Hollow Ian

It was a chilling October night as the wind howled, moving the leaves and branches, shaking the trash that lay strewn across the concrete lining the playground. The dust twirled up and spun midair as though in a dance, and then seemed to fade away into the distance. A single brown leaf littered the mouth of the gate, and in only a few moments afterwards, it was trampled upon as two young figures made their way into the dark school, long after the bell’s resonance had faded into nothingness.
The two boys moved quickly across the urban field, sticking close to the walls. The slower, lankier figure, adorned with a pair of glasses and a messy brown stream of hair, stuck close to his partner, hoping that if anything crept out of the shadows, his friend would be the shield from his harm. A feeling of pain resided in his chest as his conscience kept telling him to bolt out of there, to save himself and let his friend explore and die if he so chose fit. But the fear of embarrassment from his classmates, the taunts and rhymes which already filled his head with tarnished memories, was too powerful, more powerful even than the fear of death. At least it would be until he met what they were after.
“Come on!” His partner egged him on as his little legs scrambled across the small pebbles, making a sharp turn to the right, and jumping behind a trash can. The taller boy felt lost for a moment as his compass had abandoned him; but obediently as a dog, he mimicked exactly his friend’s movements and made it to the trash can in time, albeit a few seconds later, out of breath, and with a beam of light sparkling against the frames of his spectacles. He didn’t notice the light, or cared, all he could tell was that they were going to be caught, and suspended. That was a dreadful idea as well, but his legs remained locked in place, slowly shaking from the confusion and the cold.
“Just a little bit further,” grinned his partner as he surveyed the building opposite his view. It was large, light grey, and in the middle was a door left ajar, giving off an eerie glow along its path. To Rick, the leader of this little crusade, it was a Siren’s whisper, calling him out, beckoning him to go and investigate, explore and find the truth. To his partner Fred, it was a long ways away. The two waited there carefully, getting pungent whiffs of last week’s pizza. Then all of a sudden there was a loud noise. Fred could hear horns blaring in the background, and an old voice bellowing out celestial tones. He immediately jumped back and went into the fetal position, horrified.
“Quiet!” Rick demanded as his partner whimpered from his shock.
“It’s here! The Boogeyman!” Fred cried out, bemoaning his unfortunate luck.
“It’s not the ghost you idiot!” Rick explained in a harsh tone, “That was the janitor’s radio. Now stop whining and come on!” Rick ran forward, always the adventurer, leaving his partner on the floor, shaking with a mix of paranoia and shame.
As Rick moved forward towards the yellow illumination, he creaked open the door, and surveyed the room for a ghost, a monster, a beast that was rumored to be haunting Repplin Elementary School these last few weeks. As he looked around and didn’t find even a trace amount of ectoplasm Fred came panting towards the room. He peered up, hands covering his face, expecting a horrible image, but instead found nothing. He started to grin, and looked towards Rick only to be met with a displeased and disgruntled glare.
“Don’t say it. We’re not done yet.” He scowled and walked around the room, examining it.
“S..S..Say what?” Fred asked, making sure that he wasn’t saying anything stupid first.
“Say that there’s no ghost and that we should go home.”
“But there aren’t any ghosts …. and we should go home!” Fred whined.
“Not yet. We just need to …. get him to come out. Let me see…” Rick began thinking hard, trying to remember what he had heard about the ghost. He used to go to school here. A loooong time ago. He was old when he died, last June. He had died during some kind of fancy schmancy party here. In the bathroom. That part made Rick laugh; it made Fred avoid his bathroom for two days.
“Yeah!” Rick yelled out in triumph.
“What?!” Fred jumped.
“I remembered his name. It’s Dave Burns. Old man Burns.”
“Burns?” Fred trembled as he spoke, “That’s even a creepy name.” Just then a large gust of wind blew into the room, as if on cue and blew so hard that it caused the door to slam shut. The two looked behind toward the blocked exit, afraid. Fred shivered in anticipation, glued to his spot, as Rick called out to the ghost,
“Old Ma…. Mr. Burns…. Are you there?” The room was still silent. Rick looked around trying to sense what was going on, “Mr. Burns … we don’t want to hurt you…” he whispered, losing the confidence he once had and slinking off towards a raspy fearful tone. The lights above seemed to buzz a few times, but other than that the room was as normal as ever. Hoping it was a fluke, Fred was about to suggest that nothing was there and that it was a good idea to leave,
“I..” but he was interrupted by a small squeak coming from the area near a long table nestled against a wall. Peering over at the area, they both caught a glimpse of a shadow figure which seemed to appear out of thin air. Rick looked in awe at the figure as Fred was so horrified that he scrambled for the door, tripping and groping for any way out he could find.
Shiny black shoes seemed to creep out of a fog, squeaking slowly towards the two, against the bright shimmering floor. They were attached to a long flow of black slacks, which in turn lead up to a shimmering torso covered with a tuxedo. But it wasn’t just the body appearing out of nowhere that frightened the pair, but the head, the eyes, the face of a man who they believed once was dead, and who now stared directly at them.
