There’s a New Doug in Town

...and Doug isn’t happy about it!

Doug looked wistfully through his open window at the moving truck across the street. He hadn’t seen his new neighbors yet, but his mother had met the matriarch and learned that there was a boy Doug’s age in the family. Everyone else in the neighborhood besides Skeeter was either much older or much younger than him, so Doug was excited, especially since he saw so many interesting things being moved into the house: an arcade machine, life-size cutouts of The Beets, and even a guitar. A real guitar! Doug thought. The only guitar him and Skeeter had ever played was an air guitar.

The summer zephyr that rattled Doug’s window-frame suddenly turned into a tempestuous gale as a thunderous roar filled the air. Doug shielded his eyes and saw weeds and dust blowing across the street, away from a central point in the street where a helicopter eventually touched down and ceased its engine.

‘Wow!’ Doug said. ‘A helicopter!’ The wind had settled, and he heard someone step out of the helicopter’s opposite end.

‘So this is my new place, huh?’ said a boy’s voice. Doug rushed to meet him.

As Doug rounded the helicopter, he saw an average looking boy wearing glasses and dressed in unstylish clothes. Across the back of his shirt was stitched the word.…

‘Doug?’ Doug said in dismay. The boy faced him with a curious look on his face.

‘Yeah, bitch?’ he said.

At first Doug was somewhat amused by the boy’s name, but this disrespect, and towards him, the original Doug, filled him with silent rage. ‘Oh, sorry. It’s just that my name is also Doug,’ he said calmly.

‘Yeah, sure,’ the boy laughed.

Doug wondered what Quailman would do in a situation like this. He pictured himself as Quailman, forcing the boy’s face through a cheese grater.

‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ said Doug, ‘but, well, I’m the only Doug in Bluffington, at least I was until now. Don’t you think we should keep things that way? I mean, me being as popular as I am, you’ll hardly want to be compared unfairly to me. So what do you say?’

‘Somehow I think I can meet your standards,’ said the boy. ‘So I don’t mind being compared to you. What should I call you?’

Doug gritted his teeth. ‘I don’t think you understand,’ he said. ‘You’re the one getting a new name, not me. There just isn’t enough room for two Dougs in this town, and seeing as I was already here—’

‘Yeah, whatever, fine. Come to think of it, I don’t think I want to be associated with a jackass like you anyways. What new name did you have in mind?’

He didn’t have anything in mind, really. Doug tried to come up with something and quickly remembered a name he had always liked: Lucetius. It was something he’d thought up for a superhero he’d invented. He’d even thought about going by it himself, but knew it would result in unending and merciless teasing by Roger Klotz and his gang. He grinned a sinister grin. ‘Pleased to meet you, Lucetius,’ he said.

The boy smiled. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Now run back into your house, Doug, and watch me get the high score on this DDR machine.’ He ripped off his tear-away pants and started dancing. Doug ran as fast as he could.

The next day, Doug whistled a merry tune as he got ready for school. There was going to be a new scapegoat in school, and he was fully prepared to laugh at their many humiliations. ‘Lucetius!’ he giggled. He was so busy giggling that he made himself late for class. When he realized this, he kicked himself for having missed Lucetius’ introduction and ran, hoping to make his first class in time to watch Lucetius’ world come crumbling down.

But when Doug entered the school building, something seemed horribly wrong. The lockers were overturned and the walls were painted with colorful tribal imagery like men, fire, hunting spears, and animals. As Doug continued down the hall, he glanced into a few of the class rooms and saw many strange sights, though most of the classes were engaged in some kind of group prayer or chant. ‘What in the.…’

‘Hooba, hooba, hooba, hey!’ a group of them yelled as they burst out of a room not far from where Doug was standing. Doug didn’t have time to hide himself, and he was too frightened to run, so he stood terrified and awaited their approach.

‘Lucetius!’ Doug said. The boy was being carried on their shoulders atop an elaborately decorated bamboo chair. ‘What in the—! This is just—! I—!’ He backed into a corner, holding his head in wonderment, and nearly cried out in dismay.

‘Doug! Isn’t it great? Turns out there’s some ancient prophecy in Bluffington about a man proclaiming himself the Lucetius. I’m their Messiah!’

‘That’s … that’s not possible!’ Doug said weakly. His knees buckled as he slid down the corner into a crouching position, still clutching his face.

‘Odin came and made me the Thunder God! Now I command the clouds! Isn’t that cool? And at an assembly, I was granted sexual relations twelve times as an offering from the school. Ah, I tell you, that Patti is somethin’ else.’

‘You had sex with Patti?!’

‘Twelve times!’ the boy gloated.

