u/EyesFromTheOtherSide

Not so distant had been the strumming of guitar strings. A mother left exhausted as she lead her son down the hall. Getting him dressed in the tweed vest, Those knee high pants and equally high socks hadn't been the issue. Had been those oversized and polished shoes she hope he might fill one day soon. That clippity clop sound each made with every step The boy try to take, Something caught between a clog and tap shoe. Couldn't help but stare at each with every sound he make. His mother taking a moment to slick back what strands of silver had managed to break free from their wax prison they had been placed, Now that both find themselves standing just outside the door.

"I don't know why you're being so difficult today, I've already missed the first part of the sermon because you refuse to keep those on."

Loud thump had been heard from the other side of the door. The one that had been playing music, and what might of been the sounds of singing had come to an abrupt stop in that moment. Seemed Ms. Prudence had been the one to open it, To find The boy's mother trying her best to tie the laces of each shoe that fail to bind them in place. That wrinkled and stern expression of the elderly woman felt staring down upon them.

"How wonderful that you've decided to grace us with your presence, Come along now, I'll have no further delays"

From the doorway the boy had been staring at the stool she sat vanish beneath her nunnery moment she return to her spot in the circle. Staring back at the boy had been the eyes of a dozen children.

"Please for mommy's sake keep your shoes on and be good alright sweetie?" As exhausted as his mother had been, She had still managed to mask it behind a sweeter tone. Gentle press upon his back usher him inside as a click of a door soon follow.

Brief had the music been to start, To stop as palm now press against the strings. "Come take a seat, Every minute you stand around is another we'll all be spending after."

As pointed and sharp as these words had been, It brought mixed reaction from those that turn to face her. Some seemed horrified by this, while others had such looks at excitement. Had only been once the boy finished staring at all their faces that clickity clack would be heard slapping across the room to fill the gap between two younger children.

What looks of astonishment they gave the boy that they had mistaken for a ventriloquist dummy in that moment, As only a dummy would willing sit in the spot all the children knew to avoid.

As fearful as one might of been to be caught within and meet The Sister's watchful gaze, They couldn't help but forget such things the moment she sing. That angelic voice that grace one's ears with every note turned word. "He's got the whole world in his hands, He's got the whole world in his hands. . . Come now children, Sing along, He's got the whole world in his hands."

Slow had been the boy to turn his head, to look at those that had been slow to join in. As hard as they try they couldn't help but fall behind as they try to follow as off key as one would expect from those so young, Had only taken a moment for those that had been part of the choir to join in all at once and blending in with The Sister's singing.

"He's got everybody here, In his hands, He's. . . . " How she had been able to change her tone so suddenly without the slightest warning or hint of transition had been nothing short of wonder. "Jack, I think we would all like to know why you have refused to sing with us today, Let alone answer me when I've been speaking to you."

Answer she was given was something she hadn't expect to hear from him, but from the one she often hounds about such things. "Not a chance, Sweet heart."

For all the times that abrasive tone had passed through the boy's lips, Had been the best so far as not a single crack had been heard in the attempt at lowering his voice, Even if it still couldn't quite shake the child's age. Giggling heard from a few children in that very moment, Short lived as they watch Sister Prudence stand from her seat. What horror fill the faces of those that had gone as still as they had gone silent. How each one try their best not to meet her gaze even if they couldn't look away. Lucky for them it had been fixated upon the one sitting Squarely in front of her.

"I have only myself to blame for such complacency as of late for these tests He has brought before me."

"If You're finished Jack, I would like to continue before we find all ourselves staying past curfew, Wondering why we've missed both lunch and supper" Seemed that vacant stare had been enough of an answer as plucking of strings greet children's singing.

Just what had the boy seen that left him to stare so intently? Had it been the choking smoke that linger? Darkness that cling to them like another shadow? The glow that try to blind? Some other that had come to devour the very face they had been wearing? Or a face of such vivid crystal clarity like The Man In White? It had been none of these things. It had just been a woman's elderly and wrinkled face that what others call ordinary. Something the boy had never seen, Something the boy wouldn't be given much a chance to think as children's singing had started to hint at change.

Children that had been dragging far behind at this point had started to catch up as words started to gain a hint of distortion. "I hold the world in my hands, I hold the worlds in my hands."

Those distinctive off key notes having been lost in the growing distortion spreading to others. "I have the wind, and rain in my hands."

Had only been those angelic voices of the choir left untouched, Even if their words hadn't been spared the same. "I've got everyone here in my hands, I've got everyone here in my hands."

As the rest of the children fall silent and fade, The angelic voice of The Sister remain no more then a whisper that linger on the air a moment longer. "I've got you in my hands."

"Very good children, Even if we were one short, He has heard all our praise just the same." What silence had taken hold of the room broken by the harsher tone. Sound of a guitar being set down drowned out by the whisper from the child beside him. "She had a sister once."

Child to his other side having been leaning over to whisper and drown out the other. "You knew her too."

"That's enough whispering children, Now open your bibles." Her own now lay open across her lap as finger trace across the page, to flip to the next.

Pointed had been the look given at the child staring at her. "Those who find they are unable, Please share with those sitting beside you."

"I want everyone to turn to the book of Luke and find chapter six, We'll be learning about sharing, kindness and forgiveness." Hadn't even been given a chance to do so herself when the voice of a child would be heard. "Was she kind?"

Scolding tone heard as she spoke. "Raise your hand and wait till you're called on before you speak, Whom do you mean?"

Had been the child sitting opposite that spoke up to answer. "Your sister."

Scowl starting to show on The Sister's face now. "Please wait your turns to be called on, And yes all my Sisters are kind."

Seemed the next child to speak had at least raised their hand above their head, even if they had not waited to be called on. "Even little Abby?"

"Yes, Even little Abby. Something about that name had caused The Sister's expression to waver, Something that would of been missed had it not been for the boy. The child that had been last to speak now forced to stand, To read a passage to the rest of class.

Gaze shifting down towards half a book that had been placed atop his lap. Trying to find just what the child had been reading when a whisper would be heard over his shoulder. "Think she'll forgive you?"

Child that he had been sharing with whispering no sooner. "Think she knows?"

Struggling to finish the passage Ms. Prudence had given, The child now stare up at her from the spot they had been forced to stand. Speaking with such child like innocence. "Did you forgive him?"

What ever thought she might of had lost at that moment as only a single thought linger on her mind. "Forgive who?"

All the children heard speaking at once, that overlap of different voices that remain clear in that very moment. "The one that took her."

Those that had been sitting to each side of the boy, as well as the one standing before Ms. Prudence being the only ones to speak in that same breath. "Little Abby."

Seemed something about that name had forced the scowl to grow and spread to form a slight growl of words. "Of course I have! I don't know who put all of you up to this, These childish pranks have gone on long enough."

Once more they speak as one. "Have you really?"

The Sister yelling out. "Yes!, Yes!, Of course I have as it's not my place to cast judgement!"

"Don't lie"

Upon the floor she lay, A man hovering over her, had taken a moment for the blinding blur of a flash light to fade to recognize it had been the town doctor. That harsh sting felt upon her forehead moment a cotton ball had been pressed upon it. Soaked by whatever had been hidden within the glass bottle, One tinted brown.

Had taken a helping hand of a few that had come from next door to get her back up to her feet. Eyes still hadn't a chance to fully come into focus when she found herself meeting the child's gaze from across the room. His Father seemed rather vocal even if she couldn't make out what was being said through ringing yet to clear. Mother left kneeling, weeping as she hug her boy tight. Boy that had been missing a shoe that was being held by his father that stand over him, Shaking it with every heated word at the boy that would not break his stare.

No matter how hard she try, She couldn't recall just how she wound up on the floor even now that ringing had cleared to the clop of a single shoe. "I am so sorry about this, I promise this won't happen again, I'll see to it he'll be properly punished once we arrive home."

Seemed this elderly woman had started to put two and two together now as she touch the welt upon her forehead. "See that you do, I don't know what that father of yours has been teaching him, But I suggest you nip it the bud while you can, And I'll do what I can with what time I have left, For him and that father of yours."

Had been a hesitation between both parents, before his mother would ask the question that linger on both of their minds. "We'll make sure nothing like this happens in the future, We'll make sure he's on his best behavior next week."

As short as the pause had been waiting for Sister Prudence to answer had been one that felt to drag on for eternity. "See that you do, I've already for. . " Very word that had sparked her memory, to recall the strange behavior the children show as they started questioning her, Forgotten in the very same moment as such clarity had been shattered by the pain that struck her. Hadn't been the pain that fill her head every time she had tried to remember earlier. No, This had been the pain that came at the tailed of her bible, One that had been dropped by the boy.

"Now son, When I said to apologize this isn't what I meant." Voice of the child's father heard as pages were left to flutter open upon the very spot it had struck her foot. Having found herself staring back at the child that had been pointing so blankly. "Now what do you have to say for yourself?"

The soft spoken whisper of the child heard as he speak a single word. "Read"

Seemed no matter how much she had wanted to say something she had been at a loss of words as she simply couldn't look away from the boy that had been so relentless in his staring. Not once since her vision had started to clear had he ever look away. It started to make her question if this child had even been aware of what had been happening around him, let alone just what he had done.

"That's not what we meant dear, What are you suppose to say after you've hurt some one?"

"Well, Don't just stand their son."

The boy would give an answer. One that came in a form neither parent quite understood. One hand raised, Showing three fingers, While the other hand would show only two. Soft spoken had been the boy's whisper. "Read"

Neither parent had been able to get the boy to speak anything different until the time they left. Even as the boy had been lead out the room she could feel that stare linger. Her own lingering upon the book that lie open at her feet. Had been the book of Colossians, Something about the boy's answer kept her from closing the bible she held with such reverence, Flipping to the third chapter as she trace her fingers towards the verse. How focused had she been upon those words to miss the doctor's whistling. Seemed he had heard quite the catchy tune upon the radio.

Table of Contents

Standing before the boy had been a mirror as large as his bedroom door. Had taken only the slightest glimpse of dawn for it to glow brighter than the sun, That blinding white that banish what shadows lie in wait while eyes adjust.

Eyes that looked the same to the untrained eye, Unable to see what subtle differences their had been in the blank expressions the boy had been giving. The Squinted ones no different even if it might be the only one others might notice. Looks given to the one that had been adjusting The Detective's hat he had been wearing.

Question if it had been the same, had it not been child sized much like the coat that had been matching of dusty color. Left open as it had revealed the dusty pajama's the boy had been wearing. Bottoms of each padded sock that had been one in the same left to squeak in the bottom of gumshoes he had now been wearing, Leaving one to question just what he had been wearing.

Had taken the boy a moment to realize he had been staring down at his window. Following the trail of muck that had been leading from the very ledge to the spot he had found himself standing with rope in hand. Rope that he soon found himself hanging as the very world around him would shift. Sliding down what length remain to land upon his feet no different than a passing stray, Slipping between the iron of the gate all the same.

First light had yet to reach this side of the hill the boy find himself, For this had been all that was left of a town that had long since been replaced by others, Brick left to wobble beneath every step that feel they might give way any moment. Never knowing when one might find their way plummeting into the depths of the abyss. Slow to glance upon homes that looked to have never aged a day despite what the withering of hunched trees might say. Those gnarled hands that look to swipe at all that pass, Barely held back by the very walls they have been trapped. Unable to leaf since the storm that had taken the limbs of so many others. Old as this place had been, Streets had been bathed in tar. Hiding the cracks of age, Or even the cracks of rage. From the darkness this river lead, The boy now step out to the streets below.

between the narrow gaps of buildings the light of dawn could be seen slowly creeping now that the sun had come peeking from mountain top, One by one street lights begin to switch off as the boy stand idle, No different then the truck he had been watching. From the back of it a man had been tossing stacks of paper upon the spot the boy found himself heading. Truck that pass him by as he pass from one side of the street to the next, Nickle in hand.

Staring down at this coin that found it's way into his palm the moment he had reached into his pocket without knowing, To find himself staring from the ledge of a window he had been standing. Greeting by the darkness that had been waiting. Unable to see beyond the ledge, what was lurking within. What had come from the creaking of a door that sound both far and near, the type one couldn't quite place. Greeted by a familiar gaze from the flat of a blade. Staring back at the one that matched his vacant gaze, Unaware the hand that had come creeping toward him.

How the blade would sing moment it had sunk it's teeth into the awaiting pray. Lifting it up by the twine it had been wrapped. A single twist had been all it need to cause each strand to snap. Hand that pull a paper from atop the stack, Retreating back into the darkness with a snap. Snap that had been placed upon a paper folded, To be handed to the one that had been so silently staring.

