SLAM!

The young boy suddenly jerked his attention away from a copy of Captain America. Slowly laying the comic book down on the bed where he had been laying, the boy softly stepped down onto his bedroom floor. The boy quietly tiptoed across the floor in his sock-covered feet, trying his best not to make a noise in case He was already in the house.

The red curtains on his window were fluttering lightly, due to the air conditioner unit underneath them. The boy balanced himself on top of a little stool and peeked out of the window, looking down on the lawn below. It was completely empty, except for the dinged and scratched, pickup truck sitting in the driveway. There was nothing else in the yard, he was sure of it. Wasn't he?

Are you sure you didn't leave your toys outside again Trey?

Had he? He didn't see any lying in the yard. It looked perfectly clean. Today there were no Tonka trucks sitting in the flower bed, no Stretch Armstrong lying on the front porch steps. He had definitely put his toys up.

I'm not so sure you learned your lesson, kiddo. Don't you remember the things He taught you?

And how. Trey stepped off the stool and quietly walked back to his bed. He picked up his discarded comic book and quickly placed it into his dresser. Trey knew that He disapproved of comics and today he was going to be a good boy. Trey rolled up the sleeves of baseball jersey shirt. There were still black and blue fingerprints visible from the day before.

Just a regular little Smurf, right kid? That's you!

Trey rolled up his sleeves and thought to himself. Today he would be good. He would do nothing wrong and therefore neither would He. No bruises for Trey today. No, he was going to be good.

Maybe he'll even give you a gold star, just like they do in school.

His luck wasn't that good though. Trey sneaked back to his bed and climbed back on top. He curled his little body into a ball and wrapped his hands around his knobby knees.

SMACK!

The screen door. Trey couldn't tell if it was an angry smack or the regular smacking sound that screen doors tend to make. The boy began to rock and think more to himself. If only he could be good long enough for Him to drink a few of those "grown up" sodas in the fridge. (The ones that smelled like the medicine Trey used to fix his "lessons".) If Trey could be good for that long, then maybe He would fall asleep.

Sure, that'll keep you from your lessons for a little while, but what happens when Mr. Sandman takes a vacation? POW!

There were various loud (and angry?) noises coming from the rooms downstairs. Then there was a noise that made Trey's flesh feel as if an army of millipedes was marching along it. The boy covered his ears with his hands and hummed a song to block the noise from his head.

Sing. Sing a song…

Trey quickly uncovered his ears but was frozen with fear by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. They were not gentle or light, like those of his mother. No these were heavy and harsh. Just like everything He did.

His steps made the steps creak and whine, despite the carpeting used to soften the blows against the old wood. They were loud and whining steps and they sounded like He was getting closer. He must be halfway up by now.

Trey quickly covered his ears again, but refused to hum to himself. He wished to be as invisible as possible. Trey quietly thought of a song to himself.

SING OUT LOUD!!!

Trey's eyes opened with fear. Shhhhhh. He could not afford the risk of making noise. Surely there was a lesson he could learn about making too much noise, but today Trey did not want to learn a lesson. If there were such things as guardian angels Trey desperately needed one now.

I thought you knew better than that, buddy boy.

Trey tried to push it from his mind as he watched two boots go by the crack at the bottom of his door. The boy held his breath as they passed. They clomped down the hall past his door and Trey heard the faint click of a door shutting. Slowly, he exhaled, gently letting the air that was bludgeoning his lung out.

Sounds like the Macy's parade sprung a leak!

Trey almost laughed but stopped. If he laughed, He might hear. And if He heard, he might come right out of his room and into Trey's. Then it would be time for Trey to learn his lesson about laughing. He quietly lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling and concentrated on what he would do next.

Of course he had the option of running away. That was the obvious choice. Trey could probably do it, too. He didn't eat much as it was and could pack most of his things into his Big Bird bag, that he took to day school. In day school they told you that if you were lost you could go to the Police station and they would help you.

But what if you don't want to be found?

Trey thought about that. If policemen were supposed to help you, they would take you home if they thought you were lost. The policeman would bring you home just in time for your lesson about not running away. If Trey ran away, he would definitely not be asking a policeman for help.

Then what could he do? If he were to run away, he obviously wouldn't get very far. Aside from the policeman problem, he had no money. At one time Trey had owned a bank that was shaped like a little pig that said, "I Love New York" on the side, but He had taken it. That was the day Trey learned that little boys aren't allowed to have money.

Suddenly, Trey was jerked from his thought by the sound of running water in His room. He was taking a shower. That would mean that Trey was guaranteed at least 15 minutes if he wanted to make his leave.

You might have more than 15 minutes if he slips on the soap.

Trey smiled and this time he didn't stifle the small laugh coming out of his mouth.

That's right, laugh it up. Laugh it up, buddy boy.

Trey thought about Him in the shower, washing his hair (his eyes blinded with the stinging soap they put in shampoo) and not realizing he had dropped the soap onto the shower's tile flooring. Blind with soap he would never even see it when he slipped on the soap and fell back, he would snap his back on the faucet and before He even saw it coming…

Pop goes the weasel!

Trey laughed out loud, almost maniacally. He laughed long and laughed hard, tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes. Trey writhed in pain and clutched his ribs, which hurt from his laughter.

SNAP! Just like a twig and who will be there to help him? Oh, so sorry, I would help you, but I keep remembering that lesson about minding my own business. I have the bruises to prove it! Just look! Oh wait, you can't! That happens when you're dead!

Trey roared with laughter at the thought. He screeched with laughter.

CRASH!

