The boy appeared to be around eight, ten at the most. Stringy blonde locks were pasted to his forehead like clinging tentacles.  His close-set, dark brown eyes were stretched abnormally wide, and had seemingly lost the ability to blink. 
   “I-it was like...it was trying to drag me into the woods to...e-eat me,” he wailed, fresh tears spilling down chubby, beet-red cheeks. 
   The eldest of the three adults present stepped forward and subsequently kneeled down in front of the youth, placing a gentle hand atop the child’s trembling right shoulder. 
   “Just calm down, son. You’re safe now,” the man reassured, turning toward the middle-aged woman standing to his right, “Get some bandages and gauze from the medicine cabinet, Carol. See if we’ve got any antibiotic ointment left while you’re at it.” 
   The woman nodded without speaking, stepping quickly from site. The third adult, a muscularly built young man possibly in his mid-twenties, stood near the home’s front door and peered out from between Venetian blinds parted with one raised hand. 
   “Pretty dark out there now, dad. Mutt’s gonna be hard to spot until we’re right on him. Want me to grab the flashlights and the thirty gauge?” 
   The older man patted the young boy on the head as he arose, strolling stiffly away just as his wife practically sprinted back into the room with both hands filled with various medical aids. 
   “Forget it, son.  Looks like a storm brewin’ out there, and I don’t want either of us roamin’ around in those woods this time of night with loaded rifles, especially with other kids traipsing about.” 
   The son shrugged his massive shoulders and squinted while scanning the thick tree-line fronting the property. 
   “Funny. Haven’t heard Baxter bark once, even when the kid showed up. As I recall, that dog used to bark at a stiff wind.” 
    Scratching his balding head, the older man joined his lone offspring, who dwarfed him by at least three inches, at the living room window just as a fresh lightning strike lit up the surrounding skyline. 
   “Yikes,” the child whined, wincing as the woman wiped caked blood from the open wound on his left forearm. A small jean jacket lay nearby, smeared in dark maroon about the arm and wrist. 
   “It’ll only sting for a short spell. I just have to clean it ‘fore I put on the medicine, okay?” she replied softly, as if addressing a much younger boy. As she tore open a small package of suave, she turned to her husband wearing a deep frown. 
   “It’s a dog bite alright, Walt. Pretty nasty one at that. Might need to go see Doc Richards.” 
   “But that’s a good thirteen mile trip, and the sky’s ‘bout to open up,” he replied, mimicking her frown.  
   “Besides, it’s Halloween-blessed-night. I’m beginning to think this ain’t nothing but some kinda trick-or-treat prank, with us as the butt of the joke.” 
   “Walt, I think he needs stitches,” she replied curtly, now wrapping the boy’s arm in thick gauze, “If you ain’t gonna take him, then the least you can do is look for his folks.” 
   After a moments silence, wherein a loud clap of thunder echoed in the far distance, the child spoke as the woman continued to secure his wound. His voice was suddenly frighteningly clam, as if he were experiencing the initial symptoms of impending shock. 
   “No need to search. They’ll be here soon enough.” 
   “Who’ll be here, child?” Carol asked, pausing briefly to look him directly in the eyes as if to properly evaluate his mental state.  
   “My parents. They always find me when I roam away. This isn’t the first time, you know.” 
   “A blessed runaway?” Walt blurted angrily with curled fists parked atop his narrow hips, “Six miles from the main highway? Son, exactly how long you been missing anyhow?” 
   Striding purposely past his father, the son scooped up a set of keys from a nearby coffee table. 
   “I’ll ride out that way and see if I can spot ‘em. Maybe they spun off the road into a ditch. Might explain the kid’s wound and that...dazed look he’s wearing.” 
    Walt nodded agreeably while still focusing on the child, who was now staring blankly ahead with a tight—and seemingly forced—smile painted across purple-tinted lips. 
   “You do that, son. Meanwhile, I’ll give Sheriff Basham a call and see if he’s heard anything ‘bout a missing kid. Being that it’s all hallows eve, I’ll wager it won’t be the first time he’s heard that particular query this night.” 
   Mother flashed son a worrisome look as he pulled the front door ajar. 
