Chapter 2
The chalk squeaked across the blackboard as Mrs. Carter wrote out fractions. The fans spun lazily overhead, stirring the heavy summer air. Seventh grade afternoons always felt endless, and the kids were restless.
Roman tapped his pencil against the desk like a drum, grinning at Mac two rows over. Mac rolled his eyes, already annoyed. Dutch sat by the window, sketching spaceships in the margin of his notebook. Michael sat upright, neat handwriting filling his page, occasionally glancing at Dutch with disapproval. Sophie had already finished the assignment and was doodling riddles in the corner of her paper. Jill stared at the clock, chin in her hand, while Eddie tried to balance an eraser on his nose. Will sat in the back, quiet, sketching maps in his notebook.
The bell rang. Chairs scraped, voices rose, and the group spilled into the hallway together, laughter echoing against the lockers.
---
By evening, they were at Jill’s house. Her mom barely looked up from the kitchen as they thundered down the stairs, arms full of snacks and sodas. The basement was theirs — cluttered, warm, smelling faintly of dust and popcorn.
In the center stood their fortress, their proudest creation. Old mattresses leaned against each other like castle walls, patched blankets draped across chairs to form a roof, cardboard boxes stacked into towers. Inside, pillows lined the floor, flashlights taped to the walls, and their names scribbled in marker across the cardboard.
They ducked inside one by one, laughter filling the cramped space.
ROMAN
(standing tall, broom handle in hand)
Welcome to The Keep! I am General Roman, ruler of snacks and soda.
MAC
(grabbing a pillow, flopping down)
More like ruler of cheating at Uno.
JILL
(throwing a cushion at him)
Don’t start. We just built this thing.
SOPHIE
(setting up chips and candy)
It’s not a fortress if you guys keep knocking it down.
MICHAEL
(trying to organize the Monopoly board)
Okay, rules are rules. No stealing from the bank this time.
EDDIE
(accidentally knocks the board over)
Oops.
Everyone groaned, then burst into laughter.
Dutch flicked the flashlight under his chin, shadows stretching across the mattress walls.
DUTCH
Alright, who wants a ghost story?
ROMAN
(pointing at Eddie)
Not him. He’ll cry.
EDDIE
(defensive)
I won’t cry!
JILL
(smirking)
You cried last time.
Saying so dutch began the story
The fortress glowed with flashlight beams, their shadows looming tall. Will sat in the corner, sketching the fortress in his notebook, adding towers and flags that didn’t exist. From upstairs, faint chords of Tom’s guitar drifted down, mixing with their laughter.
They ate, played, teased, and told stories
Until , Jill's mom came
"Jill , its bedtime honey , go to sleep" she said to Jill
Then she pointed at her friends
"You all go home now , it's pretty late, tommorow's school, and tommorow is friday after that when you all come tommorow i can talk with your parents to allow you to stay for some more time"
"Ok , aunt" saying so the group got up and they left on their bikes
Jill said bye to them and told everyone to come to school tommorow and went to sleep
The chalk squeaked across the blackboard as Mrs. Carter wrote out algebra. The fans spun lazily overhead, stirring the heavy summer air. Seventh grade afternoons always felt endless, and the kids were restless.
Roman tapped his pencil against the desk like a drum, grinning at Mac two rows over.
ROMAN
(whispering)
Bet I can play “Eye of the Tiger” with this.
MAC
(rolling his eyes)
Bet you can’t even spell “Tiger.”
The kids around them snickered. Jill shot Roman a look, half warning, half amused. Sophie leaned forward, whispering a riddle to Michael, who scribbled furiously in his notebook trying to solve it. Dutch sat by the window, sketching spaceships in the margin of his math sheet. Eddie balanced his eraser on his nose until it fell and clattered to the floor.
Will wasn’t quiet. He leaned back in his chair, grinning, tossing comments into the mix like sparks.
WILL
(to Roman)
Play “Eye of the Tiger”? You sound more like “Eye of the Chicken.”
The class erupted in muffled laughter. Mrs. Carter turned, chalk in hand.
MRS. CARTER
Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Mr. WILLIAM?
WILL
(grinning)
Just math, ma’am. Algebrae of chickens.
Even Mrs. Carter cracked a reluctant smile before shaking her head.
The bell rang. Chairs scraped, voices rose, and the group spilled into the hallway together, laughter echoing against the lockers.
---
By evening, they were pedaling their bikes through the neighborhood. The air smelled of cut grass and gasoline, the streets glowing orange in the summer light. Dutch pedaled ahead, shouting dares over his shoulder.
DUTCH
Bet you can’t make it to the corner store without stopping!
ROMAN
Bet you can’t stop talking for five minutes!
JILL
Both of you, shut up before you crash.
They swerved dangerously close to each other, laughing, until Jill yelled again. Eddie lagged behind, his bike rattling, but Will dropped back to ride beside him.
