Your Blood Will Be Your Trophy
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So to help us, we brought in a reverse auctioneer, which is apparently a thing. Mint Mobile, unlimited premium wireless. I bet you get 30, 30, I bet you get 30, I bet you get 20, 20, 20, I bet you get 20, 20, I bet you get 15, 15, 15, 15, just 15 bucks a month. Sold! Give it a try at mintmobile.com slash switch. $45 up front for three months plus taxes and fees. Promo rate for new customers for a limited time. Unlimited more than 40 gigabytes per month. Slows. Full terms at mintmobile.com. Your blood will be your trophy. I'm standing next to my desk and I stare down at it.

The words are scrawled in red across the top of my laptop case. "What the fuck?" I mumble. Then look about the room at my classmates. I find a few sets of eyes checking me out, but they go back to whatever they are working on. "Which one of you did this?" I ask. I lean closer to my laptop and shake my head. "Ketchup? Really? It better not get into my computer. Mr. Norris," Mr. Lawson says. He's my third period math teacher and it looks it.

His 50s, bald with a sad comb over, always wears a tie, even though it's not 1985. And the tie never matches his shirt. And that pocket protector? What the hell is up with that? The guy has two pens and a pencil tucked in that thing that he never uses because, you know, computers, duh. The guy says he's married, but I don't think he's ever been laid.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Norris?" Mr. Lawson asks. "An issue with your computer?" "Yeah, there's a problem and an issue." I snap. "Someone wrote all over it with fucking ketchup." "Language, Mr. Norris," Mr. Lawson says. "Bring it here. If I move it, the ketchup will run," I say and jab a finger at my desk. "Can I go get the janitor?"

"To do what, Mr. Norris?" he asks. We all hate how he uses our last names. He says it's a sign of respect. We say it's just weird. "Can you not clean it up yourself?" "I didn't make the fucking mess!" I shout. "Why should I clean it up?" "Language," Mr. Lawson says again. "And the janitor didn't make the mess either."

So why should he be pulled from his busy schedule to clean up your laptop? "Yeah, I destroyed the third stall in the second floor bathroom," Charlie Burger says and laughs. He holds up his hand and his best bud, Ty Logan, gives him a high five. "That janitor's going to be busy cleaning that up all day." "Cleaning what up?" Marissa Vaughn asks. "Did you miss the toilet, Charlie Chubbs?" Charlie tenses, then starts to get up from his desk.

We've been calling him Charlie Chubbs since second grade because of his weirdly chubby cheeks, even though he's not fat at all now. In 10th grade, Charlie started doing track and he leaned down hardcore. He's still not faster than me though. "Mr. Burger, sit down," Mr. Lawson says. "Miss Vaughn, commentary is not needed."

Chubbs piped up first, Marissa says, and gives me a quick smile. I smile back. Don't fucking call me that, Charlie shouts. Language, all of you, Mr. Lawson says, his voice raised. Shit, Charlie mutters as Mr. Lawson gets up and goes to the smart board.

"I want 400 words from everyone on my desk tomorrow morning," Mr. Lawson says and scrawls. "How are statistics used in social media posts? I made this easy for you all. Scroll through your apps and find three instances where statistics appear in social media. It can be in a post, in a photograph, in an advertisement. It doesn't matter.

List the three instances and give me at least three sentences for each, describing why the statistic is used." We all stare at the board. "Good job, asshole," Ty says. "Way to get us homework. It's not my fault." I snap at him. "Paper towels are over there, Mr. Norris," Mr. Lawson says, his eyes locked onto me, his finger pointing to the cupboard in the corner of the room.

There are cleaning wipes in there also if the paper towels do not adequately remove the ketchup. "You ain't gonna do anything about this?" I ask, my anger rising. "Someone put ketchup all over my laptop while I was in the bathroom. Don't you want to know who it was?" "I do, yes," Mr. Lawson says. He faces the entire class. "Can someone tell me who did this?" No one answers. "No one saw this happen?"

