Nick stood outside of Shannahan's, smoking a cigarette. The cruel winter air stung his eyes and froze his face.

   Ring Ring.

   "What's up, sweety?" Nick asked.

   "Hey, babe, I'm sorry to bother you, but there's brown water pouring out of the sink, and there's a large wet spot in the ceiling that's dripping water,"

   "I'll call the landlord tomorrow,"

   "Okay, see you when you get home."

Click.

A wave of heat washed over Nick, thawing his nose and cheeks. He pushed past the crowd of drunken patrons staring at the football game on the TV. The combination of drunken chatter and boisterous cheering made it hard for Nick to hear himself think. The smell of sweat, beer, and liquor assaulted his nostrils. Nick ordered two beers, then took a seat at a table in the back.

Pictures of famous athletes hung on the dark brown walls, along with football helmets and a framed signed Tom Brady jersey. A fat man with short blonde hair wearing a Patriots jersey that hardly covered his gut sat next to a tall skinny man. The thin man's Super Bowl fifty-three cap almost covered his entire face. He picked at the nachos in front of him.

"Ya think Brady screwed the Pats by leaving?" The fat man asked.

The thin man popped a jalapeno in his mouth. "Probably not. Brady's washed up; the Bucs probably won't go very far in the playoffs."

The fat man shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "You know what's weird?"

The thin man wiped his mouth with a napkin. "What?"

"Those missing person posters hung up around town. Did you hear anything about that?"

"Something strange is going on. A friend of a friend had a job in Burningham and never came back,"

"No one looked for them?"

"The guys were here illegally. No one knows about them except for a handful of family members,"

A heavy hand landed on Nick's shoulder, breaking his focus on the conversation. Nick glanced up at Jack; he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. The lights reflected off his domed head; his double chin bulged like the throat of a bullfrog, a trickle of blood ran down the "X" shaped scar on his forehead.

"Ordered you a drink," Nick said.

Jack sat down and sipped his drink. "Thanks; how are things with your family?"

Nick took a napkin from the holder and handed it to Jack. "Your forehead's bleeding."

Jack wiped the blood away and crumpled the napkin. "Thanks."

"I'm trying to get Chante and Adrian out of the slum. I've been working my ass off, but it feels like no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to dig us out of the hole. I'm just worried we'll be in that apartment forever. I don't want my son to grow up as I did. I want to give him a better life,"

Jack killed the rest of his beer. "I have a job for you if you're interested,"

"What are you talking about?"

Jack leaned in so only Nick could hear him. "There's this place in the boonies, it's abandoned. A guy at the scrap yard told me about it today. The house belonged to an old rich married couple. No one's knocked the place over yet. Are you in?"

"I want to stay on the straight and narrow from here on out. I want to be there for Adrian. Growing up, my dad was in and out of jail, and I didn't have anyone there for me. I want Adrian to have it better than I did,"

"Your family can have it all and more with this score,"

"I just don't feel right about stealing people's stuff anymore,"

Jack placed his hand on Nick's shoulder and grinned. "Look, kid, this place is deserted; there's jewelry and other shit for us to steal. This place is in the sticks; no one will see us, so you don't have to worry about being sent back to prison. We could make a killing, and you and your family can move into a decent place. So, what do you say?"

"I can't let Chante down. If I get locked up again, it'd kill her,"

Jack sighed. "Kid, if you pass this up, you'll be passing up a big opportunity. This score could help lift you and your family out of the poor house, but I can't force you,"

   Jack's words bounced around Nick's mind. He thought back to earlier in the night at his apartment. He sat at the edge of his bed with Chante behind him wrapped up in a blanket, tufts of black hair poked out from the edges of her bonnet. She massaged his shoulders.

   "What's wrong, babe?" Chante asked.

   "This is no place to raise a family," Nick said.

   Chante wrapped her tiny arms around Nick. "I want to get out of here too, but it takes time. I don't want Adrian to struggle."

   "I don't either; I remember going days without food and having to sleep on a mattress with bed bugs,"

Chante kissed Nick on the cheek. "We'll figure it out, baby."

Jack's snapping fingers brought Nick back to reality. "Are you gonna answer me or not, kid? I don't have all night."

Nick stared into his mug as if the beer could decide for him. "I'm in,"

Jack patted Nick hard on the back. "Attaboy," Jack fished his keys out of his jacket pocket. "Wait for me in my van while I take care of the tab."

Nick watched from the van as Jack flirted a bit with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed bartender. She fake laughed at his stupid jokes. Jack's old enough to be that girl's father. Jack gave a wave and left the bar. A dark-haired server joined her at the bar. Nick couldn't hear what they were saying, but by how their lips moved, he could tell they were talking about Jack. The pair erupted into laughter as soon as he left. Jack opened the door, a gust of ice-cold wind hit Nick in the face like a sucker punch. He scooted into the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life as Jack turned the key.

A grin spread across his face. "I've got a date with a couple of ripe young things next week."

Ring Ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, do you mind picking up the baby formula on your way home?"

"Yeah, no problem,"

"Thanks. I love you,"

"Love you too."

Click.

Jack made a whipping motion with his hand and a whipping sound with his mouth.

Nick shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Whatever, man, at least I'm getting laid, unlike you. How old were those girls you were hitting on, sixteen?"

"They're old enough,"

"They laughed at your geriatric ass as soon as you turned around,"

Jack pulled onto the road and started driving. "Watch your mouth, kid. I like you, but that doesn't mean I won't whoop your ass."

"In your dreams, old man,"

"I was kicking people's asses before you were born, kid."

Nick rolled his eyes. "So, this place is in Burningham? I overheard the guys at the table over talking about a work crew going missing there,"

Jack scoffed. "People love to make up bullshit."

Nick gazed at the pine trees as they sped down the road. He hadn't been this close to nature since a field trip to Yellow Brook Trail when he was in grade school. The van turned down the long icy driveway. The house was so tall it nearly touched the sky. Jack reached behind the seat and grabbed two duffle bags. He unzipped it and handed Nick a pistol and flashlight.

Nick considered the gun. "You said they abandoned this place,"

Jack tapped the scar on his forehead with the barrel of his pistol. "Experience dictates never go into a job unprepared. Trust me, there's nothing worse than being caught with your pants down and with your dick in your hand."

Nick tucked his gun away. "What tricks do you have in that bag?"

Jack reached into the bag and pulled out a crowbar and hammer. "Just tools. Let's get moving. I don't want to spend any more time out here than I have to."

They trudged through ankle-deep snow toward the front door. Jack tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. Nick stepped back, then kicked the door. He took a few more steps back, rushed at the door, and kicked it off its hinges. They strolled around the door into the kitchen.

Jack flicked on his flashlight. "Good job, kid."

Mouse droppings littered the yellow flower-patterned linoleum floor. A green substance coated the walls and porcelain countertop. Black mold covered most of the ceiling. The air tasted like dead leaves. A black leather-bound notebook with a symbol of a scorpion on the front caught Nick's interest. He opened it and began to read.

Entry 1
My husband has cancer. I knew something was wrong when Henry started skipping meals and losing weight out of nowhere. In the forty years of marriage, I've never seen that man miss a meal. Henry complained about his back and stomach hurting. After being a doctor for thirty years, I could easily spot the signs of cancer. I forced Henry to make an appointment after I found him writhing on the floor in agony.

"We didn't come here to read their diary, kid," Nick said as he pulled a box of cornflakes off the fridge.

"You're going to steal their cornflakes?" Nick asked.

Jack opened the box and pulled out four wads of money. "You do this for as long as I have, kid, and you learn all sorts of crap about people," Jack threw two wads into his bag and tossed the other two to Nick. "People think they're clever with their hiding spots. There's no hiding spot I haven't seen."

"I'll search upstairs,"

"I'm going to search the bathroom,"

"When you're finished, meet me in the living room."

Nick's flashlight illuminated the darkness. Blood covered the smashed tile floor. Nick squeaked open the medicine cabinet, revealing the floss, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and perfume bottles lined the shelves. Coming up with nothing, he shut the cupboard. Something black landed on Nick's foot. Nick shined the light on his shoe to see a small scorpion staring back at him with its pinchers raised. He kicked his foot, launching the creature into the hallway. He crouched down and opened the vanity. Empty plastic shopping bags, an old hairdryer, and a tampon box filled the cabinet. He grabbed the box and pulled out a wad of cash.

