Dylan

I cursed under my breath as my father’s sleek town car slid up to the curb across the street. Glancing down the road, I hoped for a last-minute rescue. My older cousin, Terry, promised he’d help me ditch today’s recital, but his truck was nowhere sight. Terry was late. Again.

My father hadn’t rolled down the window to call me over yet, but he would if I made him wait. Hitching my backpack up on one shoulder, I walked to the town car. In the distance, a yellow bus from one of the nearby public schools drove away in a belch of smog. I envied the kids inside.

Opening the town car’s heavy door, I slid into the backseat. My younger sister, Lilly, was already buckled in. Her all-girl’s middle school let out earlier than my private high school. She held her violin case in her lap and looked pleased with herself. Never a good sign.

“Dylan, your tie’s crooked,” she sing-songed.

My father’s eyes flicked to me in the rear view mirror, then away. With the car door shut, the tinted windows rolled up, and the leather seats squeaking every time I moved, I felt trapped in a luxurious cage.

Scowling, I tugged the knot on my tie straight. “Gym is my last period. I just got my tie back on before the bell.” I hated my private school uniform, with my maroon jacket, red striped tie, and white shirt with charcoal slacks. It looked dorky as hell, and usually the first thing I did when I got home was take it off. But Lilly’s music recital was a formal affair, and it was either my school uniform or a suit I’d outgrown months ago.

Wordlessly, my father turned in his seat and held out a hand. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

My father was a large man, being a former NFL linebacker. I’d had the bad luck of inheriting his heavy jaw, stocky frame, and a big nose. Despite his size, he was quick—the few times I'd felt the back of his hand, I hadn't seen it coming.

I tried not to show any expression on my face as I dug out my report from my backpack. My father could sense anxiety, like a shark scented blood. I handed the papers over.

“B-minus," my father said, glancing at it. “You told me you worked on your report.”

“I did. I tried—”

“Obviously not,” he said shortly, and then turned back to put the car in gear.

I exhaled in relief. That went better than I’d expected.

But my father wasn’t done yet. “I find it interesting, Dylan, that while your sister is on the honor roll, you never care about your grades.”

Hidden behind the driver seat, Lilly smirked. I wanted to pull a face at her, but that would only make things worse. “I had to study for my calculus test this week. It’s only a history report. I can still make the grade up—”

“Your mother and I worked for years and saved carefully to give you the best start we could. We’ve paid good money to get you into one of the top schools in the state. Yet, you insist on flushing every opportunity we’ve given you down the toilet. It would be one thing if you showed any aptitude at all for sports, but…”

A dull, familiar sense of grief ached at the base of my throat. Mom had never cared about my grades, or the fact that I royally sucked at anything requiring a ball to play. Hell, I would have failed out of the chess club, if I hadn't quit first.

My father ran his hand back through his dark hair. “I worry about you, son.”

No, you don’t. You’re embarrassed by me.

What else was new? I was embarrassed of myself.

I said nothing and stared out the window. The car was passing Lake Tahoe. Today, the water was turquoise blue, reflecting the early spring sky. Out on the lake, a para-sailor rode the winds, attached by a long cable to a speedboat. Looked fun.

In a few hours, the sun would set and the moon would be up. I’d read on the local news website that it was supposed to be one of those really big full moons. A supermoon. Hopefully, we’d get done with the recital in time to see it.

A flock of birds flew across the horizon, framed by glacier mountains, and—I squinted. Maybe the angle was off, but those looked like large birds. Much larger than the Canada geese that made South Lake Tahoe their home, or the seagulls that sometimes blew in with strong storms.

Then my father turned the car down a side street, and a stand of Douglas Fir trees blocked my view. I sank back in my seat, bored again.

Lilly had made first violin this year, even though she was one of the youngest in the program. Excelling came as naturally to her as breathing.

She chatted happily with our father. “My friend Jessica was so nervous about tonight, she threw up.”

“Lilly, gossip does not become a lady.” My father’s voice had a touch of laughter in it, though. Encouraging Lilly’s meanness again. Joy.

“But it’s true. Everyone said so.” Lilly straightened in her seat. “I’m not nervous at all.”

Covertly, I grabbed my phone from my backpack, popped in the ear buds, and clicked on my favorite playlist to drown out their conversation.

