Hideous by Devon McCormack
Publication date: June 19th 2014
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult
Eight years ago, Luke Retter witnessed the brutal murder of his mother and sister at the hands of his demon-possessed father. He survived but lost a hand and an eye. The demon also burned its emblem into his skin, marking him as a cursed. Those who bear this mark are at risk of becoming possessed themselves, so they are monitored and enslaved by the state-run UCIS. Working as a slave is hard, but Luke prefers it to the possibility of being controlled by a demon.
One night, Luke wakes to find his worst nightmare coming true. His father’s demon has returned. In a panic, he runs to the only person who might be able to help: Zack, a cursed who ran away from the state and created an underground community to protect other fugitive curseds. Zack helps him suppress the demon. But the city’s become a time bomb, and Luke’s demon itches to escape.
With the UCIS closing in on Zack’s underground operation and Luke’s demon crafting its own, nefarious plot, Luke realizes that he must take a stand.
One night, Luke wakes to find his worst nightmare coming true. His father’s demon has returned. In a panic, he runs to the only person who might be able to help: Zack, a cursed who ran away from the state and created an underground community to protect other fugitive curseds. Zack helps him suppress the demon. But the city’s become a time bomb, and Luke’s demon itches to escape.
With the UCIS closing in on Zack’s underground operation and Luke’s demon crafting its own, nefarious plot, Luke realizes that he must take a stand.
EXCERPT
AS I came to, I was
relieved to see an orange glow.
Thank God, I thought. They let me keep
my other eye. Oh fuck. Shit!
The pain was
everywhere. Every muscle. Every tendon. Every bone. My skull felt like it was
about to crack open. I surveyed the damage.
I’m naked! I’m
naked?
My chest was covered
in blue and black, with red cuts and scrapes occasionally spoiling their
continuity.
Stitches?
A large gash on my
side had been sewn up, but by whom? And where the fuck were my clothes? Where
the fuck was I?
My gaze shifted
around a mess of a room that was slightly bigger than my one at St. Augustine.
Although Wahrmer never would have let me keep it this messy.
Papers and open books
lay on top of a layer of T-shirts, sweaters, and slacks that concealed most of
the hardwood floor. At a door on the other side of the room, a few pairs of
sneakers and Converse clustered together beneath an unused coat rack.
On the adjacent wall,
a table, made from stacked crates and a pylon, was pushed against the wall. On
top of the pylon, steam from an aluminum canister with a bright blue dot of
light glistened in the orange glow of a floor lamp tucked in the farthest
corner. Next to the table was a refrigerator. With its bulbous shape and
strange, luminous green color, it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.
Just a few feet from
me, an armchair with cotton oozing out of several tears and rips faced me.
I was lying on a
mattress in the corner of the room directly across from the door. I was covered
in a thin blue blanket that felt rough, nearly like felt… the least comfortable
cloth a person could make a blanket out of.
As I pulled it down,
I saw how far down the black-and-blue bruises went. My body looked like a space
depiction of Earth.
I glanced around the
floor, seeing if anything of mine was lost in the sea of apparel. I couldn’t
see them anywhere in the mess. No bleach, either. Wahrmer was going to have a
fit.
Click. Creak.
My eye flashed to the
door.
It cracked open.
A guy in a hoodie,
carrying several plastic bags, slipped in. He was young, around my age. Dark,
nearly black hair stuck up and pointed every way. The unkempt state made it
look like someone had taken a pair of garden shears to it. I couldn’t tell if
it was styled that way, or if he’d just been too lazy to fix it. Thick
sideburns dipped into a layer of prickles that wrapped around his face. It
appeared to be a five o’clock shadow, but based on his age, I wondered if it’d
taken a few days for him to get it to that length.
He locked the door
and sealed a latch at the top. He shuffled in and set the bags on the pylon
table.
I needed to say
something, indicate that I was awake, but my mind was too busy trying to make
sense of where I was to plan a proper attention-getting announcement.