"Come on kid, You're giving me the creeps, Feel like a broken record over here with how many times we've gone through this." Voice that came from a figure that looked to be nothing more then a shadow through the open window. Nickle soon found its way into the pocket of the one that had been waiting. The boy had been on his way when that voice had been heard yelling. "Ain't you forgetting something?"

Upon the ledge the boy find himself staring down at a paper cup that had been left. One filled with an amber liquid that smell of herbs and spices. Feeling fog form upon each eye from the steam. "Just take it kid, Dump it for all I care on your way home, Now scram before you scare off all my regulars."

Empty had been the streets the boy walk, His attention having been fixated upon a single date. Paper had come to shed the truth, The boy had been tossed into the end of June, Headlines that announce the end of school. Distant had been the voice. "Do me a favor and give that pops of yours my regards will ya?"

Small had been the hand reaching for a door knob that look to turn and open of it's own volition. Those well oiled hinges that not even make the slightest sound as it open. Caught in the shadow of the figure that had been towering over him from within, One he had offered the morning paper.

"Morning son, You know the rules. You're suppose to let either your mother or I know when you head outside." Gentle tap of the news paper felt atop the boy's head, One that had shown no reaction beyond his usual expression. "Suppose since you've been doing so well lately I can let it slide just this once, Next time though you'll find that ticket to roam we've given you revoked."

Old ticket stub from the circus being handed to him. "That's not. . . What do you have their sport?" Had been eyeing the cup his son had taken an interest in, before offering it up to the one that meet his gaze. "Seems I'll need to have a word with the Newsboy at the corner about giving you sugar first thing in the morning."

Cup having been taken from the small hand that had been offering as the boy follow his father inside their home. Hadn't even had a chance to close the door when he heard a familiar tune his father had seem so eager to whistle. Had been trying to sip from the edge of the paper cup, Nearly dumping it down the front of his sweater when something had struck him square in the back. Quick to turn, To find a child's rubber boot sitting at his feet. To stare at the boy with a boot missing, Squinting. "What has gotten into you this morning?"

Hand reaching back to try and rub at the spot that had been stinging beneath the muddy print. Having hit a spot just out of reach no matter how hard one might try. "Come now sport, I know my whistling isn't the greatest but that's no reason for you to give me the boot now, is it?"

For all the emotions or thoughts one might have in such a situation, He had only been left with confusion. One that washed away moment he had a chance to sip from the drink he had been given. The stronger burn of spices that left one to clear their sinuses. The cool touch of leather yet to be warmed beneath him. Music that would ring upon his ears the moment he switched on the radio that had been resting just beside him. Radio that would begin to play a familiar tune from the depths of static that try to drown it.

♪ By the silvery moon, Place, Park, Scene, Dark ♪

Words that had barely been audible by the end of the verse, Hand of his father seen reaching over trying to adjust the dial.

♪ Ever since that storm, This hasn't worked the same ♪

Louder buzzing followed by what had been nothing short of a whisper.

♪ Act one, Be done ♪

Buzzing flaring up before a rush of static brief moment before words had returned to their usual volume.

♪ My cue, With you ♪

What had started as a hiss had turned to a louder roar that bury the song beneath it, Sound of ringing that follow was one that one could never be quite sure if it had been from the radio or from within their very head.

His father looking to have grown frustrated at this point as no matter how much he try to tune the dial, It had seemed to make no difference. If anything it had given the impression it had only been making things worse.

"Blast it all, I just had this gosh darn thing repaired." Clear he had wanted to say more as he catch a glimpse of his son from the corner of his eye. "Sorry you had to see that little outburst sport."

Static had cleared without warning, As half the neiborhood would be able to hear the song with just how loud it had been sung.

♪ Act two, Scene New. ♪

Loud enough it had caused the very words to gain a crackle, a pop to them as the speakers had been forced beyond their physical limits.

♪ Preacher with a solemn-looking face ♪

What had been the distinctive voice of a woman had become one with no distinction.

♪ Act two all thought ♪

Words had become further distorted and deeper as smoke would begin to rise from the speaker. Lapping of flames upon glass stained in black, soon to crack. Numbers of the tuning dial looking to melt away beneath trapped flames.

♪ By the light, not the dark but the light of the silvery moon, not the sun but the moon. ♪

That loud static pop that came from beneath his father's fingertips moment he had tried to switch the radio off. Those words he thought only The Detective knew drowning out the static brief moment fingers had been left shaking. Fingers that wrap about the very cord that rip the plug free from the wall. What should of been silence, Met with further distorted lyrics. Having become so deep one might not even understand it as they had been slowing with every one said. Familiar was the distorted voice that fill the room.

♪A shinin' in Ju-une, We'll be cud-d-dlin soo-o-n, B-b-y. . . t-h-h-e. . . S-i-i-l-v-e-e-r-r-r-y. . . M-m-m-m-o-o-o-o-o-n-n-n-n-n. . . ♪

Silence had returned to the room, The kind that left one to wonder if they had gone deaf with how sudden it had struck, with the loud ringing that linger in one's ears. Broken by words of his father had had been left staring down at the plug he'd been gripping, scratching his head not a moment sooner.

"Well sport, Compared to that mine wasn't half bad now wa- ." Had nearly been hit by the boot that had shot past him, knocking the radio right off the end table it had been sitting. The wooden shell cracking open to reveal what had been left of molten glass and transistors. that bellow black smoke in that very same moment. Smoke that left a dark stain upon the ceiling.

"Hey now, That's un-" Words he not bother to finish as the one he had been speaking to had already left the room, To find another had been entering in his place.

Dressed in a night gown, hair trapped in curls those barely open eyes of one that had been half way down the stairs. "I don't know what has possessed you to turn up the radio so high first thing in the morning."

First thing she would find the moment her eyes had cleared had been what had been sitting in place of the radio. "Mind telling me why there is a muddy boot on the furniture?"

His father's voice heard from the family room, How chipper it seemed despite the fact he had been left picking up what was left of his latest radio. "A certain little scamp of ours seems to have found himself waking up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

Scamp that had been staring into the kitchen pantry, One that had been tucked beneath the stairs. Between shelves he would squeeze, to crawl towards the end of the slanted ceiling and into the child sized door that had been waiting. Faintest squeaking of wheels heard from within the walls now that the door to the dumbwaiter had been pushed open, Forced to duck down, to crawl through it. Seemed The boy had found his way back to what had become his secret place, One that had gone undergone quite the change.

Books once tucked on shelves left open in piles. Every step the boy had taken left a print in the dust that coat the floor boards. Desk looking to have been no better as it had become covered in all manor of clutter. Having been drawn towards it by his own warped reflection.

Staring into the curved edges of a box left to shine like silver, Listening to what could only be describe as the priming of springs within. Staring down at his his own finger that had been pressing down upon the lever at its feet. The glow that pour out the very top of it. Even the boy had not been able to predict the treasure it had hidden. Squinted gaze seen from the warped reflection as small hands reach for what was given. Had been a slice of toast from questionable origin.

That taste of charcoal that stain Ones lips, Ones tongues the moment they bite down into it. That stratifying crunch that resound from their very teeth. How it had been able to create something that had not been short of perfection that no other slice could ever compare. Least until it had decided to spit out more. Seemed the boy hadn't been the only one that had been so happily munching.

Hidden behind the other slice of his burnt offering had been something left partially hidden. Only three stubby little fingers could be seen gripping at each of the corners. What should of been a face for the boy to stare had been something other. A clam had taken place of what should of been a head, Having clamped down around the edge of the toast that had gone quiet. Had gone motionless the moment the boy had looked in it's direction. Slow had been that clam shell to open. From within and around the edges of the captive treasure shot forth near dozen eyes. Staring back at him from atop the stalks they had been resting. The boy knew not what to make of each one that had the slightest differences.

Had only been a moment before this thing had retreated back into the drawer that had been left ajar. The sound it made as it munch away had been one that left the boy to wonder, If this had been the sound a wood pecker might make had it the teeth to chatter?

Clamped no different had been the slice of toast between the boy's lips now that his finger tips feel the various things left atop the desk. Some he recognize such as the gold plated lighter etched with a set of initials. A metal tin left tucked in an old leather satchel, To those he had not. Chess board that had been filled with green army men. What might be mistaken for red ball to be tossed, Had served as a squeaking nose, Had been when the boy stumble across the strangest thing with a turn key now twist.

Wooden box carved into the shape of the mountain that had been left abandoned. That familiar, ominous tune that play the moment fingers slip from the key that twist back at him. four pointed had been the wooden petals that now open, To reveal none other then the one called Atlas. Need only a single arm to hold up the very world held within the palm of his hand from the center stage he stand. One knee raised high while he slowly spin upon the tips of his toes. Yet all the boy had been able to see had been the empty hand waving back at him. Even now that the walls had come closing in to bring this show to an end. Slow had been this little guy's wave.

Table of Contents

Heels upon the edge of a desk, Leg resting atop the other, Magazine in hand that spoke of Life in far off lands. Voice heard from behind it addressing the elderly man that had been mopping his way into the room, Whistling a tune.

"A bit early today, Aren't you?" For one so laid back, to now watch The Janitor like a hawk, Even if it had been through a more casual glance. One the other had never bothered to return as they had been far more interested at staring down at the stains left upon the floor. Inching his way slowly closer. Had nearly reached the edge of the larger desk when the other call out once more. "You hear me buddy?"

Words drowned out by the whistling of the one that ignored him. Rubber soles left to clap upon the floor as feet had been knocked off a desk now moved. That mop spreading the gunk of the floor atop the polished leather of shoes. "Hey, Wait just a minute here!"

Chair forced up against the wall as he was forced up to his feet, Trying his best to avoid the lapping of the mop. Raised voice and hand now placed upon the elderly man's shoulder having drawn the attention of those that had gone silent.

Had been the very first time the room had fallen silent now that the whistling stop, Still had become the mop. Slow had been that wrinkled and shriveled face to turn towards the one that had been yelling. "Can you speak up? My hearing isn't quite what it use to be."

"Can't quite make out what you're saying unless I can see those flapping gums of yours."

Mr. Brown left eyeing The Janitor for a long moment. That pleasent smile, Those eyes that had not been staring at his, but down at his lips he had been waiting to move.

"Really now? We'll I'll make this as clear as possible."

"I need you to take a few steps backwards."

"In just a moment, I'm almost finished." Without even knowing it he had found himself pressed back against the edge of his seat that had become lodged in the corner. Feeling the wood of it digging into the back of his knees as the mop strike at the sides of his feet. Whatever polish had been left, stripped away to reveal the worren leather beneath.

"Alright I've had enough of your shannagins." Mop having been yanked from between The Janitor's hands. Held off to the side and out of his reach. The few notes that left his lips falling flat as silence return not even a moment later. "Now why did you have to go and do a thing like that."

Pricking pain felt upon his palms, Feeling thousands of tiny splinters tugging at his skin, while several larger ones could be felt digging between his bones like nails. That sudden jolt of pain that came the moment would would release such a thing had never come to be. For every barbed splinter had kept his fingers tightly anchored. Unable to budge them even the slightest no matter how hard this man try. Forced to stare down at the back of hands that looked to have become bruised with discoloration. That sickly shade of yellowish green that begin to ooze it's way through his veins. The purplish blacks and browns that creep up along his very skin, to wrap around each wrist and slither it's way into the cuff of each sleeve.

Despite the situation Mr. Brown found himself in, He had been able to maintain an eerie calmness at this point. "I don't know what sort of witch craft, Or Hoodoo this is, I advise you to stop now before you makes this any worse for yourself pal."

Upon the edge of the desk The Janitor now sat, letting one leg cross over the other as he so casually glance over from time to time as he seemed to take more interest in the magazine the man had been reading. Flipping through the pages every so often. "You see Tomas, You've come into possession of something you shouldn't have. . . "

"Something I could have overlooked had you kept it to yourself you see. . . "

"Had you kept it to yourself that is."

"I don't know who you work for, How you managed to get that information, But I promise you this, It won't end with just me." Something strange had been happening with every word that was just said. Every one that left his lips had been growing quieter with a growing hoarseness to his voice, Until all that had been left was gestures from cracked lips. What had once been the stronger hands of a middle aged man, looked to have become rather shriveled and withered. Discoloration slowly creeping up from the edge of his shirt collar. Had been the moment Mr. Brown had fallen back into his chair that the hysteric laughter of a child would be heard.

"Oh, I am aware, Well aware of all those you've spoken to about this matter, In those final moments you spend trying to find a way out of this situation, Their is some one I would like you to thank for leading you here."

"That little boy sitting right over there, Who was so kind to bring this matter to your attention, How easily it would have been to avoid all this had you brushed it aside as nothing more then a child's make believe."