Entry 2
During breakfast this morning, wads of money fell into my cereal bowl. Henry laughed as I put the fake cereal box back on top of the fridge. That man thinks he's so clever with his hiding spots. I didn't have the heart to tell him that a cereal box is one of the most obvious hiding places. It felt good to see him smile; I can't remember the last time he smiled since he started chemo. To cheer him up, I took him to the antique shop we frequented before he got sick. While Henry browsed, I spotted an odd statue. The statue had a scorpion's body, batwings, snake's head, rubies for eyes, and an emerald in the center of its forehead. The thing was dreadful, but there was Something about the bizarre work of art that intrigued me.
I asked the owner about it, and he said that the statue was a depiction created by a follower of the Cult of  Khatgakh. As odd as it sounds, the idol's beauty captivated me. To Henry's dismay, I bought the sculpture.

"Are you done in there?" Jacked called.

"Yeah."

Nick returned to the living room to find Jack tearing up a black leather sofa. He sunk his hands into the gashes and pulled out clumps of yellow foam. "Find anything in the bathroom?"

Nick gazed at the pictures of an elderly couple on the wall. "I found more cash also, and I found a scorpion in the bathroom,"

Jack stretched and cracked his back. "I found it in the bedroom and found a shit ton of jewelry too. Don't worry; you'll get your cut. See what you can find in here."

Entry 3
I had the most peculiar dream last night. I woke up in a dark abyss, cold, naked, and afraid. Two red orbs hovered in the sky next to each other. Above the orbs was a green glowing rhombus shape. The smell of rot and decay assailed my senses. Hissing and clicking filled the air. As my eyes adjusted, I realized the bizarre shapes belonged to Something my fragile mind could hardly comprehend. It promised that if I worship him and offered sacrifice, he'd heal Henry's cancer.

Entry 4
The following day I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs. I followed the scent to the kitchen, where there was a plate of food waiting for me. Immediately, I caught Henry eating a mouse. Even more disturbing was his appearance. His skin had turned a blackish-green color and had a rough exterior like a body of a scorpion.

Entry 5
Last night a man tried to break into my house. He pounded on the door, demanding to come in, and there had been a terrible car crash outside. Stupidly, I cracked the door open; the man forced his way in and shoved a gun in my face. As he demanded money, I noticed Henry crept up on him and impaled him with a large stinger that burst from his back. Henry dragged the dead man away without saying a word.


Jack pointed to a lever attached to the bookcase. "What do you think that does?"

Nick pulled the lever, but it didn't budge. "Shit, I'm going to need a hand with this."

Jack chuckled. "Oh, come on, put a little elbow grease into it,"

"Just come over here and help me!" Nick barked.

Jack strolled over. "Never send a boy to do a man's job."

Jack grabbed the lever, and they pulled it. The sound of gears clicking and shifting rang in their ears. Nick pushed the shelf aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind it.

  Jack cracked his neck and stretched his arms. "Alright, let's check this out."

"I'm not going down there," Nick said.

"Why?"

"Man, I think it's time to get out of here,"

"You know what I see?"

"What?"

"Opportunity,"

"Opportunity? I see a trap."

"Think of what else could be down there. I won't force you to go; you can leave,"

Jack grabbed his duffle bag and wandered into the darkness. "See ya on the flip side."

Entry 6
Henry told me he needs to eat. Rodents aren't cutting it anymore; It's hard to look Henry in the eye. I hate how he looks at me, and I feel like he sees me as a piece of meat rather than his wife. Deep in my heart, I know I should leave, but where will I go? Henry's the only family I have, and I have faith the man I married is still in there somewhere. Forever or worse, right?

Nick ran his fingers through his hair, then followed Jack into the darkness. The bottom of the staircase was a small chapel. Torches fastened to the stone walls brightened the room. Mutilated men laid against either side of the border, some of them impaled through their midsections as rats fed on their organs, small scorpions crawled in and out of the gaping holes where the men's eyes used to be, and the rest had their arms or legs torn off—a dying man laid on an altar.

Entry 7
I deserve to die for what I've done. I hired a crew to build an extra room. Once the crew finished, I locked the men down there so Henry could feed. I'll never get their screams out of my head. I can't do this anymore; I have to leave Henry for my sanity.

Nick stared at the corpse in horror. "Jesus…"

"Jesus doesn't exist here," Jack said.

"We need to get out of here now,"

Jack pointed at the statue. "Opportunity."

Nick pointed at the pile of bodies. "Death."

Jack removed the hammer crowbar from his bag. "Those gems are worth money. If you don't want to help me, that's fine, more cash for me."

"See if that guy has any cash on him. I'll get to work on the gems," Jack said.

Greenish-yellow ooze dripped from a hole in the man's chest. Nick pulled the dead man's wallet from his pocket. He flipped it open and pocketed a one-hundred-dollar bill. An icy hand clasped around Nick's wrist. The man was still alive; hampered breaths left his mouth.

"Kill me..." He croaked.

The rubies fell from the statue's eyes. "Come to poppa," Jack forced the crowbar into a crevice that surrounded the emerald. "Now, it's your turn, my shiny little friend."

 The smell of death and rot got stronger.
Nick tore away from the dying man's grasp and pulled his gun out. "Hurry. I don't want to be here more than I have to."

A heavy thump resounded from behind the two men. Nick looked over his shoulder to see the horror. Its flesh black plated armor, a large stinger protruded from her back, its mandibles clicked and clacked as drool dripped from its mouth onto the cobblestone floor, two red eyes were on her forehead, and two sets of five blue eyes were on either side of her cheeks, the stinger that protruded from the beast's back squirted green ooze, its pinchers snapped open.

Nick pointed his gun at the monster. "Jack, we have a situation."

Jack pried the emerald from the statue and tucked it away. "Hold on,"
He turned around to see the terror that stood before them. Without a second of hesitation, he brandished his pistol and opened fire.
Arches of blue blood sprayed from its body as bullets punched holes through its abdomen. They fired until their guns clicked. Cautiously, Jack approached the corpse. He balefully kicked the body. "She's de-"

The stinger sprang to life and speared Jack through the stomach. He gripped the slimy appendage as he dropped to his knees. Jack pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed. Tears cascaded down his face. He opened his mouth to let out a sob, but blood erupted from his mouth, followed by gurgles. He pathetically aimed the gun at the abomination. In one swift motion, the atrocity tore Jack's hand off with its pinchers. Jack's eyes widened as crimson spouted from his stump.

Nick slung Jack's duffle bag over his shoulder then picked up the crowbar. He rushed the freak from behind and smashed it over the head. It let out an ear-shattering wail and dropped to its knees. Nick raised the bar, ready to deliver the killing blow, then the stinger came to life and buried itself in Nick's knee. Shockwaves of pain traveled up and down his knee. The appendage violently ripped itself from Nick's leg; he clasped his hands around the wound as blood gushed down the limb.

The stinger rocketed for Nick's chest; he rolled out of the way and grabbed the crowbar with his bloody hand, and swung it at the abominations knee. A sickening crack along with a hideous shriek from the monstrosity bounced off the walls of the chapel. It collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud; Nick forced himself to his feet, raised the bar over his head, and brought it down over and over until the creature's chunky, blue viscera covered him. He hobbled over to Jack's corpse, ripped a section of his shirt off, and tied it around his knee. Nick limped to the van with both duffle bags in hand. As he drove away from the house of horrors, he felt himself getting sleepy. He veered off the road and crashed into a tree.

Nick woke up, not sure how long he had been out. He slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His back was stiff and ached severely. It took him a moment to realize where he was. Blue walls surrounded him, and pictures of him and Chante hung on the walls. Nick hadn't dreamt of that awful night in years; the medicine wasn't helping with the nightmares. He was an old man with a potbelly and gray hair. Nick peeled himself off the bed and limped into the kitchen. A plate of chocolate chip pancakes and a cup of black coffee waited for him at his spot at the table. Jay, his grandson, sat at the table with his head buried in an entomology book. He was the spitting image of his father: tall, lanky, black curly hair. Chante stood at the stove frying bacon.

"Do you want any more bacon, Jay?" Chante asked.

Jay glanced up from his book. "No, thank you."

Nick sipped his coffee. "What book are you reading?"

"It's a book dad brought home from work. I'm reading about scorpions. Did you know scorpions can control how much venom they release when they sting their prey?"

"No, I didn't," Nick said.

Chante turned the stove burner off and joined her family at the table. "Are you excited to start high school, Jay?"
"Not really,"

"You'd rather stay home and read about bugs all day, don't you?" Nick chuckled. "If you ask me, all bugs should die. I didn't like school either, but school is important. Get yourself a good education, and you'll be just like your old man."

