Marky leaned under a tree in front of the police station. The leaves rustled against the late October winds. He had to cup his hand around his cigarette as he lit it up. It was early morning, several minutes before office time. So it was quite cold.

He thought about the cases, watching the cars crawl like impatient snails along the road in front of him. It's one heck of a busy road right now, like it always does in late October. People traveling somewhere else in the country to spend the Halloween vacation and visit their dead loved ones.

It was October 28, Monday. He'll never get rest until Friday, November 1. The Day of the Dead. National holiday.

Mr. Zaman appeared beside him. A big, solemn shadow appearing on the tree, like a bad spirit in the movies.

Marky offered him his pack of cigarettes. To his surprise, he picked one.

"You finally gave in, huh?" he said, giving the older officer the lighter.

"We're outside the station. That's not counted," he responded, blowing out a puff.

Marky snickered, "not counted my ass."

For a while, they indulged in comfortable silence. With the familiar whiff of smoke surrounding them.

"I reported to the Chief," Marky broke the silence.

Mr. Zaman looked at him, the three lines in his forehead appearing, "what did you say?"

"The truth."

The older officer made a big sip, "why?"

"I feel like it's the right thing to do," he shrugged, the smoke making rough patterns in the air as he did.

"They might escalate it to the NBI," he replied, mentioning this country's equivalent of the FBI.

Marky took a sip of his cigarette, "surprisingly, they didn't. And the Chief didn't think it was completely bullshit."

Mr. Zaman snickered, coughing as the vile smoke rubbed into his throat.

"In fact, he gave me a very important information."

"Hmm?"

"The former owners of the land where Fleece Suburban stands... they were... they were accused of... witchcraft."

Silence.

"Holy shit," Mr. Zaman gasped, "I remember!"

"Yeah?"

"The fire," he said, sounding as if he unlocked a traumatic memory.

"You think it's witchcraft then?"

"Fuck no! They used it as an excuse to burn down the damn place!" Mr. Zaman said, now angry.

Marky remembered. That land used to be a small village deep in the woods. Quite incredible that such a fairly remote society persisted not far from the city. News of witchcraft then appeared. And spreaded. It's surprising how such bullshit is easily accepted in this superstitious country. So when it burned down, the suspicions of foul play was put behind this apparent lie. When Fleece Suburban appeared in the now sold land, everybody realized. It was all intentional. From the lies to the flames. But of course, what could they do?

It was more than a decade ago. He was still in middle school during those times. There was no classes that day. So it was a holiday, and they were at the cemetery...

"The fire," he blurted, "it happened in... The Day of the Dead!"

"Hmm," Mr. Zaman nodded, "November 1. When everyone was in the cemeteries. Less casualties, and less security in the area. Yeah."

"Do you think it's related. In our cases?"

Mr. Zaman threw his cigarette into the road. He glared at Marky, "no. It's not related in any way. Chief is an asshole who wants easy answers."

Mr. Zaman then stood up and dusted his uniform, "he should have called the NBI instead. Fuck him," he spat and walked away.

"He didn't, but he did something else-"

Mr. Zaman stopped and turned, "what?"

"He summoned the special forensics team. He thought dangerous substances were involved."

"He thinks were on drugs? Ok."

"No. He thinks there may be chemicals used. Some weird acids or whatever."

Mr. Zaman felt dumb for a while, "oh, right."

"By the way, I want to talk to Jenny Young."

He sighed, "for what? Is she a suspect now?"

"No, as a witness. I-"

"She already gave her statement!"

"No, not in Horace's case. In the other - Apollo. She babysits the family, remember?" he said. The truth is, while he also thought that the witchcraft thing is bullshit and confuses him more, he still believed that case number 1's daughter - a descendant of those accused witches - held answers that they were looking for.

*** *** ***

Jenny Young was in the midst of a tragedy. And a part of her knew what happened. It was her mom, who was fuming at her dad at that evening. The worst part is that it's probably karma. Karma for what she did at the afternoon of that day. What she did at the old man Apollo, when she was babysitting there.

And perhaps that's why she insisted to agree to let the cops interrogate her. Her mother didn't want to, but both of them didn't have enough energy to argue.

So both of them went to the station, together with their legal counsel - they share one legal counsel. Only the counsel was allowed to be with her in the interrogation room. Jenny remembered his number two tip: don't speak like you're guilty (number one is the classic, shut the fuck up).