His dry blue eyes blinked at Rick without saying a word. It wasn’t a look of anger or of malice, but one which seemed barely sentient. This fair haired young man was the one and same they called Dave Burns, but he was not what they were expecting. He looked at Rick, and then looked at what was making all of the noise to find Fred banging helplessly on the door.
His oblivious look of mere annoyance and curiosity slowly changed to a passionate displeasure. He didn’t like kids. Never had, never would. Now he had one yapping loudly, intensifying his already stinging headache (it felt like a hangover to the being). As he approached the pair in an aggressive stance, Rick took the hint and took off towards the closed door like a missile. He pushed the grappling Fred out of his way and yanked open the creaky wooden door, banging it against the wall as he ran off into the night. Fred got up from the floor, took one final look back at the well-dressed apparition and finally followed suit. As they ran a small brown leaf smacked Rick against his forehead, and then flew higher into the sky, gliding back into view.
As the breeze of October seemed to pass through the spirit, he stood there at the doorway to the school ground. He glared at the kids as they ran for their lives. He whispered under his breath in a low pitch, “Damn spunky little kids.” He wanted to give ‘em what for, but then his annoyance melted back into a state of peace and confidence. He went back to the table and reached out for a drink. He had lifted the smooth dark bottle to his lips when he realized that he wasn’t holding anything.
“What the hell?” he scowled, but then put on a smug little grin, “Guess I must’ve slept straight through the party. Drank a bit much.” He threw the imaginary bottle against the wall as he sat down on one of the small cramped Auditorium chairs that he used to sit in as a kid. He felt like showing off. Heck, a man doesn’t wear a tuxedo much except to show off himself. He thought as he stared at his fancy little tuxedo. He should’ve been telling the world about something. Something important. It might’ve been the booze which was causing him to forget, or it could’ve been his bad memory, but he wanted to do something. He struggled to piece together his thoughts.
As he thought about that lovely little evening, his old school, a melody popped into his head. A sweet little tune pranced around up there. But then he realized that it wasn’t just in his head. He could feel the whole auditorium vibrating with the ditty. As he looked around he thought he could see visions of people, dancing, smiling, like the place was haunted. But he wasn’t afraid. His legs got right up and started moving to the rhythm of the song. That pesky little worry he had seemed to fade away as the music pumped back in. This is a great night, a fantastic song. What the hell am I doing here as stiff as a board? Let’s boogie!
“There someone else in there?!” Yelled the old janitor as he shuffled his way into the room. Dave turned his head and the music dissipated. The old man looked confused, angry. Dave almost thought he recognized him from his youth. He knew how he got. I better leave before he reports me to the principle’s office. Dave chuckled as he strolled on past the janitor,
“Nope, sir. Just us chuckleheads.” He grinned as he stepped outside.
“Good. I hate when those damn kids stay here late.” He grumbled and then turned out the lights. Dave stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the dark, empty room. They sure have cleaned up fast. He frowned as he started to walk along the old concrete he knew well.
He walked himself out, hoping not to be yelled at, as that darn worry crept back into his mind. What am I worrying about? He thought. He continued to try and decipher his clouded memory, or at least what was left of it. And as he saw the swing set out of the corner of his eye it reminded him of someone. That’s what had been bugging him all night.
Ian. Ian Crane. That little twerp. He never showed up. He continued walking out of the school thinking, I’ve gotta go see him again. See how he’s doing these days. Ha. Probably the same loser he was ten years ago. Now that will really feel good. I get to show him how great I am. I hope he enjoys it because after tonight, I’m jetting off to Las Vegas. Leave this little town behind. I just need one last time with Crane. One last laugh before I forget him for life.

That’s what the name tag said. In dim little letters on the front of his skinny, underdeveloped chest. It said: Ian Crane Bag Boy. And bag he did. Daily. Register 12. Oakvale Grocery Store. On the corner of Bellows St. and La Sedena. His name is Ian Crane. He is the hero of this story. Or at least that’s what he would like to think. Well … yes and no. You see, Ian here, is pretty average. Mostly. But then again, he’s also not that average. And on a whole other level, he’s nothing far from odd. But you have to trust me when I say this: right now, Ian Crane is absolutely a bag boy.
As costumers continue flooding into the store by ten people an hour or so, Ian is hard at work making sure he does his job, and does it well. He’s great at it. Always keeps the counter in tip top shape, often brings groceries out to the cars, helping open the door. He’s almost a boy scout. Alter boy. Side kick. But sometimes, like now, he’s caught up in a day dream. As Mrs. Anderson’s five cans of cat food, gallon of milk, and lunch meat roll on by, he stares off into space, wondering about his school work. Double checking it, and triple checking it, underlining important phrases and proofreading his answers in his head. It’s a slight obsession with Ian. He wouldn’t mind if everything he did was perfect. His co-workers agree and remind him that his work isn’t perfect either.
