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The Glass Boy

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Story Rating   5  with 12 vote(s)
By Scythe Send DollMail
Created: 2011-12-12 00:01:22 All stories by Scythe
Hey there my darling readers. Thank you so much for hanging in there, because I'm pretty sure I haven't updated since June or something ridiculous like that.


Only when Riley Lights got home to the brownstone house on the end of tree-lined street, and kicked his shoes off at the front door, and started making dinner for his foster-mother, did he remember he forgot his backpack.

"To hell with my life," he muttered, sighing as he ran his fingers through his dark hair.

Brady was laughing at a game show in the living room, the pulsing blue light of the television flickering into the hallway. She'd be expecting dinner soon, and as usual, Riley had absolutely no idea what to do. He wasn't accustomed to cooking. Brady's boyfriend Mitchell used to do all the cooking in the house, up until he stole her wallet and all of her credit cards and took off a few weeks ago. Since then, Riley had to take over all of Mitchel's duties.

Every last one of them.

"Riley," she called from the living room. "Get in here!"

With a sigh he poured a box of pasta into a bowl and put it in the microwave, hoping for the best, and made his way down the hall.

Brady was sprawled across the living room couch, wearing a silk robe with rollers in her hair and a lit cigarette between her teeth. The smoke danced in the light of the television and made its down Riley's throat, where it burned uncomfortably, but she'd throw a fit if he tried to open a window.

"Yeah?" he said.

"What are you cookin' out there?" she asked, taking a drag of her cigarette.

"I don't know," he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure the kitchen wasn't on fire. It wasn't, yet. "I think it's edible, though." Then he thought for a moment. "Are you supposed to add water to pasta?"

Brady threw her head back and laughed at his question, her voice high and raspy, like a hyena's.

"Oh, boy, you are a bloody idiot," she said. Then she straightened up and said, "You look nice tonight. Where you been?"


"Don't lie to me."

"A club," he admitted. "In Bethnal Green."

"Bethnal Green?" she narrowed her eyes. "That's all the way at the other side of London. What if something happened to you? I'd never get another check from the government if you turned up missing."

"Good to see where your priorities are," he said.

Someone on the television slipped and fell, and the studio audience, along with Brady, went into an uproar of laughter. Riley was about to turn and go back to the kitchen when Brady said, "Hey, wait. Come over here. Come and sit down next to me."

"I'm good, actually," he took a step back, swallowing hard.

"No, come over here. Come sit with me." She took another drag of her cigarette, looking him up and down slowly, seeming not to notice the patch of blood on his side. "You look nice tonight."

"The kitchen might be on fire."

She sighed exasperatedly.

"Bloody idiot," she said, turning back to the television. "Why they couldn't give me a smart kid, I haven't got a clue."

When Riley woke up in the morning, he noticed something very bizarre. The bite mark on his side that had bled and felt sore all night, the one he'd had to change the bandages for seven times, was completely gone.

When he took off the gauze he'd wrapped it in before he'd gone to sleep, he found the skin beneath soft and unblemished, without the trace of a scar.

But he hadn't dreamed it. He hadn't imagined it. It had been there. There were loads of bloody bandages in the bin beside his bed to prove it.

And when he quickly pulled his clothes on after forty minutes of pressing the 'snooze' button on his alarm clock and rushed downstairs to the kitchen, he found Brady's newspaper lying on the table next to an empty mug of coffee.


His heart nearly stopped. After skimming the first paragraph of the article, he read the words "West London Academy teacher found dead in apartment, puncture wounds in neck and completely drained of blood."

West London Academy.

That was Riley's school.

He went to grab his backpack but then remembered he forgot it at the nightclub, and ran out the door to catch a bus with nothing but a disheveled uniform and a feeling of dread in his stomach.

The entire school was buzzing with the news. Mr. Connery, Riley's history teacher, had been the one who was killed. Teachers walked around with grim expressions, offering comfort to the attention seekers who were crying by their lockers. Most of the girls who were crying had never set foot in any of Mr. Connery's classes, and had probably never met him at all in their lives, so Riley had no sympathy for them.

Grief counselors swarmed through the hall, trying to drag unsuspecting students into their offices to help them cope with this horrific loss.

But Riley didn't want to talk to anyone. Nobody can help you cope with loss, because loss can't be coped with. Grief cannot be counseled.