Nick felt Something crawl up his leg. He glanced down to see a scorpion staring up at him. His heart pounded, and he sprang from his chair, knocking it down in the process. Nick swiped the arachnid onto the floor and raised his foot to stomp the creature. Flashbacks of the dead bodies, Jack dying, and the grotesque monster flashed through his head like lightning.

"Stop!" Jay rushed over and scooped the scorpion up off the ground.

Nick stabbed his finger in Jay's chest. "What is that thing doing here?!"

"Nick, stop!" Chante interjected.

Jay backed away. "I thought I locked his cage. I don't know how Aiden got out; I'm sorry!"

Nick picked his chair off the ground and plopped down as beads of sweat poured down his wrinkled face. "If you're going to bring your pets here, you need to make sure they can't get out."

           "Okay," Jay said as he walked off.

"It's too bad that the boy doesn't want to be an exterminator," Nick said.

Derek was filled with a mixture of anxiety and excitement as Jack’s pickup pulled up to the old abandoned high school. This was the party spot for plenty of teenagers around town, because it was on the edge of town and out of the way, so any parties wouldn’t be broken up by cops.

“Can we roll a blunt now? I haven’t had a chance to smoke all day. I had to babysit my younger brother. Those stupid cartoons they have out nowadays really suck. Cartoon Network used to be great, but now it’s gone down the toilet. “Teen Titans” was great now that have this stupid “Teen Titans Go” Shit. It’s enough to make me cry.” Chloe said.

Jack reached into his coat pocket and produced a blunt. “Here, I rolled this earlier you can have it. I picked up from my guy earlier. We've got plenty for tonight.”

Chloe took the joint and sparked it up a large plume of smoke rose from her lungs as she exhaled. Derek couldn’t help, but to keep sneaking glances at her. Her porcelain white skin looked so beautiful in the pale moonlight. He always imagined what it’d be like to run his fingers through her long fiery red hair. Chloe's dark purple eye shadow always brought out her crystal blue eyes, and her black lipstick made her lips plumper and more kissable.

Jack turned to Marcus who was sitting next to Derek in the back. “Hand me a beer.”

Marcus pulled a bottle from the twenty-four pack and handed it to Jack. “Here. pass that joint my way when you’re done puffing on it, Chloe.”

Chloe sneared. “Fuck off, get your own this is mine.”

Marcus kicked the back of her seat balefully. “Fuck off? Bitch you stole owe me for that ounce I fronted you.”

Chloe turned around and blew smoke in Marcus’ face. “Yeah, and I had to suck your teenie weenie dick for it. You should eat more fruit and shave down there.”

Marcus sniggered. “You need to learn how to suck. That was the toothiest blowjob I’ve ever had.”

Chloe scoffed. “Don’t talk shit about my head game you cam, you’re just mad I spit your gross ass load out. You would know something about sucking dick anyway you probably sucked dick to get that weed.”

Marcus punched Chole in the arm. “Your momma, bitch.”

“Is your momma the one who taught you how to suck dick? Cause she’s certainly the one who taught you how to punch, my brother hits harder.”

Derek wished that for once Chloe would suck his dick. But she just saw him as a friend even though he was a nice guy. He held the door open for her and was there for her every time someone broke her heart. He wasn’t like one of those jerks she always dated; he was a true gentleman.

Jack opened the truck door. “I’ll roll another one when we get in now shut the fuck up.”

We walked around the school and jimmied open a classroom window and climbed through.

“Careful, Chloe here let me help you.” Derek said.

Chloe climbed through without an issue. “I’m fine thanks.”
Where were we gonna party?” Marcus asked.

“The gym.” Jack answered.

They used the flashlight on their cell phones to illuminate their surroundings. They walked down the hallway, Derek couldn’t help, but notice how clean the floors and lockers looked. Someone was taking care of this place.

Chloe shivered. “I’m cold.”

Derek wrapped his arm around her. “I’ll warm you up.”

Chloe pursed her lips and pushed him away. “I’m good thanks, Derek.”

“Man, she’s not into you, stop it. I’ve seen all the dumb shit you’ve been posting on Facebook about how you’re a true gentlemen and how women are sluts. Pathetic.”

“Don’t be such a dick, Marcus.” Chloe chided.

Marcus snorted. “You know I’m right.”

“Shut up I don’t like you like that either.” Chloe responded.

“You don’t like me?” Derek asked, his eyes were watery as if he was about to cry.

They approached the gym and  Jack kicked open the gym double doors.

“Ladies and gentlemen it’s party time!” He yelled.
Jack took a seat on the bleachers, and pulled a baggie of weed from his jacket pocket then began rolling joints. “Do you guys know why this place is abandoned?”

Chloe cracked open a beer. “Why?”

Jack shined his flashlight on his face. “It happened thirty years ago. A few seniors like us wanted to pull off a big prank before they left. They hated the janitor, he was a dick. The janitor Frank Thompson got one of their friends arrested. Frank found weed in their locker, and the friend was expelled. Revenge was very much on the seniors minds before they would graduate. The plan was to leave a big mess and trap Frank in the gym, then one of them would put a bucket over his head. Then they’d bend him over, pull his pants down and shove a broomstick up his butt.”

“Ew.” Chloe said.

“Well, it didn’t go the way they wanted. They ambushed Frank, but they weren’t expecting him to put up a fight. Right when it seemed like their prank had failed one of the seniors snuck up on Frank and struck him in the head with the bucket knocking him out. The seniors were not content with that, they were gonna finish their mission. They shoved the bucket over Frank’s face and removed his pants, then they humiliated him. They shoved the broomstick so far and deep inside of him. But the story doesn’t end there, A month later Frank would have his revenge. The seniors were found in the center of the gym with a broomstick shoved up each of their butts.

Marcus took the joint from Jack and puffed on it. “Sounds like a lot to digest.”

“Did they spit on it?” Derek asked.

“Shut up.” Jack chastised.
They took it too far, the broomstick was shoved so far it was coming out his mouth.” Jack finished.

“How’d they get away with killing him?” Marcus asked.

Jack smirked. “Well, there weren’t tons of cameras around in nineteen-ninety like there are today. No one knew and no one really cared. Frank wasn’t the most liked guy in the world. You’d think something like that would be a big thing in the paper, but no. It’s a small town and people’s memories tend to be selective around here.”

Chloe drained the rest of her beer and threw the empty bottle into the darkness. “Bullshit. You’re just trying to scare us. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to pull this shit. Remember the “haunted house”? That place wasn’t even haunted and we got chased out by a homeless crackhead.”

“You’re right, Chloe. Remember when he took us to the woods he said that was haunted? We spent two hours there and we had nothing to show for it, but sore legs and bug bites.” Derek added.

“How’d you hear of this anyway? How do we know you’re not making this up?” Marcus asked.

A heavy sigh left Jack’s lips. “My Uncle was one of those kids. He told me a few years ago when he was drunk. I never told anyone until now.”

Chloe scrunched her eyebrows. “Why bring us here?”

“It’s simple. I wanted to prove to you guys I’m not full of shit and show you I’m right for once.” Jack said.

Marcus pursed his lips. “Well, I don’t see anyone, so this looks like another dud.”

A smile spread across Jack’s face. “It’s not over yet. You’ve got to challenge him first then he’ll appear. Why don’t one of you do it since you think I’m so full of shit.”

Silence filled the air as Derek, Marcus, and Chloe considered Jack’s challenge. This wasn’t like the other times Jack was dead serious and there was an eerie sense of danger that surrounded this place. The three of them glanced at another knowing they all shared the same thought: Why wasn’t the school demolished?

“Why wasn’t the school destroyed then? Obviously no one would want a reminder of what happened.” Derek said.

Jack took the joint back from Marcus and took a drag. “Well, you’d think so, but the demolition crew that was set to tear down the school was found sodomized to death with broomsticks.”

Chloe winced. “Jesus.”

“Jesus is right. Since you pussies don’t have the balls to challenge him I will. Oh, Broomstick Man come out and face me and show me what you’re really made of! Come on pussy!” Jack screamed.

A minute passed and nothing happened.

“Come on.” Jack called again.

Another minute passed and still there was no Broomstick Man. This seemed like just another one of Jack’s ploys to try and scare everyone.

“I knew you were full of shit again.” Marcus said.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Fuck you.”

“No man, fuck you. I’m tired of you playing these stupid little games. You wonder why everyone talks about you and thinks you’re crazy. I wonder why I bother to hang out with you, if it weren’t for the free weed I don’t even think I’d be friends with you.”

As Jack stared Marcus down he could see a silhouette moving in the darkness. Jack shined his light over Marcus’ shoulder. It was the Broomstick Man. He held his broomstick like a spear, dark green coveralls covered his body and a metal bucket covered his entire head, two eyes were carved into the front of the bucket and a frown was scratched into the bucket where a person’s mouth would be located.

