At the Treehouse
They had just climbed down from the treehouse when the air began to thicken, dampness curling into their lungs. The smell of wet earth struck first—sharp and sudden—like nature itself was trying to say something.
Large drops of rain fell without warning, tapping the treehouse roof in scattered rhythms before exploding into a heavy downpour.
"Uh… are we sure we're going now?" Miles tilted his head toward the rain, which was growing more intense by the second."It's like nature doesn't want us to go."
Jenna sighed softly, wiping the wet strands of hair off her face.
"As much as I hate to say it—Miles has a point.""We can't track it now. The rain'll wash everything away. And we've got zero intel."
Miles nodded.
"Why don't you crash at my place tonight, Billy? We'll regroup tomorrow... about your dad too."
Billy went quiet.
His father's words still echoed in his skull, a storm that wouldn't die.
He took a long breath.
"Thanks, Miles," he said quietly, locking eyes with the two of them."But you've already done more than enough. If I've got clothes and shoes, I'll survive.""I think I'm gonna stay with Uncle David tonight. Just one night. I'll tell him everything."
Miles furrowed his brow, concern flashing across his face.
"You sure you'll be okay? With your luck lately... I'm starting to believe in divine punishment."
Billy gave a half-smile, lips twitching despite the rain dripping from his chin. But in his eyes—there was something else. A flicker of resolve.
"I'm sure, Miles... and there's something I need to ask him, too."
Miles offered a reluctant nod.
"Alright, Bill. If you say so."
Jenna groaned, cutting through the tension.
"Can you two stop already? I'm wetter than some brokenhearted girl in a sad indie music video." She wrung out her soaked sleeve with an exaggerated pout.
"And don't forget—I haven't even finished Mom's gourmet sludge yet. She's gonna pout like a toddler when I get home."
She threw in a final jab with a smirk.
"I came with you guys to dodge that dinner, not save the day."
"Oh? And here I thought you came because you were worried about Billy." Miles shot her a mocking glance.
Billy laughed—genuinely—for the first time in days.
The moment it escaped his lips, Miles and Jenna shared a glance.
He's getting better. At least... for now.
Uncle David's House
Billy stood before the door of his uncle's house—deep in the woods, surrounded by towering trees and near the marshlands to the east. Of course, Uncle David loved to fish. It made sense.
He'd walked for hours. By the time he arrived, it was close to midnight. The house lights were still on. A soft glow flickered behind the downstairs curtains.
He knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. Heavy but deliberate. His knock cracked through the stillness of the night.
A breath. Then silence.
The door creaked open.
There stood Uncle David—tall, well-kept, polite. Nothing like Billy's father. He had that ever-gentle smile. But behind his eyes... there was something else. Something Billy never fully trusted. It was the kind of look that had never been real—not to his mother, not to anyone.
"God… Billy?""What happened—?"
He stopped when he saw Billy's bloodstained face and soaked clothes.
Uncle David didn't ask more. He simply opened the door wider.
"Come in. You'll catch cold out there."
Billy stepped inside, glancing up at his uncle's face—then lowering his eyes again. There was something in David's stare that made him avoid eye contact. It wasn't safety he felt. Not comfort. But at least... it was shelter.
He told only what he had to. That his dad hurt him. That he'd run.He didn't say what his father said—not about the choking, not about his mother. Just your average broken home tale.
David looked concerned. Nervous, even. Like something else was pressing behind that smile.
"I just... need to stay the night," Billy murmured. Like he wasn't expecting permission.
David nodded, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—curiosity.
"There's a spare room upstairs. Used to be my office, but there's a bed."
"Go shower first, get comfortable. We'll talk later.
"Then, almost as an afterthought, he pointed up."Oh—and don't open the box in the wardrobe. That's private, okay?"
His face hardened slightly at that last bit.
"I won't," Billy replied quickly.
"Good boy," Uncle David said, grinning wide.
Billy nodded silently and began climbing the stairs.
The bathroom was cleaner than he expected. Too clean. The walls were old, stained in places, but there were no hairs, no water spots. Like it had just been scrubbed... quickly.
He turned on the shower.
