Lost Children

Chapter 3
A crack on the wood

Chapter Description: Strange things start to happen. Justin disappears on front of the mansion. What kind of secret is hiding Mr. Bergson??

The patrol car’s sirens started to fade out; the cars had got one street away.

“Now it’s the moment”, said Justin, and rose up from the bushes, walking quickly.

By that moment, Rick was thinking about her sister, but he reacted and entered in action.

In a rush, Justin opened the paint can and started to spray in the wall a large message.

“Stupid director...”, he was spelling, as writing the graffity message. “.. You are a...”

Rick’s task was vigilating. Justin had chosen a perfect place, totally darkened by the shadows. The only problem was, however, that it was so difficult to look what they were writing... even where they were stepping.

“This is the perfect plan, Justin” - said Rick, excited. - Nobody will suspect.

“I told you, Rick.” laughed Justing, insanely, stepping further to write the message on the mansion’s wall. “It will be the perfect...”

Suddenly, a wooden crack sounded, and Rick felt Justin’s voice was getting away, under his feet, on a scream...

“Justin!! Justin, Are you OK?! - shouted Rick, totally nervous. Lightening with his lantern, he realized: Justin had stepped on a wooden trap, maybe an underground shed, and it cracked violently, dragging him down.

The sound had been so loud, and adding Rick’s shouts, the patrols would return in any moment. Not founding any answer from his friend, Rick didn’t think twice. Rick jumped in the hole...

Mr. Michael Bergson was more calmed now. That terrible night was over. The sounds from the disguised children -those monsters of the night- had vanished. But he was still on the basement, laid on a large and comfortable divan, relaxing after that terrible storm. But suddenly, he heard a cracking wood sound. His senses awoke quickly, violented by the sudden sound.

“Who... Who’s there...??”, asked Mr. Bergson. “Oh, my god; they are... they come for me; they come for...”

Mr. Bergson started to hallucinate, living fragments of that terrible night again. His adult daughter, Garden, had asked him to take the children to celebrate Halloween to the other side of the city.

“Our street is so dangerous”, said Garden, “We don’t know what can happen”.

But Mr. Bergson was firm: “I don’t agree celebrating that dirty festival. If you want to celebrate it, do it by yourself.” And added: “I won’t take you anywhere”.

Mr. Bergson leaned his hands on the walls of the basement, to prevent falling off. He was suffering vertigo, as those images were dancing on his head...

[size=4]TO BE CONTINUED[/size]