The problem was... she was guilty.

It was Sunday afternoon. Power was out, but it was a cool and wet day. The hurricane was just about to leave the country.

She had been babysitting there for months now. An extra source of allowance, as well as a free time killer. That Sunday, the family invited her to babysit for the afternoon. Not necessarily because the parents will be away, but because they will be fixing the bedroom destroyed by the hurricane. Apparently, a twig or a rock smashed the window. Then the storm did stormy things inside the room. Jenny herself had nothing to do, so she accepted the sudden request.

Jenny arrived after lunch - 2 PM to be exact (one of the cops was asking for an exact time). The entire family was happy to see her, including the little baby. Even their small dog was welcoming her there. But there is one who is not that happy, as usual: Apollo.

Most of the time, she didn't mind the old man. He was oftentimes glued in his couch in one corner. Reading cheap newspapers, which often has barely dressed women in the pages. He would watch cock fights or cheesy '80s ballad videos in his phone. Sometimes he would walk around, but Jenny would barely notice him.

That afternoon, he sat in his usual spot. He was clearly grumpy because power was out and his phone was probably dead, which means that he can't read or watch anything.

So he constantly ordered her to pick up some things. The radio. The battery. The screwdriver. A handkerchief... He shoots her his usual remarks on how she's lazy, or how she's useless, or how she's too slow.

The boiling point happened somewhere in the late afternoon. Maybe 4 PM. Power was still out and Apollo was being more and more annoying. The old bastard asked for a cup of coffee, which she complied. In anger, she slammed the cup a bit too hard, splashing a bit of coffee off the lid and into the table.

"You fucking bitch!" the old man fumed, " didn't your parents teach you manners? Fucking ungrateful brat!"

Jenny didn't respond. Instead, she slowly walked back to the baby's room. She closed the door, careful not to slam it. She thought about locking the door, but she decided not to. It was a mistake. A short while later, the door opened, revealing an angry Apollo. "Hey you, clean up your mess there!"

She glared at him, standing up and walking past him in the doorway. As she walked though, a fat and disgusting set of fingers grabbed her arm.

"And do not close the door on me ever again, you fucking brat. Understand?"

She squirmed and tried to get the hand off. As a response, Apollo squeezed harder, "I said UNDERSTAND!"

"Okay okay!" she snapped her arm, but Apollo's hand wouldn't come off, like it was a pesky tentacle.

Then Apollo's other hand... cold and electrifying... caressing just below her ass. She was wearing thick cotton pants that day, but it doesn't matter how thick and how long she wears. That fucking hand penetrates anything.

Jenny exploded in anger and pushed the old man away with her free hand. Apollo staggered backwards, unclasping her arm. Jenny ran away, but Apollo's hand managed to catch her hair. He yanked it back to the doorway.

At that point, she screamed for the parents, who were at the second floor, busy with cleaning the bedroom. But Apollo's thick hand immediately covered her mouth.

"What did I tell you about snitching on me?" he whispered, "you think they'll believe you over me? Don't even think about it. I'm not afraid of you, and I'm definitely not afraid of your lawyer father."

He gradually released her hair. Jenny fought back her tears.

"Now clean the goddamn mess you had made there!" he said.

She went to the kitchen, getting some rugs. She sniffed as her tears found their way into her nose.

She hated him. And now she wanted to snitch on him. Or strike him. Or do anything just to fight back.

A presence - heavy and cold - appeared behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Don't cry," Apollo wiped her eyes with his gross thumb that reminds her of cheap sausage, "I'm sorry, I just-"

Jenny pushed the dirty hand away. But it came back to her face. Another hand. Right at her left ass cheek, "No seriously I-"

She snapped and grabbed the old man's shirt. "Get away from me!" she said through gritted teeth.

"What do you think you're doing, you brat?" he said, the nauseating fake-sweetness in his voice gone. Ironically, she liked this voice more. "You're supposed to clean up your mess."

Tears fell to her cheeks and all the way to her neck. She had a smooth, oval-shaped face. She inherited her mother's smooth blonde hair, as well as her gorgeous eyes and rounded face. She is pretty, but she wished that she's not in the eyes of this bastard. 

But something happened...

Apollo went away. That's what she remembered. That's what she told the cops. The disgusting presence of the old perverted man melted away. But she realized that she haven't let go of his shirt. Glancing at her clenched fist, she saw not a shirt, but a rag. A pale rag she never saw before.

