Small Town Ghost Kids

Roger hadn’t thought this through. All he needed was a battery, it couldn’t wait until morning, he needed to make it to Mr Jones’ store and back without getting caught. Mr Jones was a night owl, always making gadgets and gizmos, that’s why his store was never open before noon most days. Roger had only lived here for 3 weeks but had struck up a friendship with Mr Jones', showing interest in his creations, something Roger had tried himself since moving to Shirksville. The 9pm curfew across town for anyone aged 18 and under felt like living part time in a prison for kids. He had heard of stories from similar middle of nowhere towns, about kids disappearing mysteriously. No bodies were ever found, this somehow giving Roger a false sense of confidence, as though lack of a body being found was just evidence they hadn’t been killed. His mind ghosting the thought of being one of those kids, made his spine tingle like a thick, icy finger had ran its way vertically from his neck downwards. Upon leaving, he reached for a sharp rock to carry as protection. Roger was like a small combustion engine running on fear, nerves and excitement as he wove his way in and out of parked cars, like a sidewinder snake he saw once. In and out of shop doorways, always vigilant for curtain twitchers and Officer Malone, who was lazy and reminded Roger of a donkey, but was somehow super observant. Roger made it to the store without alerting anyone. He could see Mr Jones' workshop light on from the shop front. He slithered to the side alley and made it to the back door. It was open slightly. As he gently eased himself through the door, he heard a slow and heavy swoosh, then nothing.