Bowen was a bored, lonely girl who filled her days with running down rural country roads. But that quickly changed when she discovered a decomposing body in an old shack.
But, somehow, he wasn't dead.
In fact, he was getting better, his fatal wounds healing themselves from beyond the grave.
And from the moment he opened his eyes Bowen was dragged into a terrifying world she never could have imagined.

1. HAUNTING DOG

Harley ran with me every morning. My Dad's retired hunting dog was my favorite jogging partner, with his floppy ears that hung almost all the way to the gravel as he happily waddled along next to me.
But today as we rounded the curve of my road he slowed all of the sudden. I stopped, scared that this was one of the first signs of his advanced age.
His fur stuck up along his spine and he muttered a breathy bark of warning.
"What's got you all riled up?" I asked.
He looked at me, and then turned and took off running towards the house. In shock, I watched the old dog's rear in full gallop disappearing back around the corner.
I shrugged it off and attributed it to some kind of residual hunting instinct.
I jogged on, our nearest neighbor's house was just ahead. Their Doberman Pinschers that lived under the porch usually came out to greet Harley and me, but today they stayed concealed under the wood planks.
I waved to the dogs anyway and kept my pace. The only other house for a few miles was a long abandoned shack a little while down the road.
It hadn't been used since before I was born. Someone bought it a few years back, presumably for the land, but had neglected to tear it down.
I was passing it like I did every morning but was interrupted by a loud banging. The splintering wooden door was ajar and smacking against the frame in the wind.
I slowed down. I'd been down the road from the house my entire life and I'd never seen the door unlocked.
I'd spent most of my life refusing to get near it because of its obvious creepy factor. But I was curious about this sudden change, and I didn't have to worry about Harley running off into the nearby woods.
The sun rose and with it came the sticky summer heat that clung to my skin. I ran in the morning to prevent the feeling, but I figured after my little adventure I'd follow Harley's suit and head home.
I had to walk through a thick layer of grass to get to the porch. It stretched across the length of the shack but was almost too narrow for a chair to sit comfortably.
It creaked as I shifted my weight onto it, and I flinched. My heart jumped up into my throat but I swallowed it back down. There was no reason to get freaked out.
I pushed the door open with a single finger and set a foot inside. There were no light switches or outlets.
I estimated only two rooms, the front one included just a moldy recliner and plywood leaned against the wall.
The carpet was peeling and there was an even layer of trash that melded together to create a topographical landscape to the floor.
There was a doorway to the left that led to what looked like a type of kitchen, although all I could see was a small black wood burning stove and water damaged tile floors.
My heart was pounding but it would have felt worthless to get this far and not see the whole thing. I doubted I would be able to work up the nerve to come back.
The floors squeaked with every step but I was dead set on getting an eyeful.
But the second I fully rounded the corner I regretted it.
On the floor in front of a rusted stove was a bloated body.
The odor, which I had originally attributed to the mold and trash, finally rang true as pure rot.
The body was laying on a blackened pile of garbage. It was long enough that I assumed it was male, but nothing else about it was distinguishable.
Most of the clothes were ripped. The skin beneath them inflamed and a mix of unnatural colors.
Luckily the face was tipped away from me, so I was spared that image because based on the rest of the body it was going to be distorted beyond recognition.
After a moment of hesitation, I bolted out the door, leaving it swinging behind me.

I hid in my room for days, denying any offers to leave the house.
I couldn't eat without smelling rot, or sleep without thinking of the horribly twisted angle of the body.
There was no escape from the thoughts, even my normal summertime routine of over consuming television and Internet alike had no effect on the constant memory playing back in my head over and over.
I sat in my room all night painting and repainting my nails, organizing my drawers, and brushing my teeth multiple times a day just to keep myself busy.
My dad came into my room after he got off work and woke me up.
"God, sweetie, you're so sweaty." He nudged me out of my fitful sleep.
"Oh, yeah, I guess." I pulled the comforter off myself.
"It's over a hundred degrees outside, why are you using your thick blanket?"
I sat up and turned the fan on my bedside table off, "I don't know, it sounded like a good idea when I went to sleep."
"You mean at seven this morning?" He said rolling his eyes. My dad was a big, soft man, but his eye roll was eternally that of a teenager.
"Yeah." I chuckled. But the truth was that I couldn't make myself sleep when it was dark out anymore. I was too jumpy, I just curled up under my comforter, savoring the illusion of safety while drowning in my own body heat.
"You're a silly one."
"Well there's only one place I could have gotten that." I smiled as he started picking up stray pieces of clothing and tossing them in a pile near my door.
"Yeah, it definitely wasn't your mother, she's a cold bitch."
Now was my turn to roll my eyes, "be nice, I still have to see her every other weekend."
He put his hands up, "fine, I can be civil sometimes."
He went to watch TV in the living room and I curled back up in my bed. The light of day made me feel more at ease for some reason, but I still felt like I had a knot in my stomach.
I knew I needed to tell someone, but I didn't know how. And if I did I knew I'd have to talk to the police and the news, not to mention I'd have to admit to trespassing.
Plus, the more I thought about it the less I was convinced it was even real. I mean it was just so out of the ordinary. Where would it have even come from?
I tried to get myself to go back to sleep in hopes that the dreams would subside and I could actually rest, but my brain fought it.
Then I had a thought, what if I went back? My stomach lurched at the idea. I wasn't a glutton for punishment, but if I went back, affirmed it was there and then called the police, maybe I would feel relaxed knowing it's not just sitting there.
I'd been searching through the news sites and the local paper but nothing about a body had ever popped up. And it would definitely be big news here.
I jumped up and went to pull on my sneakers. Harley was lounging on my pile of dirty clothes but jumped up excitedly the second I put the shoes on. I waved him down, telling him he didn't want to go where I was going.
I ran out the door, telling my dad that I was going on my usual run. He waved to me, the cigarette between his fingers crumbling in the air as he did.
My heart was already beating fast as I took off in a full sprint. I wanted to get it over with, but honestly it wasn't as scary when I knew what I was heading towards. I could prepare myself this time.
I rounded the corner, passing by the house with the toys and a mismatched bathroom set littering their lawn, and had finally arrived.
It was just the way I'd left it. The door was still ajar, but it didn't slam in the wind today, there was only a lazy sway to it.
I pushed it open, not bothering to admire the grim look of the front room. The smell rung true immediately this time, summer decomposition.
Rounding the corner, what I saw was both surprising and not surprising.
The body was there on the same pile of garbage in the same awkward position. But it looked wrong.
The torn skin had smoothed over in some places, turning pink and puffy like a healed cut. Bloating in the midsection had decreased substantially.
I didn't know a lot about the dead, I didn't even have a goth phase growing up, but this seemed wrong.
How did dead flesh grow back together?

"911 what's your emergency?"
"Hello, I think I've found a dead body."
"You think?" The woman on the end of the line asked.
"Well I mean he's healing."
"Healing? Then he's not dead dear."
I sighed, trying to think of how to explain it without sounded too crazy, "I mean he's like really decomposed, but he's healing."
She paused for a moment before reslonding, "So you're trying to tell me that you've found a body that's decomposing, but for some reason you think it's healing?"
"It is!"
"Okay here's what we're going to do," she said slowly, "You're going to lay off the zombie movies and get a life before I send the police out there to arrest you for prank calling 911."
"No its not that, it's real I swear."
But she cut me off with a firm, "Have a good day." And hung up the phone.
I began doubting myself, which was silly because I was staring at it right in front of my face. So I decided to do my own research.
I'd lived out in the country my whole life, I loved it, but it did have its faults. For example, when you think you're witnessing a biological impossibility and the faulty Internet signal won't help you confirm it.
I paced back and forth in the little shack, keeping a safe distance from the body but never turning my back to it.
The phone refused to connect to the data long enough for me to Google human decomposition. But honestly, logic and a high school education can tell you that it's impossible for dead tissue to heal itself, it just can't happen.
The body should be worse having sat in the hot summer weather for days. But after further examination the maggots who had infested the deep wounds, laid shriveled and dead on the floor, like they had been pushed out.
I threw my phone to the ground and huffed. What could I even do of no one would believe me.
The only issue is that there is the possibility that I was just losing my mind and nothing was actually happening.
So I concluded that I would give it one more try to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.
I picked my phone back up and approached the body. The bicep I was closest to was still distorted by rot, so that would be my tester.
I took a picture of it, and then pulled a Bobby pin from my hair and sunk it into the marred flesh.
The texture caused my stomach to heave but I fought it and kissed the idea of sleep goodbye.
This image wouldn't be leaving me any time soon. Luckily I had yet to see the face. It was awkwardly cocked away from me and I was very content with that.
I took another picture for good measure and left, leaving the door loosely open like I'd found it.
When I got home the humidity that clung to my skin fit well with my story. My dad asked how my run went and I told him it was fine. Nothing to worry about.
Except for the fact that I was worrying about everything. I was worried that I was crazy. Or that maybe there was a crazy killer in the woods. And there's also the unshakable idea that if I'm right that means that one day that body will wake up.

I returned two days later. The original plan was to go the very next day, but my sleeping schedule only gave me a small window of daylight, and my dad had offered to take me out to dinner.
There were only a small handful of restaurants in a thirty-mile radius, most of them diners designed for truckers.
Which means going out to eat is a silver dollar pancake fest.
"Are you excited for college?" This is most of what my dad talks about anymore. Mostly because he dreads it, which makes my heart ache every time he brings it up.
"Yeah, it should be fun."
"You'll do great, I mean you got into Chapel Hill, you've got brains," he took a huge bite of scrambled eggs, "you didn't get that from me."
I cringed, my father wasn't dumb by any means. I figured he put himself down so much as a result of my mother's condescending nature.
"You're not stupid."
"Thanks Bowen-arrow." He used one of his personal favorites from my long list of nicknames.
I would miss him, my sister lives with my mom most of the time. He would be lonely without me there, and the guilt got worse with every day.
I shivered at the memory of it as I made the trek to the shack the next day.
Honestly I didn't look forward to college. I hated school. I mean I could do it just fine, in fact I was considered good at it. But I hated it with a fiery passion. College just sounded like being trapped in misery for four years.
Don't get me wrong, I knew I needed to do it. But it killed my soul a little.
The little house was the exact way I'd left it. Which made me feel a little more secure to some degree.
I walked in, greeted by that horrible and familiar smell. Rounding the corner, I found the same body in the same position.
I held my breath as I approached the body and knelt down next to it.
The bicep where I'd jabbed the Bobby pin was healed up, covered by nothing but thick pink lines. Looking down I saw the pin lying near my foot.
With shaking hands, I took a picture of the same bicep.
I was right, but now what?