The rag was swinging in her hand, as if it has a mind of its own. It tried to get a hold of her hand, like a struggling octopus with no tentacles.

She gripped it tighter, and the rag stiffened.

Upon closer inspection. She realized it wasn't rectangular, but has four long strips of clothe near its corners. On one side is a circular strip. It's loosely shaped like a human being.

She grabbed it by its "neck" and brought its head in front of her face. It has two tiny dots for eyes. Jenny found herself smirking as she lowered it to her thighs.

She unzipped her pants, revealing the pale cotton clothes that covers her cunt. She drew the rag closer, as if giving it a sniff of the moist air between her thighs. Sure enough, its "hands" raised like snakes and hungrily reached out for it. She put it closer, but not close enough so it could touch. It wiggled its cloth tentacles. She giggled. She knew perverts can be controlled like this, but not literally like this.

It's Apollo alright.

She zipped her pants back and walked around the living room. She peeked at the kitchen, at the baby's room, at the bathroom and even that sofa... no sign of that dirty old man.

She grinned and went to the table, where the spilled coffee was drying up already, leaving dark impressions of clouds on the table. She sighed as she saw the cup, still full and now cold. Clearly, that asshole just wanted to bother her, not a cup of coffee.

She grabbed the rag and wiped it off. At one swipe, the rag exploded - it flailed in her hand. It snapped its cloth strips everywhere, trying to get away. When it slowed down, she swiped it once again, and the rag-person flailed anew.

Then in a quick zip-zap motion, she wiped off the coffee stain.

"Here," she told the struggling rag, giggling. "I wiped it off. Wait a second-"

She saw that the dark clouds didn't disappear completely. There were still big marks on the table.

She wiped it more, grinding it into the table. She put much of her weight into grinding the cloth into the dirty table. The rag couldn't even flail that much. She could feel it heating up as she scrubbed.

After that, she noticed that the cloth was utterly ruined. It was lacerated all over. Small holes and tears already appeared in some places. It's pretty hot due to the friction. She won't be surprised if it steamed.

Jenny smiled, looking at those "eyes". She turned the "head" back to the table - there were still some few stains. So she scrubbed the "face" on it until her arm get tired and the rag get blazing hot. It flailed the whole time.

She found herself giggling as she saw its "face" barely whole. The tears created a big hole in the middle. She turned the "head" to the table - there were still stains, incredibly. 

Frustrated, she leaned into it and spat a gob of saliva on it. The clear yet sticky mass landed on the table, its tiny bubbles popping. Without any hesitation, she smashed the rag-person's face into it. She smeared her spit on the table - a gross thing that she rarely do, but that day was a special and weird day. The table was so slippery wiping it tickles, and it made the whole several seconds more fun. The cloth quickly absorbed the spittle, and the table quickly dried off as well. Now it is devoid of any pesky black clouds.

She looked at the battered rag, "you're quite weak for a rag"

Without thinking, she threw it on its favorite spot - on the sofa - and walked back to the baby's room. Nobody bothered her for the next few hours.

The cops weren't really interested with how she "found" that rag, or the first time she used it. But their interests piqued at the second and last time she used it.

About a quarter to 4, the baby's mom opened the door to the baby's room. It's unusual to have the door closed. And Jenny realized she closed it due to the irrational fear that the old man will come back to her, vengeful.

But now, the mother was looking for him, Apollo. Apparently, the old man wasn't anywhere in the house. Jenny told her that she didn't know, which was partially true. So, that's what she told the cops too.

Then the mother pointed somewhere in the living room. Apparently, their little doggy made a little mess while she's busy with the baby. The neon yellow puddle stood there, waiting to be cleaned.

She couldn't help but grin as she skipped to the old man's sofa. But the rag wasn't there. She looked around and quickly found it behind the sofa. When she spotted it, it quickly crawled under the sofa. She raised the sofa for a bit and put her foot there, looking for that ragged cloth.

She found it near a corner. She tried grabbing it with her foot, but it's squeezed into a pesky ball. She pushed the sofa off but the ball of cloth crawled back under instantly. Frustrated, she pushed off the sofa one more time and quickly put her foot on the ball of cloth. She then squatted and grabbed it with her hand. However, it slipped off and went back under the sofa. She grunted.

But she had an idea: she gently unzipped her pants, putting it down a bit. Then her panties... she slipped it down slowly... until some of the hair peeked.

