Cecil is enjoying the peace and quiet of the cool evening. He sits in his rocking chair, whittling away at a piece of wood. A little peace is exactly what his old bones need.
Johnny lies on the porch, squirming in absolute agony. Nothing has happened in such a long time. It's been weeks since anything interesting has happened and he doesn't know how much longer he can take it. Everybody else seems okay with that. That's something else he doesn't understand. How can anybody actually like, this ultimately mundane existence?

If that kid doesn't stop winging, Cecil's old bones are gonna' do some major damage to that kid's much younger skull. He considers what it would take, to shut the boy up. Cecil decides that a good scare is what the boy needs. That's it, a good frightening. He tests the boy with a little wake- up scream, just to see what the kid's wits are like. He thinks he knows what to do, to sort this boy out.
Johnny looks at his Grampa, oddly. He sometimes wonders about Grampa. Especially when he screams at people randomly, like that. He looks into the old man's eyes, there's something strange going on, in there. A look, maybe. Something is not right, inside. Grampa stands up suddenly and Johnny jumps back. As he watches his granddad walk away, he notices that the old man doesn't take his eyes off him. Johnny watches, slightly jostled, as Grampa backs slowly into the house.

Robert Wayne is glugging away at his grog. That warm, fuzzy feeling eats away at his worries. The emptiness consumes, so the darkness doesn't have a chance. He tunes out the depressing tassels of an empty existence.
Cecil walks into the kitchen, unnoticed. The boy's father sits at the kitchen table, drinking himself to nothing. A waste of space, that one is. He scowls. He should've never let that bastard go with his daughter. Should've shot him, when he had the chance. He opens his lovely machine with a click, somewhat like that of a microwave oven. It is finally finished. He sighs. Soon, they will see what it is. The greatness that he has finally achieved. The difference that he will make. The emptiness is over. It is time for the darkness. And they think he's a stupid old man, what do they know, all of them are bastards!

Robert hears a noise. There's a clicking sound, close by. He looks up and sees the old man, faffing about with that weird machine of his. The one he's been working on, for the last couple of weeks. Looks like he's finished it. He wonders what it is, that it actually does.
Cecil feels eyes, watching him. He looks over at Robert. That imbecile is watching him. Does he not know what curiosity did to the cat? Thusly, will be done unto him, if he doesn't mind his own business. Cecil protects his baby, with all of his energy. He shouts at Robert, to mind his own business.

Robert jumps on the defensive. Fine, let the old man have his privacy. But he knows that Cecil was telling stories to his son, outside. That kid is his, he has a right to protect his child. The old man has his prize, fine. Well, his own prize, is his blood. Is his family, and he'll protect it to the end, because it is his, to protect. No darkness will take his family.

Cecil opens his eyes. He must have fallen asleep again. That happens sometimes, when he gets excited. He looks around, to make certain of where he is. Aware that he's now outside, he shakes off his sleepiness.
Johnny looks strangely at Grampa. The old guy zoned out for a minute there. His eyes are normal now. It was as if something gripped him. It was something strange. Like he was something else, something dark. He's startled. Afraid that, at any moment, his granddad might change back, into that thing and do something horrible.

Cecil gives the boy a smile, to reassure him. He pulls the boy toward him, making the child sit down. He begins his story, so the boy doesn't have a chance to get away. He tells of a girl and a boy. The boy is not from this place, but he is one of the invisible people. Unless you look in his eyes, (which you won't see, unless he lets you,) you won't be able to see him.
Johnny listens carefully, as Grampa Cecil begins the story. This doesn't sound at all like what his dad had said. Maybe there's something to his grandfather's stories, after all. Something about the way he turns his words, that's almost magical. He can actually imagine the world that his grandad is creating in the story part of his mind.

Cecil walks over to the machine, with a sideways glance at Robert, that bastard. He pushes the green start button and the machine begins to whirr. The sound of babies crying echoes from within the strange whirring. The emptiness has to stop now. It will not waste the boy. Now, it is time for the darkness. He beckons in, the darkness within.
Robert shouts at the old man, his pride finally giving way to his curiosity. He yells over, a little louder than absolutely necessary, (the drink finally having some effect,) trying to find out what that racket is all about. He should know, because if it's all still on when the woman gets home, he better have something to tell her.

