Hello there, reader… or perhaps—Hello there, figment of my fractured dreaming… or rather—Hello there, creature of unspeakable terror… It's nice to see you again!

Welcome to Chapter 2 of "The Bird of Hermes," otherwise known as my multi-chapter retribution by the Dark Overlords of Tumblr.

No really!

They've kidnapped me, placed me in a 4x4 box, and hooked my brain up to an old Speak 'n' Spell. I spend most of my days clawing at my skin, screaming that reality is false, and weeping uncontrollably while peeling oranges and eating the skins—Then, all that information gets transferred to the Speak 'n' Spell and out comes the whimsical manifestation that you're reading now.

Isn't funny how technology works these days?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the blood-born monstrosity my imagination just labored for you.

It has your… eyes!

[]

Title: The Bird of Hermes

Pairing: Danny/ Vlad (Pompous Pep)

Rating: M

Summary: Vlad moves into a new house for college, little did he know something was already living there…

Chapter 2:

The Attic Room

"In the sea without lees

Standeth the Bird of Hermes"

[]

It was late evening when Vlad pulled up to 1313 Elm Street.

Parking his red VW on the curb, the teen opened the door and inhaled the smell of sunflowers on the brisk, night air. The Wisconsin summer heat was lingering in its late hour, and Vlad felt the single slither of sweat drip down his brow—suddenly very aware his choice of sweater was rather… stupid, Packers colors or no.

Pulling the garment over his head, and tying the green'n'gold-striped mess around his waist, Vlad walked to his trunk and dug out his suitcases. Closing the hatch, the boy walked to the curb, pausing to inspect his new place of residence for the next four years.

There was a certain… something in the air that night, something besides sunflowers and the sounds of cicadas—Something very silent, very dark—beyond the lightless windows and eerie hush of the neighborhood.

Vlad hesitated, just short of the wild, unkempt lawn of the house, and looked up––bending back to fully adsorb the enormity of the house's tall, intimidating stature.

The house was a two-story brick build, with old-fashioned iron-framed windows, and a shingled roof that was in dire need of replacement. Although the darkness of the street was defining—the nearest street lamp just shy of casting light upon the curb—Vlad could make out the shadowed impressions of boarded up windows on the upper floor, and the scattered remains of debris thrown about the savage front lawn.

The debris took the shape of jagged angles, resembling the silhouette of teeth—only Vlad was sure it wasn't teeth, but metal—metal shrapnel broken in misshapen shapes, and cut into the earth like glass impaling the soft flesh of man.

A low-hanging tree graced the edge of the lawn; it's finger-like branches resembling the withered remains of a human hand. Its branches looked desperate—Vlad mused, clawing at its rotting stump in pleading silence.

A familiar wind kicked up around the boy. It was a cool wind, only it wasn't cold—Vlad realized, but hot—burning against the back of his neck, and echoing into the black void of the nether. Within the torrent, Vlad swore he heard a voice—a dark voice—its words intangible, but swelling the burn until a searing heat throbbed behind his ears.

Vlad shook his head, the heat gone as suddenly as it came; and with something unnamed and elusive on the edge of his mind, Vlad took the first few steps onto the cracked sidewalk of the odd little house.

Indeed, and what an odd little house it was! What with it's odd little cracked windows, and its curious lack of livingplants, Vlad reflected—and, and, Vlad paused, and now…

He lived here too.

The boy stood alone—the stoop: A threshold of reality, where shadows of his past collided with the brilliant, radiance of his future. Had he been the same shrinking violet he was in High School, the existential terror of the unknown would have shied his hand from signing the same document he now held within his back pocket.

—But, Vlad reminded. He wasn'tthat same little boy, anymore.

"Easy to return, Difficult to leave," He mused, speaking into the night.

Vlad took a step forward, and then another, and then another—his confidence strengthened with every foot gained. He placed a hand against the front door, and with a flicker of light, Vlad keyed the door and pushed the antiqued wood open with a long, stretching creek.

Void met his gaze—cold, sterile, and black—So very black.

However, had the boy looked to the lightless windows once more, he would have seen a crack, slowly creep across the surface of the glass. It's long, spidery finger stretching until—

It sliced off his head.

Vlad stepped inside the house.

[]

Dark, inky murk met Vlad upon entering the house, and he spent a moment hugging the wall while searching for a light switch.

A spark—and then illumination brightened the small entryway.

"Electricity works," Vlad noted, glancing about the room.

Around him, the withered remains of red tulips on beige wallpaper filled the entirety of the corridor. A rusted coat rack—the kind with attached umbrella retrieval—sat adjacent to him, while a covered mirror hung to the left. Beside the coat rack was a slim table, whose dusty surface held a glass vase full of long–dead flowers.

Vlad walked passed the entryway and into the front parlor. High wooden arches separated the parlor from the adjoining rooms. Cobwebs hung from those arches, and Vlad grimaced at their large, spiraling nets—stretching from one side of the ceiling to the other.

He'd have to clean that.

Peering around a corner to his right, Vlad spied a separate parlor—a drawing room, he figured, and by association the den must be to his left. A quick glance confirmed his theory, and Vlad walked further into the den.

The den was an ordinary space, he discovered. Tacky wallpaper covered the wooden paneling—peeling in some places, hanging limp in others. In the center of the room stood two chairs facing a stone fireplace, separated by a single end table. An ornate crimson rug covered most of the hardwood flooring, and a writing desk flanked by two bookcases, and equally ornate couch sat adjacent. Disinterested, Vlad turned to leave when something suddenly caught his eye.

Curious, he walked up to the stone fireplace, and knelt beside the iron grate.

Something wasn't right… wasn't natural.

Vlad slid a finger across the inside of the stone maw; what he discovered left a sour taste in his mouth.

Soot—his finger was covered in soot!

But that's impossible…

Unless… Vlad realized, the fireplace had been used recently.

Vlad stood, staring at the black spot upon his finger. He was reminded of Gabriel's parting words, that the house was old and decrepit—having sat vacant to the idol passing of many winters.

"Then who—" Vlad began, but the words died on his lips. Suddenly the shadows around the room flickered, the lights blinking until—Darkness.

"Balls…"

Vlad fumbled for a moment, trying to gain a sense of solidity in the sea of weightless black. Brushing his fingers along the back of a chair, he righted himself and slowly crept around the room until he found his way back to his suitcases. Vlad groped the zipper and forced the case open, blindly feeling around its contents for his emergency flashlight.