“There’s someone behind you.” Jack warned.

“Do you really think that’s gonna work on me? What do you think I am six years ol-” Marcus’ sentence was cut off violently.

Jack, Derek, and Chloe all stood in shock as they stared at Marcus. He stood erect, groaning mouth wide open. In the back of his throat just behind his tongue was a bloody end of a broomstick. The stick was violently pulled out. Marcus dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The Broomstick Man brandished his stick, blood, shit, and other fluids dripped off the end if it.

“Anyone wanna take a ride?” Broomstick Man asked mockingly.

Jack turned for the gym doors and bolted. “We gotta get the fuck out of here!”

“Oh, come on, just the tip?” He called after them.

The trio burst out of the gym door. They ran back to the classroom window where they had snuck in. To their dismay the window was shut.

“Fuck, who shut the window?” Chloe cried.

“I don’t why don’t you go back and ask bucket head if he did it.” Jack said.

Derek tried to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge. “This fucking thing won’t budge!”

Jack picked up a chair. “Move I’ll break it.”

Derek stepped aside as Jack swung at the window with all his might. The window didn’t even so much as cracked. Jack’s face turned bright red in a mixture of rage and frustration. He hit the window again and again and the window didn’t break.

“Just stop, we have to find another way out.” Chloe said.

Jack threw the chair across the room. “Fuck!”

The sound of heavy footsteps reverberated down the hallway. Chloe rushed to the door and shut it. The three all scurried in different corners of the room trying to hide.

“You can’t hide from me.” Broomstick Man said.

Chloe started sobbing, Jack crouched down and got in a three point stance, and Derek just sat there too shocked to feel any emotion. The door knob rattled and turned. The Broomstick Man flung the door open. Before he could do anything Jack tackled him to the ground.

“Help me get this bastard!” Jack screamed.

Derek and Chloe sprang to their feet and began kicking the Broomstick Man while Jack tried to rip the broomstick from his hands. The Broomstick Man’s grip was weakening and it was getting harder to hold onto with all the sweat and blood covering the stick.

Jack had both hands wrapped around the piece of wood, he was so close to wrenching it away from the broomstick wielding freak.

“I’ve almost got it.” Jack said.

With one last desperate burst of aggression the Broomstick Man threw a hard punch square to Jack’s nose. Blood and tears streamed down his face. Derek and Chloe were too stunned to continue their assault.

“Keep him down.” Jack implored.

The Broomstick Man rose to his feet and grabbed Chloe by the back of the neck. “Too late.”

Chloe punched and scratched at his hand, but that did little to loosen his grip.

She dug her nails into his wrist. “Let me go you fucking bastard.”

He bent her over. “Oh, don’t be like that. You and I both know this isn’t the first time you were about to have something hard and big shoved in you.”

Derek charged Broomstick Man and jumped on his back trying to pull the bucket off of his head. Chloe quickly pulled her pants on, but before she could aid Derek in any way, Broomstick Man had thrown Derek to the ground and was getting ready to make his very own Derek kabob.

Jack tackled Broomstick Man to the ground again. “You guys go and get help!”

“We’re not leaving you!” Derek said.

Broomstick Man grabbed Jack and lifted him up with ease.

"Just go.” Jack eked out.

Chloe grabbed Derek by the arm. “He’s right let’s go.”

Without another word they were gone and now Jack had to face Broomstick Man all by himself. He rose to his feet and bent Jack over. He didn’t stick Jack right away, he was savoring this.

“You’re getting off on this aren’t you? Well, I’m sorry to tell you this isn’t the first time I’ve been bent over.”

Broomstick Man pressed the end of the stick against Jack’s butt. “Any last words?”

“Fuck you, you shit.” Jack spat.

“Fuck me? No, fuck you.” Broomstick Man said.

The broomstick was unceremoniously shoved up Jack’s butt and out through his mouth.
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Derek and Chloe ran through the hallways of the school looking for a way out. They ran for the front entrance. They tried to open the door, but like the window it wouldn’t budge. This wasn’t the best time, but Derek needed to confess his feelings for Chloe.
 
“Chloe, I need to tell you something. I love you” Derek said.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I love you too now help me think of a way to get out of here.”

Derek grabbed her by the shoulder. “No, I really love you.”

He kissed her. Chloe pushed him away coughing and gagging.

She wiped her mouth. “You taste like Mountain Dew and Doritos.”

Derek grinned. “Code Red and Cool Ranch.”

“Look, if we make it out of here alive I’ll let you touch my boobs.” Chloe said.

Derek sighed. “I don’t wanna just touch your boobs I wanna be your boyfriend.”

Chloe chuckled. “You know that won’t happen.”

Derek’s head dropped. “Can I touch your boobs with no bra on?”

“Sure, now let’s find a way out of here.” Chloe said.

The horrible echoes of wet boots smacking against the ground filled the ears of Derek and Chloe. They turned around to face the Broomstick Man. Derek and Chloe ran upstairs with nowhere else to go and ducked in a classroom. Derek and Chloe looked for a place to hide. He opened a closet in the classroom and nothing, but a bunch of crap and a mop fell out.

Chloe wiped away a tear. “There’s no point in hiding, he's gonna find us like last time.”

“The only way we can get out of here is by fighting.” Derek said.

Broomstick Man kicked the door in ready to fill their butts. Derek charged the Broomstick Man with his mop. He raised the mop in the air and brought it down in a high arch. Broomstick Man blocked the attack and kicked Derek in the stomach. Derek hunched over and groaned in pain, but he did not let go of his weapon. Before he could advance Derek rammed Broomstick Man in the balls causing him to clutch them and groan in pain.

Derek raised the mop above his head, but before he could deliver the finishing blow Broomstick Man returned the favor by punching him square in the sack. Derek puked and dropped his stick. Broomstick Man pulled him to the ground and pinned him down. He looked over to Chloe who was crying in the corner.

“Don’t look.” Derek said.

Those were his last words before he was violated. The pain of being sodomized and having his organs pushed around was agonizing. Broomstick Man had pulled the stick from Derek’s body once he was satisfied.

Derek was dead, Chloe and Broomstick Man were the only ones left. As the Broomstick Man approached her she pulled out her pepper spray and sprayed, but she held the can backwards, and sprayed herself in the eyes. She ran around the classroom like a chicken with it’s head cut off. Until she rammed into something solid and collided to the ground. Her vision was blurred. The last thing she saw was the Broomstick Man looming over her.

If you live in Burningham you probably know that there’s things that happen in this town that don’t happen anywhere else. Sure, there’s plenty of towns around the state that have paranormal or strange happenings, but they’re nothing like what happens here. Usually, I don’t pay attention to those oddities. Until a Burningham plane crashed a few weeks ago. A plane was on its way to Italy. The plane had only been flying for three minutes when disaster struck. The plane crashed and everyone on board died. The media ran stories that the crash was caused by pilot error, but that couldn’t be true. Black box audio is usually made public, but the audio for Burningham Airlines Flight 1357 was never released and kept from the public.

Deep on the web, theories came flooding in like water through a broken dam. Despite the best efforts of the government to sweep this under the rug, the families of everyone who died on board demanded answers. They didn’t get any, until the audio was leaked.
The audio started off normally. The pilots were having an ordinary conversation, until  they both noticed something. The next thirty seconds of the audio was completely silent.

 Suddenly, the two pilots said something, but it was inaudible and couldn’t be understood. The last three minutes of the recording were filled with screams.
This wasn’t the only incident that I’ve come across. After discovering the plane crash my curiosity grew and I wondered if there were any similar occurrences. I found an article about an astronomer who killed himself last year. His body was found in his home by a relative, he had hung himself. There was a suicide note, but it was not a ordinary suicide note. The note was incoherent, it was a mess of scribbles and random numbers. Only one sentence was written clearly enough to understand. 


Don’t look at the lights!

Needless to say this incident elicited endless intrigue, theories, and speculation. What could’ve it been? This couldn’t be a coincidence. This article inspired me to dig a little deeper, lo and  behold I found another article from only a few months back. A man called Brent Henderson was at a going away party for a friend. The party started just like any other: booze, drugs, music, strangers hooking up with strangers. Until, Brent caught his fiance cheating on him with someone in one of the upstairs bedrooms.
 Enraged, he broke off the engagement. Brent walked outside and to cool off and smoked a cigarette. He gazed up into the sky and something caught his attention. It looked like flashing lights, but he couldn’t make it out. The report went on to detail how Brent pulled out his gun, then shot and killed everyone at the party. When asked why he killed his friends Brent claimed to have no memory of the massacre. Brent Henderson was sentenced to life in prison.