Did you? Someone whispers from the back. Heads turn, eyes shift, but no one admits to messing with my laptop. There you have it, Mr. Norris, Mr. Lawson says and smiles at me. I want to punch that smile off his face. It shall forever remain a mystery. Fucking bullshit, I say as I stomp over to the cupboard and grab a roll of paper towels and the cleaning wipes. When I return, Marissa is smiling and frowning at the same time.

Who fucking did this?!

"Jona!" Coach Perez yells as he bursts out of his office and stalks straight for me. "What did I hear you say? What words just came out of your mouth in my locker room? Would you like to sit this afternoon's meet out? Answer me!" "Jesus, Coach! Give a guy time to respond!" I say when he reaches me. His chest is heaving. The whistle on his polo shirt bobs up and down. "That was a lot of questions.

"You think you're funny?" he asks. "No, coach," I say and point at my locker. "I don't think this is funny either. Someone did this to my laptop today and now this? It's bull, it's crap." Coach Perez eyes my locker, frowns, and then turns to the rest of the locker room. "Who did this?" he shouts. Everyone is already staring at us, but they quickly look away. "Oh no you don't," Coach Perez shouts. "Eyes on me, now!" All eyes lock on the coach.

I'll count to ten. If the person that did this doesn't step forward by ten, then it's 50 laps for everyone. The groans and protests erupt instantly. All Coach Perez has to do is reach for his whistle, and everyone shuts up. If he blows that whistle, then we're all fucked, and it will be worse than 50 laps. One, Coach Perez says, lowering his hand with his whistle. Two, he makes it all the way to ten. No one steps up.

"Fine," he says and grins. Everyone sighs as their shoulders slump, including me. "Fifty laps it is." No one moves. "Now!" Everyone heads for the door to the track in the blink of an eye. I'm right there with them. "Where in Hades do you think you're going?" Coach Perez asks, his hand clamped onto my shoulder. "That mess isn't going to clean itself up." I look from him to my locker and back.

I didn't make the mess, I protest. Neither did I, he replies. But guess which one of us is cleaning it up? I grumble something not so nice and Coach Perez is in my face before the last syllable passes my lips. You may be my best runner at the 400 meters, but don't you even think I won't sit your ass down for today's meet. He snarls in my face.

"Clean this up and join us outside. Be out there before your teammates are done running their laps, or it'll be another fifty for everyone. Got me?" I nod once. "Good," he says. "I'll be waiting for you. Don't be late." I watch him leave, then turn back to my locker. "Your blood will be your trophy." The same damn words that were on my laptop. When I find the asshole doing this, I'll make sure it's their blood that's my trophy. I go find towels.

"I'm sure each of you will want to thank Jonah personally for this extra work," Coach Perez says. "But wait until after the meet, will ya? Whatever happens on the way home, off school property, is none of my business."

Is he kidding? Did the asshole just put a bounty on my fucking head? What the actual fuck? "I'll give you a ride home," Marissa says, suddenly right next to me. "We may have to race to the car," I say out of the corner of my mouth, my eyes watching my teammates as they glare and plot. Charlie's glare is the worst, but I don't think it's because of the 50 laps. His eyes keep moving over Marissa's body, which I can't blame him since she's in a tank top and running shorts.

She's hot. But when he looks at me, the dude looks like he wants to murder me. "Good thing we both run track," Marissa says, but I barely hear her. Charlie's eyes go back to Marissa and he makes a show of thoroughly checking her out. I so want to kick the crap out of him right now. Not cool. "Jonah?" Marissa asks. "Keep your eyes to yourself, chubs." I snap at Charlie.

He winces, then puffs up and steps up to me. "Do I see a problem?" Coach Perez shouts. Charlie pauses, then backtracks to where Ty is standing. Ty flips me off when Coach Perez isn't looking. I smile and wave. "Don't pay attention to them," Marissa says, elbowing me in the side. "There are better things to pay attention to." She takes off jogging, following the other girls who run the 402. She isn't wrong about better things to pay attention to.