"Now I gotta find a damn fuse-box—Ah-ha!" Vlad pulled out the familiar silhouette of his flashlight. Testing the machine, Vlad flipped the switch and was relieved to see the burst of light scattering the darkness around him.

Vlad stood and started walking back to the entry hall. "Now, where would the breakers be?"

Vlad crossed the parlor and entered the drawing room. He was inspecting the odd shape of the shadows on the walls, when his flashlight gave a flicker. Frowning, Vlad shook the contraption a few times before illumination returned to the room.

The drawing room—Vlad realized, had a few things that he considered… Odd. First, it held many, many mirrors. All were covered, and littering the walls in perfectly spaced alignment. Second, the air was notably chiller than other rooms, causing Vlad to rethink his sweater situation. Then finally, there was the feeling of claustrophobia—but not the kind brought on from being shoved in a too-small space with too-little hope to move or breathe, but the kind you feel when you stand on a stage and see millions of eyes watch you from the pews ––the type of claustrophobia birthed not by the closing in of things, but by the unseen sight and feeling that something is there, close by—watching you, many something's—their eyes staring direct, unblinking.

The mirrors, Vlad thought. There's something about the mirrors…

Vlad walked up to one of the hanging mirrors, his hand posed to pull back the cape—when a sudden sweaty need to not pull the cape, and to walk away, turn around, and not make eye contact with the covered mirrors—overcame him.

Shaking his head, the teen spun from the mirror-wall; and like a waning dream, Vlad couldn't recall why he was in the room.

Wait, no—Yes! The breakers—He had to find the breakers!

Vlad crossed the threshold, and entered what looked like a dining room of some sort. Some sort—Indeed; the room looked like the forgotten ruins of a great war. An epic battle that ended with turned over chairs, flipped tables, and the shattered remains of china across the wooden floor.

Was there a struggle here?

Vlad crept passed the shredded curtains and splintered wood. He stepped over broken glass, and stained carpet—Stained with what, however—Vlad didn't want to know.

At the center of the chaos stood the dual halves of a lean table—which Vlad assumed, were once singular—split apart and flipped over, like some massive… blade, had sliced it in two. Vlad had to kneel under the makeshift-arch in order to cross to the other side.

Standing, Vlad noticed the opposite door was ripped from its hinges, exposing the interior of the next room—a kitchen, Vlad found—once he shined his flashlight into the black void.

Almost immediately upon entering the room he was bombarded with the strong dead smell of rot, like raw meat left outside too long. His senses were ablaze! Covering his nose, Vlad had to fight for breath under the toxic influence of the dead miasma.

What was it! What was that SMELL––!

Too caught up in his panic, Vlad tripped over the foot of a chair and collided with the edge of a table, knocking himself upside the head and dropping the flashlight.

"Goddamit! That fucking hurt!"

Vlad held his head in agony, rubbing at the swelling bump. Suddenly, Vlad was very aware of the liquid glossing his fingers. He hesitated, and then lowered his hands to eye-level.

It wasn't blood.

At first Vlad thought the blackness was just another shadow cast by the fallen torch, but no—No it wasn't shadow, he could see that now.

Black! His hands were BLACK!

Vlad screamed.

Rushing to wipe his hands on his jeans, Vlad recoiled at the gelatinous texture of the black filth. What was this stuff? It felt like sludge and smelled fowl.

"Just what the hell is this—"

Vlad's words were cut from his throat.

The light illuminated from the forgotten flashlight cast the room in strange shadows, and Vlad could just make out the pestilent shape of something very, very gruesome.

There, upon the table, was the gutted corpse of… Oh God, he didn't know.

Maggots festered within the mangled meat, crawling and wigglingwithin pools of puss and other fluids. . Flies swarmed around the corpse, and Vlad noticed a strange sludge leaking from the gaping wound. Black sludge… the same stuff that coated his hands moments earlier.

Vlad felt his back hit the wall. Groping for something, anything —please, Lord! Oh God, Oh God, he shouldn't be here! He shouldn't be seeing that, that—Thing!

Vlad felt the shape of something round under his palm, and snatched from his panicked thoughts, Vlad tore himself away from the ghastly scene, shifting his eyes on the shape of a brass knob within his hand.

Vlad turned, and pulled on the handle. He had to get out of here! This was a crime scene! He had to call the police, or and ambulance, or, or —SOMEONE!

The door didn't budge, and Vlad was suddenly aware of the heavy feeling in his stomach—like a rising nausea, but not from food, no—this was a bubbling fear, dripping down his spine and settling in his gut.

He had to get out of this room!

The oozing terror grew, and Vlad simmered under its pressure. Vlad turned, slowly backing away and searching the oppressing shade of the room. The darkness felt heavy—opaque, and the teen felt like he was breathing in gobs of paint.

Vlad shook his head. No. He was dreaming, his mind playing tricks. He just needed to calm down—Just calm down!

A crack woke Vlad from his panic. He looked down to see his flashlight crumpled under the weight of his sneaker. Oh shit.

The light flickered once… twice… and then —

Oblivion.

Vlad could feel the heat upon his body now. He felt like he was suspending in a tank, weightless and burning—sweaty, slimy, and so very hot.

Vlad ran.

Blind and tripping over his feet, he felt the breath leave his lungs as soon as it came. There had to be another door—another exit!

The oblivion felt endless, and for a moment, Vlad worried it was; until the abrupt slam of his face against an opposite wall reminded him otherwise.

"... Ouch."

Vlad held his bruised skull for the second time that night. If he didn't get a hold of himself soon, he was going to end up as brain-dead as the body on the kitchen table.

Placing both hands on the wall, Vlad groped blindly until —yes! That's it! Vlad felt relief flood him as the knob turned in his grasp, pushing the door open.

The room beyond was large, and if Vlad took the moment to notice, he would have guessed it to be a Living room of some sort—but no; Vlad did not pause, nor wait, nor study his surroundings at all—but ran, fast and with the urgency of a half-crazed man until miraculously he had returned to the front parlor, and the entryway where he left his bags.

Pausing just long enough to grab his suitcases, Vlad hurried to the front door, swung it open, and fled from the front steps to his car. Vlad threw his bags into the passenger seat, started the car, and slammed on the accelerator—driving far, far away from the shadow of the Murder House.

He didn't know where he was going , the high of panic steering the wheel for him. Everything was a blur of black asphalt and the flicker of street lamps, but Vlad kept on driving until the crash of weariness caused him to turn into a small park on the edge of town.

