Gohan was dreaming.
In his dream, he held an old jack-in-the-box. The tin box was a faded red, and reeked of mildew. He saw himself reaching for the dirty crank. No, he thought. No, don't do that, please . . .
Suddenly, a hideous jester emerged from its musty tomb. It took the boy a moment to realize that he was the jester.
His eyes had been gouged out. Gohan stared at himself for a moment, stared at the bloody, ragged sockets where his eyes had once been, and felt a scream erupt from the pit of his stomach. The jester smiled.
It'sjustadreamit'sjustadreamit' . . .
The ringing phone jarred Gohan awake.
He sat up in bed, his mind still hazy from sleep, and quickly glanced around the room.
RING!
This isn't my room, he realized suddenly with growing horror. Slowly, his heart thudding in his chest, Gohan's eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Where am I?
Gohan could make out his desk in the far right corner, and beside it sat his dresser. He sighed in relief.
RING! RING! RING!
Get the phone, dummy.
Wait . . .
Didn't mom disconnect the phone?
RING! RING!
Reluctantly, Gohan answered.
"Hello?"
He yawned, waiting for a reply.
"We're gonna get you," a harsh, childish voice hissed. It belonged to a little girl, perhaps no older than five.
"Huh?"
"We're gonna get you," the girl repeated. She then began to giggle. Chills crept up Gohan's spine.
"Who is this?"
"He's coming home soon," the little girl whispered.
There was click. The line went dead.
Gohan then jerked the covers over his head, his entire body trembling.
It was a dream. Yeah. Had to be. Mom disconnected the phone, so there's no way you could've just done what you did. Just a dream. A bad dream. No way it could've happened, no way . . .
But he knew it wasn't. Someone was going to "get" him. And someone else was "coming home".
The boy from the picture, Gohan thought. He's going to get me.
The next morning, Gohan decided he would spend the day catching up on his history lessons. After all, he had nothing better to do.
He sat quietly in his chair, gazing at the papers scattered around him, and suddenly remembered his late-night phone call. He quickly pushed the thought away. Gohan peered out his window, admiring the beauty of the outside world, imagining the feel of the warm, afternoon sun beating down on his skin. His mind began to wander.
Mom and dad did something to that boy, he thought suddenly.
But what? Had they killed him? Did they smother him with a pillow as he slept? Poison his food? Strangle him by the well as he watched birds? Where did they put his body?
What had they done to him?
Everything made sense now. Why else had they punished him? Because he discovered something that he was never supposed to see? Were they plotting to murder him now too?
CRASH!
Gohan cried out. What the . . .
He lept from his chair and dashed over to the window. Gohan saw that an enormous oak tree rested on the forest floor. His eyes widened when he saw a young boy rested beneath the tree. The boy's arms were sprawled out, and his neck was turned out in an odd, sickening angle.
Oh my God!
Without hesitation, Gohan flew out the window, his heart pounding in his chest. He was completely unaware of the horrors he would soon face. But for now his mind was set on saving the boy. That was his first mistake.