As he’s snapped out of it by Kelsey, the cashier’s, pop of gum, he stares at the items he will put away. He looks down at the wild haired little old lady, and forces out a smile so rehearsed that it practically screams madman. He isn’t trying to be mean; it’s just that it’s hard for Ian to display a wide variety of emotions. Mostly he stares off into space with his glossy brown eyes, and keeps his lips at an angle between 105 and 95. He feels the joy of greeting a new customer, especially a friendly person, but that same fear of being around strangers always cuts him off. Tells him to be a manikin so he won’t be judged. As he continues his routine he notices another few items on the belt – Twix, Reese’s, Snickers. The large combined quantity of sweets triggers further fear into his brain. A fear that he had been trying not to realize finally became known right then and there.
It was late October. It was very close to Halloween. In his head Ian screamed in shock and ran around like a decapitated chicken, but his body only adjusted slightly, tightening the fake smile further into something created by Botox and causing his arms to shake as they handled the bags. She wanted paper of course, and so in the process Ian accidentally ripped a few bags at the sides. He could see the glares throughout the store directed at him, but he couldn’t register much at the moment except three little words which continued to bounce around his head, I hate Halloween. And hate it he did. Everything about the holiday from the mean little kids who egged houses to the creepy people who frequently tried to scare him half to death. But there was something even deeper than just the fear and violence of the day, it went deeper. Ian always got this way around it. He couldn’t help it, but he had been going to a psychologist to try and help him with it. The last few years he had improved. Last year he even went to the annual college dance, but this year, for some reason he knew it was going to be bad and therefore had tried pushing off the realization as far as he could. He didn’t know the epiphany would affect his work however.
“Young man, are you alright?” Asked the sweet old dear in a high pitched tone. Ian looked at her, and dropped the smile.
“Yeah Ian, you having one of your freak outs again? Danny can take over for you..” down the aisle, at register 13, a tall young man with slick black hair looked over, ready to pounce on the opportunity, but Ian shook his head.
“No. No. I can do this. Sorry I… I just get this way when I see Snickers bars… they’re my favorite!” He flashed a less fake toothy grin hoping like in the movies that a small sign of affection would make everything all right. Mrs. Anderson still seemed concerned but once Ian was able to control his hands again, she stopped worrying as much and started one of her long stories about her children,
“Oh yes. So does my grandson Eddie. These are just for him.” She sparkled back. Ian continued to pretend to listen as he sorted out everything in his mind. Trying to convince himself that another trip to the Dr. Alban was all it would take it to calm him down. He told himself that Halloween was just another holiday like any other and that it happens every year, no big deal. But after all of the logical thought and reasonable solutions Ian still couldn’t help but think, But why does it have to come THIS year?! Can’t there be just one year without Halloween? He knew his answer of course.

As Ian left work for the day he walked past a couple of his co-workers laughing in a backroom, gathered around a man sitting on a crate performing for them. He was shaking about, yelling, and most likely smiling very widely. They probably didn’t notice Ian, but even if they had they wouldn’t have stopped. He was the butt of many jokes behind closed doors, multiple nicknames, pranks, threats such as “Shut up or I’ll have Ian kiss you!” He was used to the mockery. He hated it, but what could he do but try and be their friends, try hard and hope that one day they’d notice who he was on the inside. He knew he was weird, he knew that being deathly afraid of a holiday where kids wear masks was insane, and that’s why he was trying to fix himself. Better himself. But it wasn’t easy.
One day they’d be pleading to Judge Ian Crane, he’d be in charge, he’d set the laws. He grinned as he lingered on his fantasy while walking home. The streets were mostly empty in his neighbor hood, and the leaves were falling all around Ian. But he couldn’t see any of that in his dream. The sky was cool grey with patches of light shining through. It was a beautiful evening, but to Ian it was just like any other day, well that is until he opened his door and saw what awaited him on the other side.
As Ian entered the dark little house he had been living in since he was born, he did his usual pattern of creaking open the door, reaching for the light switch on the side of the wall, and then once the high hanging lamp illuminated the room he could safely waltz on inside and relax from his day of work. As he was just about to take off his uniform and try and watch what was on he sensed something odd in his house. He didn’t know what it was, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention and jump up to his ear whispering, “Sir, we detect something sir!” He could feel a heavy air, as if someone had just died. But so far nothing was out of place in his house.
“Mom! Dad!” He called out, but got no response. He now had an uneasy feel residing in his stomach, and through his vivid mind flashed the 10,234 ways something bad could happen. He tried shaking it from his mind as he walked through the house, searching every inch for anything unusual. Then he came to a rather loud noise emanating from the kitchen sink. Underneath it was a loud, rhythmic banging accompanied by what he could only call a growling. He inched back, still facing the menacing sink, unsure what could be under it. Unsure if he should even look.
