We wait by the school's counselor's office — which I've been told has been empty for years, but since nobody ever goes to see him, it has yet to be noticed — and slip into the vent as soon as we can. 

Well, Brayden and I slip in. Hayden is so big that he can't get in. He can only get his torso in while having his legs dangle out. Prime for toe-nibbling by an errant demon. But that's what he gets for, again, being a head-balling bitch, and he knows it. I can see the fear in his eyes. 

"this place is a hole," says Brayden, kicking the bag of underwear I use for a pillow. And yes, before you ask, the bag is made of leather. "doesn't even have a bath."

"I-I-I think it's pretty cozy, brother," says Hayden, or rather, blubbers. He is shaking like a big, meaty leaf. "Smells nice, too." 

"Thanks, it's my sweat," I say. 

Brayden, being the smallest, and thus, the one with more space, tosses himself on top of the pillow face down, moving his legs back and forth like, well, a schoolboy. Nothing odd there, besides using my ballstraps as a cushion. "smells like versace. nice." 

I sit down between him and Hayden. Sure is getting hot here. "You okay, Hayden? Looking kinda pale." 

"I-I-I'm good, brother," he stammers, now shaking so hard that the entire vent was shaking with us. "I'm just, you know, not good with tight places, and this is a pretty tight hole. I'm a big boy. I like big holes, you know. Wiggle room."

"Bro, you even think before you speak?" I say. 

"he don't have no sense of self-awareness," says Brayden, trying to fluff my cotton undies. "ask him about how he chooses the best sausage for a jambalaya. i dare you."

Hayden pipes in almost immediately. No trace of fear or hesitation remains in his voice now. "Oh, not this again! I told you that I take andouilles very seriously. The sausage has to be long, but thin, so it can fit in your mouth. Slightly salty, with a rounded tip, and very chunky. What's wrong with that?" 

He has to be doing this on purpose. 

"Nevermind," I interrupt before this platonic sleepover becomes a boy-love den. "So, Brayden."

"sup," he chimes. 

"You're the expert in sleepovers. What do we do now?" 

"not take a bath, apparently," he sneers. 

"C'mon, brother," says Hayden, "don't be knocking Ayden's tight hole." 

And that is the quote on the night, folks. 

A sound cuts through the conversation like a hot knife against even hotter butter, both of which are things you don't really want to have at hand. It raises more questions than answers. Very difficult to use as well. 

The sound is one I'm very familiar with, since I've been hearing it since I made this vent a home. "Don't worry. That's just the raccoon family that lives just beyond." 

"Raccoons?!" says Hayden. Or rather, he squeals. "Are they dangerous?! Don't they have, like, rabies and shit?"

"raccoons are the sanitation workers of the animal world, dick," chimes Brayden. "i assure you that they're cleaner than you." 

"Doesn't that mean they handle trash all day?" 

"and we thank them for their service," says Brayden, turning around to the deep end of the vent. "thank you for your hard work, trash pandas!"

And that's the end of it. I hope. 

"If you say so, brother," says Hayden. "So, no bath. What else?"

Brayden takes a second to think, which turns into a minute, which turns into a few more additional seconds. I swear, one of these days, if he keeps thinking that hard, he's gonna lit his head on fire. "oh, oh, snacks! we need snacks! can't have a sleepover without snacks. got anything around here?" 

"Just a bag of slim-jims, three Monster Energies, and a vape-pen full of espresso." 

"dibs on the slim-jims!" says Brayden. "wait, is a slim-jim made of meat?"

Now, I've never been to a sleepover before, but I feel certain when I say that this is the worst one ever made. 

Lucky for us, Hayden is always ready. Trading his fear for a shit-eating grin — which has always struck me as odd. I've never eaten shit, but I don't think I would be grinning that much. Must be a Florida thing — he disappears out of the vent for a few minutes before plunging back in with his trusty cooler on hand. "Well, I only had so much time to prepare, but I hope this is a nice offering." 

Inside are rolls upon rolls of garlic knots, instantly overpowering with their delicious, warm smell, making my mouth watery. Besides that, in a small jar, a pepper jam, some sliced cheese, and butter. A meal worthy of a picnic. 

"not bad, dick. not bad. you might be starting to redeem yourself."

As soon as I grab one I can appreciate the softness and richness of the bread. But it is warm, like right out of the oven. 

"Why are they warm?" I ask. 

"Well, let's say being high school royalty gives you a few benefits. Like, say, access to the cafeteria after hours with a key the lunch lady gave me after giving her my pavlova recipe." 

"Did you just say you were school royalty?" I ask. "Just what the hell is wrong with you?" 

"yeah, like, wtf the fuck?" 

Between that, and the jock-like attitude this morning, I think we are losing him. 

"Look, I'm sorry," he says, trying to be as small as possible, and failing miserably. "I don't know what's gotten into me. It's just...you know how Lee Vazquez is your PCL?" 

"who is your what now?" 

"Yes," I say, blushing. 

"seriously. what's the deal with this lee girl. gimme the deets."

"Well," says Hayden. "I think Okayden is my PCR. My plot canon rival. Lots of jock-type bad-boys have PCR's. It's usually a nerd, or a jock from another school, but...just seeing him makes me...lose control." 

"are you ignoring me now?" 

"Yeah, I get that," I say. "Just don't do anything stupid. 

"okay, you don't wanna tell, gotcha. let's change the subject," says Brayden, not without a layer of salt. "another thing we do during sleepovers is tell scary tales. anyone got a scary tale? no? i'll start."

Let the record show that he didn't give us time to answer, and that I, in fact, have a spooky tale to tell. 

