Staring at that smile always made me calmer. There was something so serene in the pale lips and neutral twist to the mouth that eased all my anxieties. That perfect dimple on only one cheek told volumes of the laughter that hid in the eyes that stared from above them. I often found myself lost staring at that face whenever I started slipping too far from my calm.

My fingers brushed along the cheek, enjoying the caress of the soft skin. I sighed, shoulders sagging as the weight that had pressed upon them all day finally lifted. My sanctuary, I was back in my sanctuary. "Today was almost unbearable. I couldn't wait to come home to you," I murmured.

That perfect smile remained. Another sigh escaped me. This was what I loved. Coming home to that perfect smile, caressing that soft skin. It solved everything.

"It'll be okay. Tomorrow will be better, I'm sure," I promised. My therapist said it was bad to fixate like I was, to depend so thoroughly on one person to help keep me calm. If it worked, why bother fixing it I say. It wasn't like I needed to worry about losing my anchor. It wasn't like he would ever think about leaving me.

Another sigh escaped me. My fingers ran over that beautiful skin one last time. I placed a chaste kiss on those perfect lips, mindful not to press too hard. I could certainly ruin things by moving the skin.

Standing, I headed for the door, casting one last look at that perfect face. He was mine for ever. My perfect answer to how to deal with the troublesome world. My anchor could never leave me, except if I didn't mindfully keep watch for insects eating at the lingering bits of meat from the taxedermy process.

I would die for him; he knew that without me having to tell him. I would kill for him; I've done so dozens of times. He knew there was nothing I wouldn't do, just because he asked; he had put it to the test more than once. 

It was wrong. Oh Lord how I knew it was wrong when we first started. But, oh Lord, I couldn't stop. Something came over me when I was around him. A feeling I never had when I was younger. Even with my parents, even when I was what society called 'well adjusted', no one ever made me feel the way I do when I'm around him. 

No one ever made me feel like I do knowing he cared for me too in his own twisted way.  Because he would do anything for me too. I put that to the test more than once, repaying him the favor. 

Life, love, careless abandon for anyone around us. I was whole without him, could function and carry on as if he wasn't a part of me. It hurt when we were a part, but I would survive and not be lost because I knew we would be together again soon.

I can continue on without him, because I know that for every bit of darkness he helped create in me - for every twisted thing I now had no discomfort in doing to whomever I came across whenever the mood struck me - he can't say the same. For all his denial of it, for all his posturing of how unaffected by me he was, I knew I had caused far more damage to him than he ever did to me. And oh how I relish in that knowledge; that someone who claims to be so fiercely independent cannot stand when we are forced apart. 

God, seeing that dependence in his eyes - that need for validation I only see in him when he looks into my eyes - it's the best drug I ever had.

Heavy panting breaths; footsteps on dry twigs; snapping branches back in the distance; barking dogs; the sounds of men's voices carrying in the dark, cold stillness of the woods; and the sounds of tired aching feet on the dry, friable earth were the only sounds heard on that autumn night. The forest, overcast by the canvas of leafy branches, was completely dark with the exception of the few scarce beams of moonlight and the glow from the torches in the distance. The darkness made it hard to see. Tripping over a fallen branch or log or maybe even an unearthed tree root seemed inevitable.

The crisp air held the lingering smell of the autumn day, slightly refreshing when there was a chance to take a breath. The chase had been going on for hours. A minute's rest scattered here and there. Rest was desperately needed.

Swift moving eyes, and the dim light from a faint moonbeam gave the brilliant idea to duck for a rest under a heavily shadowed pine tree. The heavy scent wafted for quite a distance. The perfect hiding place. Crawling under the low reaching branches proved more difficult than anticipated, each bit of wood trying to grab clothing or scrape exposed skin. The smell seemed to seep into every pore of the body. Safety for at least a few moments. Quickly, breathing became light not because it was slowing, but more through forcing the body to stop gasping and control it. Quietness fell over the secret hiding site as the mob of townspeople approached.