I stayed up the whole night again, waiting for the sounds of my dad getting ready for work and leaving the next morning.
The second the door clicked shut I jumped up and ran to the kitchen. I grabbed trash bags and cleaning supplies and stuffed them into my backpack.
I didn't let myself think about it to much. Sure, there was nothing okay with what I was doing, but I was in too deep. Calling the police seemed a bit out of the question at this point.
The morning air was just a little nippy underneath the humidity as I made that familiar walk.
I felt lucky that the neighbors kept relatively predictable hours. It would be hard to explain my visits to the creepy building.
I got inside and dropped my bag on the recliner, and spun around, scared that the body literally would have gotten up and walked out. But it was exactly where I'd left it.
Actually, it took me a minute to realize, the smell was considerably less bad. The only thing I could pick up was the trash.
The body looked profoundly different than the first time I saw it. Even the pink scar marks had healed over in some places to reveal nice smooth skin, like nothing had ever happened at all.
I'd decided during the night that if I was going to make a habit of this, I wasn't going to be sitting in filth the whole time.
I pulled one of the trash bags out and opened it by flapping it around. There were a few sets of rubber gloves (trust me I was not touching anything in here without a healthy layer of protection).
I adorned them and got to work pulling the large chunks of emulsified garbage apart and shoving them into the bag. It wasn't long before the plastic was straining and I had to tie it off and open another.
I spent a good long while picking up the candy wrappers, old cigarette packs, and all the other stuff that had since become unidentifiable.
My phone, which was poking out of my pocket playing music, chimed with a text alert.
I paused, pulling off one glove before touching the cellphone. It was Callie, one of my best friends, asking what I was doing later that day.
I smiled, she had a full time summer internship working with fruit flies at a lab and almost never had enough free time to actually go out.
Even though I was incredibly tired I told her I would love to. I needed to spend some time with the living.
I laughed at the absurdity of it. What was I doing? This was wrong on so many levels, but I needed to see how this turned out.
I got most of the trash out of the first room and layered it heavily with disinfectant and air freshener.
Satisfied with my work I went to the kitchen, which had a back door. I had to kick it a few times to get it to get it unstuck. When it finally gave way I dropped the full bags just outside.
Getting to work on the second room I began filling up bags quickly. The laundry sink, stove and tub would take a pretty decent scrub to get clean, so I left them alone.
I worked my way around the body, not interested in touching it even if it looked perfectly healed.
There was quite a lot of trash piled under it though, so I crouched next to it and began slowly pulling things out like a game of really morbid game of Jenga.
Most of it slid out with relative ease, until I got to what was wedged under its upper body.
But when I yanked on that the whole body limply slid towards me and I stumbled back with a gasp.
Because the face that looked back at me was smiling.

It was a face of pure innocence in a way, like the young man was caught in a day dream.
If his face had ever been distorted by rot, it definitely wasn't anymore. His skin was pale and his upturned lips were blue but aside from that it was a completely normal face.
I couldn't look away. The urge to cry was boiling up behind my eyes. Because this was no longer just a creepy mystery, it was a person. This face belonged to a boy whose life was ended, and it had only hit me just now.
Shame coursed through me. I'd treated this like a science experiment, but it had been a human life, and I was letting it sit in a dirty shack.
There were probably people looking for him. And since I'd never seen his face before I knew he was far from home, there wasn't a person in this town that I didn't know.
Tears began to slide down my face. How could I do something like this, I mean the situation was interesting, but I was hanging out with a dead body for bleeps sake. That wasn't okay at all.
Weird healing or not it was so wrong. But at the same time, there was nothing I could do about by that point.
I was too far in, my fingerprints were everywhere, I mean I'd tidied up for crying out loud. How much more suspicious could you get?
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out, only taking my eyes off the boy long enough to see what it was about.
Callie was asking I wanted to get something to eat when she picked me up. During the cleaning spree I'd totally forgotten that I had to keep track of time. She was supposed to be at my house in fifteen minutes.
I texted her back quickly and got to my feet. Gathering my things, I left everything as it was. It struck me that I didn't have to come back. It's not like he would miss me, and I don't think you can really owe the dead.
But as I looked at that soft, sweet face, my heart just broke for him, whatever he was.

I hurried home, returning all the cleaning supplies to their original spots and changing out of my sweats.
I wasn't really known for my fashion sense, I spent most of my time in either workout clothes or for special occasions a plain shirt and jeans. There wasn't much in between.
Don't get me wrong, I love checking out cute clothes online, but I rarely practiced such things. There just wasn't a point, I was either feeding the animals, or running, or going to school with the same 300 people I'd known since I was five.
It didn't matter what I looked like; pretty, ugly, or however you would choose to describe me, I would always be the same. After seeing the same faces day in and day out, pulling a fairy godmother style change was out of the question.
I stuck with running shorts and a t shirt I got from a 5k a few years back. A few dabs of concealer and sweep of mascara later and I was waiting for Callie on my porch.
Harley sat next to me, tail wagging. I scratched his belly and glanced down my drive way for her truck.
The baby blue pickup rolled in a few minutes late, tires crunching on the gravel.
She waved to me and leaned over to unlock the door. I jumped off the porch and got in.
Callie was a pretty girl with dirty blonde hair and a curvy tummy and thighs. And don't even get me started on her clothes, she'd always had a much better appreciation of fashion than me, and it showed.
"How's my dear Calla Lily doing?" I asked, buckling myself in.
"Your dear Calla Lily is stressed." She sighed as she maneuvered her way around my parking spaces so she didn't have to back out of the long driveway.
"Would a giant helping of nachos from Rachel's help?
She shrugged solemnly, but gave up quickly and smiled, "It's a start."
We drive quickly through the twisting country roads with the windows rolled down. She talked about the people that annoyed her and the people she liked.
Callie was good at filling her time, if it wasn't jobs and classes it was new friends and enemies. My job was to be along for the ride. Listening and nodding were my specialties.
I laughed as she told me about some crazy party she went to in the city with a friend of hers. It had apparently been quite the wild ride.
We parked outside Rachel's, one of the few eating establishments that wasn't trucker food or McDonald's. Granted, it wasn't far off, but their nachos were killer.
We sit down in our favorite booth and order a round of root beers and some nachos. We came here after school almost every day, but it had been weeks.
She continued on with her stories. She'd already began inserting herself into college life; attending parties and events to get acquainted with her future classmates.
She asked if I'd gone to anything like that but I told her no. I hope she assumed it was just because my school didn't do that type of thing, but I doubted it.
Our nachos came and we dug in, laughing about stories of drunken shenanigans.
I threw in a few old high school memories but she didn't seem very interested. Couldn't blame her, if I had that many new college experiences I'd probably be more interested in forgetting high school too.
We talked until it got dark out and she insisted she needed to get back so she could get some sleep before another long day tomorrow.
We drove back with the windows up and music playing as Callie added in a few final remarks about her new life before dropping me off in front of my house.
I watched her truck lights disappear down the road and went inside. Dad was eating a microwave meal (he only really liked cooking after he'd drunk a bit too much).
"How was your day Boa-constrictor?" He asked as I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
"Good, I hung out with Callie."
"Great, she's a good girl, it's a shame her parents gave her such a stupid name."
I sat down next to him on the couch and tried to catch up with the crime show episode he was watching, "Calla Lily isn't that bad of a name."
He snorted in response and took a bite of mashed potatoes.
"This is coming from the guy with a daughter named Bowen."
"Hey you can't blame me for that one, Cameron was the kid I got to name."
"Some kids get all the luck."
He chuckled and we watched a few episodes of the show until he decided to turn in. I took a shower and got into bed.
I'd like to think that Callie didn't ask about me and my life because she knew there was nothing to tell. Nothing I was comfortable sharing at least.
I hoped it wasn't because she just didn't care. I mean I'd always been the listener in our duo, but I'd always figured it was because I rarely had anything worth saying. Nothing interesting ever happened to me.
That night I laid awake again, but this time I didn't think about the body once.

I only slept for a few uncomfortable hours in the midmorning before being forced awake by my own brain.
I made myself an elaborate breakfast in hopes that it would make me feel better. On the side was a cocktail of ibuprofen and coffee in a desperate attempt to make kill my headache.
I curled up in my bed with my pancakes, bacon, and eggs. My laptop played a few episodes of my favorite sitcom as I stuffed my face hopefully.
But to my dismay everything just curled up into a knot in my stomach and made the feeling worse.
I set all the plates on the floor and sat back, resting the computer on my rounded tummy.
The feeling left behind from the meal had me uncomfortable and I couldn't find a good position to lay in so I got up and began cleaning while the show played in the background.
Usually, as much as I hate cleaning, having a clean room made me feel more relaxed. So I figured it was worth a try. My room had recently descended into a pile of dirty clothes and food wrappers.
I shoved the clothes into my hamper and beat them down so that it didn't look like it was over flowing. After that was done all the trash was shoved into a garbage bag, which was then shoved into the bigger one in the kitchen.
Then after I made my bed I laid back down, feeling surprisingly more relaxed, but not enough to keep all the bad thoughts away.
I couldn't tell dad, he would worry and I couldn't stand the idea of him thinking it was his fault. Callie was out of the question because, bless her, she wouldn't understand and I doubted she would try very hard to change that.
Mom would just brush me off, and Cameron would tell everybody and their mother I was a hair away from killing myself.
Besides those people all I had were a handful of exes from short term relationships and a few acquaintances that had immediately fallen off the face of the earth after graduation. So I was stuck.
It was then that I was struck with an idea. A completely demented idea mind you, but an idea none the less.
I shot up, changing out of my sweat soaked shirt and sliding on some flip flops.
I was lucky the neighbors spent most of their time indoors, keeping me from the awkward scenario of explanation of my fascination with the house.
I slid in the door to the same old shack and the same old body. It was scary that I'd grown so immune to the macabre nature of the situation.
I was all the way into the house before I noticed it. The smell. Or lack thereof. I mean it's an old building, so it still smelled musty. But there was no rotting smell at all.
It struck me as odd, but it wasn't the reason I was there. I walked into the kitchen, that same familiar face smiling into oblivion.
I leaned against the opposite wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the grimy tiles.
"I don't think anybody's ever liked me that much." I said into the empty silence, "I've always felt kind of alone, but now that I'm out of school and everyone's moving on, I just feel so lonely." I felt the tears welling up in my eyes as I continued to word vomit, "And now I feel like nobody ever cared about me at all. People only really talked to me because I was always with Callie, and she would make them. But she has this whole new life, and I don't think anyone will care about me on my own."
I tucked my head between my knees, sniffling and rocking back on my heels. The sadness I pushed down came welling back up violently.
I squeezed my eyes shut but that didn't keep the tears from brimming in the corner of my eyes.
And as a tear streamed down my cheek, I nearly missed the small gasp from across the room.

