There was something else really strange about it as well. The tiny handprints had small points at the tips of the fingers. They looked quite a bit like claws. My blood ran cold as I stood there staring at the residue of the powder and those demonic looking little prints. My eyes scanned the back of the car. There were dozens of little spots that looked like blood spatter. I was no longer hungry. The rest of the group remained silent, their eyes frozen on the bumper.

   Everyone remained silent on the way back to my place. As I exited the car, Bailey locked eyes with me. I could see fear there; her gaze pleading. Without a word, I took her by the hand and helped her out of the car. Bill spun the tires and sped off, leaving a cloud of smoke and the pungent odor of burnt rubber. Bailey slowly followed me into the house, looking all around as she moved, almost as if she expected to see ghostly little figures hiding in every shadow. Her grip tightened on my hand. 

   Once the door was closed and locked, she relaxed a little. She turned to me, the color returning to her face little by little.She suddenly burst out laughing. I was so taken by surprise that I just simply joined her, though I had no idea what was so funny. Her laughter suddenly turned to sobbing.

   I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. The scent of her hair stimulated something inside of me. I supressed the feeling and held her as she wept. "What's wrong, hun?" I asked her as sincere as I could.

    "I feel stupid," she confided as she turned her head to look up into my face. "This whole night was ... was..." Her sobs choked off her words.

   We stood there in my doorway, holding each other while she cried, for I don't know how long. Finally, she calmed herself down and regained some of her composure. Still holding my hand tightly, she led me to the couch and sat down. Her eyes locked with mine and she smiled weakly before dropping her gaze to the floor. I sat down next to her and took both her hands in mine.

   "You ok?" I asked her.

   "I'm fine," she replied, raising her eyes back to mine. "This whole thing, it's not me."

    "Whaddya mean?"

   "I don't... I don't dress like this, act like this. See, I'm sure you've heard all about Tom and I breaking up?" I nodded, so she continued. "Well, Samantha was only trying to help me get back into the dating scene, but she made me look and feel like a total slut. I didn't even want to come out tonight."

   "Then why did you?"

   "Because they told me that you'd be my date," she said, blushing.

   I didn't know what to say. The thought that she came out to see me took me totally by surprise.

    "I never thought, I mean... me?"

    "Don't act so surprised, Danny. I know that you've had a thing for me for a long time. How come you never asked me out?"

   "Like you'd have said yes..."

   "I would have... and I still will."

   The heat rose up in me so fast that it felt as if my brain was in meltdown. My face was probably as red as ripe cherries and I couldn't think of a single thing to say. She saw that I was uncomfortable and changed the subject. I hoped we would get back to the subject before the night was over. When I could think straight again. I hoped that I hadn't just blown it.

   "Do you have something more comfortable that I could change into? Sweats, maybe? This skirt is so-o-o-o-o uncomfortable. "

   I quickly went to my room to retrieve her something to wear and brought her back my favorite t-shirt, a worn out Motley Crue concert t, and a pair of cut-off gray sweat pants. She retreated to my bathroom and returned moments later, looking sexier than hell in my lounging clothes. We spent the rest of the night talking and fell asleep right there on the couch.

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   I awoke to the sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood. I jumped from the couch, nearly spilling Bailey to the floor. I ran to the front door, which is where the commotion had come from. The decorative glass panes to the right of the door were smashed in about two feet up from the floor. The endtable where I set my keys and mail was toppled and splintered. Tiny, muddy footprints led from the door, through the foyer, and up the stairs to the second floor. Bailey, still a bit groggy, walked over to see what had happened. Her eyes widened at the sight that was before us. I grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to the slightly ajar door. My cell phone was laying right next to the destroyed endtable, so I reached down and snatched it and my car keys.

************************************************************************************

    Police combed the premises for over an hour. They found nothing, other than the obvious at my front door and on the stairs. They chalked it up to teens playing a prank and then left. Bailey suggested her place and I readily agreed so we jumped into my little Civic and sped to her apartment complex at top speed. Neither of us really slept anymore that night. We sat drinking coffee and chatting, mostly catching up on the last year. She told me all about her relationship with Thomas and the subsequent break-up and what she'd been doing since. 

   My cell started ringing at about eight in the morning. I was amazed to see Jake's number on the screen, he never got out of bed before noon on weekends.

   "Hello?"

   "Danny?"

    "Yeah, it's me."

   "Billy's dead, he's **** dead, man,"  Jake sobbed into the phone.

   I sat staring off into space in disbelief, still hearing the disembodied voice.

   "He was ripped open and all his insides removed, all gone... no sign... cops are everywhere, man! Where the **** are you?!?"