"You should go dip your wiener in that ketchup, Norris," Charlie snarls as he passes by me. "Because you ain't gonna dip it in that." "Fuck off," I snap at him. Coach Perez eyes me, his hand close to his whistle. "Sorry, Coach." "You better be," he says then strides off toward the center of the field where the shot putters are. I head to where the rest of the 400-meter boys are and join them, including Charlie.

She'll never be into you, Chubbs, I say as we line up for our first practice sprint. The meet is in two hours. We warm up the first hour, then rest and stretch for the second. Most schools don't have practice on meet days. Coach Perez says we aren't most schools. Call me Chubbs again and I'll fucking kill you, Norris, Charlie snarls as we both place our fingers on the track and set our feet in the blocks. I'm not kidding. I'll fucking kill you before you can ask Marissa to prom.

"Who says I haven't already?" I reply. He laughs. Then the gun goes off and we race. "You have to be shitting me!" I say, and look at Marissa. "I'm so sorry." "Your blood will be your trophy." Is scrawled on her car's passenger side door. "It's not your fault," Marissa says. "It's Chubb's," I say. "It has to be. He and Ty are the ones that heard you offer me a ride." Marissa doesn't say anything.

"I'll catch the bus," I say and start to walk off. "Sorry." She grabs my arm and pulls me to her. I don't know if she meant to pull so hard that her bodies ended up bumping together, but I'm not complaining. "Get in," she says, and fishes her keys out of her backpack. "Fuck chubs." I smile and give her shoulder a nudge with mine. She nudges back, but her shoulder lingers. She smiles. "Get in, ketchup boy," she says,

"Funny," I say, and reach for the door handle as she moves around her car to the driver's side. I hop in and pull my seatbelt across my chest and click it in. Then I see them through the windshield. "Hey, Marissa," Charlie calls as he crosses the parking lot with Ty right behind him. "Got a second?" "Not really," she replies. She opens her door to get in, but Charlie is fast and blocks the door from closing with a quick hip check.

"Excuse me? Move!" "Listen, I know things were weird today, but I think you're an amazing runner," he says, ignoring her protest. "Just like me. Maybe we should get together and take this speed to prom." Marissa stares at him. "Is that a question?" "What?" Charlie replies. "That's a question," I say. "Not talking to you, Norris!" Charlie snaps. I stretch the seatbelt and lean over Marissa so he can see me.

Sorry, I'm so used to you talking to my dust as I blow you off the line, I say. Like today. Don't you get tired of losing to me, Chuck? Before I can say the nickname, my seatbelt goes taut, and I'm yanked back to my seat. Ty's face is in mine and he's grinning.

He brings the seatbelt up to my neck, then leans as far back as he can out of the car. "Stop that!" Brisa yells. She puts the car in gear and is about to hit the gas, but I slap at her arm and shake my head. If she drives, I'm going to lose my head. "Let him go," Charlie says. "Why? This asshole got us homework in laps," Ty says. "Let's fuck him up." "Later," Charlie says.

"Whatever," Ty replies. He waits a bit then lets the seatbelt go. "Asshole," I gasp in a cough. Marissa looks at me with worried eyes. I smile and shake my head. "I'm good," I croak out. "Move," Marissa orders Charlie. He bows slightly and steps away from the car. "We'll talk tomorrow." She closes her door quickly and is already driving away before I can get my door closed.

We almost clip a pickup that's pulling out of its parking spot, but I get the door closed in time and Marissa swerves around the pickup's bumper. She doesn't say a word the entire drive to my place. When she pulls up, her eyes are straight ahead. "I'm really sorry about all of that," I say. She looks at me. Her eyes are filled with fire. Great. Charlie got what he wanted. He's turned her against. She leans fast and kisses me hard.

