I'm sorry this is late. And, I just wanted to add a note, the poem 'Bogeyman', in this chapter is subject to be replaced with a different poem. For now, I just threw in a new one, so I wouldn't forget a poem had to go there. Anyways, on with the story.

Suicidal Apparition

Chapter Five: Ancient Goat

Saturday afternoon, and I'm working in a book store. My, how times have changed. When I was alive, I would usually still be in bed, watching cartoons on some random channel while my mother screamed at me to clean something up. Now, here I am, helping out in a store that, technically, wasn't supposed to pay me. Of course, that didn't stop Clairese from paying me under the table, both literally and in the proverbal sense.

Of course, Drew might be suspicious to why I'm actually doing the more laborous jobs in the store for 'free'. She's already curious to how I so 'coincidentally' appeared that morning to help her when a column of cooking books decided to crash on the floor. But, behind all her suspicion and curiosity, I could tell she was glad to see me. It's hard for me to actually believe anyone could possibly like me that much, but apparently Drew likes me enough to not shun me all together.

As I hoist another box to the front counter, I see the raven-haired girl scribbling on a blank page in a leather bound book. It doesn't really surprise me that she isn't really paying attention to the store. Today is a slow day, since most 'normal' people are either sleeping in, at their own respective jobs, or are so illiterate they're afraid of stepping foot into a book store. Although, curiosity is plaguing my mind, so I sidle up behind the girl and lean over her shoulder. A light smirk falls onto my lips as my eyes scan over the poem she's scribbling down.

"So, you're into poetry, huh?" I ask, in the conversational tones of someone slightly amused. Drew's head snaps up as she simutaneously snaps the book shut. Whirling around on her stool, she glares up at me and crosses her arms, her red pen still clutched in one hand. Immediately, she takes the defensive, and snaps, "So what if I am?"

"Nothing about it. I think it's pretty cool." I shrug, and nonchalantly lean up against the back counter. I see a faint blush start to adorn Drew's cheeks, and it makes my soft grin crack into a slightly larger grin. Immediately, Drew's blue and green eyes dart away from my face, taking a polite moment to stay turned to me in case I had anything else to say. As soon as that moment passed, however, she spun back around, and hunched over her book, prepared to start writing as soon as I recieved the hint to bugger off.

Moving to the side of Drew, I grin and lean against the counter, so my head is level with Drew's. From the corner of her eye, she glares at me, trying to yet again to wordlessly tell me to leave her alone. Yet, I'm not one who likes to take hints. Instead, I glance from her to the book, then back at her, before inquiring, "So, can I see your poems?"

Drew's eyes fall back to her book, and I can see she's mentally debating on showing her work to me or not. She starts to bite her bottom lip, not ready for anyone to see poetry she's written from the heart, but wishing for some feedback. Before she can come to a conclusion, however, I snatch the book, and flip it open to a random page. I hear an enraged huff from Drew, and she tries to grab her book away from my prying hands.

She's too slow, and too short. Easilly, I hold the book up out of my charge's reach, and start to scan over the poem, entitled 'Bogeyman':

Tears flood down the little girl's cheeks,
As she babbles to her mother of the Bogeyman.
The creature who haunts her dreams,
Turning them to painful nightmares full of fright.

On and on the child goes, of frightening teeth,
And nails clawing at her delicate, pale flesh.
Of horrible grins, with scary, hungry eyes.
Those nights alone, in her room, with the Bogeyman.

"Now, now." Whispers the mother, lovingly.
She strokes her daughter's hair, calming the flood
Of hot tears, that stain her daughter's cheeks,
"The Bogeyman won't harm you, my darling."

But the girl merely whimpers, clinging to her mother,
Her saviour, who holds her so endearingly close.
She can't voice her fears, she can't voice the truth.
She can't voice the Bogeyman will harm her, again.

When the girl is finally calm, deep in blissful sleep,
The woman hands the girl to her husband, gingerly.
Then, as the mother leaves the house, going to work,
Her husband continues to cradle the frightened child.

