Brad was happy school had just let out for the day. He was sick of having to go to school why the snow built up every minute. Getting home was becoming a chore.
"Blasted snow," he spoke out loud to his friends that walked with him.
"Snow is so much nicer when you're little and don't have to actually do things around it," Brad's friend Mick laughed.
Mick had always liked the snow. Brad, however, grew to hate it as he got older. "I'm just glad I don't have to drive to school," Brad replied.
"I hear that," Brad's friend Troy mumbled.
Brad had to smirk. Troy was always listening to his music when they walked home. He never expected to be listened to.
It didn't take the three long to get enough away from the school that they had to go their own ways. Brad waved goodbye to them and walked down his street. He shivered as he was trying to keep the idea of his warm bedroom alive.
Brad finally reached his house. It almost blended in with the snow. He and his father had just painted it before the storm came in. As he stepped up onto his porch, he heard a thud to his left. His hand stopped reaching for the door. He peered over slowly, his brown eyes scanning the snowy yard.
Removing his hood, Brad ran his hand through his black spikey hair to see if the hood had compressed it at all. It hadn't.
To his left, a rectangle impression lay in the snow. Curious, Brad immediately went to go look at it. In the center of the snow was a black journal. Two words on the cover seemed to shimmer in the snow. Brad quickly rubbed his eyes. He assumed his contacts were getting blurry from the snow.
He blinked a few times. The black journal had the words *Death Note* embroidered onto it in a silver color.
"Someone has a morbid sense of titling," he mumbled.
He looked around to see if anyone had thrown it at him. He didn't see anyone around. He scratched his head as he realized the impression was perfectly vertical. The journal didn't come from an angle, it came straight down into the snow. He reached down and picked it up. He looked up to see if there was a plane or anything that for some reason had dropped items out of it. The sky was too thick of clouds to tell. He shrugged and went back to his door.
After opening the door, Brad heard his mother call out.
"Hello hunny! How was school?"
"It was the usual."
"And how are your honor classes and exams going?"
Brad smiled widely as his mom came into view of the entrance hallway. "Acing them of course!"
"You're going to be a scientist someday, I'm sure!" She exclaimed proudly.
Brad chuckled a bit as he took off his shoes. His mother always got mad if he tracked water through the house. He thought about being a scientist of some sorts. He could easily do it with his classes and credits. He was only almost one semester away from graduation, but he was exactly sure on what he wanted to go to college for, let alone, which college.
"What's that you got there?" His mother asked, noticing the black journal.
"Just a composition notebook I found."
"You found it?"
"Yeah it was just laying in our front yard."
"Weird. Does it have a name in it?"
Brad set down his backpack. He opened the Death Note and scanned for a 'This belongs to:' page. There wasn't any, and no words yet written on the pages. He did notice the first several pages were completely black and covered in silver writing. It looked like gibberish to him.
"Doesn't look like it. Looks like some fancy notebook," Brad explained.
"Well okay then. Hey, remember dinner is at 5:30!" She called as she walked back to her room.
Brad just nodded, knowing she wouldn't see, but he didn't care. He simply walked down a hallway to the right and went to his room. He set the Death Note on his desk and went over to his closet to take off his jackets. He always wore two when it snowed.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached and dug it out. He looked at the brightly lit screen. He had several texts from Mick and a girl named Farah. He smiled to see he got a text from her. He looked to the Death Note on his desk. He never had a journal before.
Brad walked over to his desk. He set his phone down and reached for a pen. He opened the Death Note, giving a quick glance at the black pages once more. They still were almost blurry to his vision. He shrugged to himself and opened to the first page. He began to write about his day. He wrote it down in detail, picturing how it was to be in class and see Farah McGall, and his friends Mick Davis and Troy Williams. He even wrote about his favorite teacher.
After a few minutes of writing, Brad felt accomplished by his first entry. He set down his pen. He looked over to his bed. It called to him, so he went and laid down.
A hour or so passed when Brad's mother came in to tell him it was dinner time. He got up sluggishly and went to the dinner table. His father was out late again working for some business company. Brad didn't really care because he barely saw him. He and his mother ate and made small talk. It was mostly the same old conversations as every night. More talk about work for her and school for him.
Another hour passed and Brad and his mother had finished eating. He helped her clean up and before he knew it, it was going on 8 o'clock.
As he was heading to his room, Brad heard the doorbell ring. He immediately halted where he stood. His mind quickly raced at who it could be at this hour. It was a school night, so it surly couldn't be his friends. And his dad usually came home around 10 or later.
"Can you get that, hun?" His mother called out.
"Sure," Brad replied carefully.
He walked back into the entrance hallway. He went over to the door and opened it. On the other side were two policemen. Brad's eyes widened at the sight of the authority figures.
"Are one or both of your parents home, son?" One asked.
"Who is it?" Brad's mother asked as she came into view.
"Ma'am, we'd like to come in and ask a few questions," the other stated.
"What kind of questions? What's this about?"
"We have a strange case and are warning parents about what we may fear is some sort of drug going around in the local high school," the first policeman explained.
"What are you talking about?"
Brad stood there, listening.
"Well we have several students and a teacer that have died this evening. They all attended the high school. From what we've gathered, they have all died of heart attacks. At least that's what their friends or family explained what happened."
"What? That's crazy! Several in one night? What kind of drug could do that?!" Brad's mom demanded.
"We aren't sure ma'am. We are going to continue to investigate the school. We fear it might be something slipped in the food."
"Well my boy brings his own lunch," she replied.
"Do you, son?" The policeman asked directly at Brad.
Brad was hesitant to answer. His mind was wondering who had died.
"Uh...yeah, sorry. I do. Every day," Brad finally spat out.
"Good to hear. Keep doing that."
"Can't you close the school temporarily or something?" Brad's mom asked.
"Not until we have more information, sorry."
"Well alright. Thanks for telling us."
The policemen tipped their caps slightly. "Have a safe night."
"Wait!" Brad exclaimed suddenly.
"Yes, son?" One policeman asked curiously.
"Any chance you could tell me who died?"
"Well it usually goes against protocol, but all parties have said they would be in the morning paper..." The policeman explained as he pulled out his notepad and flipped through it. "Mick Davis, Troy Williams, Farah McGall, and Hugh Noble."
Brad's heart sank. He wasn't sure how to take that news. Without thinking, he immediately put on a fake expression and replied, "Oh, I see. Thanks. Have a safe night."
He closed the door. His mother looked at him. "Those are your friends, aren't they?"
"Yeah..."
"I'm so sorry hun," she replied with a hug.
After a few minutes of embracing him, she then said, "If you need to stay home tomorrow, you can. Go get some sleep and try not to think about it too much, okay?"
Brad just nodded. He didn't know what to do. He went to his room and shut the door behind him. He walked over to his bed and fell face first. He never cried often, but he couldn't hold back the tears now. His friends and favorite teacher had all died.
"You had to write in it, didn't you?" A voice asked.
Brad sat straight up, frightened by the voice. He looked around and saw a figure in the corner of his room. "Who are you?!" Brad exclaimed.
"Me?" The figure said, stepping into the light of his desk lamp. He was tall. Brad wondered how such a tall man was able to get into their house. His clothes were gray and ragged. Even for his terrible clothes, the man was handsome and looked to be a young adult. "You wrote in the Death Note," The man said as he smiled, "I'm your shinigami."