It took me a second to process what I'd heard. I wiped my eyes and glanced up towards the only other thing that could possibly made that noise.
His eyes were shut but the little smile was still painted on his face. Although this time it seemed less rigid and more dreamlike.
I glanced down at the torn shirt and saw a shallow rise and fall of the chest that poked through.
I stay there for a moment, dumbfounded. I mean, it was strange enough that he'd been healing, but to see the body that had been a bloated rotten mess a week ago breathing was almost too much.
I considered the idea that my sadness was causing me to go a little crazy. Getting to my knees I crawled over to him slowly, legs shaking and floor creaking.
Up close he definitely looked like he was breathing. If I looked close enough I could even see his nostrils flare slightly as he exhaled.
I reached out, pulse pounding so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. Ignoring the feeling I lightly pressed my had to his cheek, but recoiled quickly.
He was warm, slowly becoming a human temperature. I could see color returning to his lips.
Sliding my hand down to his chest I felt a heartbeat murmuring through skin. Then I grabbed his arm and lifted it to examine the pink shade of his fingernails. I gripped his hand, and it felt like any other hand I'd ever held.
I felt a little giggle of joy burst through my lips. He was alive. I just couldn't believe it. My hands began to tremble.
I didn't even know what it could mean. Would he be a real person? Act, think, and talk like a living being?
Only days ago he looked like he'd been mauled by a wild animal and left in the sun for a week. But here he was, sleeping peacefully next to me.
If he was going to wake up, he would probably need a few things. I jumped up and shot out the door, not caring who saw.
I sprinted all the way to my house and into my kitchen. Grabbing a plastic shopping bag, I began throwing in water bottles and canned food. There was a cheap fleece blanket stuffed in the back of my closet and I threw it in as well.
I was too excited to try and think of anything else so I stuck with that and ran straight back out the door, leaving a very confused dog in my wake.
Running full on all the way back with the bag knocking against my leg I only slowed when I got to the door.
Panting happily, I ran straight to the kitchen only to feel my breath hitch in my throat. He wasn't where I left him, and I heard a creak behind

The smile immediately dropped from my face as I knew I'd made a terrible mistake.
I was stuck in here with something I didn't even know to be human, in the middle of the woods. My dad wouldn't be home for hours, no one would come looking for me here, and the neighbors wouldn't be able to hear anything from their house.
I was on my own, but I wasn't alone out here anymore.
I turned around slowly, not seeing anything at first, until I caught the flash of a hand behind the recliner.
I circled around slowly, so that I was between it and the door in case it came after me. It didn't move, but I could hear it panting.
I honestly did not want to get any closer, but for some unknown reason I did it anyway. It was slow but edgy, ready to spring at any moment.
I sidestepped so that I could get a fuller view of it crouching there. I saw a knee and an elbow, both covered in the familiar torn clothes.
And the I was met with a face, with the same blue eyes, except not nearly as hollow. In fact, they were wild.
I jumped, and as soon as I did he yelled out the most blood curdling scream I'd ever heard.
He lurched back and I screamed too, dropping the bag and bolting out the door. His screaming followed me half way down the road before it faded out.
I ran full force again this time, but instead of a stupid grin and happy tears I was just full of pure horror. Is just looked into the eyes of a dead man, and he'd been the one screaming.
I ran to my house, checking to make sure he hadn't followed me. When the coast seemed clear I ran in. Grabbing my purse, keys, pepper spray and Harley I ran straight to my car.
I tossed a grunting Harley in the passenger seat and locked the doors the second I was inside. I scanned the area again. Taking in the chicken and pig pins and the surrounding woods, but saw nothing that tripped any alarms.
I put the car in gear anyway and was out of there in a flash, speeding through the twisting country roads lie my life depended on it.
I had been stupid. So stupid.
I drive into town and waited for my dad to get off work. Harley and I hung out on a picnic table behind a gas station eating jerky and lounging in the shade.
I had no luck calming myself down. Every noise set me on edge. I matter how far away he was I always expected him to be standing right behind me.
When my dad got off work I insisted we go out to eat for some father daughter bonding.
He was perfectly happy about it, so we ate burgers at a small place with outdoor seating, but I couldn't eat much of mine.
When it began to get dusky I reluctantly agreed to go back home, wanting to be behind locked doors before dark.
We drove back in or respective cars, so I didn't have to try and hide my growing terror.
Getting back to the house I ushered us all inside.
"Are you okay Bo?" He asked as I circled around the living room, pulling on the windows to make sure they were locked.
"Yeah," I reassured him, " I'm fine, just that, Callie told me a few people had been robbed nearby. So can we do this just for a night or two? It would make me feel better."
"I didn't hear about that."
My mind swam, trying to cover my tracks, "Well you know Callie, she knows everything."
He looked skeptical so I pulled out my sweetest, most innocent face, "Please?"
With an eye roll he agreed and I continued around the house checking every door and window, not taking any chances.
Before I went to bed I asked him, "Could you maybe lock your bedroom door tonight too?"
He signed and nodded.
"Great! Thanks dad, love you." I kissed him on the cheek and ran back to my room, clicking my own lock behind me.
After checking and double checking my windows and doors I finally felt comfortable enough to lay down. But even a show I normally love didn't push it the scary thoughts.
I curled up under my covers and stayed there, watching the sun go down through the blinds.
My back pressed against the wall in a vain attempt to make myself feel safer, which was surprisingly effective.
The last few days of minimal sleep were finally taking effect. I could feel myself begin to drift off.
Until I heard a knock at the window.

Op, what's happening?? This story is lit!

I felt all the air escape from my lungs. The knocking continued, a light hearted rat-a-tat-tat on the glass.
I dug deeper into my bed, hoping beyond anything that it was just a dream. But then I heard a clear voice.
"What does 'vegetarian baked beans' mean?" The question was simple, some of the words drawn out like they were being carefully pronounced.
Then the male voice nearly begged, "Please, I really need to know."
I sat up staring at my window. For some reason the harmless nature of the question made it even more frightening, and confusing for that matter.
Sliding onto the floor I crawled slowly over to the window. I didn't know if I would be able to convince myself to look, but if I'd faced him dead, I could surely look him in the eye alive, couldn't I?
Just for safety I grabbed the pocket knife I'd started keeping on my night stand and flipped it open.
As I got closer to the window I heard humming. Not even menacing humming, but the absentminded sound someone makes while they're waiting for the bus.
I gripped a corner of the curtain, took a deep breath and tore it open.
On the other side, features highlighted by the moon, was the boy in all of his living glory.
He smiled at me, a very different smile than the one I'd come to know. This one was animated, revealing slightly crooked, yellow, gloriously human teeth. He looked at me like I was just an old friend.
"So what does it mean?" He asked plainly. In his hand was one of the cans I'd brought him, the top peeled back.
I got to my knees, afraid to get too close to the glass, but still having to lean in to answer.
"You don't know what baked beans are?"
He laughed, "No silly, of course I know what beans are. I don't know what vegetarian means." The word rolled off his tongue awkwardly for emphasis.
Not knowing exactly how to react I just told him, "It means there's no meat in it."
"Shit!" He exclaimed, dropping the can like it had bitten him. He stepped back from it, got a weary look in his eyes and pulled out a knife from his waistband.
This time it was my turn to jump back. But he didn't come at me with it, instead he ran it across his own arm.
"What are you doing?"
He put the knife back in his waistband and looked up at me confused, "it's a sin."
My eyes were wild, "What is?"
"Eating dishes without meat in them," he laughed, "everyone knows that."
I considered arguing the point, but it was one of my lesser worries, "Why did you cut yourself?"
"To atone for my sins." As he said it I thought of all the cuts he'd had when I found him. How much sinning was that?
"Are you alright?" I asked nervously, still expecting him to try and break in and murder me.
He shrugged and smiled again, flexing the injured arm, "Totally. I've had worse."
A small laugh escaped me when he said that, which caused his brows to knit together in confusion, "Well I guess people like you guys might not understand, with your fancy food and huge house."
"This is a trailer with a porch built on the front."
"Well whatever you call it here, I'm sure you guys don't care about your sins as much."
I snorted, "I guess not."
"Well anyway, see you later." He waved and began walking toward the woods.
"Wait!" I called after him. He turned around and came back.
"Yep?" He bounced on the balls of his bare feet.
"Where are you going?"
"Back home."
"To the house?"
He rolled his eyes like I'd said something silly, "Of course, it's where I live now I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well it's where the master put me, and he's always right."
I had so many questions to ask but none of them came out, so I just nodded like an idiot.
And with that he gave me another smile and a wave, "See you tomorrow."