"Now, now." Mocks the father, as the girl squirms
In his cold, unloving embrace, that holds no comfort.
She stares at his hungry eyes, tears flooding anew,
And screams frantically as he takes her into her room.

"No, no, no, no!" sobs the child through panicked gasps
As she spend another night with the frightful Bogeyman.

It's scrawled in red ink, a favorite ink color choice of Drew's when she's in a morbid mood. The poem, however, just makes my breath halt in my throat. She was definitely in one of her depressed moods when composing this. I glance over at Drew, and she lividly glares at me as she attempts to snatch the book from my grasp.

This time, I lower the book to her hands as she jumps up to grab her book. She yanks the book from my hands, and pulls the book close to her chest, attempting to protect it from another hostage situation. However, as much anger as she's emitting, I see an embarassed flush cross her pale cheeks.

I force myself to give Drew a half-smile, even though that poetry could have killed a buzz that even Barney the singing and dancing dinosaur could have acquired. Leaning back against the counter, I calmly blather on about how Drew's free form was a bit off, in the way of rhythm, but the imagery, tone and feeling of the poem itself was really inspiring.

Amusement flickers through my viens as Drew just stares at me, wide-eyed and shocked at my apparent knowledge of literature. Once I've finished complimenting her, Drew continues to just stare at me. An embarassed blush, a bit more robust thanks to my compliments, is still staining her face. Finally, she shakes her head, and mumbles, "Didn't know you were into poetry."

"What kind of loser wouldn't be into poetry?" The sarcastic remark took flight from my mouth before I really even had time to think about it. I see a brief smile sprint over Drew's lips, but it's quickly replaced by her ever-present cynical gaze. A real grin stretches across my face as I am reminded, yet again, that Drew does like me in her company, despite what she tells me.

"There's a lot of people who aren't into poetry." Replies Drew, shrugging her shoulders as she absentmindedly traces her finger across her composition book, "Of course, most of them are buffoonish losers. Not all of them, though, just most."

Nodding my head, I scoff a bit and roll my eyes, indicating I know exactly what type of people always seem to hate poetry, "You mean those Neanderthals who seem to have clawed up our evolutionary chain of humanity with only one purpose in life - a purpose which seems to be infesting their stupidity into later generations through breeding - right?"

A laugh, or more correctly half a laugh, is able to fall from Drew's lips before an enraged scream from the amusing Clairese fills the air. I glance boredly at the door to owner's office, which is positioned right by the back room. Drew's gaze, however, is filled with more worry than boredom.

Without thinking, Drew places her leatherbound composition book on the back counter, and heads to Clairese's office. A moment of mischievious intent breaks into my mind as my eyes flicker from Drew's back to the book on the counter. Quickly, I grab the book from the back counter, and then follow the girl into Clairese's office. With Drew so concerned about Clairese, I doubt she'll notice me handling her book.

"Mrs. Lavine?" The raven-haired girl hesistantly knocks on the door to Clairese's office. Hardly a moment passes, before the door is flung open, and the melodramatic old woman comes storming out.

"I can't believe that ancient goat cancelled on us!" exclaims the woman, walk back and forth between me and Drew. Her movements are taught, but expressive, like she was holding back a burst of angry energy. Knowing that old woman, she probably was more enraged than she was letting on.

"Who cancelled?" I ask, stupidly, the answer I recieve is Clariese, standing on tiptoe, to scream that some poet, who had scheduled a publicity reading today, cancelled. Leaning away from the owner's flaming gaze, my brain slightly freezes. My mind always had the habit of freezing up whenever an angered gaze flashed my way. I guess it's because I have the spine of a jellyfish in such situations. Vaguely, however, I hear Drew attempting to console the woman.