WILL
Don’t worry, buddy. If you fall, I’ll draw a chalk outline.
EDDIE
That’s not funny.
WILL
It’s hilarious.
Eddie tried not to laugh, but he did anyway.
At the corner store, they pooled coins for sodas and candy bars. Jill counted carefully, Sophie picked gum, Roman grabbed sour candy, Mac went for chips, and Eddie clutched the biggest chocolate bar he could find. Will bought a notebook, because he always wanted more paper to sketch on.
---
Back at Jill’s house, they crowded into the living room. Tom’s guitar drifted faintly from upstairs, mixing with the sound of the tape deck as Dutch popped in a cassette. Bon Jovi filled the room
They sprawled across the carpet, Monopoly money scattered, Uno cards bent at the corners, soda cans fizzing.
ROMAN
(throwing a card down)
Draw four, Mac.
MAC
You’re cheating again.
JILL
He’s always cheating.
EDDIE
(trying to stack chips into a tower)
I’m not cheating. I’m building.
The tower collapsed. Everyone laughed.
Will leaned forward, animated, tossing jokes and commentary into the chaos.
WILL
Roman cheats so much, we should just call him “President of Cheating.”
ROMAN
Better than “Mayor of Boring.”
WILL
You’re not even mayor. You’re the town jester.
The room roared with laughter. Jill threw popcorn at them both. Sophie rolled her eyes but smiled. Michael tried to keep order, but even he was laughing now.
Later, they switched to watching Gremlins on VHS. Eddie hid his face during the scary parts, Mac teased him, Jill threw more popcorn, and Dutch narrated the movie like it was a comedy. Will kept up a running commentary, cracking jokes about the gremlins’ fashion sense.
WILL
Look at that one. He’s basically Roman with worse hair.
ROMAN
Hey!
The laughter drowned out the movie.
---
The night stretched on. They talked about teachers they hated, crushes they wouldn’t admit, rumors about the high school kids sneaking out at night. Jill’s brother Tom’s guitar drifted down again, softer this time, mixing with their voices.
Tom then got up into the kitchen to his mother
"Mom , i have a friend meetup arojnd the galaxy arcade , would you mind if i'd go?"
His mom looked up at him
"Grow a spine , thomas , you aren't young for me to guve you permission , also dont get out of the country" she winked at tom
Tom stared for a moment then laughed
He then left off with his car , a chevrolet stingray
The neon buzz of Galaxy Arcade lit the street in pinks and blues, humming against the summer night. Inside, the air was thick with the sounds of pinball machines, 8‑bit music, and teenagers who had nowhere else to be but everywhere to belong.
Tom leaned against the jukebox, guitar pick still tucked behind his ear from practice earlier. He wasn’t playing tonight — he was watching. Lena was locked into Pac‑Man, her hair falling into her face as she leaned forward, completely focused.
TOM
(grinning)
You play like it’s life or death.
LENA
Without looking up
It is. Don’t distract me.
The screen flashed. Lena’s score climbed higher. Tom smirked, pretending not to care, but his eyes never left her.
Across the room, Aaron and Sam were locked in a Street Fighter battle. The machine’s speakers blared “KO!” as Sam threw his arms up in victory.
SAM
That’s three in a row, man. Admit defeat.
AARON
Never. One more.
They laughed, shoving each other, their rivalry more friendship than competition.
Near the pinball machines, Claire leaned against the railing, sipping soda, chatting with a couple of older kids about music. — she was part of the noise, part of the neon glow.
The jukebox clicked, and Def Leppard filled the room. A couple of teens danced near the back, shadows stretching across the neon floor.
Tom finally moved closer to Lena, leaning against the machine.
TOM
You know, if you ever get tired of Pac‑Man, I could teach you guitar.
LENA
(smiling, finally looking at him)
And if you ever get tired of guitar, I could teach you how not to lose at Pac‑Man.
They laughed.
Aaron and Sam collapsed into the booth beside Claire, sweaty from their game. Sam stole a sip of her soda, Aaron teased him, Claire rolled her eyes but smiled.
The night stretched on. Tokens clinked, neon buzzed, laughter filled the air. For the teens, this was freedom — no parents, no responsibilities, just music, games, and the thrill of being young.
---
Later, they spilled out of the arcade into the warm night air. The street smelled of fried food from the diner across the way. Tom suggested grabbing burgers, and soon they were crammed into a booth at Marty’s Diner, jukebox humming in the corner.
SAM
(to Aaron)
You’re buying. You lost.
AARON
I didn’t lose. I was warming up.
LENA
You lost. Three times.
TOM
(to Lena, teasing)
See, she’s good at keeping score.
The waitress rolled her eyes at their noise but smiled anyway. Burgers arrived, fries scattered across the table, sodas fizzed. They ate, teased, and argued about music, movies, and who had the best taste.
CLAIRE
Bon Jovi is overrated.
SAM
Blasphemy.
AARON
Nah, she’s right.