Stopping no more than ten feet from the tree, the mob circled and talked of going back to town to get rest. They spoke of continuing the search the next day, in the daylight. A few were against it at first; after all, their fugitive could cover plenty of ground in that time. With how long the hunt had been going, it took little persuasion to convince them too. Torch at hand, the mob headed back towards town. Shame seemed to silence the dogs, following their masters with lowered heads.

As the last light of the torches faded, slipping out from under the pine tree was easier then it was to go under it. A few quick swipes and silent pats knocked a great deal of pine needles off while standing. The smell lingered, but that would be an asset for continuing to run.

A man stepped out from his own hiding place. There was no escaping. He held fast as he cried out for the mob to return for their quarry.

It seemed like moments passed before the mob surrounded the two. Then began the onward drag back to the town. Pushing and shoving, the mob put force into bringing their victim back to town. 

They awoke the town officials and led them to the town green where the gallows were set up. Within a matter of minutes, the noose was readied. The coarse rope tightened around the neck of the escapee. No trial was given; that was never the plan. The crimes and pre-determined verdict rolled off the council elder's tongue: heresy and witchcraft, both earned a death sentence. The chair was quickly knocked out and...

…I sat up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat and panting hard. With quivering lips, the only thing to tumble from my lips was, "Thank God, it was only a dream." I rubbed my throat gently, the memory of how the dream ended making the rope cutting into my neck feel all too real.  I felt a warm, sticky wetness in that quick brush, and pulled back my hand to look at it. In the dim light of the moon through my window, I saw fresh blood.

Erick never liked dares; his friends always dared him to do things that were just plain dangerous. Things normal people would never think of doing. He had been arrested, almost run over, and put in the hospital because of dares. He climbed into zoo cages, jumped off bridges, streaked through his neighborhood – all on dares, and all because doing the dare was better, at the time, than the torment they would put him through if he didn't.

Tonight, he decided, would be the last night of friendship. Not only were they breaking into a supposedly abandoned house, but it happened to be rumored to be haunted. If there was only one thing that scared Erick it was the possibility that the supernatural was real. The beginning stages of harassment and goading from his so-called friends got him into the house, and continued as a way to coax him into different rooms until they all stood in front of the stairs leading to the basement.

Erick swallowed, but his mouth refused to relieve his dry throat. His pulse raced, and his breathing quickened. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the darkness of the basement. Darkness, the only real thing that scared Erick; they had called him a chicken when he wanted to bring a flashlight. Now, he regretted even agreeing to come with them. Tonight was definitely the last night he was friends with these guys, Erick thought for the second time that night.

"I dare you to spend ten minutes down there by yourself, Erick," Joe laughed, tossing a thumb over his shoulder at the basement.

Sweat built on his palms despite the draining chill that ran down his spine. Erick's eyes widened as he finally tore his gaze away from the black pit before them and turned eyes too white for his own good on his supposed friend. He licked his lips, and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Of course, because the only thing he hated more than dares and dark - possibly - haunted houses would be getting dared to be alone in the pitch black basement of a possibly haunted house. "What?" His voice cracked; he licked his lips again. "You're kidding, right?"

"What are you – chicken?" Mark laughed, slapping Erick hard enough on the back to push him slightly off balance. "It's just ten minutes. Don't you have a pair?"

Erick's gaze shifted back to the darkness. The basement, where twenty some odd people supposedly disappeared as part of some ritual to appease a dark spirit – or so the stories said. Ten minutes was a long time to be alone down there, especially for him. "Five minutes," he said before looking at Joe. It took all of his concentration to keep his breathing normal and stay put rather than run.

"Ten – or we tell everyone you pissed yourself and ran out crying." Joe smiled, crossing his arms.

It was hard enough getting dates; Erick didn't need a rumor like that spreading. An icy feeling pierced his stomach and spread through him faster than his heart raced. This was absolutely, irrefutably the last dare he would do, and the last night he was friends with these guys.

"Fine," he mumbled, barely audibly. He took a breath, staring at the darkness. It's just ten minutes, he thought, you can do this. You're braver than those idiots. He shook his hands, rolled his shoulders, and let out a deep breath through his mouth.