Then she leans back and smiles before turning to stare at the road again. "I'll see you in math tomorrow," she says. I sputter and grasp for the door's handle. "Okay, thanks," I say as I get out. She drives off. Did I just say thanks? Fucking hell. "This is bullshit," I say as I stare at the words on my locker door. On the inside of my locker door. Other kids are streaming by me on their way to class.

No one notices as I clench my fists and nearly explode right there in the hallway. "Your blood will be your trophy." is scrawled in ketchup all over the pictures I have taped inside my locker door. Yeah, blood is gonna be some motherfucker's trophy alright. I slam the locker closed and stomp off. Then I lower my head in defeat when I realize what I've done. I backtrack to my locker, spin the dial through the combination, and open my locker.

Yeah, I totally splattered that ketchup over everything in my locker when I slammed it closed. It takes me 10 minutes to get it cleaned up, which makes me late for math class. By the time I get in there, Mr. Lawson has already handed out a pop quiz. He looks up as I walk in. "Mr. Norris," he says, and hands me two sheets of paper. The guy never puts quizzes online like a normal teacher from the 21st century.

"And I assume you have submitted last night's assignment through the portal?" "Yup," I say as I take the quiz without looking at it and find my seat. Marissa smiles wide as I sit down, but she doesn't look up from her quiz. "Eyes front and on your own quiz, Mr. Norris," Mr. Lawson says. I sit, snag a pen from my backpack, and look at the quiz. I'm up out of my chair in an instant. My head whips up and I glare at Mr. Lawson.

"Is this a fucking joke?" I snap. Every pen in the classroom freezes and all eyes are on me. "Mr. Norris, come here now." Mr. Lawson says as he stands up. "We are going to have a chat in the hallway." I yank the quiz from my desk and shake it at him. "Fuck you!" I shout. "You're a fucking teacher!" He frowns and looks confused. Then his eyes land on the quiz I'm shaking at him.

"Let me see that," he says. "So you can take the evidence? No fucking way!" "Stop being so profane," he says and grabs the quiz out of my hand. "And stop being so dramatic. I think a chat with Principal-" He trails off as he studies my quiz. He looks at the paper, then looks at me, then at the paper. He runs a hand over his face and then motions for me to follow him. "In the hall. Now," he orders. "Whatever."

I say and follow him out. "How did you do this?" he asks once we're in the hall and the classroom door is closed behind us. "I had these on my desk all morning. I never let them out of my sight. You're blaming me?" I ask. "These are the same words as yesterday," Mr. Lawson says and shows me the quiz. "I know," I say as I look at the words stained red on the paper. "Your blood will be your trophy?" Mr. Lawson asks.

What does this mean? Is it some drug code? Is it a gang or something? Tell me what's going on, Mr. Norris. Or we will go to the principal's office. I. Don't. Know. I say, getting close up to his face. You tell me! Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Norris. I have not. You're a teacher. I bet you got the janitor to open my locker up this morning, right?

I have no idea what... Did you put the ketchup on my gym locker yesterday too? Or did you have someone... I glance through the classroom door's window and see that no one is finishing the quiz. Most of the kids are watching us through the window, including Marissa. But Charlie's eyes are on Marissa, not on me. And I am not liking how he's looking at her. Then he turns, catches my eye, flips me off, and smirks.

"Mr. Norris!" Mr. Lawson says and snaps his fingers in my face. I look at him. "You had Charlie do it," I say and shake my head. "That's pretty sick, Mr. Lawson. I do not know what this accusation is about, and I won't degrade myself by responding. But you, Mr. Norris," he narrows his eyes, "are about to fail statistics if you continue with this behavior. Are we understood?" The ball's on this guy.

I have no idea why he has it out for me, and I don't really care, but to get Charlie involved? That's majorly messed up. "Are you taking me to the principal's office or not?" I ask. He growls in his throat, looks at the stained quiz, then shakes his head. "No," he says. "But this is your last warning, Mr. Norris. Remember, if you fail statistics, you're off the track team."

