Just a dream (I can feel you staring at me)

Chapter six: through a different view (part 1)

It was this again.

An oppressive feeling spread over the chest of the twelve-year-old.
He knew what was about to happen.
He hated it.

His steps were the same as then. The first few times he'd done it, he'd hesitated. It had confused him, still did, but it had become a habit.

A call.

But this time it was different. His strides, which were usually so much heavier and stiffer from his broken bones, felt better. They were lighter and didn't require as much strength as usual.

Then realization hit him.
His hand went to his neck in disbelief as he walked toward the phone booth.

The cut was open, it always would be. But it didn't drip.
No blood flowed from the cut that went so deep into his throat that his trachea was visible, which had almost completely destroyed his vocal cords.

But no new blood oozed out.

A realization gripped him.
His killer was dying.

His steps quickened, hope like never before burgeoned in him.

He knew the phone booth. He remembered little of his life before all of this.
But she had always been on his way. Always on the way to school. Always on the way home.

Even when everything came to an end.
He stopped, next to the old, slightly rusting phone booth there was a crack.

It was like a window into another world, the world he had left.
He saw the basement.

He swallowed, a sickening gurgle escaping his slashed throat. Normally this would have drenched his whole body in new blood, but that wasn't the case anymore.

Then he saw it.
The new Finn, as he had learned from the last victim, held him captive.

The killer.
The kidnapper.

His killer.

The cord of the phone was around his neck and Finn was pulling on it so hard the kidnapper of the six missing boys turned red and purple.

Griffin, Griffin was his name. Finney had mentioned it on a phone call.

Griffin grinned before turning to the phone booth and walking towards the receiver.

It wasn't normal here. It was the threshold between dead and alive. Restlessness and anger kept him and the others trapped here.
Each of them in their own moments that had brought them to this place.

Now, however, Griffin couldn't help but grin and giggle. He never had to dial a number, the only connection between him and the basement was the phone.

It rang.

Finn lifted the phone to the ear of the monster that killed so many children.

He heard the angry one, the one who was in here for months on end. He tried remembering his name.
Finn had said it once.

But the names of the others were something he always forgot, even if he didn’t want to.
Names were the first things lost. After you were tossed in an unmarked grave, just another body underneath the earth, you slowly forgot.

Some faster, as Paperboy for example, and other not as fast. But in the end, you always forgot.

"You don't have much time.” he taunted, smiling widely while looking though the crack. He could see the face of the man twist with horror and fear, his eyes widening at the realization that all those ignored calls were more than just static electricity.
That those calls were his victims.
Finns face showed nothing but determination.