From the withered and mummified husk of what had once been their teacher, The mop had been plucked, The color began to drip from The Janitor's face, From his Frame. As if all he had been would be washed away beneath unseen rain, To reveal the one that had been his teacher beneath. Staring down at reflection of the one that had been shed. One left to distort and vanish underfoot now that Mr. Brown slip off the edge of his desk.

His new coat not even a chance to dry in what little time it had taken to walk towards the one that had become broke by hysteria. How easily he had been plucked from his seat and left to dangle beneath the grasp of that which look like their teacher. "Now just what am I to do with you."

Even if the face had change, Their had been a distortion of a voice that had yet to fully change. Without warning this man, this thing would suddenly freeze. What had been flesh, what had looked to be clothes would be obscured beneath a ripple of black flame. "Oh what fun we're going to have."

The grinding pop heard from freshly set joints as Mr. Brown look to be rolling his head, Even the boy could find no flaw in the voice now spoken as the skin had hardened. "Good work kid, Now I'll be able to tie off a few loose ends and we can return to business as usual."

"What do you say kid? We bury the Hatchet and none will be the wiser." Words that had been nearly cut short by a more distorted, playful tone. "Oh who am I kidding, What fun would that be if I let it end that easily.

"I'll be the one that sits on the crown of this cozy little world of yours, And you can take the role of that silly little guy staring down at us, And help me decide just what to do with this little friend of yours."

Had been a question if the older boy had even been given a chance to catch their breath in the time since they've become trapped within such laughter that left one's eyes to weep. Child left dangling above another's head, to be shaken like some prize in an attempt to catch the boy's attention.

Eager had been those eyes that look into the ones that had been felt since the very moment he entered. What blood had dripped from his nose given a chance to dry as he stare back with such an empty expression that would not be shaken. Not even giving a hint of movement. "What a wonderful expression, Leaves me feeling all tingly inside, Let's begin shall we?"

"You see, I so adore these sheep that become stained in ink, This one can't help but bathe in it. Every drop that falls upon their head is like music to my ears as they slip from His fingers."

"If only his family hadn't been blind, turned a blind eye to why their rabbits had gone missing, their cherish house pet, and even the family goat and her kids, To their own that cry wolf of all things that left them to strike down one of their own."

"Just how long until this black sheep reveal it's fangs, to shed it's skin and gain a taste for it's brethren, Who knows just how many sheep it'll need to feed before the hounds come running while the Shepard watches idly."

"You see, We may have our difference but I am not the bad guy here, I've come to take this child to a place where he can be properly nurtured, To live freely amongst his own kind, away from all these sheep bound to go missing."

"I ask you child, Which shall it be? Will you allow him to be given the home he deservers or leave him to graze upon the flock?"

Had been the first time the boy had moved since this other had entered the room. Standing upon the chair he had been sitting to become eye level at the one that had been looking down upon him this whole time, to look him dead in the eye with a squinted gaze. Need not bother speaking as the uncurling of fingers would reveal the old coin he had been holding.

That glint that form within the eye of the one that that looked to be nearly drooling. "You wish to leave the fate of this child to a game of chance?"

"How could I ever refuse such a wonderful suggestion, Heads he's mine, Are we in agreement?"

Just as the other had done to well to mimic his teacher, The boy had tried his best to mimic The Detective. "Your lucks run out"

That grin that spread across the face of Mr. Brown had pushed pass human limits. "Oh that's cute, very cute."

Into the air the coin had been sent flipping from the boy's palm. Nearly hitting the ceiling by time it had decided to come crashing back down to the desk it bounce, and wobble before finding itself caught within a spin. Those impossibly large eyes that had been following the coin so intently started to shrink, just as the grin had with every minute that pass staring at this endless spin.

Heavy handed had been the slam of a fist atop the desk the boy had been standing, the cracking of wood nearly split in two as it sent the coin bouncing right off and onto the floor. Squinted had been the look given, As words escape the boy's lips. "Scumbag."

Upon the floor both watch that coin wobble it's way between the other's feet, to find it had come to rest upon it's very edge between them. Yet no matter how hard a foot had been seen stomping, it would not budge no matter how hard this other try. What had once been the hysteric laughter of a child now replace by the Manic laughter of one that left the very walls to shake.

Gloved hand placed upon the child's shoulder now that one had come to stand beside him. "How does it feel, To loose with a stacked deck?"

How that laughter filled the room, As The Man In White just couldn't help himself. Seemed he hadn't been the only one laughing as Mr. Brown had joined in. Left to wipe a single tear from his eye as he calm himself just enough to speak. "One might say he has the devils luck, But as we've both just see, That clearly isn't the case."

For a time they continue to laugh with one another, before both had fallen silent in the very same moment. Mr. Brown looking over at The boy a moment as the distortion left his voice. "I'll see you around kid, Loose ends and all. . ."

Melodic had been the tune that escape his lips, Letting the fifth grader dangle beneath one arm, As what had been left of the one he had become, had been slung over the shoulder of his other. Squinted had been the gaze of the boy that look as if he were about to follow, Only to be stopped by a gentle squeeze upon the shoulder. "I know how you must be feeling child, But it was never about the outcome. It was about the choice not made."

For as playful as warm as his words had been, they had been quick to become void of all emotion now that cryptic tone follow. "Words hold power child, Best you remember that next time you start dredging up those that best be forgotten."

Slap upon the back, The boy found himself staring up at his ceiling. One that had ended no quicker then it began. From sheets, to standing before his desk the boy had come to stare at a single thing placed atop it. Had been a calendar made after his favorite show. The sticks over each day being pulled away to reveal a new catch phrase. Staring upon several he hadn't recognized as he lifted the pages for each month until he had come across the one he recognized near the end of March, Now standing in the end of June.

Table of Contents

Through a more familiar window the boy find himself stare, Watching the world pass him by, To leave the hospital behind. Streets had been filled with all those that usually watched it from windows of their own, Windows left shattered in the streets they now sweep. Men in matching clothes taking great pain not to break the pane they had been lifting from the back of the truck that pass. What li-

"Jack!" hadn't been until his mother called out his name that her words would be heard from the brewing storm. Hadn't been her son she had been calling, but none other. . .

"Is it really that hard to keep an eye on one kid?" The Detective barked at her.

"I can count on one hand the cases that end happily ever after, The cold hard truth is for every one of these, You've got a hundred more collecting dust in some basement!"

Words that would shake with emotion as they grew louder with every one, To speak three in the time it took his father to speak even one, The hesitation to do so.

"Dad. . . " Glance that had caught the stare of another from the rear view mirror. "Not in front of your grandson, We'll talk about this later."

The Detective having shot him a look, for those squinted eyes to open in that brief moment that heated look had been given. Quick as emotions flare, they had been left to simmer on the back burner. "Pull over."

From the seat beside him the boy watch The Detective slip from it, Trying to follow him out the door he had been holding open, One closed before he even had a chance. "Not this time kiddo, You need to get some rest."

Empty had been the stare that watch The Detective pass by the window behind him, to walk away on the street beside them. Watching as he slowly vanish behind a wall as his father turn a corner. World felt as if his world had been tipped on it's side now they climb the only hill this town had to offer.

Hushed whispers of his mother heard now that she leaned toward his father that had been tightly gripping the wheel. "What did the school have to say?"

Silent for a time before his father had finally managed to speak. "No one is taking responsibility for what happened."

"Had it not been for The Janitor to find him in. . . Hasn't even been open a year and it's already falling apart."

"Well he did, and that's what matters." Quick had been his mother to end this discussion now they had stopped moving. His father seen staring up at the very gate that had been blocking them.

"I haven't the foggiest idea how they managed to cast this in one piece, Let alone move the thing. Must way at least a ton." Words from a man that hadn't even bothered to break a sweat as he had been slow to open it. The sounds it made left one to wonder just how old it had been.

"Doesn't matter how many times I drown it in oil, doesn't seem to make a difference." Voice of his father heard from the door he had been gripping. Voice of his mother heard from her own she had now been standing. "I find it rather charming."

Car being slowly rolled through the gap of stone that looked as if it had been carved from a single block. Trapping those unfamiliar faces inside as they swarm across the home. Those that gave heavy handed thumps upon the roof they now hang as it had been too steep to walk. Those hanging off the side of scaffolding to brush over stripped paint. To even the one that had been staring back at him from what was to be his bedroom window, while another had been fixing the frame it was to rest.

At the end of the drive the boy find himself standing. Seemed the Car called Ford had finally been given a house of it's own, Watching his father roll it through the door that had been raised. One that had been separate from his very own. His father not given a chance to even close it before another had approached him from within. clipboard in hand as they had been quick to flip through what notes had been made.

"Think It's best we head into town while your father sorts this out." No matter how hard she tried to mask the fatigue of sleepless nights with cheerful words and pleasant smile, Her eyes betray her. "Won't that be fun dear?"

For as long as the moment had been for her son to stare back at her, it had felt as if it had gone on far longer. Had nearly missed the moment he decided to walk off towards the open gate. Quick had she been to take hold of his hand, One that squeezed tighter then usual. Lead down the street by his mother as the boy's eyes were left to wander.

First time she had a chance to see what might of been neighbors, Or hired help picking up the pieces that had come flooding out onto, and out of their yards and into the street. Clicking of heels had gone silent as she pause to look upon what had been left of a home that had been split in two. Gasp of a whisper had escaped her. "I hope everyone's alright."

How his mother had even managed to walk down the hill with the heels that look to have been equally steep was a mystery to the boy. As much of a mystery as the fissure that span the hill had been to those that had been unable to fill it. Unaware the child that had been watching them from the corner, knew the answer.

Voice of his mother heard as they wait for the intersection light to change. "Guess what?"

Blank was the look she had been given. "You get to decide where we go today, Won't that be so much fun?"

Silent had been the boy that gave no reaction, Watching the lights cycle a few times from the corner of her eye. "Sweetie?"

"Hand" had been the single word that sound like a whisper from the soft spoken child. The very thing those vacant eyes had been found staring. Need only release it for the boy to make his way across the street. Heart stopping sound of horns honking as cars would be seen rolling to a stop.

Had been half way across it by time the lights had switched over and his mother had been able to catch him. What had been the tighter grip upon one hand, had turned into something much more once they cross the street, Having become trapped within his mother's arms. The shaking that came from the whisper that brought warmth to the ear her lips had been pressed. "What were you thinking, You could of been hurt or. . . "

"No" had been the answer the boy had given, Arms slow to release him.

"Please just be more careful. . . For me, Please. . . " Unsure if her son had even heard her by how quick he had been to make his way down the side walk moment he had been released.

For a boy that seemed to shuffle about at a rather leisurely pace, That had not been the case, As his mother struggle to keep pace. Pushed to the very limit of what could even be considered walking as rapid clicking of heels had been at the boy's own. Had only taken a single blink for the boy to vanish as the door a shop away had been slowly closing.

Middle of the show room floor the boy stare at the one dressed in the finest threads that money could buy. One that look down upon the boy dressed in a rather tattered Detective Coat. The Fedora atop his head had been no better. This urchin that had come tracking mud across the freshly polished show room floor. Had been ready to thrown the boy right out the door when another had come walking right through them, One that looked to have been glistening with the slightest sweat, needing a moment to catch her breathe, To slip back on he heels that had been tucked beneath one arm.

For as quick as the boy had been, They had been quicker to change everything they had been moment his mother had been caught in their stare.

"Welcome Madam, It is always a pleasure for one of such dignified beauty as yourself to step foot in this humble little shop of mine."

"Has everything been serving you well so far? If you've come to report an issue with one of the latest acquisitions, It'll take but a moment for me to find the warranty under your husbands name"

"Everything has been working wonderfully, Thank you." Need only a moment for those sweeter words to grace this man's ears.

Let's go sweetie, Let's not bother the nice man further." Words that felt like a sharp poke to the eye.

Over the shoulder this man stare, At the child that had placed something upon the counter. Walking passed the Television sets and Refrigerators the man make his way toward it. Taking a moment to wipe off the pocket lint from the spent flash bulb the boy had placed before cleaning the spot it had touched upon the counter. Squinted had been the look missed by the man that had taken far more interest in another.

"Scumbag" Word that had come as a surprise to all that heard it from that gruffer attempt. Had been as if the man had just been sucker punched by the look he shot the boy. One that was given a squinted one in return. "What a precious little scamp you have here, Must have plenty of pictures of him by now if you've come for replacements."

The one he had been speaking, pausing a moment to think about it, had only been this moment she had come to such a realization. "No actually, Something I've been meaning to do."