He gets a smug look on his face like he's won something, then opens the door and goes back into the classroom. "Join us now, Mr. Norris," he calls. I walk back into the classroom and take my seat. Mr. Lawson is standing at the front of the class, studying all of us. "We'll dispense with the quiz," he says. "It appears we've had some tampering with the papers. I'll make a new one for tomorrow. Pull out your textbooks."

We'll go over chapter 26 instead." I grab my backpack and reach into it to pull out my textbook, but I pause. I swear to God if there's ketchup on the textbook, but there isn't, and nothing inside on the pages either. I flip the pages and double check. "Are you okay?" Marissa whispers from behind me. I whisper back. "Don't let it get to you," she says. "Charlie is just trying to psych you out before today's meet. He wants to win today."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I say. "Probably?" she asks, a playful tone in her voice. "Definitely," I say. The rest of the class goes by pretty quickly and we're out the door, all heading in different directions for our next class. Then I hear, "Hey Marissa, got a second?" I spin around and Charlie is blocking her path. Ty is right behind her, making sure she can't back away. Her eyes find mine and are pleading for help.

"So, how about you and me go to the prom together?" Charlie asks Marissa. "My dad said we can take his Audi, and he's giving me his gold Amex to cover our dinner." Marissa's eyes shift away from me and lock onto Charlie. I can see the anger in them from here. She laughs. "Are you serious with this shit, Charlie Chubbs?" She spits the name out at him. For half a second, I think Charlie is going to pop her. His body tenses like he's getting ready to.

"Off to class," Mr. Lawson says as he steps into the doorway. "Now!" He sees me moving towards Marissa, Charlie, and Ty. "You too, Mr. Norris! Get away from my classroom!" Marissa takes the opportunity to squeeze out of the Charlie and Ty sandwich. She hustles to me, and in a voice that the entire hallway can hear, she asks, "Jonah, would you go to prom with me?" I start to look in Charlie's direction, but her eyes narrow and I keep my focus on her.

I smile for so many reasons. "Yeah, I'd love to," I say, then frown. "But I don't have daddy's Audi or gold Amex. Is that a problem?" "Nope," she says. "Only losers hide behind their daddies." Then she grabs the back of my head and we're kissing. A few kids call and whoop as they walk by. When she pulls back, I'm a little breathless. "We'll make plans after the meet," she says and walks off.

Before she's around the corner, she turns and looks back. Her eyes find Charlie who was just standing there, fuming. "Oh, I never officially answered you," she says to Charlie. "No way in hell will I go to the prom with you, Charlie Chubbs!" Ty grabs his shoulders as he lurches in her direction. I step in front of him and put my hand on his chest. "Calm down, Chubbs," I say. "Don't use up all that energy before I can beat your ass in today's race."

He slaps my hand from his chest and lets Ty pull him backward. "You had to say it, didn't you, Norris?" Charlie says as he backs away. "You're dead." He actually draws his finger across his throat. "Dead." He says again. "Whatever." I say and watch him walk off. "Class!" Mr. Lawson snaps. Back in his doorway as kids push by me to get inside for his next class. "Now!" I nod and leave.

The meet is across town at a rival high school, which means we all have to ride together on the bus. Charlie ignores me the whole ride there. He's too busy texting someone. I'd guess it's Ty, but they are sitting next to each other and Ty is staring straight ahead, not down at his phone. Who else is Charlie texting? He doesn't exactly have a deep friend group for many reasons. The bus pulls up to the high school and loops around back to the guest section of the gym locker rooms.

We file out and head for the doors, but I see Charlie slip off to the side. Coach Perez is busy talking to the assistant coaches, and I'm not even on his radar, so I slip off too and follow Charlie. As I follow him, I keep an eye out for Ty. The thought that this could be a trap has occurred to me, but I don't see Chubbs' sidekick anywhere. We get to a side parking lot, and Charlie makes a beeline straight for a beater Honda.

