1.

For the third night in a row Rhys Durden couldn't sleep. All he could do was lounge around his room and listening to his stereo and doing . . . whatever. He laid his slender frame across his bed, letting his head hang off the edge of the bed and blaring Evil (A Chorus of Resistance) on his headphones.

As he rested his burning eyes he began to think about Mr. Johnson, the twitchy realtor who sold his mother the house. He didn't like him. He gave a weird feeling and Rhys could've sworn that he was hitting on his mother. But that wasn't what he was thinking about. He was thinking about earlier that afternoon, when Mr. Johnson came over and shooed Rhys upstairs, but Rhys stayed at the top of the stairs just out of sight.

All he heard was whispering from Mr. Johnson, shocked gasps from his mother, and a name. He couldn't remember it. It was right on the tip of his tongue. What was that name?

"Krueger." He breathed as beads of sweat began rolled down his forehead. He opened his intense blue-green eyes to suddenly find his whole room quiet and dark. "I must've dozed off." He muttered quietly to himself, assuming that his mother had come in and turned off all his stuff.

He suddenly heard a noise. Someone was revving the engine of what sounded like a muscle car. Actually it sounded more like the growling of some strange beast. Rhys got up and walked over to window pulled out the curtains. His sleep strained eyes scanned the street and noticed a car cruising down Elm Street as fat snowflakes began to fall. It was slick and simple, the black paint shined and the glossy chrome glowed in the street light. If Cadillac made hotrod hearses, it'd look like this. Rhys' heart began to race and his stomach filled with a strange sense dread as the slowed to a stop in front of his house.

He swiftly grabbed his black aluminum bat and quietly crept through the hall, down the smooth carpeted stairs, and stared through curtain of the window on the door. A tall lean figure stepped out of the car. The brim of his fedora was pulled down low, hiding his face in shadows. The mans heavy trench coat swung inches above ground as his red and green sweater seemed to pop out against the harsh white of the snow.

As the man marched up the walkway the street lights shimmered off of something in his right hand. A knife perhaps. Rhys wiped the sweat from his brow and tightened his grip on the bat. The man was at the door. Rhys could feel the man's eyes burning into his own. The doorknob began to rattle.

With a white knuckle grip on his bat he inched toward the door, his heart hammered against his rib cage as he stared at the man in the window. He ripped open the door ready knock the stranger into last week, but no one was there. An icy chill blasted up his spine like a bullet as he peaked outside the door. The man and the hearse were gone.

"I need a good nights sleep." He sighed as his closed the front door and begged his heart to slow down. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes. He hoped his mind was just playing tricks on him. He hoped that they were simply delusions from lack of sleep and that he didn't need to take any more medication than he was already had been.

He opened his eyes and his heart leaped up into his throat. His house, the brand new house that he and his family were in, looked like it should've been condemned. Filthy faded rugs covered the floor, repulsive puke-yellow wallpaper clung to walls, tattered old toys were scattered across the ground, and the smell of burnt flesh invaded his lungs.

He dropped the bat, yanked open the door, only to have a burning hot hand clasped around his throat. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" Rhys choked as the man from before slowly raised him up off of the ground. In the flickering light of a nearby lamp revealed the man's face. It was a mass of red burn scars with a his lips curled into a cruel smile and his pale green eyes twinkling with sick joy at watching Rhys struggle for air.

The man slowly raised his hand. Rhys' eyes narrowed with fear. The man wore a glove with long dreadfully sharp blades emerging from each finger. Rhys didn't know what was going on but he wasn't going to die without a fight. He kicked the old man in the face causing the man to drop him the floor.

He stared up at the man whose head was still tilted backwards, his hat delicately falling to the floor. The man moved his head forward and stared at Rhys with the same wicked smile still carved onto his face. Rhys scrambled to his feet and ran into the living room with the man in hot pursuit.

The man grabbed a hand full of Rhys' straight dark brown hair as he ran. Rhys turned and tackled the man and punched the man over again until the man was able to grab Rhys' arm. He tried to ignore finger knives dug into his arm and the warm blood that gushed out of his wounds. With his free hand the man grabbed Rhys' throat and began to choke the life out of him. The man rolled him over pinning him down. Rhys kneed the man in the groin and pushed off of him. He ran back into the hallway. The front door was missing so he ran to the kitchen door but it'd been boarded shut. He quickly grabbed a rusted butcher knife from the grimy sink and turned just in time to see the standing a few feet away from him.

His deranged smile had been replaced by hate filled scowl and eyes were overflowing with fury. As he stomped toward Rhys, he dragged a long finger knife along the metal of one of the chairs. Rhys clutched the handle as he met the deranged stranger's eyes with equal fury. "You want me you sick bastard," Rhys said, not hiding the smirk that was spreading across his face. "Then just try and take me."

They changed towards each other and without warning Rhys shot up in his bed, accidentally snatching his headphones from the plug and sending heavy metal exploding from the speakers and cutting through the silence. His eyes frantically searched his room. Then he looked himself over. The cuts were still on his arms, his sweat soaked tank top was bloody, and he was clutching the old, rusty butcher in his hand so hard that the handle cracked. He was broken from his initial shock when he heard a shrill scream over the loud music. He looked to see his mother in his doorway.

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Aurthor's Note: Hoped you liked it! I only own the O.C's. Please R&R :D