Free The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis

know you’ve been haunting the boy at night when he dreams. You know he’s going to be killed, and now so do I.”
    I feel my resolve start to slip. It’s true I’ve been looking in on the boy. I can’t help it. After seeing the girl die…I feel helpless because I know what’s going to happen to him. Secretly, I want a way to warn him.
    And now I know Tickseed has been tracking me. It’s my fault—I’ve been reckless and brash, howling through the most populous areas of the Territory. The wail of the car has become the juvenile symbol of my anger and frustration. It’s clear the harbinger told Tickseed the rest.
    Tickseed allows a slight grin. “Was it hard the first time? You watched, didn’t you? Do you think you can make a difference with the boy? You know you can’t interfere. That’s the madness of it! Those images will stick to your soul forever. He’ll be just like the girl.”
    I swing the door open and step out of the car. “Don’t talk about her. You know nothing.”
    â€œIt’s no big loss,” Tickseed says with a chuckle. “She would have been a whore anyway.” At that, he grins from ear to ear.
    I curse at him and lunge for his throat.
    Laughing, Tickseed braces himself as my forearm pins him against the tree. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t interfere. I just want to watch. Oh, pleeeaaase can I watch?” he begs in a mock childlike voice.
    â€œShut your mouth!” I say. I don’t recognize what’s welling up inside of me.
    â€œI want to see the look on his face—and yours,” Tickseed says, laughing.
    â€œI said shut it!” My forearm digs harder into his skinny throat, and then I give him the backside of my fist.
    Despite Tickseed’s height, the blow sends him reeling to the ground. He continues to giggle as if he’s enjoying it.
    I start to kick him when he attempts to get to his knees. Each blow I land to his midsection produces more laughter, so I strike with increasing violence. My flailing becomes less controlled, and as I venture further from the car, my blows lose effectiveness.
    Tickseed begins to rise, absorbing my beating with ease. He sloughs off a punch and grabs me by the shirt, and then several things happen.
    First I hear crunching inside of him—it’s what I expect breaking bones to sound like. Then I perceive him to nearly double in size. I say perceive, because my vision nearly goes black. I barely make out his form, still gangly but now disgusting and disproportioned.
    â€œYou are worthless!” he says in a guttural, animal wail. “Excrement!” He shakes me with a force that feels like it will take my head off. “Excrement!” he says again, growling.
    I’ve lost all capacity for reason, as if I don’t have a mind of my own. There’s no will to struggle, only a shocked sense of surrender. Hanging from Tickseed’s spindly arms, it seems the ground is rumbling, and I turn to see a massive body appear from my left and crash into Tickseed. It’s Jasper.
    Tickseed drops me in order to defend himself.
    Through bleary vision, I watch the freakish figures belt each other, and I’m awestruck as Jasper wages war. I don’t know where he came from or how he got here.
    Jasper lets out colossal grunts and swings cinderblock fists. Leaning backwards with an outstretched arm, he delivers each blow with great effect.
    Tickseed, his skin now brindled, appears almost ghostly. His mouth is elongated and protruding, but parts of his face don’t seem substantial. He tries to dodge Jasper, sometimes on all fours, clawing and gnashing like a dog.
    When Tickseed lunges for Jasper, Jasper grabs him by the shoulders and throws him to the ground. Then he hammers Tickseed’s face with each hand.
    Tickseed manages to wiggle free, his mouth hanging limp. He looks beaten.
    Jasper delivers a combination of