Later that afternoon Philip Snow went home nearly in tears. There was clearly something wrong with him, he just didn't know what. It was dark and it had been raining, so every time a car drove past him and the puddles reflected the glowing red lights up into his face, he jumped back in surprise, thinking that the red mist was coming back. Huddled to himself against the cold, he regretted the decision to walk home and wished he'd taken the motorbike. 10 minutes of heavy, face freezing cold would have been better than the 40 minutes of lighter cold he was enduring now. He felt bitter, cold and scared as he splashed his way back to his apartment block. Decadent and morbid shapes seemed to swirl around him, and ever time he looked their way they'd either disappear, or transform into a tree or a man walking his dog.

When he reached the apartment block he fumbled for the keys, and entered the lobby. A short fat woman sat behind the desk and shot him an unwelcoming glare.

'You pissed Mr. Snow, eh? Staggering around my lovely building, dirtying my carpets and soaking my brand new wallpaper eh!?' she shouted at him.

Puzzled and taken aback, Philip squinted at her, his face a picture of confusion and disorientation.

'What?' was the only word he could muster.

'Take off your damn shoes! Don't lean on the walls!' she shouted as he stumbled and fell against the wall.

'Oh, sorry,' he replied feebly, realising that his shoes were filthy with mud, dog filth and left over slush from last weeks snow, and that his jacket was still giving off droplets of water which soaked into the carpet and had left a big smear on the wall.

The little woman eye-balled him balefully. 'You watch yourself mister! And permanent damage to my walls or floor? I'll have your head, you hear me?' she squawked at him.

'Did I hear you? The whole bloody neighbourhood heard you,' he shot back, pleased that he was returning to his normal self, at least partially. Maybe if he mustered enough strength, Rachel wouldn't notice.

He ignored her ranting and raving as he made his way up the stairs back to his apartment.

'You all take me for granted…pittance…package then, eh?' he made out from below. Package? He turned around and ran back to the lobby.

'You said something about a package. What package?' he asked.

She smiled grimly. 'Oh, now you're interested are you? Nobody cares about me, only that I clean the lobby and corridors, and take all your mail in for you. Here's your damn package you bastard!' she wailed, throwing a small box wrapped in brown paper to him.

He caught it, barely. 'Watch out you crazy bitch! This could be fragile,' snarled in concern for his package. 'Don't worry, because next time the super is here, you're getting reported. Get some help you hormonal wreck!' he yelled before turning on his tail and racing up the stairs leaving a small, angry, and bewildered woman stood behind the front desk.

- - - - -

He ran into his apartment and looked around. Good. Rachel wasn't back from work yet. He grabbed some milk from the fridge, remembered that he still needed to do some shopping, and drank a long gulp, straight from the carton. Then he ran to the bathroom and looked himself in the mirror.

He was a ghostly shade of grey. His blue eyes looked like sapphires against his drab skin, and the bags under his eyes screamed tiredness, even though he only felt mildly drained. Filling the sink with near boiling water he winced as it burnt his face, but smiled as he saw and felt the colour come rushing back to his cheeks.

After gazing into his own reflection for a few minutes he got into the shower and began to stir some heat into his creaky cold bones. He moaned as the hot water seemed to wash away the stress of his day. Larry Woodshaw… his nightmare… the trip home… that psycho in the reception… all gone, down the plughole. He turned off the water, put one foot put of the cubicle…

…THE ORANGE GLOW ENVELOPED HIS HEAD… HE AWOKE AT THE FOOT OF A GREAT AND POWERFUL DEITY...IT SPOKE…HE DID NOT UNDERSTAND…FLESH CRAWLED ACROSS THE ROOM, STINKING AND FETID, THE FOUNDATIONS BURNT AWAY TO RAW, RUSTY, BLOODY IRON MESH…THE CREATURE SPOKE, THIS TIME IN ENGLISH…IT SAID 'WAKE UP'…

… 'Wake up Philip. Phil honey, are you OK?' his eyes flicked open. He was naked on the bathroom floor, and there was a sharp pain just above his knee. He fought the compulsion to lie, but could not stop himself.

'Ah, shit… I felt out of the shower, must've hit my head on the sink or something.' He tried to stand up, Rachel supporting him.

'Are you OK', she asked, clearly upset.

Philip nodded his head and smiled wearily. 'Yeah, oh my knee… Help me to the bed will you Rach. That really hurts.'

