A/N: Woooooo new story!!! This also, is not like anything I have ever done before. It will be scary and VERY disturbing at points, but there's a lot of downtime as well. This is not a straight-up horror, but it's too dicey to be a drama. I start this story out one way but it doesn't last. Pretty much everything you'd expect from me and then some, it's quite an interesting story. I add a few twists to certain characters that you probably didn't see coming, and I'll use these twists in future stories. This story is much longer than my last and I'm super proud of it. Happy reading and watch your back hehehe....


"Boys!" Susanna Calaway called to both her young sons as they snagged their lunches off the kitchen counter of what was both their home and primary business location. The eldest son, Mark, wasn't so quick to turn but the younger (often times sweeter) child immediately halted in his steps that shadowed those of his older brother, whom he idolized.

"Yes, Mommy?" Glen was quick to respond, oblivious to his older brother mimicking his tone of voice. Glen did have quite the squeaky voice for a boy his age, but their father figured it would significantly drop in time and it was nothing at all to fret over. Glen was only eight; he had all his life to grow up. This was the main reason why Randall had allowed his wife to keep Glen's hair so long atop his tiny head. What was there to lose? The two different colored eyes weren't going to get him much female attention anyway, might as well add fuel to the fire. The emerald-eyed redhead wiped her gently weathered hands on a hanging apron, and hunched forwards slightly, beckoning her only children closer.

"Awww Ma, do we HAVE to?" Mark slapped his thigh with an eye roll and motioned to the group of boys waiting for him outside, "You're making us late!"

"Am I?" their mother sternly asked her oldest, licking the palm of her hand to slick the tufts of red hair down on Mark's head until it stood the way she wanted. The way that child slept-even GLEN'S wild curls looked better after a night of tossing and turning. Mark's sea-green eyes narrowed intensely, wringing the brown paper bag in his hands in irritation. There were no school buses in the one-horse town of Marfa, Texas; 'Home of the Marfa Lights' indeed. That was their one claim to fame, and what exactly those infamous 'lights' were the boys still didn't know. The county alone was bigger than most small states but the town itself was about a square mile. Most of the roads weren't even paved.

"OB-viously!" the ten-year-old groaned, motioning out the kitchen window to the pack of boys Susanna knew weren't waiting for Glen. Glen played no sports; he wasn't allowed to do so…therefore at his tender age that gave him zero friends. Mark would stick up for him when he had to, but for the most part playground politics kept the brothers apart.

"Hey!" Susanna lightly tapped her eldest's cheek to steal his attention, "Mark William Calaway, I made you promise me you wouldn't let those mean old boys at school pick on your little brother anymore-"

"It's okay, Mommy-"

"Shut up, brat" Mark intervened and stepped in front of his tiny sibling, "What'd ye say, Ma?"

"You know very well what I said" she replied tautly, kissing both young sons on the head, "Your little brother has a condition; a very SEVERE condition…he's not as big and strong as the other boys yet-"

"Yet!" Glen chimed in to reassure his mother, highly irking his brother. Susanna could only smile warmly, running her fingers through the baby's long hair.

"Exactly…" she lied gently, "not just yet."

"Stop LYING" Mark rolled his eyes out of pure envy and dragged Glen out the front door by the wrist.

"Hey! Mark! Be CAREFUL with him! He can't TELL YOU if you're hurting him! He'll-"

