WC 27/8: SSD

Huh, that's weird... a small shiver trembling down his spine as he looked at his name already written inside the book. Well, maybe not all that strange - these books had to have been through countless hands.

Sam's musings were interrupted by Hopkins' nasally drawl, "Ladies, gentlemen, you all know the drill, anyone who has a defaced copy may now bring it to me for a replacement. Otherwise, cover, label and go over the syllabus... when you're finished, I'll take any questions until the end of class."

A quick flip through the pages revealed it had been in circulation a long time - copious notes lined the margins of practically every page: 'tempting', he thought, that'd make life easier, everyone knew old man Hopkins had been teaching at Spellman forever, and it was no secret that he recycled the same assignments year on year.

'Should I', he wondered, 'ask for a replacement or...' Sam looked up, thought interrupted, when he saw Mr. Hopkins staring straight at him. He hurriedly slammed the book closed, hiding it from Hopkins' gaze - laughing to himself for his panicked reaction: as if the teacher could have seen it from his desk. He gulped, uncertain, was that a smile that flickered across his teacher's face?

***

"So," Tom whined, "there's like, an assigned reading for every class?"

"Yes, Mr. Harris," Sam could have sworn Hopkins rolled his eyes, "this is English Literature after all, the clue is in the title!"

Just then, the bell rang, sparing them all from whatever else their teacher had been about to say... not, he realised dimly, that Hopkins was so easily dissuaded. "Speaking of which, your assignment for tonight is to read the syllabus again, and write a short piece explaining your understanding thereof in your own words... workload, grading criteria, academic and," Hopkins' roving eye seemed to settle on him once more at that exact moment, "other penalties, and so on... don't forget to sign your acceptance thereof before handing it in. See you tomorrow."

The 'in blood' echoed faintly through Sam's mind as he slipped quietly from the class.

***

The assignment didn't take long. Yeah - there was a heavy workload but, truthfully, he was more excited than ever by the list of books they'd be reading. And he could have written the second part in his sleep: the grading criteria and code of academic propriety were the same as he'd been paraphrasing for every class since he was a freshman.

So why was he hesitating?

He glanced again at the syllabus, eyes drifting to the notes written in the margins. Different pens and styles, some so old they were barely legible. Signed. Accepted. You belong. Sam... Yeah, it was the last one that had his hand trembling, close together, he'd read it as 'You belong Sam' at first glance.

"Pussy," he snarled at his smiling reflection, "just sign it already - you've got another five of these to do tonight!"

Looking down he signed. The pen snapped. "Fuck!" He snarled, he didn't think he'd been pressing that hard. Whatever, the drop of blood was hardly noticeable.

A glint in the mirror drew his attention. He blinked, shut his eyes, and when he looked again the Sam in the glass was already watching him.

***

He woke the next morning to his mother's voice. Fuck, he'd slept through his alarm. And, he slowly realised, was covered in sweat. The room looked like a bomb had gone off, bedding and clothes strewn everywhere. His dreams had felt so visceral, but he couldn't have done all this, could he?

Looking round the destruction, his eyes fell on Hopkins' book resting serenely on his bedside table. Feeling once again the cleric's hand guiding his pen across rows of identical signatures, hearing the faint chant of “in blood.”

He reached out to the book, hand trembling as adrenalin coursed through his body. He pulled it to his lap and stared at the open page, certain he must be hallucinating.

A knock on the door, and his mother's voice interrupted. "Come on lazy bones," she teased, "I can give you a ride if you're ready in the next ten minutes."

Sam stared at the book bearing his name a dozen times over, gagging at the coppery scent that lifted from the page and dropped it, kicking it away from him until it landed, closed, with a dull thud.

***

He woke to the banging on his door. His mother's voice loud and angry. "Turn that damned alarm off already, and get your lazy ass out of bed!"

He looked around the room and couldn't help the relieved giggle that escaped his lips, it had been a dream... a weird dream but just a dream.

Odd then, that the book was on the floor at the end of his bed. He reached out tentatively.

***

Mr. Hopkins stared at the glass ball on his altar. He stroked it softly and smiled at the yellow flame within.

Another witchling: Signed. Sealed. Delivered. Their spark, now another battery to power his never-ending quest.

He placed it on the shelf with all the others.

It was time to go to school.


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