   “Be careful out there, Jon, and put a jacket on. Its turning a might chilly, and you know how slick Elm Rock Ridge gets when it’s cold and wet.” 
   Rolling his eyes in mock disgust, the son flashed a toothy smile before departing. 
   “I may not live here anymore, mom, but I did grow up in these parts, remember?” he said, pulling on a bright yellow windbreaker while stepping towards the front door. 
   Just as the solid oak entrance closed behind him, a roaring thunderclap erupted, proceeded by a series of lightning flashes that caused both husband and wife to openly flinch. A moment later, the initial wave of raindrops could be heard smacking the tiled roof. 
   “Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon. They simply despise the rain,” the child announced in a strangely upbeat tone. 
   Walt picked up the phone and held it to his ear briefly then sighed before placing it back onto its vertical holder. 
   “Dead as a hammer. Lines must be charred.” 
   “Still think it’s a holiday prank, Walt?” 
    Wearing a sour smirk, Walt’s lone response to his loving wife of twenty-eight years was a mild grunt. 
    The child was led to the living room couch, where husband and wife sat on either side of him like protective sentinels. The power flicked on and off several times as the winds grew gustier and the rain fell in thick, spear-like torrents, and the nearby phone chimed like a malfunctioning siren with each lightning strike that brushed an outside line. 
    They sat in silence for a full five minutes as the storm raged, until the electricity finally succumbed to the continuous onslaught. 
   “Wish I could remember where I left those blasted candles,” Carol grumbled, massaging the right side of her neck. 
    “So what kind of dog was it that attacked you, son?” Walt finally asked, seemingly for no other reason than to divert attention. 
   “It was black with white streaks.  A collie, I think,” the boy answered in a mechanical monotone utterly void of emotion. 
   “Collie? W-why, our Baxter is a collie mix. Walt, do you think it...?” Carol inquired nervously, wringing her hands like a strung-out addict. The boy released a shrieking giggle as the front door flew open with a loud creak, causing husband and wife to cry out in unison. 
   “Christ Almighty, Jon-Boy, you just turned what little hair I got bone white,” the father scolded wearily, although the relief was apparent in both he and his wife’s expressions. 
   “Any clues to the parent’s whereabouts, son?” the mother asked, wincing as she rose slowly from the heavily padded couch. 
   Upon removing the saturated rain-slicker, Jon shook his head vigorously, slinging a veritable fountain of wetness into the surrounding darkness. 
   “Um, matter of fact, uh, yeah,” he replied, coughing harshly into his left palm. 
   “Did you find ‘em, son? Are they on their way?” Walt inquired, wearily departing the couch as the constant lightning provided just enough light to allow cautious movement within the room. 
    “Yes, by all means, Jon, tell us. How are dear old mummy and daddy?” the youngster chimed, the haunting laughter which followed sounding anything but youthful. 
   “What the blazes you cackling about, boy?” Walt spat disdainfully. 
   “Oh, pipe down, Walt. Can’t you see the child is delirious?” Carol shot back, feeling her way towards her son, who stood motionless with his wide, finely chiseled back propped against the front door. 
   “What happened, son? You find his folks in town somewhere?” Walt asked, attempting without success to mask the nervousness of his tone. 
   “Yes, Jon, what pray tell, is the news from town?” the boy again interrupted, although the annoying laughter no longer trailed his words. 
    His face shrouded in shadow, Jon released a muted growl, his massive shoulders visibly slumping under a muscle tee with the words ‘METALLICA METAL WORKS’ stenciled in fluorescent red lettering across a toned, chiseled chest. 
    Inexplicably, Jon turned to address the boy only. 
   “Your folks wanted, um, me to tell you that everything is going as planned, and that they hoped you were...holding up your end of the bargain as well.” 
   The room fell eerily silent until clapping thunder, this time sounding a bit farther into the distance, pierced the night air like a series of missile strikes detonating at timed intervals. 
   “Excellent, Jon. Please continue,” the boy chided. 
   Walt bristled, throwing gnarled fists into the air in obvious frustration. 
   “Continue what, boy? Jon, what precisely is this little jackass talking about? By all means, let us in on the gag.” 