The last two reports I found were very disturbing. Thirty years ago there was a massive car crash. It was a brutally cold, snowy winter New England night. Everyone was paying extra attention to their driving due to the roads being wet and slick. Dan Stevens was driving a large tractor trailer when he got distracted by something in the sky. He veered off into the wrong lane causing a ten car pile up.

Stevens was the only one that survived. When asked what caused him to veer off into the wrong lane he said that he saw something in the sky, it looked like a bunch of flashing lights and faces. At first the faces looked like animals, then they morphed and twisted into the faces of people he knew. He saw his mother, father, ex-wife, and kids. His mother died in nineteen-eighty-seven and his father died a year after that. His ex-wife and his kids hadn’t spoken to him in two years.

Stevens claimed that the faces were angry and they were telling him all sorts of things, but he couldn’t remember anything. He didn’t remember the crash. He had no traces of drugs or alcohol in his system. After a long legal battle Stevens was fired from the company he was driving for and the families of the victims sued the company.


The last piece I found was a journal from roughly one-hundred years ago. The Whalsh family went missing during the spring of nineteen-twenty while staying at their cabin in the Burningham forest. When found, the journal was gnarled, and had a terrible odor to it. The author of the journal is presumed to be the father of the family, Jacob Whalsh.

Entry 1  5/2/1920

I moved my family here for the spring and summer. The winter was harsh on everyone, so I figured we’d need a change of scenery. I get so wrapped up in my work I miss out on the little things in life. Burningham is so beautiful during Spring. I’m also looking forward to spending more time with my wife Debra and my two children Susan and Henry.

Entry 2   5/4/1920

The first day of our stay was wonderful. This was the first time we really spent quality time Susan and I went for a hike in the woods with our pet dog Molly. Susan picked some heavenly flowers. Henry and I took Molly into the woods and hunted rabbits, then went fishing, after dinner Debra and I spent the night lying by the fireplace.

Entry 3   5/6/1920

Yesterday was odd. While Henry and I hunted squirrels he asked me if I saw the lights in the sky last night. Puzzled I said no. Henry then went on about the lights saying that they hovered over the forest then descended into them. The whole forest was lit up with a mass of red, blue, and green glowing light. Within the light he could see dark shadows and silhouettes of things moving in the dense forest foliage. He said they were communicating with him somehow, he heard voices inside his head that were not his own, also they were showing him dreadful images. As he told me of his experience I noticed he had turned pale. I suggested that it might have been a vivid nightmare, but he remained adamant that what had happened was real. That night after everyone went to bed I stayed up with my shotgun and pot of coffee waiting to see the lights.

Entry 4 5/7/1920

I had the most horrible dreams last night. I dreamt that Debra, Susan, Henry, and Molly had all turned into these terrible scorpions like monsters. I tried shooting them, but my gun would not fire. I woke up screaming. I realized that I was still in the living-room from last night. I looked out the window and saw it was still dark outside, but the clock read 9:00 A.M. Also I saw the lights in the woods that Henry had mentioned. Everyone gathered in the living-room when I called them. They rubbed the sleep from their eyes and yawned.
 
I told them that we needed to leave because there was something very wrong. At first Debra protested, but once I pointed to the lights and the silhouettes of creatures in the woods she understood. We gathered what we could, but when we headed outside we realized to our dismay that there was a red, blue and red hue surrounding the cabin. Molly broke free from Susan’s grasp. He charged ahead for the woods, but when he hit the colored hue he disintegrated and turned into a pile of ash. Susan dropped to her knees and sobbed. I grabbed her by her shirt collar and pulled her inside, the others followed. I barricaded the door and grabbed my gun knowing that it might not do much good against what was out there. Henry plopped down on the couch and stared at the floor, looking defeated. Susan continued to weep and Debra pulled out a cigarette and sparked it up. When we all decided to sleep, we took our mattresses and laid them down in the living-room.

Entry 5  5/8/1920

Susan is dead, and it’s my fault. When we woke Debra and I rationed the food and water. After a breakfast of oatmeal and water we talked about our options even though they were few. Then, that’s when something tumbled down the chimney. It was a scorpion about the size of a German Shepard. I pointed my gun at it and fired. The bullet did nothing to the creature, Debra and the children ducked for cover behind one of the couches. Susan was frantic and demanded to know what I was shooting at. I was the only one that could see it. The beast hissed, and clacked it’s claws together, venom dripped from its stinger and dripped onto the floor burning a hole through the wood. Susan marched towards the fireplace where the creature stood. I demanded she move, but she did not listen, she just got closer to the beast until she was standing in front of the fireplace. She pointed to the horrible thing insisting that all there was just a pile of wood there. The monster stung her with its stinger. She was infected now. If I didn’t act she was gonna become one of those things then infect Henry and Debra. My nightmare I had a day ago would become reality…

I leveled my weapon at her head, then pulled the trigger. Her head exploded in a mass of blood and viscera. Blood, bits of brain matter, and skull fragments covered the fireplace and the wall next to it. Debra vomited and Henry looked at me with a level of fear I had never seen in his eyes before. I dragged her body down to the basement and cleaned the horrific scene to the best of my ability. Henry still hasn’t eaten or drank anything in hours. Debra locked herself in our bedroom an hour ago and has been crying ever since.

Entry 6 5/9/1920

Henry and I are the only ones that remain. This morning I brought Debra breakfast. When I saw her body  the dish and glass of water slipped from my hands and smashed into a million shards. Debra was laying on the floor stone cold, she was dead. She held an empty barbiturate bottle in her hand. I shut the door and returned to the living-room. Henry barely touched the food I gave him. Henry began muttering something to himself over and over again. Tears dropped from his face, I placed my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. He looked at me with vicious anger. He slashed at me with his breakfast knife slicing my wrist. I backed away from him cradling my wrist. He charged at me once more with his knife. I dodged his attack and grabbed my gun. I implored him to stay away, but he continued to rush me. I shot him in the stomach, I could see through the hole that I blasted through him. He locked eyes with me one last time then, groaned, and collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.

Entry 7 5/10/1920

This is going to be my last entry. I know whoever finds my journal will think of me no more than a madman. Perhaps they’d be right. Maybe, I am a madman, last night was the worst of them all. As I laid in bed trying to sleep after I moved Henry’s and Debra’s bodies into the basement I heard the most frightful noises. There was pounding on the basement door, shock over took me for a moment, then cold realization washed over me like a tidal wave. They had come back to life somehow…

They called my name and told me all the horrible things they would do to me. If this wasn’t real I don’t know what is. Maybe, this was all in my head and I killed my family. Tonight will be my last night on earth. May God have mercy on my soul.

I wanted to know more so I stayed up all night searching for more, but that was the last thing I found. So many questions rushed through my mind, but I didn’t know where to go. I gazed out the window and noticed flashing lights. I chalked them up to being from a plane or a jet.
My stomach growled and I went to the kitchen searching for food. I searched the covered and fridge and only found expired spaghetti and a fridge with only condiments and soda. With no other options I hoped in the car and headed to Burger King. As I drove I noticed the lights again. I began feeling melancholy as I stared at them. I kept my eye on them during my drive back home and sat in my drive and continued to stare at them. As I gazed at the strange alien lights a odd thought popped in my head.

My sister.

I haven’t thought about my sister Kayla in the two years since she died. It wasn’t my fault. That’s what my parents told me, but I knew better. They were right in a way, she was the one that had shot herself. But I was the one who drove her to it. I told her to kill herself, I’ve told her to kill herself several times before during our squabbles and she had never killed herself before. She claimed that she tried to kill herself twice. I always thought that she did it for attention, that stay at that psychiatric hospital was another stunt that she pulled when she was eighteen. Kayla always used her mental illness as a crutch.
A day before Kayla died we got into a fight over my great grandmother. I was her primary care taker when she was dying from Alzheimer's. Kayla accused me of hitting my grandmother when I was helping her up to go to the bathroom. My grandmother was frail and old, so every part of her body ached. I always had to be very careful with her because any slight brush or bump she’d scream like a banshee.

I accidentally bumped my grandmother’s foot when I helped her off the couch. Kayla came charging down the stairs accusing me of hurting my grandmother. Once I explained what happened she called me a liar and repeatedly punched me in the face. I retaliated by throwing a punch of my own, my fist connected to her jaw and knocked her flat on her ass. She didn’t bother to get up from the floor instead she just sat there staring up at me like she wanted to kill me. That’s when I told her to kill herself.