Cecil says nothing and remains quiet. Plausible deniability perhaps, Bobby surely doesn't want to know the truth, so he will save him from that, by not telling him anything. He continues with this plan, by ignoring Bobby. Walking away, he tries incessantly to pretend that the man is not where his obnoxiously loud presence, so obviously is.

Johnny sits on the porch, waiting for his granddad to come outside and continue the story. It was just getting interesting when he left. He starts thinking that perhaps his granddad isn't such a crazy old man, after all. Or maybe he is, but that's okay, cos' he tells good stories. He hopes that Grampa hurries up, he wants to hear more about the special kid.

Cecil appears in the doorway, grinning like a monkey. The machine whirrs in the background. He sighs, this is going to be fun. He walks over to his rocking chair and sits down. He is ready to begin. Now, everything is ready.
Johnny can't wait anymore. He urges Grampa on, breaking the silence. He hates when his granddad does this. Just when something looks like he'll enjoy it, he drags it on.

Greg stands in the alley with Marta, talking quietly. Marta is in the school uniform, because she goes here. Greg isn't, because he doesn't. He snuck in, because he's one of those people who're able to simply, not be seen. If they're by themselves, they just blend into everyone and everything around them. Him and Marta have been friends for along while and he knows she wants something from him, but he wants her to ask. It's no fun, if he just provides. He likes seeing her sweat.
Marta is dying for something, anything. She just needs to get wasted. She's had a rough day and she could use a hit. But she's good friends with Greg and she doesn't want to be rude. So she tries to talk normal. Bringing up the cliché niceties. The whole time, dying for just to get wasted with him, so that they can chill out and everything will be sweet.

Greg's had his fun. He brings up the point of drugs because he knows that's the whole reason she came over to speak to him. Not the only reason of course, they're good friends. But the main reason, the reason that she came over when she did, instead of later. They see each other all the time, so she might've waited and he knows that. Which is part of the reason that he knows what she wants. The other is, it's obvious from a mile away, that she's had a bad day. And boy does he have what ails her. He places a small bag in her hot little hands.
Marta is so stoked that Greg brought up the subject of drugs, so she didn't have to, that for a second, she doesn't realise that this means he knew what she wanted the whole time. She's so bustingly happy that he's got something for her, that she hugs him.
He puts his hand out as a gesture, waiting for a split-second, for her to put something in it. Of course he knows that she won't. She'll pay him later, as usual. 'Why is it, that it's always the good friends that do that?' - He wonders, only half caring.

Then Marta clicks. He was teasing her. He knew what she wanted and was teasing her. That's not very nice. She brings it up and starts to sulk. They've been friends for along time and it's not a very nice thing to do to a friend, to put them in that kind of position, when they've obviously had a bad day.
Yes, but he points out that she didn't pay. It might not be considered nice, for a friend to put another friend in a position that might put him or her quite out of pocket, when it seems, if the person in question were more organised, it might be avoided.

This shuts her up straight away. She thanks him. Trying rather half- desperately to avoid the question of payment. She will pay; it's just that she's a little short right now. Part of the reason her day was so bad was money troubles. Everything seems to be about money troubles these days.

Greg doesn't like to see Marta in a difficult situation. Stuff like this, makes his head hurt. He pulls out a pipe and offers it to her.
Marta takes the pipe and pulls out her own lighter to light it, managing a grateful look, though her troubles still plague her mind. She is truly grateful to Greg; soon her troubles will be gone, thanks to him. He's a good friend.

