[i]To those effected by the strange events that took place overnight time continued to move despite what was a restless nightmare filled sleep for all involved. None would know it upon waking but all shared the same dream; a horrifying shared memory of being dragged by an unknown force across a cold dank floor towards the large outline of a shape in the ground the eyes could barely make out in the darkness. The shape was that of a circle-a circular hole. Just before being pulled over the edge the dream would abruptly end before anything in the pit could actually be glimpsed.

As if absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary the sun rose the next day over Brimstone; the occasional bird song could be heard about town as if to fully paint the picture of an ideal town. It was just another Monday: the day of the week when appetizers were half off at Kate's, The Skunk would have super good drink specials, and as always the Book Club so many adults belonged to would meet for their weekly discussion at the local Library.[/i]

–

Across town Brooks awoke in his bed-his head aching with a slight cloudy fatigue from what felt like a heavy night of drinking. Only he didn't remember drinking; what he did remember was walking up the large ancient staircase of the hotel and onto the first section of rooms. Walking down the flowing red carpeted hall the first door he knocked on lead to a rather cranky old man in a wheelchair whose only problem seemed to be Brooks, the second door revealed a portly woman who went on to complain about her gout for a good fifteen minutes, and then there was the third door. He could remember knocking his hand against the sturdy dark brown door with his eyes affixed on the brass room number that read “7” and then...that was it.

--

With a unique sounding “Puh-t'ching” the well maintained American made rifle spat a small tiny BB in the direction of an old tin can Max had been shooting over and over again in an unknowing effort to vent his frustrations. Currently he was in a tiny clearing in the woods behind his home-the small almost  circular clearing had knee high grass with a rather impressively tall tree in the center that he and James had converted into their “base” with a few ramshackle sheets of wood and spare pallets they had managed to scrounge up from around town and nail together with tools Max “Totally had permission to use.” A mere rope ladder dangling about a foot from the ground the only way to access. their kingdom in the sky.

Thinking of James though only made Max even more upset: so instead he repeated the same motion he had been doing for almost an hour now by running up to the recently shot can, placing it back up atop a cinder block, and then running back to his previous spot and shooting the recently placed target.