Once I was in, I closed the door behind me to keep the wind from scraping me. The darkness when I closed the door quickly settled in around me. I stood there trying to let my eyes adjust and began to grow nervous again. I was seeing shapes that would reach out and grab me. Each new tendril that wormed its way towards me would issue a new shock and set of horror through my body. I started to hum again.

It was an odd tune. Somehow jubilant with a small touch of eeriness to it. I liked it and let my humming grow slightly louder to scare away the demons that were tormenting me.

It worked and my sight finally set in to show me my surroundings. I could see the outlines of boxes, crates, drawers. It was the same outlines I saw the last time I was here. The large table in the middle of the shack caught my attention. I walked over to it and felt the velvety top and brushed some cobwebs out of the weaved baskets that were attached on its sides and corners. I remembered seeing it the last time, but I had grown skittish when the noise went off so I didn't get the chance to check it out. It was certainly a strange table and its purpose was beyond me.

I once again ran my hand along it and stopped my song as I noticed a ball was resting in one of the baskets. I slid my weapon onto the table since it seemed safe enough. I picked up the ball and spun it in my hand. It had some weight and was a dark black with a white circle on it. In the middle of the circle was a twisted black number eight.

I bounced it in my hand a little and giggled at my discovery. Then, I wished that I hadn’t.

The sounds of footsteps could be heard on the steps by the secret door.

I tensed for a few seconds and ducked under the table, still holding the ball in my hand. I then panicked as my mind went to the pistol that lay on the table. I didn't want to crawl out when all I had was a sphere in my hand. I was shaking and trying my best to look past all the boxes and crates and other odds and ends. I had to look at the stairs.

I wound up being able to see them if I laid down flat against the floor and scooting over to the right towards one of the longer ends of my cover. My fear skyrocketed when I realized that the trapdoor was wide open with no one by it. I immediately tried to think of where the stranger could be before I heard the clicking of a pistol above me. As I looked over my shoulder, I could see denim against a long set of legs.

I couldn’t breathe. I didn't want to. The person was behind me with my pistol in their hands. As far as I could tell, they didn't know where I was yet and that left me at a slight advantage.

My only advantage…

I curled up tighter and prayed that my moving wouldn’t make much noise. When I finally was twisted into a tight ball, I began to make the difficult maneuver of turning myself around. It wasn't very graceful (nothing I do ever is), but I managed nonetheless. Then I began to back away, keeping my eyes on the jeans. I could hear a deep voice echoing through the silence of the shack.

“A pool table. Can you believe that? A fuckin pool table.” There was a loud slap from what I assumed was the man slapping the ‘fuckin pool table.’ “What do you think, Al? Wanna play?”

I froze.

‘Al?...’

Then I felt my blood turn cold and my face go white.

There were two of them.

If that was the case, then where was the other?

Then another voice answered from behind me.

“Sure. Rack ‘em up.”

The words were foreign to me, but the most that I could gather was that they were going to do something with this table. That in itself was enough to set me off course and instill fear into my very bones. I was trapped. For however long the men here wanted me to be. And the longer I was here, the higher the chances of them…..

I was going to be found.

My mind was reeling with options. What to do, where to go, how to do it. I couldn’t think straight.

“Yo, Al. Find any of the balls yet?”

I could see Al reach down and laugh. “So far only these babies.”

The men both laughed at the joke. If I wasn't so terrified, I would've noted what happened and asked my brother about it.

It was silent again for a while with only the noise of rummaging to be heard through it all. Then one of the voices (sounded like Al again) called out with a snort.

“Found ‘em. Who puts pool balls in a drawer? You find the sticks yet, Harv?”

“Yeah. They were just in the corner. Not hard to look for.” Harv brought the ‘sticks’ over which were long, thin, and smooth. I hadn’t seen anything like it. ‘Could it be a weapon?’ I rolled my eyes at myself. ‘Anything can be a weapon if you use it right. Wait...’ I looked down at the swirly figure of an ‘8’ in my hand and smiled. I had a chance.

A chance…

Those words gave me hope and I almost stopped shaking. They were good, strong words. They would look nice in a book.

As Al was stepping over with a drawer in his hands, he tripped. I curled further into the table as my mind spun and whirled about. I was shaking so much. I kept trying those words in my head. Kept trying to find the hope I had seconds ago. I grasped the empty air of thought and emotion and found that it was gone. Vanished. I was squandered back down to nothing but a black sphere and fear.

Al was gathering up all the balls that had sprawled out onto the wooden floor. I looked around and stared at a white one that sat right outside the pool table. It stuck out worse than a flashlight in the dark. If he came to get it, he’d see me. I needed to get it away.

I glanced over at Al to see his face and noticed that the guy Harv was crawling on the ground with him.

“Jesus, Al! You're definitely racking now.” There was a playfulness in his voice but Al simply glared at him. Racking must suck.

Then I noticed that Harv didn't have my gun. He must have set it down. I grabbed the white ball out from the open floor and looked for a way to search for my gun…

As I did, I saw a child holding two balls in her hands. They looked huge compared to her tiny hands. A beanie was pulled down to her ears. Her eyes were a deep green. Almost like the sea.

And she was terrified.

At first, I jumped at the image then watched as the image jumped back. I would've laughed at myself had I been alone or in decent company. I looked at the mirror again and saw a glistening object in it. It was laying upon velvety green.