He wasn’t one to take such a risky chance. He remembered feeling like this before, walking into a room with this same ominous feeling, opening a door and then catching something he wasn’t supposed to. Slight memories flashed throughout his head. He shook with fear, hesitation. In his brain he tried to work out all of the logical explanations to the culprit of the noise – a leaky pipe, rotting wood, it could be anything natural that was certainly not a monster. The chance of a monster was a slim chance, about 1 in 2,000,000.
But the logical reasoning once again was no match for the fear and worry he felt in his bones and which resided in his ever-racing heart. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand to open the door, and ran from it, ran to the living room to get away from such a horrendous beast.
“There you are! I’ve been waiting all day to see your sorry face!” A ghastly chuckle accompanied the voice, and this alone was enough to make him completely forget about what lied underneath the sink. That was imagination, paranoia, this was really here. He remembered that voice from ten years ago. Ten long years ago on the playground, in the classroom. Everywhere it had followed him and tormented him. He couldn’t believe that it was here now. He didn’t look up. He just closed his eyes to think of that old reliable math problem that lingered in his head.
“Come on you wuss! Ain’t you gonna say hi to an old pal?” The chuckle exploded in his mind. A pain built up deep inside, but he kept throwing square roots and vertexes at it, hoping to extinguish the flames. His entire stringy little body shook with fear as he tried to day dream, but a face, a mostly perfect, tan, blonde-haired face rose in front of him and stuck out it’s tongue.
“What are you afraid of? We’re pals.” The chuckle, the fake, malicious chortle echoed throughout the house. Ian could no longer grasp the equations. He was forced to stand up and entertain the creature who once again haunted his daily life. The name floated back into his head: Dave Burns.
“Burns? W..What are you doing here?” He stuttered.
“Like I was saying, I wanted to pay my little buddy a visit. You know we haven’t seen each other in ten years?” Ian silently nodded, staring at Dave as if he would disappear when you looked away. He was thinking If only it was longer. “Why weren’t you there tonight? I was really looking forward to seeing you.” He chuckled, putting his arm around Ian, not affectionately, but menacingly.
“Tonight?” Ian couldn’t think of anything that had happened last night, but that could’ve been the intense fear and worry blocking his brain.
“Yeah the big Re…” Dave went on, and was most likely going to go on and on. Ian didn’t believe this was happening. The Dave Burns he knew had died this June. He had seen it in the news, had a knot in his stomach the whole day, and realized that he could almost sense his death. They hadn’t been close; in fact they had hated each other during Elementary School. But over the long ten years, he hadn’t much thought about Dave, let alone how he what he would look like now. Staring at him, blathering on about the Reunion he had missed gave Ian a chance to see how much he had changed. Physically, he had evolved, he was tall, strong, tan, muscular, and judging by the tuxedo he had on he must have had a pretty penny. He was doing well for himself. Ian momentarily looked down at the dingy green T-shirt he had on which covered his flabby pale stomach, envious.
Envious of a ghost. Of a dead man, who may or may not have looked like that. As Ian took a second look at Dave he realized that it was too coincidental that he was here. Now. He started to put together that it was not the real Dave that came to visit him, but instead a psychological manifestation, a way for his mind to say that he isn’t good enough. That even a dead man looks better than he does. Ian began to grow angry at his head, and finally spoke out,
“Shut up!” He yelled, jumping away from Dave. Dave stopped in his tracks and looked over, gaping, glaring at his “buddy”. “Enough of this madness. You’re not here, and I shouldn’t have to worry about you.”
“What are you talking about you little psycho? If I’m not here than where am I?” He growled back.
“I don’t know, somewhere over sea, deep in the ground, burning in hell, I don’t know where, but definitely not here!” Ian mocked the spirit. The spirit was not pleased, he aggressively prowled closer towards Ian and asked in a low tone,
“What are you freaking out? Too chicken to admit that you’re a loser? Just look around you! You still live in your parent’s house, you have the same bed sheets, and you’re probably stuck in a dead end job.”
“Shut up!” was all Ian could muster. It’s true he was a bit of a loser, a weirdo, he knew that. He had been told that his whole life, but for it to be said right out in the open like this. It shook Ian terribly, just like in the old days. Not a single thing about Dave had changed.
“No! In fact, come here!” Ian didn’t budge. Dave was blocking his path, but he certainly wasn’t going to come anywhere closer. Even if his mind told him he wasn’t real, his heart still pounded with uncertainty and shock. Ian shook his head. Dave growled and motioned towards him,
“I can see you wanna fight. Well … let’s fight then!” Ian was trembling now. He could see the fire that had welled up in Dave’s tired red eyes. He was as fierce as Ian could remember. “Come on you little twerp!” he chuckled and lunged forward, slamming his fist down, but Ian dodged it and charged for the door, not looking back at the spirit who had invaded his house.
As he ran out the door he heard screaming and insults streaming out from his house, but he just kept moving, losing himself in a single fluid thought that went Move. As simple as that, Ian moved as far as his scrawny little legs could carry him, running away from his mind, towards the only person who could help him.

