I watched the van disappear around the corner. My mind raced in a million directions before settling on the only logical answer. The police. I needed to call the police. What would I tell them? A holy man in an incredibly black van with black bumpers, black tinted windows, completely black wheels, and no license plate abducted a girl that I didn't know from my doorstep? The story sounded wild enough on its own, but throw in the fact that I'd killed nearly a full bottle of Jack Daniels and it just becomes a drunken rant.

   It didn't matter that my alcohol tolerance was nearly equal to that of a career sailor. The state of mind of the person doing the drinking is never the issue. The issue is always blood alcohol. In the three years since I'd lost everything important in my world, I've spent many nights with Jack. Especially the last six months, since I took a leave of absence from the steel mill. Those months saw me killing three or four fifths of Jack some nights and so far tonight, I was still on my first. The cops would never buy that I was sober, though. They'd get a whiff of me and probably lock me up for public intox. Still, I had to do something and calling the police was the logical first step.

   The silence was shattered by the wail of the phone just as I reached for it. My hand shook like a Parkinson's patient as I grabbed the receiver. I slowly lifted it to my ear.

    "What do you want from me?" I asked, already knowing who was on the other end. 

   "Do you know where the 'Haunted Woods' Halloween walk is taking place?" came back the sinister reply.

    I choked my words out, "Y-yes, I kn-know where it is."

   "I know you saw me, I wanted you to. She's such a precious little girl. Sweet, innoce..."

    "What the **** do you want from me?" I screamed, cutting him off.

   "Now, John, that's no way to talk to the person that is giving you a chance to reclaim your life. If you do not comply with what I say, this girl's blood is on your hands right along with the blood of your family."

    The tears flowed freely from my eyes. All I could muster through my sobs was, "What do you want me to do?"

   "Go to the 'Haunted Woods', there is a payphone near the restrooms there. You'll wait there for my call. If you want to save this girl, you will be there within thirty minutes and you'll forget about your thoughts of calling the police. If I call and you do not answer, it will be weeks before they find all the parts to put this little lady back together again. That, I can promise."

    The line went dead and I just stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the dead receiver. Rage boiled inside me. Who the HELL did this son-of-a-bitch think he was? Why was he **** with me? I slammed the receiver into the cradle again as I had done just moments ago. The plastic shattered into dozens of shards and the jagged bones of the piece I still held ripped into my flesh. I let out a small cry and dropped it onto the table. The "Haunted Woods". A Halloween playground. Payphone . Thirty minutes. ****! I had to get going. 

   Grabbing my keys and the nearly drained bottle of Jack. I shot out the back door and scrambled into my piece of ****, falling apart Toyota. The engine didn't fire right away and I started to worry that it wouldn't crank over at all. I kept putting off taking it to the shop. That would mean interacting with people. Human interaction was something I often avoided lately. Finally, the engine roared to life and I shot backward down the drive and into the street. I whipped the car around, squealed the bald tires, and sped off in thick cloud of black smoke.

   Twenty-five minutes later I careened into the field where everyone parked for the Halloween attraction. I haphazardly parked in the first available spot and sprang from my car, the empty whiskey bottle falling to the ground as I did so. The place was crawling with people. I took but a second to survey the area and spotted a small brick building about three hundred yards away. That had to be the restrooms. I bolted in that direction, dodging people as I went and trying not to fall flat on my face at the same time.

   As I neared the small structure, I could hear a phone ringing. The bank of pay-phones was mounted on the north wall, directly between the restroom entrances. I sprinted toward them and closed my hand around the ringing reciever just as a man with the girth of a VW Bug was reaching to answer it. I smiled weakly at him. He scowled back.

   "What in de balue hail do you t'ink yer doin, boy?" he questioned angrily.

   "It's for me," I shrugged him off breathlessly and turned my attention to the reciever. "Hello?"

    "Hail-o? Who de hail is dis?" came the confused voice of a woman. "Where mah husbun'?"

   I handed the phone to the large man, sheepishly. "Sorry," I managed to croak.

    I sat waiting. The alcohol I had thusfar consumed had worn completely off. I was a nervous wreck. I kept stealing glances at my watch. Time, itself, seemed to have slowed down. My nerves were shot. I kept thinking of the little girl. Then of my own children. I wasn't even aware that I was crying.