In a flash, her other hand shot to the ball of cloth under the sofa. It was a tiny gap and pushing her arm into it hurt a bit. But the rag-person didn't slip away. She unballed the rag and put two of her fingers on the hole of its face, like a plastic bag handle. Now it can't escape no matter how it flailed.

She then walked to the living room, to the puddle of pee. She threw the rag into it. The rag instantly got darker and heavier as it absorbed the urine. Before it could move, Jenny's foot pinned it on the floor and wiped. She looked down at the struggling rag as she wiped off the floor. She felt like she's much higher than this creature, struggling beneath her foot. She put all of her weight into it, almost pushing it into the floor. She gritted her teeth as she stood there, grinding her foot as if killing a bug.

After that, the rag-person was barely moving. Its entire body was full of tears and holes. She grabbed the cloth by its corner and threw it on the garbage can in the kitchen. Just like that, Apollo the old pervert is no more.

*** *** ***

"Horace Young - turned into a cockroach, Stan... turned into a cabbage? And... and Apollo - turned into a rug," Marky was wincing as he said that, sighing.

"Marky?" Mr. Zaman said, the three lines on his forehead deep as usual.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think that it's... organized bullshit?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"That Fleece Suburban folks are covering up the truth - badly."

"Hmm? That's very likely! But I got to admit that place is eerie, man. But them covering it all up? Possible."

"In the same way that people in the slums are covering their neighbors up. Something like that," Mr. Zaman said.

The telephone rang. An officer answered it, then he called both Mr. Zaman and Marky.

"It was a man named Leo."

*** *** ***

Night patrolman Leo was utterly embarrassed and humiliated.

He didn't really want to drag the two officers here - both were now pissed off. And he certainly didn't want to show that he's afraid of a mere young girl - which he was. That girl was there at the far end of his front yard, smiling her annoying boat-shaped smile. She saw him staring and spat a fat loogie on the ground. She wiped it off with her foot.

"Leo," Mr. Zaman said, "you cannot just call us and tell us you're threatened anytime. You know you can be charged for that."

"But she's trespassing!" he said, sounding like a whiny kid.

"But is she armed?" he said.

"Uh- eh... no!"

"Then it's not an emergency."

"I'm not trespassing, I was just strolling a bit!" Jean piped in.

Leo looked down on the ground. He could feel Jean's fiery glare even though he wasn't looking. Gazing up a bit, he saw a glimpse of her feet and long streak of the wiped off spittle. She was wearing those pretty purple flipflops. They look as soft as a rubber can be, but he knew they can feel like metal. He experienced the brutality that they can bring at that night.

As if she read his mind, Jean said, "What did you tell them about me during that night?"

Leo looked up at her, frowning.

"Did you tell them about how I stepped on you and how you cried like a baby?" 

Leo's felt his own face warming up like a flat iron, "that's not true. It-"

"They know," she said, "you don't have to hide it. We don't have to hide it."

"What did you do to him?" Mr. Zaman said, frowning.

"Stepped on him. Nothing too brutal. On his back. Can you show us your back, Leo boy?"

"No. Stop changing the topic!" Leo said.

"What do you mean stepped on him? You trampled on him?" Mr. Zaman said.

"Show us your back so we can see and get the fuck outta here," Marky said, annoyed.

Leo hesitated. Jean cackled. Marky then walked to him and raised his t-shirt. Marky yelled and recoiled, as if he found a live snake beneath.

Mr. Zaman went and took a look, "holy shit."

Marky knew what they were. Pink lines that were a bit patterned. About an inch thick and covering his entire back.

"Psst!" Jean said and the three men turned to her. She raised her foot so it shows the sole of her flip-flop. The pattern of that slipper... matches the ones in his back.

"Go to the station," Marky said, "now!!!"

*** *** ***

The night of Friday, October 25 was definitely the weirdest moment of Leo's life. He wouldn't tell anyone about it, not only because it sounds bullshit, but also because it's embarrassing.

But if it means standing up to that bitch Jean and even prosecuting her, he'll tell the cops. He'll tell them what actually happened.

The part until Jean's unwelcome appearance were all true. Captain and his friends were drinking late at night, and this girl just went out of her house and told them to be quiet. It's also true that she looked hot that night, even in the dim light, but of course Leo wouldn't say it with Jean there. And yes, Captain and some of the men did touched Jean in places they shouldn't. Driven by alcohol, they were sputtering with sexual remarks.