The next morning after my dad left for work, I began some work of my own.
Although I still had a challenging time trusting the boy, he'd officially piqued my curiosity beyond repair. And he'd said "see you tomorrow" like it was a set date, so I figured I'd oblige him. But I tucked my knife into the back of my pants for good measure.
I stole a pair of my dad's old sweatpants, which were about as close to the boy's size as I was going to get. And one of the few things he had not covered in motor oil.
One or two of my running shirts were a bit big for me so I tossed those in the bag as well.
When I dug through the pantry I made sure to only grab things that had meat in them, which was relatively slim pickings. So I grabbed a few cans of the little sausages that made me wretch and a few things that he could just mix in with them.
After I'd gathered a few more things that he might need, tiny mouthwashes and shampoos etc. I was out the door.
I couldn't help but feel excited, as well as nervous. He was a real person who could talk and smile, but I didn't know of that was a good thing or not.
As I was about to round the corner I car appeared, slowing down next to me. The neighbors I'd been avoiding peered out at me from rolled down windows.
"How are you Bowen?" Ms. Lotte asked, sipping some pop out of a large Styrofoam cup.
"I'm good," I tried to think of an excuse for the bag, "Just going for a little hike."
"Yeah, I don't blame you." She Smiled and then continued chewing the straw, "Well have fun. Tell Brendan we say hi."
"Alright." I said cheerily, hoping the interaction was almost over. But before I could pull away one of the Lotte's three screaming boys leaned forward.
"Is Mr. Tarpi going to let us pick his strawberries again?"
"Of course." I said, ignoring the fact that they were technically my strawberry bushes that they usually picked without asking. But they were kids, what could you do?
The little boys cheered as the car rumbled away, hands shooting out the windows to wave to me.
I waved back until they were around the corner. Continuing on, it wasn't long until I reached the shack.
This time I knocked, and only opened the door when I heard a soft, "Come in."
The boy was sitting in the recliner; the blanket I'd left wadded up at his feet.
He waved to me as I entered and shut the door behind me, and as he did I saw a number of new slices running up his arms.
"It's you!" He exclaimed, getting up and crossing the room to take the bag from my hand, "With new treats."
He began pawing through it eagerly, pulling things out to examine them. The look in his eye was dangerously close to childlike wonder.
"How are you doing?" I stayed near the door.
"Great," he pointed to the back door, which was propped open, "You must have done a lot of cleaning, I saw the bags."
"Yeah," I said, a bit embarrassed, so I changed the subject, "What happened to your arms?"
"Oh I sinned." He set the bag down and admired them, "this one was the beans, and this one is when I got hungry and ate the can of corn, this one was for waking up when it was daylight outside..." His voice trailed off.
"How often do you do that?" I asked approaching him delicately, reaching out for the injured arm. He jumped back like I was poisonous.
"What are you doing?"
"I was just going to check out your cuts."
"Touching a woman is a sin, silly, unless you're one of the elders. Wow, master sure did make a weird choice in making you my guardian."
"Master?"
He laughed, waving off such a ridiculous question, and continued pawing through the bag, "You don't even know, I've been so easy on myself."
I went to sit down on the grungy recliner, which squealed under my weight, "Really?"
"Yeah, if any of the elders could see me now I'd be covered in atonements," he chuckled, holding up the sweatpants, "I guess that happens when you're responsible for your own punishment."
As he milled around through the stuff I saw a particularly deep mark up near his elbow, "what was that top one for?"
He stopped, looking down at it, "I've been alone for a while," a twinge of sadness crossed his face, "it's a sin to be alone."

"So why do you do the, um," I gestured towards his arm, "cutting thing?"
He didn't even glance down, "Because I have to."
"But do you know why?"
He laughed but didn't answer, and continued to pull stuff out of the bag, "So what's your name weird girl?"
His opinion of what's weird was a little different than mine, "Bowen."
"You puritans are funny, with your weird gender confused names."
"Well what's yours?"
"Peter." He said and then snickered, "Bowen," under his breath.
I rolled my eyes. It was all kind of too surreal to process. He was standing in front of me, with a names and thoughts. None of which made me feel like less of a creep for hanging out with a dead body. But I just rolled with it.
He pulled out a mini bottle of mouthwash and examined it. Then, as if bitten by it, he yipped and tossed it to the ground.
As he whipped out his knife I flinched and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Mint!" He yelled before running the knife over his arm.
"Mint?"
But I could almost say his next phrase along with him, "It's a sin."
"Who told you this?"
"Master."
I nodded, figuring now was not the best time to argue the logic of this mysterious person.
Next he pulled out the sweatpants and examined them. Seemingly pleased he set them down and immediately stripped off his old torn pants. His lack of shyness didn't stop me from blushing and turning away.
This wasn't my first rodeo, I'd done a lot more than look in my day, but it was still surprising.
He pulled on the sweatpants, but they hung awkwardly loose. Unfazed, he pulled out one of my tee-shirts and traded out his torn plaid shirt for it.
The shirt ran about five inches too short, leaving an odd gap of bare stomach.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth, "yeah, we might need to go shopping."
He looked at me, confused. "We need to do what?"
"Shopping," I said, and then hesitated, "You know what shopping is right?"
"It's when the elders leave and come back with supplies."
"Well now it's your turn."
He grimaced, "I don't know."
"Oh come on," I waved off his hesitancy, "what's the worst that could happen?"
But just as I said it the long list of possibilities scrolled through my brain.

I walked back to my house to get my car. But first I had to go into my house to fetch my keys and wallet before going to my parking spot under the tree that used to bear my tire swing.
The poor car had gotten almost no use in the past month since I stopped going to school every day, and it had the accumulated grime to prove it. The only part that still looked new was the pair of fuzzy purple dice hanging from the rear view mirror.
I drove around to the shack and tapped my horn lightly. Peter peeked out, like it would be anybody but me, and then crossed the overgrown lawn to the passenger side door.
I leaned over to unlock it, but when he pulled it open he hesitated.
"Is there a problem?" I asked, just waiting for him to tell me that cars were a sin.
"Why is it so low to the ground?"
I shrugged, "That's how it was built."
"All the cars I've seen are big, and have big wheels." He was gesturing with his hands but since my car is indeed low to the ground, all I could see was the hem of the shirt dancing along his midsection.
"That's all very nice and good but I promise they all work the same."
He ducked in, looking uncomfortable, and shut the door behind him.
"Sorry it's not like you're used to." I said halfheartedly.
"Well I've never actually been inside of a car."
Of course he hasn't, "well then this is going to be an interesting day for you."
As soon as I hit the gas he latched himself to the door handle like he was going to fly away.
I laughed, "Are you alright?"
"This makes my stomach feel weird."
"Yeah, I guess it would." I glanced over, "Do you know how to put on your seat belt?"
"Yeah, I think, isn't it this button?" He said, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him push the window button before I could stop him.
The car filled with a strong gust of wind and he shrieked in surprise, throwing himself across my lap and causing the car to swerve.
And once he realized he was touching me, a female, he shrieked again and threw himself into the floor board.
I stomped on the break and we came to a jerking stop in the middle of the road. Luckily cars rarely come through here.
"Are you alright?" I asked tentatively.
"I don't think I like cars." He murmured from under the glove compartment.
"I know, but it's kind of unavoidable these days," I said, reaching for him to pull him up but stopping myself, "Come on, get up."
He pulled himself back into the seat and I showed him how to actually put on his seatbelt.
"Okay are you ready to give it another go?"
He nodded, "Yeah."
"And you're not going to press any more mysterious buttons?"
"Don't patronize me." He said giving me a sideways look.
I started the car again, "Fair enough."
We drove on and he asked questions.
"Where are we going?"
"A mall." I told him, but was seriously reconsidering taking him to such a populous area. Unfortunately, the mall was the sole place within a two-hour radius that sold anything except animal feed.

"I feel like I've heard of that in stories about the puritans."
"Yep it's a pretty big thing for us."
"It sounds weird."
"Yeah, weird is a big thing for us too."
We drove on in silence. I turned up the volume of whichever CD I had in and he tapped his foot to it.
"You like it?" I asked.
"Yeah it reminds me of the elders' music."
"It's called folk."
"I like it, I used to be able to play the guitar."
"Cool." I said, a little shocked. There seemed to be very little consistency in what was considered okay with him.
We let the music fill the car until we pulled into the mall parking lot.
"Are you ready?" I was asking myself as much as I was asking him.
He pulled his knife out of his waistband and said, "Ready."
"No," I said, which looked like it confused him, so I elaborated, "You can't bring a knife into a public place."
He snorted and opened his door, "Yeah right."
"Give me the knife!" I grabbed the hem of his shirt.
"No I need it."
"Give the knife to me." I hated how much it sounded like I was talking to a toddler.
He sat back down, "But what if I sin?"
"You have to save it for later, okay?"
"I'll forget."
I sighed and began pawing through the middle console until I found a sharpie, "Here, use this."
"A marker?"
"People will still think you're weird, but not the murderous kind."
He looked at me, unsure, but put the knife down in a cup holder.
"Ata boy." I said, wondering if I was going to seriously regret this.
I walked across the parking lot, a wide eyed weirdo in poorly fitting clothes in tow.
He flinched at the pop music overhead when we walked through the glass doors. I laughed a bit to myself but hid it so I wouldn't bruise his confidence.
The mall wasn't too big so it wasn't long until there were swarms of teenagers walking past, staring down the poor fool.
He was noticeably uncomfortable, and I couldn't help but feel guilty. But as I was about to try and distract him he stopped in front of one store.
He was staring down a mannequin in a modern mauve pink dress and a leather jacket.
"Why don't you ever dress like that?" He asked me.
I stood next to him, keeping a safe distance so he wouldn't freak out, "I don't know."
"You don't like it?"
I shrugged, "No, it's really pretty. I just don't think I can really pull off stuff like that."
"I think it would look good on you."
I smiled, but before I could thank him he walked into the store and appeared in the display window. He grabbed the mannequin and began pulling it until it collapsed into his arms.
Behind him I saw an employee rushing through the racks towards him. I ran into the store, but by the time I got to the window the employee was already behind him.
"No wait." I said but it was too late.
She reached out and grabbed his arm, "Sir, what do you think you're doing?"
He yelled out and dropped the mannequin. They both jumped back, equally surprised by each other.
He pulled out his sharpie and waved it at her defensively. When I finally got over to them he looked at me and said, "She touched me!"
I turned to the girl, someone I vaguely recognized from school, "Sorry about that."
"Boa?" She asked confused, "You know him?"
"Um, yes."
Her eyes flicked back and forth between us, "Where on earth did you find him?"
"He's obviously not from around here." I said, almost offended by her tone.
"Obviously." She raised her eyebrows.
"Okay," I held up my hands, "we're leaving."
"Please."
I turned to him and motioned for him to stand up, "Come on Peter," but as he did he reached for the dismantled mannequin, "No, leave it," I waved his hands away from it, "we need to leave."
He got up, marking himself with the sharpie, and giving the girl a look that was the equivalent of him sticking his tongue out at her. The girl glared at both of us before I turned around and followed him out of the store.
"She wasn't very nice." He said as he capped the marker and put it back in his pocket.
"Yeah, she was a bitch in high school too, don't worry about it."
"Maybe this wasn't a good idea." He sat down on a wooden bench and rubbed his face.
I leaned against the wall next to him, "No its fine, it happens. You're just a little bit too much of a go getter for the modern world."
His face was still covered but I swear I could see him smiling a bit.
I took it as a good sign and rolled with it, "So now we're going to go look at some cheap unassembled furniture, and you're not going to touch anything unless instructed to."
"Fine."
After many hours of shopping and postponing breakdowns I drove back and parked in the woods near the shack so no one would be able to see the car.
We carried the bags and boxes into the house but were both too tired to bother putting everything together.
"I'll come back tomorrow and get you set up." I said, shuffling out the door, having not put that much effort into anything in a long time.
"Wait." He said, putting the last box down, "I wanted to thank you."
I smiled and said, "Don't mention it."
"Well I know you didn't have to," I was about to question him, since he'd assumed I was an appointed guardian, "I figured it out a while ago."
"Sorry." I said for lack of a better word.
He grinned, "I think you've earned any forgiveness you could need."

