with no shame. One hand was clutched around something Blaine couldn’t make out in the dark.
“What?!” Blaine shouted much too loud than necessary, his terror mixing into his voice. A sequence of very impolite curses flew out of his mouth. “You scared the living hell out of me!”
“Sorry.” Blaine could not understand how this lovely voice was coming out of those discoloured lips, despite how sarcastic it sounded. “You do know I’m not a real zombie, right? This is all just a brilliant makeup job, courtesy de moi.”
Blaine shifted awkwardly. He had always known they weren’t real, but somehow he had just—whatever. He sighed and ran a hand over his gelled hair, which was kind of freezing over from the cold.
“No, I apologize,” Blaine replied. “Your performance was just…really convincing.”
He attempted a smile, and the zombie smiled back at him. Somehow the beauty of it shone through all the horrifying makeup.
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” the zombie stated, putting a hand on his hip and twirling the upper half of his body back and forth. “I just wanted to talk to you because I noticed you while I was performing…You’re a Warbler from Dalton, right?”
Blaine nodded, and then realized how stupid he was being.
“Oh, God, I’m not…I’m not spying on you or anything,” he said quickly. He couldn’t tell if the zombie was glaring at him or just staring politely. “I just…I was in the area and…”
“I’m not worried about that,” interrupted the zombie curtly. “I just wanted to make sure my hunch was right…your Blaine Anderson, correct? The Warblers’ lead soloist?”
Blaine couldn’t help the surprise passing over his face. “How did you know that?”
“Because I was spying on you,” said the zombie, his voice somehow sounding a little flirtier, sending a wink Blaine’s way. “I saw your performance of ‘Teenage Dream.’ You were fantastic. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Blaine found himself blushing. “Teenage Dream” had been the last song he had covered that he had truly enjoyed. “Oh…I see…”
“I’m Kurt. Kurt Hummel,” the zombie continued, holding out a hand to Blaine. “Nice to meet you, finally. I promise we’re going to be fierce competitors at Regionals.”
So this boy was one of the New Directions! Blaine looked down at the hand and had to keep his face from contorting in disgust as he took it in his own. But to his surprise, the hand was incredibly soft and warm, like a baby’s. It really was just all makeup. That made Blaine feel a whole lot better about the whole night.
“Same goes to you…Kurt.” Blaine tried the name out on his tongue, and really liked it. Just loved the way it felt and seemed to fill something that had been missing in him all day.
“I wish I had been paying more attention to the Warblers’ performance during Sectionals, but there was a lot of drama going on, and my nerves were on a high. But from what I could get myself to concentrate on, your choreography was more impressive than I thought it would be. I mean—”
Suddenly a gust of wind blew past them, but it felt like it had blown right through Blaine. He rubbed his arms and tried once more in vain to get his blazer to supply him with warmth.
“Oh, yes!” chirped Kurt. “And one more thing. I don’t know why you’re not wearing a coat. I mean, not only could you get sick but also it makes you a horrible spy.”
“I’m not—”
“Here.” Kurt handed him what he had in his hand, and Blaine could see in the light that it was a jacket. It wasn’t really the type he’d usually wear—a bright red button-up—but it looked warm and he felt his eyes soften with the kindness of this boy he had never talked to before.
“Thank you so much, but I can’t accept this. What are you going to wear?” asked Blaine. He suddenly felt the urge to grab Kurt’s soft hands again and kiss them. The feeling surprised him and he reddened even more.
“Oh, I have this,” Kurt said, holding up his torn zombie jacket, “which is more than enough to get me home. I live two blocks away. And besides, I’m not giving you that. It happens to be one of my favourites. I expect for you to return it.” He smiled again, this time with obvious sass. “Maybe then you could tell me why you came here in the first place.”
Blaine laughed and put on the jacket, bathing in the sudden warmth he felt. He knew deep inside that he didn’t accept it because of the cold, but because it meant he would have an excuse to see Kurt again, this time without the horrifying monster look going on.
“Red’s your colour,” Kurt said with a smile, reaching out and straightening the collar of it. “Well, I suppose we should part ways. It’s a long drive back to Westerville.”
“Yeah,” Blaine agreed, feeling uncharacteristically shy. “Thank you, Kurt. It was truly lovely meeting you. It made the trip here worth it.” As the words came out of his mouth, he simultaneously recognized the embarrassment and the truth to them. “And I’ll return this jacket. I promise.”
Kurt was smiling. “Hopefully before Regionals.”
“Definitely.”
“Bye, Blaine.”
“Bye, Kurt.”
Blaine was the first to turn away, but he was also the first to look back at Kurt’s retreating figure, monstrous but beautiful in the promise that it held.
As he got in the car, he could suddenly detect the scent of the coat, which smelled sweet as honey. Blaine smiled.
“Kurt.”
He really did like that name.
End Notes: TBC.