Theodore counted out a handful of white sleeping tablets from the bottle in Mother's medicine cabinet and walked back to the kitchen. After grinding them into a fine powder with the mortar and pedestal from the pantry, he carefully poured the dust into the half-empty bottle of wine in the refrigerator. He spun the bottle by the neck until he couldn't see any remains or residue floating in the dark liquid.

Theodore and Darius hid when they heard the door to the mudroom open.

"Goddamn, that child," barked Mother as she slammed the door closed and began marching toward the kitchen, "Another bloody mess in the mudroom, tracks on my wood floor, and plates left on my dining room kitchen. Why did I ever bother having children?"

The pair watched the refrigerator open and close from the shadows. Darius stifled a giggle as Mother passed near them on her way upstairs with a wine glass in her hand, the burgundy liquid reaching nearly to the brim.

"Mother?" inquired Theodore loudly into the moon-lit master bedroom after some time had passed. The pace of her quiet snoring notched up and faded back down as the only response she could give.

In the kitchen, Darius handed the phone receiver to Theodore. "He won't answer," stated the little boy flatly, "Just leave a message."

Theodore rotated the finger wheel repeatedly and waited. The tell-tell click of an answering machine answered with Father's recorded voice.

"Father! This is Theodore. Come home quick! It's terrible! You have to get here fast!" exclaimed the teen into the phone, quickly hanging it up.

Darius snickered and punched his brother's arm.

"Okay, Darius," exhaled Theodore, "I guess there's no turning back now."

Theodore walked quickly in the cold night air, following the path illuminated by the stubby light posts wrapping themselves around the dark lake.

Moss caked the old stones sinking into the ground, protecting the open stairway leading down to the cellar entrance at 842 Oakstead Drive.

Theodore pushed his finger along the top of the bottom row of stones, finding a wide groove filled with dirt. Using his fingernail, he clawed out the little opening, and a key clattered as bounced onto the landing in front of the cellar door.

"Damn," muttered Theodore as he picked up the key and fitted it into the door's lock, "That little demon bastard was right."

Carefully closing the door behind him, Theodore paused to turn on his flashlight, its weak battery barely illuminating the space around his feet. The girlish giggle from the shadows stiffened his spine.

"You came for me?" the quiet, young voice whispered from the darkness.

Theodore pointed the light in the direction of the sound, but only found the remnants of long-forgotten junk.

"I guess so," he replied when his nerves finally began to steel themselves for the task at hand, "I think you're supposed to follow me."

Theodore carefully navigated to the stairs and exited the musty confines of the basement to find himself in a hallway that led to the great room. Charles Patterson snored loudly with an arm and a leg hanging off the couch. He hadn't moved since Theodore spotted him through the telescope in Father's office. The empty glass on the coffee table butted against the empty bottle of scotch.

He slipped the flashlight into his pocket and wrapped both hands around the baseball bat's handle. Stepping behind the couch, he yelled, "Patterson, wake up!"

The groggy man snapped upright, baffled by the noise. Before he could react, Theodore swung the wooden bat as hard as he could at the back of the man's head. The cracking sound bounced off the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake, and Mr. Patterson's body crumbled to the ground like a discarded tissue.

"Oh my, oh my," the tiny female voice proclaimed, "What on earth have you done?"

The broken bat clattered as Theodore weakly tossed it across the room. Sitting down on the couch, he pressed his hands together in a vain attempt to stop their shaking. He looked away from the body sprawled on the floor and forced his eyes closed. Opening them back up, he knew it wasn't a nightmare, or at least it wasn't the type of nightmare that you have while sleeping.

Steadying his breathing, he bent down and pulled Mr. Patterson's belt off and then wrapped it around both of the man's ankles, cinching it tightly.

"This is your ride," Theodore spoke into the darkness, "I don't know how, but I guess you can get inside him."

The girlish giggle grew closer and closer, and the man groaned as if he'd been hit by the bat again.

"Girl, are you in there?"

Another strained grunt and moan emanated from Mr. Patterson. Theodore looked closely at the man's face, and its features were contorted and disfigured.

"I guess you are," winced Theodore grabbing the belt and pulling the man toward the side door of the mansion. He pocketed the keys to the man's overpriced German sedan from the hook by the door and pulled the man out into the driveway.

Sweat beaded on his head as he hauled Mr. Patterson's unconscious body into the back seat of the car. The man groaned with each tug but remained trapped in the forced slumber caused by the blow to his head.

The engine roared to life, and Theodore gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel, driving up to the gate. He marvelled as it began to open without any action on his part.

The car keys jangled in his pocket as he fumbled to open the garage door back at his house on the other side of the lake. The smell of dirt and fertilizer assaulted his nose when he opened the door. Mother loved a pristine yard more than a protected car, so the gardener had the entire four-car garage at his disposal. Theodore quickly found the dolly and wheeled it to the car.

Mr. Patterson's head thunked hard on the concrete despite Theodore's best effort not to drop the body.

"Fuck," he cursed, "Son of a bitch is heavy."

The body barely fit on the dolly that the gardener used for moving heavy pots, but Theodore scavenged some rope from the garage and lashed Mr. Patterson tightly to it

Darius stood waiting at the door into the mudroom, dancing a little as Theodore rolled the dolly up the stairs and into the house. When they reached the staircase, Darius helped by pushing the dolly up while Theodore pulled.

Once Mr. Patterson's knees were snug with Father's side of the bed, Theodore untied the ropes, and the unconscious man flopped onto the bed next to their snoring Mother.

To be continued...