The water smelled faintly of chlorine.
As he closed his eyes and let the warmth hit his face, he felt something off. The spray was... inconsistent. Like someone was lightly tapping the knob from outside.
He opened his eyes. Nothing. No shadows. No footsteps.
But then—on the plastic curtain near the window—he saw it: a handprint. From the outside. Just resting there.
He reached to pull it aside—Gone.
He showered fast, dressed faster, and got out of the bathroom.
The hallway upstairs creaked under his feet. He peeked downstairs.
Uncle David was on the leather sofa, reading. He looked up and smiled. Polite. Calm.
Billy didn't return it. Just walked silently to the bedroom.
But then David's voice followed him, soft and cold.
"Tomorrow morning… I want to hear everything. You understand, Billy?"
He froze. Nodded. Then kept walking.
The Bedroom Door
Just as he reached the bedroom, Billy noticed something.
At the bottom of the door—A small sliding hatch. Like a doggy door. But shorter. Too small to crawl through.
And it didn't swing. It slid.
Like something designed to pass food through.
Like… a prison.
His body tensed. He didn't want to imagine the rest.
That's when a hand touched his shoulder from behind.
Billy went white. Frozen.
A face leaned close, lips brushing his ear, breath warm.
"Billy…" Uncle David's voice."You ever go fishing?"
Billy stayed silent. His heart pounded.
David whispered, slow… tender.
"Fish don't bite right away, Billy.""You have to wait… until they trust the bait.""Some like bread… others need worms. Sometimes you have to use something rotten. Something with scent.""And once they bite—once they're hooked—""They fight. Oh, they fight hard.""But then… they stop."
"They become… precious, Billy. Priceless."
He chuckled. His voice shook.
"It's all about the bait."
He pulled back and said warmly—
"Time to rest now… Billy."
A hand stroked Billy's head."You must be exhausted… poor thing."
"I worry about you, Billy. If anything happened to you, I might just…"
"…go mad."
His eyes said what his voice did not.
Billy forced a nod. David hummed a tune as he walked away—like he was savoring something. Like tonight… was special.
When the silence returned, Billy quietly opened the door.
The room was tidy. A clean bed. Fresh sheets. No dust.No windows.
And all he could think about was—
"Don't open the box in the wardrobe."
He dragged a chair in front of the door and turned to the wardrobe.
There it was. A wooden box.Old. Medium-sized. Metal clasp.
Unlocked.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
The first thing inside: a diary.
Brown leather cover. Worn. Damp at the edges.
He opened it.
"His laughter makes me forget how old I am..."
"Those eyes—no adult ever looked at me like that."
"Children are pure… beautiful… delicious."
"Just thinking of them… makes my rod twitch."
"Easy, boy… the fish will bite soon."
"Can't wait for my first time. I wonder how soft they are..."
"Martha squirmed like a fresh catch. But once I… soothed her, she just laid there. So sweet. So still."
"Not bad for the first. Next time I'll try a boy."
"Quentin fought harder. But tighter… much tighter."
"Oh dear. Am I starting to like boys more?"
"Martin…"
"Samantha…"
"Michael…"
"Jake…"
"Peter…"
"Danny…"
"Bob…"
Billy stopped breathing.
He flipped page after page.
Each line—more sickening than the last.Polite prose. Gentle tone. Disgusting truths.
Under the diary—photos.
Boys. Different ages. Different races.Smiling. Swimming. Fishing. Posing.In this house.
On the back, handwritten captions:
"The best summer of my life.""He was too cute. I just had to... keep him.""If no one wants him—I'll take all of him."
Billy slammed the box shut. Breathing hard.
It was real.
David wasn't just sick.
He was evil.
That voice, that gentle smile—it was all a mask.Underneath was a predator. A beast in human skin.
Billy thought the worst truth was that David had slept with his mom.He was wrong.
David hadn't come for his mother.
He came for him.
Billy was the fish.And tonight… he'd taken the bait.
He had to get out.
Then—A smell filled the room.
Faint, at first.
Then stronger.
Sweet. Familiar.
Pie.
It was right outside the door.
"Billy... care for some late-night pie?"