From beneath the counter a finely crafted wooden case would be pulled free. Within had been several bulbs wrapped in paper, Tucked into squares of cardboard. "Well you'll be able to take plenty with all of these. Wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to keep all those precious memories now would we? That'll be 20 for half a dozen, But I tell you what, You purchase two dozen and I'll throw in what's left on the house."

Hadn't even been given a chance to think, As she answer. "My husband is the one that uses it, I'll have to talk it over with him."

"That's a real shame, I wouldn't want him to miss out as one of my regulars should swing by any minute now. I'll tell you what, Since you're such a valued costumer I'll double the count just this once for twenty. That's a real steal you know?"

Answer had come in the form of coins being dropped upon the counter. Two nickles and a dime the boy had fished from the depths of his coat pockets. Squinted had been the look given as the case was lifted out of the child's reach. Left picking up the coins that had been swept off the counter in that moment. "They really have no concept of money at that age, do they? That'll be in cash, Not coin."

Those eyes had been pushing the limit on just how squinted they could be. Question if they had even been open beneath those over lapping lashes. Spinning heard atop the counter a moment before a single coin had been left to tip over. Dismissive had been the glance at first, before eyes had gone wide. Up to one eye this man now held the silver piece, Was as if he had forgotten where he had been standing in the moment as he weighed it within the palm of his hand. "This will do quite nicely."

"I'll tell you what, For this old beat up coin of yours, I'm willing to part with what I've placed before you." First time this man had even bothered to meet the boy's gaze.

That squinted look the boy gave had reverted to the usual blank one. Gripping the edges of the box the man had been handing him, Only for his mother to place a hand atop it. "Wait a moment, Are you sure this is alright? How can one coin really be worth so much."

Man quick to clear his throat before speaking. "Oh It's not, I'm taking quite the loss here, But you see this was one of the coin's I've been missing from my collection."

Slight sweat starting to trickle from his forehead in the very moment his mother was to speak, giving her a moment of pause before she continue with a more questioning tone. "If it really is as worth as little as you say, Think It's best we wait."

"It does not feel right to take advantage of your kindness." Alarmed had been the other's expression. Blurting out rather suddenly. "No!"

Next moment having been his usual tone. "What I meant to say is, I won't take no for an answer. After all you are my most valued customer and this is the very least I can do to repay you for all your kindness you've shown so far."

Sound of the door opening behind them, Catching a glimpse of the urchin that had finally the sense to leave the store, The one of beauty quick to follow. Yet none could compare to the beauty of the face that stare back at him, One he couldn't help but kiss before tucking it away into his pocket. The laughter of joy heard half way down the street as another give chase.

Eye to eye had been The boy to stare at another that had been standing upon the other side of a counter. That doe eyed expression of one caught in the head lights. Still as the boy had been, Yet for for different reasons. One that looked no older then him having been left in charge of the counter while their mothers had been catching up with one another in the back. Had only taken a single word from the boy to cause the other to jump on the spot. "Bag"

One taken, and shaken open behind the counter before being held up, As the boy drop all manor of things into it. Crayons, Pencils, Paints, Bottle of rubber adhesive, push pins, Every color of construction paper they had as well as a regular pad. Had it not been for the child behind the counter tugging at his mother's sleeve, The boy's mother might of never know he had already been headed across the street. Lucky for her their had only been one place her son could be headed.

Sitting at his usual spot she would find her son sitting at the counter. Having already done his usual spin upon it, Found putting the finishing touches upon his highly unusual coffee concoction. The waitress behind the counter had been leaning against it smiling as the last of the breakfast spread was placed before him. That bubbly voice of one that had far too much energy heard. "Ooooh, I see you've brought a friend today."

A playful wink given to the boy's mother. "What can I getcha today? Was starting to wonder if I was still going to see the little guy in here after, Oh uhm, Never mind! What I mean is It's on the house, So what can I getcha?"

First time she had been given a chance to get off her feet, Taking a seat at the counter beside her son. Eyeing all the plates of food that had been given. "I'll take a steak to go, I haven't a chance to prepare anything for my husband and I don't think I'll be able to cook this evening."

Grin having formed upon the waitress's lips that brief moment before speaking. "Awww isn't that sweet of you, Looking after him before yourself. I'll tell you what, How about I give you one to go, and one for you."

His mother not given a chance to refuse, let alone get a word in edge wise now. "Isn't that right big guy? You won't mind?"

Grunt heard from behind hear as the one stuck behind the counter gave a dismissive wave over a shoulder with a spatula. One heard scraping across the grill not even a moment later.

His mother had already been quick at work cutting up the chicken fried steak on one of his plates. Turning to look up at her when something else had caught his attention. Far end of the diner had been Rex passed out beneath a booth another had been sitting, Hidden behind a news paper. Gruffer voice heard moment before it had been lowered. "About time Kiddo, How long did you plan on keeping the two of us waiting?"

Silent had the boy been to stare back at The Detective from the edge of the paper. Staring down at the mug he had been holding, and had yet to be slurping. The boy didn't need the clawing of whispers at the back of his mind to tell him what he had already known.

Like crayons left beneath a heating lamp the world around him would begin to drip and melt away until only a single puddle remain. Watching the faces of those around him lose all shape before feeding the growing stain. The Janitor had been sitting in place of his mother. Taking a bite of what had been cut up. Slurping from the edge of the boy's mug, Before mopping up what had been offered at the far end of the diner. The boy looked as if he was to speak, when something had struck him in the eye.

Had been a wad of paper that bounce off the edge of his desk. Face of one that had turned around in the desk they had been sitting going off like a broken record of vicious mockery. "Dog killer!"

Staring out the window, before staring up at the luminescent bulb that had replaced the sun, before staring upon the word etched across the chalk board. "Monday". Seemed the very moment the boy had read it, He felt the warmth of a nose bleed, As if to mark the arrival of another that had been whistling their way through the classroom door.

Viewer Discretion is Advised.

Click of a door heard as the child had been tucked in for the night. The Quiet that came with it never a chance to settle as such sounds the home made had done well to fill such vacancy. Those sleepless eyes that stare upon the ceiling need not wait long until something new would make it's presence known.

Subtle had been the tap upon the window, One that could be ignored, One that would not be ignored as it continued grow(l)ing louder with each tap tap tap. Tap Tap Tap, Tap! Tap! Tap! that come before flash of white, A crack, A boom.

Branch shine through the window, those twigs that twist into gnarled fingers. Slowly scraping down the glass they've come to rest. Little protection would it provide from the shadow cast. Creeping across the floor with every flash had been those gnarled fingers that distort, to form the very things that claw their way across the floor. Unaware the impending doom that crawl out from the cracks, A child had been caught within another's grasp.

What had started as a dot had become something more with every heavy knock that strike against the walls. This spot that grow beneath the rapid tapping that came from just beyond the ceiling. Ever darker the spot grow beneath the child's silent stare, One that turn the very darkness of the room grey in contrast. The type of thing one dare not stare yet could not look away even now that creeping hands had been gripping at the very edge of the child's comfort(er).

Unblinking had been these staring eyes that have become so wide. Those eyes that need only blink for dawn to arrive and strike down the dead of night. Unaware what had been waiting for the moment the child had looked away. That drop that struck upon closed eye each and every time they try, Yet never once caught in the child's wide eyed stare. Soaked had become the pillow their head lay. Soaked had become the covers they try to squirm away, free from the grip of another.

Flash of light that come to wash away the night the very moment curtains had been thrown open. Child sized doors left to shutter beneath the rumble that follow. Doors now caught in the boy's stare as they had not been their earlier. Face pressed upon the glass trying to see through the narrow gaps called slats that had taken place of crooked planks. Had been the very moment the boy had found a spot to stare, he had been caught by another's.

Locked in a game of stare the moment head turned. Those eyes that had been so close they nearly touched his very own. Each one looking to grow wider, glow brighter with every passing moment he had been dragged further into the sea of orange. That look the boy would never break, Never shake no matter how many times he had won this game. This time no different now that the stray found another thing to stare beyond the gaps of window slats.

Crack came from below the desk as jammed drawer had been forced open, boy left to tumble back upon the floor now that all his hidden treasures had been scattered. So many things this feline stare from the desk they had been perched. Amongst the many things the boy would find a single thing. Had been a crumpled bag with stripes of red, stripes of white. One soon dumped at the feline's feet, One left staring down at the burnt treats from distant far of lands. What should of been a louder crunch with every munch the two share had been a squeak between teeth. For what better snack had their been for the show that unfold just outside their window?

Level as the yard looked to be, the water had been quick to pool towards the edge of the property. Damned off by the very Stone that had been meant to protect it. Forced to funnel through the iron bars of the gate that now served another purpose. Those rapids that formed within the very street that had become flooded. How these water raged, fueled by the other homes caught down river, To form the very sea at the bottom of this hill they had been built. Watching all manor of things being swept out to this newly formed sea. Papers left upon steps, Broken branches, Even the contents of over turned trash cans, with the trash can not far behind. Upon the metal saucer once lid, turned life raft a racoon sat, Spinning along it's way.

Heavy had been the rain, The world had started to distorted beneath the lense it created. Strait lines looking to shake beneath the weight every which way. Curved lines looking to have switch sides, and look to have become strait at times, World that looked drowned in static, Nothing left static behind the screen of this moonless night. Only the flash of white had been able to pull back the curtains, even if it had been only for the briefest of moments.

Without warning the very rain had look as if some one had hit pause, before turning sideways, to unleash a torrent of water upon those doors, To flood through the very gaps, To press upon the very glass that look to have now placed at the deepest depths. The frothing bubbles that form from the violent shaking of that which had been forced to endure the brunt of mother nature's roar. Roar that force even the mightiest oak to their knees.

The very sound that fill the air, Had been one that invoke fear on a primal level that none mistake. The very sound that one never need to hear to know just what it had been. Cracking that would only last a few seconds. The snapping of branches, and that deep rooted thump that scar the very land. Scars this storm would leave across the land.

Vague figure in the loosest sense of the word had been seen across the street. That vague blur of a shape that stand out from the rest that shake. Perfectly still had been this spot in the dark one couldn't help but stare. One that never quite took shape no matter how long the boy had. Hair upon the back of his neck slowly starting to stand on end, Just as the very hair upon his head, The taste of copper upon the very air. From the very spot a bolt of blue, a bolt of purple shot up into the very sky to cut through the light, the night. Only to find the spot had now been placed just outside his gate, To part the very rapids that now flow around it. This spot that had been like a stain the light(ning) could not wipe away, One that slowly started to take shape.

Jammed had become the window the boy try to force open. Heavy had been the sheet of glass trapped within the frame he struggled to lift. The moment that seal had been broken the slightest crack had been enough to sweep the bag of burnt popcorn off his desk, to be pressed against his chest and cover him in the mess. Just what had the boy been thinking? Just what had he been seeing?

Forced to fight against the tide that had come crashing in like a wave, to slam upon the very desk he had come to rest. How hard it had tried to drag him off it and back to bed, Only to end the very moment a block of wood had been placed beneath it, Load bearing had become this single pillar. How easily those shutter doors would open now that the very wind, the very rain had ended, For the very night to become clear in that moment. The boy staring down at that vague figure that start to take shape, One that nearly revealed it's face had it not been for the roar of wind that had come to sweep the boy right of his feet. Weightless had become the boy caught gripping upon the pillar that had become his anchor, his life line.

Was as if time had come crashing to a stop that very moment the thing he had been holding had slipped from beneath the window, Leaving the boy sailing through the very air. Like thunder the window had come crashing down. Like thunder the boy left the wall shake. To bounce of it no different then the very rain, To fall atop the very bed that wait beneath him. Still had been the boy even now that rain come dripping down upon the back of his head, block still caught within his grip.

From their room parents had been quick to rush. Having been awoken by the sound of thumping of falling trees, Thumping that came from just across the hall, and thumping that came from another's heavy handed knocking. "You check on Jack, I'll see who has come to visit at this hour."

Through the door one could hear the slamming of open shutters. Slow had been the creaking of a bedroom door slow to open. What had been a clean room now looking to have become over turned with the scattering of clutter. What had been a feint, yet high pitched whistle starting to grow louder from the shards of glass that lay scatter, ones that look to become light as a feather. Door slammed shut behind her as the wind howl from beneath the gap.

Beneath one arm her sleeping child lay limp. Candle held in the other so violently flicker by the chill that had been creeping in, nipping at her heels. Flickering that left those orange eyes to shimmer as they greet her from atop the stairs they had been perched. Brief had been the greeting that now turn to greet another that had been heading up the stairs. Those heavy thumps underfoot hat left a mother to call out to her other. "Who was it dear?"