Exhausted from the shock, Vlad parked the car and pulled back his seat. Unraveling his sweater, Vlad used it as a blanket and curled in on himself —more than willing to spend the rest of the night in his car.

With the void of sleep waning just beyond the conscious of his mind, Vlad listened to the rattling of wind against glass, and slowly—silently, he heard the dark melody of a voice, whispering sweet nothings, and lolling him to sleep.

[]

The next day Vlad awoke to the sounds of pigeons on his hood. The little demons wasted no time bombarding his normally shiny red VW with white little, bombs. They must have been at it all morning.

"Well that's just peachy…"

The lingering throb of a headache had Vlad gripping his head, souring his mood very quickly.

What a way to start the day.

Vlad sighed. Sitting up, he pulled the sweater from his body and checked the clock on the dash. Wait… No. That couldn't be—Vlad blinked and read the clock again.

"How the fuck did I manage to sleep past 3:00 in the afternoon!"

Vlad growled to himself. "This day is just getting better and better!" He said, slamming the keys into the ignition. "Now I get to report a murder while nurturing this bogus headache! Won't that be fun!" Turning the catch, Vlad drove out of the park, and back on the road to town.

Thankfully the police station wasn't that busy today. So when a mullet-headed, green'n'gold wearing teenager came rushing through their doors, there was nothing or no one to distract from the teen's crazy ramblings.

"Woah woah, hold on son… slow down, and repeat what you just said."

Vlad paused and stared at the officer. Placing both hands on the desk, Vlad bent over, looked the man in the eye and said, "I saw something… A body!"

The older man raised an eyebrow. "A body? Like what… A dead body?"

"Yes! That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

"You're telling me, you saw a dead body?"

"Yes! I think… It was dark, the lights had been cut––"

"You think?" The officer interrupted. "Did you witness a homicide or not, kid?"

"Yes! Wait no—! No—not a murder, it was already dead! W–Well, I mean it looked like it was murdered! S-So m-much rot…"

Vlad realized he was stuttering now, and by the pointed look the man was giving him, he wasn't selling his case anytime soon. Vlad swallowed the lump in his throat and reached for his inhaler. After a few puffs, he re-pocketed it and tried again.

"Can you please just take a look? I swear there was something on the kitchen table!"

"Hmm…" The policeman scratched the back of his head, lost in thought. "Okay, kid. You're lucky today's been slow so far, but if you're lying…"

Vlad watched as the large man stood and towered over him. He pointed one meaty finger at his face and sneering he said, "You answer to me!"

Vlad swallowed, nodding his head.

"Alright, then." The policeman said, sitting back down. "Now just where is this dead body?"

"1313, Elm Street."

The man was silent a moment—then, "—Say that again?"

[]

Two police cars parked at the curb of the old spook house. One man, not very tall, but very large around, stepped out of one car—The other, not very short, but built like a skeleton, stepped out the other.

"I can't believe it," said the large man. "You told me so, and I still can't believe it."

"I Know––What kinda crazy would choose to live here." The skeleton man spoke up from behind.

"Again?"

The two men turned. "You knew who lived here before?" Vlad asked, closing the door behind him.

The men shared a glance.

"I heard it was a family," said the man, who was not tall. "—Of scientists," added the man, who was not short.

"Uh…" Vlad began. "What happened to them?"

The large man snorted. "Murder-Suicide."

The skeleton man nodded. "Dreadful sight, then one day, all documents and reports just… up and disappeared. Very spooky."

"Murder-Suicide!" Vlad practically choked on the words. "Does that mean the body I found was—"

"Oh hell kid," the large man interrupted. "That case was a long time ago, and trust me—" He pointed to the house in question. "We scrubbed that place top–to–bottom." The man paused, smiling. "—If you know what I mean."

Vlad felt a chill creep down his back. The evening was draining beyond the horizon, and a cold wind kicked up around them.

"Well, we better check out this body you saw." Said the man, who was not short. The man who was not tall agreed, nodding his head. "Probably squatters. No one's been crazy enough—" He eyed Vlad, "—to live here for decades. No doubt some tweaked-out user probably O.D. here."

Vlad followed the men to the front door, a feeling of uncertainty burning a pit of his stomach.

Inside, the evening light illuminated the shadows in strange shapes cast against the aged walls. Vlad led the men down the passage he had discovered the previous night, avoiding trashed dinning room entrance.

"Okay, now I–I'm warning you, it's pretty gross." Vlad spoke up as they neared the kitchen entrance.

"I think we can handle it, kid." The man, who was not tall, responded. "We're professionals," The man, who was not short, added.

Vlad stopped in front of the kitchen door, swallowing. "Okay…" He placed his hand on the knob. "Here we go—!"

With a push, Vlad opened the door. He hadn't realized his eyes were closed until he opened them to—

Nothing.

Wha—!

"What the hell?" The man, who was not tall, answered for Vlad. "There's not a goddamn thing here!" He turned angry eyes to Vlad, but the teen didn't notice; too far-gone by the impossibility of what he was seeing.

"Kid, I'm talking to you!" The large man bellowed. "I thought you told me you found a body! Well… where the hell is it!"

Vlad stared ahead as If in a daze… slowly he walked up to the bare kitchen table and rubbed his hands against its clean, smooth surface. Vlad was at a loss for words.

"I… I…" He mumbled.

"You what, boy?" The skeleton man remarked. "You just wasting the valuable time of the Wisconsin City Police?"

Vlad turned around on the men, arms flailing. "But I saw something, I swear!" His eyes wild, Vlad beseeched the skeptical glares of the two men. "You HAVE to believe me! I know what I saw and—!"

"––And just what did you see, kid?" The man, who was not tall, asked—eyes narrowing. "We know what you thought you saw kid, but what did you really see?"

"Um, I…" Vlad began—then, "No…"

"Got any evidence?" The man, who was not short, asked.

Vlad looked back to the clean 'n' bare bar table, and shook his head—No he didn't.

The two men shared a frown, then the man who was not tall walked up to the stunned form of Vlad and grabbed his shoulder—hard.

"Ouch!" Vlad yelped, snapping up to the disgruntled face of the large man. "That hurts!"

"Good!" The man bit out, and pointed a meaty finger in the teens face. "I told you kid, that if you were chocking our chains, you'd deal with me!"

"But—but!" Vlad began, but the man cut him off. "Kid, I outta lock you up for just wasting my time!" He finished.

