Chapter Text
Together the five boys stared at the man, and that's what Vance hated the most. His face. Behind the mask, behind the smile and frown -sweet words- and the whole dried up act! He was human. Completely, horribly, human. What else could he be?
What did the boy want the man to be? Did he expect the world to crumble whenever he came down the stairs? Did he want his face to be covered in pox and ooze and so monstrous he couldn't be human? Yes. Yes he did. It’d be easier that way, rational in fact! It was the most rational thought to assume that - that thing- behind the mask was anything but a man.
Some creature maybe, decrypted and fowl crawled from the depths of hell itself. Frankenstein's monster who hid the village children in the basement instead! He couldn't be human. Beast, animal, but not human. It was impossible to think a neighbor, a friend, a coworker, a brother- could be capable of…𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. Not in their little Colorado suburb. NOTHING happens here! Not until last winter…when the boogie man started to play. The Grabber was human whether Vance or any of them wanted to face that reality. He was so human in fact that he had a name; Albert Francis Shaw (If his license held any drop of truth that is.) The Grabber of North Denver.
~
It has been a day since his last game ended. One day and seven hours ago four turned into five.
𝐑𝗼𝐛𝐢𝐧
He said his name was Robin. Robin Arellano. Vance thought it was a fine name and wondered absently how long it would take the boy to forget it. How long it would take the rest of them. One day and seven hours…It wouldn't be long now.
When he looked into the corner at his left he could tell the Nobody had already forgotten it. (Nobody was what they called the boy. Nobody knew him, not even himself.) He was a runt. The shortest of the bunch and the lightest but he was 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭. He forgot things too easily- No- all of them did but not Vance. NEVER. It’d have to be a cold fucking day in hell before he forgets like the rest of them.
It wouldn't be long…One day and seven hours and eight minutes. The new boy (it was ALWAYS boys) would forget it by the end of the day just like the rest of them. It was the same- he had played the game, screamed and cried and begged. There was no answer. Just like it was…Over and over and over. Forever. Vance scoffed at the idea that the man may one day grow bored, that it will just end as easily as he started. It wasn't fair! Another generation was spared when they all had suffered. None of it was fair.
When the new boy joined the fray he was met with stone faces. Teary eyed as they had always, and will always, be teary eyed. Their voices subdued, gentle in a way that had seemingly lost all known sympathy. The blind expectation that Robin would grow to accept it the same way they had. To ‘Rip the bandaid off’ when it came to death. Their greeting was as bleak as the basement room…and why should they be nice? Vance thought to himself. Why should they sugar code and slowly ween him into reality?! No, that was pussy shit! Worse than pussy shit- it was getting the poor kids hopes up. There were no hugs or rainbows or mommy to tuck him in. It was one big waking nightmare! Except you're not awake at all…or asleep. You are 𝐧𝗼𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.
“W-what? That can't be…That's not fair, man! I-'' Robin's head whipped around as if on a string, he looked like a broken bobblehead. His fingers reached for the fabric of his tank top and found blood staining his fingertips…and the floor.
“Yeah? Well, you're right, it's not fair! Welcome to the fucking club!!” Vance clapped the shorter boy on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. He had been the first to approach the new boys since it had been him.
“There's not actually a club…”The paperboy added, coming up over his shoulder, in fact he was bleeding on it. The blond wiped it away with a chilling sense of apathy.
“You think I don't know that?! It's an expression, Cuntwad!”
“Hey, Chill out alright man? Not the time.” Friendly broke the space between Vance, Robin and paperboy, spinning the tall blond around. He placed his hands on his shoulders and met his eyes staring him down as if he were a grizzly bear. Something he kept from memories of camping with his father and found useful on other eighth graders. Friendly was one of the quieter boys and one of the better groomed. His fluffy black hair showed signs that he had once planned to grow it out.
Vance bared his teeth at the other boy saving a curse under his breath. His shoulders hunched, his back relaxed and they stepped away from the other two. It was humiliating. They all treated him like a bomb that needed to be defused! Feeling the need to walk on eggshells less he exploded. Why? They had all gone through the same thing he had! He had 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 it! How could they not understand…not feel his anger?! And that look…he hated that look they gave him.
They introduced themselves after. Names are different when you are dead, if you remember you are lucky for as long as it lasts. And it never does. The boys based themselves around what they could remember, drugging up mucky memories from the deep mush their brains were becoming. The fear looming that one day they'll be nothing but emotions in the dark. He would be nothing but his anger and fear. So they stayed sharp. Trading wildly misremembered stories and half finished jokes insisting on calling one another by what they could recall or liked. First was Nobody, Paperboy, Pinball , Friendly and New boy. Robin. The name that would soon be forgotten and replaced like the rest.
They were silly but they worked. Keeping them alive. They were almost out of a fairytale, another fading bedtime story. The lost boys who never grew old, who played and screamed and sang across Never Neverland alongside Peter pan. Calling themselves what they pleased, what they remembered from their old lives in London. They were alike in that way, except their world was far from fun. They were a different kind of lost boy.