I marched through the tall grass back to my car and drove home.
It was kind of sad how beat I was. I guess after hours of lugging things around and having to divert him from anything damaging I had the right to be. But even with all my efforts he had two full arms of sharpie marks.
People stared him down, many of which I knew, so I had an aching feeling I would be hearing about it later.
And the next morning that suspicion was realized.
"So who was the young man you were with at the mall yesterday?" Dad asked from the kitchen table while I made myself some coffee.
"A friend of Callie's from college." I was already prepared for the question.
"From what I heard he was a freaking weirdo." He said through a mouth full of bacon.
"Well you're the one who always says college makes people weird."
"And now I have my proof," he said, but added "and you're still going."
I chuckled, "Works for me."
"I also heard he's kind of a looker."
"Oh god, no, we have avoided talking like this for eighteen years and were not starting now."
He put his hands up in defense, a fork poking out between two fingers, "Works for me. Maybe you should talk to your mother about him. You need to see her at some point you know."
It my fault for thinking my eighteenth birthday would free me from having to visit that woman outside of major holidays, "Yeah, yeah I'll get around to it."
We ate breakfast together, discussing anything but the previous two topics. He asked about my plans for the day and I told him I was going to hang out with Callie so he wouldn't ask any questions.
"Staying the night?"
"Probably not." I shrugged.
"Well just let me know. Think you'll go running today?"
"Nah," I waved off the idea, "it's too damn hot."
"You got that right." He sighed.
We finished and he headed off to work.
I gathered some of my old twin sheets and the guitar I got back when I thought I was going to be a professional singer. If he could really play he would get more use out of it than I would.
I hiked to his house, the bundled up sheets tucked up under an arm and the guitar slung across my back.
He opened the door and peeked out, smiling when he spotted me, "Good morning!"
"Morning. Did you sleep okay?" I can't imagine how he sleeps out here.
"Not bad, got up early and started messing with some of the stuff."
When I stepped through the doorway I could see the extent of his "Messing with". Boxes and bubble wrap were laying in massive heaps.
"Well at least it looks like you had fun." I kicked an opened box.
"Whoops."
"So where would you like to start?"
"I had some trouble with the air mattress."
I went and sat down in the middle of the rubble, "At least you put the rug down," I said looking for the inflatable mattress, "By the way, is your hair damp?"
"Yeah I actually washed it in a creek just over there." He ran his hand through it, sounding very proud as he nodded his head towards the tree line.

"Didn't the, um, elders or whatever, let you wash your hair?"
"Only during the full moon."
"Of course." I said under my breath. I got to work blowing up the air mattress while he messed around with the set of small shelves.
As I did it I noticed that most if his cuts were nearly healed already under the smeared sharpie.
Actually he didn't seem to have any new looking marks, "so you haven't sinned recently?"
"No I have, I've just been tallying them up, I'm waiting for the right time to do the cuts." But based on the tired look in his eye, he was avoiding it more than waiting for it.
"Yeah, I mean it's probably more effective," I said, trying to sound comforting, "the sharpie lasts a lot longer than the cuts do."
"Yeah that's a good point." He said, peering at the instructions
I hopped he decided to lay off the slicing and dicing. It obviously wasn't good for him.
We worked on our respective projects for a while. I played music from my phone to fill the quiet, and I could hear him trying to hum along.
After the bed was inflated I began wrestling the fitted sheet onto it.
"Where do you want this?" I asked.
He looked up, long tendrils of dark brown hair clinging to his neck in the heat, "Just over there."
I put it along the wall with the recliner. Picking up the old blanket I'd left, which was squished into the crevices of the recliner, I folded it neatly on the end of the bed to give it an air of tidiness.
"How's the shelf coming along?"
"Not too shabby." He grunted, locking a piece of wood into place.
I began picking up the trash and piling it in the kitchen. My eyes wondered to the spot where is body used to lay. He must have cleaned the remaining trash because the only remnant was a large stain on the peeling floor.
A shiver ran through me, but as I turned around to the boy with his legs spread eagle on the floor messing with the shelf, I felt oddly comforted.
The scary body I'd found didn't exist anymore. Instead there was just a gawky boy with marker all over him, humming along to a sweet summery song. It made a lot of the scary things in the world seem just as silly.
Then something else caught my eye.
"Hey, you better be careful with the food, you've got some serious ant activity going on over here." I said, admiring the row of black specks making their way across the floor in the kitchen.
He got up and came into the kitchen to investigate. When he saw that I was right he went over to the bag of food we'd gotten yesterday and pulled out a large pouch of jerky.
After tearing the top off with his teeth he walked back and knelt down next to the ants. Digging around in the bag he pulled out a particularly dry piece and crumbled it over them.
"Well that's definitely not going to help."
"Why wouldn't it help them?" He looked up at me confused.
I raised an eyebrow, "I mean help you, silly. If you feed them they'll come back."
"They have as much of a reason to be here as me," he grinned, "I'd think you would know more than most, that sometimes things just need someone to care a little bit."
I blushed, and then snatched the bag of jerky from his hands, "Well we might as well eat this now that you've opened it."
Bolting back to the main room I sat back down on the rug and tore into a piece of jerky.
I noticed my phones battery getting low so I powered it off.
"How on earth will we entertain ourselves now?" I exclaimed in mock despair.
He went back over to the shopping bags and pulled out one of the books we'd gotten. Being that there was no electricity I'd insisted on him buying a few half price books to kill time and catch up on his vocabulary.
"Here," he handed it to me, "read it to me."
"I don't want to leave you doing all the work." I said, refusing to reach out and take it.
"No worries, I'm not exactly a pro at modern language, but if the book doesn't throw me maybe we'll switch off."
So we sat like that for hours, eating teriyaki flavored jerky as I read and he milled around building and cleaning. He occasionally interrupted me to ask what things like jump ropes and debit cards were. Most of which were surprisingly hard to explain, but he didn't argue with any of my vague or confusing descriptions, he just kept on working.
It was strangely comfortable sitting there in the boiling heat, in a rundown shack that now smelled strongly of air freshener, with my back pressed against the recliner. My legs were crossed in front of me, thighs sticking together in the heat, which I hated. I hated being hot and sweaty. But regardless of it, I was pretty happy.
Until I checked the time.
"Shit!" I yelped, jumping up and looking out the window at the slowly dying light.
"What?" He asked, startled.
"Oh this is bad."
"What is?"
I turned away from the window and put my hand on my forehead, "My dad's home from work now."
"So?"
"He thinks I'm with my friend, and if I get home without him hearing a car in the driveway he's going to get suspicious." I'd had a few embarrassing incidents trying to sneak out of the house to prove it.
"Well just tell him you were running or something."
I hated past me, "I told him I wasn't going to."
He stood up, "We'll figure it out, I promise."
But I could tell he didn't have any ideas, and I knew I would have to spend the night in the shack.
**********

I'd succumbed to the idea of it, even though it left a bad taste in my mouth. Even though this place felt as comfortable as could be in the daylight, night time was a whole other story.
I doubted that Peter would do anything to me at this point, it was the people he talked about that had me worried. What if these "elders" made an appearance? There was obviously something twisted happening there that I didn't totally get.
And on top of it all I was petrified of the dark. Which was silly and juvenile, but painfully true. And now not only was I going to be trapped in the dark, I was going to be trapped in a dark abandon shack.
"It's fine, it won't be so bad." He insisted, stopping down in front of where I'd crumbled to the floor. He wasn't used to being the comforting one, and it showed.
When I didn't respond he grabbed the book from where it laid sprawled open on the floor and began reading.
And oddly enough, it calmed me down a little bit. My heart slowed in my chest, and my brain latched onto the story, allowing it to carry me away.
I turned my phone back on and saw the inevitable texts from dad. I considered telling him that I'd gone in a run anyway, but that probably wouldn't be convincing in my jean shorts and flip flops.
I told him I was staying the night with Callie and sealed my fate.
Peter looked up and said, "You can sleep on the mattress if you want."
I waved it off and gestured for him to continue reading. He looked at the book warily.
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
"Can I try something on your guitar."
"Sure."
He walked over to where I'd propped it up against the wall and took it out of its case. It wasn't anything spectacular looking, my dad got it from a pawn shop for fifty dollars.
He sat down against the wall and began tuning, something my short stint of guitar lessons never covered, so I was already impressed.
After a round of plucking and knob turning he actually played a little tune that actually sounded like one of the songs I'd played on my phone earlier.
"Are you playing that from memory?"
"It's stuck in my head," he said, "I'm trying to get it right."
"That's impressive."
"Elder Hamilton was very good, she taught me every Friday."
I was going to remark but instead opted to nod and listen as he gave it a few goes, each time getting closer and closer to the real song.
I played the song a few times so he could get a better feel for it and within an hour the song was near perfect.
He stood up and said, "okay now you have to do the lyrics."
"Why?" I asked, still sitting.
"Because I don't know them."
I sighed, considered arguing the subject, but settled on the fact that I have nothing to lose.
I got to my feet and grabbed an empty soda bottle, holding it to my mouth like a microphone.
That's how we spent the rest of the day, I taught him the lyrics and we danced around singing the same song over and over. It wasn't really something I normally considered when it came to my free time, but no electricity really brings out the creativity in people I guess.
Eventually the sunlight ran out and we ended up on the floor, on opposite sides of a small candle. We had to keep the light as dim as possible so it wasn't visible from outside.
"So do you know how you got here?" I asked. It seemed as good of a time as any.
"Not really." Was all he responded, staring at the back of the book we'd been reading all day.
"I mean, what do you remember last?"
He frowned and stared at the book for a few more minutes, "Just a normal day back home. I did my chores and then spent the evening with Elder Hamilton learning to play." But as he said it I saw a slight twitch of his face.
"And then you just woke up here?"
He shrugged his shoulders, "pretty much."
"Nothing else happened?"
"I don't know." He groaned, it was one of the first times he didn't look jolly. In fact, he looked tired.
"I'm just curious is all," I back pedaled a little bit, "Your life was obviously very different than mine."
"I'll tell you, tomorrow though, I'm exhausted." He said, licking his fingers and pinching out the small flame, "let's just get some sleep."
And with that he laid down under a blanket and turned his back to me. I took a minute, trying to fight the panic that was setting in.
Letting my eyes adjust I examined every crook and crevices of the room. From the shelves we'd set up to the empty bags strewn across the floor.
Nothing was going to hurt me. I was perfectly safe. Everything was alright.
I had to repeat those thoughts over and over as I laid down on the squishy mattress.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying not to over react to every little noise. Until I heard the growling.