Upon the floor her child sat. Sitting up with such a vacant expression as she try to dry their hair. Looking upon their child's face with a pleasant smile. Had taken a moment to realize they had not been staring back at her. To see the one that had been looming over her within her child's eyes. Sudden gust had come to snuff out the very flame that gave one final, desperate struggle. One that simply could not escape such a fate, To share what warmth remain with the child they now share a gaze.

Heavy handed had been the knocking upon the door that shot eyes open. Jiggling of a door handle heard, that prolong creak that came from hinges left neglected, slowly being opened. Softer, Sweeter voice of his mother heard through this narrow crack she had come peeking. "Jack sweetie, Are you awake?"

A bit of eager playfulness now weave into her very words. "Their is some one here that can't wait to see you."

Need not finish such words for the door to be forced open by something that had been just out of view. Something that had been lurking just beneath the edge of the bed the boy had been staring. That sudden blur that had been come leaping up from it, to stand over him. This very thing that now stare down at him with the same, shared expression. Blank had been the look given, Broken by the slurp that left a face covered in drool. The Familiar smell of heated breathe of one that had been digging through the compost. That lull of a tongue of one that that gave such a blank expression, Even now that it decide this had been the best time to shake away the rain.

Behind the bedroom door his mother had been sent reeling as the room was left dripping. "It'll take a week for the wall paper to dry out, Was so eager to see you wouldn't even let me dry him off."

Single hand managed to slip free, To pat his missing friend atop the head, Tail wagging up a storm as a thump would be heard upon the floor. Canine staring from the edge of the bed.

Upon his side the canine now flopped, To stare at the boy from beneath the bed. One that had squirmed and fallen free from the covers, Staring face down in the carpet and left covered in popcorn.

"You'll have plenty of time to catch up later, Now let's get you downs stairs to thank the nice man that found Rex."

A thing that would be far easier said then down, had the boy not been left tripping over Rex with every step. The large canine that had been trying to bite the popcorn that had been caught in the wool of his pajamas. That munching crunch heard from the beast that picked him clean.

"Don't be shy son, come thank the nice man for bringing Rex home!" Hand of his father seen shaking out a match as he usher him down the stairs. Pipe he had been holding now point towards the door that had been waiting just around the corner.

From atop those steps the canine watch as he pant and wait his turn. His mother had been following at his heels as he turn the corner. Looming had been the face he stare. It had been none other then The Janitor.

Voice of his mother heard as she loomed behind him. "I can't thank you enough, Really you don't know how much this means to Jack.

From that subtle smile that had been present upon The Janitor's lips, he now spoke with a tone that show his age. "To have something of yours go missing, Or to be taken from you. . .

It's only right to have it be returned to it's rightful owner." Gentle had been his smile.

How this elderly man turn his gaze from both parents, To meet the gaze of the boy that had been silently staring. "And I do believe this boy has found a picture of mine I dropped while cleaning."

Voice of his father raised the slightest now as he spoke. Seemed the first he had heard of such things. "Is this true sport? Why don't you give the nice man his picture so he can be on his way. Least we can do for what he's done."

Long had been the boy to stare at his father, before turning to look elsewhere. Had only taken a few steps for him to reach his school jacket that had been hanging beside the door. Blur of fur had come rushing down the steps, to grip at the very picture the boy had been holding, now caught in a game of tug of war. One his furry friend would suddenly release without warning, Leaving him sitting upon the floor, Staring down at it, before offering it up to the one that had been standing over him.

"Now what do you say to the nice man sweetie?" Beside the chair his father had been sitting, his mother now heard. Those smiling faces that stare back at him silently in that moment. Looking over at the canine that had been chewing upon what was left of his father's shoe, before gnawing at the very railing the canine had been laying as attention slowly turned back to the one that had been waiting.

As the boy try to speak, he would find his very words would fail him. For what spill forth from between them had been the whispers of children. Thousands of children that make a different sound. A distant sound none could quiet make out.

The color around him would begin to bleed like oil paint before blending into water paint that would wash away in the rain the boy had found himself standing. Staring at the very spot it fail to wash away. Through the iron bars of the gate The Janitor's arm had been reaching, Silent had been the one that never let the smile leave his face now that the land had been washed in light. Snapping had come the jaws of a great serpent that swollen him whole, To vanish into the very clouds to unleash it's triumphed roar as wings of lightning spread across the sky. To find it had been one of rage at the one that had slipped away, Smiling from across the river, One that not even even show the slightest hint of movement.

Not once had the boy blinked, Not once had the boy so much as let The Janitor leave his gaze. Even the flash of white could not hide the one that had been clear as day. One that it would not rain.

Louder had been the whispers that come to silence the rain, that come clawing free. Those vague sounds of what they speak starting to overlap, to partially form what had been something akin to a syllable.

From the tip of a finger a single crack would form, to slowly spread and fissure across the very arm that looked to have been something akin to plaster, What color their had been peeling away like paint, before the very coat had been shed like a second skin. Relentless stare of one boy left to follow the other's that had been moving skyward, To cast a shadow across the land no different then one that block the rain. To be caught in the shadow of a grin that had been forming as it had been growing.

Trickle of warmth was left to bleed from the nose of one that struggle to form the very thing that had taken root within his mind. Eerie was the green tint that left skies aglow moment very skies above had been caught in a never ending spiral that look to form a single finger, One that had been intent on crushing this unspeakable thing it descend. Yet before the boy had a chance to utter the very thing that had been forming, The Quiet had made it's presence known moment the unseen hand of another had silenced him.

Not a single sound had been heard in the very moment another had appeared. That flash of white, The Man In White. The crack of his cane between his feet that brought pause to the very world. Booming had been the voice that endlessly echo. "ENOUGH!" Booming had been the voice that left all to quake.

time would begin to painfully skip with every word that had been exchanged. The pain of every moment that had simply been erased from memory, from existence. Stopping the very moment patience had reached it's limit. The crack that echo from the spot between his feet. Cracking that came roaring from beneath the river now swallowed into a hairline fissure, Soon the sea to follow.

"Unspoken was the rule broken, For every rule that is broken a price must be paid, A debt I shall collect. None shall be exempt." Slow had been the head to turn, as cane now point in the boy's direction.

Yet it seemed it had been pointing at the one that had been covering his mouth. "You would do well to remember, Upon the scale those that watch the world burn weigh no different then those that have come to fan the flames, While I am left to clean the slate."

Whatever had happened beyond those fleeting words the boy would never know. Had only taken a single dismissive gesture from The Man In White to send the world spiraling around him, Until all that had been left was a flash of never ending White. Had taken a moment for the boy to realize he had been lying in a bed that had not been his own, Staring up at the light that had been hanging over head. Taking a moment to adjust, to see just what it had been hiding.

"I have to give it to you kiddo, You really know how to keep me on my toes." End of a cigar being bitten, thunk it made hitting the bottom of a trash can it had been spat.

"Can't even catch a break before you step from one mess and into another." Blur of a face seen hovering over him, One he couldn't quite make out as the voice had been one he had been all too familiar.

The satisfying click and snap of a lighter being flipped open. That rush of kerosene that fill the air, that would soon be replaced by the smog of the cigar it had been hovering.

"Suppose now I can put to rest the case of my missing lighter." Lighter the boy had been quick to hold up from the spot he lay staring, Waiting for this very moment.

Hadn't even gotten a taste of the damn thing when that nurse come flying through that door like a bat out of hell. Thoughts of one caught red handed.

"For god's sakes, No smoking in the hospital!" Livid couldn't even describe the one that gave look that could kill. "How many times do I have to tell you?!"

"Not like it even had a chance to light anyway." Press of a thump had been all that was needed to snuff the life from it. "Happy now?"

"Now how about you make yourself useful and let those standing outside the kid's awake." Looked as if the other had wanted to choke the life from him. Had it not been for the kid might of ended in more then a look.

Hand had been reaching for the lighter the boy had been holding, Stopping just shy of it as he stare down at the cigar before tucking it away. "You know what kiddo, How about you do me a favor and keep that safe. These things seem to have lost their taste anyway."

Flick all that was needed for it to snap shut, to vanish from the hand that had been holding it. Having been eyeing his sleeve. "Real cute trick kid, How about you do all of us a favor and lay off them for a while, Capichi?"

"Sure the parents of yours could use the break after this latest one." Words not even given a chance to finish when the sharper poke of a child's finger had been felt pressing at the wrinkles beneath each eye, before tugging at an eyelid that left them squinted.

"Come on kid, Watch it, And while we're at it mind giving those eyes a rest? Feel like you're about to burn a hole through me any moment."

Words having fallen upon deaf ears, as the small hand would be brushed away now that a finger had nearly poked him in the eye. "Enough kiddo."

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Scribbling of crayons upon paper and desks as a trio of first graders would struggle to stay within the edges. Through the wind, Through the rain of each passing day their glitter remain. Even now they continue to spread it like the plague. Glitter one could never seem to wash away.

Shimmer of glitter that would fade into the twilight that mark the end of day. Creaking of a classroom door heard as the first parents had come to collect those that had been left in another's care. Parents that hadn't been spared from the plague their children spread, With dread.

Mr. Brown having moved on to the paper work he had been saving now the last of the children had left for the evening. Slow had been that nagging itch that spread from the back of his head to claw at the back of eyelids. That all too familiar sensation that came from the stare of the one that had been so easily forgotten. The boy that hadn't so much as moved, nor made a sound for the better part of an hour now found pointing.

What glance he had given, Brief as he turn back to finish the report he had been writing. Yet for every word he tried to write, He couldn't help but glance back at the boy. Those eyes that gave such a pointed stare from the edge of lamp light. That eerie shine they gave from the shadows that flicker. This boy that seemed to only know how to point. Pointed had become the question that slowly spread and take root within his mind. Growing with each and every glance one make without their knowing, To plague ones mind until they could take it no longer.

"Alright kid, I'll bite." Pencil left to slip and fall from between fingers as he stand from behind the desk. Standing before the very one the boy had been pointing. All he had been able to see was his reflection from a desk freshly polished. No matter how long, how hard he look upon it, their had been no difference between it and the others that remain vacant.

"Mind telling me what I'm missing here kid?" Stare that had been met with his own, now met with one of silver. To stare upon his own reflection within them.

Without warning that pointing arm now bend and lower, Reaching into that gap left between vest and blazer. Just as quick as it had entered, A vanilla folder had been pulled free and handed over to his teacher. Silent had been this man now forced to play detective moment it had been forced open. Flipping through the papers within, before seeming to fixate upon a single face that had been staring back at him. A picture that had been pulled free and placed down atop the very desk he found himself kneeling. "You know this kid?"

The stare down would continue at eye level a long moment before the boy finally gave a slower nod.

"This his seat?" Slow had been the boy to nod his head once more.

"Today?" Paused had been the nod that follow, To point once more more with the shake of a head that come after.

"Yesterday?" Nodding once more had been the boy with the silver gaze. Strange had been this line of questioning.

Every answer given would cause what questions they raise to spread like the plague. Those eyes that no matter how hard he try, simply could not turn away from those pages. The expression of one trapped in the depths of deep contemplation. Drowning out the very world around. Blind to what the child had been doing. Deaf to the honking that came from below the window they had both been standing.

Outside the rolling boat called Ford had been found with wheels submerged along the curb. His father had been standing on the passenger side holding the door open against the breeze that had been slowly growing. Wouldn't have to wait long now that his son walk through the very doors his teacher had come running. "Thanks again for keeping an eye on him this week, Starting Monday he'll be-"

Rushing passed his Father without even a glance as the sound of a car door would be heard followed by the rumble of an engine. Creaking of wroughten gates closing at the heels of the boy that passed them. His Father waving back at The Janitor that had been locking them.

"Some strange weather we're having today, Kind of thing you'd expect along the coast and not all the way out here." No answer given as he now turn his attention towards his son, Making sure he had been strapped in tightly before heading up river.

Hadn't been long before the boy try to awaken the little man that had been sleeping inside the radio. Twisting of a dial that only served to give a voice to the storm.

"Sorry sport, Afraid you'll have to wait until they get the power back up and running." Clicking heard a moment before the static fell silent.

"You'll have plenty of time to catch up on all your shows come morning." Weight of his father's hand felt upon the top of his head, Ruffling through those strands of silver.

"What do you think your Mother has in store for us this evening? Bet it's something extra special now that the fridge is on the fritz."

Silent had been the look His Father was given, before turning to stare down towards the opposite end of the dining room table. One that had been long enough even the boy could not see it's end within the darkness it had been lost. They would of been no different had it not been for the candle lit before them. Darkness his Mother now step with silver platter in hand, Having brought the last of the meal they would be feasting.

