

Ursula Van Rensin's

### Haunting Colorado Springs

Luke M. Bartojay

Copyright 2012 Luke M. Bartojay  
Smashwords Edition

### Contents

1-Dawn Mourning and the Burnt One

2-Otto and the Storm Riders

3-Last Band Standing

4-In the Old Crone's Garden

5-The Crying Baby Killer

Dawn Mourning

Dawn Mourning lived in an old Victorian house on Wasatch Street with both her parents, though she really felt that she lived alone. Her bedroom was actually the whole upper floor of the creepy old building that the neighborhood children avoided. She only shared meals a few times a week with her stiff father who sat silently at the head of the monstrous, antique dining room table. Really, Dawn didn't even know what her father did for a living. Her mother was a fidgety woman who never held eye contact longer than a brief glance with anyone. When the floors creaked in the house, her mother always shrank her shoulders, and her dark frightened eyes searched the shadows as if in expectation of a horrible thing about to visit her.

Not only was she alone at home, at school she had no friends. It wasn't only that she had no friends. It was that she was tormented by her peers. There was one event that damned Dawn's childhood. It was when she invited her classmate to spend the night, and into her private world. Laurice Anderson came over with her sleeping bag and teddy bear to the huge, lonely house. As the evening went on; late night television and yawns turned to quieter and quieter conversations about taboo things. They had both been in sexual education the year before in fifth grade. Now they were in sixth grade and they both had a year to consider what they had learned. The difference was that Laurence had a large group of friends and they all joked and laughed about sex together. Dawn, the strange misfit girl; had turned sexual fantasization into a secret study.

Dawn had created a huge folder full of her ideas about the subject of sexual satisfaction. She had written in huge detail all her innocent mind could imagine about satisfying lust. She had also used her awesome artistic skills to draw graphic images of acts between a man and a woman, and also between a woman and another woman. There were literally hundreds of pages of her fantasies. She decided to show them to Laurice at around 12:00 on that tingling and exciting night. Laurice giggled and went through the images and passionately described and yearned for encounters. The lonely girl that had lived on Wahsatch Street her whole life laughed, thinking she had finally made a friend. Drunk on the wings of Dawn's imagination, the two young girls stayed up into the wee hours of the morning and eventually drifted out into the sea of dreams...

Laurice left the next morning and told Dawn that she would call that night. The Saturday night passed and Dawn received no call. Bored, she went to her footlocker to look at her carnal collection. To Dawn's shock she found that every piece of paper she had filed there over the last year was gone! A panic gripped, her chest as her mind raced to think of where her journal could be. She tore through her room searching everywhere. Suddenly she froze. Laurice! She had to have taken it! Dawn immediately got on the phone and called Laurice. Laurice's mother answered and told Dawn that it was too late for phone calls so she should call back the next day. The shaken girl hung up the phone and sat in silence for a long time trying to think of why her new friend would have taken her pictures and stories. The last thing she had heard on the phone had been a far away voice wishing her a good night. Alone and feeling more vulnerable than she ever had, she didn't realize that she would never have a 'good night' again.

Sunday, Dawn sat in a deep depression. Her head spun in confusion as it felt like it would burst into flame whenever embarrassment crept in. She wondered if Laurice would show anyone all the things that had come out of her imagination. Had she done something wrong? Could she be in some sort of trouble? She had always thought that all of the papers she had collected should be kept secret. Why did she have to bring them out last night? The miserable child was too afraid to call Laurice that day as her mind spiraled deeper into worry and fear, but Sunday was a paradise compared to her return to school on the following Monday.

Laurice acted differently than she had been lately when Dawn saw her on the playground before school. Being shy, Dawn found it impossible to approach Laurice and the crowd she was with. A strange feeling came over her as it seemed that the other girls were talking about her, snickering and looking in her direction. Dawn was not a popular girl and most of the student body didn't even known her name. She went through the school day alone as usual and on lunch break sat alone as well. Just as she was about to eat, someone spit a disgusting loogie right on her food. She was shocked, but she didn't get a chance to see who it was. That was only the beginning. Laurice had stolen Dawn's journals, and she and her friends handed out pages of the private dreams recorded there. Dreams now perverted into tools of torture in the hands of her schoolmates; that can be cruel as only the hands of children can be. Dawn slowly realized what had happened, but she could not have known what the rest of the school year held in store: The girls of the school called her horrible names and constantly assaulted her with scathing comments. The boys would trip her, knock her down, and punch her in the back. Sometimes, outside the school they threw rocks at her. The antagonists stole her books or anything else they could get their hands on. Eventually they made a game of spitting on her.

At first Dawn tried to ignore her situation, thinking that her tormenters would stop. She was afraid to tell her teachers what was going on, thinking they might find out about her papers. After a few weeks ,she didn't even expect any other treatment from the kids at school besides cruelty. She never got mad at anyone for what they were doing. She accepted it as normal. This was what Dawn's life became in the sixth grade. The humiliation and abuse caused her mind to shrink into the darkest and most far away place in her imagination to hide. Dawn Mourning existed alone.

In 1987 Dawn had lived in her lonely world for three long and dreamy years. She had become an outsider in her school and could go weeks without uttering a word. The listless girl spent her time at home alone in the upper floor of the house. Dawn rarely even saw her Father and they never spoke. The most contact she shared with her family took place at the foot of the stairs leading to the upstairs part of the house. An envelope was left on a small table at the bottom of her stairs once a month that contained her allowance. If she needed any school papers signed she left them on the table and they would be taken care of. Over the years her Mother had become more jumpy, she was like a frightened mouse that scurried silently about the house. Her shifty eyes were sunk deep into their dark sockets.

Dawn constantly devoured books. She enjoyed gothic horror novels and some of the classics she got her hands on. But mostly she enjoyed romance novels. The girl could easily read and digest 200 to 300 pages a day at the age of fourteen. Something she enjoyed to do was start two or three books at the same time, read until she drifted into a peaceful nap, have a beautiful dream, and wake up to read more.

Dawn listened to the radio and watched television less than she read and dreamed, but she knew of pop culture. She had heard of "Dead Heads". She liked the idea of traveling the world with people who loved and accepted you for who you were.

One day she felt brave enough to walk downtown around Acacia Park to look at the stores there. She took the allowance her father left for her to look for clothes. There was an awesome store that sold clothes from around the world. Places she had never been, amazing places far away. Dawn bought many multi-colored dresses. They flowed down to her ankles and swayed majestically when she walked. She finished the outfits with white puffy blouses. The exotic clothing made her feel like a mysterious and enchanting Gypsy.

The innocent girl imagined that some day she would travel far and wide across the world to find a man to love. She knew in her heart that if she were loved; she could be the best love anyone could ever know. Her high school freshman year was about to start, and sometimes Dawn broke into tears at the thought of the solitary torment she would be forced to endure. Sometimes Dawn cried in hope at the thought of the love she might find.

Dawn walked alone down Wahsatch Street to Palmer High School in the mornings. She had grown comfortable the first month of the school year. None of the other students talked to her, none her peers even gave her a second glance. She was a phantom. Laurice and the other popular girls had their own group that fit in with the athletic boys. Some of the 'jocks' even had their own cars. Dawn even let herself feel happy that she was ignored by the other students. She enjoyed the assignments that she was getting; every single grade was an 'A'. The silent girl also let herself feel a little pride that she was the only one in school that wore the clothes that she did. The beautiful long dresses she wore that reminded her of far away places that she could only imagine: Romania, India, and Mongolia. She was unique.

In the mornings before school she would comb her long, straight, brown hair that flowed down her back in a wistful silence. She would repeat in her mind: "I don't need any of you; I will find the one I love and see the world. I will find him and he will love me..." It was a religious mantra she quoted in loneliness every morning.

It was a chilly October morning and frost clung to the lawns in front of the homes on the way to school from Dawn's house. She was wearing a light jacket and one of her trademark long dresses. This was her favorite skirt; it was dark brown with red and white patterns. The amazing designs reminded her of the gypsies of Eastern Europe. She would go away to those dark, far away mountains some day.

The sun rising above Colorado Springs hadn't burnt off the gray clouds of the overcast morning sky. The dew of the morning seemed to absorb the sounds of the city. Dawn walked peacefully in her usual daydream on her way to school.

Her heart seemed to explode in her chest when she heard the first shout.

"Get Her!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Dirty, Dirty girl!"

"Grab her!" Young men's voices yelled. Five muscular youths all burst out from between two closely spaced houses and surrounded the terrified girl. All five of them were dressed in black and wearing rubber Halloween masks, which added to the shock of the ambush. Dawn clamped her eyes shut, covered her ears, and dropped to her knees. She felt a solid kick to her back that made her bite her tongue, as she was knocked to the ground.

"Just do it man! Hurry up!" One of the masked attackers yelled. All of the boys laughed and hooted. One of them grabbed Dawn's foot and yanked it hard, straightening out her leg and badly skinning her knee. Another one of the boys was pushing her body to the ground. She was petrified with fear. In an instant her favorite dress was torn off of her.

"I got it! Get her!" An excited voice yelled. Suddenly, she felt something warm and sticky pouring over her. She managed to curl into the fetal position and cover her head.

"See ya later sexy!"

"Dirty girl!"

"Love that chocolate!" The boys all laughed as they ran back between the houses. The assailants had disappeared faster than they had come. Dawn lay on the ground in a tight ball of shaking muscle, with the adrenaline coursing through her body she couldn't even feel the cold October breeze that swirled around her. She licked her lips and tasted chocolate. She realized that they had torn off her favorite dress, ran off with it, and covered her with chocolate syrup. She got up, barely able to see through her tear-filled eyes and ran back home. When she got there, she sat in the empty bathtub and cried alone all day.

Joey Mansfield

Joey grew up on the west side of Colorado Springs. He enjoyed watching television, football during recess at school, and in general, he learned quickly. Most of all he loved learning about all things that had engines. Joey had a few friends that were his age that lived close by, but his closest neighbor was a boy that was two years older than him. Two years isn't much of a difference between adults, but with children it can be a huge difference. Disagreements between the two were usually settled with physical violence. The fights between them were often left open to decision as to who actually won. This went on through elementary school, but they remained begrudging friends until junior high.

'Sevies', or seventh graders were often picked on in the junior high scheme of things (seventh to ninth grade). The reputation that Joey had gained as a fighter in elementary school had grown. He was used to scrapping because of his constant brawls with his older neighbor. When he arrived on the seventh grade scene, he decided to apply himself more to his studies. His mother had recently remarried and had become very involved with a local church. The church held a youth group after school on Wednesdays, and Joey was expected to attend.

On a fateful day at youth group there was a soccer game being held on the tennis courts at the local elementary school. The church had arranged with the school for the use of the hard, asphalt courts. After all it was one big, happy community. The church youth group was a great way for the children of the area to grow and socialize in a healthy environment. In that soccer game, Joey was body checked and yelled;

"Come on!" As he pushed off of the ninth grader that had run into him. Joey didn't realize that the other player had actually been trying to goad him into a fight. When he turned to chase the ball the other boy yelled.

"Hey!" Joey turned to look back at him. In that instant the other boy executed a perfect round house kick to his head. Stars exploded in Joey's sight as he lost consciousness. His head bounced off the pavement as his skull smacked the hardened ground. The damage of the kick was doubled by the violent impact with the asphalt; leaving injuries on both sides of his damaged head. He was eventually awakened by an adult chaperone who gently said:

"Your bell was rung." Joey was led back to the church by the arm. He could only see in a small spot right where he tried to focus, his peripheral sight was gone. His Mother was called to take him to the local doctor's office. Joey couldn't remember anything of the rest of the day. He lay in his bed that night with a headache like he had never known. It was later learned that the ninth grade attacker had been studying martial arts.

When Joey returned to school, a group of the other ninth graders made a game of hitting Joey in the back of the head while he was sitting in class, and when he walked down the halls between classes. Many times Joey would feel his consciousness start to fail, and it would feel as though there were needles in his tongue. This game started even before the bandages came off of his head. His grades failed and never recovered, he also lost interest in hobbies, and friendships. He became a listless dreamer.

During this time, Joey's Step Father's job transferred out of town. Rather than going with his Mother, He moved in with his Father and into a new school. He quickly learned that he fit in with the 'stoner' crowd. When he hung out with the other kids dropping acid and smoking pot; he wasn't expected to hold a 'normal' conversation. He enjoyed the late night together. His only real interest was heavy metal music, movies and automobile engines. Soon he became an outcast, even among his new friends. He could still get drugs through his connections, and he spiraled into a drug induced exile.

On a warm summer night that was the summer before Joey was to enter high school he went to a beer party. Joey didn't usually drink alcohol; he was a "pot head". He went anyway; he stole a bottle of vodka from his dad's house to drink that night. Instead of the quiet, stoned nights he was used to; Joey became loud and argued philosophy with a group of strangers that really didn't care about his ramblings. They egged him on mockingly through out the night. When Joey was ready to puke and pass out the group of teenagers took him outside and took turns pummeling him. One of the assailants even broke his hand Joey's head after he was already knocked out and laying in a pool of blood and puke. Joey would never go to a drinking party again.

Joey was an outcast; when he met a new group of people: he tried to find friends, but it never worked out. He got a job at a local garage on the border of Manitou Springs and Old Colorado city. The loner quickly found that he could work on cars without dealing with people.

In 1990, he was eighteen and had been working at the garage for a couple years. He lived in a "T. B." cottage behind Mrs. Gates' house. It was near downtown Colorado Springs. In 'The Springs', many old houses had small one bedroom lofts built behind the main home for tuberculosis victims, in their backyards. Colorado was thought to be a good climate to cure the disease at the time. Now the small homes served as sources of extra income for the property owners to rent out to patrons. Joey's 'T.B.' fit him just fine. It was all he needed: A bed room, a bath room, and a living room. He had a car; it was just an old beater. He liked the gas guzzling boat, a blue Delta '88, 1979 Oldsmobile. It was two couches on wheels. On I-25, free on the highway; the beast could fly. Joey had never gotten a ticket, but he smiled to himself when he thought that he should have plenty.

Dawn Morning and Joey Mansfield

In 1990 Dawn was still a straight 'A' student. She still barely even saw her skittish mother and cold distant father. The girl realized that most people knew what their parents did for a living, but she didn't. Travel was involved in her father's job, yet they never spoke on the rare occasion that she did see him.

No one spoke to her at school. The boy's that stolen her dress and covered her with chocolate sauce had hung her dress on the flag pole the following day. They bragged about their 'prank'; until everyone heard about it all around the school. Eventually, Dawn had to be brought to the office. She denied that it had happened after the dean explained that he would call the police so she could press charges. The boys had also been spoken to and frightened quite badly. After this occasion Dawn was avoided by everyone at school and so her silent lonely life went on.

The weather was always beautiful in the dreamy sunlit afternoons of the blue sky covered Colorado Springs days: Dawn enjoyed long walks during this time. Her long flowing dresses that she was so fond of swayed with her steps; the hem tickling her feet wrapped in leather sandals. She walked almost in a dream around the city. Sometimes she would look around and realized she didn't even know where she was anymore: Discovering a new place; she would look at the mountains and start walking again, with not quite a smile on her face. It was one such day she heard a kind and strange voice. It seemed to harbor some pain:

"Hey!" haven't seen you through here." She thought at first to ignore him and keep walking. She looked over at the boy working on a car next to the sidewalk. She quickly took in her surroundings. There was a garage with one of the large doors open, and several cars parked around the building.

"Sorry I didn't mean to scare you," again the voice full of kindness and pain. The boy smiled and blushed. He wasn't used to talking to strangers, much less a strange girl. Dawn stopped and looked at him full on. His eyes went to his own hands, which he was wringing a dirty rag. He was wearing a greasy old monkey suit the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. His hands and forearms had black oil stains on them; some old, some new. Dawn realized she was looking into his hazel eyes below his short brown hair, and she caught her breath. The two hooked into each others eyes, locking these for a moment as if both were afraid to make the next move. Joey looked to the ground, blushing even more.

"Sorry, I guess I was just saying hello." Dawn cocked her head like an animal trying to understand something new. She did something that moment that was totally out of character tried to speak. Instead of words, a broken cough came from her mouth. Joey smiled warmly and looked up. Dawn cleared her throat, and with a quiet voice managed to shyly reply:

"Hello."

"Road dust." Joey gestured to the street.

"Wuh?"

"Road dust. Walking on the side of the road you can get road dust in your throat."

"Uh huh." Dawn mumbled as she started walking again.

"My name is Joey. I work here." Dawn looked at him. The young man looked about her age.

"How old are you?" Dawn asked, somewhat sheepishly. She couldn't believe she was talking to him. It was as if she was possessed. She felt like she was doing something wrong, getting in trouble.

"Eighteen. Why?"

"You work here?" Her voice uncertain, seemed to float from her mouth.

"I've been working here for about two years, longer than some of the guys. I'm Joey. What's your name?" Dawn thought of ignoring him. There was something about him she couldn't figure out. He was dirty, rough looking. Dawn sized him up again. In his eyes there was a kindness and pain, a sort of longing. His voice seemed friendly, with no sarcasm, and again a sadness, and pain. She thought she loved him in an instant. How could she? Her mind screamed. You don't even know this guy. She still decided to answer the gruffly looking grease monkey.

"Dawn."

"Wow, I like that name. Do you live around here?" Joey asked with excitement. Now that was too much, Dawn decided. She made up her mind to keep walking. Joey's heart dropped into his shoes. He glanced at her walking away and got back to work. Joey saw Dawn walk back by the shop later that evening. He watched her go and as she did; she looked into the garage. His heart was lifted.

A week after Joey and Dawn had first met; it was a warm, pleasant, Colorado Springs day. Joey had worked on several cars and he was exhausted .Then he saw her. Dawn was standing in front of the garage on Colorado Avenue. She was wearing a white blouse that fit her perfectly. Her skirt went from thin her waist to her ankles. The soft breeze made her dress sway, as though she were surrounded by dreams .She was looking right at him! Joey felt his heart jump in his chest.

"Jerry! One minute!" Joey yelled to his boss.

"Hi, Dawn!" He exclaimed as he stopped short in front of her. Dawn looked into his eyes again, probing. He was about her height, and he had a bit of a muscular build. She was looking into his eyes. She saw the same thing she noticed before: loneliness, pain, kindness, and longing. This time, his face was alight with excitement as well.

"What are you doing here?"

"I like to walk. I like walking by here, and you're almost done today. Do you like to walk?" It had taken Dawn a week to muster up the courage to come back here. Half of that time was spent figuring out what to say. Now that she did, she wasn't sure if it was the best thing to do. She didn't even know anything about Joey. Joey didn't know what to say either. There was a long and uncomfortable silence, as the two tried to maintain eye contact between looks around. Joey scuffed the ground with his foot and then looked up. Dawn broke the silence:

"I was thinking of going up to down town Manitou."

"O.k. let me finish up. I'll be a little bit; you can wait in the office." Dawn followed Joey to the office where there were seats for customers. Joey went back to the garage.

"You can go." Joey's boss said over the excited mechanic's shoulder.

"I'll finish up."

"Thanks Jerry, I'll make it up. I'll be back to get my car in a bit. We're going for a walk, I gotta get cleaned up!" Joey washed up in the back room, and changed to street clothes. His finger nails were still black. He met Dawn, and they left together.

It was obvious from the start that neither of them had much in the way of social skills. Still, with every little nuance and gesture: There was love. They walked along the strip of Manitou in rapture. Every little thing would become a memory to be cherished. Joey pointed out tourists and Dawn actually smiled from time to time. In one fated evening of wandering from store to store, though the park, and down streets; they fell in love. They were both lonely, so hurt, and so left behind by the world. Just being accepted for one evening of sharing good will, and not being on the defensive, was enough for both of them to believe they had found kindred spirits. Their souls were meant to be together.

"I can't believe I said hello to you."

"I know I never do that."

"If we had been too afraid to talk to each other; this never would have happened."

"What do we do now?"

"I don't know."

"Me neither."

They walked back to the garage and Joey gave Dawn a ride home. Joey couldn't sleep that night. Dawn cried into her pillow, waiting for her heart to break. It felt like a great joy rippled through her at the same time as a pain tore at the edges of her reality. The emotional roller coaster seemed to be too much to bear. Was Joey the one?

Dawn was almost out of high school. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do after. Joey had dropped out, but he was already a great mechanic. Over the next few months the two loner's love grew. They seemed that they were meant to be together in every way. Joey didn't see his parents, but once in a blue moon. Dawn's home situation was the same. Joey had come to accept it. Dawn had been to Joey's house, but they didn't spend much time there. They found other things to do. The same held true with Dawn's house. When they did stop by Dawn's one evening; Joey entered the front door tentatively.

"Hello." Joey said when he glanced Dawn's mom ducking into a door way.

"I said, just leave her." Dawn whispered. Joey furrowed his brow and nodded. After a brief visit: Joey left to get some sleep. Joey dreamed about Dawn every night. Dawn would dance with joy every night, with the ecstasy of finding someone to love, and who loved her in return. They had fallen so deeply in love that they were each other's whole sense of happiness.

Dawn got home from school, and was cramming her homework before Joey got off work. There was a loud knock at the front door. She ran down stairs and glanced down the hall. Her mother was peeking around the corner. Dawn felt a confidence at answering the door. Joey had given her that confidence. She tilted her head as she realized that it was too early for Joey. He also did not knock like that. She opened the door tentatively.