The passenger side window rolls down and a guy that has to have graduated a few years ago hands Charlie a paper bag. Charlie tucks it into the waistband of his jeans and I can see the bag has some weight to it. Then he turns, sees me, and freezes. A creepy smile spreads across his face as he walks right toward me. "You won't win today, Norris," he says and slams his shoulder into mine as he passes.

I let him go. I look back at the Honda, but it's already gone. I don't have a good feeling about this. When I get into the boys' locker room, everyone is almost done changing into their track uniforms. I hurry to an empty locker, toss my gym bag in, and rummage through, pulling out my shorts, top, and shoes. I get dressed. I'm semi-distracted. I keep flashing back to that paper bag. If it was drugs, it wouldn't have looked so heavy.

"Dead!" echoes through my head in Charlie's voice. No. No. No way he is planning on… The thought leaves my head as I close the locker and see what's written on the outside in ketchup. "Your blood will be your trophy." is smeared over and over and over from the top of the locker all the way down to the floor. It hadn't been there when I opened the locker. So how in the hell did it get there? I was standing right here the entire time!

I looked around and Charlie and Ty are all the way across the locker room. Unless they are fucking X-Men, there's no way they could have done it. The smell hits me and I realize this isn't ketchup. I lean in slowly, then yank my head back. It's blood and stuff, like congealed bits of flesh and liquids. It smells like roadkill. Dread fills my guts.

For the first time since the words first showed up on my laptop, I'm totally freaked out. I was only annoyed and then pissed before. Now, this shit has gotten weird and gross. "Let's go, people!" Coach Perez shouts from the door to the track. "Move, move, move!" I don't have time for this shit. I don't have time for this shit! I don't have time for this shit! That's what I tell myself over and over as I walk out of the locker room and onto the track.

Charlie steers clear of me the entire meet. That doesn't mean he isn't staring and grinning at me every time I look his way. Because he is. The first few races are called while I slowly stretch and pace myself. Charlie is clocking me the whole time. If I look over my shoulder, he's across the track, staring and grinning. I kneel and check my laces then look up. He's ten yards in front of me, just standing there, staring and grinning. "Good luck," Marissa says as she jogs by.

"Thanks," I say and stand. "You too." Charlie breaks his marathon stair session and watches Marissa jog past him. She ignores him completely. When he looks back at me, his grin is gone. Then we're called for our race. I join the other runners at the blocks. We take our positions and set ourselves. It's a struggle not to look to my left and see if Charlie is staring at me again. I have to concentrate on the race. I need to focus.

The gun goes off and I'm up and sprinting. My legs pump, my arms pump, my blood pumps. I am flying. Then I see it, at about the 100 meter mark. Your blood will be your trophy. I falter a step. It's carved into the asphalt on the inside of the track, like it had been cut with a chisel and filled with… something.

I shake the image from my brain as one of the runners comes up on my left. I glance over quickly and see it's Charlie. No way. I've put up with too much shit the past couple of days to lose today. Not gonna happen. Not today, chubs. I pull up every ounce of energy I have and channel it into my legs. I throw myself into the race and the world becomes clear. Then it starts to narrow. I'm looking down a dark tunnel at the finish line. I can see it. It's all I see.

My lungs are scorched and my body feels like it's no longer mine. 50 meters. 30 meters. 15 meters. 10. 5. My arms raise as I hit the line. It takes me a second, but I slow. Then come to a stop, my hands on my knees. My head swivels to the board and I wait. After a few seconds, my name is up in lights. First place.

"Yes!" I yell and pump a fist into the air. Charlie is right in front of me. "In your face, Chubbs!" That grin he's had all day slips and he sneers, shakes his head, then walks away. I chuckle and do a quick victory lap. "Screw you, Chubbs." Marissa finds me and throws her arms around me. We hug like there's no tomorrow. Then it's over and she pulls away. Her eyes twinkle and shine.