   “They’ve taken Oak, Elm and Maple. Just now working their way past Main and Anderson lane,” Jon concluded as his mother reached out, placing her hands gently atop either of his shoulders. 
   “Jon dear, you’re freezing. Temperature must’ve dropped into the forties out there. You need to dry off.” 
   A shutter loosened and began pounding an outer wall. Meanwhile, the rain pounded in time with the torrential winds, forcing each spoken word to be shouted to ensure comprehension. 
   “Show them, Jon. It is time. Show them!” the boy shrieked, standing from the couch and turning towards the family trio as they huddled together as one, like a cornered clan from an approaching enemy. 
   “Show us what? Jon, if this is some kinda Halloween prank cooked up by those smart ass college buddies of yours, I’ll...” Walt began, his voice shaking with anger and just a tint of fear. 
   “No joke, dad.  No...j-joke.  Lord, were that it was,” Jon replied solemnly, lowering his head while pulling away from his mother’s casual embrace as if to put ample space between them. 
   “You see, young master Jon here, while on his way home from college for a peaceful weekend with his parents, was kind enough to offer a poor little lost boy a ride,” the child injected while pacing behind the couch like an expectant father. 
   “A poor little lost boy who, alas, wasn’t truly lost at all, nor really a ‘boy’ for that matter. More a...soldier on a mission. Yes, that’s it. The same mission my very own elders are now undertaking as we speak, within the city limits.” 
   “What say you can the dramatics and lets just d-do this, all right?” Jon bellowed, gradually lifting his left arm until he held the unlit flashlight just inches from his own face. 
   “Now now, Jon. These are your loved ones, after all. Don’t they at least deserve a proper explanation?” 
    At that very moment, a large oak tree branch snapped free from its host and plummeted downward like a jagged stake, landing with a loud crash as it penetrated the lone kitchen window and filling the room with splintered wood and shattered glass. 
   “Whoops. The sky seems to be falling,” the child ranted, waving his arms spastically in mock fear, “You may be right, Jon. To the chase I shall cut then. Besides, we have at least three more residences to visit on this lonely stretch of country road before dawn’s rude intrusion.” 
    The son hesitated, the flashlight now aimed upward at the tip of his own squared chin. 
   “Show them now, Jon, or forever, and I do mean forever, hold your piece,” the boy commanded in a husky, irate tone that sounded strangely alien. 
   “I...I’m sorry, mom, dad. I know you taught me to never, ever pick up strangers. But...he...it was just a kid, you know?” Jon moaned, the arm holding the flashlight shaking as if holding an object of tremendous weight. 
   “Son, what are you tryin’ to tell us? Are....are ya hurt? You bang your head or somethin’?” Walt asked, stepping around the couch to hug his wife close to his side. 
    “Reader''s Digest version, Jon, if you please,” the boy said with an exasperated sigh. 
    A sudden burst of light illuminated the young man’s face like a Halloween Jack-O-Lantern, temporarily altering the size and shape of his head in a radically warped optical illusion. 
    For the second time in a half-hour, husband and wife cried out as one, cringing back at the revelation of tiny, twin circular holes positioned just beneath their son’s right earlobe. The edges of each wound was layered in dried blood, the torn, ravaged skin that made up the perimeter weirdly convex, as if his neck had been punctured from the inside. 
   “He was...so strong, dad. So unbelievably s-strong. I couldn’t stop him. Man, just last week I...I bench pressed three-fifty, and...here was this damn fourth grader m-manhandling me. I...just couldn’t understand it. N-not then. Just like I don’t understand...and can’t control this...g-gnawing hunger that he’s…it’s cursed me with,” Jon whimpered, whipping the light across in a wide arc to eventually land on the child’s face. 
      “Oh...my...g-god,” Carol exclaimed, her throat clicking wildly as both her and Walt began to unconsciously back away. 
   “He...it’s a...demon...a d-devil...from h-hell itself,” Walt added, clinging to his wife like a fleshy life-preserver. 
   The child’s jaws stretched grotesquely wide—his lips no longer evident as they seemed to merge with pinkish gums—and flashed sharp-tipped incisors that appeared at least a full inch long. 