I smiled nice and big. I had hope again.

“Fuck… Where’s the cue-ball?... And the eight ball?!”

I gripped a tighter hold of the spheres in my hands and crawled back towards the edge of the fuckin pool table. There, I watched the two men as they scrambled about on hands and knees. It was ridiculous how off-guard they were. I then lifted my arm and pelted one of the balls across the room. I beamed as they looked in the opposite direction at the loud crash that happened behind them. I crawled out with as much speed as I could and snagged my gun off the table just as they had put together to look in the direction that the ball was thrown.

My pistol was pointed at the two of them, slowly switching from one to the other. It was strange seeing their faces covered in scruff. The one on the right looked evidently younger. They had the same eyes. The same nose. The same shocked expression that was slowly turning into amusement about the child holding a gun at them.

‘Figures.’ I smiled as I looked them over again. They had the same hair. The same shape. The same mouth. They were most definitely brothers.

I pulled the hammer down on my pistol and took on a more serious face. I held a stronger posture and tried my hardest to look menacing. I took a step forward and aimed it at the younger one. The younger one flinched. It was only noticeable if you were looking for it, so I caught it. The older brother didn’t move at all. Not even his eyes gave away any sign of pity, so I moved the gun over to him and took another step. The younger brother’s eyes betrayed him. He actually cared.

“Which one are you?” I asked, twitching the gun up quickly to indicate the one on the other end of it. “Al or Harv?” I knew which one he was from their conversation. The older one was obviously Al. Which he correctly answered with a thick defiant voice before spitting at me and laughing. Harv looked even more worried.

I simply nodded. “Ok, Al.” I then looked at Harv before I immediately replaced my attention back to Al. “Get me some of those cans downstairs, would you, Harv?”

Harv looked at me as if I were insane. “What?”

I wanted to say ‘You heard me. Now do it or I blow his head off.’ Instead, one of my arms let go of the gun and flailed as I sighed. “I just want food. Just food… To feed me and my family. So I can feed my brothers... Please… please get me some.” I pointed the gun out straighter and glared directly at Al under it as a tear cut down my face. “I don’t want to kill him… And I only need a little of what’s down there...” Al snickered. But Harv just nodded at me as if he understood.

Al was deranged. Harv was not. I made the right choice at who to threaten. Who to talk to. I smiled with as much kindness as I could muster as Harv stood and walked to the trap door which was, luckily, in my sight. He disappeared down the steps and I talked to Al as I waited.

“How'd you find this place?”

“I assume the same as you.” He leaned back and grinned ear to ear. “Just stumbled upon it.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I suppose…” We stared at each other for a little longer when a thought hit me. “You realize that if he comes up here with a weapon, I will have to kill you.”

Al shrugged. “Okay.” He looked so disinterested. Then he played with the dirt under his nails. Without looking up he said, “But you won’t, will you? You said it yourself that you don’t want to.”

He cornered me. “I’d do it if I was scared enough.”

Al looked at me. Right in my eyes. “Are you scared, Little Missy?”

I stared back. It seemed like hours that we just watched each other. Stared into each other’s souls. He was twisted. He didn't care about me, his brother, or anything else. He probably was a good man once. He probably worried about his little brother at some point in his life. But he lost that somehow. He lost all his compassion and sense. The only reason he asked me now was sheer curiosity for what he saw.

And I knew what he was seeing. A scared, tiny child that could barely stand without shaking.

“Yes,” I said.

The air around us grew quiet again. Even the storm outside seemed to grow quieter.

There was a clicking in front of me. Harv had brought a weapon up with him and had it directed at my chest. I almost pulled the trigger on Al right then and there. Then, Harv reached behind him and tossed me a backpack. It landed inches in front of me with a metallic thud.

I couldn't help but smile as some more tears ran down my face. I looked at Harv and gave a curt nod. He’d understand.

I knelt and threw the bag over my shoulder, keeping the gun aimed at Al the whole time. Then, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the 8 ball.

“I think you guys were looking for this.” I rolled it over to Al and watched it tap against his foot. “I found it in one of the table baskets when I came in.” I nodded again. “Now I’m just going to leave… Please don't shoot me.”

Harv tilted his head and looked at me with confusion. “Table bas-” he looked at the table and started to laugh. “Oh! You mean pockets!” He began laughing harder, and he lowered his weapon. He wiped away a tear that appeared in his eye. I could feel my face going red. “Go on, kid,” he said, nodding his head towards the door, “I won't shoot.”

I brought my weapon down and saluted the guy with two fingers the way I've seen Ivan do to my father a million times before. I then turned to sprint for the door. I had moved less than two feet before I saw the ground rushing up to meet me.

My face smashed into the ground and I heard yelling behind me. I turned to look at what had just happened and saw that one of Al’s thick hands had wrapped around my ankle. Harv was screaming something at him, but I couldn’t focus on him. I could only focus on the heavy black ball in Al’s hands that he was raising above my head. I couldn’t get to my pistol. It must have slid away from me when I hit the ground. I stared at the ball and realized that I was going to die from a fuckin pool ball. I closed my eyes and felt a thud hit against my body…

But it landed into my chest. It was much heavier than a ball and much squishier. Wetter, too. I opened my eyes and caught myself staring into nothing but black. I wondered if this is what death was like. If so, it sucks. And smells. And makes it hard to breathe.

‘I’m still breathing...’