My eyes flew open. I held my breath, hoping it was only my imagination.
But it wasn't. The low growl was real, and getting louder. I propped myself up on my elbow and was about to ask Peter if he could hear it too.
But before I could his head whipped around to me. A gasp caught in my throat as I saw his eyes, the soft blue eaten away by black. The growl that escaped from deep in his chest thundered on even louder.
I'd never seen him look like that. The normally happy and smiling face was filled with so much hatred. I don't think I'd ever seen such pure, unadulterated anger. The lines of his face sharpened, pulled around his teeth in a snarl.
I backed up against the wall instinctively, but instantly regretted it. The movement set him off. He jumped up to his hands and knees, the blanket sliding to the ground pitifully.
He moved towards me slowly, each step deliberate and smooth. Suddenly he seemed to carry the same lithe as a full grown tiger. My heart sped up so abruptly I had to fight the feeling of faintness in my head.
As he got closer I could see his eyes better. The iris completely swallowed up by a cloudy darkness. And as he got so close our noses were nearly touching, I could see my own terrified expression reflected in them.
I jumped up, losing a lot of momentum to the air mattress. An arm shot out, causing me to trip and topple onto the rug. I felt his hand press down against my spine, compressing my lungs into the carpet. Gasping desperately, I kicked out, hearing a yowl as I collided with something solid. The pressure on my back disappeared and I shot to my feet.
There was a soft splintering sound as I pushed my way through the front door and bolted. The angry snarls grew softer the more I ran, so I dared to look back. He was crouched in the doorway watching me, but he didn't venture past the small front porch.
That didn't slow me down by any means. I ran like my life depended on it all the way home. I knew I couldn't go inside without getting questioned why I was barging through the door at night looking terrified.
I trekked up my driveway, constantly swiveling my head around to check the surrounding trees. Every time I turned I swore I could see a silhouette standing among the trees. I'd never felt more watched.
I got to my car and crawled in the back, thankful that I never bothered locking it. I clicked every door shut and crammed myself into the floor behind the front seats. But every time I allowed myself a glace up I expected to see him standing there on the other side of the window.
He never was though. It was only the darkness and the trees, which were enough to freak me out on a normal day. I folded my arms over my face and staid as still as I could while I waited for my pulse to slow down.
I'd been so stupid. That whole time, what was I expecting? There was obviously something severely wrong. He'd probably been tricking me all along so that he could get me alone at night. Why did I think he was a valid source of friendship? It was a whole new level of pathetic. Yeah the dead body that comes back to life, definitely best pal material. No wonder I didn't have any other friends; I was that stupid girl in the horror movie who gets killed half way through.
I didn't sleep the whole night, I just laid there thinking about his contorted face and imaging a slew of terrifying possible scenarios while trying my best to fight back the tears that rolled down the sides of my face. I didn't know if I was sadder about almost being killed, or that I was alone again.

The next morning I woke to the sound of Dads truck rolling down the gravel. I'd managed to drift off in the early morning, worn out from crying.
There was a feeling of relief that he was fine and oblivious. I'd had many panicky thoughts about Peter breaking into the house and murdering him.
I crawled out of the back of the car, looking around just for safety. But everything was normal, untouched by the events of last night. I almost had to make sure it wasn't some big hallucination.
Stretching my back out, I made my way over to the house. The key was under a statue of a sleeping deer, but after I used it I took it inside with me.
I did another sweep of the house to check every door and window. They were all still locked, so I just closed all the blinds and sat in my kitchen.
I wanted to take a shower and go to sleep, but I was too scared to do both. So I sat at my kitchen table and ate cereal while watching TV on my laptop in an attempt to calm myself down.
I didn't think I would ever be comfortable here again. The image of him was engraved in my mind. I expected him to be around every corner.
There was a knock at the front door, right behind me. I didn't get up, if it was the mailman he could leave the package on the porch.
"Bowen?" A familiar voice called through the door, "Are you alright?"
I gritted my teeth, having to fight the urge to respond.
"I woke up and you were gone and the door was broken," he sounded anxious, "I don't know what happened."
Part of me clung to the helpless tone of his voice, but I fought it. He was a monster, I saw it. It looked me right in the eye. A chill ran through me just thinking about it.
"Please say you're alright. I'm scared." It was probably the most pitiful phrase I'd ever heard.
Against my better judgement I got up and walked over to the door. Squinting through the peephole I saw him, looking as normal as ever.
Eyes sad, but blue and clear. He wasn't smiling like he normally was, but there was no trace of the fierce snarl from last night.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to come up with an idea. The lack of sleep was wearing on my decision making abilities.
The only idea I could think of was obnoxious, and I hated it, but it was all I had. I went to my dad's room and took the handgun out of his nightstand.
I hated guns, but that didn't mean I didn't know how to shoot them.
Approaching the front door slowly I turned the lock and opened it.
Peters face lit up when he saw me, but the light faded quickly when he saw the gun pointed at him.
"What's wrong?" He asked, flinching away from me.
"Get back." I ordered. He stepped back from the screen door.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm aiming a gun at the thing that tried to kill me last night."
He looked dumbfounded, "What?"
"Last night, you growled like an animal."
"No I didn't," he insisted, "Why would I even do that?"
"Why would I make it up?" I pressed the nose of the gun to the screen until it was concave.
"I don't know," he grasped for words, "I'm so confused."
"You're confused, that's rich." I laughed humorlessly.
"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about but I'll do anything to make it up to you."
I thought for a second, letting the two halves of my brain fight it out. On one hand I had no idea who or what he was and he'd proven himself to have a dark side. But on the other, he seemed so sincere, and I was so painfully curious.
"I want to know everything," I said, "You have to tell me everything."

I had to go back and get my stuff, so I decided that I would give him that amount of time to explain himself.
My key was still in my pocket so I locked the door and directed him down the porch steps with the gun, "Start talking."
I made him walk out of arms range, although he came to that decision on his own due to the gun being point at him.
"Um, okay," he stuttered as we walked down my driveway, "I grew up, not around here. It was a place in the woods."
"Very descriptive." I mumbled.
"I'm trying," he said, before continuing, "Anyway, I lived with the master, the elders, and other boys."
"No girls?"
"Well all the elders were all women, but other than that no." He shrugged, "But we lived in really tiny houses, mostly made out of fabric."
"Like a tent?"
He sighed, "That's probably your word for it I guess. Our houses definitely weren't that big. I and the other boys stayed in a house that actually had a door, so they could lock us in every night."
"And you didn't think that was creepy?"
He looked confused, "No." But continued on with his description, "The other boys and I did labor mostly, taking care of livestock and the garden, as well as school. And I don't know, yeah, that's about it."
We'd finally made it down my driveway and onto the road. I thought for a second, the story didn't really answer any of my questions, so I had to ask a few more, "And they made you cut yourself?"
"No, we used to always have an elder who would watch us and if we sinned she would cut us and put the blood into one of the glass jars they always had to carry. I just do it now, because I feel like I have to I guess." And surely enough he had a brand new row of fresh slices.
"What did they do with the blood?"
He just shrugged and kept walking, seeming wary of the story telling. But I couldn't let him stop this easily, I needed to know who we was to some degree, and whether or not he was truly dangerous.
I changed the subject, "How did you end up out here then?"
He shrugged again.
I let out a breath, "What's the last thing you remember?"
We were nearing the shack and his uncomfortable pauses had taken up way too much of the walk. The more he neglected to tell me the less I could feel myself trusting him, as much as it hurt.
I wanted him to stay the dopey weirdo who fed ants and attacked mannequins. But that monster had engrained itself in my brain.
He rubbed his arms anxiously, "It's bad."
"Shoot." I insisted, nothing could be worse than what I'd already seen.
"Elder Hamilton and I were very close, she taught me how to play guitar. She was amazing, beautiful Raven hair and a voice that made your toes practically tingle. She was the only woman who ever touched me without cutting me." He paused for just a moment, his eyes getting a bit dreamy, "She would rub my arm whenever I played well, and brush the hair out of my eyes when I concentrated too hard. She said it was our little secret, and that it wasn't bad, even though I knew it was."
He was flushed with embarrassment. I didn't know how to feel, he spoke about this woman like she was all that was good in the world, and it left a bad taste in my mouth, "Go on." I urged.
He cleared his throat, "We were very close. I had lessons with her every day in the evening, and she used to let down her hair and take off her outer shall. I'd never been that close with anyone before." I saw him wince a little bit, "But one day Master found out about the particular nature of our lessons and walked in on us."
He stopped again. This time he was absolutely beet red and refusing to make eye contact with me, but I said, too engrossed in the story to care, "And then what?"
"He took me out into the woods and told me that no men were allowed, only boys, and that if I insisted on doing manly things I would have to pay the price," He finally looked over to me, "and that's honestly the last thing I remember."
I thought for a second, relaxing the gun at my side as we approached the house. None of the story really told me why he came back from the dead, or what had happened the night before. But I bit back some of my harsher questions.
He looked so tired from telling me that story alone. So I said the first thing that popped into my head, "God that's awful."
He opened the door for me and we went inside. Nothing was out of place besides the blanket I'd thrown off of myself last night that now laid limply on the floor.
"I don't know. Things aren't so bad now. I just don't want you to be mad at me."
"I'm not mad," I sighed, "It's just, I don't know who or what you are."
He laughed, "What I am?"
"Yeah."
"I'm human." He said it like it was obvious.
"Really? Because I've seen you do some profoundly inhuman things." I grabbed my phone off the ground and tucked it into my pocket.
"Like what?"
"Well last night you attacked me. You looked like you weren't even a person anymore. Your eyes were totally black."
"Well I mean I sleep walk, all of the boys sleepwalk. That's why we needed to be locked up, so we didn't hurt ourselves." He picked up the blanket and folded it.
"That wasn't sleep walking. I've seen people sleep walk."
He shrugged his shoulders, "I'm sorry, I wouldn't scare you on purpose."
"There's another thing too," I said, sitting down on the recliner, "I don't know how you'll react to hearing it."
He looked as worried as I expected, "What's that?"
"When I originally found you, you were dead."
He laughed like I was joking, "No I wasn't, I was just asleep."
"No you were dead. Bloated, maggots, the works."
"That's not funny," he said, "That's not even possible."
"Well it's true."
He shook his head, obviously not convinced. But then I remembered the pictures I'd taken with my phone. I pulled it out, there was a miniscule sliver of battery life left, but it was good enough.
"Look," I clicked on the image so his bloated frame filled up the whole screen, "I took this back when I saw that you were healing. You woke up a few days later."
He took the phone out of my hand and began pacing around the room. His face fell as he recognized his old clothes and the floor he'd woken up on.
He walked back over to me and dropped the phone in my lap. I was going to say something but he plopped onto the ground and buried his head between his knees.
I immediately felt like an asshole. He obviously had no idea, and this was not easy news.
I slid to the ground and crawled towards him slowly, "Are you alright?"
He looked up, eyes wet but not spilling over, "I promise, whatever is going on, I'm not doing it. I didn't know."
"I know." I realized the gun was still in my hand, and I leaned over to set it down a few feet away. It was the ultimate test, if this was all an act, he could easily kill me now.
As I withdrew my hand from the cold metal he caught my wrist. The grip was light and hesitant, and his palms were drenched in sweat.
I looked up at him, his eyes had cleared but remnants of grief still creased his face, "I don't want to be scary."
He took his hand back quickly, but I smiled to reassure him, "I know, we're going to figure out what's going on, promise."