"Dawn? Dawn Mourning?" A police officer stood in front of her. His shirt was bulging from the bullet proof vest beneath it. His radio crackled as he reached down and turned off the volume. Dawn didn't answer. She was intimidated by the large man.

"Dawn?" He repeated. He had something in his hand. She looked at it. He lowered it to his side so she couldn't make it out.

"Dawn Mourning?" He spoke again, more forcefully.

"Yes?"

"May I come inside?"

"What is this about?" She mumbled.

"I am Officer Glenn Ramone. May I speak with you inside?"

"You can speak with me here."

"I think you may wish to be sitting down." The officer sadly attempted a warm smile.

"Can I help you?" Dawn said back as strongly as she could muster.

"There has been an accident."

"Yes?"

"This is your student I.D...." Dawn felt the blood drain from her face. She had given her student I.D. to Joey as a love memento to carry in his wallet.

"There has been an accident..."

"What kind of accident? Just tell me!" She snapped in panic. She knew in her shaking heart that it was about her only love; her savior, Joey. Instead of being scared, she made herself mad as her last line of defense against a feeling of horror that threatened to overcome her. It was completely out of character for the girl. Where Joey was concerned, if he was in danger, she felt ready to become a feral beast... Joey was her life.

"I'm afraid there was an accident at the garage today. Joey was killed. There was an explosion. We found your I.D. among his belongings, and some of his co-workers said that you have been dating." Officer Ramone tried to maintain eye contact with the frail girl. Suddenly, she swooned. The officer caught her in his arms. He gently laid her on the porch and put his hand behind her head.

Dawn awoke with two paramedics tending to her. Officer Glenn Ramone was accepting a glass of water from her mother's trembling hand. The cowardly woman that was her mother stood trembling in the doorway. Dawn's vision swam.

"Here you are dear, take a sip." The shaken girl took the glass. One of the emergency medical technicians was taking her blood pressure on the other arm.

"What happened?" Dawn questioned. Her mind was surrounded by a swarm of confusion.

"You feinted." The strong officer replied kindly.

"I don't understand. What happened to Joey?" Dawn murmured.

"We are investigating, just relax honey."

"I don't understand. What happened?"

"There was an explosion. That's all we know." Dawn was blinded by her tears. A great pain wracked her body as the realization of what she had been told took hold of her. She felt as if her heart was torn from her body.

"I would like to go inside." Her shaking voice seemed to plea.

"Here take this card. This is my number. I can help you get in touch with someone who can talk to you about all of this. Her name is Dr. Drapier. It is her job to help people get through these kinds of tragedies." Dawn's numb hand took the card. She walked up the stairs in a daze. She didn't even hear the distant voices flowing up behind her. She went to the bathroom and sat in the empty bathtub, there she cried for the rest of the day.

The next morning she prepared for school on time. Her heart was an aching hole in her soul. She had been up all night crying. Part of her refused to believe Officer Ramone. She had to know. Instead of going to school at the dreaded Palmer High; she began the long walk down Colorado Avenue....

She stood at the same spot she had when she returned to meet with Joey, Joey Mansfield. She had practiced writing her name as Dawn Mansfield, over and over again.

Dawn Mourning...

Dawn Mourning...

Dawn Mansfield... Now she could never marry Joey.

They had made each other so happy. How could that be gone now? How could this be? She asked herself as she stood looking at the fire damage to the garage of Joey's work place. The black tendrils etched into the store front by the smoke of the flames that snuffed out her love's life, reached for the sky. They seemed to beckon to her, even as she could not bear to look. How?

Dawn walked home in a daze. Once she got there, she went upstairs to her flat. She went to her bathroom and broke apart her leg razor. She put on the outfit she wore the first night she had went on the walk with Joey to Manitou. The walk that had changed her heart, had given her hope, and made her decide that she could find love.

She climbed into her empty bathtub and with a tear... She slit her wrists. Watching her own blood drain into the bottom of the tub, she felt release. Dawn grew cold, not a shivering cold, a numb, releasing cold. In an after thought; she slit her throat.

The broken girl laid back in the tub, bleeding. She had one thought: With every part of her dying spirit, as her eyes fluttered shut; she cried out to Joey. Another soul called to her from the void and her soul began to follow... Joey, she could feel him there. Her consciousness spent its last split second leaving her mind to completely enter the spiritual realm with Joey: She was wracked with horrific shock. Joey was there, but then he was torn away. A swirling sea of darkness tore them from each other. Waves of all negativity, thousands of them at once slammed into Dawn's feeble soul: Dawn felt every negative emotion she had ever experienced in her whole life hit her all at once. Time turned inside out as the split second of her death lasted forever: Fear, Embarrassment, hatefulness, misery, loneliness, devastation, horrible loss...

Through the tidal wave of other worldly pain: She could sense Joey again. He was there. Her lost soul reached out to him; she felt the warmth of his love... Then Panic: She felt something go wrong. Joey couldn't find her! She felt him grow angry as she reached out to him. His anger turned to flames. She felt his soul go further away. No! Her soul cried: I'm here... She was alone.

The calm where she found Joey was the eye of the storm and it passed. She had no fear as the waves crashed down on her this time, though: Joey was looking for her. The weak hope of her pitiful soul in this nameless place was enough to fight off the fear, but fear was only one emotion, one wave, one current in a fathomless sea. The void left by the absence of fear was quickly filled with an all powerful, immortal despair. She was suddenly so full of certainty that he would never find her; that the tides of dread became a sea of sorrow. A second was a year, a year was a second. She waited for Joey and her soul cried; lost and alone in the black abyss...

Dawn Mourning and the Burnt One

It had been years since Joey and Dawn had died. Their tragic deaths went unnoticed by most of Colorado Springs. There were a few that remembered; even though they ignored the unwanted thoughts: Laurice Anderson was one of them. All of the boys that had stolen Dawn's dress and covered her with chocolate sauce had the memory of the tragedy gnawing at the back of their minds over the years too.

On a chilly October night, Laurice was at the Prime Night tavern on Wasatch Street. She didn't have to work the next day, but the friends she was with did. She decided to stay by herself anyway. She began to drink heavily as she enjoyed the blaring music. Laurice knew that she shouldn't drive, but eventually she fumbled for her keys. The intoxicated woman walked slowly, with deliberate steps towards her car in the parking lot.

She put her keys into the car door, when Laurice suddenly stopped to listen. She thought that she heard a soft noise. Laurice walked to the front of her car facing the sidewalk. Kneeling there on the pavement was a young girl in a long dress and a white blouse that was crying into her hands.

"Hello. Can I help you?" Laurice asked as she moved closer to the girl who was crying with her hands over her face. The girl looked up. There were gashes on her wrists and throat. Her pale face was full of anguish.

"Dawn?" Laurice gasped in shock. The utter horror of the sight froze her on the spot. In that same instant she felt a searing heat surround her and the smell of acrid smoke filled her nostrils. She turned to look behind her. Towering over Laurice; was a terrifying image of hate and anger. It was wreathed in a ghostly orange fire. In that instant the flames spread out to surround her. Laurice Anderson did not even have time to scream, she was burnt to death on the spot. Her charred remains dropped to the sidewalk in a smoldering heap.

Months after Laurice Anderson's closed casket funeral; the police detectives still could not explain the death. Some suggested spontaneous human combustion. It was almost a joke around the station. It was a joke that sent a chill down most Officers' spines.

John Boyd was one of the masked attackers that had assaulted Dawn so many years ago. He was getting off work late. He was very proud of his construction experience and he would become a foreman soon. John was leaving the work offices on Moreno Avenue around sunset. Tired from a long day's work, he walked across the parking lot alone. John put the key into the door of his truck, he stopped: He heard what sounded like a young girl whimpering coming from the front of his vehicle.

"Hello?" He said softly. He peered around the front of his truck. He saw a young girl in a long dress and a white blouse kneeling on the ground, sobbing. Her hands covered her face.

"Can I help you?" The girl looked up at him...

Otto and the Storm Riders

The bleak sunlight of the chill day seemed to bleach the color from the land as Steve Harran looked to the mountains. He stood in his loft above the bar he owned: The Squirming Toad. The bar sat at the top of a hill over looking downtown Colorado Springs, on Twenty First Street. In the parking lot, the black lab that usually roamed the area sniffed in the grass at the edge of the vacant lot next to his tavern. He had given it a bone now and then, but he didn't have one today.

It was October again, two days before Halloween. He didn't have an act for the bar tonight. He never booked a band for the rustic, cozy bar on the 29th. He knew what to expect tonight. He had to open the bar and face the music anyway. Just the same as every time he had to on this night since he opened the Squirming Toad. Just as he would forever; he thought as he released a tired sigh.

He went down the stairs to the bar and had his breakfast. As always, a red beer: two parts beer, one part tomato juice. The dim lighting in the bar was usually comfortable, today it seemed to make the shadows in the room breath as he turned on the neon lights in the windows. The 'open' light flickered to life; it's blue and red glow sent a purple haze into the gloom surrounding it. His morning crowd would start filing in soon. He had plenty of patrons that came in for their morning drink before work. For a drink first thing in the morning, he thought, as he washed his glass. His morning drink.

The first two costumers walked in through the doors at 9:30 in high spirits, they were laughing and smiling: Bruce, and Paul. The two men worked in heating and air conditioning. They came in almost every morning and waited for their call telling them what job to attend to while they caught a buzz."Usual poison, gentlemen?"

"You know it!" Bruce chuckled. Steve put out a bottle of beer before each of them.

"You don't look so hot old man. You're under the weather?" Paul asked, politely.

"Almost slept in, how's work?" The three men made small talk as other patrons trickled in. Around noon there was a steady mummer of conversation over the juke box that played sixties music like a pleasant spirit that warmed the room.

A stiff wind seemed to stress the building and some of the men looked to the windows. The sound of a lone motorcycle rumbled outside. Not an unusual sound here in the 'Springs; so no one thought twice about it. Steve's eyes seemed to lose focus for a second. He lost his composure and looked quickly at the clock as he dropped a bottle into the recycling bin letting it hit the bottom loudly. It was a long enough second to be noticed by the men near him.

"You alright there man?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah I'm fine. If you can keep a secret - its time for my lunch." Steve opened his second beer for the day. "No work for today?" The bartender asked. Bruce and Paul looked at the man who suddenly seemed older, and more frail.

"We'll be alright!" Paul chimed in. "How about you?"

"Fine", Steve took a long pull off his beer. "Fine."

High noon; The sun would set, that fact brought no peace to Steve, he was too wise for that. Seven long years he had gone through this ordeal. Seven years and it was always the same. Focus! He told himself: You should be an old pro at this. He served the bar as they all drank and laughed, but his mind kept wandering. He could still laugh too, but not today. An unnatural fear was gnawing at the edges of his very soul. He slowly got it under control. It was threatening him, but he managed to rein it in enough to function. He decided to dust the bottles on the wall behind the bar to keep busy.

The aged owner of the Squirming Toad was suddenly feeling very light- headed. The sound of relaxed conversation mingling with the occasional laughter, usually welcome, filled the air eerily as the intensity of the sounds ebbed up and down to compete with the jukebox. Between two songs, the room grew quiet. Steve's guard dropped, but he was so on edge that sudden a burst of laughter was enough to make him clench his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment.

Had he really heard a bike pull up outside? It was taking an eternity for the rider to come in. Was he really losing his mind this time? He looked to the clock on the wall; "yea" it was noon. It should be starting now.

The door facing the bar from across the dance floor opened slowly. A chill breeze carried in a few dead leaves through the opening. There was no shadow cast by the large man that was dressed in biker leathers who appeared in the entrance, as he filled the doorway. He stood scanning the room, but it was as if his probing eyes were blind. He did not remove his shades or move his head as someone would that was using their eyes. He moved as someone would move through a maze that had already memorized. It was Allen... Steve recognized him. Of course, he recognized him; he was a member of a local motorcycle gang called the Thunder. The only problem was that he had been dead for about seven years. It was something that Steve could not tell anyone. Something that he knew, yet could not quite comprehend, at least not in a way that he could describe, not rationally. Definitely not in a way, he could describe without seeming mad.

The heavily built man, if you could call him that; sat alone at a table far away from the bar. An aura of fear seemed to emanate from him. Fear and sorrow, something you could almost taste. It was like feeling pity for someone who was shaking you out of your boots at the same time. All the way to the far side of the room it could be sensed. The drinking men tried to shrug off the odd sensation and resume their conversations, now though. A bit more quietly.

Steve knew what he would order, even though it had been a year since he had been here. A year, 'to the day,' and the same time of the day: High noon. Steve sat a pitcher on the table, along with a frosted mug with his shaking hands.

"On yer tab?"; "Yeah! That will be fine. "The grizzled biker grumbled, rubbing his belly:

"How's business?" "It's fine." Steve replied:

"You know it is."

"Yeah I guess so." Allen poured his beer. The only thing was; Allen never touched the pitcher or the glass. He just made the motions. He threw back his head as if quenching a great thirst. Nobody at the bar even noticed that the pitcher and the mug sat on the table completely untouched. Steve took his place behind the bar. I can handle this, He thought to himself. Allen will be gone, Steve; he reminded himself. You got the whole night, the whole night.

The biker's visit to the Squirming Toad was as uneventful as usual. He went through the motions of drinking his pitcher, but it sat full before him. Steve was still the only one that noticed him go through the strange ritual. Allen got up and left; his bike thundered into the distance. As it did, the mood seemed to lighten in the softly lit room. The voices in the Toad went from an under spoken murmur, back to the bar's usual happy tone. The music in the jukebox even seemed to pick up as a new song burst into the air. Steve steeled himself for the night to come. The cornered man steeled himself for the Night of Thunder

Mr. Harran, as some of his patrons called him, had his third beer of the day in the afternoon right when his evening help came in. It was an hour earlier than he usually did. The two young women that worked for him: Dorothy and Michelle noticed.

"What's the plan there, dude?" Dorothy smiled.

"Don't have one, same old stuff you put on a shingle." He smiled back in a friendly way. He knew to expect his next ghostly riders. It was nearing happy hour, Happy hour indeed. He shook his head. All of his living patrons would be gone, by the time he had to be faced with the specters. He would be tending the dead for the rest of the evening.

Around 4:30, a lightning storm thundered across the sky above the Front Range. Just like every 29th, Steve recalled morbidly. He suspected that it would be the same forever. He served his guests at the Squirming Toad in a daze.

A lone woman walked into the bar. Steve sized her up. It looked like she was dressed to kill. He didn't recognize her and frankly; he thought she seemed out of place. Bruce and Paul were long gone, but Derrick, a regular who thought of himself as a young stud, sat at the bar. The young man followed Steve's eyes and noticed the voluptuous woman.

"Need a drink?" He asked politely. The young woman sat next to him at the bar.

"You buying?"

"The first one, you gotta tell me your name after that." Derrick responded with a friendly smile. The two enjoyed their drinks as Steve tended the bar. He constantly checked the time as he moved around the bar fluidly in a well-practiced routine. He was nervous because he knew what was coming. He knew he had to keep his cool to get through the night. He still found himself looking at the clock every few minutes as it ticked its way closer to midnight, as if ticking it's time closer to when he would be forced to march to the gallows.

Happy hour arrived too early in Steve's mind. The sound of the rack being broken on the pool table made him jump. He tried to look casual as he checked to see if anyone noticed. The woman talking to Derrick smiled at him. He nodded to her.

"Another round?" Steve asked.

"No we're heading out. Have a good night, Mr. Harran." Derrick got up to leave with his new friend and threw a five on the bar. Steve smiled at the leaving couple.

"Good night." The old bartender replied. A chill went down his spine as he caught himself looking at the clock.

"Good night." He said under his breath. A dark, anxious feeling kept trying to creep its way into his heart. Steve fought to push it out. He kept trying to focus on the here and now.

The din of conversation ebbed and flowed through the air in the Squirming Toad. Steve found himself catching certain words that seemed to hang above the friendly voices. They were almost like whispers that were coming from inside, his own mind.

"Elvira...Crystal......Otto... Thunder... Otto... Betrayal..." Steve tried to ignore the words as they wracked his nerves. The man tended the bar in a stiff daze. He avoided conversation, which was easy enough in the dim, smoky bar. In his mind, he felt helpless as he kept hearing the whispers echo in his head. They seemed to fill his skull with a cloud of thick fog that muddled his thoughts and would not allow him to concentrate.

The stress of keeping himself from giving into the madness was overwhelming. His neck and back were stiffening up and his palms were sweaty. He poured himself a double shot of tequila. The warm sensation of the alcohol caressed his throat as he let himself enjoy the intoxicating effect. It was only a temporary solution to a permanent problem, but it sure felt right.

The night wore on; creeping like the darkness spreading over the land as the sun set behind the mountains. The clock seemed to be being manipulated by some malevolent force pushing it forward into the evening closer, and closer to midnight. Closer to the encounter, that Steve was destined to endure, again. He felt as though his soul was trapped in a never-ending vicious cycle.

The jukebox went silent for a while. Finally, two women went to it to pick out more songs. They laughed and argued over what songs to play next. When the music began, again it was different. Before the music had stopped, it seemed happy, up beat. When it started again, it was as if, an evil spirit had taken over every note that came from the loud speakers. Some of the songs had already played tonight, but now they were perverted into the darkness. Every drumbeat seemed to create a horrible puncture in the soul. The guitar riffs shredded the mind. The bass lines caused a shudder of terror in the heart. The vocals seemed to mock and taunt.

Steve Harran was not the only one to notice the change. The small crowd in the bar seemed to become uneasy. They started to look around the main room in an almost paranoid way. When there was a little laughter, it was a nervous, dishonest laugh trying to fight off the dread seeping into the Toad, without a chance of success. In no time, the men playing pool were gone. The pool tables glowed green under the hooded lights. The well-worn tables usually had people waiting to hit some balls all night. It was unnerving to Steve to see them unused so early.

The smoke in the room swirled lazily beneath the hooded, dim lights of the lonely saloon. Steve could see faces form in the haze, always out of the corner of his eye. When he would turn his head to see them, the visages would vanish in a puff of mist. The dwindling number of people left in the bar seemed to jump at the shadows. No one was ordering fresh drinks either. One by one, two by two, the patrons started to leave the Squirming Toad. Some seemed almost frantic. Others left with a feeling of uneasiness that they did not quite recognize as fear, yet they knew that they had to leave. Every time someone left, Steve felt the urge to beg them to stay. He knew he would end up facing the night alone. Just like every year, he felt as if he wanted to hide, but he knew he could not.

"Where is everybody going?" Dorothy asked as the bar emptied, she seemed to be able to the fight off the dread feeling that permeated the bar. Michelle however, was jittery. Steve knew she was feeling it. That much was easy to tell.

"You two can go. I think that will be all for the night. I'll close up."

"You want us to clean up?"

"No. I got it. Go ahead and split your tips. I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right, if you say so! But it's only like 9:00."

"I know it babes, it'll be fine." The girls split up their tips. It was not a very good night for either of them as they pocketed the cash. Dorothy remembered this happening before, but she still had not connected the date. She picked up a couple of glasses off a table.

"Really, you two can go!" Steve's usual friendly tone was missing from his voice. Being, replaced by a harsh, firm snap. Dorothy and Michelle jumped immediately. It startled them and Steve was instantly sorry.

"Really, you two can go have a good night." Steve said with his normal, warm voice.

"Good night Mr. Harris." The two girls said, as they left the bar with a quick step, and glances over their shoulders.

The door closed behind them and Steve was alone in the Squirming Toad. The silence of the room seemed to create a vacuum around his ears.

The tavern owner's soul felt as if it could scream as he sent out the two friendly-spirited girls that worked so devotedly for him. He knew that he had used his voice harshly. It was for the girl's own good; theirs and his. He could never ask them to face this horror with him.

It had been seven years, Seven long years. Sometimes it seemed like an eternity, compared to the life he had enjoyed before the Squirming Toad. Other times it seemed like only a flick on the second hand on an hour clock. Whatever it was; it was a time filled with dread and apprehension. His beard grew with the passing months. His body grew into a memory of its former state of youthful vitality. It was as if time mocked the over all former health of the aging man. His mind suffered from the stress of the years. Normal conversations angered him at times. They almost drove him mad in some instances. Sometimes he was so irritable that he drove away customers. He convinced himself that he did not care. It was his bar after all.

The Squirming Toad was a great bar: somewhat small, great atmosphere, two pool tables, great music, an over all great crowds. Except - for one night a year... It was really an awesome bar. He usually tended it alone until happy hour when Michelle and Dorothy came in. They were always on time with great attitudes. On weeknights, he was not unknown to let the two girls take over the whole bar and slip out. The two worked greatly for him. Even when the bar was getting, slammed during happy hour he could count on them. He loved the two like hard working daughters. Steve felt bad that he had snapped at them tonight, but he knew, it was the only thing he could do. The monotony of his ruminating thoughts as he relived the last seven years of his life drove him mad. He cleaned up the bar; taking his time while avoiding looking at the clock.

Finally, he took out a bottle of whiskey and sat behind the bar with a shot glass. It was 10:00. Two hours, to go...

Nearing midnight, the whiskey bottle sat half empty before Steve. He slammed back one last shot and looked up at the clock, almost time, he sighed. An oppressive weight seemed to press down on him as the wind howled outside. It had been raining off and on all night. Suddenly the wind outside stopped, the silence was almost a physical presence. The old man looked out a window. Thick gray fog surrounded the Squirming Toad. Within the mist; forms and shapes seemed to form and then dissipate, not unlike the smoke had been doing in the bar earlier in the evening. With a shudder, he took his place behind the bar.