Of course, once we arrived at the auditorium, my father discovered my phone, and, with a curt gesture, made me hand it over. He stuffed it in his own suit jacket pocket. I probably wouldn’t get it back for a few days.

Lilly led the way, every step bouncy with excitement. I morosely followed them in.

Bad enough we had to sit through the recital in my dumb uniform, but we had to arrive early for Lilly's prep. The auditorium doors had just opened, and we were one of the first to arrive. A smiling young woman wearing an ushers vest led us to our assigned seats in the nearly empty auditorium. Front and center. Our family’s large donations guaranteed the best spot.

With a last goodbye to our father, Lilly took off to get ready backstage, violin case in hand.

"Wipe that scowl off your face," my father told me as we took our seats. "You could at least pretend to be happy for her."

My jaw clenched. I didn't answer, just stared straight ahead at the empty stage. My father never attended any of my plays in drama club last year because I hadn't gotten lead roles. So I was forced to beg rides from my friend’s parents to get to curtain call in time. Mom would've watched, I was sure.

I hate you, I thought in the safety of my own head. I wish you were the one who died, not her.

More people trickled in over the next few minutes. I didn't pay much attention until a murmur of excitement drifted from the entrance hall. Twisting around, I peered over my shoulder, but whatever caused it was out of view.

The smell of burnt hair tickled my nose. I turned back to see my father rubbing at his left arm, agitated.

Then, an older woman in a floral dress shot to her feet, clutching at her own throat.

Was she choking? I stood. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

She shook her head, and from here I could hear her breaths coming wet and gurgled. The skin around her neck flexed and then swelled horrifically. An allergic reaction? Would someone have an EpiPen nearby?

The woman's husband reached to her, but there was something wrong with him, too. The skin on his face was waxen and hard, his nose and mouth looked like they were melting together.

I drew back in surprise. Were they… poisoned?

“They’ll have a first aid kit backstage—” I started to say, but was cut off by my father’s shout.

"What's happening?! What is this?"

I turned to him and stared. Long black needles, like porcupine quills, were growing out from my father's left arm so quickly that they pushed through the fabric of his dress shirt.

I recoiled as my father slapped at his arm as if he were on fire. His skin pulsed and more black quills sprouted on the backs of his hands and spread up his wrists like a high-speed rash.

"Don’t just stand there!" my father snapped. "Dylan, do something!"

"I-I don't—" I reached to him, but froze. Within seconds, the quills lengthened and spread, losing their sheaths to bloom into pitch black feathers.

My father screamed, tearing at his sleeves.

"Wait! Hold on!" With fumbling fingers, I yanked my father’s shirt to one side over his shoulder. I didn't know what I was doing, only that he was in pain and the shirt seemed to be interfering with… whatever was going on.

It was no use. My father's arm thickened before my eyes, not with more feathers, but hard muscle. His shoulders humped up with an internal cracking sound and the fabric of his suit jacket tore its stitching.

My eyes met my father's, and I read stark terror and knowing in them. Then he shoved me away as hard as he could.

I staggered and toppled over the low chairs into the next row. When I looked up, my father was thrashing and clawing at the remains of his clothing as bone shifted under his skin. He moaned in agony—strangled and terrible. Then he sank down, out of sight.

“Dad!” I yelled. It had been years since I called him that, had called him anything but father. I wanted to leap up and help, but a sick, cowardly thought froze me in place: I don’t want to see him die.

The room itself started to shake, swinging lights on the ceiling. A rumbling earthquake that went on and on, mingled with other pained screams around the room.

I’m hallucinating, I thought, scrambling back until I pressed against the auditorium wall. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real...

More screams cut the air, including the bell-peal shrieks of girls from backstage.

Lilly. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew deep in my bones that whatever was happening to my father and the other adults in the room, I could not help.

Scrambling to my feet, I followed the screams of the girls. What if Lilly was... mutating, too?

I pushed past the side door to backstage. Lilly and two of her friends crouched under a makeup table against the far wall. Lilly’s face was pale, but she was calm. Watchful. In comparison, the other two girls were near hysterics as what could only be described as a tree literally grew from the floor in front of them.

It was a big tree. A Mother Oak, my mom would’ve called it, with branches stretching the height of the ceiling and leafing out under fluorescent lights. A normal tree probably wouldn’t have scraps of clothing still attached to it, though.

The tree’s roots coiled outward. Some of the thicker ones sank into the floor as if trying to drink from the carpet. More roots crawled around the room in all directions. I stepped on one as I ran to the girls, and it writhed under my shoe like a snake.