TOM
You’re all wrong. It’s Springsteen.
They laughed, voices rising over the jukebox.
---
After dinner, they walked through town, neon fading into streetlights. Lena and Tom drifted a little ahead, talking quietly. Sam and Aaron shoved each other, still arguing about video games. Claire walked between them, laughing at their nonsense.
The night felt endless. The cicadas hummed, the air was warm.
Meanwhile in sheriff Dalton's office
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Files are stacked on the desk, coffee cups half‑empty. Sheriff Dalton stands at the front, hat in his hands, jaw tight. His deputies — Carter, Ruiz, and Miller — sit around the table, waiting.
Dalton sets the hat down, exhales.
SHERIFF DALTON
Alright. We’ve got ourselves a situation. A child’s been found out by the orchard. No signs of a struggle in the usual sense, but the scene’s… wrong.
The deputies shift uncomfortably. Carter scribbles notes, Ruiz leans back, Miller stares at the floor.
CARTER
Wrong how, Sheriff?
DALTON
Quiet. Too quiet. No footprints leading in or out. No tire tracks. Just the body, laid out like someone wanted us to find it.
Ruiz shakes his head.
RUIZ
That doesn’t make sense. Kids don’t just end up like that.
DALTON
Exactly. Which means somebody put him there.
Dalton opens a folder, sliding photographs across the table. The deputies lean in.
DALTON
Look here. Bite marks. Large , chunks of muscle skin missing , deliberate. Not animal. Human.
Carter frowns, tracing the outline with his pen.
CARTER
That’s… twisted.
DALTON
Twisted, yes. But deliberate. Whoever did this wanted us to see it.
Miller clears his throat.
MILLER
Sheriff, folks are already whispering. They’re saying it’s him.
Dalton’s jaw tightens.
DALTON
Benny the Penny.
The name hangs heavy in the room.
RUIZ
That’s just a story. Kids scare each other with it.
DALTON
Stories don’t leave bite marks. Stories don’t lay a child out like a message.
Silence. The deputies exchange uneasy glances.
DALTON
We treat this as homicide. Evidence bag shows fibers — old cloth, torn at the edges. Soil samples match the orchard. And those bite marks? They’re patterned. Almost like a signature.
Carter scribbles faster. Ruiz leans forward, voice low.
RUIZ
So what’s our move?
Dalton straightens, voice steady.
DALTON
Our move is simple. We lock down the scene. We talk to every family, every neighbor, every drifter passing through. And we don’t sleep until we know who did this.
He picks up his hat, sets it firmly on his head.
DALTON
And one more thing — keep your eyes open. Benny’s not just a story anymore.
The room falls silent. The deputies nod, the weight of the words settling over them. Outside, the cicadas hum, the night pressing in against the windows.
It was the next day
The kids had planned a little adventure
The morning sun spilled across Jill’s backyard, warming the grass and the half‑finished pile of lumber, cardboard, and old furniture they’d dragged out. It wasn’t a fortress of blankets this time. It was bigger. Real.
Roman stood in the middle of the yard, hands on his hips, surveying the chaos like a general.
ROMAN
Today, history is made. Castle Wick will rise.
JILL
It’s not history. It’s my backyard.
MAC
And it’s already a mess.
But Jill was smiling. Everyone was.
---
The kids weren’t alone. Their older siblings and friends had joined in. Tom, Jill’s brother, carried out a stack of wooden planks. Aaron, Michael’s brother, hauled nails and a hammer. Claire, Will’s sister, brought paint cans. Lena and Sam showed up with rope, old crates, and a cooler of sodas.
It was a full crew — kids and teens together, laughing, arguing, building.
---
They started with the frame. Tom hammered planks into place, Aaron held them steady, while Roman shouted instructions that nobody followed.
ROMAN
This will be the throne room!
MAC
It’s a pile of wood.
WILL
Correction: it’s a pile of wood destined to be legendary.
Dutch tied rope between posts to make a “drawbridge.” Sophie painted cardboard shields with bright colors. Eddie dragged pillows outside, insisting they needed “comfort zones.”
Claire dipped a brush into paint and scrawled the name across a plank:
CASTLE WICK
The letters were crooked, but bold.
---
By noon, the castle was taking shape. Wooden planks formed walls, crates stacked into towers, rope stretched into a gate. It wasn’t perfect — it leaned, it creaked — but it was theirs.
Inside, they laid out chairs for thrones, crates for tables, and a cooler for “royal supplies.”
ROMAN
Behold, Castle Wick!
JILL
Behold, splinters.
WILL
Behold, the greatest backyard kingdom in history.
---
The teens joined in the fun. Tom strummed his guitar from the “balcony” (really a crate stacked on another crate). Lena declared herself the castle’s bard. Aaron challenged Sam to a duel with broomsticks. Claire painted banners with stars and suns, hanging them from the walls.
The kids cheered, running in and out of the castle, inventing rules, arguing about titles.
