It all started with the old cars hidden in the woods. Charlie Mi was the one who’d found them, said he

He said he'd found them on a random Sunday afternoon while wandering around Shadowbrook with nothing to do.

“It’s just down this way for a bit longer,” Charlie said. There was a slight crack to his voice, for just a split second. The confidence that he had when we entered Shadowbrook was gone, replaced by a tone of fear.

“You said that thirty minutes ago.” I could see the frustration on Lyle’s face, even though he was behind me. He was over exaggerating, as he often did. Charlie had said the same thing fifteen minutes ago, maybe a little less, perhaps a bit more.

It didn’t seem as though much had changed, as most forests often don’t. We had started down the narrow path, and had been surrounded by large trees since the beginning. There weren’t many leaves on the branches, the branches overhead reminded me of my Grandpa’s fingers, just before he passed. Bony, arched, withered, timeless.

Charlie’s shoulders tensed, as though he had wanted to say something. He didn’t, and the sounds of our footsteps on the Fall leaves filled the silence between the three of us. Lyle grabbed my arm, bringing me to a halt as Charlie continued forward.

“Luke.” He spoke through his teeth. “This is getting ridiculous. We’ve been out here since breakfast and we haven’t seen a damn thing. I think we should turn back.”

Lyle didn't much care for Charlie, and to be fair no one did at Diamond Crest Middle School. He didn't seem to mesh with anyone when he randomly showed up after winter break, and things just got worse for him after his Dad killed his Mom in the summer between 7th and 8th grade. Icepick Charlie was the name that everyone called him, behind his back and to his face. He didn't seem to mind the name calling, or if he did he didn't show it.

"He's insane," said Lyle, on the day that I told him that Charlie would be joining us for a night of PlayStation.

"But he said he's really good at Tony Hawk," my voice sounded small, even to my own ears.

Lyle's face soured, as though I'd suddenly been stricken with a case of bad breath. "I don't care if he's good at Tony Hawk. When's the last time you even played Tony Hawk?" He ran his hands through his hair, a poof of dandruff trailing after his knuckles. "If he's going to your place, I'm not."

Lyle didn't hang out with us that night. But Charlie wasn't kidding in regards to Tony Hawk Pro Skater, he was really good. Hell, he may have been the best Tony Hawk player that I'd ever seen.

Charlie continued down the narrow dirt path, under the arched branches that reminded me of Grandpa's fingers without turning around. There was something in his walk that told me that he knew we weren't following him anymore. Something in his step that told me that he didn't much care if we were with him or not.

"Maybe there are a bunch of abandoned cars out here in the middle of nowhere, I couldn't care less." Lyle's eyes were wide and unblinking. "But knowing him he's taking us out there to kill us with an ice pick, just like his old man-"

"Stop." The sternness in my voice, surprised even myself. My hands had bundled up into fists, and I didn't realize it until I felt the sting of my fingernails into my palms. "Charlie's a good friend."

Lyle's shoulders slumped in defeat, he scoffed and shook his head, his body going limp as he swayed in the other direction. "Then you can go hang out with him. I'm going home."

I watched Lyle leave, and he didn't bother to turn around. I shook my head and made my way toward Charlie, who had come to a complete stop. He didn't turn around to look at me, not even out of curiosity at Lyle's departure. His hands were in his pockets, and he swayed back and forth from his heels to his toes.

I smelled the metal before I saw the cars. The dull smell of aged gasoline coated itself along the insides of my nostrils. Right in front of Charlie was a massive crater and in that crater were about thirteen old cars. All of them were rusted over and fading, their colors washed out and unfamiliar due to time. Most of their windows were shattered, I could see the twinkle of glass in the dead grass. Doors were dented inward, some outward, most were missing entirely. Hoods were opened or removed, and I could only imagine what the insides of those cars looked like.

"Wild isn't it," said Charlie as I took a few steps in front of him.

I could see the movements in Charlie's shadow from the corners of my eyes. He reached into his back pocket, I could see the fold in his shirt along his waist. Then his right hand changed from a fist to a sharp point. He darted forward, leaves crunching under his weight, and I felt his left forearm wrap around my throat. Tight. Relentless. Not long after I felt the prick of the icepick against my throat, the tension in my throat as Charlie's weapon threatened to puncture.

There was far too much going on, the abandoned cars in front of me darkened around the edges of my vision, my knees felt weak beneath me, and a sharp pain radiated like a killer sonar from where Charlie's icepick was. Charlie shushed me in my right ear, I could feel the warmth of his breath, I could smell the sour stench that bubbled the pit of his stomach. He said something, but it sounded distant, off in another world.

A trickle of drool dribbled down my lips, across my chin and onto Charlie's forearm, and he said something about that too, but I couldn't process what it was as the old cars before me got darker and darker. Then I felt a vicious jolt on my right, and I heard a scream catch in Charlie's throat as he was pulled away from me. I collapsed to the dirt as my vision returned to normal, my lungs pulling in air, dust and dirt, my vision blurring with tears.

"I've got you," said Lyle. "I got you man." I could feel his hands brush along my back, around my shoulders. "I told you that kid was a frea-"

He stopped talking, his words hanging in the air with the desolate silence that blanketed over Shadowbrook like a dense fog. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and the first thing I saw were the droplets of blood to my right. I brushed my hand along my throat, bringing a streak of blood into my focus on the fingers of my right hand. It wasn't a lot, not enough to make a path along the dirty and down into the crater where the cars were. I swiped away more tears and followed the trail, and at the bottom of the crater, about five feet from the first abandoned car was Charlie Mi, and in his throat was the icepick.

Blood stained his chin, consumed his throat, it soaked into the collar of his shirt. The first thing to come to mind was a fish out of water, that's what Charlie looked like. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to bring in any source of air. His eyes were wide and bulging from his skull, darting from left to right, up and down, with no particular direction. He tried to speak, but he couldn't, as more blood spilled out of his mouth. His arms and legs moved in strange, and painful directions, his fingers contorted into vicious claws as he struggled to remove the icepick.

He stopped moving, but the blood didn't.

Lyle helped me to my feet, and we watched as Charlie's blood glistened in the afternoon sunlight, just before it seeped into the soil of Shadowbrook Canyon. He said something to me, but I couldn't hear him, his words went in one ear and out the other.

What were we going to do with the body?