“It's my name. I'm not gonna lose it.” Robin huffed. Though his voice shook beyond what the rough exterior could protect.
“That's what we all said…” Nobody and Friendly spoke in unison.
It's what Vance said the most of all. Keeping it hidden, twirling it in his mind like a pirate treasure. In a way it was- just to still know his name. Vance. Vance Hopper.
One day and eight hours ago. Pain, Death and friendship- if you could call it that- all at once. They had tried, earnestly tried to be helpful. Though their sympathy lacked they meant to help him. Boys of this age shouldnt be desensitized to such heinous acts. Boys this age shouldnt be dead at all. One day and eight hours ago…it wouldn't be long now.
~
The man reached the bottom step without breaking the boy's attention. He flicked on the light absently with his free hand, the other held a bucket and a dirty washcloth from the kitchen. His arms were covered to the elbows by bright yellow gloves. Industrial grade. The best on the market, alongside most 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐩 materials he purchases from Floro Hardware. Their killer, it seemed, was a victim to marketing. Big font, flashy sign- he was far too easily distracted.
Their killer - The Grabber - 𝐀𝐥 - wasn't wearing his mask today. In Fact his face was so free he was whistling , a bit off kilter ,the tune of camptown races. The tune was happy but his eyes were not. His eyes! All five of them looked at his eyes, much different from what they recall they were Unsupposing and blank. Without that mask all the animation behind his eyes stilled, all the tears dried. His face became another mask to hide behind. He would get like this, whenever he thought no one else was around. A shell with a dungeon in the basement. A plain, cheery man who rested atop his little secret. His 𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝗼𝐲𝐬.
The ghosts parted in an arc as he stepped into the room. Closing in once he was fully inside. None of them moved past this. Only stared. Paperboy glared hard at the man, thinking if he did hard enough maybe he’d explode. Al placed the bucket down by the right wall and began to scrub. It had been one day and eight hours. It has dried by now. He used to be quicker, cleanlier, and more efficient. It was awful. In a sense it was as great a disrespect as killing him to neglect scrubbing Robin off the wall.
So they all stared and sneered and imagined his head exploding into thousands of gray-pink chunks. Defiled. He had stepped into their room unannounced and uninvited. The room was theirs, in those brief moments before. Before he took another boy from the streets or his home or the store. Before he hurt them. Before he touched them or killed them. It was 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬 for those few weeks before the next. It was taken fair and square. Despite all that happened in that horrible little basement room it was the one thing they could take comfort in. The one thing they had. Anyone who ruins that only deserves to have their head exploded. Him especially.
“He looks better with it on.” Robin circled their killer jutting out smart remarks as quickly as he could move. Floating more than he walked. “I dont get why he took it off, dont he know we can see his stupid face?” Unafraid, the boy made a false swing at the man's head. If he was so unafraid why did he flinch whenever Al moved?
“He thinks he’s alone.” Nobody, gargled from the corner. He always sounded like he was underwater and on the verge of tears. His laugh brought a chill to the others they no longer believed they could feel.
“Thats stupid.”
“I didn't say it wasnt…”
“He’s GOTTA know…”
“He does… He just likes to pretend. Just like the phone.”
“Fuck that!” Robin screeched and the lights went out. One quick spark and the room plunged into temporary darkness. They turned on a second later. The others stood there in awe of the new boy with their mouths hanging open.
A small pool of blood collected between Vance’s boots and he quickly closed his mouth. He rubbed away the blood with the back of his hand out of reflex. It wasn't going anywhere. This odd feeling brewed in his stomach- this mix of reverence and fear. He swallowed hard and redirected his attention to the old man. He was now glued against the wall, wide eyed and white as a sheet. The hair on his arms stood straight up. He was scared. Good.
–
When the wall was finished Al moved onto the floor, on his hands and knees like a housewife in old magazines. Scrubbing Scrubbing Scrubbing but the stain was still there, wasn't it Al? All five of them. They watched him for a time before it grew boring. The prospect of head explosion had lost its wonder and Paperboy went off somewhere else. Nobody returned to his corner and blended into the shadows. Friendly followed after paperboy. Vance didn't know or care where, there wasn't anywhere to go. There was this house and the other. The yard, on a good day. He stayed, it was never the grabber he was watching. It was Robin.
The new boy was younger like the rest. Short but not scrawny. Vance could make out the hint of budding muscle beneath the cuts on his arm. Most of all he could see the outrage in his eyes. Someone who was just as angry as he was and wasn't trying to hide it! Another bomb they’d try to defuse.
Robin stuck to The Grabber like glue. No matter where he turned, no matter what he did he was right in the man’s face. Staring straight into those hollow eyes. Jumping, yelling, waving his arms. ‘Any minute now.. Any minute.’ He seemed to say, hellbent on getting that same reaction- that 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫. He craved it with the impatience of a child wanting to open presents on christmas morning. A stream of curses escaped his throat, switching between English and Spanish with striking ease. Without knowing the language, Vance could tell none of it would be uttered on a Sunday.