This was unlike the other times I told her to kill herself. She calmly got up and left the house. That was the last time I ever saw her. I’m not sorry for what I did. At that moment as I gazed at the lights I realized something. This thing, whatever it is and wherever it came from, it feeds on guilt and human suffering. The question was: Was the thing here to punish me or torture me? It couldn’t have been some sort of avenging angel; it drove Brent Henderson to kill his friends. He did not mention that lights made him feel guilty before the massacre.
The lights began to morph into the face of my sister. She was enraged. I could hear her voice inside my head screaming at me and blaming me for her death. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I thought about being anywhere, but there. I applied exercises that I had learned in therapy to combat negative thoughts, or emotions. I imagined my happy place, me at my great grandparents’ house as a boy. I always felt safe there, like nothing could hurt me. The feeling of hate left my body a warm feeling spread throughout my being.

It was love.

I slowly opened my eyes and the lights were gone and I was relieved. I exited my vehicle and entered my home. I laid down knowing that I had won and had escaped with my life. Unfortunately, there were many other potential victims out there that would have the will or the ability to stave this thing off. Maybe, one day there will be a way to thwart this thing for good.
 

The next morning I was awoken by the sound of a hairdryer coming from the bathroom. The noise was giving me a headache, so I went to see if whoever was using it was almost done. I peered through the crack of the door and saw Mom. “Are you almost done? The noise is hurting my head.”

She turned off the blow dryer. “I’m done now. I'm going to Grandma's house soon."

My stomach ached with worry. "Can I go too?"

Mom removed a brush from the drawer and brushed her hair. “Sure, you should put on some fresh clothes. Did you take a shower?"

I let the silence linger in the air; she rolled her eyes and sighed. "Just go get changed.” 

I got changed, and Mom finished getting ready. We went downstairs.

Dad was stuffing his face with candy while Stacey watched cartoons. Stacey got up walked over to Dad, and she put her hand out. "Me too."

Dad dumped some candy in her hand. "Here you go."

“Make sure she gets real food Bill.” Mom said.

“Alright.” He said through a mouthful of chocolate.

As we approached the vehicle, I got that sick feeling in my gut again. I started thinking about what Grandma was talking about the last time I saw her. We pulled into her driveway as we walked up, the walkway, we heard Grandma scream from inside the house. We rushed into the house and found her curled up on the living room floor. There was a small pool of blood forming underneath her body; a bloody knife was laying next to her.

Mom rushed over to Grandma trying to help her up, but she couldn't lift her. “What happened?”

A patch of skin was missing on her hand; labored breaths escaped her mouth, eyes wild as if she had seen something unspeakable. She weakly lifted her head up.  “A man was asking for my skin.”

Mom scrunched her eyebrows in concern. “What?”

Grandma grabbed mom's pant leg. “Skin… I gave him my skin.”

Mom rushed over to the phone. “Jesus Christ.”

She quickly dialed  911. “Hello, my elderly mother fell, and she can’t get up, she cut herself and is bleeding badly!” She slumped in her seat; tears streamed down her cheeks. “I can’t lose another one I can’t.”

I felt like something was watching us. The  scent of smoke filled the room a low clang filled my ears. My legs felt like they were trapped in wet cement and my lungs felt like they were filled with it too. My heart began pounding rapidly, one of the people I love the most was the victim of something awful. Something so evil and hateful it transcends human understanding. This thing wasn't going to stop until it had taken everything from me. A feeling of fear and despair swept through me like a roaring tidal wave. As Grandma laid on the floor, I wondered what would happen to her. 

I didn’t want to skin myself, that’d be too painful, but if I weren’t around would that fix things? Would the ghost leave everyone alone if I were dead? He would. My death would be just as good as my skin. It was my fault all this happened I grabbed the knife laying next to Grandma.

“What are you doing?!” Mom screamed.

I dug the knife into my wrist and dragged the blade down vertically, blood spilled down my arm. "You'll all be safe soon."

Mom rushed at me. “Stop!”

She wrapped her hands around the knife. “Tommy, please stop!”

“I need to do this Mom!” I screamed.

She ripped the knife from my hands and I fell to ground with a thud. I laid on the ground and writhed in agony, it felt like someone had splashed gasoline on my wrist then threw a match on me. I needed to die, my death would make sure everyone was safe.
The smell of smoke got stronger as well as the clanging. I faded in and out, sirens screamed in the distance, as my vision became more and more blurry the man stood over me, grinning, he was muttering something over and over I could hardly make it out.

“No escape.” He said.

Everything faded to black.

I woke up in a hospital bed with Mom, Dad, and Stacey standing at the foot of it. A bandage wrapped around my wrist.
I sat up scratching my head in confusion not being able to remember what had happened. “Where’s Grandma.”

“They’re taking care of her in a different room Tommy.” Mom said.

“Is she gonna be okay?” I asked.

“Yes, you just rest.”

My head started feeling heavier, I let it drop and sink into the pillow. I stared at a plain white wall for what felt like years. The words "No escape" rattled around in my mind. No one was safe, I can’t die, it won’t let me die. I laid there wondering what would happen to everyone else. What would happen with no escape?







 


 

My eyes opened, and I stared at the white ceiling for what felt like an eternity, tendrils of smoke seeped through the cracks of my door, the sweet smell of buttermilk landed on my taste buds. Pancakes weren't enough to get me out of bed.

“Tommy.” Mom called.

I was uncertain about therapy, but it was either this or boot camp. I would have to lie about what was bothering me. If I told the therapist about the ghosts, I’d be locked into a small white room.

“Tommy, time for breakfast.” She called again.

After a few seconds, my stomach started to growl, and I couldn’t ignore the hunger pains so, I headed downstairs. Dad, Mom, and Stacey were sitting at the kitchen table eating. A platter of pancakes sat in the middle of the table along with a bottle of syrup, a gallon of milk, and a gallon of orange juice. I sat down and served myself.

Mom poured herself a glass of orange juice. “Tommy, your father and I have noticed that you have been having issues."

My heart began to work overtime I felt weak, and I felt a knot twisting in my stomach. My appetite was gone, and I wanted to go back to bed for ten years. I placed the syrup down and let my head drop.

“You’re not in trouble son; we’re just concerned is all. " Dad said.

I poked at my breakfast with my fork no longer hungry. I knew he was still pretending to care about me, he was only happy the cops weren't called last night. “I know.”

Mom finished her juice. “You have an appointment with Mr. Warner at nine.”

I looked at the clock hanging on the wall; the meeting was in an hour. “Okay.”

As I finished my breakfast, I noticed a terrible smell. It smelt like someone had just finished a five-hour workout and didn’t bother to shower. I scrunched up my face. “What’s that smell?”

Mom sniffed the air then covered her nose.“That’s you, Tom.”

“Ewww.” Stacey added pinching her nose closed.

Dad slowly got up from the table. “You should shower before you leave son.”

After breakfast, I jumped in the shower. Time must have escaped me because when I came downstairs after the shower, Mom was waiting by the door jacket on and keys in her hand.

Mom opened the door to leave. “Alright, we’ll be back soon.” We got into the car and headed off.

"You can’t tell Warner what happened last night." Mom said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Your father will  go to jail."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Doesn’t seem to be my problem."

Mom sucked her lip in. "He’s just trying to take care of you?"

I whipped my head in her direction. "He tried to kill me last night."

Mom sighed. "He didn't try and kill you, Tommy."

I bit my lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. "Dad, doesn't care about us. He proved it last night, he never does anything for anyone unless it benefits him or makes him look good. It's always on you or I to take care of Stacey. You're only with him because you're afraid of being alone."

Tears fell from Mom's face. "You need to be the man your father isn't willing to be. I understand that he's hard to deal with, but he's your father and he cares about you. He might not show it in the way that he should, but he cares about you."

Before I knew it, we had arrived at Mr. Warner's office. On the way in we passed by a man smoking a cigarette. A cloud of gray smoke engulfed us. We both coughed violently. Mom scowled at the guy. “Second-hand kills, man.”

When we walked into the building, Mr. Warner was waiting for us outside his office. He wore a black button down shirt with black jeans to match. Red lips parted into a smile exposing white rows of ivory, a neatly trimmed mustache lined his face. For someone who looked like they should have been in their late fifties or sixties, he seemed to be in good shape. He extended his hand outward for me to shake it. “How are you, Tommy?”

I was nervous I didn't want to make eye contact at first. “Good.”

He motioned for me to follow him. “Let’s head into my office.”

I followed him to his room.The room was plain: Eggshell white walls, and a framed degree hung on the wall behind him.

