16 GRIM TALES

Fifth Street

Fifth Street

Jim had made mistakes on July 15th. Many. One being to disobey Aunt Sabrina's instructions, of going trick or treating past midnight. Second, to listen to his neighbourhood friends, Timothy and Peter when they said to roam Fifth Street. Third was going left, instead of right.

It was cold. Very cold. So cold Jim could barely feel his fingers. Nor see them because of how dark it was. He shifted and felt the walls closer. He started kicking but only felt his feet slide of the sides.

Where am I?

Why is it so small?

Why...why do I feel so strangled?

"Jim!" someone called. "I'm here!" he yelled back. Darkness began to lighten. He looked up and saw Peter. He gazed at him terrified. "Who-wh- did- did this to you? Did you see him? What did he look like? Also have you seen Timothy?"

Jim's eyes shifted down.

He was tied up in rope.

"Peter! Help me." Jim demanded before he continued to ramble.

Peter's eyes darted around.

"Oh yes of course."

A minute later Jim was untied, staring at the chest that had imprisoned him. Engraved on the side was the initials L.K. The box was abandoned on the side of Fifth street, as the winter's night continued. Jim looked up and saw the skinny moon watching them. Sinisterly. Almost looking like a smile.

A hand grabbed him from the back. Icy hands. It was Peter's

"Let's go knock on Mrs Preston's door. She can give your aunt a call to pick us up."

"Alright." Jim mumbled.

However, the second the two boys stepped on to the porch, Jim noticed blood seeping in between the boards. Then they heard footsteps approaching the door. Hard thuds. "Run." Jim whispered to Peter. "Wha-?" "Run. Blood. Run for your life. It isn't Mrs Preston." A shadowy figure waddled towards the door. Breathing heavily.

Without a second thought Jim made a dash for it. Running. Running. Running. Further and further down Fifth Street. The trees on either side of the road, became merely blurs. Until he met a fork. Debating for just a moment, he quickly went left.

But as he took in the sights around, the thought hit him

"Wait. Didn't I come here before?"

His feet ignored the idea until Jim reached a dead end. A huge wall had cut his journey off.

Baffled, he looked around only to see an orange bucket on the floor. Candy spilling out. Jim picked up the container, in an instant he realised it was Timothy's.

He searched his surroundings for any sign of his friend but no-one was to be seen. Except-chests. Two silhouettes of chests hid in the distance. Both open. Jim peeked inside one to see Timothy tied in ropes, like he once was. But unlike him, Timothy had bloody dark patches. "Tim?" he whispered, but his pal didn't reply.

Eyes flooding, he peeked into the other box to see the body of lifeless Peter.

"Jim? You there? It was Mr Preston you fool. And blood? It was paint!" called Peter as he walked down the road. The supposedly Peter.

Jim's breaths froze. Peter clasped his shoulder, patting him on the back. His hands still icy cold. Jim threw him off and shoved him against the wall. "Who are you!" Jim yelled frantic. "You aren't Peter! What have you done!"

Peter grinned. "Looks like your aunt is here." "Beaaaaaaappppp!", a car horn blasted.

Jim turned.

Bright lights hit him accompanied by a massive pain.

Everything began to fade. Peter waved goodbye, then melted into the darkness.

And all too soon, did Jim.