(Author’s note: This is the events leading up to my other posting .)

It was a lazy afternoon; we were hanging around the steps of one of the abandoned tenements as an old man shuffled down the sidewalk.

“He don’t look so good,” Mark said, laughing.

“Ten bucks says he drops one of the bags before he gets to the next intersection; twenty says before he gets to that house on the end,” Paul quipped.

“You got ten bucks?” Mark asked, turning to Paul.

A moment later the old man went down on one knee, fruit from one of the bags spilling out on the sidewalk and onto what was left of the street.

“Hahaha,” I laughed. “Hey, old man!” I raised my voice even louder. “Hey, you! You know they have this thing now called ‘delivery’! Might be right up your alley!”

Mark and Paul joined in as the old man stumbled after the fruit he accidentally kicked before picking up his bags again.

“I bet that’s one of those old dudes that’s loaded but doesn’t want to spend any of it. Bet his house is full of stuff. Shame it doesn’t get to see the light of day,” Mark said as we watched him shamble down the street to the house at the end.

“Weeell, maybe we should just help some of it find admirers,” Paul quipped.

“I see through you too, Mark,” Paul said, “and if we just happen to get a bit of a ‘finder’s fee’ for helping, so much the better.”

“Meet back here after dark,” I said knowingly. The three of us parted, going off in different directions.

Now, dear reader, we’ren’t bad kids. But in the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes. Packs are often one of those situations--but we didn’t realize we were one.

The evening was caliginous as we crept up the steps of the dilapidated house.

“Mark, you got it?” I asked. Mark simply opened his jacket to reveal the pry bar he took from the hardware store.

“Think he’s going to give us any problems,” Paul asked.

“I don’t think he’ll even know--it isn’t like we’re going to go knock. And if he does it’s three against one. I don’t think we need to worry,” I replied.

We breached the door quietly--it wasn’t even locked.

Who doesn’t lock their doors these days? Do you, dear reader?

We stopped for a moment when someone’s step creaked one of the floorboards, but after a minute we heard nothing, so we continued into the first room. The room--was f’in’ crazy, with odd masks on the walls and odd figurines on the mantle beside a large vase-like object. The figurines were--ugly, hideous, anything but sacred--just looking at them filled me with rage.

“Mark, Paul, see what you can find in the rest of the house. I’ll be in here for a few,” I said as I hefted the poker. My first swing cleared the mantle, the vase exploding in a choking cloud of dust. Homerun! I thought I heard a thump upstairs, but continued swinging at the shelves, sending ceramic shards tapping across the floor. Another thump--sounded like it was on the far end of the house--I wondered what they’d found interesting.

I shouldered the poker and started for another room, to see what I could find. Suddenly I was dazzled by a bright light. I clutched at my eyes, swinging the poker off my shoulder. I hit something--not sure what. As I uncovered my eyes the bright light flashed again. I swung again. Off-balance, I turned the direction the flashes had moved, expecting a target to swing at--when abruptly I was blinded by stars, somewhere in the distance heard the sickening thud of my head hitting the floor, and felt myself being dragged as my world faded to black.

(Word count: 630. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)