He pointed to a chair sitting across from his desk. “Tommy have -” His face turned black as oil, patches of his face were red as a tomato, the room smelled like a ash tray. That horrible sickening flavor of smoldering flesh filled my mouth and ravaged my taste buds.

“Skinnnnn.” He hissed.

I backed away until my back was against the wall. “No, no, no, no."

He stood up from behind his desk and walked after me. "Skinnnn."

After fumbling with the handle for a second, I looked back the thing that was following me. All burnt and charred, It reached its hand out to me trying to grab me, I tore the door open and ran for the exit screaming.

Mom rushed after me. “Tommy, what’s wrong?”

I curled up into a ball in the corner of the lobby shaking and crying. “He’s trying to take my skin!”

The smelled ebbed, a hand rested on my shoulder, I turned to see Mr. Warner instead of a monster. “It’s okay, Tommy no one’s gonna hurt you here. I’m going to help you.”

All fear left my body. “I’m ok, I think.”

He offered me his hand. “Why don’t we go back to my office and talk for a bit.”

I grabbed it and pulled myself up. “Okay.”

He pushed a bowl of hard candy at me. “What happened to your lip?"

I rubbed where my lip was split. "I fell off my skate board. I was being stupid, trying to do tricks I saw on TV without ever doing them before."

"Gotta be more careful. So, do you mind telling me what upset you so much?"

I popped a candy into my mouth. "It's the smell of smoke that makes me crazy, every time I smell smoke I'm brought back to that night my grandfather died. My Grandpa’s friend Nick killed him. That night I smelt the awful smell of cigarette smoke, when I woke up Nick was standing over my bed with a knife. Anytime, I think about that night I can smell that exact smoke, I can taste it. I feel so; guilty,I feel like I should have died. If I had done something else other than lay there, maybe Grandpa would still be alive."

"And it's only cigarette smoke that makes you feel this way?" Warner asked.

"All smoke is starting to smell the same... also, clanging triggers me too, like the clanging of a tricycle bell."

Warner took a tissue and blew his nose. " I see. You shouldn't feel guilty, It’s not your fault Tommy. You’re only a kid what could have down? If you got up and tried to fight, maybe you would have gotten killed too."

My lips quivered, and mucus rolled down my face. Mr. Warner handed me a tissue. Before I knew it, time was up. On the way to the car, a ringing filled the air. Mom reached into her bang and pulled her Nokia out. "Hey, Mom. What?.. There's no girl on a tricycle clanging a bell.”

My stomach turned to mush, and my legs felt like Jell-O.  "W-what's going on?"

She put the phone back in her bag. “We’re gonna stop by Grandma’s real quick before we go home.”

My heart began to race as I got into the car, I sunk into my seat and tried to calm down, mom pushed the key into the ignition and turned it; the car came to life. We were on the way to Grandma’s house.

“W-where’s Grandpa?" I asked.

Tears rolled down my mothers tan skin as her pink lips quivered. “Grandpa is- Grandpa is...” Her body racked with sobs as she tried to get the words out.

“Grandpa is." She dropped to her knees, and she buried her hands into her face then  fell to her side. Dad  bent down next to her; he rested his hand on top of her shoulder.

“What about Nick? " I asked.

Dad looked at me, there was a look in his eyes I have never seen  before. “Dead.” 

I didn’t know how to feel and could hardly think straight. My eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds.
They shut. That acrid stench filled my nostrils again, my eyes opened, and I saw the horrible facsimile of John's face.The man took his cigarette and jammed it into my eye. I felt like my entire face was on fire. He pushed it deeper and deeper; twisting it as he laughed. My eyes snapped open and I sat straight up. I was drenched in sweat and noticed a dark splotch on my blanket. I spent a few days in the hospital and was released with a bandage wrapped around my hand and a bandage on my chest.

Mom pulled me into a tight bear hug and kissed me on the cheek. “We’re gonna go home. Dad, Grandma, and Stacey are waiting for us.”

“Okay.” I replied.

We got into her car, Mom pulled out of the driveway then pulled out into the road. “So, what happens now?” I asked.

Mom stifled a sob. “Well, I already made arrangements for the wake and funeral. The service will be in a few days."

I watched her in the rear view, tears rolled down her cheeks, her hand covered her mouth. She sniffed and swallowed trying to compose herself. We drove home in silence. A loud roar of thunder bellowed from the heavens, as rain smashed against the windows. We pulled into our driveway; green peeling paint covered the house, the lawn was overgrown and yellowed, a tree branch scraped against the roof of the car. She parked in front of the garage; packed with bobbleheads, movie posters, sports cards, and various other knick-knacks.

Mom sighed. "Your father needs to find another place for the stuff from the store I’m tired of not being able to park the car in the garage.”
She looked at the backseat and pursed her lips. “I forgot my umbrella; we’re gonna have to run  to avoid the rain, Tommy.” We rushed out of the car despite our best efforts to avoid the rain; we got soaked.

"You two look like you got out of the swimming pool." We heard Dad say, as we cleaned our feet on the welcome mat. He scratched his black beard that was so long it rested on his beer belly. He didn't even acknowledge my bandaged hand or chest.

Mom pointed her stubby little finger in Dad's face. “Bill you’ve got to do something about that garage, it's ridiculous that you have all that shit packed in there."

Dad's shoulders slacked exasperatedly. “There’s nowhere else to put it. There’s zero room at the store, that warehouse is as packed as it’s gonna get.”

Mom shook her head. “Figure it out Bill that crap isn’t gonna be in there much longer.”

“Whatever.” Dad said.

"When are thewy coming home?" I heard Stacey ask as I walked into the living room.

Stacey was sitting on the couch facing Grandma. Grandma noticed me and smiled. "Turn around."

Stacey turned, and her face lit up. She jumped off the couch and charged me with her arms wide open. Stacey wrapped her arms around me. “How’s your hawnd?”

“It’s… better.” I replied.

Grandma noticed the time on the clock on the wall, and she got off the couch. “Alright, everyone, I’m gonna be heading home now."

“Are you sure you want to be in the house alone?” Mom asked.

Grandma headed for the door. “Regardless of what has happened I want to be in my own house, my husband built that house, I spent most of my life in that house and nothing is going to drive me out."

"Okay, I understand." Mom said.

I felt pretty tired and wanted to lay down in my own bed. "I’m gonna go upstairs and lay down."

“Okay, I’ll call you down when it’s time for dinner, I'm making meatloaf.” Dad said.

I climbed the stairs and went into my bedroom. Laying down I let everything sink in. I knew nothing would be the same again. One of the most important people in my life had just died. I wish I could have done something more. If I would have gotten up and helped Grandpa fight Nick maybe he’d still be alive. Grandma’s life will never be the same, she’s trying to keep her spirit high for everyone, I know she’s in great pain. Tears streamed down my cheeks and out the corners of my eyes, drenching the pillow. My heart thudded in my chest, and my stomach began to ache. I turned on my side and curled up. The burning started in my hand again. I needed pain meds, but I was too weak to get up; too feeble to call out for help. The smell of smoke filled my room. My eyes slammed shut, and I fell into unconsciousness. I woke up in an abyss of darkness, I didn’t know how I got there, or how long I’ve been there.

“Help!” I screamed.

“Skin.” I heard someone say.

Smoke filled my nostrils; oddly it smelled like burnt meat. I dropped to my knees. “No, no, no, no!”

"All he wants is your skin.” A familiar voice said.

I turned to see John; plaid shirt unbuttoned exposing his pale fat gut, splotches of blood covered the pale flesh, dirty, unkempt hair spilled down his shoulders. Blood, exposed nerves, and muscle served as his face.

"All you have you have to do is give him your skin.” He said.

"W-why me?" Was all I could muster through heavy sobs.

"You angered him. Now, he can't rest until he gets your skin. If he can't get yours he'll take everyone's around you."

I noticed something shiny in John’s hand.  After a second glimpse, I realized he was holding a knife. He offered me the knife “Your skin."

I shook my head incredulously. "I-I can't."

"I don't blame you for crying you're just a boy. But if you give him your skin all this will end no one else has to die. Think of your mom, think of Grandma, think of Stacey.

I was terrified, but he was right. This thing wanted me and if it didn't get my skin it'd take someone else's. I took the knife in my hand and pressed the cold edge against my forearm.

“What the fuck." John said.

 I looked up at him confused. His mouth hung agape, a loud screeching emitted from his mouth it sounded like a a alarm. My eyes snapped open, and I was standing in the kitchen, a puddle of yellow liquid pooled around my feet. The awful screaming of the fire detector reverberated through the house.

Dad grabbed the knife from my hand. His face was as red as magma. “What the fu-”

“Bill stop.” Mom said.