A faint blue glow spread itself throughout a cramped dim stuffy room, as a slim young figure hunched himself towards the screen, as if listening to secret information told from a mystical source. That mystical source was a small internet forum, known only by a handful of highly gullible and paranoid teenagers and 20-somethings who liked to pass the time telling rumors and myths. Frequently, clicking on any one of the topics would result in a bogus picture, or more likely a “Frightening Story” filled with the usual high amount of unnecessary gore and lack of scientific basis. But sometimes, if you were lucky, you could find information that no one else possibly knew.
Today, young internet geek Alistor Greystone was about to embark on one of those said adventures of knowledge. It was a slow day at his house, his parents and little sister had gone out to eat somewhere and Al had declined the invitation. He was stuck at home working on another computer to fix. He thought it was going to be a real tough challenge, and approached it with caution and eagerness, but unfortunately the challenge was over too quickly, he had overestimated the simple design, and now had nothing to do but waste time in his large empty home.
Scrolling down the black and blue checkered page his eyes quickly scanned the plethora of boring topics, searching for the varied interesting one. It was turning out to be a boring, tiring normal day, until his eyes caught something. A name, “Oakvale Elementary School”. He jumped forward, and checked the full title.
“.. Oakvale Elementary School …. Haunted?” His lips curled up into a grin as he whispered the magical words. He lived close to the school, could practically walk there. His mind was intrigued, and as a mischievous grin began to form he went further into the issue,
The_Grave_Digger: I’m seriously freaked out! Last night I saw a ghost at my school. No joke. U know how I told you guys I would go with that loser from school? Well I did. It was really freaky, he was wearing a tuxedo and I’m pretty sure I saw his eyes glow red, and we got out of there just before he ripped us to pieces. Well … me. I can’t say the same for that loser. I haven’t got any pics b/c I didn’t bring my camera. But I swear that place is haunted! I’m changing schools.
Alistor was slightly intrigued by the claims. Ghosts? A tingle went down his twisted spine as he imagined what it would be like to see one right in front of him. Multiple images from horror movies flashed through his head as he chuckled at what it might be like. He continued reading the responses, but of course, as usual on these forums, most people yelled the words “Pix” and “Pix please” and there would be the occasional claim of lying and dirty jokes told at the expense of the Topic Creator, but Al skipped that, it was all the same.
He read anything that sounded possible, ghosts, demons, conspiracy theories, aliens. He felt that something was out there, and wanted to prove it. But as he read through page after page of responses he couldn’t find a single nice reply, nor the TC defending himself. He was disappointed, felt cheated, and was about to close the page and look somewhere else when he saw another post by the TC,
The_Grave_Digger: I don’t care if you guys believe me. I’m telling the truth. I bet none of you losers could do what I did. You’d all be killed.
MaximumVortex321: U kidding? I’ve gone into a hell of a lot of “haunted places”. Even the hoaxes gave me something. You’re just paranoid kid. Next time get pics.
Sporgonzo3X2: This topic isn’t even funny. TC = ph417
Alistor wished that he could do that. He knew the poster named MaximumVortex, he was a legend on these boards. Al loved to listen to what he had to say, and as usual he had to admit he was right. When topics didn’t have any pictures or evidence they were usually just fake topics put up to get attention. But he wished it was real. Oakvale was so close, and it would be great to have a place like that to check out. Especially now. Alistor imagined what it would be like, if he went to the school to investigate. He had a camera. He could totally show the guys if it was haunted or not.
Alistor started tapping on the desk, filled with anxiety trapped in this boring house. He would usually just close this topic and find a new one, but something kept him lingering there. Waiting for a response. An intelligent response. Some hope at least. But as he waited, nothing important was posted. Everything was either a joke or the same opinion stated over and over. He was growing tired of watching it and just slumped himself into a pillow ready to catch some sleep before he went to work again. His eyelids grew heavy and his brain signals converted to another wave as he snoozed off for a while, not a care in the world.
In his dream life was perfect. He didn’t have to work. He could stay home all day if he wanted to. But he didn’t. Because he had a cute girlfriend, that model on May’s Edition of “Gamer Monthly”, who would go with him on adventures. He rode in a black limo, went around places investigating stuff and blowing up bad guys! It was a perfect life. His dad smiled and waved, his mom told him she loved him, his bratty little sister wasn’t allowed in the limo with Becky and him. The perfect world. And then it was shattered. Broke. He could see the blue screen of death all over his domain. He could hear a faint buzzing which meant he had crashed. The buzzing didn’t stop. Even as he woke up.
“Hello..” he groggily answered the phone, rolling out of bed.
“Hey, Ali, did you fix the …. Big job?” asked a high pitched voice on the other end. Alistor knew who it was. It was Ron, who worked with him fixing computers, setting up networks, good profitable business, and kinda cool. But some days it bored him a bit.
