A/n: This is the first part of a challange fic for Senri who asked for something Squeeish involving a conversation with Nny and gifts of some kind. This part is just setting up the scene. The real fun will come up in a few days.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

Whispers by thejennamonster.

"You don't even have to stay the entire night--just an hour. Shouldn't be that big of a deal."

I try and keep myself from visibly shaking as I look at my new "friend", Tony, who's bright idea it was to dare me to go into The House. He's giving me that know-it-all smirk that I've seen so often right before he talks me into doing something that I'm going to regret. I frown and chance a glance at Pepito who is standing slightly behind me. He shrugs.

"Don't look at me, amigo. But you've got to admit that Tony's right. You've lived next door to this house for years. It's empty. You know that. It's not like you'd be...committing a sin or anything." He smiles as he says the last part, his smile much too knowing to be on the face of a someone only thirteen years old. But then I suppose any sort of smile would look strange on the face of the Anti-Christ, whether it's meant to be comforting or not.

My eyes travel back towards The House. Sure, I've lived next door to the run down shack for the past five years. Sure, the scary neighbor...I mean Nny moved out years ago, leaving only after braining my dad with one of my toys and informing me that my basement was filled with corpses. I hadn't seen anyone come or leave the place in those five years--most people passing by didn't even give the place a second glance, even though it definatly wouldn't pass an inspection by the Home Owners Association, with it's lack of grass on the lawn and boards over the windows. It was almost as if the place didn't exist. Almost as if it didn't exist on this plane. Hell, Tony, who was now so keen on the idea of me spending at least an hour in the place hadn't even realized it was there until Pepito had to open his big mouth about the amount of souls the scary neigh...Nny's basement experiments had provided (the finer implications of this statement were of course lost on dear Tony who still didn't believe that Pepito's dad was Satan no matter how many kid's heads he exploded).

All of this evidence told the rational part of my brain that I would be fine. An hour? Big deal? Who cares about spending an hour in a run down abandoned shack? What was I afraid of?

The problem was...my rational mind had never really been the one in control. I had seen too much; heard too much--too many screams and pleas and cries and noises that a child of eight should ever have to hear outside of a television set. I had had mangled corpses land right next to my big wheel as I rode it down the street. I had watched as my would be molester had his brain ripped straight out of his skull. I had provided bandages and Bactine to the crazed psycho killer next door who filled my basement with corpses and my sleep with nightmares and now these kids wanted me to spend a whole hour in the very place all those murders occurred?

But, my rational mind countered, the murderer is gone. You're safe. Besides, even if he were there, it's Nny.

With Nny, you were always safe.

I try not to think too much on what my rational mind is trying to imply and instead take a deep breath, trying not to show how scared I am as I nod and say, "Ok. An hour. That's it."

Tony laughs, "Psh, yeah right. You won't last. You know it."

Pepito narrows his eyes, "He will last the hour. In fact," there's that manic looking grin, again, "I bet he'll last two."

"Pepito--" I begin to protest, but am cut off, silenced by my best friend's raised hand. I groan and run my hand through my hair. Nothing good can come of this.

"A bet, huh?" Tony smirk grows wider and he digs into the pocket of his jeans, managing to pull out two grimy looking ten dollar bills, "I've got twenty bucks."

""Twenty bucks for two hours?" Pepito reaches into his back pocket and, pulling out a small leather wallet on a chain, brings out his own bet--a crisp new twenty, "You've got a deal."

"Pepito--" I try and protest again, and again I am cut off.

"We split the money when you come out, amigo," Pepito explains, smiling in a way that I'm guessing is supposed to be good natured, but really just shows off his fangs, "Don't worry. You know you'll be fine."

If by 'fine' he means 'dead'. Quips a voice in my head. I mentally tell Schmee to be quiet as I seem to do so often these days. His stuffed body was long ago given away to the Salvation Army, though for some reason his voice still remained. It was more of an annoyance than anything else. He had lost the magic that my childhood gave him long ago.

I sigh. There is no use arguing. My decision had already been made for me. To back out now would be going against Pepito's deal and if there's one thing you Never want to do it's make the son of Satan lose a bet.

I march down the cracked concrete walkway to the front door, holding my muscles as tense as I can to keep myself from shaking. I'll be fine, I tell myself, there is nothing to be afraid of.

Still, as I place one hand on the rusted door knob and chance a final glance back at my friends who stand hundreds of miles away on the sidewalk, it is all I can do to keep my trademark squeak of fear from traveling up my throat.

I focus again in front of me. My wrist tenses and the knob turns allowing the warped wooden door to swing open. Surprisingly the door is silent. There is no ominous creaking as would be expected after almost five years of disuse. For some reason this detail is less than comforting as I take a step forward, into the darkness beyond.