Every step moaned as he slowly descended into the basement. Once he heard his shoe on the concrete instead of old wood, he looked back at the top of the stairs. Not even a sliver of the moonlight they used to navigate the house could be seen.

Erick's heart raced faster, nearly choking him. More sweat built on his palms, though he felt like he was filled with ice. Something wasn't right; normal darkness didn't act like that.

A hot breeze hit the back of his neck in steady waves. He froze, his muscles locking up. His heart pounded – attempting to get out of his chest – and it hurt too much to breathe. The stairs hadn't creaked, yet it felt like someone was breathing on his neck.

"This isn't funny, guys..." Erick failed to sound firm as he stuttered. He groped for the edge of the stairs, but found nothing of the railing he had just let go of. "You guys are jerks for having someone wait for me down here. I-I'm not scared!"

Dead silence, save for Erick's shoes shuffling on the ground and his heart pounding in his chest. Nothing to see, nothing to feel where he should have found a railing or even a wall. There was nothing, except fully encompassing darkness.

Erick started breathing again, but began too rapidly. He stepped on something, and it rolled from under his foot. Losing his balance, Erick fell on his ass. What sounded like a stick clattered away from him; his hands braced his fall on another pile of sticks. At least, it felt like sticks, at first.

Feeling around, he discovered something larger and rounder. With no way to see, he picked it up and felt around on it. His breathing quickened more. A cold numbness filled him. It fell from shaking hands, only to land in his lap. A skull, there was no two ways around it.

"Erick..." A voice – female, comforting and gentle – whispered from everywhere and nowhere. The hot breath hit his skin again, moving around him from one side, to his back, to the other.

His panting moved toward quivering. His glasses were slipping down his face again, but his arm refused to move when he wanted to fix them. He closed his eyes, but in such pure darkness it made no difference. Something brushed his arm, and tears built in his eyes. "Stop it, please. I give up, I admit it. I'm scared," he whimpered.

"Good..." The voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere again.

A tear rolled down his cheek, and Erick held his breath. His heart pounded harder in his chest. Sweet, warm breath hit his face. He whimpered again when something small and wet brushed his tear away.

"Erick..." The voice breathed, sounding from everywhere and no where, and the sweet breath hit him in the face again. As his name drifted around his head, something firm - yet insubstantial when his shaking hand moved to touch it - pressed onto his legs. His glasses were removed - the purposeful, gentle tug of someone removing them was unmistakable. Another tear rolled down his cheek, and something wet brushed it away.

"I won't make it hurt," the voice purred. The breath hit his ear and he shivered.

Pain pierced him on both sides of his neck, so sharp a scream caught on his throat. He coughed on it, struggling to breathe as his eyes opened wide. There was nothing to do but stare into the darkness and gag as warmth bubbled in his throat.

"Hey, Erick, you can come up now," Joe shouted at the darkness with a chuckle.

No response.

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances. Joe licked his lips. "Erick, stop fucking around and get up here. It's time to go before we get caught." He sounded angry, but sweat built on his palms, which he kept wiping on his pants to keep anyone else from noticing.

A scream pierced the night, echoing from the basement.

The others scrambled over one another on their way out. Joe hesitated for a moment, only hearing the commotion behind him. The instant he realized the others had left, he ran out of the house too.

The next morning, Joe told his father the story - that Erick had convinced the others to break into the house, and tried to get them to go into the basement. That, when no one else would, he went down there himself; then he mentioned the blood curdling screams.

Joe's father made a few calls. In the light of day, several uniformed officers trekked into the abandoned home. They searched high and low for Erick. When they walked into the basement, they saw the familiar sight of the fading ritual circle and long dried blood stains. A pair of glasses sat dead center in the middle of the circle, neatly folded with just the tiniest splash of dried blood on one lens.