SOPHIE
I’m the wizard.
ROMAN
I’m the king.
JILL
I’m the queen.
EDDIE
I’m the jester!
MAC
I’m the guy who quits if Roman cheats again.
WILL
I’m the chronicler. And I say this is the best Sunday ever.
---
The afternoon stretched into games. They played “castle wars,” tossing rolled‑up socks like catapults. They invented quests: finding treasure (old coins buried in the dirt), rescuing prisoners (Eddie tied to a chair with jump rope), and defending the walls against imaginary invaders.
The teens laughed at the chaos but joined in anyway. Sam pretended to storm the castle, Aaron defended it, Tom played dramatic battle music on his guitar, and Lena narrated like it was a fairy tale.
LENA
And so, Castle Wick stood strong against all enemies, built by hands young and old, united in laughter.
---
By evening, the castle glowed golden in the setting sun. Jill’s mom called them in for dinner, but they lingered, reluctant to leave their creation.
Claire painted one last banner, hanging it above the gate:
CASTLE WICK – EST. 1988
They stood back, admiring it. Crooked, patched, imperfect — but beautiful.
ROMAN
Tomorrow, we add a moat.
JILL
Tomorrow, we clean up this mess.
WILL
Tomorrow, we make it bigger.
They laughed, voices fading into the warm evening air. For now, they were just kids and teens — invincible in their backyard kingdom, wrapped in the glow of friendship, inventing worlds that felt endless.
The next day , was a holiday becuase of high rainfall and tornado going on in their city
There was a house , the nicholas's place , Alan nicholas and his younger brother david nicholas
They had recently shifted there and were admissioned in the same school as the wick group
That day was going to be a day that was never intended in the nicholas's life
"Brother , the tornado is now over
And it's just raining now , can...can i go out and play with my friends?" He asked Alan softly
"Are you sure the tornado's over?" Asked alan
"Yes , definitely, i saw that on the..on the tv" said david
"Okay , so go now , and return soon okay?" Declared Alan
"Okay why not" he said staring at the eyes of Alan , he left
His father sat in a couch watching television , as david ran down the stairs
"Hey , buddy where's you going? Said his dad
"Nothing just out for meeting a friend" said david
"Got permission?" "Yes definitely" yelled david
"Alright watch out there" his dad said
He nodded and excitedly ran open the door
And climbed on his bike
He wore rain proof jacket and rain boot
The rain had thinned into a silver drizzle by afternoon, leaving the streets slick and shining. David Nicholas pedaled his bike through puddles, the tires hissing against the wet pavement. His yellow raincoat flapped behind him like a cape, and for the first time since the storm, he felt free.
Tyler rode beside him, splashing water deliberately to spray David’s legs.
“Race you!” Tyler shouted, leaning forward on his handlebars.
David grinned, pushing harder. “You’re on!”
They sped down the cracked road, laughter echoing against the gray sky. The orchard loomed ahead — rows of twisted trees dripping with rain, branches heavy and dark. Beyond them, the Crowe mansion stood hollow and scorched, its windows black, its roof sagging like a skull.
David slowed, unease prickling at the back of his neck. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he muttered.
Tyler laughed, fearless. “Come on. It’s just a house.”
They dropped their bikes in the weeds and stepped through the rusted iron gate. The orchard was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears. The mansion loomed closer, its walls charred, its doorway a dark mouth.
Inside, the air was damp, smelling faintly of smoke long gone. Floorboards groaned beneath their weight. Tyler swung his flashlight across the ruined ballroom, the beam catching melted chandeliers and broken glass.
“See?” Tyler said, his voice echoing. “Nothing here. Just ghosts.”
David forced a smile, but his stomach knotted. Shadows stretched too far. The silence felt alive.
Then came the sound — faint at first, like coins clinking together.
Tyler froze. “What was that?”
David’s breath caught. The sound grew louder, rolling across the floor. Pennies. Dozens of them.
From the darkness, a figure stirred.
“Welcome back,” whispered a voice, metallic and cold.
Tyler screamed. The flashlight fell, its beam spinning wildly across the walls. David grabbed his arm, but benny was faster be bit tyler's arm off . Tyler’s cry was swallowed by the dark, cut short as if the house itself had devoured him , he was then dragged
David stumbled back, heart pounding, but a hand closed around him — cold, heavy, unyielding.
“Not you,” the voice rasped. “Not yet.”
David struggled, but the world spun. His voice broke as he shouted, “Let me go!”
The figure dragged him deeper into the mansion, into the dark.
---
He didn’t know how long he was carried. The air grew colder, the smell of damp stone and rust filling his nose. His raincoat snagged against broken wood, his shoes scraped across the floor, but the grip never loosened.
Finally, they reached a room. Small. Windowless. The walls were stone, slick with moisture. A single lantern flickered in the corner, its light weak and trembling.
David was thrown inside. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall. The door slammed shut.
Silence.