"okay, so, this is, like, a super-duper real story that happened to me so shut up and get spooked. so, i was, like, watching Timothée Charlemet's instagram, and yes, i use caps just for him because he deserves it. so, i was watching his instagram and commenting on his photos, because he totally gets me, when i see him wearing these cute suede sneakers, and i knew i had to get them. turns out, you can buy them on amazon for like, $32 a pop, and they're from like this swedish company. suede, swedish, like, so clever."

Let the record also show that he said all that in one continuous breath. 

"so, i order them, and i was super excited to have the same shoes, and i wait and wait, and the package finally comes. but horror came over me as soon as i opened the package. you know why?" 

"Because it wasn't the shoes you were waiting for?" I ask. 

"Because there was a severed thumb inside?" asks Hayden. 

"nah, worse. much, much worse. when i opened the box it was filled to the brim...with packing peanuts!" 

The amount of silence that follows cannot be expressed or contained in book form. Feel free to do an elbow plank for one minute, and you will feel just about the same as I do now.

"So?" asks Hayden. "What's wrong with packing peanuts?"

"what's wrong? are you soft in the head? they're made of styrofoam! that's non-degradable! fish choke on that. if the planet slowly dying of plastic pollution doesn't scare you enough, i don't know what will." 

Okay, time to defuse. "My turn."

"let's see you top that, soy boy," he says, sipping on a Monster Energy. 

"So," I begin, "this is something that happened to me once. I was walking from school to my home a few years ago, which is why I don't do it anymore, when I somehow got lost. I was monologuing about something that had happened that day, as one does."

"True, true," says Hayden. "Keep going." 

"Honestly, I didn't even know where I was. The streets were dark, the sky had an unnatural red hue. Crows were cawing, the streets were deserted, and my phone had no battery." 

Suddenly, the noise returns. Nails scraping on the metal vent — slowly, but deep — just in time to make Hayden jump out in fright. 

"Damn raccoons!" he yells. "Go the fuck away, you satanic care bears!" 

"I'm sure they are attracted by the smell of the garlic knots," I say, grabbing one and tossing it to the dark part of the vents. "That will keep 'em quiet. So, anyways, I was walking through an alley, when a girl, about five years old, with a dress as white as snow approached me from behind. She whispered: 'I wouldn't go down this alley if I were you.' And I, of course, asked her why." 

"and what did she say?" asked Brayden, now hugging my undies with all his strength. 

"She said, with her small, diminutive voice: this is the alley I was killed in. I bolted right back from where I came from, and when I tried to find the alley again weeks later, I couldn't find it."

Hayden made the sign of the cross three times in a row, shivering uncontrollably. Way too uncontrollably, if you ask me, which you didn't. Rude. 

"Didn't know you were such a big coward," I say, elbowing him. "It didn't really happen. Just some creepypasta I read online." 

"Brother, I don't fuck with ghosts," he says. "Or vampires, or werewolves, or elves, or trolls, or Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I believe in all that shit."

"man, you believe in such bullshit," says the boy who believes in Santa and the Tooth Fairy.

"Naw, I saw a ghost once with my own eyes," says Hayden. "And it was here, in this school."

Well, now he's fucking with us. But that sounds like a good tale. Since neither Brayden nor I stop him, he starts his tale. 

"There was this kid in the football team a decade ago named Stanley. Kid was a natural kicker, managing to cover half a field with a kick as if it was the easiest thing in the world. We were in the championship game, tied, three seconds to go, and raining cats and dogs." 

"cats are made to fall from great distances," says Brayden, almost as if it was on top of his mind. "poor dogs, tho."

Good thing he's a millionaire. Nobody with a brain would hire him for anything beyond watching paint dry. 

"The point is, the only way to win was to make a kick goal, so Stanley gets to the field, everyone's cheering, the whole thing. He lines up for the kick, which was almost guaranteed to work, and just when he was about to kick...a thunder strikes him where he stands!" 

He hits the side of the vent to punctuate the thunder, making both me and Brayden jump where we are. For a coward, he surely knows how to induce fear. 

"Dead, kaput, finito. He doesn't even get to say good-bye. And that was the end of it. Or so we thought. Rumors started to spread that his spirit was roaming the football field at night, under the bleachers, waiting to find an unsuspecting pair of legs he can steal so he can make the kick he never got to do."

"Well, that sounds like pure bs," I say. 

"Right? And so I thought, so I never paid attention to it. But one night after practice, I decided to stay behind and make a few laps around the field. You know, for fun. When I finished, it was already nighttime, and my feet were killing me. I sit on the bleachers, ready to take off my shoes, when I see two pairs of hands coming from between my legs, and... hey, are there any raccoons outside the vents? because-" 

Sadly, his tale is cut short, as he inexplicably backs out of the vent with a curt scream, as if someone yanked him from behind. Only the black void of the classroom behind is left. 

I have to admit, it scared the bejeezus out of me. I think Brayden jumped so high that he smashed against the roof of the vent. 

"okay, i'll admit it, that was hella dope," says Brayden. "i think i sharted. can i borrow a pair of undies?" 

"Ha-ha, very funny, Hayden," I say, ignoring Brayden. Those undies are hard to come by. "Yours was the scariest story. Now, get back in."

But I'm met with silence. 

"Seriously, it ain't funny anymore," I say. "Get in." 

But silence yet again rears its ugly head. All lumpy and with scars. Kind of like Jungkook. 

"Hayden?" 

I take a peek outside the vent, fully aware that this might be another opportunity to be scared shitless. But Hayden is nowhere to be seen. The classroom is empty with no one in sight. 

The door, however, is open ajar. 

I have a bad feeling about this.