"I swear!" Vlad pleaded. "I'm not lying! I'm not mad!" At least I don't think I am… "I'm telling the truth! I saw a body here last nigh—"

"Save it, kid." The man, who was not tall, backed off and joined his partner who had turned to leave. "I'm gonna let you off with a warning this time. Next time, though… You waste my time again, and you'll know what it feels like to sleep amongst dogs." The man laughed then, "—And that's a real nightmare, kid." Then he was gone, leaving Vlad to gape at the implication of his lingering words.

The teen swallowed, stuttering a moment, before shaking his head and jogging after the trailing blue uniforms of the two officers. They were already halfway in their cars when Vlad caught up, imploring them to listen to his case.

"I–I know what I saw!" Vlad called out. "Please—You've got to believe me!"

The man, who was not short, stood and shook his head. "Sorry kid, but there's a system to all this—We can't just can't spend all day chasing the wild fantasies of some teenage boy."

"It's not a fantasy!" Isn't it?

The man just shook his head again and opened the door to his car. Vlad watched as both police cars—the only lifeline to a sense of stability in his rapidly splitting, paranoid state—pulled out and drove off into the last dying light of the bleeding sunless sky.

I'm not crazy…

"Did I really dream it all?" Vlad heard himself speak. "But, It felt real…"

The teen looked back to the shadow of the old Spook House.

It's all so surreal…

"Oh my, what a spectacle that was…"

At the sound of a voice, Vlad turned. Across the street he saw an old woman hunched over a flowerbed, her watering can in hand and busily cooing over some daisies.

"Excuse me?" Vlad voiced.

"That was a little disruptive, don't you think?"

The woman paused from her watering and turned a deeply wrinkled face to Vlad.

"So you're the boy that bought that house."

Vlad shook his head. "Leased; not bought." He corrected.

"Makes no difference." The woman said, returning to her daisies.

An awkward moment passed, and Vlad was just about to walk away, when the tired crack of her voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Oooh… That House. Someone's gonna die… That House."

Vlad wiped back around.

She was gone. No watering can—no nothing, save freshly watered daises, his only evidence he'd spoken to anything at all.

Vlad sighed. God, he needed a break.

Looking back to the shadow of the old house, Vlad weighed the options of moving in or not. He had already signed the lease, he reminded himself, but now he knew why Gabriel had told him he need only survive 30 days. Though Vlad did not believe in… he swallowed, ghosts—He now knew he was going to be spending the night in a

Murder House. Well—Murder-Suicide House, but still.

30 days, huh…

A flicker of light—something catching his eye, and Vlad turned his attention to the large glass window at the apex of the house.

Is that an attic?

Wait a minute—Vlad thought, staring at the murky windowpane. Something wasn't right here. Vlad looked closer.

Wait—what!

The windowpane was partially boarded, Vlad realized. However, the remaining glass had a long, spidery crack across it, but that was not what caught the boy's attention. There—just barely visible amongst the dust and grime that framed the edge of the window—was a shadow; a shadow that moved.

Oh no–Oh no! This isn't happening! I'm not seeing this—I am NOT seeing this!

Vlad forced his eyes from the attic window, and shaking himself, Vlad echoed the only thing he knew would make sense in his fear-stoked haze.

There's no such thing as Ghosts, there's no such thing as Ghosts!

There is NO such thing as Ghosts!

[]

Later that night, Vlad sat at his bedside, stuffing another slice of slimy pepperoni pizza into his mouth. He was busy unpacking his bags and sorting his clothing into the single chest-of-drawers in the room.

The room he was in wasn't large, but decent enough size to hold a bed, a desk, and a set of dressers for his clothes. Of the three rooms available on the upper floor, Vlad had discovered that this room had been the only one that wasn't destroyed in some wild form or another.

Vlad frowned, recalling the fire damage found within the Master bedroom, or the clutter of trash in the bedroom next to his. The trashed room had walls scribbled with incoherent words, most of which Vlad realized, included the word "No," haphazardly scribbled in inky-black repetition. Then there was the Master bedroom—or furnace room, as Vlad liked to call it, with its walls covered in soot, yet curious—not the bed.

Vlad shook his head, picking up one of his favorite shirts and taking extra care to fold the green and gold sleeves. Then of course, there was his room, and its own peculiar brand of weirdness.

Tucking the shirt away, Vlad turned back to the scribbled drawings on the wall behind his headboard. They were odd little doodles of planets, stars, and the violent scrawl of complex, mathematical equations accompanying them. Most were faded, Vlad noted—however the cause of his knitted brow, or the hard line of his mouth, was not the scribbled scrawl—but the sharp chaos of scratch marks covering the delightful little doodles. The scratch marks were deep and, Vlad assumed—given an anatomy that included five fingers, looked to have been made by a human hand.

When first discovering this room, he had still been weighing the options of trying to stay another night, then low and behold—a room that looked half-way habitable, with a mattress of minimal dust, and flooring that didn't seem like it would snap under his weight—appeared before him. When he would turn from his inspection, and face a wall covered in the lunatic ravings of a madman—or what Vlad had assumed been mad, having certainly looked that way —he would have seconded guessed his decision, if he didn't realize he had no where else to live…

Vlad shoved another slice of pizza in his face and pocketed some roles of socks in a top drawer.

Why did he stay? Well… he supposed because the rent was free, included utilities (albeit shoddy at best), and well, because there simply was no such things as Ghosts!

Vlad nodded to himself, swallowing.

But then… Vlad thought, fingering another slice. What was all that about on the phone, earlier?

Vlad recalled his conversation with the Pizza Hutkid. The kid acted strange—no, that isn't correct—the kid acted worried, for him!

"So–So, like… You know what, what—" the boys voice dropped an octave, and he began whispering into the receiver, "—happened there, right?"

"The Murder–Suicide?" Vlad offered.

"No man! No—er… well yeah, but before that!"

"No—what?"

"Oh Jesus, man—Listen!" The boy shifted, trading an ear for the phone, before Vlad heard his hushed whispers again, "Rumor has it that… oh—uh… You ready for this, man?"

"Yes!" Vlad's patience was thinning.

"They say… there was some type of Toxic Spill…"

"Toxic Spill?"

"Yeah man! Like, there used to be some scientists livin' there—or so I heard, and like—they were doing some weird experiments—but not like weird–narlie, but Weird–Gnarly… You know—nasty stuff, if you know what I mean."

"I think so…" Now he was interested. "Do you know anything else?"

The boy laughed, "Nah, man. In fact, I shouldn't even be talkin' 'bout this stuff. Like, I don't know how you can live there, dude. Just thinking about that creepy house gives me a case of the willies something fierce!"