He made his way through the crowds of students, trying to decide who was more annoying -- the ones that thought Mr. Connery's murder was exciting or the ones who took it as their personal opportunity to get more attention than any person needed. By the time Riley even made it to his first class, the history class that Mr. Connery would never again teach, the bell had already rung.

To his surprise, everyone in the classroom was silent, unlike the hallways. There were no notes being passed, or loud conversations and speculations about the murder. Riley assumed that this was out of respect for the dead, because he didn't know how anyone could feel comfortable chatting excitedly about the man's demise in the room where he used to teach, in front of the desk he had sat in just yesterday.

All eyes followed Riley as he made his way to his usual seat in the back of the room. He had no bag to place heavily on the floor, and he had no books or writing utensils to take out. All of his school supplies and text books had been in his bookbag, which had probably been nicked by some junkie at the club last night.

He looked down at his desk and tried to ignore the stares of all of his classmates. Why were they staring at him, anyway? Why was it so bloody fascinating that he'd forgotten his bookbag and arrived a few minutes late?

"Riley," a voice whispered from behind him.

He turned around and saw Becky staring at him from three seats away.

"What?" he whispered back.

"Why is your shirt all covered in blood?"

'Oh, hell.'

With a downward glance at the shirt he'd worn last night, he saw that despite the fact that his cuts had healed, the side of his white button-down shirt was still stained crimson with blood. So that was why everyone was staring.

"Mr. Lights," came a sharp voice from the front of the room. Riley nearly jumped out of his seat. He turned back around and faced the board, to see the large leather-backed chair at the front spinning around, revealing a man sitting in it, a man he hadn't seen when he first walked in. "You are tardy."

Riley's stomach plummeted. His heart nearly burst out of his ribcage.

"Hey," Becky whispered. "Our substitute teacher is the guy from the club."

'Oh, hell. Oh, fu'cking hell. Literal f'ucking hell.'

"Where is your bag, Mr. Lights?" Rafe smirked, leaning across the desk.

Riley was dumbfounded.

Everyone was staring.

"I - I don't-" he stammered, his palms beginning to sweat.

Rafe was his substitute teacher. Rafe, who had seduced him, and took him to the upstairs room of the Hell's Gate night club and bit him hard enough to break the skin.

And then it all came piecing together.

Rafe had his bag, full of all his school things, including the school handbook, which had the school's name proudly unscripted across the cover, and listed the names and contact information of every teacher.

Including Mr. Connery.

Riley's stomach was tied into knots. His fingers trembled beneath the desk and suddenly the lights were too bright, the whites too white. His vision started to double, the colors bleeding into each other.

"Well?" Rafe pressed. "Are you going to answer me?"

Riley was only capable of staring. He felt as if he spoke or moved he would be violently ill.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm so silly, I completely forgot to introduce myself," Rafe chuckled. "My name is Mr. Ainsley. I'm your new teacher."

'Oh god, oh god,' Riley thought, his entire body seized by panic. 'Oh god, oh god, oh god-'

"Normally, I'd punish students with detention for being late and unprepared," Rafe said. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eye, he continued, "But considering the dire circumstances, I'll just have to see you after class."


Thanks for reading. Please rate and comment, my lovers.

Member Comments  

All My Stories
Posted On: January 24, 2012
Omg I have to read more it was awesome! xD also it made me feel weird when it said The new teacher almost broke his skin when he bit him.Yuck!I tottaly loved it though.Please make part two.


United Kingdom
All My Stories
Posted On: December 21, 2011
It's so inspiring reading quality stories like this, bravo!


South Georgia And The South Sandwich Islands
All My Stories
Posted On: December 16, 2011
It's about time.

I love this story so so so so much. One of the few good vampire stories.

All My Stories
Posted On: December 14, 2011
Totally awesome. What an evil foster-mother!

Peggie. xox


All My Stories
Posted On: December 12, 2011
Thanks, you guys. (:

And don't worry, it won't be long until I update again.

All My Stories
Posted On: December 12, 2011
Now Rafe just kind of scares me...

Love this story so much, Scythe. Please don't make us wait as long for the next part as you did for this one XD


Morrisville, VA
All My Stories
Posted On: December 12, 2011
I am in love with this story.

I must have more immediately. (Sadly, a sleep-deprived McArtistic cannot come up with better comments than this.)

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