"I have another race," Marissa says and jogs off. "But we should celebrate tonight." "Yeah, that'd be great," I say as she jogs away. I find the rest of the team and take a much-earned rest. Coach Perez is giddy with me. It's kind of freaky, but better than him yelling at me. He isn't so kind to Charlie. After I pass him, Charlie fell back and only took fourth. Coach Perez is not happy about that.

Coach pulls him aside and gets in his face, shouting and stamping his feet. I'd feel sorry for the asshole, but I don't. Screw Chubbs, he's getting what he deserves. Showered and still feeling the rush of victory, I walk out of the locker room and make my way with everyone else to the bus. "Hey, Norris!" Charlie shouts from the end of the bus. He's standing by the tailpipe, waving at me. "Come here!" "No," I say, and keep moving toward the bus' doors.

"Nah, come here! It's cool, I promise!" He shouts. Heads turn my way, and now if I don't go, I'll look like a pussy. I hate this jerk so much. But I walk over to him. I'm the winner, not him. "What?" I ask. "Listen, man, I quit," he says. I blink a few times. "Did you hear me, Norris? I quit!" he says. "Quit what?" I ask.

"Quit what? The team, moron!" He snaps. "What else would I be quitting?" "Okay, great. Thanks for telling me," I say. "It's because I'm moving," Charlie continues. "Into the next district. My mom got a new job." "Good for you," I say. "Can I go now?" He laughs. "He don't get it?" He asks.

"Nope," I say. "Next season, we'll actually be competing against each other," he says and leans closer. "And I'm going to destroy you!" I take a step back from him. "You can try." I keep stepping backward. "But I don't think a new zip code will make you run faster." "We'll see!" he shouts. Then he gets a weird look on his face. "What the fuck?" He's staring at me, but not at me. I look over my shoulder and gasp.

Then the world erupts in screams and running as kids dash in every direction for safety. "I was supposed to get a scholarship!" The kid holding the pistol screams at me. He's ten feet away and moving fast. The pistol is aimed right at me. "You think you deserve a trophy for ruining my life, do you?" The kid screams. "Oh shit! Second place! This is the runner who took second!

"Hey man, calm down!" I say and raise my hands. "Answer me!" He screams, and now there isn't any space between us. All I see is the black circle of the pistol's muzzle. "I don't remember the question!" I shout. "Do you think you deserve a trophy for ruining my life?" He snarls. His arm is shaking. The pistol is shaking. I'm shaking. "It was a race!" I say. "Just a race!"

Just erase! He echoes and laughs. Erase you one! I'm frozen there, my eyes locked onto the muzzle. Here's your fucking trophy! He says. I hear the click of the trigger, see the flash of the muzzle, and then... SCP-3012 is an incorporeal entity at the source of Dybbuk events.

Prior to its physical form expiring, SCP-3012 was contained under the same designation at Site-93's anomalous humanoid wing. SCP-3012's primary effect involves the creation of SCP-3012-1 instances at locations where children and teenagers congregate.

SCP-3012-1 refers to messages that spontaneously appear inside and around the location of a Dybbuk event. Instances of SCP-3012-1 are drawn in charcoal, red paint, and, in rare cases, crayon.

SCP-3012-1 instances vary in content, but most involve threats of grievous bodily harm and routinely incorporate the names of individuals within SCP-3012's current location. SCP-3012 has also demonstrated the ability to cause visual and audio phenomena at the site of a Dybbuk event, normally manifesting in dark figures and laughter without a source.

Dbic events are defined by the appearance of SCP-3012-1 instances. Dbic events precede the occurrence of an event that could potentially prove fatal to one or more of the targets. The apparent purpose of Dbic events is to motivate the targets to evacuate the area before this event occurs. The method SCP-3012 uses to predict these events is unclear.

This tale was inspired by ongoing stories from my other podcast, The SCP Experience. Home to disturbing fantasies, shocking science fiction, and bizarre horror. For more interesting tales like this one, check out The SCP Experience.