The boy should have been dead, I mean he sure as hell looked dead. His hands were that mottled bluish corpsey colour you see on true crime shows and possibly-illegal forums. This and the huge chunk missing from the front of his head and the way his rotting brain just seeped sluggishly down his stained and swollen face was also a bit of a giveaway that he was a tad... not alive.
He seemed fine though, not talkative and not exactly stable on his feet but happy enough to take my hand in his cold, squishy, wriggly-beneath-the-surface hand and lead me to a board game that was dusty enough to have been set up many years ago.
I wanted to run for the damned hills to be honest with you but he looked so hopeful I found myself taking a seat on the floor and rolling the dice. Snakes and ladders is a game as old as time, I swear, and it looked like it was the boy's favourite by the way he jolted and grinned with every move either of us made.
Meanwhile downstairs, two bodies were slumped in the living room, clutching each other against whatever had torn them to shreds. They were just as rotten as the boy so I reckon they all died around the same time but somehow the boy was still alive and kicking.
I tried to look happy when he got to a ladder, wondering how he'd react if I won. Would he get angry, kill me and stick me on the sofa with dear old mum and dad or would I be allowed to go downstairs and leave? I couldn't tell at that point, I just kept praying for his good mood to stay, no matter the outcome.
He seemed fine though, not talkative and not exactly stable on his feet but happy enough to take my hand in his cold, squishy, wriggly-beneath-the-surface hand and lead me to a board game that was dusty enough to have been set up many years ago.
I wanted to run for the damned hills to be honest with you but he looked so hopeful I found myself taking a seat on the floor and rolling the dice. Snakes and ladders is a game as old as time, I swear, and it looked like it was the boy's favourite by the way he jolted and grinned with every move either of us made.
Meanwhile downstairs, two bodies were slumped in the living room, clutching each other against whatever had torn them to shreds. They were just as rotten as the boy so I reckon they all died around the same time but somehow the boy was still alive and kicking.
I tried to look happy when he got to a ladder, wondering how he'd react if I won. Would he get angry, kill me and stick me on the sofa with dear old mum and dad or would I be allowed to go downstairs and leave? I couldn't tell at that point, I just kept praying for his good mood to stay, no matter the outcome.
In the end I won by a single space and he made the first sound I'd heard from him all evening. A harsh shrieking cry that echoed around the otherwise bare room and left my ears ringing. He ran away in that strange half-scuttle-half-lunge movement he'd first ambushed me with and I found myself alone, save for the sound of him heading into the attic.
I took my chance and fled as quietly as I could, barely reaching my car at the end of their driveway by the time he got to the front door. In one hand he clutched the doorframe and in the other a board game - Cluedo. He waved the box at me, showing how varying photos of his parents had replaced all of the characters.
A part of me felt pity for him - he was just a child and he only wanted someone to play games with. In the end I drove away and he ran after me until he tripped and broke one of his legs. I caught a glimpse of him trying to run with bone jutting out and falling further and further behind.
I lost him long before I hit the highway but I still wonder if he's running after me to play one more game.
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