Page 28 of The Staircase in the Woods

He looked once more over his shoulder at the staircase.

And for a moment, he thought he saw it shudder—not like in a hard wind or as if the ground shook. But shuddering like a wolf waking up—a stretch and a flex, as if ready for the hunt.It’s just your imagination,he told himself. And he turned his back on the stairs, even though he really, really didn’t want to.

17

Teen Shit

Tents up. Fire going. Hot dogs on sticks, marshmallows on sticks, hot dogs and marshmallows together on thesamesticks—that one came to life once Nick and Hamish started smoking weed out of Nick’s glass pipe, the one he called the Purple People Eater. Snacks were open, drinks were out—cheap beer and a bottle of Jameson stolen from Nick’s dad (“stolen” because Nick’s dad knew they were taking it and didn’t give a shit). Owen started with the beer—Coors Light, which made him sad to drink because Coors Lightwassadness in a can.

He asked Matty, “Ready for me to kick your ass at Magicagain?”

Matty said, “Yeah, yeah, sure thing, yeah,” but Owen could see by the look on his face that it wasn’t happening. “I’m just gonna run off with Laur here for a minute and go look at the uhh, the vista—” And Lauren gave Owen a look. She hung that look on him like a heavy coat, and he didn’t know what it was or what to do with it. Was it guilt? Shame? Sadness? Condescension? Was it a silent apology? Was she judging him or judging herself? Or maybe the beer was already making him fuzzy and she was looking right through him, seeing through time to whatever was to come with her and Matty.

And then those two were off, and Nick was at one side of him and Hamish the other. “We’ll fuckin’ play Magic with you, man,” Nick said.

They played a few games. Nick had a play style that he called Chaos Monkey Mode, where he did random shit every turn, totallyunpredictable—ooking like a mad chimp whenever he did something truly bizarre, like giving one of his opponents the gift of a good enchantment for no discernible reason other than to fuck with the game. He didn’t play to win, he just played to amuse himself. Hamish played to win, on the other hand, but never really had a strong grasp of the game’s mechanics—mostly he was just a “spawn tons of creatures and march them into battle again and again” kind of player. Not much strategy. Though they weren’t playing, Matty was pretty good at the game once in a while, but couldn’t hold a candle to Lauren, who mostly said she hated the game (“So boring and pedestrian,” she always said with a vigorous eye roll, even as she shuffled her deck and readied for war), and yet she always had a keen stratagem every single match. In truth, she was Owen’s only real competitor. But she wasn’t here. She was off with Matty. In the woods.

Playing her own game. A new stratagem.

Just don’t think about it,Owen told himself.

It’s fine.

You don’t care.

They’re just looking at the vista.

First game ended, and Owen won—but barely, if only because Nickhighplayed better than Nicksoberfor some fucked-up reason. Hamish, not so much, who mostly just sat there giggling at his cards and saying their names in increasingly goofy voices. “Merfolk Looter. Goblin Lackey. Balduvian Horde!” Eventually he just made up his own card names. “Yawgmoth’s Yum-Yums! Crovax the Fuckin’ Uncrustable! Phrexian Butthole!” He and Nick were laughing so hard, they were crying at this point. The fire nearby snapped and popped, coughing up embers that rose on spirals of smoke, dying in the air.

Owen put down his beer and switched to the whiskey. It tasted like the campfire. He hated it. He loved that he hated it. So he drank more.

“I bet theyfuckin’,” Nick said finally, when their laughs had subsided.

Hamish snorted. “Yawgmoth and Crovax?”

“No, dickhead, Lauren and Matty. I bet he’s got her up against a tree right now. Going to town. Poundtown, population: those two.”

Owen made a face and drank more whiskey. It hurt. Good. Fine. Yes.

Hamish gave Owen a sad, protective look, then chastised Nick, saying, “C’mon, Nick, don’t be gross. They’re our friends.”

“Gross is who I am, Hamish. Tiger can’t change its spots.”

“Nick—”

“Oh, shit, you think maybe he’s putting it in her ass?” At that, both Owen and Hamish shot him a warning look. Nick held up his hands in faux surrender. He laughed, cruelly. “I mean, maybeshe’sputting it inhisass, no judgment, it’s almost the year 2000, if people want to get freaky-deaky, I very much support it. Whatever makes their grapefruits squirt, yanno.”

“Nick.”

“They might not be doing anything,” Owen said, erupting.

“Don’t be retarded,” Nick said. “Theyfuckin’.”

“You can’t say that,” Hamish said.

“They fuckin’?”

“No. The, the, the other word, the r-word.”

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