"Damn kids," Dominic grumbled. He put up signs. He spoke to parents. Yet every weekend, he ended up out here fixing the damn holes the damn kids put in his damn fence, and cleaning up the trash they left around the pit he used to burn brush every spring. He didn't care why they did it; everyone had excuses for doing anything. He was tired of the excuses. He was tired of having to waste his Saturdays fixing the gap in his fence where the damn kids pried off two of the boards to slip in, and every Sunday cleaning up beer bottles and food wrappers they left on his property.

He was tired of it. All his hard work, all his wasted time - and the parents refused to discipline. They were all a bunch of worthless good for nothings. Yet they called him the bitter old man for being disgruntled over having to clean this shit up all the time. He didn't work hard to get this nice house to have to clean up after someone else - especially now that his kids were all out of the house.

Today, he wasn't going to just fix the damage. No, today he wasn't going to be out in his yard muttering curses as he only repaired his fence. Today, he was setting up a nice special treat for the damn kids. This would teach them a lesson their parents obviously wouldn't.

He tested the wire one last time, just to make sure it was tense enough. There had to be enough tension to spring when needed, otherwise the lesson wouldn't sink in. He needed the lesson to sink in. Those damn kids would learn the hard way he was through with their stupid antics. Let them go pollute elsewhere.

One a.m Wednesday morning, he heard a scream. At first, it tore him from sleep like a splash of cold water on his face. The next scream brought a soft, content smile to his face. He heard the floodlights snap on thanks to the motion detector he set up Saturday, and panicked shouts of the damn kids sneaking into his yard.

Good, he thought. He rolled out of bed, and stepped into his slippers. It was about time those damn kids learned their lesson. The smile at the thought of those kids no longer coming into his yard remained as he headed out the door and trudged along the grass. His hands settled into the pockets of his robe, clenched around the tools he felt would be appropriate for the lesson.

The spotlight lit up the area just enough from where he mounted it for him to see two people take off running. That left the damn kid that triggered the trap there to learn his lesson. With his back to the light, he knew the kid couldn't see his smile, but he still fought to suppress it anyways. "Looks like a bit of trouble you got yourself into, eh?"

The kid kept on whimpering, clawing to get the bear trap off his ankle. Tears streamed down his face, gaze shifting between the trap and Dominic. "I'm sorry, mister. I didn't mean - "

"Of course you meant to come in here, kid," Dominic said in the same upbeat tone. His grip shifted on the tool hidden in his pocket. "Now I've asked you nicely to stay out of my yard, but you just don't listen. Do you know what happens to kids that don't listen to polite requests?"

The boy let out a whimper. He stopped struggling, tears continued to bubble forth. Rather than speak, he shook his head.

"Kids that don't listen learn the lesson the hard way." The kind tone left for a rather flat one. He closed in on the kid with the boy only able to sit and whimper. A knife caught the light when he brandished it. His gaze fell on the boy's face; the kid couldn't have been older than eighteen. Such a pity a young mind wasn't brighter.

"Now be mindful of the neighbors..." He grabbed hold of the young man so he couldn't struggle. When the kid opened his mouth to scream, he shifted his grip to grab hold of the boy's jaw. He almost wished the boy actually listened to directions. 

He set to work, the arduous task of implementing his lesson upon the boy. Messy, time consuming work but it had to be done. No one would discover the parts where he hid them - in the freezer he kept in his hunting supply shed. Cleaning up the mess near the fence was the hardest part - to make sure the evidence was gone without making it look like there was anything to have been cleaned.

The next morning the cops came to investigate the tales several teenagers told of a trap catching one of their friends. Dominic feigned concern, and lack of knowledge. He even ventured so far as to graciously show the cops the area the kids claimed it happened. The proof was there - that the kids broke into his yard - as a few boards of the picket fence lay on the ground next to it. He demanded the vandals be prosecuted - damage of property, he cried, trespassing on private land!

It didn't get very far in court - kids being kids was the judge's feeling - as no harm was done to the property. Slaps on the wrist all around, except for the one boy now on a milk carton. But they never went into his yard again, and that spring the brush fire pile had a little more substance to it than just some bushes.