The Storm Riders

At two minutes to midnight, a huge rumbling sound surrounded the Squirming Toad. The loud engines of ghastly motorcycles pulling up outside caused Steve's heart to vibrate in his chest. The penetrating sound seemed to shake the whole bar to it's very foundation. The noise sobered the lone bartender up as soon as he heard it. His hands started to shake as he put the whiskey bottle on the shelf behind him. One by one, the engines turned off. Even though the sound of them running was terrifying, the engines going silent was even more horrifying. The riders would be coming in for the night. It became silent as death at the top of the hill where Steve's bar stood. The door slowly opened and stood empty for a long moment as fog crept in over the floor. Suddenly, silently, the first figure entered.

Still in silence, figures started entering the Squirming Toad. Steve recognized the Thunder's members as they walked in. Of course, he recognized all of them. Their eyes were dark holes that seemed blind as they scanned the main room, a mockery of true sight. They took positions around the bar, the same positions as last year. Steve recalled all of their names to himself, how could he forget? In life and now in death: He knew them all.

... The Thunder. James was a large burly man with a heavy beard. Johnny, as always, had a murderous expression on his face. Kurt was a thoughtful man in life. Now he looked as though there wasn't a though in his mind. If any of them could be thought to have minds in their present state. Nikko's face was split with a toothy grin that never went away. Adrian brooded with a serious scowl on his grim face. Adrian was a stark contrast to Nicko, who sat beside him.

Then their were the ones the gang called the three twins: Wild Bill, Izzy, and the Ripper. They had been inseperable in life and now in death. The trio sat at a table away from the bar in the corner. Big Jimmy and Buddy went straight to the pool tables. Richie seemed to float rather than walk to the jukebox. His blind eyes seemed to peer right through the machine.

For a time the room remained as silent as the graves these men had risen from. The ghostly images seemed to be as solid as the living. Then they would become ethereal, almost see through to Steve's unbelieving eyes. After a moment, the horrors would become solid again. A tension filled the air as panic hit Steve in waves. His heart beat in his chest like a hammer against his ribcage. The shaking in his hands spread to the rest of his body. This was the thunder. It wasn't all of them, But Steve Knew why they were here. He knew why they came every year.

Finally, Elvira entered. She was the love of his life. As she entered the bar, the sound of the other biker's voices became audible. The three twin's laughter was horrible as they started playing with a deck of cards at their table. Big jimmy and Buddy went through the motions of breaking the rack at the tables. Nicko and Adrian started a quiet conversation as though they were conspiring. James coughed as he straightened his bushy beard. The bear of a man lit an invisible pipe and took a long, slow pull off of it. Johnny guffawed as he finished what seemed like an insult directed at Kurt.

Steve found himself forgetting about everything else as Elvira made her way to the bar. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her brightly glowing green eyes locked onto his. He couldn't look away. After all this time she held a powerful spell over the man. He was being beaten by the years, yet she was unaffected by time. She was a true image of beauty whose aura generated fear. Steve found himself in the same position he had been in for the last seven years; in love with a dead woman: A dead woman who visited every year.

"What does a woman have to do for a drink around here?" Her voice was like a mixture of tinkling glass, a peaceful brook and a menacing threat. She sat at the bar like a queen surveying her domain. Steve poured a shot of whiskey. She threw back her head and made the motions of taking the shot without touching it. Just like every year.

"That's more like it." She smiled at him.

"Alright boys! Drinks are on me!" She said to the room. A cheer went up around the Squirming Toad. Steve put out pitchers of beer on the bar. The restless spirits went through the motions of picking up the drinks, once again not touching a drop of the precious alcohol.

Steve looked across the bar at Elvira... What Elvira had become. She was still the only ghost in the room that had what could be called eyes; both amazing and horrible to look into. Her gaze was captivating. Her eyes burned with an otherworldly green fire. A burning that seemed to invite even as the fear caused by her presence was nearly paralyzing.

"Have you seen Otto?" She purred as Steve came near her. "We were just here last night looking for him. Has he stopped by?" The question felt like an axe striking him. It had been a year since the Thunder had been here. To her it had only been one night. Or did she know? Steve shook visibly as she focused on the old man. Her brilliant eyes seemed to burn into his very soul.

"No, haven't run into him." Steve got the words out with a nervous intensity in his voice. The stress seemed to give away his secret. Did she know the truth? It seemed that she alone had what could be called sight. The rest of the apparitions had gaping hole instead of eyes. They went through motions that seemed practiced. She seemed like a wicked cat toying with a cornered mouse. Her mischievous smile taunting him.

"We're still looking for him. We'd like to know where he's at."

"If I find out, I'll let you know. Anther shot?" Steve asked as confidently as he could. Being so close to her was shaking him to the core. Even as he wished he could hug her to him. His heart was broken. It had been seven long years and he was still drawn into a love he could never forget. Elvira stared into the man's eyes. Did he see recognition? Did she still love him? What was she thinking? She was a ghost. She was an aberration in this, the real world. She didn't belong. A thing that couldn't exist here. Didn't belong...

"Yea, I'll take another one"

"Why You lookin' for him again?" Steve's voice cracked from a parched throat. Sadness filled Elvira's expression. A feeling of despair reached out and gripped Steve. If his heart wasn't broken before, it would have been now. Her feelings radiated out from her so strongly that they gripped Steve's mortal core, enveloping him. She looked down at her spectral hand for what seemed an eternity. Then she locked gazes with Steve, freezing him on the spot.

"That's our business." Her voice was as cold as a whipping blizzard. The wave of emotions permeating Steve from her powerful aura changed so quickly and radically from sadness to anger that it almost knocked him over. He tried to focus his eyes as it felt like he was hit by a freight train. Elvira smiled at him warmly. As quickly as it hit him, the assault on his mortal soul was over.

"You sure you haven't seen him?" Her voice warmed as she offered her beautiful smile to him.

"Sure. What's going on?" Will I live through this forever? Just end it, his soul pleaded. Accept the curse. Surrender. His humanity wouldn't allow it.

"Otto's my husband. He took off a moth ago when he found out I was preagnant. Me and the boys have been looking for him ever since. I can't believe you don't know him. Never even heard of Otto?" Elvira's eyes narrowed to narrow slits that seemed to weigh Steve's fearful soul. With a shutter the bartender managed to croak out a response:

Never heard of him. Lots of people come through here. It'd be hard to get all of their names..." Steve's voice failed him as he lied to the ghost at the bar. A roar of horrifying laughter boomed from the table where the three twins sat; one of them just winning a hand of poker.

"The boys are thirsty." Elvira said coldly. Steve began tending the bar.

Jack was the second most charismatic member of the Thunder. His right hand man was Victor, a tall, muscular, bald man. Generally, he was quiet, but when he did talk; his intensity made you listen. Steve had heard the two bikes pull up outside, now he saw them come in. Elvira smiled at the two.

"Whiskey!" Jack slapped the bar. Steve took out two shot glasses and put a bottle between the two of them.

"Where's Otto?" the steely voice of Victor cut Steve's composure, causing him to shrink away.

"He hasn't come in yet." Elvira purred. Steve went to the cash register and pulled out some cash for the jukebox. He took as much time as he could so he could avoid Elvira, Jack, and Victor. A chill went up his spine as he turned around and found himself face to face with Richie. If the lost soul had eyes, they would be locked with his. Instead, the old man looked into dark holes that seemed to be the gateway to the very abyss.

"What'd you put in?" A gravely voice asked. Steve could not respond. Being so close to the out of place spirit froze him on the spot. He had to fight off the paralyzing fear to respond.

"Uh, uh..." Get it together; Steve told himself. He finally stammered out an answer:

"Good stuff. You'll like it."

"We'll see. There are good songs on there. It'd be hard to pick bad ones."

"Yea." Steve agreed. He quickly took his place behind the bar, well away from Elvira.

"Bartender?" Elvira called.

"Yea." Steve answered from the far end of the bar where he was pretending to count money. He was trying to stay away from the undead crowd that had invaded the lonely, Squirming Toad.

"I want a whiskey sour." Steve mixed the correct ingredients and placed it before her. He took the full glass that she had ordered earlier and poured it in the sink. She made the motions of sipping her fresh drink. Just like every other customer in the house tonight; she made no contact and the full glass sat before her untouched.

"Mmm, it's good." She smiled. A smile is usually a pleasant thing. This one was a terror. Steve tried to turn his head and check the clock to stop looking at her frightening visage, but he could not turn away. Jack finally interrupted Steve's shaken daze.

"You don't know who Otto is?" Steve's focus went to Jack with a start.

"Never heard of him", She was asking before. "I don't know who you're talking about, really!" His shaking hand was palm up.

"Are you sure?" Elvira asked. Steve looked back at the beautiful woman. Even through his growing horror, his heart longed for her. He felt a fierce desire to open up to her, to be with her forever. Her glowing green eyes probed him. It was like she could read his thoughts. He regained some composure and swallowed hard. His eyes flicked nervously from Jack to Victor. Their black, hollow sockets gaped back at him.

"I'm sure, never even heard of the man." Elvira made a small scowl. The expression broke Steve's heart even further.

"If I hear of anything, you'll be the first to know.

"He got you pregnant?" Steve asked weakly. Elvira replied:

"That's how it looks." Steve felt his heart shatter as if it was made of crystal. Seven years he had been through this. Every year hurt more than the last.

"If you're pregnant, should you be drinking?" Steve asked sheepishly.

"It's still my first month, I'll quit tomorrow. Do not give me, any lip. The baby will be fine. And mind your own business, Barhop."

"No problem." Steve shook his head. A ghost having a baby, every year was the same. She was undead, yet he could not think that any woman would drink in a smoky room while pregnant. What kind of mother would Elvira have been for Otto's baby?

Steve looked around the room that had become the weird scene of his own living hell. The Thunder was going to come every year. Their unreal bodies forever shifting in and out of reality as they relentlessly haunted the tavern on 21st street. Their shattered minds here one night of the year in October. Elvira said they had been here last night. Where are they the rest of the year, Limbo? Their eyes were gaping holes whose depths yawned beyond the backs of their skulls. The smell of gasoline, smelly leathers and fear filled the room. The odor burned into Steve's nostrils the way acid would burn paper.

Steve fought back tears of anguish as he thought about his love for Elvira. She sat at the bar like a goddess among her worshippers, sipping a drink that never touched he lips. How long? Could he confess? Never! He couldn't share their fate for eternity. Steve had been looking at the clock in a daze. He looked back at Elvira to see her staring right at him. She smiled at him, almost sadly:

"Let me serve the rest of the room." Steve almost pleaded. Elvira continued smiling and motioned to the room regally: "Your job."

"Thanks." Steve forced a smile. He had to stay away from Elvira even if it meant being around the rest of the gang. This way he was doing something, keeping busy. The waves of emotion that flowed from Elvira when she focused on him were too much to bear for long. The overwhelming projection of her emotions into Steve's mind was dangerous when he was within arm's reach of her. He had almost passed out when he was too close and her mood suddenly changed during conversation once tonight. He did not want to risk it again. The old man fought his way through auras of fear and despair surrounding each biker as he replaced their pitchers. He emptied the old, warm, flat ones into the sink. None of the ghosts seemed to notice him doing his work. Steve kept an eye on the clock. Not much longer, now he thought. 'Not much longer.'

"Whiskey sour?", Elvira motioned.

"Right up"! Steve replied.

"These are the best whiskeys sours I've ever had." She smiled.

"Thanks, I do my best." Elvira nodded to the aging man.

"I'm sure you do." A mischievous grin once again played across her face. The green light in woman's eyes went dim, and then flared for a moment. On the other hand, did it? The old bartender was sure he was losing his mind.

The horrifying night dragged on. Steve continued emptying pitchers and bringing new ones around the room. The waves of fear became dizzying at times. His eyes focused on the clock to keep the feeling of vertigo at bay.

Finally 2:00 o'clock came. Like they were all the parts of the same machine; everyone stopped what they were doing, went silent and moved towards the door. All of them except for, the beautiful leader, Elvira. She sat at the bar alone as the rumble of the motorcycles outside shook the Squirming Toad. Steve looked at his former and eternal love. This had never happened before; she usually left with everyone else. She looked at Steve with her glowing green eyes. The bartender was, frozen on the spot. He was, paralyzed with fear. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face

"Good night, Otto." Elvira said softly, a great sadness filled her voice. Steve felt his heart jump in his chest. An expression of shock was on his face. He felt like he might faint

Elvira's form faded slowly, she disappeared and he was alone. Fear hung in the air in the Squirming Toad. Steve sat hard on the floor and stared at the spot where Elvira had been. He did not know what to think. He shook his head as if clearing it of terror that had invaded it.

After some time, Otto emptied the rest of the pitchers into the sink. The dreadful fear that had saturated the Squirming Toad began to fade. Now despair clouded the main room, so intense that it was smothering. Steve took a shot of whiskey and sat at the bar with his head held low. He looked at his shaking hands and concentrated on keeping them still. He pressed his clammy palms on the bar and shook his head. Elvira had never recognized him before. Why now? On the seventh anniversary of the ghost rider's appearance. Why didn't any other members of the gang realize his secret? He took one last shot, locked the door and turned off the neon lights in the windows. He was moving as if he was under water, or in slow motion. He flipped the switch to turn off the overhead lights and went upstairs to his loft. Otto walked up the stairs, the thirteen steps seemed like a mile up the side of a mountain. With a pop; the door creaked open. He didn't want to turn on the lights, and he walked in the dark to the kitchen table. He picked up a lighter; it took three tries to get it lit. He walked over to his bed. Otto looked at the footlocker that held an old secret. On matching nightstands at either side of the head of the bed; there were tall, black candles mounted on stands. They were all brand new. He lit them slowly, deliberately, reverently, one at a time: All thirteen.

The tired man stared into the candles' flames. The points of brilliance in the darkness brought a peace to his mind, as their warm light glowed through the room. He stood before the chest at the foot of his bed for many long minutes in deep meditation. The shaking in his hands subsided. The chill of fear dissipated, seeming to flow from his core, to the periphery of his aura, then finally, completely away from him; like water evaporating from a boiling pot.

He knelt before the metal box after what seemed like hours. Truth be, told, the candles had barely melted down at all. With steady hands he snapped open the clasps, and lifted the lid. The smell of old leather greeted his nose, memories: Old, great ones; and new, horrible ones filled his mind. He pulled out a leather jacket; across the top of the back was a patch that read: Thunder. Across the bottom: Colorado Springs. A tear rolled down his cheek, at the same time a smile of sadness flirted with his lips.

Memories wracked his mind like a fierce storm buffeting a tree above a rocky cliff. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his head towards the heavens. His chest grew tight and, finally... The tears began to flow.

"Elvira, I'm sorry. Forgive me." He sobbed aloud.

"Forgive me." He whispered into the empty space around him:

"I've damned us all." Otto sat with his head bowed. Clenching his old leather for an eternity, Could I have done something different? Why couldn't, I have stopped it? Why no one wanted to listen? He second-guessed himself all the time. Otto got his head back on; it took him awhile, but keeping his cool would never be possible with his deep mental scars. Tormented thoughts always echoed loud in his mind as madness threatened the waking hours between the nightmare-filled fits that he called sleep. Worrying and second-guessing did nothing, but damn you in the past. The future held nothing good for Steve either; the deepest circle of hell is, saved for the damned souls who have betrayed their closest friends.

It had been years ago... Years that had stretched out like a dark highway into eternity. The annual visit was a horror enough. The rest of the year was as much a hell as Steve: Otto's 'alter ego', thought anyone could bear. He could have stayed in Montana, but the shaken man had to return to Colorado Springs. Whenever he was not here, he was not home. It was part of his soul to look at the mountains: Cheyenne Mountain to the south, every detail of the Front Range to the west was, etched into his brain. Everyday they seemed a little different, more beautiful, and more majestic. He had to come home. He had to face the music. If he had run, he felt he would always be looking over his shoulder. He came back to the 'Springs' to stand his ground. Hide in plain sight.

Otto had inherited a huge piece of property and a large amount of money when his parents were, killed in a car accident. After living in a series of foster homes, where he was always in trouble, he turned eighteen. That was when he claimed his inheritance: That was when he bought his first Harley. The freedom of the open road and the life style were just what he wanted. When he was Twenty-five, he went to his first Sturgis. It concreted his soul into the "biker" life. He traveled everywhere across America to see the country. Still, wherever he went, his heart called Colorado Springs home.

He came back to the 'Springs', with Jack and Victor. The two had started a group of riders called: The Thunder and Otto fit right in. Otto had let them know about the ranch he owned. He was happy to party with this group of friends on his land. There, they were outside of the law, nothing truly bad ever happened. They were all brothers. Kegs of beer and good times were their life. They worked on their bikes in Otto's huge barn. He even bought trailers for some members to live in on his sprawling piece of real estate. They had their own outlaw community.

Elvira and Otto first met her during one of his barn parties; he had tried to hit on her. He remembered that she tried to play hard to get. It was only later; while he was puking outside after mixing too much whiskey with a gut full of beer; that she was there. She comforted him through his retching. The sound of laughter and hoots coming from the party inside seemed miles away.

"Get it out, honey." She purred.

"Get it out. Yea,"

"I'm Elvira."

"Otto."

The two woke up together in the loft. A century ago...The years passed for Otto, like the years pass in paradise. One year Elvira and he sat alone, In love.

"You know you're the leader of the Thunder now." Elvira stated.

"What do you mean leader?"

"It's your money, your property that keeps us all alive. Can't you see?"

"I guess." Otto replied.

"What about Jack and Victor?"

"They would die for you." Elvira said flatly.

"We all love you. You have given us everything."

"The crystal meth is something I've been against the whole time. How could this have all happened?"

"It'll be alright. You'll see." Elvira always quenched the fire of his fears. Her love was a cool breeze in the heat of summer. It was warming to the soul through the winter.

Not everything turned out all right. The police suspected Jack and Victor of murder. Jack was a brawler: It had gone too far one night; he had knifed a man to death protecting the honor of the Thunder. After Otto found out about it, his teeth would grind in his sleep so loudly that Elvira would wake him up to tell him to stop. Adrian was arrested for trafficking a lion's share of crystal meth. Otto bailed him out and Adrian went on the lamb; jumping bail and not showing up for his court date. The money did not mean that much to him, but Adrian ended up hiding on Otto's land. It was still more stress on him. Elvira would wake him because he talked and even yelled in his sleep. She always soothed his soul until he could rest again still: Otto's paradise was no more.

Otto went to the grocery store alone one day in his pick up truck. As he was leaving, a voice called from behind him:

"Otto?" He turned to face a clean cut man in a dark suit with a bright blue tie. He would never forget that.

"Yea?" "We need to talk to you."

"What?" Otto said excitedly:

"I don't need to talk to you."

"I think you do, sir." The man replied. Otto noticed two other men with suits and sunglasses approach from the opposite direction of the first man. Shit! He thought to himself. This does not look good.

"You guys cops?"

"F.B.I., agents from, Barkley," "Would like you to come with us, please? Of course, you do not have to... I do think it would be best for all of us, especially you, if you did."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"I want a lawyer." Otto said flatly.

"That's fine." The agent replied.

Afterword

In the following months, Otto arranged with the F.B.I. to sell his ranch, change his identity, and move to Montana. He had his doubts, but had arranged for Elvira, to come with him. He kept the deal that he had made with the feds a secret from her when he told her that he was leaving. He was only going to tell her later, years later, and only if he absolutely had to. When she heard he wanted to break up the gang by selling the ranch and skipping town; she wouldn't have it. She pleaded with him not to go. Not to destroy all the lives that depended on him.

"You don't understand honey!" It is already done, "Lets go raise a family! Just you... You and me." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. He told her straight forward:

"This has been in the works for longer than I can tell you. It is only a matter of time before the hammer comes down. Members of our 'Thunder are suspects in more than one local murder investigation. You are thinking that you are pregnant. The guys have started a huge meth ring. I was always against that shit, and they just muscled their way into using my property for their labs and distribution. We can live off, my money forever! Change our names and disappear. You say I am the leader. I am their cash cow. They don't respect me, What about you? I know you always play your theater up behind my head. I might be dumb, but I'm not stupid.

"I will never leave the Thunder." She almost hissed.

"Never", she spun on her heel and walked away. An icy dagger tore into Otto's chest. He yelled at her back as she left him.

"Elvira, I'm goin'! You made your choice, I made mine!"

That was the last conversation he had with Elvira while she was still alive; Otto left town on his freshly painted bike. He thought he would never look back. The lone man rode straight to Montana to a cabin he had bought near Flat Head Lake. With his inheritance, he would not have to work a day in his life. He was set. He checked off the last seven days before the raid. He only thought of his beloved: Elvira. He was sure that she thought he was just having a fit and would just take a road trip, be back in a month or so.

The police S.W.A.T. team surrounded the barn on Otto's property that had the huge meth labs inside. Elvira was inside with the local Thunder. The shoot out began instantly as the gang opened fire. These proud men had decided years ago that they would die with their boots on. That statement meant that they were not going to die lying on a prison cot; they were going out fighting. For Elvira it was a dark gesture to show Otto, that her loyalty to the Thunder was more important to than her own life.