He pressed his ear against the wood, listening. Footsteps faded. The sound of coins clinking echoed once more, then vanished.
David sank to the floor, heart racing. His hands shook. He wanted to scream, but the sound caught in his throat.
He wasn’t dead. Not yet.
But he was trapped.
---
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time bent in the dark. David tried the door — solid, unyielding. He searched the walls — damp stone, no cracks wide enough to slip through. He shouted, his voice echoing back at him, swallowed by silence.
Tears burned his eyes, but he wiped them away. He wouldn’t cry. Not yet.
---
The lantern flickered. Shadows danced across the walls. David pulled his knees to his chest, listening. Somewhere beyond the door, faint and distant, coins clinked again.
He whispered to himself, voice trembling. “Not dead. Not dead. Not dead.”
But the words werent listened
The storm had passed, but the rain lingered, steady and unrelenting. It tapped against the windows in a rhythm that filled the silence of the Nicholas home. The air inside was heavy, thick with the smell of damp carpet and coffee that had gone cold hours ago.
Alan sat on the staircase, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards. He hadn’t moved in what felt like forever. His chest felt hollow, his throat raw from words he hadn’t spoken. Every creak of the house made him flinch, as if David might suddenly come running down the stairs, laughing, raincoat dripping, sneakers squeaking. But the stairs stayed empty.
His mother stood near the couch, pale and trembling, her hands twisting together as though she could wring the fear out of them. She spoke quickly, her voice breaking, trying to explain to the officers who had come.
“He said he was going out. Just for a little while. He promised he’d be back. He’s never… he’s never stayed out this long.”
Her words tumbled over each other, desperate, fragile.
Two policemen stood in the living room, their uniforms damp from the weather. The older one, Sergeant Coles, held a notebook in his hand, his pen scratching steadily as he listened. The younger officer, Daniels, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking between Alan and Mrs. Nicholas.
Coles nodded gently, his voice calm but firm. “Mrs. Nicholas, we’re doing everything we can. Patrols are checking the streets, the orchard, the Crowe place. If he’s out there, we’ll find him.”
Alan lifted his head, his eyes red, his voice hoarse. “You don’t understand. He wouldn’t just run off. He’s not like that.”
Daniels crouched slightly, lowering himself to Alan’s level. His voice was softer, almost kind. “We know. That’s why we’re treating this seriously. But right now, we need you to tell us everything you remember. Did he say where he was going? Who he was meeting?”
Alan swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, like the words were stuck. “He said he was going to play. That’s all. He didn’t say who.”
His mother pressed a hand to her mouth, tears spilling. “He’s just a boy. He’s just a boy…”
The officers exchanged a glance. Coles closed his notebook, his jaw tight. “We’ll keep you updated. If you think of anything — anything at all — call us.”
Alan’s father sat silent on the couch, his eyes fixed on the television though it was turned off. His face was stone, but his hands trembled against his knees. He hadn’t spoken since the officers arrived.
The rain grew heavier, drumming against the roof. The house seemed to shrink under the weight of it.
Coles stepped closer to Mrs. Nicholas, his voice steady. “We’ll need a recent photo of David. Something clear. We’ll circulate it.”
She nodded quickly, fumbling through a drawer until she found one — David smiling in his raincoat, his hair messy, his eyes bright. She handed it over with shaking hands.
Alan looked at the photo, his chest tightening. It felt wrong, seeing his brother’s face held like evidence.
Daniels tucked the photo carefully into a folder. “We’ll start tonight. Posters, calls, patrols. You’re not alone in this.”
Alan wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe someone could fix this. But the silence in the house told him otherwise.
The officers moved toward the door, radios crackling faintly. Coles paused, turning back. His eyes lingered on Alan. “We’ll find him,” he said softly.
Alan didn’t answer. He stared at the rain‑streaked window, the storm outside mirroring the storm inside his chest.
---
The house was quiet again after they left. Too quiet. His mother sank onto the couch, her shoulders shaking. His father remained still, staring at nothing. Alan stayed on the stairs, listening to the rain, waiting for footsteps that never came.
Every tick of the clock felt louder. Every shadow stretched longer.
David was gone. And the Nicholas house had never felt emptier.
The night had been merciless. Alan tossed and turned, his mind replaying the quarrel with his mother, David’s last words, the hollow promises of the police. Sleep never came. When the clock struck five, the house was still wrapped in silence, his parents finally collapsed into uneasy rest.
Alan rose quietly, careful not to wake them. The floorboards creaked under his weight, but the house seemed too tired to protest. He pulled on his the sky still bruised with the last shadows of night. His parents slept fitfully, unaware he had gone. The streets were damp, the air sharp with the smell of wet earth. He pedaled hard, his bike rattling over cracked pavement, his eyes scanning every corner for a glimpse of David.
The orchard loomed in his mind. The Crowe mansion. The places whispered about in school. He turned down Jill’s street, and that’s when he heard them — voices, laughter, the clatter of wood.