"Yeah well, thanks anyway. How much I owe you?"

The memory faded, and with it Vlad closed the drawer, finished with his organizing.

The conversation had been… intriguing, to say the least, and Vlad planned on visiting his school's Library tomorrow to do a little bit of research of his own. Between the strange case of imaginary dead bodies, and toxic spill pizza-delivery boys, Vlad wanted to see just how far down the rabbit hole went.

Walking into the bathroom down the hall, Vlad flipped the switch, sighing as he watched thousands of little scurrying roaches flee from the light into the dark crevices between the tile and floorboards.

I'll have to clean this up too.

The bathroom was small, as was the pattern for all bathrooms in the house, however it was one of the only bathrooms that didn't have strange fungal–organisms growing from the drains, so Vlad took what he could get.

Rust covered the sink and bathtub; there was no shower, but a separate showerhead inside the tub, which looked practically black under all the dirt and grime caking the exterior. Then finally, there was the presence of water on the floor… before he turned anything on, or rather—he doubted anyone would have been using these appliances for years, so then… why the water?

Vlad inspected the leaking substance—that wasn't so much clear—as it was a murky–brown consistency, mixed with flakes of red… stuff —Again, Vlad didn't want to guess.

The water covered the perimeter of the tub, growing to about a foot out from the metal claws. Perhaps a leaking pipe, he wondered—But wait… There aren't any pipes around the tub, so then… How?

Vlad stood, staring at the strange puddle and its mysterious origin of existence. After a moment of silent speculation, Vlad shook his head and turned away from the phenomenon.

No, now was not the time. He was just going to brush his teeth and—

Vlad turned on the sink tap, and watched as that same poo-colored liquid dribbled down the basin. Uh, yeah —no, thank you very much. Slowly however, the water paled, clearing enough that Vlad was willing to attempt to brush his teeth. He wasn't feeling brave enough for the shower yet, though…

"A plumber," he mumbled, lathering his toothbrush. "I need a plumber…"

When finished with his nightly hygiene rituals, Vlad crept under the cover of his Greenbay–PackersComforter, and cuddled himself into a tight ball. So far he hadn't experienced any weird otherworldly occurrences, or wild hallucinations that night, yet Vlad found himself locking the door, regardless.

As the teen passed from the conscious plane to the unconscious one, Vlad recalled seeing flashes of green behind his eyes, and two very sharp pits of coal…

[]

He was dreaming…

Somehow, he knew that. It had to be a dream—it had to be. The cold chill behind his throat was all–too real, otherwise.

He was walking—ascending, he realized. Up stairs––ah! Yes, he was walking up the stairs of a steep staircase inside the winding corridor of a tight room. There was barely room to breathe, and yet he walked on into the opaque darkness that shrouded his passage, regardless of each step taken.

There was something… familiar about this staircase. Had he walked these steps before? Yes… Yes, He thought—He had before—Sometime before. This was not the first time he had made this journey.

The dream shifted and Vlad found himself at the peak of the staircase, looking down a long, narrow corridor. There was a door at the end of the corridor. He walked up to the door.

The door was hot to the touch, and he felt… something; fear, anger, or helplessness —he didn't know.

He turned the knob.

The door opened; void greeting him, and he—with eyes alight, walked into the oblivion.

What awaited him on the other side was… horrible. So horrible, he could only make out the eyes.

Two florescent–green eyes glowed within the shapeless tide of nether. He could see within those green pools of fire, two very dark pits, which burned like coal. When he could finally make sense of there shape, they changed—narrowing into thin slits of black matter.

He knew those eyes! He had seen like eyes like that before!

Serpent eyes—Snake eyes! The eyes of a wicked man!

Within the turmoil of tumbling darkness, those eyes burned a throbbing hole within his mind, and when infinity seemed to pass between them, the creature spoke.

"There's no turning back now."

[]

Vlad awoke in a cold sweat. That dream! Was it a dream… or a nightmare! Those cold, green eyes… Serpent eyes! That, that… Thing, had serpent eyes!

Vlad clutched the bed sheet closer to his body. The bed was soaked. He must have tossed and turned all night by the look of the scattered pillows, and tangled blankets thrown below.

Such a terrible dream…

The room was cold, despite the bright summer sun glaring through the cracks in the ruined curtains—it was so cold.

A technician, Vlad reminded himself—He needed to call a technician and fix the damn air conditioning.

And a plumber…

Vlad sighed, seeing puffs of cold air escape with each breath. This house was falling apart, and with only 2 months until school started, Vlad would need all the help he could get.

Okay, Vlad—Wake up! Remember why you're here! Your future—Your investing in your future! And nothing—not even gho—um, rotten houses—are going to stand in your way!

Tossing off his grimy sheets, Vlad began his morning routine. Clothes, shower, teeth… Those last two being a gross affair. The plumber would have to come sooner than later. He couldn't last much longer trying to shower under dirty water.

Walking down the steps to the foyer, Vlad paused and stared in the direction of the kitchen.

Would the body be back, Vlad wondered. Lying on the slab like a fresh gutted cow?

Did he want to check?

No, Vlad reconciled. No, he did not.

Walking straight to the front door, Vlad tried to ignore the strange feeling of eyes on his back as he turned the lock and retreated from the shade of the doorway.

Once outside, the feeling of gravitylevitated some, and Vlad felt he could finally breathe!Not the frigid gasps of air he'd been fighting for since moving into the murky depths of the old, spooky house. Breathing therefelt desperate, like breathing in too much carbon dioxide and not enough oxygen.

Vlad unlocked his car, and stepped in. Today he was going to visit his school's library. He hoped to find some local texts that would enlighten him on the origin of the house at 1313 Elm Street. The policemen had spoken about a family—Vlad recalled the taller man adding that they'd been scientists too—Now that intrigued him.

What were they studying? And why did it end in Murder–Suicide?

These thoughts bubbled to the back of his mind, as Vlad turned the ignition and drove out onto the roads that would lead him to Wisconsin University.

[]

"No! No! NO!"

Vlad tossed the 10th book he'd been reading over his shoulder, joining the growing pile behind him.

He'd been at this for an hour! Yet still nothing new , beyond the same retyped, general information that Vlad had read and re-read in every book.

Vlad cast the latest tome behind him. Growling to himself, he dropped his head on the table—defeated.

"I don't understand it," Vlad mumbled to the table. "How can the entire documentation of a major crime just… Disappear!"