Through amber liquid the boy stare at what had been hidden beneath the lid. That toxic green that jiggle and glow beneath candle light. Those shredded remains of care rot suspended within their gelatinous prison. Those mummified husks of purple fruit mixed in with chunks of yellow spikey fruit stacked and trapped no different, Little hands reaching around the decanter being lifted.

Amber liquid left to pour from the crystal, Just enough to coat the bottom of a glass that could not fit within the palm of his father's hand, Glass now swirled. How the room fill with the scent of French oak with floral notes. Voice of his mother heard now that a bowl had been placed into his hands. "It's a shame they don't build homes like this anymore, Had I not opened the kitchen door I would have never heard the wind howling."

Those eyes stare upon what had been given, Those sticks of orange, sticks of green. Pre-chewed potato drowned beneath grey liquid where strips of onion bathe like eels. Buried beneath it had been a thicker slice of unknown meat pressed and boiled. Slice his mother had been pulling free to cut up for her son that looked to have become lost within the gravy.

"This looks wonderful dear, I can't wait to dig in." Swirl of a glass given, Sip taken before being set down upon the table. Pleasant smile seen upon both his parent's faces as the boy found both his hands taken. Held within the warmth each of theirs would bring him. Silent had they been now that their heads had lowered. How the boy try to look into the eyes that had become closed. Watching as both parents open in unison.

From the bowl an orange stick had been taken. That snap that echo down the dining hall in that very same moment. The plop of mashed orange seeing falling atop the spot his mother had been cutting.

"Jack!" Snap of a voice heard drawing the boy's gaze upward as the bowl would be dragged in front of His Mother. "How many times have we gone over this, We are to use our napkin if we dislike something sweetie.

"She's right son, Wouldn't want the rest of your food going to waste." Little hands now reach for the silver platter, One lifted out of reach as he watch his father cut a slice from it "Not so fast, Don't think we've forgotten what happened last time."

"Have they said when they will release our things from evidence?" Napkin removing the glob of orange, before returning to just what she had been doing.

"By the sound of things we shouldn't get our hopes up with how The Hunter contaminated everything." Sound of crystal being slowly dragged across the slab of rosewood.

"They're in talks about having the place demolished. Seems every time some one tries to finish cleaning or make repairs they end up sick for the better part of a week." Decanter being taken from child sized hands by one that had been far larger.

"Eat up while it's still warm sweetie." Words that had fallen upon deaf ears as the boy had slipped from the table in the moment neither had been looking.

Clash of light between a candle held, and embers beneath the stove seen. Within an open fridge they brawl across reflective surfaces. Yet none would know the victor now that his father had come to close the door, Who's Head would turn to find the boy had returned to his seat at the table with bottle in hand. One that had once been full now emptied into a glass like the one His Father had been holding. A Father that had been looming.

Those eyes that stare up at His Father now that the glass had been taken, Only to be handed off to His Mother in that very same moment. "That's not for drinking sport, Wouldn't want you to get sick now would we?"

Slow had been the milk bottle to slip free from those little hands once his father had taken hold of it by the neck. Watching His Mother vanish into the darkness with candle in hand, While his father return to his meal that had been waiting. Finding himself staring down at the bowl placed before him.

By time His Mother had returned from the darkness, His Father had polished off his plate. Mug placed into the hands of the boy that left his own untouched. Watching the thicker sludge that look like mud pour from the kettle his mother had been holding.

"Drink your chocolate before it goes cold." Cold had been the only word to describe the food the boy watched his mother eat. Meat had grown tough enough his mother would be forced to try and saw thought it. Slurping from the edge of the mug heard as the boy had been looking into those eyes that had done well to keep her thoughts hidden. That smile that remain even as she look to struggle to chew upon what had become no different then shoe leather.

Creaking of a chair heard as His Father would lean back in it. Sweeter scent of tobacco filling the air as candle wax drip upon the hand that light it. How it flicker and dance across the carving left upon the surface of the hollowed horn now puffed. From the corner of his eye, He watched the boy try another bite. That pause of hesitation that came before he reach for a napkin. The suprise that came when instead the boy had gone for a second.

Silent had been the nudge given now that both parent's watch the boy polish off the last of the meal given. His father not bothering to re-light the pipe that had gone out in the time it had taken. "Well would you look at that honey, The boy's starting to come around to your cooking."

Jab between ribs had been the answer given to one that knew better then to play with fire. That playful glint that shown in that very moment they look upon one another. Another slice of meat taken off the serving tray, to be placed into that empty bowl. "Here sport, Have another. We've plenty more where that came from."

Slipping from the table the boy had vanished into the darkness that had been waiting behind his chair. Slurping heard moving from one room to another.

"Wish I had even an ounce of courage he has at that age, Walking around in the dark without a care in the world."

"Couldn't sleep without a campfire until I was ten." Pipe being relit by candle fire. Light hearted had been the laughter heard from His Father.

"And that's what worries me, Every time he goes off on one of his little adventures, I fear he won't return." His Mother having started to clear the table and head forwards the kitchen.

"This isn't the frontier honey, Crime just doesn't happen here. Sure we get the occasional bad apple, Dad was always quick to weed them out before any real harm came of it."

His father having followed after his mother, bringing with him the few things remaining. "Heck, when was the last time you even heard a child had gone missing? Must of been back when. . . "

Silence had fallen upon the room as neither dare move, nor make a sound. Silent had been the wife that now approach and hold her husband close. Buried in a shoulder had been the face hidden from the world. Those softer sobs that came even as softer words whisper. "Don't lose hope, they'll find them one day."

Slightest hit of anger had become laced within the whispers of His Mother. "Least they've caught the two responsible. It's only a matter of time until we get answers. "

Muffled had been His father's words. "You're right dear, Need to look at the positive. Because of them we now have a boy we can call our own."

Slow had been hands to slip from the back of the head they cradle. Hadn't even a chance to take a step when she nearly tripped over their boy. Startled had been his mother that cry out the name of the holy son.

How the boy stare up at her from the edge of the empty mug that had been offered. Quick had been his father to look away as he give the boy a squeeze upon the shoulder. How cheerful had been the words of one that had been masked by the wiping of a sleeve. "Can't get enough of that, Can you sport?"

Out the back door his father had to fight the wind to open, the glow of his pipe soon vanish. Rather weather the storm then let a son see a face that rain no different. Quick had His Mother's heart still been to beat now that her attention had fallen square upon their son. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that sweetie."

Taking a moment for the adrenaline to fade. "One more cup, Then it's off to bed."

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At his desk the boy would listen to the muffled words exchanged in the hallway. Listen to the gossip of children that would fall silent, having the look of deer caught in the head lights each time the sky unleashed a flash, A rumble. While most had finished eating what had been offered for lunch, The boy had been left to stare upon what had been waiting for him the moment he return from the nurse's office.

Amongst those trays filled with apple cores, the boy had been left to stare down at something far different, A yellow fruit of oblong shape. A bottle of milk no different than the one they had been given through out the day, To that jiggling cube of green that would suspend smaller cubes of equally gelatinous cubes of bright pink mystery meat. None aware the boy knew only one way to reach these forbidden treats.

Slam of a book that cut through the lower rumble of thunder, That squish none could quite place as one of those cubes of pink would flop off the back of a child's head. The splat of green that stuck upon the cheek of those that had been sitting off to each side. That slurping pop of a book being peeled off the top of of a desk. How those children stare at the boy, before slowly looking at one another, before each stare down at the jiggling left untouched atop their trays.

Whatever conversation they had been having cut short by the cacophony of childish laughter. That thump that hit the window of the class room door the very moment another had tried to pull it open. Nearly caught in the short lived war these children wage upon one another. The shades of green, the pink of singular shade that drip from both walls and ceiling. To those little faces covered much the same, Looking to have been caught in the glare of lamp light now raised.

"So which one of you is the master mind behind this little game?" For a class that look to have been trapped in a picture, they had all been quick to turn and point to the boy that had been standing upon his tippy toes, reaching for a chunk that had become stuck upon the wall. Stare that only came the moment his name had been called.

"Jack!" Voice raised to get his attention, lower with the next few that would be exchanged.. "Stop that and take your seat."

Mr. Brown left scratching his head as he took a look around the place. No matter what amount of training one might receive, none had taken into account the one he had become knee deep in. Trying to decide the best way to handle it when a sudden bang caught his attention. That chunk of muck that struck him in the eye. That one eyed stare that became squinted as he looked upon the boy that had been holding a book, staring down at what had been left of the banana he had been trying to open.

Slam of the class room door heard as the boy found himself standing out in the hall. Those words heard from the other side. "Wait there."

Front of class Mr. Brown found himself trying to wipe away the mess from the chalk board. For what good it had done as it only served to spread it further. Turning towards the class as he spoke. "Alright, Everyone grab your things, we'll use the class room next door."

That nagging feeling of being watched, The kind that itched at the back of one's mind felt nearly plucking the back of eye lids. Eyes that couldn't help but find their way towards the window in the door. Met with the shine of the boy's eyes in lamp light. Those eyes that never seemed to to blink nor look away. Had been the way the boy was slow to sip from the edge of the milk bottle in that same manor one might nurse the edge of a mug that had been most concerning.

Concern that had been shifted elsewhere the moment the boy had been seen turning his head to look elsewhere. For the few steps it took for Mr. Brown to stick his head out the door, The boy had already been gone. Yet no matter how long he stare, He could no longer feel the nagging itch at the back of his lids, Even if the sensation of being watched from the darkness still linger.

Movement within the darkness had caught the boy's attention. Movement that had vanished a short time, only to be replaced by movement of others. The light of a lantern that erupt from the opening of a door marked with the hieroglyphs of a man. The steps of the older boys that call themselves Friends soon follow. "No dilly dallying, You're holding up the other classes that need to use the restroom."

For how they follow after him in a single line, look no different then a warden leading a gang of chained prisoners. If only they had been, might of kept one of his Friends from falling behind. Without warning the one in the end had stopped moving. Silent had been the one looking to be slowly consumed by darkness as lamp light would fade down the hall. Once they had been consumed, they would move as silent as the boy had been, The boy had had become the other's shadow. Nearly bumping into them moment they had decided to come to a sudden stop. One that seemed to happen, at random before moving again. Through these halls they lead the boy towards familiar doors they now open just enough to slip. Open just enough for it to close the same moment the boy try to reach as it click.

Down those steps Jack would race, only to be stopped a few steps in. These had not been familiar steps. These flooded steps. Room left drowned beneath the murky ink of coal bleed. Only the signs above door ways could be seen, Signs that the boy had never seen. Signs that had always been missing. This corridor that had only room to fit two pairs of doors, And one that lead towards the boiler at the far end. How the water was left to hiss, to bubble as it had risen enough to flood through the grate, Undying had been coal flames

Principle had finished making his rounds to each class and finally given a chance to finish what he had been doing. Records he had left to sort through from earlier in the week once more tossed across the floor to join the rest that had been left scattered beneath his every step. Cursed had been this room filled with swearing.

Jack having found his way back to class, Walking passed The Janitor that had been standing upon a desk, scraping the mess that had been left upon the ceiling. That melodic, catchy tune filling the room as the boy had taken a seat as his desk. Neither seeming to acknowledge the other's presence now that Jack had been busy picking free pieces of what had been left of his meal. One The Janitor had come to take away. That sound of scraping upon brick that stripped away the paint that had become one with the muck. The muck that would land in the bottom of a bucket with a hollow thump.

Stepping down from the desk, that tool he used now drag across the top of each. The lingering scent of chemical that leech away the very color of the wood it had been sprayed. Cloth that would be used to spread the shine. That Looming presence of the janitor soon felt standing over the boy. Had taken but a moment for the boy to find his own reflection staring back at him from what once been his dining surface. Lingering had been that looming presence. Into a pocket a hand now reach, to pull free a single thing now placed atop the boy's desk. Staring back at him had been the face stamped into a piece of silver.

Turning his back upon the boy, The janitor would mop across the floor that lead towards the door, Unaware of the child's squinted stare. Of that scrunched up expression that spread across his face. Of the small hand that lift to point a single finger. Only to hear that childish attempt to mimic the one that few still saw as a hero. "I'm watching you."

"Right back at you kiddo" Those words, That expression, It had been clear they did not belong to The Janitor. Voice the boy had not heard in quite some time.

Mr. Brown having entered the room, Checking in on the progress The Janitor had been making. Something that would have to wait for the far more alarming scene that had been unfolding. Had he even been a moment slower, The text book would have struck The Janitor upon the back of his head. The very same that seemed to whistle none the wiser. The pain that linger upon his palm where the corner had struck. Lucky to have even caught the damn thing in the first place with how much spin it had been given. Silent had been the pair that watch The Janitor mop and whistle a tune right out the room.