"Hold still." I say, trying to keep his chin pinched between my fingers. I could tell he wasn't fully comfortable being touched, so I kept it to a minimum, but it was a challenging thing to avoid when you were trying to shave a face.
Not to mention his head whipped around every time he heard a noise.
"Are you sure I really need to shave? I think it looks fine." I ran my bright pink razor down his jawline.
"You're starting to look like a crazy mountain man. The only reason you can get away with being is public is because you look like a big baby underneath the hair."
Luckily he'd grown used to my gentle prodding the last few weeks. Although it's not like he had a choice, we spent every day together.
Our days were simple, filled with reading out loud, learning songs on the guitar, and occasionally venturing out into the public eye. All the while, slowly breaking some of his rules.
From the occasional fleeting touch to the one time he nearly puked up an Altoid. Every day was a step closer.
Since he was completely oblivious to the concept of shaving, this was a step too. He was sitting, back uncomfortably rigid, on my toilet seat while I sat on the edge of my sink. The cream on his face filled the room with the strong scent of mangoes.
"It's not my fault I'm cute," he looked like he was going to add something but was cut off by the front door.
"Bowen? You home?" My dad called from the kitchen. I jumped off the sink, trying to think of what to do.
He'd never met Peter before, although he'd obviously been suspicious of how I spent my days. So it probably wasn't worth hiding.
I turned back to Peter, who wasn't hiding his panic well, "You go to college with my friend Callie, understand?"
He nodded, shaving cream dripping off his chin.
"I'm in here." I called back, leaving the bathroom with Peter in tow.
My dad turned around, eyebrows raising at the sight of the gawky boy covered in women's having cream, "Is this the mystery man everyone keeps talking about?"
"Yeah," I said, fighting the urge to feel uncomfortable, "this is Peter."
Luckily Peter had no qualms about touching men, so after my dad extended his hand he took it without too much of a hesitation.
"Okay." My dad said simply, letting go and moving across the kitchen to dig a soda out of the fridge, "I trust your judgement, kiddo."
"Thanks." I said, feeling relieved.
He shrugged, popping the top and taking a sip, "I know how I raised you. Why should I treat you like you're stupid?" He smiled at the both of us, "Anyway, I'm picking up a pizza later if you guys want any." And with that he went into the living room and clicked on the TV.
I turned back to Peter, who still looked unsure, "See, that wasn't so bad." And we disappeared back into the bathroom to finish my poor attempt at shaving his face.
The rest of the day involved him reading a book out loud while I painted my nails. I'd tried introducing him to television, but he was still warming up to it.
Dad left and came back with a pizza about a half an hour later and we all gathered in the living room with paper plates on our laps. Harley hid in my dad's room as usual. He wasn't a big fan of Peter.
We watched a basketball game and stuffed our faces. The pizza was a relief too, it had been hard trying to convince Peter that using utensils to eat was not sinful, and even harder to try and explain how to use them period.
"So your mom called." My dad said after the final buzzer, "she really wants you to come see her."
I groaned in protest.
"I know, I know, but you have to at least see her once before you go to college." I did my best to ignore the rapidly approaching move in day. The last thing I wanted to do was to move hours away and be stuck with people I didn't know, especially not now.
"Fine."
"She's free this weekend, so you can head up tomorrow." He said getting up and taking his plate to the trashcan.
"I guess," I sighed and then looked over to Peter, "I guess I better drive you home."
He nodded and stood up. We went and gathered some of the books and things we'd brought over and then walked out to my car.
"Why don't you want to see your mom?" He asked as he got into the passenger seat.
"We just don't see eye to eye. Plus we barely know one another. They divorced when I was three, she took Cameron and my dad took me. So there's always been a bit of favoritism going on on both sides."
"Huh," was all he said, and it kind of made me feel like an asshole. He didn't even have a family, and here I was picking mine apart.
We drove back to the wooded area where I always park the car. The neighbors were nowhere in sight so we walked freely to the house
He used his key to unlock the front door, which we had reinforced with extra locks for safety. Both his and everybody else's.
"Do you think you'll be okay while I'm gone?"
He laughed it off, "Of course. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself occasionally."
I put my hands up, "Just making sure."

I packed up my stuff the next afternoon before I left, since my room at my mom's was essentially just a mattress.
After all of my clothes and chargers were packed away I went and grabbed a few things from the bathroom.
I gave my dad a hug and was out the door with my backpack slung over my shoulder and snacks for the road.
The drive was about two and a half hours. But it was a nice way to prep myself.
Eventually I pulled up in front of her house. It was embedded deep in the suburbs, the kind of house you barely distinguish from its neighbors.
I pulled my bag out of the back seat and walked up to the door, ringing the bell.
It took a few moments before I heard a rustling inside and my mother appeared. She was wearing a summery dress and wedge heels.
"Bowen." She announced and opened the door wider to let me inside.
"Hey mom," I said, "How are you?"
"Fine, just fine," she shut the door behind me, "Cameron has some friends over right now, and I'm making penne rosa for dinner."
"Great." I tried to sound enthusiastic despite my stomach being full of cheddar popcorn and sour straws.
I drug my stuff up to my room, passing Cameron's open door. Peeking in I saw her sprawled across her bed with her friends as they played on their phones.
"Hey Cam." I waved as she turned her head. She waved back and turned around to her phone. I kept going until I got to my door.
The room was plain, the corners were filled with boxes and the bed was pristine, like it hadn't been slept on in a very long time.
Which it hadn't, I avoided this place. No matter how much I tried I couldn't make myself comfortable here. It was like staying with a stranger; sleeping in a guest room and not knowing which soaps it's okay to use in the shower.
She chose Cameron, this wasn't my home. It belonged to her, her daughter, and her new husband.
I set everything down and checked my phone. Callie had texted me a few days ago asking about the mysterious boy, but I was avoiding her questions. Since she was my cover story it would be harder to lie to her.
I put my phone away and laid down on the bed. Hugging one of the throw pillows, I thought about back home.
My dog there to run with me in the morning, my dad watching TV in the next room, and Peter there to fill the days with me.
That's where I wanted to be. I didn't want to be here and I didn't want to go to college. But things always change, whether you like it or not.
"Cameron, dinners ready!" Mom called. I heard the girls' footsteps thudding down the stairs and I followed a few paces behind.
I sat at the dining room table between happily babbling sixteen year olds and my mother and Sam, her new husband.
Mom talked about her students, she was excited for the upcoming school year. She talked about all the upcoming projects she had planned. Sam was a teacher too, health and PE. His stories were equally as enthusiastic.
I spent most of it staring at the floral Live Laugh Love wall art and eating the small heap of pasta in front of me.
The girls finished early and disappeared back into Cameron's room. I stayed behind and listened to my mom's stories about their trip to Disney World a few weeks ago.
I nodded along until she said, "Well it's time for us to turn in. If you have to use the bathroom tonight make sure to use the one down here. The toilet upstairs makes so much noise." She laughed and kissed me on the forehead before the headed to their room.
I lingered, not knowing what to do with myself. I paced through the house, admiring the old pictures.
There were Mom and Sam's wedding photos, professional portraits of Cameron, and a mess of her baby pictures. There were two of me, a baby portrait and my wallet sized freshman yearbook photo tucked in the corner of them with Mickey Mouse.
Tired, I quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face before heading to my room and locking the door. After checking my phone again I laid down and tried my best to get myself to sleep.
The next morning I woke up to six missed calls from my dad. I rubbed my eyes and checked again. I was going to call but he beat me to it.
"Dad what's wrong?" My throat caught as I said it.
"It's the Lottes down the street, they've been murdered. I need you to come home right now."

"The police were just here asking if those boys were here. Their sons are missing."
"Wait, I mean what happened?"
"They didn't give me too many details. They got what they refer to as a mysterious call early this morning, and went to their house. Britney and Earl were both dead, but their boys are nowhere to be found."
I didn't know how to properly process the information, but I knew I had to get home quickly.
I jumped out of bed and gathered all of my stuff back into my bag. I pulled the covers back up over the spot I'd left and rearranged the pillows until it looked like I'd never been there at all.
With keys in hand I go and knock on my mom's door. Opening it a crack and peeking in, I see her sitting up.
"What is it Bowen?" She asked sleepily.
"There's an emergency at the house, I have to go right now, sorry."
"Okay dear, drive safe." And with that she collapsed back in bed with her still sleeping husband.
I was out the door almost insanity, locking it behind me. Luckily it was early enough that my car wasn't boiling hot as soon as I got in it.
The drive felt a lot slower this time, even though my foot rarely left the gas pedal. I just needed to be home.
I needed to make sure my dad was okay. He got along with the Lottes.
But it was Peter who has me particularly worried. Not just for his safety, but because even though I didn't want to, I worried that it has been him.
I knew what he became as soon as he fell asleep, I wouldn't put it past that strange creature.
When I got home I found my dad watching the news. I could hear the reporter talking about the mysterious rural murder.
"How are you doing dad?" I asked.
"It's scary, they can't figure out why someone would do it, but it had to be purposeful. It's not like you can just happen upon their house, and they're obviously not rich."
I sat down on the couch next to him. I realized they were reporting live from the house. An amber alert had been issued for the boys.
"Did anything weird happen last night?" I asked.
"Nope, it was all normal." He sighed, I could see the stress lining his face, "I'm thinking of staying with a friend in town for a while just to be safe, this just doesn't sit right."
I felt relieved that he wasn't going to be in the middle of it. I didn't want to have to worry about him getting killed too.
"That's a good idea."
"You should probably stay with your mom or Callie." I nodded, not really thinking that far ahead.
Now that I knew my dad was going to be safe I had to worry about Peter. Even if it wasn't him, and God I hoped I wasn't, he didn't need all those people prowling around his house.
"I'm going to go pack up some stuff."
"Yeah I should probably do that too." He said, standing up and leaving the TV running.
I went to my room and began pacing anxiously. There wasn't actually a lot for me to pack, since most of my necessities were already in my car.
I sat in my room, searching for updates on the story, but not getting too much. They were keeping the details under wraps for now at least, which drove me insane.
Eventually my dad came in and told me he was heading out with Harley. I gave him a hug goodbye and listened as his truck rumbled away.
I went back into the living room and combed through the news channels to see if there was any more coverage on the case. Most had moved on to different subjects, and the remaining tidbits I could find were old news, so I decided it would be safe to go up there.
I grabbed a few more things from my room and locked the house up before leaving. Dad fed all the animals before he left so they were alright.
I drove past the house. It was vacant but still lined with tape warning people not to trespass. Not even the Doberman Pinschers were there anymore.
I went straight to the spot where I usually parked and got out, practically jogging through the trees towards the house.
I got halfway to it before freezing. The wood around the reinforced locked was splintered open, like someone had really wanted to get in, or out.