“Yeah… Ha. Big job. All it was was a power supply problem. The wire was a little damaged so I fixed that and the whole system worked fine again. So much for an archaic treasure. trove”
“Ha. Yeah. Better luck next time Ali…….So tomorrow we should probably start out on…” as Ron began telling him the stations he would take, Al started drifting off. He could still hear what Ron was saying, but it was pushed to the back of his mind. His eyes darted towards the computer screen, faded to black after waiting. He pushed the mouse a bit so that the screen illuminated and showed the curious state of the “Haunted School”. There on his screen read a new comment by The_Grave_Digger,
The_Grave_Digger: Yeah. I dare anyone to check it out for themselves. I know my teacher says she heard singing before, and the guy was killed close to her class.
Al smirked and ran over to his computer to start typing away, without a second thought the words flowed from his brain onto the screen, it was like magic, all hesitations held back,
Crowley42: I’m actually very close to that school. I think I will check it out. I’ll get some pics for you guys. Don’t worry I have a camera. 
Al grinned when he finished, knowing what he had to do. It was a boring night and he didn’t want to be locked up here all day. He felt a rush of adrenaline, a tinge of excitement creep into him as he resumed hearing Ron’s voice flood back into his ears,
“… Al? You want to do Mr. Genine first or…”
“First, second, they both sound good right. But Ron, I just thought of something really cool that we could both do tonight.” There was a long pause on the other end as Ron seemed to slightly panic, but after a while of praying nothing was up he answered,
“Uh … what is it Ali? I sorta have to go somewhere with my parents…”
“It’s proof Ronny. The proof I’ve been telling you about.” At this time, Ron probably slapped his head and wished that he hadn’t picked up the phone. This wasn’t the first time Alistor had had one of his brilliant ideas. He didn’t want to be pulled into another. He was already starting to sweat, but he couldn’t refuse. He continued to politely listen instead of what he wanted to,
“Proof, Al? Is this something to do with … the Mulder and Scully?”
“Sorta Ronny. I’ll tell you all about it. But before I do, just one question. Do you still have that old camcorder you’re uncle gave you for Christmas?”
“…….Uh… yeah……. Why?”
“Bring it!”

The clouds were still hanging over the city as Ian huffed his way toward Jemmins St. He had his hands in his pockets and his head held downwards, trying to focus on help, and desperately trying not to think of Dave. He shivered from time to time, feeling the cold reach down into his bones. As he made it to the building he looked up at the sign it had posted on it, a friendly little welcome to patients. The sign had a cartoon figure smiling and wearing a Santa Claus cap, giving a heart to a female figure. Underneath it is said, “Your Presence is my present. Happy Holidays!”
It warmed his chilled heart to see such a sentiment f warmth and compassion. It was things like that which kept Ian dreaming. He envied that figure, yet at the same time he felt proud. Christmas, now that’s a good holiday. It’s about love, and friendship. Family, togetherness. Nothing can beat such peace and happiness. No amount of money can buy that. Ian grinned for a few more minutes at the sign, and then he moseyed on inside.
The office was virtually empty except for a woman and her two little children. Ian waited by a wall, out of the way, as the woman talked to the receptionist. His mind kept focusing on the sign. On the male figure in it. On the female figure in it. He had nothing else to do as he waited, so he looked back once more at the sign. He saw it through the window, except from here it was backwards, and the words were hard to read. But Ian didn’t care about reading the words, because he already knew the message. He just stared up at it while he waited, looking at the backwards forms of the letters.
“Hiya!” Screeched a little voice close to Ian’s ear. It startled him. He looked down to find the woman’s daughter staring up at him, a curious look across her face. Ian looked down, staring at her with the same look he gives everyone no matter what the season. A straight smile and glassy eyes. He nodded at the girl and tried hard to give her a good smile. But the girl recoiled in disgust and jumped back.
“Eew! What’s wrong with his smile?” The girl complained. The boy stopped kicking the furniture and looked at Ian, a curious yet devious sense of interest. Ian didn’t feel good at the moment, and couldn’t speak. So he turned his head and looked back up at the sign. That old comfortable sign.
“Be nice Tiffany. Leave the poor man alone.” The woman instructed her child. But the boy began chanting something, most likely rude about Ian. Ian was too embarrassed at this moment, and kept looking up at the sign, not much thinking but dreading the moment and hoping that it would soon pass. He waited and waited until finally the family left the room after a curt thank you. Ian opened his eyes again, and took one last look at the sign.
“Yes?” The icy voice of the receptionist seemed to echo throughout the waiting room. Ian was the only one there. He promptly turned his head and stood up.
“Hi, I’m… I’m Ian Crane. I set up an appointment with Dr. Alban today..” Ian mumbled forth shyly. The receptionist nodded her head and her eyes shifted to a look of boredom.
“Yes Mr. Crane, I heard that was sudden, I ‘m not sure if..”
“It’s an emergency. Please.” Ian bit his lip as he stared into her cold dead eyes, “I need to talk with him… I’m …seeing these things again..” he continued to plead with her.
“I’m sorry Mr. Crane but I don’t think that…” She went on, halting the help he needed, but then her clinical voice was interrupted by a confident boom of authority behind her.