Several of the gang died in the first exchange of fire. Then, the meth lab exploded. Some of the men survived the blast and came out shooting. Elvira lay in the barn with two bullets in her gut. One must have nicked her spine; she thought calmly, I cannot move my legs. She still had her gun in her hand. She laid there watching the fire consume Otto's barn. A burning sensation began to sear her lungs, as she lay helpless in the smoky inferno. She was not in a panic, she just relaxed. Glad I cannot feel my legs. She smiled and looked down; her feet had caught fire. She still had her gun, but she did not want to shoot herself. The fire would take care of that. She was just 'kinda thinkin'

They all died, in their own blaze of glory. The next morning; a Colorado Springs newspaper put the story on the front page and called the shoot out The Thundering Shootout. The fire department surrounded the building and eventually controlled the fire. It took well into the afternoon the following day. The former sight of the barn would need to be, properly decontaminated because of the lab. Otto had arranged for that cost out of his own money.

The bodies of the gang were all accounted for, and as for the deal for Otto's cooperation; it was upheld. Otto would never exist again. Several years came and went, and he eventually made up his mind to return to Colorado Springs. Steve Harran opened the Squirming Toad under his new name. That was seven years ago. Seven years, with seven Octobers, with life times in between while he waited for Elvira to come again. He thought he was getting used to his annual visitors. There was one difference now though: This year Elvira recognized him. What does this mean? He wondered. He had something to think about for another year while waited for Elvira's return. Alone he would spend another year in apprehension... Tending the Squirming Toad...

Last Band Standing

The summer sun had set on Colorado Springs. The heat still filled the air and there was no breeze to bring the cool air into town off the mountains looming to the west. The night was still young as the clock turned past 9:30. In a dry narrow alley downtown, the air was alive with electric music: A heavily distorted guitar seemed to jump back on and off the beat as it was, entangled with the eerie sounds of the keyboards. The bass and drums kept a mean and steady groove down with determined measures. Then a growling, unashamed voice let out the first verses of the song:

"Stand up and leave your world behind;

What can I slave as I toil and I

Ponder of the edge of everything

I am; what do you have to lose?

She screamed..."

It was the 'Porno Junkies': A punk/Goth band practicing in their drummer's garage. They were heard, from blocks away. Nights like this they only played a few songs before shutting down before the neighbors called the police. They were here tonight so their lead singer; Skip Johnson could introduce a new song, but first they were jamming out the one they had put together. The loud swell of the guitar tapered down to a bended note as Skip belted out the lyrics:

"I don't want to hear about it;

All the trees are stoned,

I do not want to try it,

All backwards up side down,

I don't want to see it,

Anything you said,

When I want to do it;

That is what was said..."

The verse flowed into the music with urgency as the lone voice ripped through the din. All but the drums suddenly went silent. A steady, lonely beat of the bass drum kept the song moving: 'doom, doom, doom, doom'. Then jarringly, heavy as an anvil, the guitar slammed back in, heavy as an anvil being dropped 'ch-chiang' The powerful chord disguised the entry of a lazy sounding, yet complex bass line that was joined by a creepy keyboard riff that sounded like something off of an old black and white horror movie soundtrack. The lead guitar found its way back into a rhythm with the drums with a crash, and the vocals once again burst out over the entire mix.

"Looking out over last night;

Second guess makes it right,

Now vision shared for everyone,

Whose left that's right, now;

What it is cannot say,

Yesterday makes live,

Another day..."

Sudden silence halted the music as the song ended abruptly. The halt left the ear a sad and lonely feeling as the sound of local car traffic wafted into the alley behind the band's practice space. Inside the garage the band members all looked at each other. Some more pleased with their latest song than others did. The vocalist also wrote the lyrics and he thought they were great.

"What'd you think?" He smiled at Angelina Juarez. The bass player, she was a tall, lithe, Hispanic young woman with long fingers that seemed to Skip, meant to play bass since birth how naturally they flowed over the feet board. Her black hair was shoulder length bangs were always over her eyes that were, lined with heavy black makeup. She nodded casually. The drummer Bill Wallace interjected smiling:

"That's our best song yet!" Skip smiled. Truth was all of the Porno Junkies original song's lyrics were, written by Skip alone; it was the main problem, the band faced. As far as their guitarist, Dave and the key broadest Julian were concerned. When their singer was not around, they played covers of other songs that he did not like. They also talked badly about his writing style. None of them could figure out where his lyrics came from. They all thought that were too weird and could not see how they could increase the band's following with his songs. None of them could write songs he would sing, either, so they seemed to be, struck in this groove. It was just the way things had worked out or the Porno Junkies in their band.

"I've been working on some other stuff, too. We can try to put it together. I have some rhythm guitar for it." Skip picked up his acoustic guitar to get started.

"It better be better than this stuff you've been writing." Dave said snidely.

"What are you talking about? I thought we all liked the new stuff!" Skip said as he pulled the guitar strap over his shoulders.

"We started out metal / punk now were like a weird punk meets psychedelic, and were not even heavy enough to be true goth. I can't see how we're 'gonna', ever sell an album." Dave started what the band had already discussed without Skip.

"C'mon we're awesome. We are original. What do you want to sound like some one else's band? We have a great sound."

" I can get darker on the keys." Julian said. Dave looked at him with a sideways glance and shook his head.

"What I mean is; I don't think we could ever get a good gig in this town. No body is into our music. That is why we suck, even if we like it. No one will let us play.

"We've only been playing for an awhile look at how many songs we have. C'mon, you do not know. You think all those old guys in the metal and country cover bands at the bars are happy? At least we are doing something new! Something we created. I'd go crazy playing like them." Right then Bill Wallace, the drummer chimed in with a friendly tone:

"Hey you guys. I- have a job doing plumbing with my dad. I- do not like it that is why I am going to school to be a fire fighter. am doing this because I like it. I do not get all the songs, but I am really starting to get these beats down. This is the best band I've played with; I think we should keep trying."

"Keep trying? Were you guys planning to quit?" Skip wasn't sure, but it sounded to him like Dave was leading a mutiny to break up the band. The thought of it broke his heart even as it filled him with a burning anger that threatened to make him explode.

"I'm not talking about quitting." Angelina said flatly, as she strummed her bass softly. Skip looked at her and then turned back to Dave. The interruption cooled the temper a bit as he settled down he looked to Dave questioningly.

"I am not quitting, I am just saying, I have my doubts. We're a cool band we're just not mainstream is all I meant."

"Damn right! Were the, 'Porno Junkies'?", Skip let a smile light up his face.

"I know. What's that new song?" Dave slid his fingers over his guitar and made a concentrating looking cover his face, saying he was ready to check out Skip's latest ideas.

"Cool." Skip nodded. He was glad that it was not a break down. He could understand the doubt. He struggled with it everyday. The quitting attitude was what made him mad. He was proud that the band didn't sound like anyone else. That's what made them so cool. He pushed these thoughts aside as he looked down at his guitar

"All right. Julian; It's in 'G minor.' Angelica and Dave, I start with a 'G' sharp, 'C' sharp, 'B', like this, simple." He strummed out the three chords with a rhythm tapping on his foot. He kept it slow and deliberate as he looked up at his nodding band mates he sang out the beginning of the song:

"Through the smoke, I see them

Dancing around a fire

Emerald eyes of a gypsy queen

Hair of raven black

Can I keep her stare?

Moon lit sanctuary

Gold painted vardo door

How long she is waiting

For me, I don't know."

He let the verses roll out smoothly over the lazy chords until this point, where he sped up a power chord to build up heavily and let the next words roll out:

"Runnin,' up all night"

"Runnin.' Kidnapped by gypsies."

"That's pretty much it from there. What'd you think?" he asked.

"I like it." Bill said. "Yea, the gypsy thing is cool let us see... Angelina, you wanna do the rhythm guitar part?" Dave asked.

"Yea." Angelica play the three notes out as Julian began tinkering with the scale. Skip smiled as their next song began to take form. By the end of the night's band practice, they had hammered out the basic format of the song well enough so that everyone could work on their solo parts. Everyone was happy working on the new song, Skip especially, because he wrote the songs, he felt as if he was on constant probation, Like Dave would figure out how to break up the band if his new songs did not work out. The pressure helped him by forcing good work out of him. He also had plenty of good songs he would not share with the band; reserves. When the band did like his new stuff, it was a great rush. When they did not he was in a panic to create new material.

"I like the whole gypsy thing. Skip you did a good job on that song. I'll make up a cool part where we said: After the second verse leading into Dave's solo." Julian commented as he plunked at his keys.

"Yea we gotta quit, its 10:00 we don't want the cops' comin' here. This is the best place for practice. Is your dad still cool with it Bill?" Skip asked the drummer.

"Yea, I wish we could practice everyday through. Friday nights just is not enough. I am going to ask if we can jam Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I will just have to go up to the gym on Saturdays for my fire fighter classes. Other than that I'll be free."

"That would be awesome."

"Yea, I could do that."

"Cool." The whole band seemed to agree that would be better. Therefore, they could get their songs down more solid. They all took their time putting their musical interments into their cases and winding up the power chords. Angelica and Julian were the first to finish. They were riding together in Julian's pick up truck.

"Good night guys were going now." Julian said as he nodded to his band mates.

"See ya." Angelica smirked.

"Yea, catch ya, later." Skip said to their backs. He turned casually to Dave and Bill and asked: "what are you two doin' tonight?" Dave shrugged. Moreover, Bill spoke up.

"I'm gonna get some rest and meet up with the guys from the fire department to hit the gym in the morning. I'm maxing out on bench press, so I know I'll have spotters." Dave and Skip looked at each other brows furrowed.

"Cool I'm just gonna chill out at home with the T.V, maybe read something I don't know." Dave slid the statement in, basically making it understood that he was spending the night without their company.

"Alright well I'm takin' off then. I'll call you later this week. Bill hopefully we can start practicing all weekend, so we can be ready for any parties or gigs that come up." Skip kept his voice up beat.

"Alright I'll ask my dad. See ya."

"Goodnight guys." Skip left alone. It was a short practice, but he was happy he got a new song out. He was upset that it felt like the band ripped on him the way they did though. He decided to drive the long way home. As he drove, he kept thinking bitterly about how the rest of the Porno Junkies treated him. He and Bill had formed the band, but as Dave and Julian came: then Angelica! He still could not believe there was a girl in the band. It became what he thought could be a killer band. All of the songs were his and he felt like the band was his baby. Sometimes it felt like carrying an egg through a minefield. They still hadn't had one gig. Skip wasn't completely sold on the whole life as one great big party as a millionaire rock star. This was his first band, and they weren't partying yet. The way his guitarist Dave always got away with insulting him right to his face was pissing him off. This whole thing was so important to him that he could over look it for now. It was something that had to be, addressed in the future. Skip looked at it as in the end when they made it big; it would say, Skip Johnson, in the credits as vocalist and songwriter. He figured that would be enough of a last laugh to tolerate his band mate's disrespect.

When Skip got home, he decided to kick back in his room and get into some of the latest books he had found at his work: 'The Tattered Cover' A new and used book store down town in Colorado Springs. The old books had come in a box mixed with a strange collection and these were on the arcane art of Black Magic. He had put them aside for himself instantly the morning they came in with a box of miscellaneous used books, and spent the rest of the day behind the counter waiting to get off so he could open them alone. When he did, he checked the inside few pages front and back for publishing information. That, if it was what he was looking for, was in Latin. He didn't speak it, and he couldn't find a year in any of the books either. Judging by the type paper and general condition of the books, Skip was willing to bet they were for older than he was. He did not want to draw any extra attention to the books; so he decided not to ask anyone at work. The main body of the work was in English... Strange English so he figured he could glean what information he wanted out of them. Since then, he had thumbed through them every night before bed with a curious enthusiasm, which quickly became a secret devotion.

Next Friday Skip showed up to practice with a handful of new songs. When he got to Bill's garage he could hear them all messing around, he tried the door. It is locked, he yelled in.

"Aye it's Skip." A moment later the door burst open and a flash went off in his face.

"Wuh?'' he gasped he could hear girls laughing. When he could see, there were two girls; he didn't recognize backing away from the door with a camera.

"What's this?" He asked with a smile.

"Marie and Katie, I met them at the college; there gonna take pictures of us." Bill smiled. Skip looked around the garage, the walls are covered, with bed sheets and there were red lights shining on them here and there. Bill was smiling, the rest of the band seemed happy, except for Dave. He had on aloof look about him, as if he was too good to care. On the other hand, as if it didn't matter to him either, way. Skip looked back at the two girls and introduced himself.

"I'm Skip lead vocals, we still having practice?'' The last statement being aimed at the rest of the band. Bill spoke up.

"Yea, there just gonna hang out and take pictures while we jam, we thought you'd think it was cool."

"Yea we won't get in the way." Katie smiled.

"Alright you guys wanna go over the old songs first."

"Yea." Bill got behind his drums.

"Let's do it." Dave mumbled, after a quick sound check to get amp levels right: the band entered the first song. The music sounded up beat yet. Creepiness invaded the melody as Skip's vocals of notes.

"Saints and sinners,

Wake to live the next,

Phase of mundane to,

Get the rest of it,

Raze the boredom set,

Give it everything..."

As the words broke over the crunching rhythm guitar, the bass was punctuating certain words and the keyboards danced along the beat with cymbals crashing at the end of each phrase. Marie was walking around the room taking pictures of the different bands mates from different angles. Most of the pictures were of Skip while he was singing out the song he had written.

"Saints and sinners;

Live the riddle net,

Face another round to,

Get the rest of it

Burn down the last chance

Just to have a shoot...

The flash kept bursting in Skip's eyes, he loved it. As he kept his concentration on singing the rest of the song, he allowed .

His happiness creep into a half smile. He used the energy to sing even louder as the music of the band playing surrounded him in a shroud of sound, after the last chorus, the outré played to wind down the end of the song leaving the garage in a humming silence. Marie and Katie clapped enthusiastically. Bill counted in the next song on his crash cymbal 1-2-3-4. The Porno Junkies burst into their next song. They continued their play their set. One song after another as the sound of loud, live music filled the garage. The two girls visiting loved it as they kept taking pictures of the musicians. The girls moved around the artists and their equipment finding different angles to take photos of them as the sound of the rocking music pounded their ears and even their whole bodies. The Porno Junkies came to the end of their last song, and Skip spoke without help from the microphone to his band mates.

"Did we want to play last week's song?"

"Yea, we can."

"Me and Angelina got our parts put together but, we don't know how long your solo is." Julian said to Dave. Dave shrugged I'll fit it in, lets take it from the top. I'll show you what I had in mind. Here." Dave went into a solo that was a serious of scorching single notes, their warm tone aloud as sadness to creep into the huge sounding metallic licks. Skip thought it was great the rest of the band all listened attentively with admiration. This was a moment ,that reminded everyone that Dave was a great guitarist. Katie and Marie were amazed, as Dave seemed to harness the sound of the wailing guitar down into quiet again.

"That's it." Dave looked up at everyone realizing how impressed their new fan club was; he didn't allow himself to smile.

"Awesome, that fit's in perfectly. Do you guys wanna take it from the top?" Skip asked. The band all got into their playing positions and Bill counted it off. 'Kidnapped by Gypsies' was their best song yet. It had an up beat creepiness to it that was what Skip had been hoping for. All the instruments parts meshed perfectly from beginning to end. The musicians had definitely become good at playing together. The two girls who had come to practice today made them all realize how good they had become.

"You guys are amazing!" Katie burst smiling.

"Yea, you're awesome that last song was great!" Marie added in as she lowered the camera. Julian and Angelica shrugged at each other smirking. Dave nodded and avoided eye contact to keep an aloof coolness about him. As Bill spoke up:

"This is great, 'you guys rock'. I can keep making up drum beats to go with all your stuff."

"Yea this is sounding good. Thanks you everyone. Did you get a lot of good pictures?" Skip asked the two girls.

"Yea, I think so, I'll put them together to show you guys. Are you done, practicing? I mean; is that all your songs?"

"Yea right now, we come up with new ones all the time though." Skip said. Marie's attention quickly went from Skip to Dave. Skip noticed it instantly. He wanted to be the center of her attention, but he felt already that she was interested in the guitarist more.

"So are you guys doing anything else tonight?" Marie asked Dave.

"I dunno, what about you guys?" Dave asked the room.

"Wanna go out for coffee?" Marie asked. Everyone seemed to agree on it. They all got ready and left to go down town to Acacia Park. As they all got there, it was quick to Skip to see that Katie was Marie's tag along. She was passing him smiles from time to time, but he was more interest in Marie. Marie was flirting with Dave openly, which he was accepting with his usual detached coolness. Each pass between the two was actually painful to Skip, as he became jealous of their fledgling relationship immediately. It was all he could do to hide it, and keep a positive attitude. Something he felt was necessary to keep a leadership role in the band. The whole ordeal was hell. It was like being, "slammed" to the ground after the soaring rush he had gotten from band practice.

After the night of coffee, Skip went home alone. He was upset that Marie liked Dave more than him, and he had no interest in Katie. There was something else bothering him too, he thought that since they were in a band that they should be bonding by tripping on acid, or smoking pot. No! By drinking coffee, He knew that Bill would never do drugs, since he was going to school to be a firefighter. Now Marie and Katie came and they both seemed to be goody two shoes. Skip could never see them doing any illegal drugs to expand their minds.

The fact that Marie liked Dave seemed to be swinging the whole band away from him. The feeling of just being a part of the band and not the main part of the band was burning him up as much as Marie and Dave. He tried to forget the world and read his books to relax. It only got worst and he ended up reading the ancient texts while fuming with anger late into the early hours of the morning. He noticed that the sun would be coming up in a few hours and finally put his book down. He lay on his back and shared at the ceiling in the dark. The band could work, and he thought to himself. The anger that was burning in him still smoldered as he finally drifted into a restless sleep.

During the week, Skip worked at the Tattered Cover bookstore with his pockets full of notes. They were song lyrics that he was memorizing for the band. He called Julian and Angelica to give them his latest ideas for the new songs. They seemed happy with his titles. Skip enjoyed working at the bookstore but the band's music was all he ever thought, about. It could even be considered, an obsession. Skip could steer just about any conversation into a conversation about the band and his plans for their future. Finally, it was Friday after a week of preparing his new lyrics for practice, and he was ready.

Skip showed up to Bill's garage not to the sound of the band warming up, but to the sound of girl's laughter. He knocked on the door and walked in. Katie and Marie were there with three other girls that he did not recognize. Bill was standing near his drum set with his shirt off, showing off his impressive muscular build. He spoke up with a smile.

"Hey this is Skip lead vocals. Skip; this is our new fan club." Dave laughed at the end of the brief introduction and spoke up before anyone else could break up the awkward meeting.

Let us play our set! "Everyone ready"? Everyone was already in position to start. Skip bushed with the unexpected situation. He just nodded and got behind the microphone. The embarrassment of being, 'caught off guard', made him angry. He hid it and forced himself into the music. The set started with good flow, as the music and lyrics fit together beautifully. Skip avoided making eye contact with the five girls as he sang:

"Maybe I'd be happier somewhere else;

Somewhere I do not know; Faraway;

With nothing known to worry about;

I do not have a thing to say;

So I howl like the wind;

Scratching hard and dry;

All these people once upon a time;

Would I if I was, would I if I was?

Would I if I was, you keep askin' me.

Today... In a forest out of my mind;

Runnin' naked through the woods."

Angelina's bass was rocking hard with the drums, as their rhythms filled the air in the small garage. The girls had never experience a live band playing like this. Some of them were tempted to cover their ears; even as they enjoyed the over powering music. The band finished their set after playing 'Kidnapped by Gypsies' Bill spoke first:

"That was cool guys!"

"Yea! Awesome."

"That was great." The girls echoed, as they clapped and smiled. Skip was sure that the band's visitors had enjoyed the music. He was frustrated that he wanted to work on new songs tonight, but he wasn't sure if he wanted his new audience here. Really, he was angry about it. He spoke with a clam even voice as he asked the band:

"Do you wanna work on new songs tonight? I have some new material." He kept a neutral look on his face, as he surveyed the bands expressions. It was easy to see that the girls enamored Bill, as he sat behind his drum set. Like a kid with candy, Skip thought to himself with distain that was hard to hide. It was Bill that spoke up cheerily:

"We were planning on going out to eat." Then he asked Skip sincerely:

"You wanna go? Its party time!" Skip tried not to melt Bill's smiling face with an angry stare. Skip didn't want to argue with the room full of girls and his band. He did want to work on the new songs tonight, but everyone was getting ready to leave. It made him angry tremendously.

"No you guys go I'm gonna head back to my place. Are we jamming tomorrow?" The question came out like a whine, which bother Skip even more.

"Yea. We're on tomorrow right?" Bill asked everyone agreed. At least that was good; Skip thought. Still, he had been waiting all week to add the new songs to their list. This whole thing was pissing him off more by the second. Bill interrupted the thought with a friendly toned question to the lead singer.

"C'mon man. You sure you don't wanna come. We're all going."

"No.'' Skip answered.

"I'm gonna work on the new songs I've been writing so I can have them ready tomorrow." He managed to shrug it off so he could avoid seeming angry. This situation being planned without him still irked him badly.

