Chapter 2 (BKI Novel Version)

Cold, ocean wind whipped through Norman’s sunny blonde hair as he zipped down the Oregon coastline. The pavement under his wooden longboard blurred like a long, charcoal wave. It guided him down the rocky, pacific cliffs like his own personal yellow brick road.

Gray, foamy seawater crashed against the flat, sandy beaches while ocean liners and fishing boats dotted the cloudy horizon. Trails of smoke evaporated from cozy, oceanside cabins and merged with the thin layer fog in the air.

The sound of the crashing tide lulled Norman’s senses like one of those “relaxing sleep” playlists on Spotify. As he zipped in and out of the treeline, the thick scent of Evergreen and sea salt tickled his nose and snapped Norman back to reality.

Norman smiled and breathed in the thick, mixed scent.

Nostalgia and pride welled within him as he passed the “Welcome to Red Cove” town marker. But the sign wasn’t what welcomed him. The smell of sea and pine was home.

The highway peeled off into the main downtown area where all the shopping malls, grocery stores, and big retailers lived. The town of Red Cove sat at the base of a large ocean inlet surrounded by jagged cliffs right on the Oregon-Washington state border. While the downtown area was in the actual cove, a majority of the town’s inhabitants, like Norman and his family, lived above the cliffs in the suburbs.

Up and down the downtown strip, shops were setting up their halloween decorations. Other townsfolk strung “Halloween Week” banners across street lamps lining the downtown strip.

Norman looked to his left and stifled a laugh.

One over-enthusiastic shopkeeper danced in the street in a “Devil’s Moss Man” costume. Shaking his mossy fringes left and right like a big, red, wet rag. Tourists pointed and laughed, throwing him dollar bills.

Picture a sasquatch wearing a wet, red mop suit. Now picture that sasquatch twerking as dollar bills rained down over their wet, soggy body. Now picture those dollar bills sticking to the costume, adding to the creature’s wet, body mass.

Mhm. Yeah, that.

Norman chuckled as he skated by several other townsfolk wearing similar garb.

Red Cove was named after an extremely rare species of red algae that grew in the caves surrounding the town. Though the algae was harmless and had zero medicinal use, Red Cove was the only place in the world where it grew. But its rarity wasn’t the only weirdness factor. The algae’s orange and red hue resembled fire. For the religious folk in town, the algae’s infernal visage even sparked a string of local legends that called it an omen. It was a sign the town had been cursed by the devil himself.

Hence the algae’s nickname “Devil’s Moss.”

As with any small town holding a hint of other-worldy phenomenon, tourism fanned the flames of capitalism in the hearts of Red Cove’s citizens.

Pan to a string of cheaply-designed tourist attractions all based on demons, devils, and moss-man monster costumes.

Conspiracy blogs and monster-watcher podcasts all spoke about Red Cove like it was a new supernatural hotspot. Like it was chock-full of eerie mysteries and recent, unexplainable happenings. But the magical history of the town ran much older.

Overhead, a group of seagulls cawed, diving and swooping with every gust of wind. Norman pushed off on his longboard and zipped down the road beneath them.

Of Red Cove’s 200,000 population, a quarter were witches. After the Salem witch trials, a majority of the witches in the United States fled west to avoid persecution. They founded Red Cove as a safe haven for magic folk to live out their lives in community and peace.

Norman waved as he passed two ocean-soaked surfers in their darkened wetsuits. Every inch of their rugged frames dripped with seawater. One of them quickly cast a charm on himself, and his wetsuit air-dried in seconds.

Norman’s eyes zeroed in on the outline of the surfer’s VPL.

In a brief moment of lust, a certain body part tucked into Norman’s briefs began to thicken and extend. Realizing he was wearing gray sweatpants in public, Norman blushed and quickly tried to force his mind elsewhere.

Fuck. Uh...Birds. Cars. Trees. He thought.

Boring, bland things to turn him off.

Norman pictured himself wiping out on the road. Just as his boner started to fade, his longboard skirted gravel. Nearly flinging him into a ditch.

Catching his balance before the fall and scrape of pavement, Norman blushed with embarrassment. Thank the gods there weren’t any cars or people on the street to see him almost eat it.

Pulling up to his gym, Norman noticed a large crowd lined up outside.

Anxious sweat dripped down his temple.

Too many. Too many people. His thoughts whispered.

Norman kicked up his longboard and carried it under his arm. As he walked up to the front, head down and eyes forward, his head screamed at his legs to move faster.

The gym was usually empty around this time, so why were there so many–

“Hi! Take a flyer!” A jolly voice shouted in Norman’s ear.

A woman in a purple company-branded t-shirt shoved a pink sheet of paper into Norman’s hands.

“Oh. Um…” Norman stammered, startled by the sudden social interaction.

The pink sheet was a flyer for a new club in town. They were hosting a big rave for Halloween, sponsored by a new dating app.

Matchy Presents: MasqueRave! Find Your FantasyTM ;)

The app’s logo sat in the middle of exotic scribbles and catchy bubble-lettering. And lots and lots of glitter.

As if it couldn’t get more provocative, there were several illustrations of steamy straight couples grinding on each other.

Something was scribbled in permanent marker at the bottom of the flyer.

It was a phone number with the words “Call me!”

Norman blinked and looked up to reply, but the woman had already moved on to the next batch of gym patrons. Her coworkers were giving out masquerade masks and glow bracelets to everyone within arm’s reach.

Thanks? Norman thought, finishing his sentence in his head.

He shook out the hand that touched the flier first, flinging glitter all over the ground.

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips.

Geez. If only I had her social confidence… He thought.

Maybe then I wouldn’t be so damn single.

EDM bumped in Norman’s earbuds, pumping blood through his body to the fast-paced rhythm. Just as he started bicep curls, a hairy, muscular arm with a raven tattoo walked by.

Norman’s eyes traced the man’s entire length as he walked to the drinking fountain.

Tall. Rugged. Jawline. Muscles.

Norman’s thoughts came to a screeching halt as the rugged man walked back to his squat rack. His butt bounced up and down like a thick, dimpled peach. Rugged Man’s glutes flexed and tightened, springing with his legs through in each clean motion.

Norman closed his eyes and prayed to whatever god was listening.

Please, please, PLEASE let him be gay.

When he reopened his eyes, a woman holding a towel draped over her neck was standing next to the rugged man. She cheered the man on as he went for his final rep. The man racked the bar and smiled flirtatiously at the woman. Then they shared a brief kiss.

Norman’s heart sank.

The woman noticed him staring and raised a knowing eyebrow. A coy smirk spread across her cheeks.

Fuck! Norman thought, snapping his eyes on his own reflection.

His face was red as an apple.

Frantically lifting weights to appear busy, Norman cursed himself in the mirror in front of him.

Later in the locker room, Norman opened the App Store on his phone. Matchy’s bright, pastel-colored logo flashed happily across his phone screen. 

With another deep sigh, he downloaded the app and began swiping through the profiles of guys in his area.

Copyright © James Schleisman 2018-2021 All Rights Reserved.