Live
like a rock star.
Dance
‘til you die.
Are
you in?
What kind of
a rock star lives in a small town in the middle of nowhere and plays at
weddings and funerals? Then Jack Scratch comes into his life, ready to
represent him and launch him to stardom. Jack can give him everything: a new
band, a new name, a new life, a new look, and new boots…although they aren’t
exactly new. They once belonged to The One, a rocker so legendary and so
mysterious that it’s urban legend that he used black magic to gain success. But
what does Jeremiah care about urban legend? And it’s probably just coincidence
that the shoes make him dance better than anyone, even if it doesn’t always
feel like he’s controlling his movements. It’s no big deal that he plunges into
a world of excess and decadence as soon as he puts the shoes on his feet,
right?
But what
happens when they refuse to come off?
Excerpt:
They’re mine. I’m really holding them, Jeremiah realized. I’m holding history that isn’t supposed to
exist. When The One took the stage, any competition turned tail and ran. It
was said that the one time the singer revealed what he looked like the crowds
were moved to tears by his beauty and sophistication, and tore each other apart
because they couldn’t get to him. Some said it was a conspiracy that complete
copies of his songs didn’t exist because the music was too potent to release to
the public. There were people who still worshipped the mystery, the music, the
outfits, and the boots.
And now
those people would come to him.
“Go on. Try
them on,” Jack encouraged. Jeremiah nodded and carefully put the platforms on
the floor. Shaking with nerves, the youth sat and guided his feet into the
cherry red sheaths. Electricity crackled along his instep and through his toes.
He tugged the vinyl up over his calf and gasped. Jeremiah was overtaken by a
sudden burn, a sudden ant-crawling of power that worked its way through his
skin and into his very soul.
“What the—”
he choked. The plastic spasmed, tightened around his foot, and then relaxed.
The left boot stretched itself a little higher up his calf and extended its
sole and heel a little more to adapt to his needs. Jeremiah thought he had
imagined it, but the right boot immediately followed suit. The matching sets of
the laces squirmed and rippled, settling into a slightly different pattern than
when they were taken out of their box. A quick look around proved that while
everyone in the room was looking, Jack was the only other person that actually saw. “Did they just…?” Jeremiah couldn’t
bring himself to say something so bizarre. He barely managed to hold back a cry
when a thousand tiny needle teeth nibbled his skin from toes to knees. A
tingling sensation spread under his skin and Jeremiah was filled with a rush of
violent confidence that almost made him swoon.
“Good. They
fit,” Jack said. Only his tiny, mysteriously cruel little smile hinted that he
was aware of the boots’ strange behavior.
The longer
Jeremiah looked at himself the more he realized that he could do no wrong. My life just changed. With these on my feet, my past is gone. I’m
going to be better than I ever thought possible.
All around
him the yes-men and hangers-on gaped.
“You look so
good!” the store footman practically swooned. His vinyl and lace frock coat
danced under the fluttering movements of his hands. His sharp, pale face
flushed with excitement underneath the stylized Victorian wig.
“I’m gonna
cry you look so good!”the blonde assistant squealed, gripping Jack’s knee as if
she’d keel over if she didn’t have it there to support her. “It’s like I’m
witnessing history!”
The faces
that surround him were positively thunderstruck and at his mercy. The camera
kept right on clicking. Jeremiah got to his feet and struck a few more
ambitious poses, dropping into a low crouch before kicking a leg up in an
insane bastardization of a round kick. It didn’t matter that he’d grown up
looking like every other average guy in Middle America. It didn’t matter that
he’d been more accustomed to cotton T-shirts and washed-out blue jeans than the
clothes Jack had him wearing. The overall look wasn’t complete, but the boots
pulled everything together. The added height evened out his lanky proportions.
In some unlikely way the platforms made his stubble-sporting, angular face look
downright exotic. His eyes blazed liquid brown heat and his dishwater hair
almost glowed under the dressing room lights.
Jeremiah
sashayed around the tiny space and leapt onto the low podium at the room’s
center, full of a burning drive to do
something. He wanted to sing. He wanted to rock. He wanted to dance, and he’d never had that sort of
urge before in his life. Every school dance he’d ever gone to had involved him
either playing in the band or drinking contraband beverages with his friends
outside the building. “Guess I’m a natural!” he laughed. He knew he was lying,
Jack knew he was lying, but there was no reason for anyone else to know the
truth. Why bother with the truth when the image in the mirror was so much
better?
He had
expected his balance to be shaky in the tall platforms, but it was like the
boots were built for him. He hadn't thought to check the size. Maybe The One
wasn't the original owner; maybe they conformed to whoever wore them.
Jeremiah’s face glowed when he looked at his mirror image. His reflection
looked as giddy and ecstatic as he felt. Why
do I care what they are? If they work, they work! His eyes dropped to the
new footwear. He was just able to see the tiny, warped image of his face in the
shiny toes. Everything’s going to be
amazing from now on. As he admired his distorted image via his feet, all of
his hang-ups and personality drained out of him. Who needs a personality with boots like these?
Jack Scratch
watched his protégé glided round the room, that same tiny, dangerous smile just
barely curling his full mouth. "Just think. What you have on represents
everything that you want to be," he coached. His words drilled through the
rocker's ears and hardwired themselves into the deepest parts of Jeremiah’s
heart and soul. "They’re everything you want on your side. These boots are
temptation and chaos, just like you. I've got it," he declared. "I've
got your name."
"Give
it to me," a raspy voice in front of the mirror breathed.
"Forget
Jeremiah Kensington: folk singer, blue jean rocker, country boy, small town
loser,” Jack breathed, his giant hands fervently patting down his front until
he found which jacket pocket his cigarettes were hidden in. It was amazing that
he didn’t gouge himself in the chest given the sharpened tip of the massive
silver ring that enveloped his right forefinger. The manager leaned back
against the sofa and lit up, never once taking his eyes off his new golden boy
and meal ticket.“From now on you are J.K. Asmodeus, rock star and corrupter of
the masses." A thin plume of smoke stretched up to frame his intense
expression.
J.K. looked
from Jack to the man in the mirror, saw how the red glitter of the boots was
echoed in his eyes. "Yes."
The two
ignored the gasps and commentary around them as everyone texted photos and
alerted the necessary paparazzi. The pair shared a slow smile as Jack inhaled
another draw of nicotine. “It’s time to sign,” he murmured. The smoke crept in
front of his face and turned his pleased expression into something that
bordered on animalistic. He removed the top sheet of the stack he’d been
examining and held it out to the younger man.
I should wait and consult a lawyer. I
should take my time. These things need to be done with care, a distant echo of a Midwestern
conscience chided. J.K. ignored it, grinned back at his manager, and reached
for the fountain pen the manager handed him. His expression was almost as
malevolent as Jack’s, though there were still traces of wholesomeness that had
yet to drain away. “Let’s do it.”
About the
Author:
Selah
Janel has been blessed with a giant imagination since she was little and
convinced that fairies lived in the nearby state park or vampires hid in the
abandoned barns outside of town. Her appreciation for a good story was enhanced
by a love of reading, the many talented storytellers that surrounded her, and a
healthy curiosity for everything. A talent for warping everything she learned
didn’t hurt, either. She gravitates to writing fantasy and horror, but can be
convinced to pursue any genre if the idea is good enough. Often her stories
feature the unknown creeping into the “real” world and she loves to find the magical
in the mundane.
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