Maybe… Maybe I'm looking in the wrong place…

Picking his head off the table, Vlad glanced at the stack of books next to him. All of the titles dealt with the history and development of the town. News articles had been a dead end… but maybe —instead of searching for a logical answer… he should be looking for an illogical one.

Vlad stood and walked back to the front desk. A young woman around his age was sitting behind the desk, her eyes glued to the glossy pages of some trashy tabloid.

"Um excuse me…"

The woman looked up from her magazine, and Vlad felt the prickle of strings pull at his heart. This woman was—well… Wow.

Her skin was tanned by the summer sun—from spending too many days poolside, he guessed; her hair was an unruly crown of sandy curls—a color just shy of red, but far too amber to be brunette; and her eyes—Oh…

Vlad melted, a confortable smile etching its way into his pale face.

Her eyes were perfect. Two endless amethyst jewels stared back at him with growing perplexity; her pretty pink lips set in an uncomfortable frown and, Wait—What? Frown?

Vlad snapped from his daze, realizing those perky lips he'd been ogling were set in a line complimenting the awkward stare reflected in those violet eyes.

Suddenly, Vlad was very aware she was speaking.

"—Kid. Hey kid! You there?"

A small hand with too many bracelets swarmed in front of Vlad's face, and he felt the cold bite of embarrassment color his cheeks a beautiful shade of hypothermia.

"Oh um, yeah. Sorry 'bout that." Vlad said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Just keep looking at the floor Vlad; she can't hurt you if you can't see her.

"Hey kid, look up! My eyes are up here." She giggled.

Oh shit.

Vlad had to fight against every natural instinct, to muster up the courage to look her in the eye, but when he did—something amazing happened! She wasn't frowning at him—no cold disgust within her eyes, in fact she —She was smiling at him! Her eyes were alight with a secret joke, something Vlad desperately wanted—hoped that maybe was because of him.

Don't fool yourself, Masters.

"Hey, I like your hair!" The girl said, her brown curls swaying with every bob of her head.

"Oh u-um…" Vlad began, stuttering. "T-Thank y-you…" He finished, subconsciously fingering his raven "tail."

"I like, totally love the mullet look!"

Vlad blinked. "R-Really?"

Nodding, the girl added, "Oh yeah, like did you know Keifer Sutherland had a Mullet in the filming of The Lost Boys?" She flashed a page of her magazine, and Vlad glimpsed the pale face of a dark-suited man with platinum-blond hair, and coal-rimed eyes.

"U-um," Vlad began. "What's The Lost Boys…?"

At his blank look, the girl visibly deflated. "Oh… you don't know?" Vlad shook his head, and the girl sighed, twirling a curly lock between two fingers. "It's the latest cult Vamp—er, Vampire film. You know…" She added under her breath, "Like Dracula 'n' stuff?"

"Oh, uh…" Vlad hesitated.

"My name's Maddie, by-the-way." She paused—then added, "Madeline actually, but everyone calls me Maddie."

"V–V… Vlad." He forced out.

At the sound of his name, the girl—Maddie, brightened and asked, "Oh, like Vladimir?"

Vlad nodded, "Yeah…"

"Wow, cool that sounds just like a Vampi—!" Maddie backed off, and blushed. "Uh, I mean… hehe." She giggled to herself, and Vlad smiled.

"So… uh—oh!" Vlad began. "That reminds me, do you guys have a—um… a Ghost Section, or something?"

"Oh?" Maddie raised an eyebrow. "You like Ghosts?"

It was Vlad's turn to blush, and his eyes made a B-line for the carpet again.

"Uh, no… not really—"

"Oh, ok… that's too bad." Maddie interrupted, regret lacing her words.

Vlad whipped his head up to see a small frown marring the beauty of Maddie's face.

Was she disappointed?

Vlad found himself speaking, "U-Um, what I meant was… uh… That I'm interested in…" He couldn't believe what he was about to say, "—Ghosts?"

Maddie's smile was well worth it, though.

"Oh wow, really? Say…" She began, smiling ear to ear. "There's this Occult Club that meets a few times a month. You should totally join once school starts!"

Vlad, taken back by her enthusiasm—Or by the fact that a girl was talking to him at all, automatically nodded—not even 100% sure what he was agreeing to.

"Oh, uh… o-of course!" Vlad managed to breathe. "S-Sounds f-fun, haha!" Vlad laughed, a noise that sounded as awkward as it felt, and he was quick to steer the topic in a different direction.

"S-So—um, about that Ghost section?"

"Oh! Duh!" Maddie giggled some more, and pointed to a far away place across the Library. "We have a Paranormal section, but it's on the other side of building—Like in the way back. Just follow the aisle until you hit the Fiction section, then from there it should be a few columns down."

"T-Thanks" Vlad smiled and the girl returned it. Vlad turned to walk away, but before he could leave Maddie called back to him.

"Hey, it was nice meeting you Vlad. I'll see you around, okay?"

Vlad felt those strings pull harder. "Y-Yeah! Of course!" He answered, albeit a little to eager. Turning back around, Vlad started walking down the aisle again, when Maddie's bell of a voice floated behind him.

"And don't forget about the Occult Club!"

Vlad walked to the back of the library like Maddie had instructed. Reading the names of the sections carefully, Vlad looked out for a column titled: Paranormal Studies.

"Lets see…" Vlad spoke as he walked down the isle. "Gothic Literature—No that's not it; American Horror—Not it either. Maddie said it was in the back—Oh hello!"

The teen stopped at the last column of the last set of bookcases. There, at the top of the case, was a title card that read: Paranormal Studies.

Vlad stepped into the corridor, browsing its contents. He really didn't know what he was looking for—Books on Ghosts, Ghostbusting, The Haunting of 1313 Elm Street? Vlad sighed, he just didn't know.

Hell—He didn't even believe in ghosts, but then again, Maddie…

Sighing again, Vlad picked up the first black-banded book he could find, and flipping through its pages, Vlad sat down on the floor and got to work.

Well… Why the hell not.

[]

It was late into the evening when Vlad looked up from his latest copy of Ghosts Among Us: Uncovering the Truth About the Other Side.

Mr. Praagh explained in detail the different cases of close encounters vs. scientific theorem… and yet Vlad was nowhere closer to understanding anything of what he was experiencing at home.

Vlad looked up to the fading light of the Library windows. He sighed; he'd have to continue his search another day. A search for what—Vlad still didn't know.

Answers? Yeah, he wished—But every text read only bred more questions.