"See you guys later." Skip smiled as he left the up beat and happy vibe in the garage to go home alone. He shook his head at the way the band just burnt him by making plans without even letting him know. He thought that he should be glad about developing a fan club. Still, he could tell that Dave got a kick out of seeing him caught off guard by the group of girls they were going out with when he had plans to work on his new songs. They were practicing tomorrow, and this would give him a chance to polish up his new lyrics.

Skip tried to let the anger fade as he looked around his bedroom. He picked up a stack of paper that he had been using for new song material. He shuffled through them without focus for a few minutes and then set them down on his nightstand. Instead, he decided to read his new secret prized reading material as he opened to a random page; He was instantly enthralled with the reading. The strange text flowed into his mind through the early hours of morning until he was satisfied with mental exhaustion that sent him contentment to the realm of sleep.

Saturday came to Colorado Springs bringing a hot summer day. Skip was ready for practice. He was not going to let anything get him down. He loved the set they had and his songs were getting better each time he wrote. In the afternoon before heading over, he called Bill.

"Hey, man. Everything cool with the jam tonight?" Skip asked his drummer.

"Yea, cool. I just wanna make sure we work on new material tonight.

"No problem. We will all be up for it. Is that what pissed you off last night?" Skip decided to lie about being upset.

"No, I just decided to go home so I could work on more songs for us."

"Uh, huh. I think we're ready to play parties right now. Bill said.

"Yea, but I have a lot more songs, too. We should play some parties and work on new stuff. You know."

"Yea, you should head over."

"Cool. I'll talk to you in a bit." As Skip headed over, he thought about what Bill had said. They could play parties with their set as it was, but he felt like they needed more songs to fill out more of the whole concept of their music. When Skip showed up, he was ready to sing. The whole band was there. Marie was there with Dave, too. Skip did not mind. He still thought she was good looking and it hurt that she liked Dave and not him. He felt jealous though, that she was not after him: the lead singer. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he shuffled his notes on the new songs. He casually looked around at his band mates as he spoke up:

"Let us go through our set and then work on some new stuff. Is everybody up to it?" They all agreed on Bill counted off four beats on the high hat. The air in the garage burst to life with the loud music of the band. Like some life form of its own, it enveloped Skip with powerful vibrations that made him glad to be alive. He took in a deep breath as his queue to begin came; he unleashed his powerful voice into the song:

"Always out of season

Any season no reason

Shiny things be your self in the dark

Drink and drive

Then fuckin' die

And get on back to

Your school."

The power chords of the guitar smashed over the matching bass line, as the keyboards slid into the rhythm. The drums pounded out the beat at a faster and faster rhythm. Then Skip's voice exploded into the song again:

"I've got something

To say about that

I guess we'll find out, huh?

Gonna make your argument

Gonna throw your head I'll bet."

Once again, Skip's vocals went quite as the music continued in a controlled frenzy. All of Skip's problems seemed to melt away with the heavy music lifting his soul. It was so loud that it was as if he was getting C.P.R. pumping his chest. Forcing his heart to beat in time with the grinding melody. He growled out the last verse:

"What did you say

Don't ask me that

It's not prepared

Too serious

Gonna take up

All your airwaves

Get every last car out."

"Bam"! The sound ended abruptly on the last word. Skip stood there; high on the music. This is what he had been waiting for all week. He introduced his new material and all the rest of practice went well. After they were finished with the rudimentary of the new materials, Bill interrupted.

"Skip, dude - Tow surprised: We've been recording our jams." Skip blushed with anger and embarrassment. He held his tongue. He waited for the others surprise. Bill continued with happiness in his voice:

"Marie got us a gig at a party! We're gonna rock!" Skip was excited to hear the news as he looked from Bill to Dave and Marie.

"You didn't tell me you were recording." Skip hissed. Dave spoke up.

"We figured it'd be more real if you didn't know you were being recorded. This infuriated Skip. Instead of a fight he decided to change the subject.

"When's the party?"

"Next Friday." Marie smiled as she answered with a sweet voice.

"At my friend's house." Skip's anger subsided as his flushed face returned to its normal shade. He said to Bill:

"Let's hear the recording. And tell me more about the gig." He forced a smile. Considering the low quality of the recording ,that his band had secretly made: It was good. The great music and lyrics: layering and likeability made the original songs respectable. The Porno Junkies had found a timeless and awesome sound that was their own. Skip thought their music was good enough for forever right now as he listened to the play back. It boosted his confidence to new levels. Even as he swelled with pride though, the anger in film festered at not being, told that he was being recorded. Skip listened to a few songs and stopped the play back:

"Tell me more about the party. How many people are gonna be there? That kind of stuff." Skip asked the room. Marie answered:

"There's gonna be around. Twenty people there, I think. There's gonna be beer, and of coarse; the band." Bill added in.

"I can spread the word around the college, too. That'll get us even more of a crowd! Dude, this is gonna be awesome! 'Our first gig'!" Skip looked back at Marie as she spoke up again.

"All the people I know of are all totally cool. It'll be great. We won't have to worry about the police either. So that'll be cool. Skip nodded. "Cool with me. Is everyone else ready?" He asked the rest of the band. Dave nodded as Julian shrugged.

"I'm ready to go for it. I got all my parts down solid, so does Angelica." The bass player lifted her hand to her nodding head as she shrugged.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"This is awesome!" Bill exclaimed. Skip smiled back to his drummer. The Porno Junkies were ready for their first show. Even though the band was making progress, each step forward kept catching Skip off guard. I kept him burning with deep-set rage that he hid deep under the surface of his façade of happiness for the bands growth. Later in the week, Skip was working at the bookstore downtown. He was surprised right before lunch by: Bill, Marie, Katie, and two men he didn't recognize. Bill quickly made introductions between the vocalist and the small crowd.

"Hey Skip. This is Eric and Doug. They're gonna be fire fighters, too, and you know Katie and Marie. Guys this is our vocalist. Skip. Skip, you wanna go to lunch?" Skip shook hands with the two muscular men and smiled.

"Yea. Let me, wrap up quick. I'll be ready in a couple of minutes." Skip met the group at the front door, and they all left together.

"Eric and Doug are gonna be security at our gig." Bill laughed. The two men smiled. Skip felt like Katie was being a bit flirtatious with him though smiles and glances. He tried to be courteous as he ignored her.

"Security, huh? That's cool. Thanks guys." As the six of them walked through the lunchtime downtown crowd, a realization sunk into Skip: He was the lead singer and songwriter for the group, but he was in no way the bandleader oh well, he thought everything is coming together. While Skip ate lunch with his drummer and the entourage, he 'zoned out' into a daydream, every one talked excitedly about the up coming show. Skip was just as excited yet, he was going over the show in his mind in the sense that he was going over the lyrics in his head repeatedly. Not just the actual words, but the inflections, each emphasis of every syllable. The pauses. He ques at the end of guitar solos, a drum roll, bass or keyboard part. Every part of every song was bouncing around in his memory. H was getting himself ready, even though the gig was three days away.

"Earth to Skip!" Bill shook his shoulder.

"Wuh?" Skip stammered.

"Katie was just talking to you." Bill smiled.

"Oh, sorry. What?"

"I was just asking if you were ready for the big show. Everyone's excited." Katie smiled flirtatiously. Skip nodded, still only half in the conversation.

"Yea, I'm looking forward to it. I think the whole band is ready. We all have our parts down."

"Say all the way!" Bill laughed. Skip smiled at his friend. He couldn't wait for the big show. It was the first step in what he hoped was a long journey for his Porno Junkies.

Finally, Friday came. Skip was nervous all day at the book store, so when he got off it felt like a prison break. He rushed home to call Bill. Bill had his drum set loaded and told Skip to come over to load his P.A. system so they could head over to the party. Skip took a quick shower and went over to meet Bill.

"Hey. My man!" Bill answered the garage door happily.

"Hey, everybody else already is heading over?"

"Yea, their already there, we're the last ones. Even Eric and Doug are over there. Katie just called. It's on!" Skip had to smile at his excited friend.

"Let's head over then." Skip and Bill arrived at the house where the performance was going to take place. There were many cars parked along the road. There was a space in the driveway for Bill to pull up in. Marie and Katie waved as they came out to meet the musicians. Before either of them could say anything Marie asked:

"Where's Dave?" Skip and Bill looked at each other. Skip felt rage flush his face. He could not believe it, Dave was not here.

"I thought he was with you." Bill smiled.

"No, he said was meeting you at your place and then coming over here with you." Marie answered.

"No. I haven't heard from him." Bill shrugged.

"He'll be here."

"Damn." Skip mumbled. Katie was the only one that heard him. Just then, Eric and Doug came around the side of the house. Bill saw them.

"Hey, you guys wanna help us with our gear?" Everyone shook hands as they greeted. Skip avoided conversation as he concentrated on his lyrics, and tried not to let on how angry he was about Dave being missing in action. Behind the house, Julian and Angelica had already set up on one side of the back porch that reached across the back of the house, giving the whole band enough space to set up.

There were about a dozen people hanging out in small groups in the yard. Several of them wore the same shirts as Eric and Doug. Signifying that they were in the same fire fighter training as Bill. A small cheer went up as the two band members came back to the area to set up their equipment. Another one of the 'fire fighters in training' asked Bill if he could help. Skip stopped paying attention to the conversation as he placed his microphone stand at the center of the stage, right in front of where Bill was setting up his drum kit. He looked through a window into the house to see that there was another crowd in there. He wanted to be alone right now. On top of wanting to prepare for the show, he was furious about Dave.

He found his way to the other side of the house where there were no partiers, just a big ponderosa pine and the air conditioner, which he sat on. A few minutes later; Katie came around the corner of the building.

"You want a beer?" She asked shyly, she had a can in each hand. Skip looked up at her, almost in annoyance. He mustered up the most polite voice he could when he answered.

"Yea, sure. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you pissed off about Dave?"

"I dunno. I just want the show to go good you know." He didn't want her to know that he was growing to hate his guitarist. Skip wasn't attracted to Katie, yet he knew she was always flirting with him. Now she had got him here alone and he had to be polite. He opened his beer and took a sip. He really didn't even want it. He didn't drink beer during practice and he didn't want anything to change his voice before his performance so he set it down on the ground with a sigh.

"Dave will be here any minute, I'm sure. He probably stopped by Bill's and saw you guys weren't there and headed over here. He knows where it is. He was here with Marie and me yesterday." Skip furrowed hi brow and nodded.

"Cool." He didn't offer anymore conversation than that, so Katie spoke up again.

"Everybody that has heard your band thinks you guys are great. I especially like your singing. Do you really write all the words yourself? They're amazing." Skip looked at the praising girls eyes and softened a bit.

"Yea, I wrote them, thanks."

"I was gonna say, any body that writes that good would have to work in a book store. Not just anyone could come up with stuff like that." Skip didn't like the way this conversation was going. He appreciated being recognized for his song writing skill, but he didn't know what to say to the kind girl that he had been trying to avoid. Luckily, just then Marie came around the corner.

"Skip, Dave just called. He's on the way." Skip felt relief at the news and the interruption of Katie's advances.

"Cool, hey guys, I want to be alone for now. I'm just getting ready for the show, you know. Nothing personal." He smiled from Katie to Marie.

"No problem, c'mon Katie." Marie nodded to Katie.

"We'll all be here." Marie smiled.

"See ya." Katie smiled at Skip sadly. The vocalist was feeling anxious about the show and angry at his guitarist. He didn't really care if he had hurt the girl's feelings. Skip's emotions all seemed to be , centered on the fact that Dave was doing this. He let it pass. He wasn't going to let anything ruin this performance. He was thinking that he should be happy, yet he was filled with anger and anxiety. Be cool, be cool. He told himself. He started going over the lyrics in his mind. Several minutes later, Bill came around the corner.

"Aye man! Dave's here. We're gonna do it now. Let's do the sound check and get this party going!"

"Cool. I'm ready."

"Right on. Let's do it!" Bill's up beat attitude was good for Skip's confidence. It made the vocalist believe that the band could do anything. They would rock this party. Skip was on the porch with Angelica and Julian, when Dave came around the back of the house. Eric and Doug were helping him with his gear. Dave had them set up his Marshal half-stack amp on the opposite side of the drum set from the bass and keyboard players.

"Hey, guys." Dave smirked, not offering an apology for being late. No one felt like starting a fight right now so they just let it slide. It was obvious to the other band members that Skip was the most upset. Bill came out of the house with his always-positive attitude that broke up the scene.

"Alright, we gonna rock?"

"Ready when you are." Dave smiled as he strapped on his guitar. The band took their positions. Within minutes, Bill counted off the opening song and the Porno Junkies' loud music filled the air with its aggressive yet seductive sound. The waves of the melody washed over the crowd in the backyard prompting cheers. Then Skip let his voice join the cacophony:

"Wake up back to bed

Get up to know good

Ever is enough when

Rest is not needed

Two get up or stay

I'm lookin' at, I'm lookin' at you

I'm lookin' at, I'm lookin' at you..."

As Skip sang he was amazed at the audience. They were all having a good time, as you would expect at a party. At the same time, though it seemed that they were hanging on to his every word. He had made the connection! His soul was, entwined with every soul at the party. As he carried his voice back out to them:

"Screwed up and at that,

Out through no other,

Phase when mine and yours,

When all's needed next,

Then and if ever,

Was who, them enough,

I'm lookin' at, 'I'm lookin' at you,'

'I'm lookin' at, I'm lookin' at you,"

Skip had never gotten such a rush out of performing with the band. The show went on perfectly. Every song ended with a sincere applause. It could not have been better as far as Skip was concerned. After the set Skip left as soon as he could, so he could be alone with this huge feeling of success.

As Skip lay alone in bed, he was not worried about blowing off the rest of the party. He was just amazed at how good it felt to have been singing in front of the crowd. As he had hurried to leave; all the people he had run into were just complimenting him, and telling him how great the band was. It was like being, worshipped. He was beside himself with rapture. Imagine, he told himself. The whole world will love you. He couldn't wait to get back to band practice with the Porno Junkies. They were going to be rock stars.

Skip went back to work at the bookstore on Monday feeling better than ever. The success of the band at the party made him feel like a new person. He didn't think anything could bring him down. Everything around the store seemed trivial and meaning less compared to the feeling he got from the gig. He was on top of the world. He usually preferred not to deal with the customers who came in looking for; this book or that book. That Skip usually had no interest in. Now though, it was all below him. He cheerfully helped little old ladies find obsolete cook books. As readily as he directed a guy find the horror section. On Wednesday, Bill came into the shop. He was alone and it was around time for Skip to get off his shift. Bill seemed more serious than his usual self did. Skip smiled and thought to ask.

"Everything alright" ? "Yea, I gotta talk to you, you just about done?"

"Give me a couple minutes. I'll meet you by the front."

"All right", Bill put his hands in his pockets and strolled towards the front door pretending to have interest in the books along the aisle. Skip was worried. What was Bill here for? Alone and not his usual up beat, happy go lucky self. He got off his shift and went to his friend.

"What's up, dude?"

"Well there's two things. One awesome and one I don't think we need to worry about right now."

"What is it man?"

"Well here it is: The Woodland Park fire department is throwing party at the station. The whole community is going to be there and they've invited our band to plat. They don't know our name is 'The Porno Junkies' we're just a live band performing." Cool, Skip thought. A huge gig! This is great. So what if they didn't know the name of the band? This was better than they could have hoped for, for their second gig. He looked at Bill again, who should have been smiling.

"What?" What's the matter, dude?" Is practicing with another band, but he's still gonna play the gig with us Skip felt like he had just gotten kicked in the gut as his eyes bulged out of their sockets.

"What? Another band? What's wrong with the Junkies?"

"Hold up, I know it sucks. We're still his band, but I thought you should know. It is kind of messed up." Skip nearly spat.

"Yea its messed up! This isn't cool. Especially since we've got this gig. This is totally screwed." Bill nodded and waited for Skip to calm down a bit before he spoke again.

" He didn't quit he's still with us; he's just jamming with some other guys. He'll be at practice next Friday, so we can talk about it then. Find out everything. You know?"

"Yea we'll see on Friday then. I'll talk to you later Bill. Thanks for coming by to let me know. Hey! Woodland Park! The whole town? Can't beat that! I think we're ready, especially after that last party." Skip tried to keep the conversation positive.

"Yea, you should've stuck around, after I went back there were a lot of people that stayed around to chill out. You know that Katie really likes you. She said you never talk to her." Bill said kindly. Skip shrugged.

"I've just been busy with the music and all. I'll have more chances to talk to her. Are Marie and her gonna be at the show?"

"Yea I'm pretty sure. I just thought I'd let you know. Anyway, I'll see you Friday. We'll have this Friday night to practice, and then the party is on Saturday. We'll set up and play in the early afternoon." Skip nodded as he listened to Bill, and smiled back.

"Cool, I'll see you on Friday. It's gonna rock."

"You know it." Bill agreed.

"See ya later."

"See ya."

Skip got home to his room with a feeling of dread weighing heavily upon him. The show was going to be incredible. He knew they could pull it off, but with the whole community there: Families, young and old. It was a source of anxiety; the news about Dave was crushing. How could Dave do this? He acted as if the Porno Junkies meant nothing to him. Skip hated him more by the second for it.

The vocalist of the Porno Junkies had to cool off or the anger clawing the inside of his skull would drive him mad. He decided to bury his thoughts within his books. For the most part it worked as he kept wresting with his rage. Whenever his concentration, faltered from his reading, it was only to revisit the seething anger that sometimes turned to fear. Fear of losing his band, the one thing he wanted to make him happy.

Friday came and Skip prepared himself for practice he didn't want to fight with the band, and he wondered if Dave would just threaten to quit if they did fight. Skip doubted he would right before the big show, but he didn't want to take any chances. When he got to the garage; He saw that the whole band was there, in addition Marie and Katie were, too. Everyone was ready to jam. Bill spoke up:

"Hey, my man! Let's do our set really quick. We're all ready." Skip shrugged.

"Sure let's do it." Skip took his position at the mic and the music screeched into its lumbering, rocking sense of life with Skip standing right in the middle of it as he raised his voice in song. After their set Marie and Katie clapped as Bill motioned to the room with his sticks.

"Hey, we should talk what's going on with that other band. Dave, what's up?" Dave had an expression of faked surprise on his face. He scratched his neck and answered non chalantly.

"I dunno. It's just a couple of guys we're working on some covers and some new stuff. It won't interfere with this band." He was not really looking at anyone, but Skip wanted to tear the smug look off the guitarist's face. As the situation was at this moment, he guessed it wasn't like Dave had quit. He had played the band's songs well tonight. He forced his anger to rest as he let himself be happy about the gig tomorrow. Bill spoke up:

"I don't think we should make up any new songs tonight. Let's just stick with our set." The whole band agreed. They broke down their equipment to be ready for the show tomorrow.

The next day, the band set up around Bill's drum set in the corner of the parking lot at the fire station. There was a small carnival set up at the other end, as far away from the band as possible. It was immediately obvious that this was going to be a different audience. There were young mothers with children; Elderly folk, and a painfully small number of what the band would consider a 'target audience', just as Skip had expected it. He was gonna blast this place anyway. The members of the band looked back and forth at each other uneasily from time to time, but there was no backing out now.

Finally, it was time to play. The roar that was the Porno Junkies sprung to life, surprisingly each song, was applauded. The band felt welcome by the new audience and once again, Skip was on top of the world. As with the Porno Junkies first gig: Skip got out of there as fast as he could. Performing the music made him feel better than anything did, and he didn't want some stupid conversation to ruin his high. This time however. His high was being ruined. Dave was starting another band. It was like a personal attack. After some time Skip just buried his nose in a book for the rest of the evening and late into the night.

The week at the bookshop was uneventful as he went through his daily labors. He was working on new songs in his free time and reading his treasured collection. Friday showed up before he realized it. He got off work and called Bill. The drummer answered with a friendly tone.

"Hey, Skip."

"Aye Bill, I got some new songs to work on this weekend." Bill didn't speak right away.

"Bill. What's up?"

"Aye Skip, uh, I think you had better come over here. It's a pretty big deal." Skip's heart froze. Silence sat heavily on the phone line until Skip could speak.

"Dave quit?"

"Yea, and the rest of us."

"You're going to his new band?"

"No, I'm quitting because I wanna be a fire man, not a rock star. Julian, Angelica just quit, and Dave... You know. Skip, you write awesome songs. You can start a new band!" Skip couldn't speak, he numbly hung up the phone. The discarded lead singer was in shock. Burning rage began to seep into every pore of his being. He bowed his head and sat at the edge of his bed. He went alone deep into his mind as he felt the betrayal of the band torturing his soul. He shook his head with a half smile and looked up at the calendar. Friday the 13th, and a full moon. Then his attention went to one book in his book collection. It was one that contained something in it that he thought was appropriate for the occasion: Curses.

He opened the book to the section and looked it over. He didn't really have to read it. He had studied it before. Yet, as he fumed alone in his room the wind outside stirred. The moonlit night outside carried his silent curses out into the darkness of the Colorado night as time crept towards midnight. The ill will sought out the musicians who had so recently created the music that echoed in the mind of Skip. A shudder ran through the air as a lone thunder peal echoed over Colorado Springs...

In the Old Crone's Garden

"I don't like this. Where are we going?" 14-year-old Janet Bailey asked her friend Magenta Rockwell quietly. She didn't want the three boys they were following to hear. Janet didn't want the boys thinking she was trying to back out of the hike. Truth be told: She knew that they were all lost. Janet and Magenta had lived in the same neighborhood as the boys their whole lives. They usually didn't invite the girls on their adventures; so she didn't want to mess this up by complaining. If she did, she would probably, never be invited again.

