Wrote this listening to Fiona Apple's version of "Sally's Song" and Symphony Switchblades "Gothic Industrial" song thingie. I decided that to be the theme song for the boys.

"Hey girly!"

She rolled over on the lumpy mattress and groaned.

"Wake up girly!"

A face was pressed against the window. Two gleaming red eyes watched her sleep. Once they saw Punkin stir, they turned back and yelled something into the street.

"Come play girly!"

"Yeah! We don't bite!" a chorus of voices cackled wildly in unison.

"Go away!" Punkin moaned into her pillow.

"But girly! We brought gifts!" Half a dozen hands knocked on the doors. Pulling herself out of the bed, Punkin dragged her heavy limbs to the window. A bright, orange sun glowed in the sky. 6 boys, the horde of them that had been throwing the explosive marbles, were gathered around the doorway and windows. Seeing her face, they started laughing and banging on the walls with the palms of their hands. One of them howled like a wolf.

"Leave me alone!" She called angrily and slammed the inner shutters. Another hoot of laughter was sent up.

"But girly! Hey girly! We brought you presents! Open up girly!" They sang like a single entity almost, like a giant blot of black clothes and grey skin and red eyes, never still or quiet. When it became apparent that none of the boys was planning on leaving anytime soon, she cracked her door open a little bit. A large red eye leaned in. Black fingernails dug into the door and wrenched the door nearly off the hinges. The boys laughed.

"Hi new girl," said the boy who opened her door. Punkin hid behind the door frame and watched them carefully.

"Aww," said a different boy, "come on girly! We won't come in. We can't! You have to invite us."

"Then will you leave already?"

The boy at the door way grinned, revealing a mouth of gleaming white teeth. It seemed that the vampire myth of sharp canines was untrue; this youth had an entire mouth full of sharp teeth like a shark. Noticing her eyes straying to his mouth, he snapped his jaw, and growled playfully. Another boy punched his shoulder.

"Quit scaring the new girl, Graves!" The one apparently named Graves locked his lips together but gave her a smug smile nonetheless.

"I'm Graves," he said, as though that wasn't already obvious. He jabbed a thumb at the other boys, and began rattling off their names. "That's Manson, Spider, that's Jolly Rog' over there, and Pinhead, and Killer. Say hi boys." They all waved at. She noticed that the gang uniform seemed to include typically gothic black shirts and pants, but also a various assortment of uses for random zippers and buckles. One of the boys had biker gloves held together with what looked like staples that bit into his skin. The staples continued long after the gloves had ended at his wrists and actually slid to his shoulder. Vague, angry looking wounds accompanied the staples. They all had long hair ranging from a shaggy cut to long shoulder length locks. They ran the gamut from a shiny black to a dusty grey. However, they all had red eyes and pale skin.

The boy named "Killer" raised a hand and crocked his finger at Punkin. He was wearing black gloves that covered his hands and a trench coat with a high collar. It could have been a traditional Dracula cape for all she could tell.

"Come on girly," he said in a raspy, deep voice, "we brought you some house warming gifts." the boys gathered around the doorway excitedly.

"No thanks," she said timidly, "but um...why don't you bring it here?"

Killer cackled maniacaly. A wind suddenly stirred up, and floated Punkins skirt, the very edge of the hem, forward. Killer immediately grabbed it and pulled. She found herself staggering forward, loosing her balance, and if Killer hadn't have caught her, she might have fallen straight into the mud. Squirming violently, she tried to pull herself away from him. Instead, he only grasped her arms tighter, while the rest of the boys hoisted her over their heads. In a minute, they were crowd surfing her down the street, running in a pack. Killer kept his hands firmly on her waist. Almost her entire weight rested on top of his head, which was digging into her back. She screeched. During the Halloween day however, there was no one awake. At least, no one that would help her.

They pulled through the streets, into parts of town she hadn't even seen yet, before finally stopping at the gates of a junk yard. Here, they let her down on her feet. Manson kicked open the gate with one giant spiked boot. His wild grey hair blew in another gust of wind.

"New girl!" they yelled into the vast hills of old mattresses and garbage, "new girl! ZOMBIE GIRL!"

"I'm not a zombie!" she tried to yell. Killer had one arm around her waist, the other wrapped in what was left of her hair, keeping her head still. She tried to pry her fingers in between her stomach and his arms, but he held her in a vice grip. Finding that to not work, she reached up and pulled his hand. Taking some chunks of pale hair with it, she pulled it to her face and bit down on the knuckle.

"Hey there, zombie girly!" he yelled, dropping her. She ran as fast as her legs let her back down the street. She heard their laughter as they followed. Despite their speed and strength, they made no attempt to catch her. Instead, they merely ran ahead and hid behind garbage cans and in doorways, hooting as she ran past. The one called Spider cut her off before she could escape down an alley, and Graves snapped at her when she paused to check behind her. Breathing hard, she turn down another alley. Killer caught up with her and pushed her forward. She saw the lantern of her own house lit like a becon down the street.

"Run home girly!" he rasped, "run home!" She fled undisturbed to the door and threw herself inside. She heard the laughter die away. And then all she heard was her own hard breathing.