“Hey.” The blond huffed, nodding towards the other boy. His arms were crossed in his best attempts to seem larger than he was. ‘Cool’ was impossible with an unending dribble of blood down his chin. He wipes the imagined sweat from under his nose staining his fingers crimson.
“Hey,” Robin returned the nod.
“You wanna know how to really get to the fucker?” A grin, twisted and bloody, filled his teeth. It was sinister in the most welcoming ways. “Make him listen?” Vance did not wait for the other to respond before making his way towards the bucket. Bought years ago and well used. The water inside was now a murky rust color. It reminded him of… it doesn't matter! Forget it, He did.
“It took hours before I finally figured it out, My first day too…” He squatted to take a closer look, flinching each time the washcloth was plunged back in. His cheeks burned and he refused to look up. He did not want Robin to look at him. Then he'd say something…the last thing he wanted was some attempt at comfort. There was none here.
“He pissed himself! He was that scared.” The fourteen year old boasted with that same sinister grin, now looking over his shoulder to the other. Everything was back on track.
“So…How’d you do it? What did you do? Talk his ear off?” Robin tried his best to hold his tongue. His memories still held, he knew who the blond was. Everyone knew “Pinball” Vance Hopper. Toughest kid around before-
“I'm getting to that! Christ, you got somewhere to be?!”
“Nowhere.” He swallowed and held his ground,lifting his chin.
“You still have a lot… you're fresh. It'll be easy.”
“A Lot of what?”
“Energy.”
“Everything takes energy. It's like one big electronic game. You gotta wait for it to charge up before you do anything. Same goes for wrecking shit. Oh man… when I gotta hold of the Tv dial…oh man…” He shook his head laughing. It was as hollow as the runts, only louder.
Vance still clung to the illusion of control. That he knew what he was talking about and his mouth wasn't just running aimlessly. He didn't want to become a whisper- to speak when spoken to and speak nothing but gibberish. He has seen it happen to nobody…those few moments when he was actually around and Lucid…he was a smart kid. He would do anything but it wasn't enough. The tangents started months ago. Babbling with no direction, laughing about victories he knew the lead in but not the ending to. First his focus next his mem– NO. He is Vance…He is fourteen years old! He lives - he likes - he wants - 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.
“How long do I have to wait to wreck his shit?!”
“Not long, like I said. You're fresh. He knock your head or something?.” He barked, unexpectedly switched to defense from all the questions. He was never questioned. “You were 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 yesterday. That shit doesn't go away easily. You are just as pissed as me aren't you?!”
“What kinda question is that?! Damn right I'm pissed!!”
“USE IT!” Pinball sprung to his feet and lept to the boys side slinging his arm across his shoulder with a smile. It felt…right. Genuine for the first time in a while.
Vance took what little he could get. What he could smash and break and scream at. He took every opportunity to make Albert Francis Shaw’s life a living hell. It was a way to pass the time. Moving his things when he was not looking, turning off the lights. The classic haunt taken from long misremembered movies.What the boys enjoyed most of all was the calls. Sometimes..Just sometimes..he would pick up. They would speak to him. Nasty things. Dirty things. Gory, 𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 things. What friend would he be if he did not let new boy in on the fun? Were they friends? He liked to think so, he was there with them, so he was. They'd start simple.
“Robin,”
Names tell you who and what you are. Losing that...Vance had seen first hand. The baseball player, who only joined them three months ago had forgotten his. He would make sure Robin would not be the same. He’d take him under his wing and tell the other his name until he grew sick of it!
“When I'm done with you, you're gonna be able to do shit like…” he broke apart from the other boy now standing a step away from the bucket. “THIS!!”
Wham! One swift jolt of his leg and it went colliding with the washbucket sending it clear across the room. Water , blood and dish soap sloshed across the dirty tile floor and the bucket landed with a clunk on the mattress. The remaining water seeped a new stain on the disgusting thing. Vance and Robin watched none of this, their eyes were on the Grabber.
Al yelped like a dog. He fell back like the image of Goliath, kicking his arms and legs in the air. His skin a pale sheen of white and his eyes now filled with the rushing image of fear. Hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead and slicked his palms. The killer stood with the grace of a dropped foal.
“Th-the fuck?!” The old man graveled and tried to run logic through his spinning mind. The wiring, the thin air, his own clumsiness! He desperately searched his mind for an answer, one he knew but refused to acknowledge. Just like he knew whose voices were on the other end of the phone. Pretend. Let's play pretend Al! You love that game!
“Holy shit! You actually…”
“What i tell you?! When we’re done, he won't know what hit ‘em.” Vance offered his hand to the other boy, who gratefully slapped it. They shook.
The grabber dragged himself to the old mattress grasping blindly for the bucket handle. Muttering to himself about what it must’ve been. “Clumsy. Silly me! Just clumsy.” The Five ghosts grinned as the man whimpered alone in the dark.