“Cindy. It’s alright.” He wore a dark clean suit, as he walked into the room, followed by a stream of light from his office. He looked serious with a furrowed brow and slicked back hair, and made Ian cower a bit by the unexpected entrance. His black eyes scanned Ian over again, and seemed to be conversing with him across the room. For a moment Ian stayed absolutely still, as the silent conversation took place. Then he blinked once Dr. Alban looked away, and announced,
“Ian’s special. I’ll have a quick session with him now.” He grinned and Ian instinctively moved forward. He could feel Dr. Alban grab him aggressively, but kindly, leading him slowly into the office. Once both were inside they closed the door, leaving Cindy outside, looking confused.
“Have a seat, Ian. Tell me about you problem.” Grinned Dr. Alban, smugly, as he sat in his sleek chair, puffing on an old cigar. It was usual for Ian. The whole routine was usual. He just wished he didn’t have to keep doing this. Dr. Alban was a very kind, considerate man, who could really help people (he had stories to prove it) but Ian didn’t want to be back at this stage. He was making progress. He was doing much better. Actually, he half-expected him to be frowning and be disappointed at Ian’s failure, but instead he was grinning and waiting. He was a very forgiving person.
“Well… Dr. Alban … I …I’m sorry I had to come and see you today .. I know you must be busy…”
“No it’s fine. It’s fine. Ian, you know you’re always welcome here. Now, what’s the problem?”
“Well.. I’m getting those…” it was a little hard for Ian to spit it out, he was nervous around Dr. Alban, especially now, “…I’m seeing visions again. I … I don’t know what’s causing them…”
“Visions? Of the future?”
“The past. Uh … I think it might be my head trying to scare me … or try to .. try to intimidate me. It’s a guy I used to know… he used to be my old classmate and … he was killed recently..”
“Oh…” Dr. Alban stared deep into Ian’s hollow, dark eyes, searching for a solution, analyzing his situation. Ian hadn’t seen a vision in almost three years. But Dr. Alban was pretty sure that he knew why he was having them. Reeling in a little closer to Ian, he stared sternly at him and began to explain,
“I think I might know how to help you.” Dr. Alban wisely stated, “It’s just like before Ian. Your uncle, your dog, all of these visions seem to stem directly from your childhood. This was a point in your life which your mind is constantly trying to remind you of. Do you know why?” He questioned. Ian didn’t know, and ashamed, he hung his head low and shook,
“It is because that is when the image you have of yourself now was crafted. You see yourself as different, odd, frightening, but you know, we all know, that you are just like any other person. Normal.” When Ian heard this, every time he heard it, he filled up with giddiness. No one except for Dr. Alban had ever called him normal. Not even his parents probably thought he was normal. But Dr. Alban did. Ian grinned, and nodded blankly as he continued to listen to such scripture of wisdom,
“That is what you are. That is what we are trying to let yourself accept. But these visions, they are you doubting yourself. They are manifestations telling you that you are different. That you are wrong. Ian, you must not listen to such lies. You must keep believing in yourself. We are so close to your full metamorphosis, to stop now would be tragic.” Ian nodded at the words, which to him sounded so beautiful and eloquent, so simple yet so powerful. He nodded again, getting back the confidence he had lost.
“Ian. What I want you to do … is to tell the visions the next time you see them that you are in control. That they are not real, and that you are you and you are proud of it.” A tear fell from Ian’s eye as he grinned happily at the words.
“Thank you doctor. I will! The next time you see me, I’ll be myself again!” Ian stood up, feeling rejuvenated and with a new outlook once again. It was always the same when he went in the office. It was like Dr. Alban had a magical joy gun which he shot you with, destroying all the bad decaying monsters that lived inside you causing havoc. He was a real doctor as far as Ian was concerned.
“Great…” Alban smirked as Ian began to walk out. Then an idea hit him, some sober news which shot that smirk straight off his face. Quick as a rabbit he ran up to Ian and caught him before he went out,
“Oh Ian. We still need to work on other things though.” He grinned.
“….” Ian was shocked, and felt worse when he heard that news, “we do?”
“Oh yeah. Just a few things … minor ticks you have that … that should probably be dealt with to make the perfect you.”
“Oh … like what?”
“Well…” Dr. Alban thought up something quick, “like that irrational phobia of Halloween you have. You still have that right?” Ian blushed, and then slowly and mournfully nodded. “Great, why don’t we take care of that, then? Should be simple. This year, I want you…” the thinking process began churning once more in Dr. Alban’s head as he thought up a quick reply, “to buy a costume. Buy a costume where you work, and then go Trick or Treating. How does that sound?”
Ian didn’t like the sound of that at all. He started to get that feeling where the entire world was leaning high above him, ready to topple over him at any second, except that it wouldn’t just fall onto him, but sort of into him, causing him to implode into nothingness. Basically the cheerful feeling he had was now replaced with how he felt on a day to day basis. The fear, the sorrow, the anxiety and hopelessness, were all resurfacing. He was in no mood to argue back. He nodded slowly.