Heavy had been the sound of his teacher's foot steps. "Alright kid, I know the weather has everyone on edge, Maybe even a little stir crazy for being trapped inside because of the rain."

"I can turn a blind eye to your other shenanigans kid, But this?" Slam of the book cover heard moment it had dropped upon the very desk the boy sat "This could of killed some one!"

"Feel free to run around and play Jr. Detective all you like Jack, Next time you try and harm anyone, That'll be the end of it."

No matter how long he stare into those eyes, to watch for even the hint of change in that blank expression, Not once had it shown any trace of thought, or hidden intention. Something he would not have thought thought a person be capable, let alone a small child had he not witnessed such a thing first hand.

"Keep your head down, And don't dare move a muscle until I get back, Capeesh?" Words that came with a squinted gaze that looked to mimic The Detectives.

Answer had come in a form this man had not expected, For the boy had said a single word. "See"

Unlike another that had failed to see the answer, Mr. Brown had been quick to answer. "Good"

Slamming of a door heard as the boy found himself staring out the class room window. How those that had been on their way to catch the bus home would splash across the river now that the storm had decided to take a break. One shared by lone eagle come to rest it's weary wings atop the metal of the swings.

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Ring of a bell marked the end of another day. Had been the first day since Ms. Prudence had returned to the other school. First day they had been watched by one no longer hidden behind mirrored shades. Having shed the skin of grey for the brown suit other teachers wear. How it looked as if life had returned to the very face one might not think had been capable of such things. Yet even if he had managed to fool the other children, their had been at least one boy that saw through such a rouse, This boy that stared back from squinted eyes and scrunched up face every time the one now called Mr. Brown looked his way. Yet for words too feint to be heard, The boy's lips would read a single thing. "I'm watching you."

This had been the first day the boy simply did not leave the moment the school bell rang, Forced to sit, to remain within his seat as other children from various grades had come to fill in a few of the empty seats. Amongst all these faces had been one far too familiar, It had been the one that found such joy seeing him covered in mud. Strange had been the games some children play. Seemed now that Andrei had been missing the boy was forced to take part in several new games this older boy wished to play.

Even now a new one had started as small pieces of paper would be flicked at the back of his head from between rubber banned fingers. One that failed to get a reaction from the boy, Just as it had failed get the attention of the one sitting behind the Teacher's desk. Attention having been drawn towards a pair of siblings, What had been the usual teasing one might find between brother and sister, had turned into something that left both rolling about the floor. All it had taken was for Mr. Brown to clear his throat for both to freeze, To return to their seat. Seemed this day the sister, the victor, And clear the other had not learned as the whisper of teasing had been quick to return. A show the boy would not be given a chance to watch much longer.

Restless had been the one that sat behind him, now moving to take a seat that blocked his view. How the boy watched those hands raise, that wad of paper that had been quick to grow before bouncing off the unblinking eye that hadn't even bothered to look in the other's direction. Without much warning the boy now stand, to walk across the class room and towards the door, that small hand gripping upon the handle as he glance back at the one that had been doing the same behind the desk. One that had been eyeing him all the same, yet did not say a word, nor try to stop the boy in the slightest now that he slip through the door left to shut on it's own accord.

For that sterile grey that once coat every inch of this desolate place, that bask beneath the glow of false suns, had started to show signs of change. Through those cracks, through the spots the paint would be shed, The red of brick remain. Those empty class rooms bright as day as not even the teachers remain as they too called it a day. That melodic whistling of the janitor heard while he swept and mopped up the peeling paint. Those muffles words heard from within the room all those teachers come to gossip. Door left closed, Yet not to the very room the boy now enter.

Through the very door once closed now thrown open as the principle step through. Clear he had barely been tolerating the ones that had come to replace those that had taken leave without notice. Those that had been hired to take their place without his knowing. Need not even step through the open door to his office before yelling would be heard. For his office floor had become flooded beneath a sea of scattered paper. Those that had come flooding from overturned drawers. Who knew how long it would take them to sort out the jumbled records. Heated words, cursed words heard before yelling had been heard for the janitor, One that the boy passed by on his way to search elsewhere. Pausing now to stare through the basement door the Janitor had come running.

The boy knew not just how many steps it had taken to reach the bottom and into the place that await him. To be greeted by the sporadic hiss of steam escaping from blackened metal. That distant drip of water that came from lead ones that worked across the walls like veins. The softer step of a child that passed through the puddle it had been forming from beneath a crack in the ceiling. These Narrow halls the boy now walk, just large enough a single person might walk comfortably. Forced to twist, to squeeze if two had been caught in passing. For how long this hall had been, it would branch off without warning as more appeared upon the walls in passing. Some that lead one towards a dead end, others that lead one back where they begin. Red brick of walls left tinted in the orange glow that fill this very place.

For what few rooms the boy had managed to find within this very place, their had been one the boy kept finding himself standing before. One that the boy couldn't help but pause his search, to stare. For all the pipes that weave through the very walls of the school had lead back to a single place, For the boy had found the blackened heart that breathe life into this very place. One made of black iron that breath fire from an open door, One that had been named much the same. Those flames that lash out at the boy from the mountain of coal it it had been buried. The chaotic patchwork of pipes that hiss at the boy in warning. Into another room the boy now slip away into the graveyard of broke and mangled desk that await.

From the jagged barricade they form the boy found himself in another room. Room that smell of sweat and tears filled with various tools to inflict pain upon ones self and each other, In the name of one called Sports. Well used had been the equipment left buried and forgotten in a place that had been so new. Hadn't been until the third time the boy had passed through this very room, He started to feel as if these piles had started to become slightly different.

At some point the boy found himself standing within a place one might mistake for a kitchen. Those shelves stacked with cans stamped with the number ten, Bold had been the single word stamped atop their lid. This place the boy found himself spending some time twisting and lining up each that had looked out of place. Having not bothered to arrange them by the names they had been given. Those that read corn, beans, and meat amongst other things. Having finished straitening out the last of the cans when one had fallen free. One that did not fit amongst the rest. For how those blisters that form across the surface would burst the very moment it had hit the floor.

Across the brick the slop would erupt from the blister turned geyser. Just how the smell of something far worse then rot fill the very room. The sort of smell that left ones blinded by the burn it would bring, to singe away the very hairs in ones nostrils as one would be denied breath by the very gagging such a rancid smell bring. Yellow and green had been the ooze that flow from the hole made from ruptured metal. Fowl had been this Oder that left the boy to think a single thing. A single name that now whispered from between his lips. "Rex"

Into the hall such unspeakable smells now linger, Just as the boy had been infront of the very stairs these halls once more lead. This boy left to stare down this single hall that lead towards the very heart. How the boy now stare down upon his palm a moment longer, to slowly curl each of his fingers closed, before slowly uncurling each one a moment later. Having taken a few times before he found himself staring down at the face upon a single piece of silver. Squinted had been the boy's stare, brief as it had been before flipping the coin through the air. This coin that would land upon it's edge without a bounce, this coin that now roll through these halls, One the boy had been quick to follow after. Subtle had been this coin to curve around corners. Down one hall, and into the next before it would bounce off a single door, now left to spin upon the very spot between the boy's feet.

Through this door the boy now step, what had been blistering heat that left one to drip with sweat from such high humidity had changed with a single step. For what breath the boy took left a cloud upon the very air. That chill that nipped at ones fingers, that cut through the skin and to the bone like daggers. How polished and clean had been everything in this place that shine like polished ice. Yet it had not been his own gaze the boy find himself staring, It had been a single desk some had managed to shove into this closet space. This desk that had each and every thing so neatly arranged, At least until it had crossed paths with the boy.

drawers left open, and dumped upon the floor. All manor of things beyond just paper left scattered across the floor. Between small hands the last of the drawers had been given a shake. Upon this pile the boy had been brief to stare, having been left empty handed once more. How those eyes slowly move towards the only other thing that had been stashed within this room. Upon that padlock that had been larger then his hand that hang from cabinet doors.

How those little hands reach, to grip, to tug upon the metal that now gave a click. To slide free from the ring it once gripped. Thunk heard as it had been left to drop between his feet. Slow had been each door to creak the moment the ring fell free. For these double doors would open of their own accord. Yet all the boy would see had been those mops, those brooms that looked to have been cramped inside, disorganized, To watch as each began to move.

From this wall a wooden handles left to fall free and crumble, as something other now lurch free, The husk of an elderly man. How shriveled had been one with skin that looked more like wrapping paper. How withered had they become for their lips to have gone missing upon their face. No different then the very lids that no longer cover eyes now turned ink. That ink that drip down each cheek like tears, To blend into the very skin that had turned a darker shade. Unable to hear the clattering echo of fallen brooms as ears had vanished into the very holes upon the sides of ones head. Their nose that looked to have gone missing much the same. One the boy now found himself face to face.

Atop the boy this mummied man now lay, Trapped beneath one that had looked to become as light as a feather. What strands of hair left to scatter and drift upon the air no different then a dandelion's left adrift the wind. Those threads of white that now cover this very place. Trapped beneath the very husk that shield him from all manor of falling things, Brief had been the boy to stare into the eyes of the one that weep of ink, To stare upon the single thing that had not fallen free.

Upon the top shelf sat an old box covered in dust. The boy need not look inside to know it had been the very thing he had been searching, the very thing that had been clawing at the back of his mind. The very thing that held the answers had been nearly in arms reached, It it had not mattered just how close it had been, he had become trapped beneath one he simply couldn't break free. Voice of an elderly man heard through the very doorway the boy could no longer see.

"Now just how have you managed to get out this time?" Seemed they had yet to notice the boy trapped beneath the one they had been speaking. "You've been put in time out for a reason."

Weight being lifted from atop him, even now face to face, this man seem not to take notice of the boy lying at his feet. Having been more concerned in trying to stuff the husk back within the very spot it sprang free. Had taken the boy a moment to realize both of them had been dressed the same, To recognize The Janitor's face. Yet something strange began to happen the more the boy tried to think upon, and make sense of just what had been seeing. The harder he tried to think, the more he seemed to forget. The more the throbbing would be felt within his head. To feel the warmth of blood that trickle the slightest from a single nostril the longer the boy stare, To think, To be lost within the very maelstrom that had been forming within his mind.

How those eyes of his would suddenly snap open, Having been laying in a far more familiar room. One that had been the nurse's office. Yet in place of the usual nurse that greet him, had been Mr. Brown sitting there, reading a paper. That tone, those words that had been different yet felt familiar. "You don't fail to disappoint kid."

"They told me moment some one takes their eyes of you, you find yourself knee deep in mischief." Having not even bothered to look up from the magazine he had been so casual to flip through. As casual as his speech seemed to be considering all things. "You were only gone five minutes before the Janitor found your passed out in the basement."

Quick had been the pages to be flipped between the fingers of one that had seemed to have more interest in the pictures then what had been written as they no longer bothered with skim reading. "This is the part where I ask you questions, and you give me no answers for the next few hours. . . "

"Frankly between you and me kid, I don't have the same patience Johnson has, So how about we just say we did, and head back to class."

Words that left the boy sitting up with a blank expression, To follow behind the one he now gave an equally blank stare. Squinted had become the stare once he look back over his shoulder, Towards the one that had been whistling such a melodic tune. One that not even bothered to glance back at the boy, Now that they had finished mopping up for the day.

In his seat the boy found himself empty handed once more. Hadn't even given a moments peace before a wad of paper would strike upon his head once more. Taunting words now heard from this fifth grader. "What are you going to do now that your boyfriend isn't here to protect you? "

"What are you going to do? Kill and eat me like that stupid dog of yours?" Rubber band felt snapping at the back of the boy's head. "I'll make you regret they ever put me in here"

Seemed no matter what they had done, or said they simply fell upon deaf ears, For the boy's mind had been elsewhere.

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Ancient dust, Cosmic dust. Trapped within the web of galaxies no different than the webs slow to fade, To blink from existence and appear once more beneath the light that had come to wash over the room. The light in the eyes of both parents that now stare upon their child no different than they had been to stare upon the ceiling above. Neither need say a word as the door had been slow to close, for it had only taken a single click for the last light to fade, Void had been the child's gaze.

Hand of an unseen clock move once more, to tick from beyond the void the boy found himself stare. Heavy handed had been the knock it would bring upon his closet door. Ignored by the one that slip free from the bindings called covers that had been tucked so tightly with care, for another had come calling with a silver stare.

