Chapter 2

At 11:11PM, Chris couldn't sleep. In blue footie pajama's, he clutched his blanket tightly up to his chin, as this would deter the vampires, zombies or any other creature that nightly made their home in his closet or under his bed. He was a typical five year old boy: bugs, bruises, boogers and baseball. This was like any other night. A cowboy nightlight blazed in the corner behind a pair of boots. His parents, Richard and Jean had pleaded with him for days that the light would protect him from the beasties, but Chris was positive that he could see little red eyes glowing through the wooden slats.

Each morning, Chris awoke in shock that he was not missing an arm, leg or at least his pinkie. His brother, Alex, had a room down the hall. More nights than not, Chris would find himself seeking refuge with his brother. At twelve, Alex was the only one who truly believed Chris' monster problems. Chris idolized Alex and wanted to be just like him, dress like him and do everything that he did.

This night seemed different. Chris couldn't put his finger on it, but something did not seem right. Everything was very quiet, like something bad was going to happen and it was not going to come from under his bed. That day, Chris' Grandma had picked him up from the bus stop and explained that his parents had something to take care of. Grandma had stayed with him throughout the afternoon and evening.

"Where's Alex?" Chris had asked.

"I don't know honey, but I bet he's with your mom and dad. Now finish up, it's time you get ready for bed."

"But it's only 7:45. I usually stay up til 8:30 and I wanna stay up til Alex gets home."

"Not tonight dear, you'll see him in the morning." Grandma had said as she turned her head to look out the family room window at the inky blackness.

That was almost three and a half hours ago and he still had not heard Alex climb the stairs and step on the loose floorboard in front of Chris' door, making its trademark squeal. His parents had returned home at ten and had quickly thanked his grandma for staying the evening and quickly sent her home. After the echo of the front door closing had escaped through the walls and out into the night, not a sigh, creak, squeak or whisper reached Chris' ears.

Something is wrong, why aren't mom and dad coming up to bed? Why aren't they talking, why isn't the TV on? He questioned as fear pricked every hair on the back of his neck. A debate battled in his head, as heated as any in Washington. He wanted to go downstairs to see what was wrong. To see if he was wrong. I bet they're all down there coming up with a surprise party for my birthday! His optimism was shallow and easily overwhelmed with the fear that a vampire may have sucked them all dry in the living room and was waiting for him.

At some point, sleep won the battle with his racing mind. He dreamt he was floating, not the pressurized floating of water, but the light airy feeling like flying. I light breeze ruffled his thick brown hair and carried to him the faint smell of something smoldering. Everything was a shade of grey. He could not focus his eyes. Silence absolute. He began to panic, twisting and turning in every direction, trying to find something, anything that was real that he could hold on to. A crushing weight assaulted him in an instant. He appeared to be balanced in a haze so thick that he could taste its bitter, choking solidness. Slowly at first, then with terrifying acceleration, blue and red light began pulsating in front of him. Mere pinpricks initially, growing larger, larger. The haze magnified and diffused the light until he was completely encompassed. Whispers in his ears made him jump and turn expecting to find something terrible. There was nothing but blue and red, blue and red. The whispers became louder, more clear until the same phrase repeated itself over and over, louder and louder. It's all your fault, it's all your fault, you, you, you, you, YOU! He could feel the breathe of the unseen accusers on his ears. They began to scream. Chris clamped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes as tight as he could silently praying that it would all go away.

Chris sat up with a start, face damp, pajamas soaked with sweat. Glancing quickly at the clock on his bedside table, he saw that it was now 3:24AM. Fingers of blue and red crept in under his door, across the room and up the side of his bed. The blinds on his window were aglow, alternating those same nightmare shades. He pulled back the covers and swung out of bed. Silently he crept to his window and pulled the blinds aside. Three police cars sat at the curb in front of the house, lights raging. One officer, hat removed walked up the cobblestone sidewalk and up the old wraparound porch. Chris sprinted silently in his footie pajamas to his door and eased it open, holding his breath. Peering down the stairs at the back of his parent's heads, the doorbell rang. The officer appeared in the doorway, said something that Chris could not hear, and followed behind them into the family room.

Only faint muttering could be heard, as Chris slowly descended the stairs.

"NOOOOO!" His mother wailed, and he almost fell down the last five steps. Sitting on the bottom stair, ear pressed to the wall, the color drained from his face.

"…police dogs found it, I mean him. I am very sorry for your loss." The officer stated.

"Wh, what happened?" Chris' father stuttered through clenched teeth.

"We don't really know sir, but we have everyone working on that at this very moment." He said with as much sympathy as he could muster.

"Well what do you mean you don't know!" He screamed, she cried.

"I don't know how to tell you this Mr. and Mrs. Graves, all we recovered was a torn foot wrapped in this." The officer handed Chris' father a zip lock baggie with a piece of dirty, blood-stained cloth inside. He read aloud the message scrawled across the scrap:

Debts are always repaid

"Monsters!" Chris whispered.