Their guide was Trent Holstein; he was the leader of the other two teenage boys. He did well in school, but he got in trouble often. His dark hair had grown long over the last year and he was putting on a lot of muscle weight. Trent and Jason had picked up weight lifting as a hobby and it was starting to show.

Jason Freeman, was built powerfully for his age, but he carried himself with no confidence. No one would think that he could lift almost half again what Trent could. With his attitude; it would be more likely that he would take a beating himself, rather than actually hurting anyone. His brown hair and eyes went with his plain looks to make him appear like an ordinary, yet slightly oversized kid.

The third boy was Nathan Schreiber he got bad grades and he was always getting into trouble; both in school, and out. He had a mop of light brown hair. The first thing anyone noticed when they met him was his piercing blue eyes that glared maniacally most of the time. None of the girls at Manitou Springs Middle School liked him. As a rule, they avoided him as much as they could; that went for the boys there as well. Trent was one of the few people that even spoke with him. His confidence overrode Nathan's negativity.

"Magenta. Where are we going? I'm serious." Janet's voice strained while she still kept it low.

"I don't know, Trent said he found something cool up here, be cool." Magenta was feistier than Janet was. Her hair was red, which complimented her sparkling green eyes and pale skin. Janet had light brown hair and soft blue eyes. The two girls were about the same height and build so they shared many of their clothes with each other. The two had been best friends since the fourth grade. Janet and Magenta met in kindergarten and once they started to call each other over the phone, they became inseparable. Neither of the girls would admit to any of the boys that they were starting to get uncomfortable on this hike. The two just followed along behind.

The group of five teenagers were slowly winding their way through the tightly woven scrub oak that covered the hills south of Manitou Springs. The peculiar, gnarled trees twisted their way to the skies, between ten to fifteen feet tall; the bizarre things grew like weeds here. None of their trunks ever grew straight; they resembled mangled limbs more than regular tree trunks. The overabundant trees grew so close together, that when the teenagers tried to see a far distance through them; it was impossible to see much of anything at all. The strange shape of the leaves added to the oddity of the plants surrounding them. Gentle breezes crept through the woods around them from time to time; rustling the leaves, as if keeping the trees awake while they tried to rest in stillness before the next gust bothered them again. The light from above caused shadow play below that teased the eyes of the group. The effect was unsettling to the two girls and Jason, though they tried to ignore it. Without complaining, they followed Trent further into the thick scrub.

The leader of the pack knew that he didn't wander this far when he first came here alone, but he would never admit that he was lost. He fought his way ahead through the scrub oak: Twisting, ducking, and sometimes even squirming his way through the tangle of growth. The hikers plodded on. Trent began to grow anxious as they all began pumping their legs to get up a steep hill. The boys were winded as they reached the top.

"Let's take a break!" Magenta called up to Trent.

"Yea, C'mon." Janet agreed with her friend. Trent stopped and leaned against a tree as he watched the girls clamber to the top of the hill to join everyone else. He was lost, but he had to seem confident. It was hard to get his bearings by looking at the mountains because the canopy of leaves and branches over head was nearly impenetrable to sight from below. Even with the ceiling of the forest blocking sight, it was easy to see that it was overcast, with the sky hanging low. A Colorado Springs, early summer thunderstorm was going to be moving through soon.

"All right! This is a great hike! How you guys doin'?" Trent sounded up beat and confident as he smiled. He exuded charm.

"Fine." Jason shrugged. The ploy didn't work on the rest of the group.

"C'mon man, tell us what you found. This is starting to piss me off!" Nathan shot with his usual harsh tone.

"You'll see, it'll be cool. Don't worry about it."

"Yea, I'm sure." Nathan sneered sarcastically.

"How much further is it?" Janet asked as the two girls got to the crest of the hill.

"Not far! Just trust me." Steve tried to look through the thick canopy in the direction they were headed. He didn't see anything; he hid his disappointment and frustration. Where were they? His thoughts were, interrupted by Magenta:

"You're bein' an asshole Trent. You didn't tell us it was gonna be this far. We should have brought water."

"C'mon, Magenta. It's just over there. It's not too far." He motioned vaguely ahead. She was right about the water, he usually carried his backpack, but in organizing every one to make the trip; he forgot it. The two girls peered through the leaves making the roof of the scrub oak forest. It was becoming more like a journey into a prison; than a peaceful nature hike to the tired girls. Looking down the hill through a gap in the foliage, both girls squinted into the distance. Suddenly, they both jumped. Janet pointed and exclaimed:

"Look, there's a roof!"

"I see it too. It's like a house or something." Magenta agreed.

"There's no houses back here! It's a nature reserve or something, dumb asses!"

"Screw You, Nathan. There's a house right there." Magenta pointed.

"That's where we're going." Trent said, beaming with pride. He was relieved that the girls had found it, if it was the right building. He hadn't approached it from atop a hill when he stumbled on it while he was hiking around here alone before. He secretly hoped that this was it.

"To somebody's fuckin' house, Trent? Who lives there?"

Nathan's angry voice didn't have any affect on the beaming Trent.

"Nobody, it's abandoned. I think."

"You think?" Magenta asked with a harsh tone. She was becoming angry too.

"No, really! I'm positive. I watched it for awhile, while I had lunch, and I didn't see a soul. Just wait 'till you see it. You'll agree, it's totally old. There might be some cool stuff in there."

"Yea, I guess so." Nathan agreed.

"I wanna check it out too, dude." Jason craned his neck to look where the girls had pointed. None of the boys could see anything.

"I don't know guys, its private property. We might get shot or something; we don't know what kind of crazy hermit would have a house out here." Janet voiced her concern as she gazed at the roof in the distance.

"Don't be such a wussy Janet. It's gonna be cool." Nathan chided.

"Yea Janet, we've come this far. How 'bout you Magenta?", Trent's charismatic voice rang.

"Let's go." Magenta looked at Janet, eyebrows raised. There was a strange feeling tingling in both of the girls, like some sort of strange energy tickling them as they spied through the leaves. They looked into each other's eyes and knew instantly that they both felt the same thing. None of the boys noticed anything different.

"Yea, let's go." Janet said as she squinted at the structure. Trent could not see what the girls were looking at, but he decided to lead in the direction they had pointed and pretend he knew where he was going.

Trent led on through the brambles that covered the steep slope. They all caught themselves on the tree trunks to slow themselves down on their descent. As before the girls fell behind; keeping the boys in sight, the two kept a safe pace. They were being careful not to fall. The boys started moving faster, becoming reckless. They were treating the overgrown slope like a ski run. They swung around trees, and hurdled over obstacles on the ground. The three whooped, yelled, and laughed as they picked up speed.

"Those guys are crazy." Magenta laughed.

"They're gonna break their necks" Janet smiled.

"AAAAH!" Trent shrieked. The other two boys stopped as fast as they could. They had both seen Trent fall awkwardly to the ground.

"Dude!" Nathan shouted with sincere concern. They were all shocked into seriousness.

"Trent! Holy shit!" Jason moved towards his best friend. Trent was laying in a tangle of barbed wire. It wasn't a fence; rather, it was just a chaotic mess of the wicked stuff.

"Fuckin' aye man, don't move!" Nathan commanded.

"Get me out of here! Shit! It has me all over the fuckin' place! Fuck!"

"You dumb asses! You shouldn't have been goin' so fast!" Magenta tried to stop shaking from the fear she felt after hearing Trent's blood curdling scream. Both of the girls stopped in shock when they saw him. Their eyes popped out and their jaws dropped.

"Oh my god." Magenta gasped.

"Trent! Are you alright?" The question automatically blurted from Janet's dry mouth.

"No! C'mon guys help me!' Nathan and Jason carefully worked with Trent to get him out of the cruel mass of old strands of rusted metal ripping his clothes and occasionally his flesh.

"Ouch! Be careful man."

"Sorry dude."

"Almost got it, C'mon man get away from this shit." Nathan held a bunch of wire away from him so he could squirm out. The girls watched the five-minute ordeal in silence. Janet fought back tears. Magenta was in disbelief.

"What the hell shit is this?" Nathan was genuinely angry. Trent was more in shock than anything as he checked his wounds.

"I don't know. I'm in a world of hurt though man. Damn." The left side of his head, wass covered with blood, from all around his eye to his chin.

"You're lucky you didn't lose your eye." Magenta pointed. Trent pulled up the collar of his t-shirt to press over the wound on his face.

"Weren't you watching where you were going?" Janet barked.

"Look! This stuff goes all along this part of the hill, both ways." Jason pointed in both directions indicating the barrier. Nathan checked it out and he shook his head.

"That's seriously fucked up. They only set up barbed wire like that in the army 'er somethin'. Who would set up shit like that around here?" Nathan frowned deeper and asked Trent:

"Are you hurting bad, dude?"

"I guess I'll be alright. I think I have about twenty holes in me though." They could all see patches of blood forming around several tears in his clothes. He was still pressing on his face, by his left eye. Trent leaned over to inspect the instrument that had delivered so much damage to him.

"I've never seen that kind of barbed wire before, weird."

"We've gotta go back. You need a doctor. You're gonna get an infection." Janet spoke as if there would be no question about it. Magenta agreed:

"I think so too Trent. You're really hurt." Jason and Nathan looked back from where they were inspecting the mass of dangerous fencing. At that exact moment, they all had a dark revelation. None of them knew the fastest way out. They had been crawling through scrub oak mazes all morning. Trent sensed the group's sudden fear. He took charge again, mustering up a strong voice:

"I just got a tetanus shot awhile ago. Besides, by the time we get back they'll all be healed up?" Trent was in pain. A lot of pain, and everywhere. He saw himself as tough though, so he couldn't be a wus about this. Not in front of the girls and definitely not in front of the guys. Besides, they had to get through this as a team. Without him around, Nathan and Magenta would kill each other out here. He just hoped that he could figure out where they were before they cornered him into admitting that he was totally lost.

"Besides, there might be a creek down there that I can wash up in."

"I wanna' go back." Janet said firmly. Jason spoke up:

"Yea there might be a creek down there. He needs to wash out those cuts as soon as possible."

"Jason..." Magenta rolled her eyes and turned her head away from the three boys. Suddenly she noticed something down the length of the barbed wire trap about fifty feet away, at eye level.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Janet looked to where Magenta's eyes were focused.

"It's a sign or something." Magenta crouched down to try to get a better view.

"Where?" Nathan asked. Trent was relieved to have the focus off him. While no one was looking, he allowed himself to wince in pain. The ripped up middle school student quickly hid his pain again, so he could keep his cool.

"Yea, I see it!" Janet looked to Magenta:

"I can't read it. Can you?"

"No."

"C'mon." Nathan said as he started following the edge of the barbed wire in the direction the girls were looking. He still couldn't see the hand-painted wooden sign until he was right on top of it. The rest of them got there right behind him. Trent was bringing up the rear. He was moving his legs stiffly to try to avoid rubbing his jeans on the injuries that scored his legs. Trent shouted over to Nathan:

"Nathan! What does it say?"

"Beware. Do not enter." Nevertheless; "C'mon man that where the trail's goin' down through a break in the wire! It's the best way!" Cool, Trent thought as he echoed Nathan's positive outlook:

"Kick ass!"

The girls looked at each other with questioning expressions. Trent looked at the sign closely and then looked at Nathan:

"Damn. That looks old." Trent observed. Janet felt like she had to say something:

"We should listen to the sign and follow the trail that way." She pointed.

"Yea, guys, c'mon."

"Fuck off Magenta!" Nathan blurted.

"You two are always agreeing with each other. I say we take a fucking vote. Wait a minute, we don't have to. There are two of you. How many, let me see, hmm. Oh yea, three of us. So fuck off." "Screw you, Nathan." Magenta glared at him with rage. Before anyone else could say anything Trent cut in:

"C'mon you guys! Knock it off. We'll follow the trail to the bottom. It's a deer trail and deer go to the water. That has to be where it leads. I need to get, cleaned up as fast as possible. You two saw that old barbed wire."

"What about the sign, Trent?" Janet asked the handsome boy who was still covering the left side of his face by stretching up the shoulder of his shirt. Trent spoke with a patient tone as he explained:

"Look how old it is! Besides, there's a trail goin' right through it. C'mon guys. O.K. Listen, if there is a creek, it would definitely run down to meet up with Sutherland Creek. That would bring us down by Crystal Kangaroo Campground. Then we circle around the base of Iron Mountain, where we pop up behind the Crystal Valley Cemetery. I know my way around back here. Trust me? it is the fastest way. In addition, we can't even see our hands in front of our own faces in this scrub. How is anyone gonna spot us?" They all trusted Trent, but no one knew what to say to him at that moment as they all tried to see the imaginary map he had just drawn out in their minds. The girls still looked doubtful. Trent felt that he needed to say more:

"If these things heal with crap in them that would be even worse. I'm not looking forward to it, but I gotta clean 'em out. Now; c'mon! Be cool. What other choice do we have?"

"Yea be cool, you stupid bitches. Find your own way home through this shit. I hope a mountain lion eats 'yer ass! See ya later."

"Knock it off Nathan!" Trent snapped.

"Let's go down there Magenta."

"Yea I think it's the best bet." The girls surrendered themselves to Trent's plan. The two ignored Nathan as they took the lead down the trail. He walked after them making obscene gestures behind their backs. Trent and Jason were unimpressed, but they didn't say anything so it wouldn't start any more trouble.

Walking on the path was infinitely easier than dodging through the maze of malformed trees. The further they went down; the angrier the sky became. Thunder growled in the distance as if rolling slowly over the Rocky Mountains. The break in the canopy above the trail allowed them a clear view of a patch of sky. Even with gray clouds above, being able to see the sky again was comforting. The wind began to pick up in gusts that hissed through the leaves like a giant unseen snake. The girls stopped and looked back. Nathan was close behind them, a scowl on his face seemed like a mask of anger and ugliness. Trent was falling behind with Jason, walking with a relaxed Stride. Nathan stopped in a manner the girls imagined a soldier might. He spun on a heel to face Trent.

"You hangin' in there, dude?" Nathan asked toughly.

"Yea, I'm comin'. We're all goin' to the same place."

"It's gonna' rain." Magenta looked to the sky.

"You know it'll just blow over. Quit 'yer bitchin'."

"We're almost to the bottom." Trent interrupted. He continued, almost in afterthought:

"Knock it off Nathan. Be an asshole some other time."

"Whatever." Nathan grumbled. He marched past the girls to take the lead. As he passed Magenta; she flinched ever so slightly. It pleased Nathan and put an ugly smirk on his face as he took the point position. The group paused for awhile to let Nathan get a good lead.

"I don't get him sometimes." Magenta said softly. Actually, She hated him.

"He's such an ass hole. What is he thinking?" Janet added.

"You know he's always been like that. I don't know what his problem is. Just don't let him get to you. I don't know what else to say." He shrugged and tilted his head.

"Are you sure that you're gonna be alright?" Janet asked. She looked closely into his eyes. Twin pools of pain. She wondered what the cut he hid behind his shirt on his face was like; she didn't want to see it. She thought it would be impolite for some reason. She suddenly changed her mind: with a commanding, motherly voice, she sternly demanded:

"Let me see your face."

"C'mon, Trent do it, let us see how it looks." Magenta joined in. Jason cringed at the thought, after all the blood he knew Trent was losing from the gash. Magenta reached for his dried- blood, caked wrist.

"All right, all right. Chill out." Trent took his hand away from his handsome face.

"Holy shit." Jason gasped He quickly recovered:

"Sorry." He muttered, as looked to the two girls sadly.

"Trent! That needs stitches." Janet said sadly as she looked at the worse wound she had ever seen in her life. It was right on his poor face! She shook her head.

"Why didn't you tell us it was that bad?" Magenta asked hotly.

"How bad? C'mon what could you do? Worry? Trust me we've made the best plan." He smiled warmly. Right at that instant Nathan's voice penetrated the thick woods reaching them from some distance.

"Guys! Trent! C'mon it's a creek! Fast and clear! Just what the doctor ordered! Ha, ha! Whew!" The four moved down the trail towards Nathan's loud imitation of a chimpanzee.

The creek was just what Nathan needed. Like Nathan said: Fast, clear, and clean. The scrub oak strangely left enough of the bank clear so that there was enough room to walk on either side of the three-foot wide stream of fresh, cold water. Nathan was already drinking.

"Think it's safe to drink?" Janet asked.

"What do you think the Indians drank? Dumb ass." Nathan berated her needlessly.

"The Indians are all dead." Magenta said coldly.

"Whatever." Nathan slurped up more of the mountain water from his cupped hands.

"I'm havin' some." Trent slowly knelt and began slurping.

"Me too." Jason joined the other two boys. Nathan tried not to appear shocked as he got his first good look at the wound that had torn the left side of Trent's face.

"Damn dude, you better get cleaned up."

"Yea." Trent lifted the corner of his mouth in a sad attempt at half of a smile. He couldn't see the wound, but he knew it hurt. Judging by everyone's reactions it must be as bad as he feared. The boys stopped talking as they greedily gulped down handfuls of water.

"Really you guys it's alright. You need to drink too." Nathan smiled at the two girls. They were both looking at the water.

"I'm thirsty enough to drink, warm, flat, soda." Magenta smiled at Trent and scowled at Nathan. I got that look, bitch. Nathan thought to himself. They knelt and began drinking thirstily. After a little while, Trent stood up. He directed his comment at the girls:

"I gotta strip."

"We don't have to see that!" Janet exclaimed a little too loudly.

"We'll go check and see what's over there." Magenta pointed upstream where the banks turned to make the stream twist out of sight. It was also the in same direction that they had seen the isolated house.

"Allright. Stay close enough that we can hear you yell." Nathan smiled.

"He means scream." Nathan sneered. They all ignored him.

"Allright. Let's go." Magenta led the way. When the girls got far enough away to be out of earshot: Trent's face got serious and he stood right in front of Nathan:

"How bad is it?"

"Fuckin' bad dude."

"Shut up Nathan, it'll be fine." A hint of anger was in Jason's voice.

"You better get cleaned up. Get that whole thing under water. You had better scrub it, Trent. It's gonna hurt like a mother fucker. Use your shirt like a washcloth or something."

"Thanks Nathan." Trent said softly. He exchanged a smile with Jason. Trent gingerly peeled off his shirt. The other boys tried to appear casual as they looked over the multiple wounds all over his body and arms. Nathan shook his head, but remained silent.

"We gotta get you to the doctor." Jason looked at Trent with wide eyes."

"I'll get there, don't worry. This is the first step: Cleaning up. Damn, it all hurts so bad that I can't even tell anymore. My Dad is gonna fuckin' kill me. I am dead." Trent pulled off his pants; exposing more: nasty gashes and punctures. The other two watched him kneel in the cold water and start to bathe. Nathan looked over and raised his eyebrows at Jason. The frightened boy bowed his head, shook it slowly, his chin all the way to his down on his chest.

Nathan looked up the storm clouds threatening rain. At least it's cooling off, he thought to himself. His eyes narrowed to slits as he looked upstream to where the girls had disappeared around the bend. Bitches, he hated them. He knew they both had the hots for Trent. That's why he was rude to them; he knew he didn't have a chance. That's why he was rude to all girls. They're all a bunch of fucking bitches. He shook his head to clear the thought from his mind. He focused on Trent, poor Trent. He was going through the painful process of scrubbing his mangled face. Nathan was pissed that Trent was defending the girls: Making himself look like a hero and letting the girls get away with ripping on Him. Those bitches needed to get the shit beat out of them. Trent's poor Mangled face; he said to himself... Nathan seemed to snap out of a day dream. Trent is one of the only people that is ever cool to me, but sometimes I hate him just as much as all those other fuckers. I don't know, he thought. He outwardly sighed:

"How ya' 'doin bud?" He knelt down next to Trent. Jason looked up from where he was sitting on the bank downstream, he was breaking up twigs and throwing them in the water. Trent Nodded to Nathan:

"Like I said, my dad is gonna fuckin' kill me. I wish that shit would've killed on that damned hill. I'd be better off."

"You'll be fine, Trent." Jason tried to console him. Nathan snorted:

"No man, c'mon. Do you realize how much trouble that the rest of us would be in if you had died up there?" Nathan chuckled. Jason furrowed his brow. He obviously didn't think the joke was funny.

"Yea, whatever. I'm ready to get goin', let me get dressed." Trent noticed that neither of them would look him in the face. While he washed, he realized how bad it was. He forgot about all the other damage to his body. The gash on his face was the only thing he was worried about. It ran from the corner of his eye, along the arch of his cheekbone almost all the way to the corner of his mouth. Damn. Don't worry, he told himself. The doctor will fix it. That's their job. Right? I know they'll fix it.

Jason was shutting this all out of his mind. All he cared about was getting Trent to a doctor as fast as possible. He was just praying that his best and only real friend in the world would be just fine.

Up the creek, the two girls picked their footing along the bank. Finally, Janet broke the silence:

"Trent's face is really bad."

"I know Janet! Stop talking about it, please! They'll stitch it up and he'll be fine. If we can find this house, we can use the phone and get help." Both of the girls were shaken up, the image of the damage to Trent's face had horrified them. The damage he received from the old barbed wire was something they had never seen. Their minds were full of racing thoughts. They were going on a fun hike with the boys. Nothing this serious was supposed to happen. Why would someone put something so dangerous in a place like this? It was already bad enough on its own. Both of the girls were holding back buckets of tears. There would be time for that later. Neither of them would let themselves cry with Nathan around. Magenta looked up to see a clearing. On the other side was a large house!