Glint of silver that shine beneath a sliver of light. Light that shine through the very gaps of cedar that board off the window. Light that flicker from beyond the subtle sway of maple leaves, to come from the glow of a new moon, Silver Moon. Yet it had not been the moon that come to stare, but his own reflection that stare back from blades turned mirrors. For each blade a single eye stare. Subtle had been the moon to fade, to free the boy from this silver gaze, his silver gaze. Snipping heard between parting blades.

Upon the desk the scissors set amongst the pile of paper clippings, To rummage through a box. One that had been labeled school supply by his mother now dumped upon the desk. Fluttering through the air had been the scraps of news paper his father had barely been given a chance to finish reading before they had gone missing. Paper that had been only the same in name, of date to the very same the boy found himself reading. What difference their might of been now lost within the clutter.

Familiar screeching of Tape called Scotch having its skin ripped from the wheel it had been spun. The heavy smell of chemicals to fill the air and leave one light headed the moment a metal tin had been left open. How the boy had been left to fight, to pull the brush free as the ooze within would refuse to release the stick. Snapping a bit free now that it would be stuck and spread across the back of paper that had been as stiff as floor boards beneath one's feet. This glob that looked to have become no different then a fly stuck upon paper. How that vacant gaze of silver would stare down upon the small hand that had become caught no different.

Amongst the mess left upon the desk, the boy had nearly finished the task at hand. Having paused to stare at those sticky balls that formed between his fingers once tips of each had been left to rub upon one another. Something that left the boy feeling as if something had been missing, That missing something that had been hidden behind a set of double doors. Doors the boy found himself standing once more as little hands reach, to grip upon roped handles.

Having been no stranger to the sounds old homes make, the subtle creak of floor boards, the knocks that came from within the walls, the distant lower thuds one could never quite place just where such things had come, All sounds often made without rime, nor reason. Subtle had been the sounds that had been different, the sounds that had been missing. Sounds that only return the very moment to take place of those that had been absent from well oiled hinges the boy now open. Sounds that fell silent each time the boy gave pause to listen. The subtle creak that had been missing beneath every step, now heard from the other side of doorboards, unlike those that remain silent beneath every step of the child that enter.

Up upon the ceiling above the boy stare, Upon the hooks and chains his Detective Outfit hang, Tucked between the one he was forced to wear for the Prison called School as well as his Sunday best. Different skins to wear through out the passing of the day, for now it had been time to wear the one made of crimson wool. Wool so thick one left to wonder if his footed pajamas had been replaced with padded armor. Yet the boy had his eyes set upon his blue overalls that had been just out of reach, To stare upon the front pocket that kept a many things, Heavy had been the knock that come from beneath his feet.

Knocking that came from the bottom of a chest, knocking heard just beneath the lid. Knock from a lock without any space a key might rest. Small hands reach to grip upon the chest large enough a child could hide within, To grip upon the edges of the very lid, to feel the knocking beneath fingertips. Yet to open this lid had never been the boy's intent, To pull, To drag beneath the very overalls left to hang. Unaware of what had been hidden just beneath fingertips.

Hole within the wall just wide enough a small child might squeeze. Hole formed within missing brick of bluestone, Once hidden beneath blackwood panels, now hidden behind ashen planks of chest wood make. How quick the boy had been to find himself standing upon the other side of the wall. To find himself pressed snug within these narrow halls. Beam of slanted roof left to brush across his hair, To feel the wool dust upon the squeeze of narrow halls. Knocking of polished copper pipes that brush upon each leg with every step across the web they weave beneath his very feet, none could see beyond the clouds of dust cast beneath his feet.

Muffled words soon heard from beyond the walls of these narrow halls the boy had soon found himself to crawl, Words that had been subtle to grow louder, more clear until they had become the words of his father. "With my dad finally retired, I thought he would have stopped vanishing like this on some adventure."

"If only he had been here, Could of had him keep an eye on Jack."

"Don't know just how lucky we are for him to return on his own, Without so much as a scratch as far as the doctors had been able to tell."

Distant had been his fathers words to grow as they would be heard from beyond the floorboards turned ceiling. "Have you been able to find anyone to watch him?"

Muffled had been the words beneath his feet, from beyond the wall the boy now slide. Words that turned into his mothers. "I have a meeting with Father Abner in the morning to see if they'll be able to help."

"School has agreed to watch him in the mean time, Just make- " Whatever his mother might have said, lost amongst the muffled sea once more found beneath the child's feet.

For every pipe the boy climb, for every gap between beams the boy squeeze, For every left turn ending right, for every slide to end with the boy crawling across rafters, Even loosing track of just how many floors had been both above, and below his very own, Only to find himself staring back down at a familiar hole the boy approach.

Metal plate the boy had stepped, One that gave way an inch beneath his weight, The slack of ropes now left to snap away. Felt as if the boy move the slightest such ropes might snap beneath his weight, Unaware the boy had found himself standing upon the top of an old dumbwaiter. Through the hole the boy now crawl, pushing open the tiny cold iron gate that bar his way. For every step the boy take left prints of dust upon the freshly polished floors. Strange how these had not been the first trail of steps, The boy left to retrace dust covered steps, Mirroring such steps just as they had mirrored his very soles.

Across the room the boy now walk, towards the door beside a fire place that had gone cold, yet still gave off such warmth in this place with no light. This door that had been left partially ajar, Now slowly open. Door that had not even given the slightest sound now that the boy would stare out in the hall. Hall that had not been there, A brick wall that lead to no where. A brick wall the boy couldn't help but stare. Heavy handed had been the knock beyond the brick. Slow had been the boy to close the door, One that would not click now that it had become hidden within blackwood panels. Brief had been the boy's stare upon the fixture that served as its handle. To stare upon the flickering flame of a candle that sat within, that brought forth light that had been of night and not day. A light no shadows dare dance, nor play.

Across the room the boy retrace his steps, back towards the blackwood of the wall turned chalkboard. Had been some time the boy would stare up upon the work left by another. Those lines, those words with cursive translations and numbers left written in reverse, those strange shapes that looked to shimmer the slightest the moment one would stare. How those strait lines of chalk this other had drawn upon the board, Began to slowly curve, Before spiraling inward upon one another. For every word that had been written in a different language started to overlap with one another, Before each had been forced into a single amalgamation of rings as they near the very center. Center from which only a single question mark linger.

Screeching of that Tape called Scotch left to echo through the room the boy found himself in, Sticking his latest art project upon the wall, To join others that had been stuck upon it in the same manor. Headlines and pictures that would only serve to raise more questions from whatever answers or leads they might have given.

Police unable to Identify Missing Children, Reward for anyone that can shed light! Beneath the words a picture of the Prison called School stuck like a fly on straw paper. Words scribbled in chalk upon the wall. The school knows, The Children know.

Circus to re-open in a few weeks, Investigation nearly finished! Placed above a news paper advertisement for mirrors. Scribbled beneath had read Fish bowls Tin Hats.

Children Missing from school over weekend, Identities unknown! Image of a Victorian dress beneath, And once more chalk words would read a single thing. Dress up

The small hand reaching up to write something more upon the board, to find the chalk he had been gripping had gone missing. Across the room the boy retrace his dusty steps towards a hardwood desk. Small hand now reaching to pluck the chalk that remain gripped between another's fingers.

It had not been the figure that only had a skull in place of a face, This unknown figure dressed in such clothes that had been vague yet familiar. The very plague it brought upon ones mind as they could never quite place their finger. No, It had been those very things left scattered before this very figure, the various things that bury the desk beneath.

A crystal decanter left open, That smell of cherry, of sherry. Glass that had been far larger then the palm it had been left sitting, one left clasped between what had been left of fingers turned bone, turned children's chalk. Upon that small vial left emptied, One that laced the air with its almond snare. Towards those books left open and stacked upon one another. Books that none dare place upon the shelves that fill this very place. Those books that would refuse to remain hidden amongst the stacks that form around the leather that bound the very chair of another like some barrier. These very same books now caught beneath the glint of one child's stare.

Staring back had been the gaze of patch work faces left stitched together to form pages. Yet even this had meaning beyond another left with blank pages. Picture books of eerie places, Places that one pray simply had only come from the darkest depths of one's wildest imagination. Even these alien worlds had not been what caught the boy's attention. It had been a single book, the single thing within this very place left buried beneath an layer of dust that had been thicker then the very book it had come to rest. Perfectly square, perfectly level had been the only thing left unpolished before one child's dusty trail. Child that couldn't help but now reach, to touch.

Touch denied by a single sneeze. None knew just what such a sneeze would bring, the dust storm that now lay siege, To choke out the very flame that burn away the light of day. Light from which no cracks, nor windows had been present for it to bleed. For this place that even left one to find the darkness that came from the walls the boy crawl to be blinding when one was left to stare. Every little thing to become vague shapes within the fog of grey that now illuminate this very place. Familiar had been the sound of manic laughter upon these very walls no longer caught within the night light, now lime light.

"You have quite the knack for turning up in the most curious of places child." Familiar was the playful and light hearted voice of the man dressed in both coat and vest, Pristine had been the sharp dressed clothes of white that glow amongst the mist, polished had been the skull with eyes of flame that flicker just as playful. For it had been that dapper man, Now dressed in white. "The very places that wished to remain lost forever.

The very type some try so hard not to remember." That arm of his having been wrapped about the shoulders of the other left propped up within the leather.

This man now found sitting in the very spot the other had gone missing. Twirl of the cane seen within one hand before letting it tap upon the boy's that had been reaching. Reachinf for the very book held in the other. This book covered in alien coral, the only thing one might recognize amongst such things hidden within fossilized reefs that smell of volcanic seas most primordial. "Child, even I do not know what draws you to such thing, These things that even I know not how they came to be."

That blank expression, That vacant stare that left one questioning if the boy had even been listening for their had been a book for staring. Least for now he no longer reaching for the book now that he had been given gentle warning, That very book that vanish within the fog the moment the boy stop staring, the fog clearing.

"For such a thing to have slipped through the cracks and into a place even the spirits cannot reach, Only to have it fall into a child's lap." A question just to whom the Man in White had now been speaking.

Tap of the cane heard between his feet, Leaning forward within the leather chair now that it had been forced to bare his weight between the clasping of each hand. "I must thank you child, Had it not been for you this one might have never seen the light of day."

"I'll make sure they are taken to the proper place, Not that it'll be much better." That manic laughter that rang within the boy's ears, one left staring down at that piece of chalk he had taken, when the very air fell silent. The air that had changed in that very instant, to become cold just as the worlds that now come from a lower whisper. "The coin."

Void had been the stare of the boy, to reach towards his pockets without a need for thinking, out of habit into the very coat the boy had not been wearing. Something that had taken the boy a moment to realize a moment later. Yet the boy couldn't help but stare, Upon the silver slowly revealed beneath the unfurling of small fingers. The only trouble had been which palm to offer, Now that he had two coins to offer.

How the boy couldn't help but feel that itch, that burn of a sneeze, that would cause the child to blink. To miss what had happened in the very moment that left one's ears ringing with the clap of thunder. The Man in White's hands to be so tightly clasped upon one another, To have caught something no different than one might catch a fly. Void of emotion had been such words that escape those pearly whites with missing lips. "Most curious this be."

Cryptic had become the words that follow. "Hound bites the leash, Unaware the trap beneath their feet, The lovers, The Bait."

Unseeing eye now closed, Eyes of many now open to that which can remain hidden no longer." For the moment such words had been said, one could not see within the depths of those sockets that once gave such a playful flicker.

"Heed my words child, A gift for having shed light upon this very place that had slipped between my fingers."

Where their had once been two, a single coin now flip through the very air. That glint of silver that caught and drawn the boy's stare. That very moment all the Man in White need to no longer be sitting within the chair, Not that the boy bother look now that another glint had caught his eye. That shimmer of light that burn through the dust that cover the chalk board. Light that burned brighter once the boy stare, to fade away to leave it's mark within the dust. Chalk now pressed, to fill in the blanks that had been left, to watch the chalk glow molten and hotter then the very sun, this light turned chalk now unable to escape from the very etchings the boy now make.

Lingering glow left upon blackwood of the walls as the boy returned to just what he had been doing. To stare at what had become crystal, flipped over. Slow had been the list of things that would form beneath what little chalk remain.

The other people.

Scumbag Called Johnson

Grey Trench Coats

Stuffed Animals

Twin Strangers

The Trees

Nice Lady

Andrei

Man in white

For the boy whom has seen a great many things, unspeakable things, Yet only the boy would know just what meaning this list had now that he stare up at the other cases he had been slowly forming with all his pictures. Staring that had come to an end with a click of a distant door that muffled words would be heard. Seemed it was time for the boy to crawl back from this place hidden within his home.

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