Greg sits with Marta, against the wall. He's happy. He's stoned. Friends with a beautiful woman and many other beautiful women. And he is with a plentiful bounty of drugs. Life is good.
Marta is feeling so cosy, right now. Drugs make the bad not feel so bad. Her feet are so, so cosy. And in this light, Greg looks kind of cute. She curls up next to him, nudging his arm, to make space for her head to slide in and get comfortable, for a time.
Miss Bucknam is confused. She recognises the Marta child, but she's not so sure, she knows who this other one is. And what are they still doing here. And why are they so happy. She ponders what, exactly might it be, that is going on.

Greg realises that this could be a problem. He senses danger approaching. He puts up some of his most brilliant defences, an innocent smile and a soft voice. After making the kindest possible conversation with Miss Bucknam, he says goodbye to Marta and bids good day, to Miss Bucknam. He strolls off into the night. At least, that's the plan. He is still on the major defensive, because he's sure he spotted some cops approaching, before. Calmly, he tries to get around the corner before they arrive, so he can make a dash for it.
Miss Bucknam helps Marta up, as she watches Greg saunter off, with a peculiar sort of concern. Remembering her place, as a concerned teacher and a mature adult, she asks Marta if she would like her to call her mother.
Marta begins to see the possible severity of the situation. For if she is too anti - Her calling her mother, then surely the woman will do it anyway, out of concern. That's how adults think. But if her mother picks her up in her current state, she will be in deep shit up the wazoo. A bus ride home, will give her time to compose herself and she may even be able to sneak into bed, without being noticed. Also, if she lets on, to Miss Bucknam, that she is indeed, in a state, (however unlikely that is,) she'll definitely call her mother. She carefully relays to Miss Bucknam, how unnecessary it is to call her mother, trying to layer on the subtlety of the great sorceress. And that she will be fine, if she takes the bus.

Greg climbs through a small space, through to the path behind the classrooms. He chose this way, rather than to take the long route, via the steps. He's not sure whether he's far enough away, yet. Whether they are still after him. He jumps down onto the path and starts jogging. He picks up the pace, still not satisfied that he's out of the woods, just yet. He has to get away.

Greg realises that he's not the only vagrant wandering in the night of the eerie school buildings. There is a kid standing with his back to him, chalking onto the brick wall. As Greg approaches from behind, the work seems to be more defamation than any real beauty. He grabs the kid on the shoulder to warn him, flinging him around. The kid is startled. He doesn't see his work as defamation. He sees the beauty of fantasy, in his art. The rhythm in his hands, the flow of his body shows that the illusion of true art is alive in his mind. And a strange guy that he's never seen before, who is now screaming at him to get out has just interrupted him.

Greg doesn't stop to explain he just bolts off around the corner. They're still out there, so he can't go back. They might catch him if he sticks around, he just has to keep going and the trees are his jungle, his amazon. The only place to hide. Disappearing into the darkness, he makes his way to the gate that opens at the back of the field, where he can escape into the trees.
The kid watches him disappear, then it dawns on him. Something had him freaked. Someone's coming, someone was chasing him. He looks around for the chaser. The chasee is gone now, but that doesn't dissolve the chase.

After carefully scoping the grounds, he climbs out through the gap, where the stranger came through. Careful to stay close to the buildings, he runs off towards the front fields. He knows he mustn't head through the way that the stranger came from, but he also knows that the trees are no way out. The front field is the only route to freedom.

The kid runs across the field, intent on escaping the madness that wasn't even after him. It's not his fault. It's not him they want. But he's convinced they don't care who they catch and he certainly fits into that category. He is after all, a who.

He stops, looking up at the trees leering over him. He feels so much smaller, like at any moment, he will be crushed like a bug. He turns around, reeling; he tries to get away from the trees. He knows he can't go back, he still has to get away, he nears the edge of the trees and ends up on the road. WE SEE all of this from his eyes. Now WE SEE the world OVER HIS SHOULDER. Everything has turned against him.

In front of him now, is A CAR. It screeches to a halt. WE SEE the kid's painting as he saw it. For a moment, giving us the impression of life, through the eyes of a fool. This is one of the most beautiful things of all. Getting socked by his brain, he is thrown into a mental, emotional and spiritual turmoiltuous spin. Thus, he is woken up by the harsh realities.