"Can't you find someone else to do the reading, Clairese?" Cautiously, Drew lays a hand on the stout woman's shoulder. However, Clairese whirls around to face Drew, and wails that no one would come on such short notice. Now that the old biddy isn't in my face, my mind has a quick spark of an idea. I glance up at Drew, who isn't paying attention to me, then down to the leatherbound volume of poems.

Is it really worth it to risk Drew's friendship with me? Really, I see no other way to get Drew into the limelight. To bring the girl into the eye of the public, even a very sparse public, will be an opportunity for the girl to meet new people. People, whom with time, could qualify as the raven-haired girl's friends.

Innocently, I tap the woman on the shoulder, and she turns slightly to give me her attention. When I'm certain she's paying attention, I ask, not without a slight grin, "Clairese, how about you let Drew read some of her poetry? It's really awesome."

I hold up the book, as if it was clear evidence that Drew's compositions were great. A strangled gasp from Drew allows me to know that she hates the idea, but before the girl can nab the book, Clairese has already swiped it from my hands. Keeping her back to Drew, Clairese opens the book at a random page and reads it. All the while, Drew is protesting, yet the quiet tone makes me grin. Deep down she really wants people to hear her work. Afterall, what author, or poet wouldn't?

The air, however, is thickening with tension as Clairese continues to read. She's flipping through the pages, reading most of the poems, and I feel my heart wildly slamming against my rib cage. I look up, over the old woman's frame into Drew's face. Feeling my gaze on her face, she slowly glances up at me, a worried look in her eyes. My heart jolts at not seeing her glaring lividly at me, but I hide the sudden burst of electric surprise by smiling up at her comfortingly.

Drew's eyes fall to the side, and she blushes again before her eyes get the courage to look at me again. The girl smiles up at me, giving my dead heart another jolt, before biting her bottom lip and returning her gaze to Clairese. This time I look away, feeling like a total dork as the red blushing disease seems to affect me now.

A lump rises to the occasion in my throat, and I stare at the navy blue carpet. My mind starts to whisk me away while Drew is anxiously waiting for Clairese's feedback. Most of my thoughts are aimed at myself, degrading myself and my feelings for the girl. Even if I was still alive, the girl wouldn't be old enough for me to even date. My eyes move on their own accord, though, and Drew's face comes into view.

Her blue and green eyes are cast down, onto the shorter woman who is taking her time to read. With Drew's black hair falling in stray strands across her face, and her anxiously biting her bottom lip as she awaits for Clairese to speak, Drew looks so vunerable.

Clairese snapping the black book shut breaks my line of thought, and I stare down at the old woman's face. She looks up at me, before turning to Drew. Regarding her long-time employee for an almost eternal moment. Drew squirms under the old woman's gaze, and looks away until words start to arise from the eccentric employer's lips, "These are extraordinary, Drew. I order you to read them for today."

A smile bursts onto my lips before I can even restrict it. An equally large smile is planted on Clairese's face as she gingerly hands the poem-filled book back to Drew. The girl's eyes are wide open as they stare at her employer. A couple times, Drew attempts to say something, but words seem to fail her. She looks passed Clairese, directly at me, and a slight smile stretches over her lips as she quietly mumbles, "Thanks."

My heart jolts at the smile, making my face heat up in a red blush. Mentally, I decide I'm going to have to chain and muzzle that treacherous organ, which seems to jump in excitement each time I recieve a smile from Drew. However, the girl realizes what she's doing, and darts her eyes back down to Clairese, murmuring, "But, I really hate to read anything in front of people."

The old woman doesn't miss a beat. She simply turns to me, grinning in a sly way that makes me retreat back a step instictively, "Well I'm sure Adrian won't have any qualms about reading them for you. Isn't that right Adrian, my boy?"

A weak, nervous chuckle weasels it's way from my lips as my head attempts to pick whether to nod 'yes', or shake 'no'. My stomach feels like it has slithered up into my throat, blocking any breath I could hope to guide into my lungs. Getting ahold of myself, though, I take a breath, and grin at the two females, replying despite my low self-confidence banshee, "Sure! I'll do it."