Trey's bedroom door flew open so hard that the doorknob broke through the paneling of his wall. In the doorframe stood a huge, looming monster. It was draped with a bath towel around the waist and soaked to the bone. The water dripped slowly down its face, plopping fat drops of moisture onto the floor with a rhythmic pitter patter. The eyes that stared down at the little boy were the color of steel, cold and void of compassion. A large greenish vein bulged from His neck, which always happened when Trey did something wrong.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Trey froze with terror.

"I asked you a question, dammit!"

The boy tried to make a reply but instead it lodged in his throat and refused to budge.

Remember, buddy boy, all answers must be delivered in the form of a question!

"Don't be a smart-ass, son. You're already in a world of hurt the way I see it. There I was taking a shower, after a long day and you start making noises that could raise the dead. Screeching and howling like the stupid little shit you are."

Stupid is as stupid does, chief.

Trey's face burned with a deep fire. Now he was laying down on his floor, feeling the carpet against his skin, it was comforting and Trey wished it would last forever. No such luck, a hard foot kicked at his ribcage.

"Get up! Get up, you! I think it's high time I taught you about what happens to little boys who disturb the peace and quiet of other people."

That's where you're wrong.

A blunt jab to the ribs. Callused hands wrapped themselves around Trey's thin shoulders and jerked him to a vertical position. The boy was suddenly face to face with a man who knew no fear. His yellowed teeth were curled back in a vicious grin. Not a grin of happiness, but the grin of a person who has lost the last shred of sanity left in their sad and deranged mind.

"I know you think you're a smart little son of a bitch, that you can say whatever you want and nobody will say anything, but let me tell you right now that actions are much more powerful than words."

The knuckles made contact with Trey's face and the boy began to feel the swelling that would continue for the next few days.

Doorknobs again? Tricky little vixens aren't they? Just seem to sneak up on you.

A fist made contact with Trey's diaphragm and all the air erupted from his mouth. He lay limp on the floor, but the vicious monster in the room was only beginning.

Time to learn your lesson.

"You're a fiery little sumbitch today, aren't you? Well I suppose we'll just see about that one. Won't we?"

The boy's ribcage frantically raised up and down, up and down in a panic-stricken way. His eyes were large and focused on something that was just out of reach. It looked like one of the things that He used to light the things that his mother referred to as "cancer-sticks". The longer he stared at it the closer it seemed.

"What in the hell are you looking at?"

Trey tried to speak…but his voice was still lost somewhere deep inside the great and empty canyon of his throat. He strained, trying to deliver his reply. His heaving chest, began to rapidly increase its movements. In a very raspy voice something passed through his dry and chapping lips.

"What? You know I can't understand you when you mumble like a damn idiot. Say it again!"

It was not simple to reply at first. There was a faint smoke in the room and it was hot, very hot. Also, Trey believed he could smell something very similar to the water he once had to drink when staying with his Grandparents, whose sole source of water was a dingy well in the back yard. What was the thing, his Grandmother had told him was in the water?

The boy strained and pushed and fought and with every ounce of energy in hi body pushed the word out of his body.

"Ray…"

Sulfur, maybe?

"What have I got to do with anyth-"

Trey's eyes became enormous pools of fright.

"It's ain't about me at all, is it? It's about your damned imaginary friend, isn't it?!"

The hands holding Trey's shoulders shook him hard and violently. The boy's head bobbed back and forth like a small rag doll.

"How many times do I have to tell you?"

The shaking continued, Trey could no longer see through the blur that the quick motion had caused his eyes.

"Every day you walk around the house telling your mother and me about you and your damn imaginary friend. You tell us all about how Ray has wings and Ray has a tail and about how Ray sits on a gold pedestal! Well guess what Trey? Ray isn't real? HE'S NOT REAL! "

The man became rougher. Trey thought he might become very ill at any moment. His head was spinning and his stomach was in knots.

"Do you understand me? There's no such thing! There's no such thing as dragons you little dumb-shit little bastard. THERE'S NO SUCH-"

"Yes, it's time for someone to learn his lesson."

He suddenly whipped his head around, trying to see if another person had entered the room. Nobody. He could see nobody at all. His gaze slowly turned back to the boy.

"What are you talking about."

Suddenly, the bedroom became very warm.

SLAM!

The boy walked out of his room and down the hall. He absent-mindedly ran his hand against the wall. As he trundled down the stairs a familiar voice asked:

"Do you think he learned his lesson, Trey?"

The boy simply nodded in a cheerful manner and continued walking down the stairs. Suddenly, he ran into his mother.

"Hi Trey, who were you talking to?"

He said nothing.

Trey's mother gave him a little smile and tousled his hair as she walked up the stairs. She began to walk down the hall toward the master bedroom. There was a strange smell in the air, almost like rotten fruit, but it was also a singed smell.

In the kitchen, Trey sat down at the table and contentedly ate a cookie that his mother had left out for him.

The woman upstairs dressed slowly in her room, the smell from the hall stronger than ever. When she finished dressing, she walked back into the hall and almost had to cover her nose. The smell was almost vicious. Perhaps a rat or a bird had been caught in an air vent. She would have Ray check it out, later.

She walked back down the stairs and saw Trey, sitting angelically at the kitchen table with a cookie in one hand and the other grasping the glass of milk she had left out for him.

"Are you having a nice snack?" she asked.

The little boy nodded.

Trey's mother looked out in the yard at the parked pick-up truck. Crossing the kitchen she looked out in the back yard. No one was there. Funny, Ray wasn't upstairs either. She turned and looked at her son who was still sitting at the table, mumbling to himself. The woman crossed in front of her son and sat down at the table and took a cookie. She smiled at her son again.

"Trey, have you seen Ray today?"

The boy looked up at her and grinned.

"Silly mommy," Trey replied, munching down on another cookie. "There's no such thing."