Alan slowed, his stomach tightening. Behind Jill’s house, Castle Wick rose crooked and defiant, patched together from crates and rope. The Wick kids were there, already awake, their voices carrying in the dawn.
Alan stopped at the gate, his bike leaning against him. He hesitated, watching them. Their laughter felt wrong, almost cruel, against the silence of his own house.
---
Will spotted him first. “Hey! Who’s that?”
Roman leaned over the wall, eyes narrowing. “You’re Nicholas, right? Alan Nicholas?”
Alan’s throat tightened. “Yeah.”
Jill stepped forward, her smile fading when she saw his face. “Where’s David?”
Alan’s voice cracked. “He’s missing. He didn’t come home last night.”
Silence fell. The Wick kids exchanged glances, their laughter dying. Roman’s grin hardened. “Missing? What do you mean missing?”
Alan’s hands clenched on the handlebars. “I’m looking for him. He went out yesterday… and he never came back.”
---
Sophie whispered, “The orchard…” Dutch frowned, muttering, “The Crowe place…”
Alan’s chest tightened. “You know something, don’t you?”
Roman leaned forward, his tone sharp. “We know enough to stay away from that place. If your brother went there…” He let the words hang, heavy.
Alan’s anger flared. “Don’t just stand there. Help me. Please.”
---
The Wick kids shifted uneasily. Each reacted in their own way:
- Jill stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “Alan… if it’s the orchard, it’s not just a missing‑kid thing. It’s worse. We’ve seen things.”
- Will scratched the back of his neck, his usual grin gone. “Look, man, we joke around a lot, but… if he’s really gone, then we’re all in this.”
- Sophie hugged herself, eyes darting nervously. “It’s dangerous. We shouldn’t even be talking about it.”
- Dutch muttered, “We can’t just ignore it. If the Crowe place took him… then it’ll take more.”
- Eddie tried to lighten the mood, juggling a tennis ball, but his voice cracked. “Missing kids? That’s… that’s not funny anymore.”
- Michael adjusted his glasses, his tone practical. “If we’re going to help, we need to be smart. We can’t just run in blind.”
---
Alan stared at them, grief and suspicion burning in his chest. He didn’t trust them yet. But he needed them.
Roman finally spoke, his voice low, serious. “If you’re really looking for David… then you’re not alone. But you have to understand — once you step into this with us, there’s no going back.”
Alan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care. He’s my brother. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
The Wick kids exchanged glances again. Jill nodded slowly. Will sighed. Sophie looked away. Dutch clenched his fists. Eddie dropped the ball. Michael closed his notebook.
The neon sign of Gloria’s Burger buzzed faintly, its red glow bleeding into the morning haze. Inside, the booths were crowded, every seat filled with Wick kids, their siblings, and friends. The smell of frying oil clung to the air, but no one tasted comfort in it.
They called in their brothers too , explained everything and what they thought
Alan sat hunched in the corner, pale, hollow‑eyed, his untouched burger cooling on the tray. Jill sat beside him, her hand steady on his arm, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the group.
Roman leaned forward, his voice stripped of bravado.
ROMAN
Tell us.
Alan’s voice cracked.
ALAN
David went out yesterday. He never came back. The cops… they don’t know where he is.
The words hung heavy. Sophie’s face drained of color.
SOPHIE
He’s not the only one.
The room shifted. Every eye turned to her. Sophie’s hands trembled as she spoke.
SOPHIE
Two kids from the east side. Gone last week. Another boy near the Crowe place. My mom said people whisper, but no one wants to admit it.
Dutch slammed his fist against the table, the sound sharp.
DUTCH
So it’s not just David.
Michael opened his notebook, his voice low but steady.
MICHAEL
I’ve been digging through records. Missing kids. Missing adults. It goes back decades. Always near the orchard. Always near the Crowe house.
Alan’s chest tightened.
ALAN
Then David’s there. Wherever they went… he’s there.
Aaron, Michael’s older brother, leaned in, his tone grim.
AARON
If that’s true, then something is pulling them in. Something alive.
Jill’s voice cut through, calm but cold.
JILL
We don’t know if it’s a cave, a house, or something worse. But we know where to start. The orchard.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
ROMAN
Then we plan. No games. No jokes. If kids are disappearing, we’re walking into danger.
---
The food arrived — trays of burgers, baskets of fries, sodas fizzing in paper cups. They ate because they had to, not because they wanted to. Every bite felt heavy, every swallow like a countdown.
Michael spread his notebook across the table, sketching rough outlines.
MICHAEL
We mark the orchard. We mark the Crowe house. We move in pairs. No one goes alone.
Claire, Will’s sister, spoke quietly, her voice shaking.
CLAIRE
And if we see anything… anything strange… we don’t run blind. We stay together.
Leo, Dutch’s cousin, leaned against the booth, his grin gone.
