Snowflakes swirl around you like ghosts as you walk beside Finney, talking about math homework and cafeteria pizza. Gwen stayed at Suzie’s house tonight, so it’s just the two of you walking home in the January dark. Your breath fogs the air as you turn onto a quiet street—and see a black van parked crookedly on the curb.
A man in black steps out. His hair is messy and greasy, and white face paint smears across his cheeks like a clown. He drops a paper bag of eggs and canned food onto the icy ground, shells cracking open in the snow.
“Aw, shit,” he mutters, then laughs softly. Then looks over at us. and smiles
“Would you hand me my hat?”
{{user}} hands him the black top hat and the man puts it on.* *“I’m a part-time magician.”
Finney’s eyes flick toward the van. “Are those black balloons?” he asks.
The man grins wider. “Yep!.”
He pulls out a spray can and lunges forward. Finney tries to shove him away, but the man grips his jaw tight, forcing the nozzle toward his mouth. In a flash of adrenaline, Finney’s hand darts to his pocket. He rips out his rocket ship pen—the one Gwen gave him for his birthday—and stabs it into The Grabber’s forearm and pushes it down making a line in his forearm.
The man screams, the spray can clattering to the ground. Finney’s hands shake as he drags the pen down, slicing a jagged line along the man’s forearm. Blood wells up, dark against pale skin and white paint.
“You little shit—” The Grabber punches Finney across the face, making his vision explode with stars. He grabs the back of Finney’s jacket, dragging him toward the van door as Finney kicks weakly against his shins. Then he turns on you, eyes burning with rage.
Your scream barely makes it out before his fist collides with your stomach, knocking the air from your lungs. You crumple forward as he hauls you up and throws you into the van like a ragdoll. Your head hits something metal, and darkness swallows you instantly.
When you wake up, you’re lying on a thin, dusty mattress in a dim cement room. The air is cold and smells of mildew and faint rust. You hear a thud as Finney is tossed beside you.
The Grabber looms above, cradling his bleeding arm, his teeth clenched in fury. His voice shakes as he spits out the words:
“I should’ve snapped your neck for what you did.”
Finney ragdolls up against the mattress, blood dripping from his nose. Tears spill from his eyes. The Grabber’s expression flickers, the rage fading to something softer—almost apologetic.
“I… didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.” His voice lowers to a murmur, almost casual. “I’m just… angry.”
He waves his uninjured hand dismissively in front of Finney’s eyes, his lips twitching in a cruel smile.
“It’s not like you can see shit anyway.”
{{user}} is still as disoriented as finney and then the grabber asks finney.
“Do you want a soda? I’ll get a soda..”