“Come on!” I gestured for the girls to get to their feet. “We need to leave!” One of the creeping roots crawled closer. I kicked it away. “Lilly, move! Get up!”

Lilly bit her lip. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s—” The room trembled again, a sudden jolt that threw me off balance. I fell against the wall and caught myself painfully with my shoulder. “Let’s just go!”

Lilly shook her head but crawled out from under the table. She darted past me, and her friends followed her like frightened fawns skittering after their mother. They were heading back to the seating area.

“No, wait!” I yelled. They didn’t listen.

The tremors eased enough so I could stand without falling, but the lights above flickered on and off. One moment of light, two of terrifying blackness.

“Lilly!” I followed them through the door to the stage and saw what came next like a strobe light nightmare, in brief glimpses and flashes.

A scream rang out. When the lights flashed, something large pounced on one of Lilly’s friends.

The creature that landed on her was monstrous. As big as a man. It was still mutating as it bore the blonde girl down—its knee joints popping to face the wrong way. It ripped into the blonde girl with sharp fingernails which were merging into three talons. She was already limp. Already gone.

The lights flickered off. I crouched, my blood pounding in my ears. I wanted to call out Lilly’s name again, but I didn’t want to draw the creature’s attention.

In a burst of light, another monster landed near the first. It was birdlike, or at least had a bird head and wings. That was all I could make out before the lights died.

There was a squeak of metal hinges. A spear of light partially eliminated the auditorium as the silhouettes of two girls ran through the emergency exit.

Keep running, I urged silently. I wanted to go after my sister, but my knees felt too wobbly to stand. If I moved, I would be seen.

The lights flickered to life, illuminating the two creatures circling around the dead girl. Covered in feathers from their eagle-like heads to taloned front feet, their bodies were built like a lion, with cat-like back feet and a tail. Griffin. That was an actual griffin.

One was shaded richly brown, while the other was as raven dark as the feathers that had grown from my father’s arms.

“Father?” I’d only whispered the word, but the raven colored griffin snapped its head in my direction. The movement was jerky and birdlike. Its tufted ears pricked.

It took two steps towards me, sharp talons clicking on the hard wooden stage. Nothing of my father remained in its blood-red eyes.

I scrambled back. The emergency exit to outside was on the other side of the auditorium, too far away to reach in time. I’d seen how fast those griffins moved.

The thing that had been my father opened its beak in a hiss. It gathered itself to leap on me, front talons poised to grab and rend.

The brown griffin charged, hitting my father with a thud. My father screeched and tried to claw the attacker off, but the brown’s strong beak closed around the base of my father’s neck.

With a wet pop of bone, the raven head was wrenched around at an impossible angle. My father fell, limp in death.

I ran.

The short hallway leading outside was sprayed with blood and littered with large feathers. The lights flickered erratically. I tripped over something soft; a body that looked like the smiling usher who had led me in. Now her face was a hard, gross mask. Gray pin feathers sprouted around her eyes and cheekbones.

A deep red gash crossed her chest. She was dead. Killed even as she changed into one of those things.

Lurching to my feet, I slammed the emergency door open and sprinted into chaos.

Some of the cars in the parking lot were overturned. Tempered glass littered the asphalt in glittering arcs. A wizened body of a man lay curled up not twenty feet away, looking as if all the moisture had been sucked out of him to leave a husk of a corpse. A griffin’s body hung, limp and smoking, off electric wires overhead.

Above me, branches snapped, and a large form took flight from the crown of a tall Jeffrey pine. Further off, there were screams and then a loud boom as something exploded. The ground vibrated again under my feet.

“Dylan! Over here!” Lilly waved at me from the open window of a parked Land Rover.

I pelted forward, yanked open the door and pulled myself in.

Lilly and her other friend were inside. The second girl was a redhead about Lilly’s age, with curly hair and a bad case of acne on her chin. The moment I slammed the door shut, the girl pressed the lock button on a key fob.

Lilly grabbed my arm. “What’s going on?”

“I...” My teeth chattered, and even though I took air in great heaving breaths, it felt like I wasn’t getting any at all. “I don’t—I can’t...” Breathe. Think.

“Well, where’s Dad?”

It took a few tries before any words came. “Those things.” It was all I could say.

And I had wished he was dead.