And yes, Leo stopped Jean, not the horny drunken men. But there's a reason for that.

It was because when she pushed Captain away, the old man fell on the ground, whining in pain. His friends gathered around him. When he saw Jean walking to them slowly, wearing a malicious grin, he stopped the girl.

He wouldn't forget how Captain sat there, looking up at the much younger girl with fear in his eyes. He moved like he was restrained, even if he's not. And he shrank. Literally. Shrank before his two sober eyes.

He grabbed his baton and pushed Jean back to her home, but at that exact moment, all his strength left him. He felt like he had a "power" switch that's been shut off in a flick. He wasn't able to push the girl an inch. Instead, he fell on his knees and dropped his baton. It rolled away. 

He found himself kneeling and looking up at the girl, who was glaring at him.

"Stop this," he said.

The girl smiled and pushed him softly. He tumbled like an empty plastic bottle. He crawled towards his baton, but...

He felt the rubber sole on his back, as well as Jean's presence, her shadow covering the ground in front of him, "What was it again, sir?"

He whined as a response.

But that was not the stepping that Jean was talking about.

As he flailed, trying to get free, his body felt stiff for some reason. Jean's foot sank deeper into his back. He felt like he was moving underwater. And that he's getting smaller.

Wait, he was getting smaller. Shrinking, just like what he saw happened with Captain.

The flip-flop got bigger and heavier gradually. He progressively got weaker and more intimidated by the ground. "What the fuck!" he cried.

It then came to the point where the slipper covered everything below the back of his head. He could barely move. It felt like a car was pinning him down.

Jean grunted as she pushed her foot deeper. Leo screamed in pain, "AAAAAH!!! STOP STOP! PLEASE!"

That prompted the girl to push her foot even further, "what is it, I can't hear you."

She rubbed her foot downwards - from his head to his legs, releasing him. He was not only bursting in tears, but dripping with snot too.

"You will not tell anyone about this, understand?" she said.

He merely sniffed.

She put her slipper on his body again, this time with the tip directly on his head.

"Yes yes I underst- AAAAAAH!" he felt like his head would break like eggs, or burst like a grape. The flip-flop felt like a rocky boulder. It rubbed his head from side to side, smearing some of his tears and snot on the ground and on his face. It seems that the mysterious stiffness of his body was preventing him from being a red pulp.

She raised her foot off his trembling body and squatted above of him, "You will not tell anyone about this. About what I can do, okay? It wasn't like anyone would believe you anyway."

"Okay.."

"I asked you a question!"

"OKAY OKAY! I UNDERSTAND I UNDERSTAND!"

"Good," Jean giggled and stood up.

Then Leo felt a comet fell on him, making his vision entirely white. Jean just stomped on him. His body felt like it was glowing in pain, yet the pain was dampened by the stiffness of it. He felt like... rubber.

Before he could recover, another comet fell. Another white flash.

Glitters filled his vision as he reoriented himself. He spat a bit as he accidentally ate some of the dust on the ground. He slowly got up with painful arms, and heard that bitch giggling.

Then truck-sized force hit his side, throwing him into the building-sized garbage can.

Jean left him there, to the alcohol-stenched corner. Captain and the others already left. So he waited there alone with his existential fear of being this way forever or simply being eaten by small animals.

He gradually grew back after what felt like hours. His entire body hurts, like he just got beaten up. Of course he did get beaten up. By a girl younger than him. He sat there on the ground, leaning on the garbage can. It took him a couple of hours to recover.

After his narration, he saw Jean beaming. The two officers were as annoyed as ever.

A few questions raised. As Jean supplied more info, Leo learned that she made his body made of rubber, which explains that stiff feeling.

The officers warned Jean about trespassing to anyone's property again, and both them about lying and withholding information. They then told Leo they wanted to examine those embarrassing marks on his back. He could tell they were trying to smell a whiff of bullshit in all of these.

Before they left, the two officers grunted and almost fell on their knees. They looked like old men struggling with arthritis.

Leo was confused, but when Jean smiled at the two, he knew.

"Anything wrong officer?" Jean said, grinning.

His knees felt weak as well, not because of Jean's spell, but because of fear. If even these two supposedly best officers can easily be under Jean's spell, then what can he do? Where will he find support?

Jean left the station, leaving Leo and the officers there. Leo couldn't help but dread the moment he will return to the suburbs, at Jean's range of attack.