LEO
I’ve been near the orchard at night. The air’s wrong. Heavy. Like it’s watching you.
Sophie whispered, almost to herself.
SOPHIE
What if it’s not just a place? What if it’s something that wants us?
Alan lifted his head, his voice raw but steady.
ALAN
Then we face it. Together.
---
The council ended not with laughter, but with silence. Each of them felt it — the weight of what they were about to do. Gloria’s Burger wasn’t just a diner anymore. It was a war room. A place where children and teens admitted the truth: something was hunting them, and it had already taken more than David.
When they stepped out into the daylight, the world felt sharper, colder. The orchard waited, and they knew the next time they gathered, it wouldn’t be over burgers.
" let's go to the library" said aaron , everybody nodded
The library was colder than the streets outside, its tall windows filtering pale light across rows of shelves. Dust hung in the air, stirred by their footsteps. The Wick kids and their older siblings moved together, quieter than they had ever been at Castle Wick or Gloria’s Burger.
Alan trailed behind, his face drawn, his eyes hollow. Jill stayed close, steadying him with her presence. Roman led the way, shoulders squared, though his bravado was gone.
They gathered at the long oak tables, stacks of town records and newspapers piled high. Michael spread them out, his fingers trembling as he flipped through brittle pages.
MICHAEL
It wasn’t just the Crowe mansion. Look at this.
The headline was stark, black ink bleeding across yellowed paper: “Family Slain in Orchard Home — No Suspects Found.”
Alan leaned closer, his stomach tightening.
ALAN
More killings… after Crowe?
Michael nodded grimly.
MICHAEL
Dozens. Manslaughter, disappearances, whole families wiped out. Always near the orchard. Always unexplained.
Claire pulled another record from the stack, her voice shaking.
CLAIRE
People said they saw… a clown. Changing shapes. Sometimes a man, sometimes a shadow. Sometimes… something else.
Sophie’s whisper cut through the silence.
SOPHIE
Benny.
---
They dug deeper. Each record revealed more horror:
- 1950s – Workers vanished while clearing land near the orchard. Their tools were found melted, as if burned by acid.
- 1960s – A school picnic ended in tragedy when three children disappeared into the woods. Witnesses claimed they saw a clown waving from the trees.
- 1970s – A farmer’s family slaughtered in their home. Neighbors swore they saw “a man with painted eyes” walking the orchard rows.
- 1980s – More children missing. More whispers of the orchard. More sightings of something that shifted shape, laughing in voices that weren’t human.
---
Aaron spread out a map of the town, marking each incident.
AARON
Every massacre, every disappearance… it circles the orchard.
Jill’s voice was steady, though her hands shook.
JILL
It’s not just a place. It’s a trap.
Alan’s voice was raw, his chest tight.
ALAN
David’s not the first. He won’t be the last.
Dutch slammed his fist against the table.
DUTCH
Then we stop it.
Michael’s voice cut through, quiet but sharp.
MICHAEL
Stop it? Look at this. Every decade, more vanishings. More killings. The orchard isn’t just haunted. It’s feeding.
---
The group fell silent. The weight of the records pressed down on them.
Sophie whispered, almost to herself.
SOPHIE
The orchard takes them. That’s why. That’s how.
Roman’s jaw tightened, his voice low.
ROMAN
Then we’re not just looking for David. We’re walking into the same jaws that took them all.
The Wick kids and their siblings had been combing through brittle newspapers and town records for hours. The silence of the library pressed down on them, broken only by the rustle of pages and the scratch of Michael’s pencil.
Sam, restless and sharp‑eyed, pulled a rolled blueprint from the archives cabinet. He spread it across the oak table, the paper yellowed and fragile.
SAM
Look at this. It’s the old city sewer map.
The group leaned in. The lines sprawled across the town like veins, tunnels and drainage routes marked in faded ink. At the center, bold and unmistakable, was a circle.
SAM
The orchard. Right under the Crowe mansion.
Alan’s stomach dropped.
ALAN
You’re saying the orchard sits on top of the main sewer hub?
Sam nodded, his finger tracing the lines.
SAM
Every tunnel bends toward it. It’s like the whole system was built around that spot.
Michael’s eyes widened.
MICHAEL
That explains the disappearances near manholes, drains, and culverts. The orchard isn’t just above ground. It’s connected underneath.
Claire whispered, her voice trembling.
CLAIRE
So if kids went exploring the sewers… they could have walked straight into it.
---
Aaron pulled another folder from the archives — newer city records. He spread the modern map beside Sam’s blueprint. The difference was immediate.
AARON
Wait. Look at this.
The orchard hub was gone. The newer map rerouted the system, showing the central lines shifted away, as if the orchard had never been part of it.
Michael’s voice was sharp.
MICHAEL
They changed it. The authorities erased the orchard from the maps.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
ROMAN
Why?
Sophie’s whisper cut through the silence.
SOPHIE
Because they were scared themselves.