"There it is!" Magenta clapped her hands in joy.

"Let's go ask to use the..." Janet's excitement trailed off.

"Let's get the guys."

"Yea. C'mon." Janet and Magenta ran as fast as they could back to the boys. They nearly fell into the stream several times on the way back. The gnarled branches of the scrub oak grabbed at their clothes and faces. How far had they walked upstream? Finally, they saw the boys. Trent held his water soaked, t-shirt over his face like a makeshift bandage.

"You guys! We found a house!" Magenta waved the moment the girls saw the three of them. Julie yelled:

"Yea! There's a house up here." The boys hooted with laughter. They high-fived as they took off after the two heroes, all their troubles were over. Their spirits were higher than they had been all day. The girls were giddy with excitement as they led the way. Thunder boomed overhead, yet it seemed far away. No one gave it a thought. Nobody cared about anything. They were saved!

As they entered the clearing, the first thing they saw was the back of a large, old, Victorian house at the opposite end of a clearing across from them. A Victorian? They were common down town, but not this far out in the woods, out in the middle of nowhere. The trimming was a dirty old white; the paint was cracked and gray. The house itself was grayish lavender. All The windows were intact, but very dark. Steve looked around at everyone. This was not the building that he had been searching for.

"Hey, what's that?" Jason asked everyone, they all looked to where he pointed with a stiff finger. Almost swallowed by the scrub oak, yet still visible, stood a tall statue.

"There's another one!" Janet exclaimed. Magenta followed with her own observation:

"They're all around the Edge of the clearing; all the way from here to the house." The Unmoving sentinels were wrapped in the scrub oak and under growth so badly that they couldn't be seen well enough to tell much about them. The lost children peered at the Grayish- white figures.

"I don't know, but c'mon." Trent strode bravely toward the house. Every one followed him cautiously. Nathan eyed the house suspiciously; a feeling of dread began to gnaw at him. It seemed to enter his veins and move around his body. He forced himself to ignore it and fell to the rear of the group. They had all unconsciously slowed down.

"Hey this used to be some kind of garden. It's just overgrown." Magenta exclaimed in as cheery a voice she could.

"Yea I can see it too. Loo..." She was cut of by Nathan:

"Who gives a shit. It doesn't even look like they have a fucking phone. Fuckin' a man, look at the dead flowers." Nathan shook his head in disgust at the two hurt girls. He looked back at the house; he was starting to hate the mysterious house in front of him, too. He glared at it and fought off the fear he felt growing as he got closer. Trent was almost to the back door:

"Everybody ready?" He looked back to his friends. They all nodded.

"Hit the door hard, dude. I wanna get outta here." Nathan gave him the thumbs up. Trent turned back to climb the steps toward the door. He paused for a moment, his fist raised. Knuckles ready. They all held their breaths as if they were expecting something frightening to happen. Finally, three loud knocks released them. The sound boomed as if the whole house was a giant drum. All of them stood in silence looking to the windows and the door in anticipation.

"C'mon man, does it like this." Nathan bounded up the stairs. He pounded rudely on the door: Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, the loud sound filled their ears. Janet, Magenta, and Jason cringed.

"Nathan. Show some respect." Trent scolded him.

"I think the house is DE-SER-TED, dude! Let's just break in, see if there's a phone, and go."

"Nathan. Shut up! There might be somebody in there. You're gonna get us shot. You know? The make my day law? Be cool man. Let's try the front door." Nathan conceded to Trent's plan. He swallowed his anger at being, scolded again, even though it was from Trent.

They all walked around to the front of the house. All of the windows were dark. They couldn't tell if there were curtains, or just blackness behind them. They had first thought the house looked deserted. Now they felt like there must be someone living here. The place wasn't well maintained but it wasn't a complete wreck either, there were smaller statues along the growth following the clearing, parallel with the side of the house. Still hard to see, they looked like squatting gargoyles. There were different kinds looking out at the house from the scrub oak and thorny under growth. Janet didn't want to look at them. All of the statues were giving her the creeps. Magenta was more curious than afraid. Jason was too concerned with Trent to think about the strange objects. Nathan glanced at them and thought they were just some crazy art, old lawn decorations, whatever. Trent didn't notice them, his soaked shirt held against his bleeding face blocked his view. His desperation to get help blocked his powers of perception.

They circled around the side of the large house; the front yard was in even worse disrepair than the back and sides. There was a huge ponderosa pine that must of been struck by lightning years ago: who knows, they thought; maybe even centuries ago. The top half had fallen, to the ground and still lay were it landed. There were scrub oaks approaching the front door. Thick under growth in the form of evil looking brush created a four-foot high impassable barrier throughout. Dead tumble weeds were, caught by the rooted plants, making it look like an even bigger mess. Thunder rumbled and rolled across the sky as Trent looked up the steps to the front door. A plaque is nailed to the door. It was black with gold writing; it reads:

T-E-M-P-L-A-R. "Templar? Well here I go guys." Trent puffed up for confidence; he walked up the stairs quicker this time. Once again, Boom, boom, boom. There was an echo from the other side of the door that didn't sound much different from the thunder overhead. Trent backed a few steps away from the door and waited for a response.

"C'mon man." Nathan stomped up the stairs.

"Check the door."

"No!" Trent was too slow. Nathan grabbed the antique door knob and twisted it. With a click, the door opened slightly, a strange smell wafted through the crack, and everyone scowled at Nathan disapprovingly. Nathan smiled and shoved the door open. It creaked, as if in pain; leaving a dark opening before them.

"What did you do Nathan?" Magenta hissed.

"We gotta get out of here." Janet looked around in fear.

"Trent needs a phone." Jason grunted as he went up the stairs. Trent was furious with Nathan. His curiosity forced him to look in anyway.

"Nobody's home", Nathan smiled. The three boys stood before the open door.

Finally, Trent had an idea of how he could fix Nathan's idiot move.

"Hello. We have an emergency!, anybody home? Hello! We need a phone!" They all waited silently again. Everyone leaned forward to listen.

"I'm goin' in." Nathan stepped through the doorway. He was too far in for Trent to catch him. Trent looked to Jason who said flatly:

"You need help Trent." The girls looked at each other with exasperation. They didn't go up the stairs; still from where they were standing they saw the two others poke their heads into the open door making themselves guilty of the same crime as Nathan.

"What is this place, man? What a fucking trip. Come in guys, it's not that dark in here, there's a window." Nathan waved them in. Trent stepped inside:

"I can see that dumb ass." Then finally, Jason entered the room. The first thing they did was look up to the high ceiling.

"C'mon you guys, don't!" The girls yelled.

"It'll just be a minute." Trent yelled back through the open door. Janet shot back:

"This is the dumbest thing you guys have ever done! Let's go home!" None of them responded; they were awe struck by what they saw, inside. From the high ceiling, the biggest chandelier any of them had ever seen hung over their heads. It was made of thousands of crystals. The beautiful monstrosity was wider than any of them were tall. The little bit of light coming into contact with the bizarre crystals was enough to cause them to seem to have some kind of life shining from within. The three gawked for at least a full minute from the doorway.

Finally, they observed the rest of the 30 foot wide, 20-foot long room. Opposite the door that they came in through, there was a large double door. No one paid it much attention as they, noticed huge tapestries on the walls. Each had a picture woven into it. Amazing art like none of them had ever seen. The three stood before one that had a strange scene of naked cherubs playing in a garden surrounded by statues of tall men. There seemed to be depth to the flat surface of the huge cloth. The sky was a beautiful blue that almost shone with sunlight, even in this gloom. When they weren't looking at them; the cherubs caught the boy's eyes back to them, an ever so slight movement? Trent shook his head, clearing it of the art's spell. At that same instant: There was a loud boom, from somewhere deeper in the house, they all jumped in fright. From outside, they heard the girls scream.

"The girls! C'mon guys!" Trent charged out the door, his two friends behind. They flew down the stairs.

"Are you alright?" Trent looked around. He focused on the girls hugging each other with tears in their eyes. Magenta recovered first and avoided looking at Trent's bloody face as she asked:

"Didn't you hear that?, some kind of explosion?"

"Yea, it was from inside the house. I don't know where." Trent looked back up the stairs. The door was still open.

"Trent, I think we should go now." Jason was jittery.

"Yea, let's take off." Nathan agreed.

"What was in there?" Janet asked, wiping her nose.

"Weird art, a chandelier, I don't know." Trent pressed his shirt back onto his face. Suddenly a fear seemed to creep into them, coming, it seemed, up through the ground into their feet it moved up their legs to their shaking knees: Gripping, and tingling. The loathing sensation invaded their helpless bodies until it settled in their hearts; making the spastic organs move to their throats. They all looked at each other wide eyed. All of them were frozen where they stood, petrified with fear. Suddenly:

"Off my land! , Trespassers! Go! Off my land! You have invaded my home!" There was a bent old woman standing in the doorway. A cane in her left hand, a gnarled finger pointed at them with the other. When they saw her, they were sure she must be 100 years old. Her voice was so loud it seemed like she was right next to each one of them: Screaming right in every ear. All of them bolted back towards the trail behind the 'garden'. The fear that had frozen them changing into the inescapable desire to flee.

Nathan, once he was at the mouth of the trail, stopped suddenly. The troublemaker picked up a baseball-sized rock and hurled it at the building. There was the sound of an odd creak as the rock hit a first floor window. The delinquent stopped in puzzlement for a moment. There were a spider web of cracks in the dark glass, but right in the middle of them; embedded in the thin glass; was the stone he had thrown. It hadn't gone all the way through! it was suspended, stuck halfway through the pane. Nathan gave the house one last sideways look, and thought: I'm never coming back to this hell hole again.

"There you go, bitch!" Nathan yelled as he turned and ran to catch up with everyone else. He found them grouped by the stream a few hundred yards away from the house, waiting for him.

"What did you do?" Trent asked.

"I threw a rock through her fuckin' window." He didn't mention that the rock only went half way through the dark glass.

"What is your problem Nathan? Wasn't breaking in enough?" Magenta exclaimed with anger. Nathan defended himself:

"Chill out. It's just an old lady in the middle of nowhere. We'll never even see her again!"

"Still, it's just not right, Nathan you shouldn't have done it!" Janet scolded him.

"Let's just get out of here you guy's c'mon." Trent led the way down the creek bed. The children jumped as the thunder boomed close overhead. The rain fell down on the in buckets as they moved at a hurried pace away from the old Crone's house. The path twisted down the way along side the creek bordered with the awkward scrub oak. It seemed like days that they were walking thought the wilderness at a forced march, but it was only a couple of hours. Finally, like Trent had promised. They arrived at the edge of the campgrounds.

"Alright, here it is!" Trent said with happiness and relief.

"Finally!", Magenta gasped. Their spirits all lifted as they veered north to skirt the edge of the property. After a walk that seemed like a second compared to the hike from the incident at the house; they came up behind the cemetery that they had to cut through to get to the streets they called home.

"Trent you have to get home, so you can get to a doctor!" Janet winced at the sight of the blood soaked in the shirt that he still held on his face.

"Yea Trent go." Magenta snapped:

"We'll go home from here."

"Yea me too. You got it, right Trent?" Nathan shot gruffly. Trent nodded.

"I'll be with him." Jason said.

"Yea, c'mon Jason. You guys don't tell your parents about that old lady okay?" They all shrugged their shoulders and nodded sheepishly. Nathan was the first one to speak:

"Nothing about the old lady."

"Let's go." Magenta grabbed Janet's hand. The girls looked sadly to Trent as they walked away.

"See ya Nathan." Trent smiled.

"Yea take care." Nathan took off towards his house alone. Jason and Trent went in a different direction around the edge of the graveyard towards the street they shared as neighbors. The two came around the corner where Trent's house came into view. Trent gasped with relief when he saw that his dad's car wasn't there.

"Cool, my dad's not here, c'mon!" He sped up his pace.

"Trent, you need your dad's help. You need a doctor!" Jason argued.

"My dad'll kill me. C'mon we'll find my mom. She can tell him." The two rushed inside. Trent went straight to the kitchen.

"Mom!" He called. There was no answer. He found a note on the refrigerator that read:

Trent, We went out for dinner, we'll be at the Toad for the rest of the night, make yourself dinner,

Xxoo mom.

"They're out for the night." Trent seemed relieved.

"What are we gonna' do?" Jason asked:

"What about your face?"

"I'll tell my mom in the morning.

"You need a doctor now!" Jason was becoming exasperated.

"They can stitch it up tomorrow. I'll clean it and put a bandage on it'll be fine. That's all. I'll be right back, wait here." Trent went upstairs to the bathroom. He was practically holding his breath. As if it wouldn't be true if he didn't look at the wound in the mirror, he hesitated while he held his bundled up shirt to his face. Then with a swift movement, he pulled the bloody cloth away. The wound was horrible. His eyes popped open as the shock of the sight gripped him. The gash was crescent shaped; barely missing his eye. It traveled all the way to the corner oh his trembling mouth. It was as bad as he could have feared. I t looked just like a bloody moon torn into his face. He turned the water on to let it run until it was warm while he stood staring into the mirror. The doctor can fix it. He told himself. He washed with hydrogen peroxide and taped gauze to his face. He spent very little time on the other wounds on the rest of his body. Jason was waiting nervously when Trent finally came back to the kitchen.

"Trent c'mon call your mom at the bar, she'll come."

"No, let's cook a pizza or something. Stop worrying. My dad would be twice as pissed if I bothered him tonight." Jason shook his head, but he didn't argue as Trent looked in the freezer for a pizza. He turned on the oven and paused to look to his silent friend.

"It'll be alright Jason. I cleaned it real good."

"O.k., I'm hungry anyway." The two turned on the television and waited quietly for their dinner to be ready. After their somber meal, Jason left for home in sadness.

"I'll come over tomorrow."

"Alright, I'll call you when I get back from getting my face fixed." Trent tried to smile.

"See ya."

"See ya." Trent went to his bedroom to get ready for bed. He didn't want to look at his face again, but he cleaned it in the bathroom after he was undressed. For a while, he managed to avoid looking into the mirror until finally he had too. His heart shrank at the sight of the scabbing wound. He sighed softly and put a fresh bandage on. While he lay in bed, he thought repeatedly about running down the hill. The house with the statues and the old woman. How her voice seemed to be right in his ear when she yelled from the doorway. Eventually, he fell into a fit full sleep.

For a brief moment as Trent woke in his bed, he forgot about his face. That moment of bliss was gone the second he sat up and felt the bandage clinging to the gash. A jolt shocked him as he checked the clock. Good, he thought, his dad was already at work. Trent got dressed and prepared himself to tell his mother what had happened. He knew that his mother would be upset when she found out about his face. The young man steeled himself for the confrontation. Trent could hear his mother vacuuming in the living room. He slowly walked in looking sorry and slumped.

"What happened to your face?" His mother asked as she turned off the vacuum cleaner, her voice sharp with concern. Trent touched the bandage and started to answer when his mother interrupted him. "Take off that bandage!"

"Mom, I got cut on some barbed wire. I need a doctor."

"Take it off! Now!" Her voice mixed with anger over powering her motherly concern. Trent began to tremble, he wanted to cry. Sucking it up, he slowly pulled off the bandage.

"My god!" His mother exclaimed.

"We've got to get you to a doctor! Let me get my shoes." His mother rushed to her bedroom where she grabbed her purse and slipped on her shoes in swish of movement.

"I'm calling Doctor Kolchak's office. A few moments later, she called out:

"Get the keys, Trent. Let's go." Trent got the keys off the hook in the kitchen and went out to the garage where his mother waited by the car, a scowl on her face. He silently handed her the keys and went to the passenger side. She got in and unlocked his door. She was shaking her head as she pulled out of the driveway. A little faster than normal, Trent was uncomfortable in the silence, but he was afraid to speak. Finally, his upset mother spoke:

"Your dad is going to be pissed. Tell me what happened." Trent told her about running down the hill and the creek he washed in. He completely left out the part about the old lady in the house out in the woods. Trent finished the tale as they pulled into the doctor's office parking lot. The two of them rushed inside.

"Trent?" The receptionist asked kindly.

"This is Trent. Can the doctor see him?" His mother interjected.

"Doctor Kolchak will be ready in a couple minutes. Can you fill this out? I'll let him know you're here." "Thank you." Trent and his mother sat in the waiting area; as his mom started filling out the forms. Trent's hand found its way to his bandaged face.

"Don't touch it." His mother scolded.

"Sorry." Trent looked around at the walls of the family physicians office. The doctor can fix it, he thought to himself. His mother gave the forms back to the woman behind the desk with a sad smile. The two waited for what seemed like an eternity to Trent, until finally, the doctor came from the door to the back area.

"Trent?" He asked softly. "Yea?" He replied

"I'm ready to take you back. Are you his mother?' "Yes."

"Well why don't you come back too? We'll just run a few checks on Trent and then the doctor will be here. Are you feeling alright Trent?"

"Yea." a mumble came out of Trent's shaky throat...

"Let's get a look. Why don't you take off that bandage?"

"O.k." Trent peeled off the bandage covering the side of his face with a slow, careful movement.

"Ouch." Doctor Kolchack said softly as he moved in closer to examine the wound.

"When this happened, did you lose consciousness? Any other wounds, to your head?"

"No. It happened on a barbed wire fence. I was running down a hill."

"I see." The doctor was tilting his head back to examine the wound.

"I'm going to be honest with you Trent. There's not much I can do, it has been too long since this happened to stitch it. I can give you antibiotics, to fight off any infection. Other than that, in the future, you could get cosmetic surgery for the scar. I'm sorry, but you should have come in yesterday." The words sunk into Trent and his mother's thoughts.

Janet and Magenta

On the same day that Trent and his mother visited Dr.Kolchak, Magenta walked to Janet's house. When she knocked Janet slipped out the front door silently with her eyes down. The two girls sat on a bench in the well-kept front yard in peaceful Manitou for several minutes. The birds were singing and the car traffic on Main Street was a quiet hum in the distance. Finally, Magenta broke the silence with a hushed voice:

"Did you tell your mom about Trent and the old lady? "Janet almost jumped when the question came.

"I told her Trent cut his face on barbed wire, but I didn't say anything about the house.

"Me too, I wonder if Trent's in trouble? I hate Nathan."

"I know, what a jerk. I can't see why he threw that rock." He's the biggest jerk." Magenta nodded in agreement. Nathan was so cruel to everyone; she thought. She never wanted to see him again. Janet continued:

"We should do something about what he did. Maybe we could ask my mom to pay for the window, or something."

"Do you think we could ever find that place again? We would need Trent to lead the way, there's mountain lions..." Janet interrupted her friend's thought:

"We can find it, we don't need Trent's help. He didn't know were he was going anyway. Besides, He's probably grounded or something from his dad."

"Yea, I'll bet he in trouble. Do you really think we should go alone in the woods? You sure?" Magenta squirmed. Janet understood her friend's nervousness.

"I think we should go. We can fix it, what Nathan did I mean. Don't worry about mountain lions, they're up higher in the mountains in the summer, anyhow. We can find the way ourselves. We just go back behind the cemetery, then past the campgrounds. It'll be easy. We'll bring water this time, and we won't run into the barbed wire like the boys. That really was Trent's fault for running down the hill like that. Y'know?"

"Yea." Magenta said as she tried not to remember the accident. She really did want to go back. The old lady had startled her. She had run like everyone else, but why should she be afraid of that little old lady. After all, she hadn't done anything wrong. Nathan threw the stone. Magenta repeated with more confidence.

"Yea, I wanna go. We didn't do anything wrong. We probably scared that old woman half to death. We should apologize. Janet smiled at her friend for thinking the same way she had.

"Let's pack a lunch and go."

"Let me call my mom before we go." The girls went into the house with a happy feeling replacing the dread that they had been feeling this morning. They had a mission. They packed lunch and told Janet's mother that they were going on a picnic; her mom wasn't concerned as she told them to be careful. The girls regularly spent time walking around the neighborhood that was relatively crime free. The girls walked with purpose as they arrived at the cemetery gates some time later. When they arrived, they paused in the bright summer sun. Both had broken a sweat.

"Well, this is it. We just have to go through there." Janet said with a breath. She wasn't afraid of the old graveyard, but she didn't know if they would get in trouble if they were stopped by someone in the sacred place. Magenta had the same concern, but she didn't want to turn back now.

"Let's go!" "Yea?"

In the hot sun, the two girls picked up the pace as they half-slunk between the ancient tombstones. A black squirrel tittered at them. There was a loud sound in the comparative silence of the resting place. The girls reached the back edge of the property with relieved sighs and glances over their shoulders. Neither of them spoke until they were at least fifty feet past the last markers' when Janet smiled to her friend as she motioned to the wilderness ahead.

"Here we go."

"Yep, I'm ready." Magenta responded. The two set a healthy pace up the first hill on their trek.

"Wish some clouds would come over." Janet started between breaths.

"Yea, Magenta agreed. Both looked to the mountains, as if asking. To see that there were no clouds rolling over the peaks yet.