Stumbling. The kid is a true child in the headlights now. He squints in the bright flash, surprised to find that he can actually see through his eyes. Struggling, he pulls himself up. He stumbles towards the pavement, across the road. The world is spinning. He's almost glad at this, because if it weren't, perhaps he'd have to face the reality, in stasis. Crossing the road is like crossing the ocean to him at the moment.

Sorting himself out, he sits on the edge of the pavement, across the road. As he struggles to compose himself, he waits for the world to stop rotating rapidly around his skullock. His mind is ajar. He has made it, but it all seems worse now. Like it wasn't worth getting away. As if he should have gotten caught, beaten or killed, that anything would be better than the way he got away. The way being, how he lost his mind in the process. How did it come to this? He'll be okay, he just needs a minute. A minute's all he needs. He'll be fine in a minute.

He lifts his head and looks over at the car. THERE IS A BODY in front of it. He starts rocking back and forth. He makes sense of this straight away, but he can't face it. The reality points to the fact that simply can't be true. Realising that he's dead isn't easy.

The kid jumps up and starts running up the path. This situation is just getting worse and if he can just get away from this place, everything will surely be okay. He runs. He runs like he's never run before. The buildings that all look the same, zim by and run together as though they're one massive block. He forgets everything except that he has to get away from the horror that he leaves behind.

A darkness appears in front of him. A form steps out of the shadow. The kid is forced to stop. There is no more path left. There is nowhere left to run. This is something new. Perhaps it is a mercy. Perhaps this new thing is something that will change the horror. Perhaps this will make sense. He stops and waits hopefully, for confirmation.

The figure takes a common form and is finally an agreeable sensible figure in his mind. He understands what this thing is. It is death. It has come for him. It will make things, make sense. But at the same time, it confirms the end. A mercy and an end. An end. He understands now, the implications are terrible, but at least now, it all makes sense.

Well almost all of it makes sense, now he understands, but he doesn't know all of it. The kid sees himself through the eye of Death. He sees Johnny standing there, looking into the darkness with glazed eyes. He sees his face. His own face for the first time and it is Johnny. Now he sees. This is far beyond him. He sees himself and he is someone else.

Johnny realises suddenly that he has long hair and he's wearing someone else's clothes. He realises suddenly that he's on Black Street with the Grim Reaper. Some seriously weird shit is going down, right now. He looks into the darkness of the Death's hood. This can't be right. Can it? Death nods.

Johnny falls to the ground, surrounded by large men, dressed in ripped uniforms. All of the men around him are huge, muscley and obscenely deranged, ruffians and deviants. Screaming that he doesn't belong here, he tries to pull himself up, by grabbing onto the shirts, to keep from getting crushed, the men he grabs give him terrible looks. He is in the scariest struggle of his life. A woman stands on what looks like a table at the front of what seems like a classroom. But it can't be.
Mrs Bucknam stands on the desk at the head of the class, trying to keep everyone in line. An endless, hopeless struggle with such a collection of pathetic doomed demon hoard rejects. She points out to Johnny that yes, he does indeed belong here, they all do. Because that's what it says in her book.

Cecil turns off the machine with a purposeful beep and a massive grin. The darkness has returned. For too long, the emptiness has ruled this family, but finally, it has returned. The time has come and he will soon see to it, that this great coming will continue. First the boy, tomorrow night, the whole neighbourhood. Or at least, the Marcies. And maybe the Bucknams too.
Robert catches the old man smiling. He knows that old cunt, and this ain't like him at all. He wants to know what all this is about. The smiling. It ain't nat'ral for an old crank to be smilin'.

Cecil ignores Bobby and walks away, with his huge grin intact. Ignoring seems to be the best way to deal with that bloody man. He's like a flaming child. Maybe, if the emptiness hadn't set itself so deep in him.
Mr. Robert Wayne chucks his rollie in his mouth, grumbling to himself that it ain't right for curious ole' fools to be grinning like bloody monkeys, as he lights his smoke and leans back in the comfort of his old chair.