---
They dug deeper, cross‑referencing the maps with reports:
- 1950s – Workers vanished repairing sewer lines near the orchard. The incident buried in city files.
- 1960s – Children disappeared near drainage ditches. Official reports called them “flooding accidents.”
- 1970s – A manhole collapse swallowed two men. City records claimed “structural failure.”
- 1980s – Families reported laughter echoing through pipes. Authorities dismissed it as “pipe acoustics.”
Every time, the maps were redrawn. Every time, the orchard was erased.
---
Alan’s voice was raw, his chest tight.
ALAN
David could be down there. Not just in the orchard… in the sewers beneath it.
Jill’s hand tightened on his arm.
JILL
Then that’s where we start.
Michael tapped the old blueprint, his voice steady but grim.
MICHAEL
The orchard isn’t just cursed soil. It’s the hidden hub. A labyrinth buried under the city. And the adults… they covered it up.
Roman’s voice was low, heavy.
ROMAN
Then we’re not just walking into the orchard. We’re walking into the city’s underbelly. Into the place they tried to erase.
The orchard was silent, its skeletal trees clawing at the sky. Beneath the roots, the sewer mouth gaped open, slick with moisture, breathing out a stench of rot. The Wick kids and their siblings stood at the edge, flashlights trembling in their hands.
Aaron carried the gasoline. Sam gripped the flashlight like a weapon. Roman led, his bravado stripped away, jaw tight. Alan followed, pale and hollow‑eyed, Jill steady at his side.
They descended.
The air grew colder, heavier. The walls dripped with slime, pipes twisted unnaturally, and the silence pressed against their ears until every breath felt stolen.
Michael’s voice was low, steady.
MICHAEL
Stay close. Don’t lose the line.
---
The tunnels bent wrong. The old map twisted in their hands, corridors looping back, shadows bending.
Then the laughter came.
At first faint — a child’s giggle. Then louder — a man’s chuckle. Then distorted — a scream turned inside out.
Sophie froze, her flashlight shaking.
SOPHIE
He’s here.
---
The beam caught him.
A clown.
But not a clown. His painted eyes dripped like ink, his grin stretched too wide, his body folding and unfolding like paper. One moment tall, the next hunched, his limbs bending backward.
BENNY THE PENNY
You came to play.
Alan’s chest tightened, his voice breaking.
ALAN
Where is David?! Tell me where he is!
The clown’s grin widened, splitting his face into a gash. His voice echoed in a dozen tones — children crying, men screaming, women begging.
BENNY THE PENNY
David… David… David… all mine.
---
Roman’s hands shook as he lifted the gasoline can.
ROMAN
Now!
Aaron struck the match. The flame roared, spilling across Benny’s painted grin. His costume ignited, his face melted into wax and ash.
But he did not die.
He changed.
---
The fire peeled him open. His body stretched, limbs elongating until they scraped the tunnel walls. Fingers split into claws, nails dripping black fluid. His torso cracked, ribs jutting outward like jagged teeth. The painted smile tore wider, splitting his face into a wound that bled shadow.
His voice was no longer laughter. It was a chorus — every scream, every cry, every whisper of the missing.
BENNY THE PENNY
You think fire hurts me? Fire feeds me.
---
Alan screamed, his voice raw, desperate.
ALAN
Where is David?!
Benny’s head snapped in every direction at once, his elongated arms slamming against the walls. Pipes cracked, acid water spilled, the air thick with fumes.
BENNY THE PENNY
David is mine. And soon… so are you.
---
The tunnels writhed. Shadows bent, looping corridors folding back on themselves. Their flashlights flickered, beams swallowed by the dark.
Aaron fired into Benny’s chest. The bullets sank into flesh, but the wounds closed instantly, black veins spreading outward.
Sam swung the flashlight, the beam cutting across Benny’s face — but the monster dissolved, reforming behind them, limbs scraping the ceiling.
Roman hurled the gasoline can. The fire roared again, but Benny only grew taller, his body stretching until his head scraped the tunnel roof.
BENNY THE PENNY
Burn me. Break me. I will always come back.
---
They ran. Acid water splashed against their legs, the air thick with rot. Benny’s limbs clawed after them, scraping, reaching, bending through the tunnels like living ropes. His laughter followed, distorted, echoing from every direction.
Alan stumbled, screaming David’s name, his voice swallowed by the dark. Jill dragged him forward, tears streaking her face. Sophie collapsed, Dutch pulling her up, his own eyes wide with terror.
By the time they clawed their way back to the surface, gasping, the orchard loomed unchanged. The sewer had spat them out, beaten, broken, haunted.
Alan collapsed in the grass, his voice raw, shaking.
ALAN
He’s real. He has David.
Jill’s hand tightened on his shoulder, her eyes wide with fear.
JILL
And he knows we’re coming back.
Roman’s jaw clenched, his voice low, heavy.
ROMAN
Next time… we don’t run.