"Maybe on the way back"? Magenta sighed. The girls hiked over the dry grass, between the sharp, spines of the yucca plants. The girls were careful to avoid being stuck, by the spikes that hurt more than they should when they broke the skin because of their poison being a painful skin irritant. The pines all stood silently over looking the girl's voyage in the still breezeless air. The tall tree's needles pointing out in all directions off their lazily reaching branches. The dry air was hot and light as the bright burning sun baked the coniferous forest.

"Break!" Janet came to a stop in the shade of a brooding ponderosa pine.

"I need some water."

"Me, too" , Magenta agreed.

"The camp ground is right over there, somewhere." Janet pointed to the south east.

"Yea, I think you're right. Let's make sure we avoid it though. There's more scrub oak, over there. We need to find that creek again."

"The creek is over there." Janet pointed.

"That's were we needed to go." The two girls took a break in the relative shade as they looked around. It was good to have the mountains to check their progress from where they stood they could see familiar peaks that they could check to make their way home. This added confidence held their spirits high with the resolve to find the house and right what had gone wrong. Over the next hill, the girls were into scrub oak. The leaves over head brought welcomed shade and coolness to the two cross-country hikers. The play of dark and light teased their eyes as they headed down the slope where they found the creek.

"We made it!" Janet smiled. Magenta added:

"We have to go up stream. I think we're almost there."

"Let's go." Walking along the stream was easy enough along the bank and the girls were making good time. A clearing opened before them with a sudden break in the thick scrub oak. Standing in the openness before them after the reaching branches of the scrub oak along the path introduced a feeling of sudden nakedness. Both of the girls stopped at the stream bank and looked at the lonely decrepit house that loomed above them across the brambles that covered the ground. As they caught their breath they stood rigid for a moment, both realizing that they hadn't thought of exactly how they were going to deal with this part of their plan

"I guess we knock." Magenta seemed to squirm at her own suggestion.

"Yea. After she figures out why we're here; she'll be glad to see us." The girls looked at each other as they mustered up their courage. They walked slowly through the thorny under growth of the 'yard.' The statues they had noticed before watched their progress. The sound of their own movement seemed to be a trespass in themselves. As they went, the two girls saw the window in the back of the house and pointed silently. How strange. They thought. The rock was still there, embedded half way through the glass! It was frozen, halfway through the pane. They finally got to the front porch.

"C'mon." Janet said. The two walked up the steps to stand before the door marked Templar. The girls gave each other one last look and knocked; Thump, thump, thump. The girls stood still, listening painfully for any noise from inside. There was a swishing sound right before the door slowly opened. Before them was the oldest woman they had ever seen. She wasn't ugly, like a monster. Her hair was absolutely, white and her skin was extremely wrinkled its lines crisscrossed hanging from her face. She didn't wear glasses, but her eyes were like deep holes sunk in her head. She wore a floor length gown, and leaned on a wooden cane. She didn't speak when she answered the door, but just stood there. The silent image made the two girls wonder if what they were seeing was real. In near panic, as politely as possible, Janet blurted:

"Uh, hello. I'm Janet, and this is Magenta. We're here to talk to you about your window." The old lady nodded her wizened head.

"Yes. The boy," Her voice crackled. Her tone was flat, yet there was a kindness in her voice, that seemed inviting to the girls. Janet felt that she had to speak. She managed to stammer out.

"W-w-we were here when it happened, and my mom will pay for a new window."

"Was it your fault?" The woman asked.

"Uh, no." Janet said.

"No, mam." Magenta echoed.

"Yet your mother wishes to pay for the window?"

"Well, we were here and we feel bad about it, it was a guy named Nathan that did it, but we want to fix it." Magenta interrupted. Janet looked back and forth from her friend to the woman in the doorway who spoke again.

"The boy's name is Nathan?"

"Yes." Janet said.

"Yet you'll fix the window... You're good girls for offering. I think the window is fine for now. I could use some help with gardening, though. You two could clear your conscience by helping me in that way. What do you think?"

"Gardening? Around here?" Janet gasped.

"We'll do it. Magenta exclaimed. Magenta and Janet looked at each other in relief. They really hadn't known what was going to happen when they came. They would both be happy to do some yard work to fix the whole situation Nathan caused.

"Well, it looks like you to have brought your lunches. Why don't you eat out here on the porch? After that, I'll show you what I would like to get done."

"Allright." The girls chimed in unison as the old woman closed the door gently.

"She seems nice." Janet said quietly.

"Yea, and we're not even in trouble." The girls sat down on the step as they ate their lunches silently. The two looked around the yard with intimidation as they wondered what they could do that would be considered 'gardening' in the twisted undergrowth that dominated the yard. Surely, the old woman couldn't expect them to clean up everything. Just as they finished their lunches, the old woman stepped outside. She was wearing a wide brimmed, lavender hat that kept the sun off of her frail head.

"Allright then girls, my name is Ms. Templar. And you are?"

"Janet."

"Magenta." The girls said their names loud and clear.

"We're best friends." Janet followed.

"Best friends? That's good to have. Nothing like that wicked boy, I hope."

"No Ms. Templar. Not at all." Magenta assured her.

"Good, good, Right to it then. I would like to clear off this spot over here." Ms. Templar moved with a slow, stiff gait down the stairs into the neglected yard. Where she stopped, the girls could see that there was a wooden border implanted in the ground. Now that they were looking, they could see the difference in the soil within the enclosed ground. It appeared to be sandier.

"All of the plants growing here need to be pulled, so I can plant next spring. You see?" She motioned with her cane to outline the planting area. The girls wasted no time at getting to work and began making a pile of uprooted weeds.

"That's good. See if you can keep a neat pile there. We'll take it off to the woods later." The girls worked for over an hour under the eyes of the elderly woman and her statues. What had been creepy and frightening grew comfortable in the hot summer sun. The girls worked hard to prove their good intentions. Neither of them even spoke as they went about pulling out the wild growth.

"That's a good start, girls. Shouldn't you be getting home? Your parents are probably wondering where you are."

"Yea. We should go for today. I can come back to finish tomorrow though." Janet said politely.

"I can come back, too." Magenta agreed.

"That would be good, when you can, just knock."

"We'll try to come around noon. Ms. Templar, What are you going to grow here?" Janet interjected.

"Oh, that sandy soil is perfect for pumpkins." The elder woman smiled as she finished her matter of fact statement. The girls nodded, as they looked again, where they had been pulling weeds. The girls dusted off and said good-bye as the old woman watched them leave in the baking summer heat.

The girls hiked off into the wilderness. The way didn't seem so strange this time. The two tired girls, felt like the one they were being pulled along the path. The walk was comfortable and reassuring.

"We did the right thing, Magenta. We'll just pull out those weeds and everything will be alright."

"I agree. I kinda like it back there. The statues don't creep me out any more. Ms. Templar is harmless. She's just lonely."

"Yea it's a good hike, too. We have nothing to do 'till school starts, any way. Let's not tell the boys. I don't want Nathan back here."

"I agree." The girls made it home with time to spare before dinner. They were both feeling great about their new 'job'. Magenta walked home alone from Janet's. When Janet got to the dinner table, her mom asked:

"Where have you and Magenta been going during the day?" Janet sat up and replied.

"We're working on an old ladies' yard. We're pulling weeds for her." She still held back on telling her about, what Nathan did, or Trent's injury.

"Oh, what's her name?" Her mother asked.

"Ms. Templar, she like a hundred years old." Janet smiled.

"Hmm. I've never heard that name. Where does she live?" Janet paused at the question before she answered.

"Over that way," She pointed.

"What road?"

"Uh, we cut through the woods to get to her house."

"Private property?" Her mom seemed to be grilling her with questions.

""We don't hurt anything; we're just doing yard work, that's all. "

"Is she paying you?"

"I don't know yet, but we don't have anything to do 'till school starts."

"Alright, but don't make a nuisance of your selves."

"Cool, we won't." Janet was happy she could work in the yard for Ms. Templar. After dinner, Janet tried to call Trent to see how his face was. Trent's mom got on the phone and told her that he was, grounded until school started again. She called her friend Magenta to tell the bad news about Trent and confirm their trip to Ms. Templar's the next day.

Janet and Mageta hiked through the thick scrub oak with ease. The thorny under growth didn't even scratch at them as they went on their way with ease. No one on the planet could have made it through the forest so easily along this trail.

"I don't want to go back to school this year." Magenta almost whined.

"I know, me too. We do still have some summer left though." Janet said optimistically.

"Just try not to think about it."

The two girls made it to the point of the stream where they could see Ms. Templar's house The old woman was just coming out to greet them. The two girls's waved as they picked up the pace to meet her. They got right to work. While the two girls worked on a section of the garden, Magenta began complaining about school:

"I don't want to have to go back to all the boys being jerks, and thinking that they're so cool. Moreover, the girls all are being so haughty. I wish I could do my school work at home." Ms. Templar interjected calmly:

"Don't let those kind of people get you so upset. You are the center of your own universe; don't give them so much power in it."

"What do you mean?" Magenta asked. The old woman took in a breath before she answered the young girl.

"You are a cell of awareness within a limitless universe. You must do some things. Such as respect you parents. Yet you do not have to let people that treat you poorly be the focus of your awareness. There are limitless other things to focus on."

"Uh, M,Ms. Templar are you a witch?" Magenta stammered. Janet's thoughts echoed the question as she turned to look hard at the ancient looking Ms. Templar.

"You want to know whether I am a witch...?"

The Crying Baby Killer

Daniel's wife; Ashley had, had a job at the local super market where she was promised a management position when she had become pregnant. She worked through the pregnancy and would return as a manager, after she returned from maternity leave. Right now though, she was raising a month and a half year old baby girl. Getting up at all hours of night, feeding, and changing the baby was her riga morale. She loved being a new mother. She also thought that Daniel was a perfect father, as he helped with raising the infant and worked long hours to make ends meet.

With his job the bills were paid, and their house was perfect for the young family. Ashley especially loved Daniel's respect for her stay at home status as a full time mother, and even though her other job was in upward progress: She thought about never going back.

The couple lived far enough away from their immediate family, namely, their parents, that they had their privacy and visits were still possible. While they were still close enough to be called on for help.

Ashley had been experimenting with different music and movies to calm the baby while she did house work such as; laundry and cooking. Still, she spent every waking minute tending the new born. She loved the child with all her heart. Really, she could barely remember what life was like before the baby, the way it had taken over her life. Ashley was usually up before Daniel went to work and the morning of August third was no different. As she served him breakfast, they spoke with soft voices.

"I'm going for a longer walk with baby Tiffany this morning, if she can handle it in the belly pack. We should get a good walk in before the sun gets too hot."

"Yea, just be careful. You know how I worry about your sunrise walks."

He smiled as he kissed his brides cheek.

"I'll be home around six. Do we need anything from the store?"

"No, we're fine." The baby started crying from where she was laid down in the living room.

"Hungry." Ashley smiled as she went to the infant to breast feed. Daniel smiled as he finished his breakfast. He gave his wife one last kiss before he rushed out to get to work for the day.

Daniel and Ashley had been married happily for little over a year. Their family had made jokes that it was a shotgun wedding, since the baby had come so soon after the wedding, and they had only dated a few months prior to the ceremony. Daniel worked doing building demolition with a large company in Colorado Springs. He enjoyed the work. He liked to joke: "It is better to destroy than to create." Referring to his chosen career in demolition rather than construction, which came both before and after his own work, whether it be destroying a whole structure, or partially gutting it. Daniel was currently working in an office building downtown taking out some walls to rearrange office space. It was the kind of job he enjoyed, Today he had a group of 'day laborers' temporary workers, which he had gotten from an office he used for these kinds of jobs when he needed unskilled workers. He had a crew of three today:

Two homeless looking older men, and a young man barely out of his teens, if indeed he was older than nineteen. The young man worked hard than both of the older men combined. Daniel had already found the electrical lines and plumbing in the walls and cut them off, so the men banged with sledge hammers to smash the drywall and tear out the two by four studs that made up the interior walls of the building they were working on. At this stage of the project,

Daniel mostly just supervised; he carried an eight pound sledge hammer, but rarely even swung it as he watched his temporary laborers tearing down the walls with sledge hammers and crow bars.

"How loud does this have to be?!" An office worker yelled as he came into the area, as he forced on a fake smile. He winced at the sounds of destruction that was taking place.

"We're just tearing out a few walls. It's not that loud is it?" Daniel smiled at the flustered man.

"Louder than the phones." He tried to sound up beat; Even though he was obviously upset. Daniel looked at his watch. "We'll take a break in a little bit. Bear with me."

"Alright thanks. We all have work to do, you know." The man's last comment rubbed Daniel the wrong way. He shrugged it off as the man slipped back through the plastic sheeting that was set up to catch the dust from the men's work. After a few moments, Daniel stopped his crew from swinging their hammers.

"Alright, grab those bags, and fill' em up with what you can. We've got the cart for the rest. We'll use the service elevator to go to the dumpster. We'll take a soda break down there.

I brought cokes. You can smoke down there, if you got'em." The men filled the bags, cart with debris, and headed to the dumpsters. When they got to the ground level and unloaded their trash, Daniel handed out the cold sodas. He spoke politely to his crew:

"So if you don't mind me asking: What do you guys do? When I get day labor,

I never know who I'm gonna get." One of the bearded men spoke up gruffly:

"We two are living down town right now getting whatever work we can. This winter

I'm headed down to New Mexico. Bum deal is; I got a ticket for public intoxication and vagerancy. I'll probably never come back to Colorado." The other, younger man in the crew interjected as he asked:

"You blowin' off your court date?"

"Yea, I think so. I can't really afford the fines. I don't want probation, either. I'd be stuck here and I can't stand this town. What about you? What's you're story?

"I'm between high school and college. I'm just earning some extra cash."

"You live with your parents?" The older man asked directly.

"Yea..." Daniel joined the conversation by asking the boy:

"Where you gonna go to college?"

"I'll probably start at community college. I don't know what I want to do yet,

so I think I'm gonna go for general education until I find a major."

"Sounds good" Daniel nodded.

"Stay in school." The two homeless men agreed. After Awhile of sipping their sodas and smoking cigarettes while they listened to the sounds of the city; the men headed back up stairs to the work site. All in all it was a typical day for Daniel. No one got hurt and their progress was on schedule. It wasn't a glamorous job, but it was a job that he enjoyed.

Yet, on this fateful day as he worked, he had no idea that his life was about to be shattered...

The Crying Baby Killer: Part 2  
John Weaver

John Weaver sat in the back room of his 'friends' house listening to the few stragglers of the nights beer party who were scattered throughout the other rooms of the house quietly conversing. He was sitting in a lazy boy chair watching another man who was snoring blissfully on a ratty old couch. He sipped off a bottle of cheap whiskey, as he felt sorry for himself and reminisced over his miserable life in a semi- conscious state.

He was thirty-five. Never had a good job, or as he saw it, a chance at one. He shook his head: Fast food, all kinds of labor. Both of which he felt he was getting too old for. He had never been in love. There few women that had gotten his attention over the years. As he felt sorry for himself, he shook his reeling head. He never had a chance with any of them he told himself. He considered himself an unattractive loser. Tonight's party drove that thought home even harder. All of the attractive women his age were married with kids by now. The younger ones at the party last night had treated him like a disease.

As he sat nursing the bottle alone, unemployed, and aging; He shook his head at his own plight with ever growing self-pity. Right now, he looked as bad as he felt. He was being left alone in the back room of the house, so he let the time roll by as the potent alcohol saturated his blood stream. The sound of the man snoring and the soft murmur of the few people talking in other areas of the house were like a soft rhythm that barely entered his inebriated thoughts. There wasn't any decency in him to make him realize that he had stayed past his welcome. It was far past time to go. What could have been minutes or hours later, he was interrupted by another man's voice.

"Hey, uh, John, Right?"

"Huh?" John stirred at the question. The man spoke after a brief pause.

"Hey man' it's coming up on five in the morning. Did you sleep it off enough to drive home? You can sleep it off if you have to, to drive home, but if you can drive. It'd be cool if you could take off. It's time to go." John took a deep breath. He hadn't actually slept; he had been sitting up drinking alone all night. He felt insulted that he was being asked to leave at all, considering that there were still other people left in the house, and how crazy the party was the night before. The angry feeling was enough to get him to his feet; He used a groggy and slurred speech when he answered:

"Yea, I should head out."

"Alright man, thanks, we'll catch you next time." The man said politely to the stranger that was drunk in his house. John staggered to the door with concentration to walk straight. Though he appeared pleasant, for a drunken man, he was seething with anger. He had been tolerated at the party the night before. Why were they kicking him out now? He thought about starting some trouble, but some sense of decency prevented him from starting a fight. Instead he made an exaggerated movement to pull his keys from his pocket. As he got to the front door, he already had his keys in his hand. The man ushering him out wished him a polite farewell:

"See you next time."

"Yea, thanks for letting me hang out." The door shut behind him before he got out his goodbye. He reeled , on the porch a moment with a curious look at the front door that had closed so abruptly behind him. His unfocused eyes then turned to the street; he looked both ways, trying to remember where he had parked. He took in a deep breath in the crisp morning air as he staggered to his pick up truck parked on the street. He stopped short of the vehicle and focused on the license plate.

"Yep, that one's mine." He said to himself in the quiet pre dawn morning. He opened the creaky door and climbed behind the wheel. The drunken man fumbled his keys into the ignition and started up the old truck.

He surprised himself with how good he was driving as he drove effortlessly down the side streets. Anyone else that may have been watching; would have been in horror at the sight of the dangerous vehicle that swerved down the street at a reckless speed. He was drive using both lanes as though he owned the road. His thoughts were far from his driving, as he grew angry at his treatment from the other partygoers.

Something caught his attention as he crossed an intersection, a loud thud! His attention came back to the road as he realized he didn't have his head lights on. He turned them on and shook his swimming head.

"Pay attention to the road." He told himself aloud as he continued on his way. Leaving behind him dead on the road, a young mother and infant child. Victims of a deadly hit and run.

John awoke the next day oblivious about his deadly drive home. He had a horrible headache and rushed to the bath room to throw up. He thought to himself, how did I get home? He went outside for a cigarette and noticed some blood on his bumper.

"Damn. I must have hit a dog, or a coyote, or something." He drove to the car wash and used the power sprayer to wash the blood off. Never even considering that it was a person, or two people, that he had actually hit.

The Crying Baby Killer: Part 3

A year had passed since John Weaver, had destroyed the young family's life, he had never been caught. It was uncanny how the police were unable to solve the case. John didn't even suspect that he had run over the young mother and her infant. He drank heavily every day and never watched the news. In his day-to-day stupor, he never had a clue. He just existed the way he had since adulthood.

Elsewhere in the city, the accident was remembered, yet all the people wanting to see justice, in the case were simply not catching Weaver's trail. Some even compared catching the offender to catching Jack the ripper in frustration.

Over the last year, there was a horrifying epidemic that was wracking Colorado Springs. S.I.D.S... Too many infants were dying for no apparent reason. There was outrage in the city as local medical facilities could offer no answers or comfort to pained families. Planned Parenthood and other medical facilities were at a loss as the horrifying statistics that they were facing loomed before them. The amount of babies being lost to sudden infant death syndrome should not be seen in a civilized country. None had an answer as to why the community was being struck by the plague.

The deaths of the extremely young struck all lifestyles, rich, and poor, middle class, The first born, second, or third. The religious leaders of the communities spoke from the pulpit with fevered voices before their congregations to repent and prepare for the rapture and end times. Scientific minds worked non-stop looking for a logical reason for the deaths. They looked for evidence of some kind of new pollution in the cities water or air. They checked for radiation at the sights of the deaths. They could find no answers for the distraught families.

Joanna and her husband: Eddie was raising their one-year-old baby 'by the book'. During her pregnancy, she had never missed an appointment at Planned Parenthood. Sometimes she thought the place was a war zone with all the young pregnant women demanding the best help they could get in the shadow of the plague. It was like a shark feeding frenzy at times. Luckily, her husband came with her every time. Joanna and Eddie had a perfect, healthy baby boy. They did everything that the doctor told them. They were sure that their child would be fine.

They had set up a room across the hall from their bed room for the baby. They were comfortable with the year old baby sleeping in the crib there. It was like any other night as they settled down for a peaceful slumber that had become less interrupted, by the crying of the baby. The baby boy's room painted a soft, pale blue. There were only three pieces of furniture: A crib, a changing table, and a dresser of drawers. There were two windows, one facing east and one south. The two windows aloud sunlight to warm the room from sunrise through most of the day; because of this the windows both had heavy curtains to block out the sun when they wanted to. This night was like any other as the young family prepared for bed. The baby had fallen asleep while the couple watched television and Julian smoothly and gently put the baby into the crib.

The house was silent as the clock neared midnight. The nightlight in the baby's room flickered and then went out. In the darkness, there was a stir in the crib as a new soft light began to glow above the restful child. The new light was soft and blue as it began to take shape. The soft lines of a woman's figure began to form over the crib. The baby opened its eyes, but it did not cry. The love flowing from the apparition kept the baby calm. The beautiful ghost of Ashley reached out to lift the child. All she wanted was to hold the infant. Her only desire was to love the child. As her ethereal hands touched the child, it died instantly. The ghost was curious at first as she tried to comprehend. Why did the little child not reach out for her? The ghostly form began to fade, as she could no longer maintain her presence. She would find the baby she could love; her undead mind was obsessed with the thought. She didn't understand that every baby she touched died instantly. She only knew that someday she would find a baby to love. A lone tear was left on the baby's forehead.