He turned my way.
“Oh, you’re awake,”
he said, hurrying over.
I wanted to say,
“Where am I?” But that was obviously what I was thinking. I hoped he would just
make the answer known.
“Hey, man, I’m Zack.”
His eyes sparkled in the dim orange glow that illuminated the room. They were
dark, like the pine trees in the woods behind St. Augustine. I wanted to lose
myself in them… just like I wanted to lose myself in those woods.
Zack reached his hand
out for a shake, pulling me out of the spell of his eyes.
I started to extend
my hand, but there was too much pain. I pulled it back.
“Sorry,” I said.
“No, no. It’s cool.”
He dropped back onto the armchair and tossed his legs over the side. “Thanks
for helping my little buddy out there.”
That’s why he took
me in.
I glanced at my body,
hoping it would indicate my interest in knowing how I came to be in this
position… nude.
“Oh yeah. Taylor…
that kid, he came here to tell me that you’d helped him and that you were in
serious trouble, so I went over. Found the guys that were kicking your ass and
scared ’em off.”
“Scared them off?” I
asked. How was this guy able to do that so easily when I’d just gotten my ass
kicked? Not that he didn’t look strong. I just couldn’t imagine that I was that
much weaker.
He smirked, reached
into his pocket, and pulled out a handgun.
“Holy shit!”
Why the fuck does
he have a gun?
“Not very hard when
you got one of these guys. Anyway, I carried you back here and patched you up a
bit. Did a little stitching here and there. And your clothes were soaking wet…
hence the whole naked thing.”
I smirked.
“Hey, I went and got
some food if you want something.”
A polite side of me
wanted to thank him and decline, but I was fucking starving. “That’d actually
be nice… if you don’t mind.”
His face went
scarlet. “Sorry, I just picked up some bread and peanut butter. I’m not much of
a cook or anything. I mean, I have ham and cheese if you’d rather have that.”
“Peanut butter’s
fine.”
He rocked onto his
feet and headed to the table. He pulled bread and a jar of peanut butter out of
the plastic bag and picked a knife up off the table. This table was clearly
serving a dual purpose as his only counter. I didn’t imagine the knife was all
that clean, but considering the kinds of things I’d eaten over the course of my
life, I didn’t really care.
It was strange having
someone being so considerate. I wasn’t used to it. So this guy was friends with
the cursed I’d helped out… did that mean he was cursed too? Or was he just
friends with that kid? I didn’t know, and I didn’t feel like it was something I
could just ask.
“So… what was your
name?” Zack asked.
“Luke.”
“Well, Luke, I’m glad
you were there for Taylor. Not sure what those guys would have done to him if
you hadn’t stepped in. They’re kinda regulars around here. I know a guy who
they nearly beat to death a few weeks ago. We’re pretty sure they’re some
crappy kids from St. Augustine.”
“That doesn’t
surprise me.”
“Know the place?”
“I work there. Just
started a few weeks ago. But, yeah. It’s a bunch of entitled assholes.”
“I’m guessing you
work for the state,” he said. He had a serious, stern look on his face, like
the thought saddened him. He must’ve been a cursed. But if he was, why wasn’t
he working for the state too? Was he a deviant? No. He looked too young to be a
deviant. Usually they were much older. I tried to look for the tattoo on his
neck, but his hood was too high.
He set the knife,
laden with peanut butter, back on the table and dashed across the room to hand
me the sandwich.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Not a problem.” He
headed back to the table.
“Yeah. Been with them
since I was eight.”
“That sounds about
right,” he said as he started making another sandwich. He stopped, set the
knife back down. “Oh. You want something to drink? Sorry. I’m shitty at this. I
don’t usually have people over.”
“Whatever.”
“Water, milk? I put
some hot water on before I left. You want some tea?”
“Tea would be good.”
“Tea it is,” he said,
turning and kneeling by a box beside the table. He opened it and fished out a
mug and a tea bag.