"Peter?" I called through the door as I opened it.
Upon closer examination I could see that the door had been forced inward. Splinters of wood and bits of metal stuck out in award angles where the locks used to be.
"Yeah I'm in here." I heard, and pushed through the door. I found him curled up in the corner, sweaty and pale.
"Are you okay?"
He just shook his head, looking on the verge of nausea.
"What happened?"
I approached him slowly, not wanting to freak him out. Stopping a few feet away I sat on the floor so he wouldn't have to look up.
He stared me in the eye for a second and then said, "They're back."

My heart sped up at the words, "Whose back?"
"The elders and Master. They broke in last night." He was shaking, "we need to leave."
I reached out to him, but he flinched away so I let my arm drop back to my side, "Wait a minute, they know you're here? They know you're alive?"
"They know now. It apparently surprised them."
"And they just left you here?" I asked.
"They said they would be back," he tried to get up onto his trembling legs, "We need to leave. I don't want to go back."
I stood up too, but fought the urge to help him, knowing he wouldn't like it, "It's going to be alright."
"No its not, Master wanted me dead you don't think he won't try and make sure it happens this time."
"I won't let that happen, we'll get you as far away as possible. They won't be able to find you."
"You can't promise that." He was rubbing his face, "You can see what they did to those people down the road."
"Well they're not going to do that to you." I began throwing his books and clothes into plastic bags.
"They're going to kill you too. It was supposed to be you."
"What." I stopped what I was doing.
I could hear the stress in his voice, "I told them that they were the ones who were helping me, and they killed them."
He collapsed to the ground again. The news had the opposite effect on me however.
"Come on Peter you have to get up."
"They're dead and it's my fault."
"It's not your fault I promise. They're murderers," I squat down next to him, "They were going to kill somebody, it doesn't have anything to do with you."
I didn't even entirely believe what I was saying, but I couldn't deal with him becoming catatonic right now. We needed to move as soon as possible.
"But," he seemed lost for words.
"No buts, just get up and gather everything you want to take with you. I'm going to pull the car around. You need to have everything ready to load so no one sees. Okay?"
"Okay." He breathed.
I wanted to hug him, to make him feel better. But there wasn't time.
I got to my feet and walked out, checking to make sure no one was around to see us.
I jogged to the tree line and stepped quickly through the underbrush towards the car. But the as soon as I got close I froze.
Lying across the hood was the mangled body of one of the Lotte's Doberman Pinschers. The blood streamed down the sides and dripped onto the grass.
I had to muffle a scream. It was horrifying. Tears began to well up in my eyes. I'd liked those dogs, and these monsters had cut it to pieces. Who knows what they did with the other one.
I'd only parked in this spot a few minutes before.
I felt the panic hit me. They were here, and I had to get back to Peter immediately.
I approached the car. I was on the verge of puking, but I grabbed the dog's foot and pulled him off the hood. That's when I noticed a piece of paper tucked under my windshield wiper.
I took a deep breath and grabbed it before jumping into the car and locking the doors. I even checked the back seat.
The car roared to life but I let it idle, ready to flee at any moment.
Unfolding the note I saw only one line scrawled in pen.
The devil lives in him

I stuffed the note into my pocket and back out of the spot as quickly as I could.
Pulling around to the shack I was relieved to see Peter sitting outside with bags in hand. I unlocked the doors and got out.
"This everything?"
"Besides the guitar."
"Okay I'll go get it, you get everything in the car and be ready to go."
He nodded and walked to the car as I went inside. Scanning the rooms I saw the guitar case leaned against the wall in the kitchen.
I ran over to it and slung it over my back. But as I straightened up, about to leave, something caught my eye.
Looking out the kitchen window, which opened up onto the woods, I saw people standing in the tree line.
And they were watching me.

I didn't waste any time looking at them.
Turning on my heel I bolted out the door. Luckily Peter was already in the passenger seat.
I took the guitar off my shoulder and shoved it through the driver's side to Peter, not bothering to open the back door.
"What's wrong?" He asked, taking the guitar without question.
I got in and locked the doors without answering him.
"What is it?" He asked, forehead wrinkling.
I still didn't answer as I put the car in gear. He moved to put the black case in the backseat but froze, staring out the back window.
Turning around I saw what looked like an older man standing next to the house. His clothes were splattered with blood and his long white hair was matted and dark at the ends.
He was watching us.
"Drive." Peter croaked.

I threw the car in drive and we sped away, Peter staring behind us until we rounded the corner.
We sat in silence as I drove dangerously fast around the twists and turns. Glancing to my side I saw him, pale and grimacing, eyes locked on the road ahead.
"There's blood on your car." He said blankly.
I nodded, not wanting to think about the dead dog that now laid in the woods.
"Was that him?"
"Yeah, that was Master." I thought he was going to be on the verge of tears until I glanced back over and saw the stoic nature of his face, "He's seen you. You're not going to be safe."
"I'll be fine," I insisted, "Don't worry about me."
"No, Bowen, you need to worry. You don't know what he could do."
"I'm not scared, I'm just worried about you. But we'll be fine, we just need to get far away."
"No, no, no, no," he murmured into his hands, "You don't know."
"Just breathe Peter. We're going to deal with this a step at a time."
"What about your dad?"
"He's staying with a friend. I'll call him later and, I don't know, tell him something to convince him that he shouldn't go back."
Peter sat there for a while, breathing loud and fast.
I let him do it. I let him panic quietly until the panting began to taper off and he calmed down.
We pulled into a gas station as soon as I was comfortable stopping. The lack of food was causing my brain to lose some of its dexterity.
"Do you want anything?" I asked when I saw that he had no intention of getting out.
"No, just hurry." He said, leaning his head against the window.
I ran inside, buying energy drinks, candy and jerky. I figured that would tide him over when he gave in and ate.
After using the bathroom I went back out to the car where I saw Peter, eyes closed.
I smacked on the window, causing him to jump.
"No sleeping," I yelled through the glass. The last thing we needed right now was for him to go full on rogue while I was trying to drive.
"Please don't do that." He said as I got back into the car.
"You know you can't sleep."
"I wasn't, I was just resting my eyes."
"Well, you can't do that either," I said, opening a can of energy drink, "Take this."
He grabbed it from my hands, obviously a little grumpy, then we pulled back onto the state road.
After an hour I took a random turn and continued, just in case they tried to follow us.
"Bo," he said, after hours of silence, I turned down the radio, "I'm starting to get really tired."
The sun was going down, and I realized I didn't have anywhere to put him. We couldn't legally rent a motel room, and even if we were anywhere near my family or Callie I wouldn't feel comfortable having him in the same house as them.
"Yeah, we need to figure out what we're going to do," I said, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
I pulled into a Walmart, figuring we could find just about anything in there.
"Do you think we could survive a night in the car?" I asked, trying to gauge his response.
"You'd have to tie me down." He said.
We sat in silence for a minute, "Well we don't have a lot of options."
We both got out of the car and walked in. It felt like everyone could smell the tired sadness wafting off of us.
We grabbed rope, duct tape, sanitation masks, and oven mitts. Ignoring the curious eye of the checkout girl, we paid for everything and quickly got back to the car.
"Were lucky I'm good at saving money, you're expensive." I tried to joke. He smiled but seemed to wary to let out a laugh.
I could tell already, it was going to be a long night.

We drove out to a rural field and pulled off to the side of the road. It was unlikely that anyone would bother us, people who live off busy roads tend to recognize a tired traveler and leave them be.
As the light began to disappear from the sky I got to work taping the oven mitts around his hands so he wouldn't be able to claw anything. Then I leaned the seat back until he was comfortable and began winding the rope around him.
He laid still, allowing me to subdue him to the best of my ability. I taped his ankles together and put the mask over his nose and mouth so he couldn't bite.
When I felt he was sufficiently tied down I crawled back into the driver's seat and leaned it back so that I was eye level with him.
He turned his head to me and said, "I'm sorry about this."
I chuckled, "it's not your fault."
"Yes, it is. None of this would have happened if I wasn't here." All I could really see were his eyes, but they were sad enough. It hurt to watch him like this. He was such a happy person, he deserved to always be that way.
"You didn't kill those people."
"I might as well have." I could see him beginning to drift off. He looked so tired.
"It's them," I said, desperate to break him from this train of thought, "It's not you. They're the killers."
His eyes drifted shut for a second, and then flew open, pitch black.
"I could be a killer too." His voice was low and rumbling, a deep sound that caused the hairs on my arms to stick up. But a second later he shook his head back and forth wildly, and when he turned back around his eyes were the familiar milky blue, "I'm so tired Bo."
My heart sank, "I know, just go to sleep."
He shook his head again, "I can't."
I propped myself up on an elbow and grabbed his chin, forcing his face in my direction, "Listen. I'm not afraid of you, okay? I'm not afraid. Go to sleep."
I let go and he just looked at me for a moment ad I settled back down. But I watched him give in to the tiredness.
For a moment, I saw the stress and sadness melt off his face. He relaxed into the seat and his breathing slowed.
But as soon as he'd stilled he was back up again. With an animalistic squall, he began fighting the restraints. But he was still in the lanky boy's body, so it didn't do much.
After I was sure he wouldn't be escaping I reached up behind myself and clicked the locks shut, which made him roar.
I knew I wouldn't be sleeping, not with him throwing a fit like that.
So I just sat there, and all I could think of was the note in my pocket.
The devil lives in him