“Good. Go do that .. get a popular one too .. and then come back here and … tell me how it made you feel. Is that alright..?” Before Ian had a chance to nod, he added, “great. Good seeing you again Ian.”
Like in a trance Ian began moving toward the door slowly until he heard Alban yell,
“Oh Ian! Are you forgetting something?” Looking back at the toothy grin of the confident therapist, Ian saw a check in his hand with Ian’s name on it. They say nothing in life is free. This is one of those sober facts of reality.


In the middle of an urban city, LeTronk City, a very lively bash seemed to be going on in the 3rd floor of an apartment. Pedestrians could hear all sorts of stomping, yelling, short bursts of energy, presumably electrical. All the signs of a typical LeTronk Halloween Party. Except it was early. Too early. One man looked up at the noise as he walked past the building with his dog, remembering the good old days when kids would scrap outside, without the need of electrical doo-hickeys. Back then you just needed a strong arm, short temper, and a plunger, depending if you wanted to add insult to injury or not. Those were the days.
As he stared up reminiscing about getting his spleen kicked in, a long wooden dining room table plowed right through the window, hurling itself right near his feet, fracturing and shattering all over the place. The man looked up horrified and annoyed. The only words he could say were,
“Damn kids!”
Meanwhile, upstairs, in Apartment 125B, a very ferocious fight was taking place, and a dining room table had just been offered as a sacrifice. An angry young man named Vladimir Ruschev was giving all hell to fight an equally angry, slightly younger man named Laurence Blackwell. As the two matched wits, a young woman, stern but much less angry, stared off in the sidelines, sighing at the “maturity” of her partner. She once again had to wait while he tried to kill someone. It was the third … or the fourth time this day. She had lost count, and had no interest. She had already seen the results.
“You are insane, Blackwell! I wasn’t joking about ripping your little limbs off, you know!” Vladimir growled from a hallway, directing his yell at Laurence who hid in the kitchen, near a wall.
“You were never much of a gifted student, Vladdy. You were one of the worst if I recall correctly. Let me guess, that’s why you ran away from it, isn’t it?” Laurence stabbed with his words, full of coldness, full of hate.
“You’re gonna get hurt, Blackwell! I swear, you say anymore of that crap and your head is going through that window!”
“I’ll give you one last chance to join us! One chance. Refuse and….” Laurence yelled out, but was interrupted by the entire floor shaking as Vladimir stomped his way towards him wielding a large steel baseball bat. Laurence didn’t quite see it and was hit right in the back, knocking him to the floor. Vladimir stood over him not wanting to hurt him, staring down at those fierce burning red eyes. He was panting from the swing, sweating with nervousness. Laurence glared up at the confused, exhausted look on Vlad’s face. Like a serpent he waited. As Vlad bent forward for a second, even more powerful thrust, Laurence rolled out of the way and focused all of the might he could at Vlad. Seconds later Vlad had pounded into the floor as Laurence released waves of blue energy which pinned Vlad against the wall hard.
Vlad collapsed, lying against the floor, fully enraged, sweating, and looking up at Laurence’s fiery glare. Vlad desperately tried to grab his bat but a bolt of blue energy flew out of Laurence’s wrist, blasting Vlad hard against the wall. His face contorting in pain, anguish and fear. He began writhing around as Laurence steadied his aim, ready for another blast, as he parted lips and began speaking in his vengeful, thirsty way of speaking, like a lion stalking his prey,
“Your choice is wrong! You will pay if you must!” He chillingly threatened, “I offered you a chance, and you and your little temper had to show up. You get what you deserve.”
“Sh…Sh…Shut the hell up! Y…You..” Vlad struggled to speak, struggled to have the last word, “I will … never … join you … freaks! Y..Yo…You will die… you psych…psycho! You’re a m..monster. That’s why I left..” the red eyes blinked, and then another blast went straight to Vlad’s torso, this time stronger than before. Longer. Crippling Vlad as Sel, Laurence’s partner, stared at her nails, unable to do anything about the fight, glad that it was almost over, but still somewhat bored.
“You’re a loser Vladdy boy … that’s why you left. While I trained up my powers .. you went and wasted your life. Well … sucks for you, but no one was more deserving.” He grinned. He turned his head towards Sel, smirking with pride for doing what he “had” to … again. Right when he turned, looked off, Vlad reached for his bat, for one last swing to defeat him, to get revenge. But a blast smoldered against him. Quieting him for the last time. His eyes looked glassy, off into the distance, hollow and cold, no longer being able to see the hatred in front of him. Dead. He smoldered.
After kicking him a few more times to ensure his actual death, Laurence turned, finished. Smiling at Sel,
“Well. How was I?” He grinned, wiping his hands, and feeling where he had been hit.
“Cute.” Sel frowned, “Real cute. Was that really necessary?”
“Yeah. Put them where they belong.” He grinned, as Sel watched him, shaking her head.