Part 2!
After eight hours of vague nightmares, he awoke in a cold sweat with his teddy bear in hand.
Obviously, a kid of his age shouldn't have a teddy bear, but it was a gift from his Dad - way back. So, if you think it's inappropriate, screw you.
He ran a hand through his damp dark hair, slipping on his glasses and looking around the room. Looking down at himself, it was a sorry sight. He looked like a wet chihuahua.
Stripping off his flannel shirt, he trudged to the laundry room. He'd already had most of a load in the basket, he could add this in and start it. Pushing the button, he went to his room in his boxers to get a shirt or something.
He saw a flash, a dark shadow outside his window.
Nervously, he tugged on a pair of jeans and peered out the window, but he saw nothing.
He was about to go finish getting ready, when something popped up in front of him. A face, silver hair - he couldn't distinguish much as he lurched backwards.
Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he ran outside with only his jeans on. He practically sprinted around the house, but all he found were footprints and a handprint on the window.
Creepy.
After dressing properly, complete with white fedora, John made his way outside once again. He searched for hours, but found nothing.
He stood on his lawn for a few minutes, wondering if he was hallucinating.
Opening his door, it struck him that perhaps he was suffering post-traumatic stress disorder. He sighed. Of course he had PTSD. He had everything.
As he entered the house, something felt off. It felt foreign, an odd feeling he hadn't experienced since his father had been in the house.
The hair raised on his neck.
Grimacing, he continued to the kitchen. Maybe some apple juice would calm his nerves. It always had.
Pouring a glass, he noticed the figure out of the corner of his eye. Instead of freaking out, he pretended he didn't notice. Just casually poured a second cupful.
He wasn't really sure what the phrase 'feed your demons' meant, but it probably wasn't as literal as this.
He set the glass out on the railing of the porch, retreating inside to watch from the window.
It was late afternoon now, and the sky glowed burnt orange.
Watching a movie but keeping tabs on the window in his peripherals, John managed to waste two hours being on edge.
Although not for nothing.
When he finally couldn't help himself and looked outside, the glass was empty.
Weird, he hadn't seen anything.
Whatever. He had accomplished something - whatever it was, it liked apple juice.
He went to collect the cup, and he noticed a sticky note on the side of it.
"LANGERS"
John raised his eyebrows and laughed out loud.
Scratch that, it must love apple juice to be able to distinguish brands like that.
He got a different brand.
An hour later, another note was on the new glass.
"GENERIC CRAP"
He snickered.
He went back inside, curiosity overwhelming. He took a couple of apples, and after about ten minutes of conspicuously avoiding windows he had a glass of homemade apple juice.
Deciding he could stay up longer, he set the glass just outside the door.
Figuring he wasn't going to see anything, he went back into the kitchen to do some dishes by hand. He had a dishwasher, but the warm water was a lot better at keeping him awake.
He was damn near the end of all the dishes already not an hour later. He reached for the last glass and froze when his fingers scraped across paper.
"DONT GO INTO JUICE MAKING"
Wow, thanks.
John rolled his eyes, taking the note and putting it with the other two.
To be honest he was pretty startled - it had been completely silent. He would've heard the door open, right?
Drying his hands, he set the towel on the counter and got his own pad of sticky notes and a pen.
"OKAY, ENOUGH GAMES."
He left it on the door, yawning before heading into his room to get paja-
"WE ARENT PLAYING"
He froze at the sticky note on his window, writing on the sticky side.