"I love you, Mommy! I'll be okay!" Glen nodded and scurried after his older brother, trying with all his might to keep his backpack over his shoulders. His mother was right, he wasn't all-too big yet, and that's probably why Dad liked Mark so much better. Then again, Dad wasn't so big either. Dad was a mortician, as was their Uncle Paul, Mommy's friend. He went to college during the day and petted Mommy's leg in the afternoon while Dad was in the basement preparing bodies for the life beyond. As a small child, Glen was diagnosed with Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis (CIPA). He was unable to feel cold, heat, or any form of physical pain. This was the reason for the ban on sports of any form; the poor kid could break a bone and keep going no problem. With the preservation of his body though came the social repercussions. No child understood the meaning of 'medical condition' and simply viewed poor Glen as a 'freak' and a 'wimp', neither which were the true case for the young boy. Glen technically was strong as a bull, but his mother could never let the poor child know that, god forbid he messed with the wrong person one day and got killed because of his inability to know when to quit. Mark on the other hand was simply a natural from brains to athletic ability, the sure-fire breadwinner of the two boys. Glen was smart, but preferred to draw nasty pictures of other students in the class while he thought no one was looking. Susanna couldn't even begin to count all the problems that boy had caused since the day he was born, yet deep down HE was the reason she got out of bed each and every day. It was such a shame that no one truly got to know him for the wonderful boy that he was. If a neighbor ever called for assistance, Susanna almost ALWAYS sent Glen unless the job was too physically demanding, then she would have no choice but to send Mark. Having no real friends of his own; Glen was often bullied. He would never openly admit it, but the kid was picked on shitless all his life. If Mark had time after basketball practice he would teach Glen a thing or two about letting someone mess with a Calaway, but that unfortunately didn't happen as often as it should have. For the most part though, Glen was a very happy child. Everything his older brother did was fine by him, even trying those nasty cigarettes behind the garage. Normally Glen was a tattle tale, but NEVER with Mark. Mark got away with murder, Mark was the best. The only problem was that Mark could not always be around to keep him in line…so to compensate for that void Mark couldn't always fill, Glen had befriended a boy his age named Griffin O'Connell, a boy whom the locals called 'Hell's Winter'.

"Go ahead" the dark-haired boy ushered Glen towards the large, tightly closed containers in the basement that read 'DANGER: Formaldehyde', "open it up."

"No…" the timid young boy shook his head firmly, "that's my Dad's stuff…Mommy says I can't-"

"Do you always listen to everything your MOMMY says?" the larger boy mocked, his completely blind left eye glowing in the dim hanging light fixtures. Glen could only nod meekly, scoffing the ground with his feet. "But you DO know your folks are gone for the night, don't you? Old Man Croucher dropped dead a couple a' days ago…SOMEONE'S gotta bury the miserable bastard."

"He DIED?" Glen gasped, covering both hands over his mouth, but the larger boy had better ideas.

"You got a plier?"

"A what?" Glen cocked his head, allowing his long hair to slightly cover his face.

"A TOOL, you dummy" the boy rolled his eyes and continued to wrestle with the lid of the bin, "What idiot is babysitting you and Mark tonight, anyway?"

"Uncle Paul…" Glen swallowed hard and watched his friend continue to try and pull up the lid with his bare hands, "Why do you want it open so bad anyway?"

"You wanna see what happens, don't you?" the other boy chuckled darkly, far too vague for Glen to really understand.

"What happens…to…" he cringed, "what?" POP!

"YEEEEEES!" the boy cheered and kicked the bin to the ground, Glen gasping at the sizzling. He could hear as the embalming fluids hit the floor. Messing around in the basement was NOT allowed, and if Mark wasn't busy hogging Uncle Paul all to himself for his science project maybe he would have heard what was going on.

"Ahhh…Griff" he gulped, "you sure this is a good idea?" Griffin shrugged indifferently, reaching into his pocket as he stared into the nasty liquid.

"My Pa says they've got a popu-lation problem 'round these parts anyway…" with that, much to Glen's horror, out came a small gray kitten from Griffin's pocket.

"Hey!" he peeped, "You're not gonna hurt him, are ya?"

"Not that I can see…" the boy turned his cheek pretentiously so only the left side of his face was exposed to Glen, "I'm blind in one eye." With that he dropped the writhing animal into the vat and closed the lid, Glen having no choice but to cover his ears and back away as he heard the infant feline's scratching and screaming.