With Rachel's help he hobbled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The bed was made. He pieced how, together. Rachel had changed the sheets when he was unconscious in the shower, and when she called out to him and got no answer, she went in to find him on the floor.

'I'm going to go get you so paracetamol. You bumped your head quite bad. One hell of a lump honey. Maybe I should call an ambulance…'

'No! I'll be, I'll be fine. Yes, a couple of paracetamol would be nice thanks babe,' he protested. She gave him an odd look, but concern clearly outweighed suspicion, so she went to fetch the medicine.

There were less obvious aspects of the dream that he didn't understand, and for some reason it was these that he questioned. What language was the creature talking in? Why did the room come alive and clad itself in skin just to burn? How could there have been iron mesh under the walls of the temple when it was clearly aeons old? He felt very light-headed, and although his knee and head hurt, he felt strangely peaceful. He slipped into a dream, but not a dream of temples, tundra's and eternal demons. A dream of his childhood…

…mommy and daddy broke up when I was 6, but I saw them both a lot. I lived with Mommy in Brookhaven whilst Daddy lived with Roger in Foresbrook, which was just down the road. Mommy and Daddy said that they didn't love each other anymore, but the still loved me and Roger very much, and they were still friends, so we'd never lose touch. I missed my brother and I often wished he'd stay here with me and Mom, but then Daddy would be lonely and drink beer like he used to do. Daddy did bad things when he had drunk lots, like wee his pants and shout at us. Me and Mommy hated it when he was all drunk, so we used to hide in the closet, but Roger new how to control Daddy because he was older and a boy. Daddy didn't really like women, and Mommy said he was a misogynist, but I didn't know what that means… Roger was 17 and was big and strong. He'd make Daddy nice again with showers and coffee. That's why he went to live with daddy, so he could look after him. One time me and Mommy went to visit Roger and Daddy…

…and nobody was home. Dahlia knocked on the door again, brushing the golden locks of hair from her eyes. She was considered by many as a very attractive women; a stereotypical busty blonde. She didn't really see it herself. How was a clone of so many other women seen as attractive? 'In protest' as she liked to call it, she liked to dress down and cover up as much as her fantastic figure as she could with baggy clothes. Her little son Philip gazed up at her quizzically.

'Where's Daddy, Mommy? Where's Roger?'

Dahlia scooped him up into her arms. 'I don't know sweetie. Maybe they're round back.'

They both made their way round to the back of the small rundown house and found a dirty, dishevelled man lying on his back amidst the tall, unkempt grass. Dahlia put Philip down and rushed over.

'Jesus Christ David, look at yourself!' she hissed in his ear, glancing round to see the oblivious Philip trying to catch a large toad as it hopped and croaked around the garden.

'Uhh, what'?' was all the drunkard could muster. His eyes rolled in his lolling head as he quietly sang and laughed to himself for no particular reason.

'Hey Mum,' came a voice from the back door. Dahlia turned around to see her eldest son Roger walk over and carelessly slosh a large bucket of cold water over his father. David leapt up suddenly, gasping and spluttering.

'What the hell you…' he choked on a mouthful of water.

'Mum and Philip are here Dad,' Roger said sternly. David stumbled into the side of the house and did his best to hold himself upright.

'Little Philip? And my… my lovely wife?' he asked.

'Ex-wife, David. Have you not changed at all? I came here under the impression that you'd changed, but you couldn't even stay sober for your own son's weekly visit?' she spat at him in contempt.

Even through his drunken stupor, David was both hurt and angry at himself. 'Sorry,' was all that he could say.

'Save it David. I'm taking Philip and I never want to see you again. Roger, you can come to mine and Philips house if you want to visit us,' said Dahlia.

'But what about Dad? Can't ever leave him on his own,' protested the gangly teen, looking at his father with a combined look of pity and distaste on his face.

'Screw your father! He clearly doesn't give a shit about either you or Philip,' came the harsh reality from her perfect mouth. She turned suddenly to leave and saw Philip stood gazing up at her, toad clutched in his hands, eyes open wide.

'Daddy doesn't love us Mommy?' he quizzed, tears welling in his eyes. She ignored his question.

'Come one darling. Let's leave, and never come back.'