   “Enough with the sloppy sentiment, Jon. Didn’t you shed your quota of tears when I gutted that mangy canine of yours? Get over it, boy, you have a new life now. A new calling.        Father and mother want this entire township turned by dawn. Now, get on with it.” 
   The flashlight’s beam mercifully faded with a single click, leaving the son fronting his parents, his arms and legs spread wide in a blocking stance. 
   “M-mom, dad, please...forgive me. I’m so...so sorry.  It seems I have...no choice,” Jon muttered, the final word drowned out by a booming thunderclap that seemed horrifically prophetic in its choice of timing. 
    Jon shot forward in a blur, diving forward with outstretched arms and grasping fingers, missing his intended targets by mere inches as Walt had instinctively ducked and rolled to the carpeted floor while also managing to shove his wife from harm’s way. 
    Crawling over the slick kitchen tile on his hands and knees, Walt’s breathing was horribly labored, like an aged motor grinding to a final halt. He reached up periodically to push Carol forward, and was kicked in the face by her bare feet several times in the process. He felt small fragments of broken glass from the shattered window pierce his hands and fingers, but was mostly numbed to the pain that soon followed. 
   “Get to the bedroom, C-Carol. My....my guns are in there.” 
   Walt stood with his back to the bedroom door and allowed his collapsing bulk to slam it shut. He reached back and engaged the lock as Carol stumbled blindly ahead and fell onto the bed like a discarded rag-doll. Walt could hear the child’s sarcastic laughter echoing from the adjoining hallway. 
   “G-get me the twelve gauge from the closet, Carol. Pretty s-sure it’s still loaded from the last hunt.” 
   Pushing himself from the door on legs that suddenly felt constructed of the softest rubber, Walt sucked air greedily and stumbled for the closet himself. He could see the outline of Carol’s body atop the bed as she sat stiff and motionless. Figuring his wife of almost three decades had fallen into extreme shock, Walt reached for the door handle just as the electricity flickered back to life. 
   “Hurry it up in there, Carol dear. We don’t have all night, you know. Well, actually we do, but not to spend in a single household. Chop-chop, dearie,” came the child’s voice from just outside the bedroom door; an eternal, immortal child whose ancient eyes had visualized a dozen lifetimes while remaining imprisoned within a boy’s youthful, innocent guise. 
   Walt felt the icy-cool breath caress his neck just as he whirled around to face its possessor. 
   Carol stood less than a foot away, her arms held open in a lover’s embrace. Sweet Carol, whom he’d initially met at the country fair on a steamy summer afternoon in what suddenly felt like a lifetime ago. 
   Dear sweet Carol, the one person he couldn’t ever imagine living without. 
   “Do not fear, my love. Come to me now,” she pleaded, her pale lips squirming like recently impaled worms on a fisherman’s hook. 
   “Carol? Y-you...too? But...how...w-when?” Walt mumbled, feeling his sanity slip helplessly away as his thin, wiry frame commenced to tremble and spasm. 
   “Jon arrived at least an hour before you got home from work, dear, remember? He still loves his mama.  Oh yes, he most certainly does,” she purred, gently tugging at her shirt collar until the bb-sized holes appeared above her left shoulder. 
   The aged child’s laughter rapidly transformed to a fury-driven, guttural growl just moments before the bedroom door split dead center from the force of a single blow. 
   “Come, my love. Let us join hands and never, ever part. Just like we always planned,” Carol cooed softly, clamping Walt’s upper arms in a steely vice. 
   Closing his eyes in utter surrender, Walt voluntarily tilted his head to the left as his loving wife leaned forward, dripping glutinous drool from the corners of ever-widening jaws. 

                                                                         *               

As the witching hour passed and a hazy gray sky gradually transformed to clear blue, the dawn broke to reveal a lifeless town whose city streets bore no movement save the occasional leaf or Halloween trinket blown along by a periodic breeze and residential driveways both paved and lain in gravel riddled with splotches of dried crimson. 
    The town awaited a rebirth that could only transpire upon dusk’s inevitable arrival, when nocturnal cravings would beckon its former citizens from their darkened hideaways and point towards the nearest highway exit. 
   After which, the nightly feedings would begin anew. 


 
END