‘AAAH!’ Doug cried. He jumped to his foot and pushed past the crowd into a darkened classroom, red with anger but at the same time torn by sadness. Lucetius and his entourage slowly left down the hall, talking loudly about an ice cream party in the school’s north wing. When they could no longer be heard, Doug calmed himself by singing familiar lullabies.

‘Hush little baby,’ he sang. After a few minutes, he realized his singing was being accompanied by a guitar. He stood up quickly and asked who was there, flipping the switch so that light poured into the room.

Skeeter sat in his familiar yellow pantaloons and orange lightning-bolt shirt at the head of the class, legs propped up on the teacher’s desk. He strummed the same guitar Doug had seen being moved into Lucetius’ house the day before. ‘Honk, honk! Hey, Doug!’ he said.

‘Skeeter!’ Doug yelled. ‘Where did you get that guitar?! Don’t tell me Lucetius gave it to you.’

‘Oh, no way!’ Skeeter said. ‘I stole it, but—’

‘Thank God,’ Doug said, fully relieved. ‘Look, we have to do something. The whole school’s gone mad and we’re the only ones who can save it.’

‘What are you honking about, Doug?’ Skeeter said and set the guitar down on the desk before planting his feet on the ground. There was a mad gleam in his bug eyes. ‘You’re not talking about Lucetius, are you?’

Doug was unnerved. Suddenly Skeeter seemed to be bearing down on him from behind the desk. ‘Skeeter, please, you’re my friend. Don’t tell me Lucetius has gotten to you, too. You said you stole his guitar!’

‘No!’ Skeeter cried in sudden pain. ‘I stole Doug’s guitar. I would never harm Lucetius. Never! It was before … before he became the Exalted One! Before I knew, I swear! Besides, he’s already forgiven me and I’ve returned the guitar—he’s just letting me borrow it for now.’ Skeeter buried his head in his hands. ‘To think that I would ever harm Lucetius.… Doug, it’s all in the past, so please don’t make me remember. Lucetius and I are friends now.’

‘Skeeter!’ Doug cried out, questioningly.

‘I’m sorry, Doug,’ Skeeter bawled. ‘When I saw he had a guitar, I just went nuts, honk. A real guitar! Can you honkin’ believe it? It’s so much cooler than that stupid, honk, air guitar of yours.’ He let out a long, wounded honk.

‘But you taught that to me!’ Doug said.

‘I’ll say it again,’ Skeeter said. He lifted his gaze and stared into Doug’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Doug. But Lucetius is.…’

Doug raised his hands in self-defense, trying to make Skeeter understand the pain he was causing him. He covered his ears, trying to ward out what he knew would follow, but there was no stopping Skeeter from delivering the fatal blow.

‘…my new best friend.’

It felt as though a dagger had pierced Doug’s heart. He went running out of the class room and down the hall in an aimless stupor. Throughout his mind raced the same question, What would Quailman do? He continued down the hall, knocking down everyone and everything in his path. He burst through a glass display and the shards cut his entire body. Blood poured in streams from the wounds, but he would not be stopped.

‘I know what Quailman would do!’ Doug said. He was slowly making his way to the north wing.

‘Hey, my ice cream!’ Connie cried. Doug had stomped right past her and into the triple fudge sundae lying on the floor. ‘Jerk!’ she yelled after him, but Doug didn’t hear. He was dead set on finding Lucetius.

‘And so I said, “Go to hell, Doug!”’ Lucetius laughed. The surrounding gaggle of students gazed at him in awe. ‘So of course I reported him to the police. Tax fraud is a serious crime. It’s just sad to see them so young falling into the abyss.’

‘N-n-now you’re t-telling lies ab-b-bout me?!’ Doug screamed. He made his way through the crowd of students, wide eyed and furious. He seemed to be looking at nothing and never blinked, trembling so terribly that it affected his speech by inserting rapid machine-gun stutters into his words. Releasing a primal scream, he quickly reared his head back and forth and spewed a frothy drool from his mouth, forcing the crowd to step back a few feet to avoid getting hit.

‘Uh, hey Doug!’ Lucetius said with evident fear. ‘Good to, um, see you. I was just telling—agh! Doug, you’re hurting me!’ Doug had placed a clawed hand around the boy’s neck, squeezing tightly, and forced him uncomfortably against the cold locker wall.

Lucetius tried to drop to his knees, whimpering in pain, but Doug held him steady within his powerful grip and turned the boy on his side, pressing Lucetius’ cheek against the locker’s grated air-holes.

The students let out a collective gasp but did nothing as Doug moved the boy up and down against the locker, removing more and more layers of his face, like in some horrible nightmare.

When the boy was bloody and no longer conscious, Doug threw him to the ground and stood victoriously over his body. He took a deep breath and, in a primal roar of accession, addressed the awaiting crowd:

‘I’m the new Lucetius!’

The end.