The last Philip ever saw of his father was a drunken wreck spewing all over the garden, oblivious to his, his mothers or his brothers presence. He was overwhelmed with sadness…

He awoke sometime later with Rachel looming over him, glass of water in one hand, two white tablets in the other.

'Here you go babe. Get these down you'. She handed him the pills and the glass. Philip rubbed his head.

'How long have I been out?' he asked through blurry eyes. He felt tired and heavy hearted, but not too bad considering how he felt before.

'What do you mean? I've been gone for like, 20 seconds,' she laughed.

Philip raised his eyebrows in amazement before taking the pills from her grasp and swallowing them with a mouthful of water. Then he remembered the package.

He leapt out of bed with an agility that surprised them both and grabbed the small box from where he'd left it on the kitchen table. She followed him in, brushing the long strands of brown hair behind her ears as she did so.

'What's that?' she asked.

Philip shook his head. 'No idea. That crazy bitch from the reception gave me it when I got back from work. Knowing her it's probably a bomb or something,' he grinned.

Rachel returned the smile half-heartedly. 'You gonna open it then?'

Philip pulled the thin brown paper off the box and opened it carefully. He moved into the light and peered in thoughtfully.

'So, what is it?' Rachel asked a hint of impatience in her voice.

'Err, I don't really know. You have a look.'

He handed her the box and she too took a look inside.

'I know what this is! It's a pendant, but a really weird looking one…' she looked at the pendant and wrinkled her eyes. 'It's shaped like… like, a really deformed beetle or something. It's really pretty!' She pulled it from the box and showed him. It was a flat, blue, oval shape with a small green nub on the top of it. The head maybe? Small metal legs poked from the sides of the beetle, and a tiny but noticeable clasp was visible on the right hand side.

'Open it!' he yelled suddenly excitedly.

She did as he said and in it was a picture, and a note. The picture was of him as a boy and was very creased with age. The note was proving difficult to open.

'Do you know who sent it?' asked Rachel.

Philip shook his head and tried to pry open the note. 'I have no… idea…' he managed to say through his concentration.

She took it from his grasp. 'Let me try, I've got nails after all,' she said, working them into the tiny gap and eventually prising I open.

'You're a star!' he whooped, taking it from her grasp and beginning to read.

Philip, I haven't seen you in so long! You have to come and visit sometime. Dad and I are still living together, and he's finally stopped drinking. I'm ecstatic because he's been an alcoholic for so long, but finally, he's stopped! You have to come round Philip, and bring Rachel too. I hope that you can forgive Dad. I think that he deserves a second chance from all of us. Come up this weekend. We still live in that crappy house in Foresbrook so you should be able to find it alright. Please come, brother. Dad and I are really looking forward to seeing you Phil.

Roger

P.S. I hope you like the locket. Dad made it for you about 5 years ago, but Mum said she wouldn't tell us where you'd moved to until Dad went sober. Looking forward to seeing you brother.

'Holy shit,' said Philip, dumbfounded.

'What is it?' Rachel asked. 'Tell me!'

'Calm down love,' Philip smiled. 'It's from my brother Roger. He wants us to go visit him and my Dad this weekend.'

'Isn't your Dad a total drunken bum though? That's what you told me,' Rachel said, quite puzzled.

'Yeah, but he got sober apparently. Damn… I haven't seen my Dad in… years. Last time I saw him I must have been 5.' He remembered the dream suddenly. 'No, I was 6. Yeah. Funny thing was I just had a dream about the last time I saw my Dad.'

'A dream? You weren't asleep,' she replied, more confused than ever.

Philip covered his tracks, once again not really knowing why. 'Umm, I mean when I was knocked out on the bathroom floor. That's what a dreamed about.'

She bought it. 'Really? Wow… Not just a total blackout then. That's a crazy coincidence.'

Philip stared at the beetle pendant. 'I know…'

There was something about the whole affair that didn't really ring true; he just didn't know what…