Ghosts? Poltergeists? Phantoms? Vlad didn't understand any of this.

Shelving his recent read, he wondered if maybe Maddie could suggest something.

She seemed interested enough…

Deciding to at least ask her, Vlad walked back to the front of the Library. The teen was suddenly very aware that he was alone in the cavernous space.

"Maddie?" Vlad spoke into the dark room. "Anyone?"

Vlad was about to turn and leave—guessing that he had lost track of time reading, and it was far later than he originally imagined—when a flash of… something caught his attention.

Looking to his right, he caught the tail of a shadow walking down a separate corridor of books.

"Hello?"

The darkness didn't answer, and Vlad—thinking that maybe it was some other straggling patron wondering the library bookshelves after hours—decided to follow.

"Is anyone there?" Vlad asked the silent bookcases. "I think the Library closed, so…"

Wait—! There it is again!

The tail end of a shadow turned the corner of one shelf and crossed into the corridor of another. This continued for a while until Vlad was sure he was lost amongst the towers of shelves. His search however, came to an abrupt stop when one particular corridor led to a dead-end, and the boy was left guessing whether he'd made a wrong turn earlier or no.

I was sure the shadow passed this way and—

Something caught Vlad's foot, and before he could catch himself, his gangly body toppled over, crashing into the opposite bookshelf.

"Ugh… Ouch."

Vlad sat up and assessed the damage. The shelf he crashed into was now partly bare of its books, the tomes having fallen after him.

"Okay, just what the hell did I trip over?" He asked no one as he pulled his foot out to ascertain the origin of his fall.

Wait a minute—!

His shoelace was caught on something, all right—but it was what that caused Vlad's chin to hang to the ground. His shoelace was caught on a crack in a book, but it wasn't a book—it was a crack—in a door, a door disguised like a bookshelf, and—Vlad looked around—in a dark corner of the Library too.

Vlad hesitated. Should he?

Obviously, who ever built this door, didn't want people just stumbling upon it… Yet here I am.

The curiosity was eating him alive, and Man-of-Science that he was; Vlad couldn't ignore the bubbling promise of new discoveries. Picking himself up off the floor, Vlad inspected the bookshelf-door with a critical eye.

"It looks like any other door," he mumbled. "Does it act like one, then?"

Sticking his fingers between the gaps, Vlad pulled and pulled until his not–so–strength finally gave way to the slow creek of metal against metal, as the door opened.

"Woah!"

Inside the door was a staircase ascending up into a separate corridor. Vlad followed the staircase—noting the old wooden stairs, and the uncertainty if they would crack under his weight or not—and into a small, dark room.

The space was closed, with no windows, and only one exit that acted as an entrance too. With the partial light from the ground floor, Vlad could make out enough of the room to be—Well, flabbergasted—with barely contained wonder and disbelief.

The room was covered head to toe in stuff! Books, parchments, notebooks, sketchpads, and drawings littered the walls.

Vlad walked up to one of the drawings, noting the morbid look of the artwork. The images depicted were monsters maybe, or creatures—he couldn't tell, but none were welcoming in Vlad's opinion. Rather, they looked misshapen and scribbled as if drawn by a wild toddler.

There was a single desk on the far wall, and upon it—Vlad discovered, were documents, handwritten and printed in a familiar red scrawl…

Wait… No way. No. Fucking. Way.

Vlad pulled out the Housing Lease—which was still within his back pocket—and compared the two documents.

"They're the same! They're the fucking same!"

The handwriting was spot–on–identical ,and Vlad quickly realized his hands were shaking. What did this mean? What was he supposed to think?

But… Why?

Why here—Why this school—Why the house—Why me! What am I supposed to think!

Nothing was making sense, and suddenly the small glimmer of wonder Vlad held for the history of his new house, grew into a throbbing heart of mystery that made his pulse race and his body quake.

Vlad felt that for whatever reason, he was meant to see this.

I don't know why, but I just feel like—like I was meant to see this room. Was meant to make the connection between the red printed scrawl…

A familiar cold sweat broke upon his brow and slithered down his face.

Dear God, Vlad. What have you gotten yourself into?

Vlad dropped the document back on the desk. He needed to leave; this was all too much—just too much. Re-pocketing his lease—A document that might as well hold his burning soul within its jagged cursive scrawl—the teen returned his sight to the staircase, set to leave this room… for now, he reconciled.

However, like many things that night, something else caught his eye. It was a book, with plane-red binding and old-world parchment. If the book had been closed, shelved or tossed somewhere else beside sitting upon the desk—open to the world as if the last person to visit this place had been reading it—Vlad may have overlooked it and saved himself the trouble of sitting at the desk; now reading the pages that had so ensnared his attention.

In large red lettering, the title read, Poltergeists: My Decent into the Madness of the Blind World.

Poltergeists? Vlad had learned about that word today. It was of German origin, and in popular culture, described the wicked spirits of the sinful few who had passed away by horrid, violent means. However, Vlad didn't know how much he could trust popular culture… then again, what could he trust?

—And, he reminded himself. I still don't believe in Ghosts.

Still…

Vlad read on, trying to make out the intricate scribbles between pages. One particular passage paused his finger from turning the page, and Vlad mouthed the words as he read along with it.

[]

May 24, 1889

I fear for my safety. These past days, the nights grow longer with the deepening cold, and I too, cant help but feel the slow creep of shadows across my back. He was right… He was always right, and yet I ignored him. Damn! Damn! Damn my fool pride!

I have to keep from the shade now. The night is no longer my friend. Travel will be difficult, however—because I so greatly relay on the dark shroud to aid in my passage between realms and… there is my sickness, as well—A sickness that has grown with my body to become a crippling weakness. The sunlight has never been a friend to me, and yet now I must bask in it's burning grace to protect myself from an even greater enemy.

Damn! Why did it have to come to this!

My only hope… no, no. My only fear is that I will succeed in my venture. If my families texts are correct then… the only option to vanquish a geist, is to absolve it .

If my flesh is to burn, then so shall he.

[]

Vlad read and re-dead the last paragraph. The only way to vanquish a geist is to absolve it? What did that mean?

Geist, that was German for Ghost, but… Absolve—as in forgive? You have to forgive a ghost to destroy it?

Vlad sighed. Who was he kidding; he didn't know left from right with this Occult stuff.

Then again… This book was as good as any—And it did hold quite a bit of interesting detail not seen in other books claiming experience with phantoms.

Vlad flipped to the beginning, searching the first page for an author.

Just who wrote this book, anyway?