“If it’s gonna be
trouble—”
“No trouble,” he insisted.
He sprang back to his feet and picked up the steaming canister to pour what I
assumed was hot water into the cup. He walked back across the room and handed
it to me.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
I figured as much, I thought, but I was too
appreciative of his kindness to snark.
“So… your eye…that’s
from….”
He didn’t finish with
“an infected attack,” but I knew what he was saying.
I tried to offer a
quiet “Yeah.” It caught in my throat. “Yup” was the next available reply.
He nodded.
A sense of urgency
rushed through me.
“Oh fuck!” I
exclaimed. I leapt up, spilling some of the tea on my chest.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Not only was the tea
scalding, every injured muscle in my body was screaming with pain.
Setting the cup on
the floor, I hissed, taking in the cruel stings.
“What?” Zack asked.
“Everything okay?”
“Where are my
clothes? Shit!”
“What is it?”
“I had some money.”
I needed to make sure
I still had my change from my errand.
Zack shook his head.
“Dude, they took your money.”
Was that really true?
Maybe they did. Or maybe Zack had taken it upon himself to take a reward for
his helping hand. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
I felt bad for being
so distrustful of the guy who’d saved me, but trust was a luxury I couldn’t
afford.
“And by any chance
you didn’t happen to grab any bottles of bleach, did you?”
“Bleach?”
“I’m dead.” I
collapsed onto the mattress. Wahrmer was going to sand my dick off with a scrub
brush.
My eye shifted back
to Zack. He was staring at my junk.
I flipped the corner
of the scratchy blanket over it. Picking up my cup, I inched it toward my mouth
to take a sip.
His eyes jetted back
to his task. As he finished the next sandwich, he glanced over himself. “Oh
God… still in these shitty clothes.” He set the sandwich on the table and undid
the hoodie, revealing a smooth layer of nude skin.
He started toward a
door behind the armchair—one I hadn’t noticed.
He turned the knob.
The door pushed open. A pile of clothes unfolded at his feet.
“Shit,” he said,
digging through the clothes. “So… what exactly do you do at St. Augustine?”
I chuckled. “Toilets.
Floors. Gardening. If it sounds awful, I probably do it.”
He stopped messing
with his clothes. “Seriously?” he asked, disheartened by the news. But all I
could see were his pine-bark eyes. What had we been talking about?
“Um…,” I said,
uncomfortable with the silence. I didn’t figure we’d been looking at each other
all that long, but it still seemed too long. Fortunately, I at least could use
a concussion or head trauma as an excuse.
Zack shrugged and
headed back to the pylon table. He picked the knife back up and cut into the
sandwich he’d been making. He picked up a diagonal-shaped slice and shoved it
in his mouth, chewing off the corner.
I enjoyed the view
his open hoodie provided, revealing smiles under his pecs and a dozen shadows
casting under his six-pack. A subtle happy trail of black strands crawled below
his belly button, tucking under his jeans.
He swallowed, his
neck expanding slightly as he released a cough, suggesting it wasn’t going down
all that easily. He hurried to the fridge, pulled out a milk carton, opened it,
and downed a few gulps.
“Hell of a day,” he
said, setting the carton on the table. He pulled the hoodie off, adding it to
the collection on the floor as he made his way back to the closet.
He threw on a bright
red tee, an affront to my visual cortex.
As he approached, he
eyed my cup. I was nearly finished. I must’ve been thirstier than I’d realized.
“Here,” he said,
taking the cup. He returned to the table and filled it.
“You know,” he
continued, “you don’t have to live out there… like this.”
He sprinted back and
handed me my cup, offering a friendly smile, suggesting the innocence of his
generosity.
It felt strange
receiving this kind of kindness from someone I’d never met before.
He dropped his ass
back in his cotton-oozing armchair.
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know
what I mean,” he said. “I’m… a deviant.”
I suspected as
much.
“How’s that working
out for you?” I asked.
