The midnight moon shines below the willow trees, the rustle in the leaves brings chills to a small pack of teenagers in a city park.
“Hey, c’mon man. Bet you can’t do it.” one says as the others circle around one boy.
“Yeah, no balls.” another pitched in as they tormented and pressured the boy counted out.
“Shut up, I’ll do it, I’ll show you!” He says grabbing a Spas 12 out of a duffle bag as he pulled down a mask from the top of his head, covering his face.
He rushed into a bank blasting the security guard onto his back in a puddle of blood. The blood of the guard scattered across the banks sign. The floor of Central National Bank of East Chestnut Street was stained with the blood of innocent people who were in that bank only to be involved with a massacre. What could cause a group of teenage kids to do such thing? The lust of money. A Junction City bank was soiled with the blood of virtuous people.
The group of teenage kids rushed back to a house that probably was one of the kids.
“Dude look at all this money, damn,” one says counting the hundreds in his hand. “And look at you Tim, you were worried as if the devil was facing God.”
“Yeah I know, I was thinking of the stories about the- you know,” Tim says sitting in an adjustable chair with his hands over his mouth.
“Huh? About the what?” another kid says as he turns frantically.
“Yesterday my homie Fabian was out selling some kids drugs down at the corner, he went down an alley talking to a regular when some blood came down onto his package, he looked up and found three bodies hanging upside-down, covered in blood,”
“Oh, s**t.” the first guy interrupts, thinking as if it was the climax of the story.
“He went getting a closer look at it, whatever it was, and it opened its eyes, red as the blood on it, and opened its mouth, fangs and all. He went running when two more came from the shadows, but with weapons.” he told the two men, later talking to all of the group members. He told his story as if he made it himself. The silence was broken with screams from someone upstairs.
“What the hell?! Someone yells out. They run upstairs only to find one of their members with their “victory” fingers ripped off and their neck twisted, they lay in a puddle of their own blood, dead and silent. Some members gag and cover their mouths as Tim grabs a gun and tells the rest to get armed and keep an eye out. They walked around the house trying to find the killer.
Tim, by himself goes to the second stories, where there were three rooms, the parents room, one of the group members room, and a room, untouched for years, who belonged to a little girl who died of hypothermia three years ago; the group member’s sister. He hears yelling downstairs. He has his gun pointed down the hallway as he sees a shadow flutter by into the little girls room.
Unaware of what evil hides, he goes ahead. He checks the parents room, there’s nothing there. He continues to the members room, the room with the drapes torn and everything glass, broken. He feels what satanic hate runs through this house in his heart. His gun pointed in front of him, he touched the door of the final room and slowly pushes it open. He sees nothing but a room with butterfly stickers on the wall, photos of trees and plants hanging, and a bed with polka dotted sheets and a pink blanket.
He looks around in the room as he shakes to another scream from another tortured member. Unaware that he might be next he goes in the room. What he hears makes him shake to his bones, a little girl crying in the corner next to the bed. Moonlight shining down on her silver hair from the window behind her.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He says putting the gun down. She faces upwards with blue lips and a face with no eyes. Tim looks deep into the empty hell holes of her eye sockets. She whispers under her breath, look behind you, you sucker. He looks back and what he missed, a closet with someone in it, rushes out and kicks the kid out of the window, glass shatters and the impact rocks the whole house, the screams fill the air like venom in a blood-stream. He falls onto the concrete walkway, blood splattered onto the cement and his brains bashed out.