It was apparent to Vlad that the author of this book was the same author of his lease and all the other red-printed scrawled parchments in this room. Obviously this room had been utilized as a study once upon a time… and maybe, if the dates to these documents were any indication, the Library had been built up around it.

Does that mean there are other secret rooms?

Vlad paused from his musings when the elusive name revealed itself. Vlad stared at the blood-red cursive scrawl, trying to make out the strange, yet elaborate name.

Frederich Isak Showenhower.

[]

Vlad's drive home was filled with swimming thoughts. He didn't know what to think, yet…

Vlad looked to the red-bound book sitting in his passenger seat. Well, at least he had a reference point. Smiling to himself, Vlad pulled up to the curb in front of his house with renewed strength.

Vlad stepped out of his car, and walked to the door with book in hand. He noted the time of day was late into the night, and the sky had sense bled from a pinkish-purple to the bleak void of endless stars. No one was on the street, but that was something Vlad was quickly becoming used to—Neighbors that minimally bothered him, unless they were creepy old women with creepy old warnings.

No—None of that, Vlad.

He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts. Now wasn't a time to dwell on the weirdness outside his house. Right now all he wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed to lay his tired body to rest.

Vlad turned the lock and opened the door. He was feeling pretty content, and although the events of today had been far from normal, Vlad felt relieved. Even giddy for his coming freshman year at college—with Maddie, he reminded.

Oh well, I still don't believe in Ghosts thou—!

Vlad stopped in his tracks. His words had died with the silence of the room. His house… His house! Everything—! Everything was destroyed!

A large mess awaited Vlad as he walked into the foyer. All the furniture, his belongings, what little he had cleaned up the previous day—Everything was tossed, shredded, and thrown all over the hard-wood flooring of the front parlor.

Vlad was speechless. He'd read about this… In one of those American Ghost Hunter Biographies, he'd read that disgruntled spirits would act out in fits of rage and destroy, harm, or even… possess people in order to rid the mortal presence from the sanctity of their ghostly domains.

D-Did… Did this mean that… that his house really was haunted?

Vlad swallowed. Suddenly he felt a powerful need to leave the house, to spend another night in his car—but no, NO! He wasn't going to do that! Ghost or not, Vlad had driven miles from his past life to carve out a future here, and no creature of the dead is going to scare him away from his right to that future! This was his last chance to redeem himself, to prove to the world that Vladimir Masters was more than a friendless science geek!

And I'm not going to be intimidated by some Scary-Movie Reject!

Having made a promise to himself, Vlad walked confidently into the front parlor and stood his ground, eyeing the dark corners and creeping shadows of the room.

"Okay Ghost, Phantom, Poltergeist—Whatever the hell you are—My name is Vladimir Demetrius Masters and you don't scare me!"

Silence followed his wake, but Vlad continued on.

"I've spent too many years rolling over so bullies could beat me into the ground, but no… not anymore. I'm not that same sad little kid—I abandoned that side of myself when I walked through that door the first night." Vlad pointed to the front door. "Sure you may be scary, you may be consumed by rage, or manifested by fear —but mark my words, phantom —" Vlad's voice deepened, taking on a dark, finale tone.

"You will never destroy me!"

Vlad heard his voice reverb among the walls, and he almost felt stupid for shouting out a monologue to the dead air, but then—slowly, the tendrils of light within the room shifted, and then—the room swam in darkness.

The drop in temperature followed shortly after, and Vlad breathed—noticing wisps of cold air drifting past his frigid lips.

Void stared back at him, and although Vlad could hardly make out the hand in front of his face; the angles of the room, the shapes of objects, the depth of space—everything was so much sharper, yet exaggerated—resembling the twisted dreamscapes that haunted him a night prior.

Then, out from the darkness—ripping through silence, and the irregular patter of his heartbeat, Vlad heard a noise.

It sounded like the creak of a door—long, stretching, and eerie.

Vlad followed the echoing sound to a place behind the staircase. There, among the peeling wallpaper and wooden paneling, was a door—wide open and inviting.

The door was of an old-world oak, the deep color of tar, both murky and chipping in it's led-painting exterior. Vlad noticed the cracks in the wall framing the door; and for a moment, the teen fantasied the door ripping its way into this reality, from some-other more fowl.

Vlad wracked his mind. He didn't remember a door hidden behind the staircase before… Perhaps—he imagined , he hadn't paid close enough attention to detail, and yet…

No. No—! I don't remember this door. I would have recalled such a thing… Then what––Vlad thought with horror—What is this?

The dark, inky oblivion called to him. The oppressing darkness rippling tremors of anxiety down his spine, causing heat to erupt behind his ears, and sweat to gather at his palms—And Vlad, with all his self-proclaimed bravery and blind arrogance, had felt… nostalgic.

The teen took a step into the shade of the doorframe, then another, and another, until he found himself scaling the steep wood staircase up–and–up–and–up until—

Vlad stood at the opposite end of a narrow corridor. Formless black miasma curled at the edges of the room, framing the corridor in black void. Like A separate dimension, Vlad mused.

A single light source struck through the shadows, alighting the only other door in the room, far at the end of the passageway. The light—A strange mixture of reds, greens, and even shades of yellow, clawed helplessly at the cracks between the doorframe.

Vlad walked up to the door.

He heard himself speak, but the sound was strange—distorted.

"What are you expecting, Vladimir?"

He turned the knob.

"The Boogieman…?"

He entered the room.

There were several things waiting for him inside that room. One of which were the cause of the flickering glow of colorful lights—Something he immediately realized upon entering, when the bright flickers between light and shadow assaulted his vision —striking the room in sharp contrast. The lights flickered behind the boarded-up cracks of a large windowpane, but what lay behind causing the flashing hues of reds, greens, and yellows—Vlad did not care to find out. For the flashing lights, nor the great empty space of the room, was what had so captivated his frozen attention.

There, leaning against the windowpane, cast by the harsh contours of light and shade, and staring at him with that same venomous expression, was a man.

Vlad felt his breathing catch.

––A man with Serpent Eyes.

Those eyes burned into Vlad, and then with a voice as black as the shadows that bathed him… The man spoke.

"It's all –true, the Boogieman's real…" He paused, those eyes narrowing into needle-like slits. "And you found him."

[]

Incoming message from the Author:

Well, 32 pages… 10390 words… 2 weeks.

I think that deserves an extra pat on the back. *Pat Pat*

Well thanks for reading! See you next time!

And remember––I spend way too much time staring into an infinite void!