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The delivery guy passed two bags full of Indian food over to Chris’s father, who in turn handed over a twenty pound note, “thanks,”

The delivery guy nodded, spinning on the heels of converses, back to his Honda. Chris’s father shut the door, turning back to his two sons, who were placing plates, cups and cutlery on the table.

“Shouldn’t we use the place mats, that uncle George got us for Christmas?” Chris questioned.

“God no,” his father spoke harshly, “those are horrendous.”

“Dunno,” Michael sniggered, “they look a bit like tits, don’t they?” he picked up a place mat, looking at the printed pattern.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure he got them at a porn conversation.” his father commented, removing the food from the plastic bags. Micheal immediately dropped the place mat, wiping his hands on his shirt. Chris smirked as he started to share the food out from their plastic containers, onto the warm oven heated plates.

His brother frowned greatly, his eyes narrowing on his younger brother, as Chris's back was turned, he pinched the sides of a placing mat, then briskly shoved the object into his young brother's face.

What the-Micheal stop!" He shouted, as his brother shoved the place mat with the palm of his hands, never releasing the pressure.

"Micheal!" He growled.

Micheal's eyes gleamed, as a vicious laugh erupted from his throat.

"Micheal!" Chris repeated,

"Sorry, don't you like it?" He mocked.

"Micheal fuck off-oww!" He at once cried, as Micheal began to shove the place mat harder onto his face. "Micheal, stop, you're going to break my nose" he whined.

"Mike stop, can't you see your brother isn't feeling well today." their father murmured, spooning rice onto plates.

Micheal snorted, dropping the mat, his hands up in surrender.

Chris grunted staring daggers at the older boy, who only threw on a cocky smile. It sunken away for a tiny second as his eyes wandered to Chris's neck, then back up to his eyes, his face holding an expression that Chris could not describe nor understand. But Micheal twisted his head away violently, as his lip quivered, glowering to his side, as his fists tightened, till his knuckles turned white, and his nails pierced through his skin.

Chris gulped, looking down at his brothers fists, "Micheal?" He asked, "are you alright?"

Micheal forced a pitiful smile on his lips, knocking his head up and down, "course," he trembled a laugh, "never better."

A moment passed till, he began to gesture towards his own neck. "What-er, happened with your throat? Bad trip?" He asked.

Chris's watched their father make his way out the room momentarily traveling up the stairs. Chris sighed with a sharp pain, it thumped faintly in his chest, a whisper of what it once was, scared, trapped as a memory.

"I don't know, I took some molly this morning, I think I was having a bad trip, woke up from my nap with the marks, and my nails were bleeding, it felt as if they'd fall out."

"Did you get a new dealer? it might not had been molly,"

"Dunno," he shrugged, "James normally buys the drugs."

"I used to do a shit ton of molly, but can't be fucked though anymore, I'd rather spend my money on fixing that crap bucket of a car." He sat down on a seat, "so you on a come down?"

"Yeah, feel like shit." Chris chuckled.

Micheal smirked, his hand extending out to Chris's head, ruffling his light brown locks. "This week gonna be hell for you."

"I'm thinking of just telling mum and dad I have a cold."

"Amy will find you out, and bitch about how she has to go to school and shit when you get to stay home."

"God she's such a dick sometimes."

Micheal hummed, as the front door opened, a chilled wind breezed through, a shiver traveling up Chris's spine.

"Hey, we're home." Amy announced.

"Hey," both Chris and Micheal mumbled.

"How was the after school detention?" Chris asked in a smile,

"Yeah, what'd you do anyway?" Micheal questioned further.

"It was horrible, Mr Mills made us watch this weird old German show, i have no idea what it was about, and i don't want to know, and all because i talked a little in geography this morning." She slumped into a chair, flinging her black shoes off her feet.

"Chin up dear, looks like we're having takeaway tonight," their mother said, placing her boots on the shoe rack.

Shortly after the family began eating their Indian in silence, as their mother muddled with her laptop. "Christ," she gritted, "Charlie, did you know the type of finances George is making on the cafe's card?"

He creased his brows at his wife looking up from his plate confused.

"He bought a bong off of gum-tree!" she shrieked pointing at the screen, "and there's a lot of trips to bloody France here, you know i was wondering how was affording that."

"So things are going well with that girl he's dating then?" Micheal asked, though it sounded more like a statement..

"Clearly from the amount of money he's spending on her. God if he's going to let her exploit him, then he should just use his own bloody money?" She smashed her finger on the downward button. "None of this is for the cafe, none!"

