"We're not going to die" was the reassured response Jackie was getting quite annoyed having to repeat. They waited by the side of the road, Oren upright, straining his eyes into the distance, where the road met the horizon, waiting for the shimmer of a car to emerge. Jackie was laid on her back, legs sprawled out on the asphalt, watching the clouds roll in.

The sky had changed. It was rarely sunny, but it had turned unusually dark, filled with the rumble of thunder. When you hear thunder and see lightning, for a moment your mind turns on instinct and you believe you are in danger, but then reason sets in and you remember it can't actually hurt you-or at least is very unlikely to. But something about the mountainous form of the clouds, the way the grouse of thunder would rise and fall like a snarl, and the lightning that struck down violently like the stabbing of a blade, told Jackie that this storm did indeed wish to bring harm.

"Flat...tire?" a voice drifted on the wind, taking in a long, ragged breath between the words. Jackie and Oren both turned their heads toward the voice, toward the tall, dead tree growing from the dry earth. A hand reached out from behind the tree, curling its unusually long fingers around the rough bark. A face peered out from around the tree. It was a man, middle-aged, with very little hair left on his head. He wore a tailor's apron, spools of thread held in little pockets lining his waist. Though his body appeared normal, there was something horribly off about his face. He was smiling, but the lips were spread too wide, showing a few too many teeth. The smile didn't appear to be voluntary, as if someone had molded it into his waxy skin. It was his eyes that made the smile look the most disturbing, because they were not the eyes of someone who was happy.

"Who are you?" Oren asked, getting to his feet. The man laughed, but it was strange, air whistling out of his clenched, yellow teeth, a small wet noise coming from his throat; Oren could only assume he was laughing.

"My name is...Roland." he eventually answered. He walked across the grass toward them, but he staggered and stumbled like he was drunk. "Need a hand?" he managed to say altogether, but the words drifted out with a painful wheeze.

"Can you help us?" Jackie asked, pinching the ends of her dress nervously. Roland knelt by the torn tire, looking at it from odd angles and nodding his head.

"I have a spare...back at my home..." Roland said, turning his head out toward the fields, straining the neck a little too far.

Jackie peeked over Oren's shoulder, clutching the back of his shirt. "I don't trust him," she whispered.

Oren gave her a reassuring look and said, "I don't think we have any other options. But it will be ok. We'll cover each other's backs, ok?"

"Come with...me," Roland said, motioning for them to follow, sauntering into the field. Not too far from the road, amongst the tall reeds and a small patch of lifeless trees, was a farmhouse. It had white siding and a red shingled roof, an old brick chimney sprouting out the back. The cabin was close enough to the road that it hadn't decayed too badly, but it hadn't been completely spared: the windows were a dirty grey, covered in a thick film of dust.

"Do you live here?" Oren asked with a small gulp.

"It is a home to many," Roland answered simply, chuckling softly as he opened the door. As Oren crossed the threshold, he was overwhelmed by a sour, putrid smell. He held back a gag, holding his hand over his mouth. The wooden floorboards beneath his feet sank as he stepped upon them, soft with rot. As Roland led them down the dimly lit hallway, Jackie observed the paintings along the wall. Each had a different frame, some made of metal, others made of wood, but all of them hung at angles. Within each of the frames were drawings, messy scribbles done with crayons.

"The tire...is in the cellar..." Roland explained, pointing to a door across the room. "I will...get it for you..." he sighed, closing the door behind him. The sounds of clutter echoed through the wall as he began to rummage for the tire.

"Do you...?" Oren began, only to find Jackie, not at his side. She was standing at the base of a stairway leading up to the attic. She had her ear turned up, her hands cupped around it, listening.

"I hear something," she said in a terrified whisper. As Oren grew closer, he began to hear it too, a faint scratching at the attic's hatch. He turned back toward the cellar where Roland could still be heard rummaging.

"We shouldn't snoop," he said, crossing his arms. Jackie scowled, racing up the stairs, grasping for the attic's latch. Before Oren could catch her, she had managed to catch the handle, the hatch popping open with a wave of ancient dust. Something scurried away from the opening, disappearing into the shadow. Oren and Jackie exchanged a glance, nodding toward each other.

They crawled through the hatch and up into the attic. It was nearly pitch dark if it weren't for the light radiating from downstairs, and the thin beams of moonlight from cracks in places the ceiling had broken. "Hello?" Jackie called out into the darkness.

A footstep. Then another. Heavy and uniform, they grew louder as something approached. It was a young boy with glassy eyes and dull pupils. His eyes shifted from left to right, looking from Jackie to Oren, as if moved by the string of a puppeteer.

"New friends?" His voice was artificial, resonating from the middle of his throat. It was only then Oren recognized the dullness in his eyes. He dared to draw closer, examining the boy's skin. Along the neck and shoulders, anywhere the skin creased were tightly net stitches.

"Oren?" Jackie said, tugging his arm.

"At the auto shop...I met a girl like this." Oren explained in disbelief. "Dino said she was broken...that he was fixing her."

"Do you want to hear a song?" the boy suddenly asked. There was a click from his throat, like a button on a recorder being pressed, and then the sound of whirring, like a tape playing. The song resonated from him loudly:

"Little rabbits lost in the woods,

Hide in the bushes,

Hide in the brooks,

Here comes the hunter with his hunting cap,

Promises to give you,

A very long nap."

Just as the last few bitter jingles of the song ended, it began again, this time louder, and with a second set of voices. Then three. Then four. From the shadows emerged a hoard of children, all different ages, different clothing, but the same horrid song playing from their throats.

There was a ragged screech from downstairs.

"Run! Now!" Oren yelled, grabbing Jackie's hand and leading her back down the stairs. Just as they reached the middle of the stairway, Roland burst from the cellar door, dropping the tire that had been gripped in his hand. Oren leaped over the final few steps, dashed down the hallway, and reached for the door when he noticed Jackie was not behind him. He turned in a panic to find her still at the bottom step.

"Oren-we need that tire!" Jackie said, her gaze switching hurriedly between him and Roland. Oren hesitated, his hand hovering over the brass doorknob, his legs stiff. Jackie gave him a disappointed look that melted into determination. She sprung off the step, raced past Roland, and grabbed the tire. Roland spun around, grabbing her by her arm, his long fingers twisting around it firmly. Oren dropped his head to his chest, ground his teeth, and pushed open the door. As he stomped onto the porch, the flimsy wooden steps broke beneath his foot. He stumbled forward, landing hard onto the wet, rich earth.

"You're a coward."

Oren glanced up and saw The Deer standing a few feet in front of him, avoiding his gaze. "I thought you two had made a promise." he pouted, his ears turned back. Oren couldn't muster words, he just stared at the ground, gripping the grass while holding back a sob.

"I guess it's fitting. You're a man of science, of proven fact. There's no room in your life for people like her-for things like this." The Deer sighed.

"Stop..." Oren pleaded, boiling tears filling the rim of his eyes.

"You're an A-plus student. You've never missed a class or skipped school. You complete any task given to you to absolute perfection. You're the Cleverfield heir. The perfect daughter." The Deer said, crossing his arms.

"No...I'm not." Oren snarled.

"Then what are you going to do about it?" The Deer asked, a flash of lightning breaking the sky behind him.

A scream echoed out of the open door, a desperate whimper that sent shivers down Oren's spine. He knew it belonged to Jackie. Even distorted by fear, he could tell. He got to his feet, slipping on the sleek mud, and ran back through the doorway.