“Pretty good. I
actually help house a few deviants. Keep ’em safe.”
“Aren’t y’all scared
of getting caught?”
He chuckled and
nodded. “Every fucking day.”
“What? Am I supposed
to live in a place like this… waiting for the UCIS to find me? Have you seen
the news? You know what happens to guys like you.”
“Not to all of us,”
he said. “I’ve been doing this for five years now.”
“I don’t think I can
spend the rest of my life terrified of being caught.”
“But you can spend it
being their slave?”
I shrugged. “It’s
what I’m used to. I don’t think I’m fit for this kind of life.”
I wasn’t judging his
choice, but I knew it wasn’t for me.
“Better to end up
strung up than to never get a chance to be free.”
“Is that what this
is? Freedom?”
“It’s the closest we
can get to it. But I’m sure it’s closer than what you’re getting.”
Glancing around
Zack’s place, I saw something that looked just like my own quarters at St.
Augustine. Maybe it would’ve been nice to have that freedom… that ability to
say “fuck you” to all the dicks in the world who were so eager to keep curseds
hidden away, but there was more to my life than that. Things someone like Zack
wouldn’t understand. He didn’t know—couldn’t know—what it was like to be the
visual embodiment of everything people feared. It was one thing to be
disgusting to regulars. It was another thing to be disgusting to everyone. At
least when I was working for the state, according to the oppressive rules and
regulations, people tolerated me. They knew I had a place. A purpose. If I
tried to live something like this, I doubted they’d be so accommodating.
I spotted my clothes
on the floor beside the mattress. They were still drenched from the shower I’d
endured earlier. I reached into the pocket in my jeans and pulled out my phone.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Zack asked,
alarmed by my urgency.
“It’s already nine
thirty. God, I’m gonna get written up. Damn it. I don’t even have the bleach.
Fuck.”
Zack dug into his
pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.
“How much you need?”
he asked.
“What’s that?”
He giggled. “Money,
dipshit.”
I felt like crap for
considering that he’d swiped my money.
“I can’t take that,”
I insisted, cowering away from it as if it were laced with the plague. I tried
to bounce up but just as quickly sank back to the mattress.
“Whoa, whoa!” he
said. “Hold on there, cowboy. I don’t think you’re gonna be able to get back
this quick.”
“Shit. I’m gonna get
written up! At least the bruises’ll make my story more believable.”
“Yes, you obviously
have made the best choice,” he mocked.
“Cut me a break.”
He smirked. My eye
fixated on his perfect features, buried beneath his afternoon scruff. He was so
attractive, so flawless. I wondered if someone like that could ever be
attracted to me.
You’re so stupid! I scolded myself. How could
someone like that even think about someone like you that way?
I needed the reality
check. There was no point in being unrealistic.
“Just stay the
night,” he suggested.
It
was a terrible idea. Wahrmer was gonna kill me. But considering my state and
the intense pain I was still in, there was no way I was gonna make it back to
St. Augustine.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Devon McCormack spends most of his time hiding in his lair, adventuring in paranormal worlds with his island of misfit characters. A good ole Southern boy, McCormack grew up in the Georgian suburbs with his two younger brothers and an older sister. At a very young age, he spun tales the old fashioned way, lying to anyone and everyone he encountered. He claimed he was an orphan. He claimed to be a king from another planet. He claimed to have supernatural powers. He has since harnessed this penchant for tall tales by crafting whole worlds where he can live out whatever fantasy he chooses.
A gay man himself, McCormack focuses on gay male characters, adding to the immense body of literature that chooses to represent and advocate gay men's presence in media. His body of work ranges from erotica to young adult, so readers should check the synopses of his books before purchasing so that they know what they're getting into.
A gay man himself, McCormack focuses on gay male characters, adding to the immense body of literature that chooses to represent and advocate gay men's presence in media. His body of work ranges from erotica to young adult, so readers should check the synopses of his books before purchasing so that they know what they're getting into.
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