- - - - -

Geoffrey Simmons flicked through the police records feverishly, jumping at every creaky floorboard, rattling window and flickering light in the spooky archives. He shouldn't be there and he knew it, but he needed to find out about the cult of Toluca Lake. He knew it existed, but he didn't know which abandoned file it was hidden in. He'd scoured the endless shelves of dusty files and tapes for nearly 2 hours now. Gary was due to call him soon, so he knew he had to hurry up if he wanted to find what he was looking for before the inevitable vibrating of his mobile phone. He licked at the roof of his mouth (which still tasted like a bears arse!) and sifted through another hefty document in vain. Slamming them onto a nearby desk in frustration he collapsed onto a small wooden chair and began to think very carefully. The Johnson case was in 1996, and he knew that the cult he was thinking of was most active in the year or so after that case… He scanned the room, his eyes resting on an aisle labelled 1997-1998. He'd already checked it though, and nothing about cults was there at all. He knew that he'd heard of the Toluca Lake cult when he was still working in New York, but this was Toluca Country Police Department for god's sake! Surely there would be some record of a terrible crime that took place near the very lake by which the entire county was named after! He stamped his feet aggressively before grabbing the folders he'd removed and beginning to put them back.

When he'd done he stood in the entrance to the dusty archives and scratched his greying beard slightly. He knew that he'd have to go and investigate Foresbrook himself, despite the tentative information on which his whole idea was based on.

He made his way back to his cubicle, mind made up. His partner, Robin Smith was busy working on a case of robbery in a local estate.

'Robin? I think I'm gonna need some time off.' He stood back, expecting a hail of abuse and why he needed to pull himself together, but none came.

'Yeah man, you need some. Take a week's holiday. I can manage this shit by myself, and you really need to sort your shit out, am I right?' the black man asked, rubbing the stubble on his bald head thoughtfully.

'Yeah, there's some stuff I really need to sort out.'

'Private stuff?'

Geoffrey smiled and nodded. He considered telling Robin, but decided against it. 'Private stuff.'

Robin clicked his tongue. 'Just promise me one thing man.'

'Anything.'

'Don't touch any alcohol whilst you're gone.'

'Deal,' said Geoffrey before turning around and going to book his time off.

- - - - -

An hour later he burst out into the cold air and rubbed some warmth into his hands gleefully. He now had a whole week to do as he felt like, and first on his agenda was a visit to the time of Foresbrook with his old buddy Gary Lawson. The problem was, he was supposed to have been rung by Gary nearly an hour and a half ago, but he'd not got so much as a missed call. Almost like an answer to his prayers, his phone began to vibrate. He put it to his ear.

'Jesus Christ Gary! You were supposed to ring me hours ago!' Geoffrey shouted unnecessarily.

'Hahaha, I did it on purpose. If you're anything like you were back in the olden days, you're approximately an hour and a half behind schedule. Correct?'

Geoffrey laughed. 'Yeah, how the hell? Jesus, you caught me like, just as I was coming out of the door.'

Gary suddenly changed the subject. 'Did you find what you were looking for?'

'No,' replied Geoffrey, 'but I've booked a week off work so we can go investigate the disappearance of that bus full of kids.'

'Me too,' laughed Gary. 'I'll meet you at the diner in 20 minutes.' And then the line went dead.

Geoffrey blew into his hands, pulled his collar up and put on a pair of thick woolly gloves. It was going to be a cold, cold winter…

- - - - -

In the cold, fetid darkness, the first teenager awoke. She opened her eyes and gazed down the aisle. Some of the children she knew were already dead, their limbs twisted grotesquely or their heads smashed open like eggs. What had happened? Did they crash? If so, what into? From where she was sitting near the back of the bus, there seemed to be no obvious damage to the front end. The windows were blacked out somehow, like they were buried under tonnes of grey earth, but she did not feel any extra pressure on her head. No, they were definitely not buried.

Accumulating all her strength, she tried to stand, but there was a sudden and terrible biting pain in her side and she collapsed onto the floor of the bus, screaming in agony. This suddenly breakage of the silence seemed to rouse many of the other children, and immediately the confusion began. Where were they? How did they get there? What was happening? But suddenly the pain kicked in, just like with the girl, and all those that were injured began to cry out and attempt to nurse their wounds, some minor, others major.

Panic began to set in as the children realised their situation and the state of their dead classmates. They began to fight their way towards the door, but it would not open. Although there was no damage to the rest of the bus, the door was crumpled and buckled, like somehow the rest of the bus had permanently moulded itself to the only real exit. The windows? Numerous attempts were made to smash the windows, but the outside was covered in a thick layer of ice, and even the strongest boy in the fittest state couldn't budge even the emergency exit.

Suddenly and without warning, the bus radio flickered into life, changing stations like it had a mind of its own. Despite its constant changing, the only sound that the children heard was the constant and merciless sound of static…