Their mother grumbled as she carried on to look through the credit cards transactions, going all the way through to the last year making note of every mis-purchase.

Halfway through the meal Grace walked through, slamming open the back door to the garden, holding a set of painting equipment between both her arms. Her long flowing back dress and cardigan were wet from the waist now.

"Gone swimming love?" Her father asked.

"Got caught in the high tide down on the beach, didn't realize till it was too late," she dropped her art equipment on the floor, crashing on the hardwood. "And now my paintings are ruined." She droned, storming towards the table taking her usual seat, scrapping the chair back, sitting down with a thud. She ate her food with displeasure, shoveling bread and rice in her mouth.

Her family said nothing, continuing to eat in deafening silence.

Chris began to scratch his arm, it itching with irritation, despite the tormenting throb in his nails. They gouged across his delicate flesh, and as Chris's eyes followed down to his arm, he noticed in kitchens light, a subtle shimmer, like sunlight illuminating on metal. He twitched his arm in the yellow light, watching as colours rippled on his arm. He started to itch harder, his nails stabbing into his skin, ignoring the blood seeping from his nails, till transparent flakes blistered off. He held them on a tip of a finger holding it up to the high light bulb. Still they gleamed and smiled with life, and Chris could make out within the flakes a pattern, though he could not see clearly. He squinted his eyes to look closer.

"Alright there Chris?" His father asked opposite him, his tone full of worry.

Chris forced his hand down, resting it on his lap. "Fine,"

His father held a tight smile, watching him for a second, then turned back down to his meal.

Chris could no longer pay attention to his food, his head veering down to his finger where the flake laid, and he studied the flake, his eyes un-moving from the small thing.

The dinner soon passed by as everyone left the table, moving away up the stairs or into the lounge. Chris still observed his finger, his eyes becoming all that bit wider when he saw the dancing lights. The sky grew dark, as night approached, the world bloomed quiet, as if all the wiser in the late hours, a crescent moon hung in the cloud filled night, barely a star in sight, there was but a whistle in the wind, a rustle of movement. Chris felt just as suddenly a shiver on his neck, he turned feeling his bones quake. The crescent moon pulled him, beckoning him forward, to be embraced in the moon's light. Chris lifted out of his chair, seemingly floating along the floor to the moon, but blocked by the walls and windows of the house, he could not describe the feeling of fulfillment he felt, but knew he must have it. His feet rounded towards the front door, as Chris's hand pulled out, to turn the door knob. All he could think as he traveled in the night air, was that it was cold, it made his head spin with dizziness, his mind fogging and forgetting. Then he stopped.

Chris coming out from his daze looked about, he was in a wood, surrounded by towering trees looming over him. His feet were sore and ached, twigs needling into the soles of his skin, gazing down at his bare feet he saw the cuts inflicted on them. Chris Pulled his plaid shirt close to him, feeling all the more numb. He was vulnerable in the wilderness, nothing but a crescent moon to glaze through canopies of the trees, he was in darkness, and the whispers and seduction of the light, made him afraid, dragging out the hideous emotion from deep within him. He heard sounds in the distance, bouncing off the bark of the trees. Chris moved closer to it, seeing no other place to go. He came to a small clearing with a stone made pond burrowed deep below Chris's feet in a pit, and protected only by a rusting black metal fence. A stream broke away from the pond, traveling up the wood, red cardinals scattered by the banks of the moist soil. He heard the sound again and followed along the stream till it became a river in its own. His head whirled to where the music of broken twigs, and tumbling of pebble stones came from. And there he gazed, a leer at what he saw in the short space in front of him. It was a man, laying on the ground, he was middle aged, a balanced weight, wearing brown trousers, and a faded red shirt. His eyes were sombre looking up to the gap between the tree's leaves and branches. His throat was cut open to the side, ripped high to his jaw, red poured, pooling around him. Chris could hear the faint struggles of breath, wheezing in air through his lungs, it came out harsh and weak. But the large clawed opening just above his hips was horrid. His insides pulled out, intestines and guts sitting on the ground beside his looming still body. All within a moment Chris thought he saw another for a second. A woman, crouched down, her back bent, blood on his lips and mouth, dripping onto her naked form, her nails were sharp and animalistic, as were her teeth, as they bared into the man, eating his flesh. But no sooner did Chris see a blur moving fast between the trees, did he see the women with a clearer sight. But she was gone, leaving a dead man alone in the woods.