I ran upstairs to my room, as I laid in bed.

John’s words echoed in my mind.






 

The next morning I woke up alone in my grandparents' bedroom. The smell of breakfast permeated the air. My stomach growled hungrily, as I slowly got off the air mattress.

I could hear Stacey in her room talking to Grandpa. “Gandpa could I have a piggyback wide pwease?"

“Sure sweetheart.” He said.

As I walked down the stairs, I could hear Grandma talking to my mom on the phone.

“He hasn't sleepwalked in years you say... you think he’s making it up for attention?  Alright, I'll talk to him.“ Grandma said.

She hung up, and I tentatively finished walking down the stairs. I saw that there was a plate stacked with pancakes where I usually sit at the table. I walked passed the living room hoping Grandma wouldn’t spot me.

Grandma's old, boney hand suddenly rested on my shoulder. “Tommy, we need to talk.” I cursed myself internally, and turned to face her.

Her wrinkled face furrowed in concern. “Are you jealous of Stacey? Is that why you’ve been acting odd?”

I forced myself to smile to assuage her worry. “No.”

She tussled my hair. “Your grandfather and I love you both equally.”

I wrapped my arms around her. “I know Grandma, I love you too.”

She smiled, exposing her old yellow teeth. “I made your favorite for breakfast.”

Grandpa came down the stairs with Stacey; her arms and legs wrapped around his body. “Pancakes! Pancakes!” Stacey squealed like she did whenever we had pancakes, and sometimes I joined in.

Stacey, Grandpa, and Grandma joined me at the table; a blood-curdling scream suddenly rang out.

It startled Stacey causing her to shrink in her seat; eyes wide and frightened. Grandma and Grandpa just rolled their eyes.

"How many times do I have to tell him to lower that damn TV?" Grandpa said shaking his head.

I remained unbothered. I knew John was watching “Friday the 13th” or some other horror movie that I’m not supposed to have watched. The screaming ebbed, then creaking  stairs and feet stomping reverberated through the house. John ambled into our kitchen; his messy, unkempt hair spilled down his back. A few buttons on his shirt were undone, allowing fat to be pushed through unopened sections. He was pale as a corpse, his eyes were empty and vacant. 

“Morning John.” Grandpa said disdainfully.

John didn't bother to reply. Instead, he walked over to Grandpa and placed a check in front of him. "Do you smoke?"

Grandpa squinted his eyes in confusion. “No, I don’t, Peg and I quit smoking ten years ago. Why do you ask?"
 
John sighed and crossed his arms. “I keep smelling smoke at night.”

“That’s odd.” Grandpa said, trying to make sense of the information.

"I've also been hearing this awful clanging at night. I haven't had a good night's sleep in the past couple nights and I've been falling asleep at work. My boss says if it happens again I’m fired. So, I’d like it if there was something done about the smell and noise." John said.

My grandfather sat there nodding , listening thoughtfully. “You’re right John. I’ll see what I can do.”

John thanked my grandfather and left.

Grandpa directed a cold stare at Stacey. “Stacey, are you playing with your trike at night?

“No gandpa. It wasn’t me, it was the girl.” Stacey said.

“Stacey.” He said sternly.

Her head lowered in shame; Grandpa leaned forward. “You need to take responsibility for your actions and be respectful of others. I worked in a gas station when I was twenty-one, just like John. I know how it is dealing with people. It’s probably worse dealing with people on very little sleep, and on top of that, his job is in jeopardy. No more tricycle at night.”

“I’m sorry Ganpa I love you.” Stacey said.

He smiled and tussled her hair. “I love you too sweetheart."

“What about the smell?" Grandma inquired.

My grandfather pursed his lips. “It’s probably Nick, I know he hates going outside to smoke, so he lights up inside. He probably hoped nobody would notice, I’ll talk to him later."

"It's funny he mentions that, I've been hearing the same clanging and smelling the same smoke too. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me." Grandma said.

After breakfast Grandpa ran some errands, Stacey and I watched “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids” in the living room while Grandma read. Through the window, I heard a car pull into the driveway. The front door slammed, followed by heavy footsteps going to the third floor echoing throughout the house.

Grandma looked up from her book. "That might be John, I hope he didn’t get fired."

Once the movie ended, Stacey glanced out the window. Outside, it was the perfect day. The sky was bright blue and cloudless, the scent of fresh cut grass filled the air, and  butterflies with beautiful opalescent patterns on their wings had landed on the window sill. She turned  her little head towards me. “Will you pwush me on the swing?”

I looked out the window. “Sure.”

We went outside Stacey sat on the swing, a bell chime filled the air I turned and saw Lilly riding her scooter towards Stacey and I. "Grandpa Jack and I are going to the bookstore tomorrow, they have a wide variety of horror books, I was wondering if you wanted to go."

"I'm sure my grandfather would let me go, I'll have to ask, but I'm sure it'd be okay."

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'll see you tomorrow."

After a few minutes of pushing Stacey, I had an odd feeling in the pit of my gut. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I felt like someone was staring at us. I looked around, and  saw John staring down at us from his window. I could swear I saw a charred hand caress his face. Nausea swept over me like a tidal wave, all the muscles in my body tensed up. Feeling paralyzed I wanted to scream, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. John seemed to realize I was staring back at him and he moved away from the window.

The smell of pork chops spread through the air, Grandma's head was poking out of the kitchen window. The sun was trapped behind an archipelago of white fluffy clouds. “Tommy, Stacey, time for dinner.”

“Come on Stacey.” I said. She jumped off the swing, and we went inside. 

After dinner, Grandpa grabbed a deck of cards. "Wanna play Uno kids?"

"Sure." We both said.

Grandpa dealt out the cards while I scanned mine. "Grandpa, I wanted to ask if it'd be okay if I went to the bookstore with Lilly and Mr. Williams tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"Sure." Grandpa said.

The game took a half hour to finish, after the game we called it a night.

As I laid in bed terrified of what was going to happen, I heard screaming coming from the third floor. I surmised John was watching another horror movie too loudly. Eventually, I fell back asleep, happy the man hadn’t visited me. I knew he'd be looking for skin and might be coming for me again. Fearing his visit I stayed awake until my eyes would no longer stay open.

I woke up feeling great because I slept well the entire night without any unwanted visitors. An awful smell offended my olfactory; it smelled fish like guts. Despite the terrible smell, I was still hungry. I hurried downstairs and joined everyone else at the table, with a smile, Grandma placed french toast sticks on my plate. To my dismay, that putrid stench stuck to my nostrils, not allowing me to enjoy the sweet aroma of the golden brown logs.

Grandma squinted her eyes. "Does anyone else smell that?"

My face twisted in disgust. “Yes.”

“Yuck!” Stacey exclaimed in agreement, sticking her tongue out and rolling her eyes in the back of her head.

Grandpa hacked and gagged. “Yeah, I do. I think it’s coming from upstairs. Hold on, I’ll see what it is.”

He hurried up the stairs, the squeaking of the stairs beneath him filled the house. We could hear the  whine and screech of door hinges from the third floor.

“Hey, John?" We could hear him say.

“John... oh my god! ” Grandpa screamed.

I haven’t heard a scream like that before, and I don’t think I will again.

Grandpa rushed downstairs. "Tommy take Stacey to your room and don’t come out until I say!"

‘Wha-” I said, confused and scared.

“Don’t ask questions,  just do it.” He interrupted.

“Peggy call nine-one-one.” He barked.

Grandma rushed over to the phone while I took Stacey up to my room. Stacey sat down on the bed. "What's gowing on?"

“I don’t know.” I replied.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Is anyone huwrt? My friend said he was going to get kin from John. I hope he’s okay.”

My blood turned cold in my veins; the sound of sirens filled the air. I looked out the window and saw a ambulance in the driveway. My grandmother appeared to be hysterical; Grandpa seemed to be stoic as he talked to the paramedics. I continued watching through the window.

They carried out a body with a sheet draped over it; Grandpa and Grandma were silent for the rest of the day. Feeling solemn, confused, and afraid we decided to stay inside. We watched old reruns of "Tom & Jerry".  After a while, Grandma and Grandpa sent us to bed.

That night I was wide awake all night, I could hear Grandpa talking to Grandma downstairs beneath my floor. His voice was too muffled to understand clearly, so I got down on the ground and pressed my ear to the floor, the wood as cold as January ice. I heard him say. “What a way to go... of all the ways you could kill yourself."

His voice got muffled until I couldn’t hear him at all. I gave up and returned to my bed. As I was about to drift off to sleep.

I heard a voice say from outside my door. "More skin."