Oren crept down the hallway, peering over the corner. The living room was abandoned, the attic door closed, and with a new shiny lock holding it shut. The hatch bent with small thumps, a hand pounding on it.

Another scream came from the open cellar door. Oren spotted an old writing desk against the wall, turning it upside down. He tugged on the old wood, stomping on the point where the leg met the base. The leg splinted and broke free from the rest of the desk. Feeling a little more confident with a weapon in hand, Oren charged down the cellar steps. With each step, the putrid smell grew more and more vail.

The cellar was made of dank, rough stone, and as Oren placed his hand against the wall for balance, it slipped, slicing a thin wound across the palm. He swore silently, clenching the fist to keep the blood from running. Tentatively, he knelt as the stairway opened up into the rest of the cellar, peeking in. Tall, cluttered shelves were pushed up against the wall. In the middle of the room was an old, leather chair, torn in many places, revealing the faded, yellow cotton beneath. Jackie was tied to the chair, fighting desperately to escape.

Roland was facing a table against the wall, unbundling a cloth. As the cloth rolled across the table, it revealed several objects one by one: a knife, a spool of thread, and a needle. "Children who run away from home are naughty-naughty!" he taunted, running his long fingers down the blade.

"I'll show you naughty when I shove my boot up your ass!" Jackie swore, struggling against the rough rope binding her arms.

"What a foul mouth!" Roland hissed. "Might as well sew it shut," he added, walking toward her with the knife in hand.

"H-Hey!" Oren yelled, skipping the last few steps. "Leave her alone!"

"Two birds with one stone." Roland purred, stabbing the knife into the chair's arm. Oren was the first to charge, swinging the splintered desk leg for Roland's head. The wood broke against the impact, leaving Roland unfazed. As Oren shrunk away, holding the remaining nub of wood, Roland knocked against the side of his head.

"Things don't hurt as much when you have cotton for brains." he chuckled. He grabbed Oren by the throat, his fingers managing to wrap completely around his neck.

Jackie twisted onto her side, grasping for the knife. Her fingers caught around the wooden handle, pulling it out of the leather chair. Carefully, she sawed at the ropes until they finally snapped loose. She hurriedly cut her legs free and got to her feet.

Oren was starting to gasp, his face turning a pale violet as Roland's fingers continued to coil around his throat like snakes. Jackie ran behind one of the cluttered shelves, pushing it forward with as much weight as she could muster.

"Hey, Smiles!" she yelled as the shelf began to titter forward. She rushed forward, grasping the knife in her hand. "That might have not hurt, but this sure will!" She stabbed the hand strangling Oren, Roland releasing his grip with a ragged screech of pain. Jackie grabbed Oren, dragging him toward the stairway.

As Roland took a step toward them, the shelf collapsed on top of him, jars shattering against the ground, sending glass rippling out across the floor. As the dust settled, all was silent and still.

"Are you alright?" Jackie asked, holding Oren. His face was pale and clammy, his eyes struggling to stay open. He rolled his head so they were eye to eye.

"How...the hell should I know?" he joked, managing a weak smile. Jackie smiled, bit her lip, and then frowned.

"You idiot!" she yelled, hugging him tightly, tears falling against his back.

"Hey, I thought you weren't supposed to be a hugger." he taunted.

"Why did you come back?" she asked, pulling away.

"We made a promise, didn't we?" he said. "We both get out of here." Jackie nodded, breaking down into a small chuckle, still crying. They made their way up the stairs, grabbing the tire by the door. Jackie had taken the needle from the cellar, maneuvering it through the attic lock until it popped open.

"What? Is it surprising that I gamble in thievery?" she had said as Oren gave her a skeptical look. They led the children out of the farmhouse, and back into the fields.

"You're free now," Oren told them, trying to be encouraging. They looked at one another and began to walk deeper into the fields. One, the first boy they had met, turned around momentarily.

"Thank...you," he said. The voice was real, strained and gurgled, and real. He turned back around, merging back into the pack. Oren and Jackie stood side by side and watched as they disappeared beyond the horizon.