The woman was fanatically dialling police.
Bent over the little decorative wooden table upon which the phone sat, she watched her fingers tap randomly at the phone, shaking so uncontrollably, it was as if the buttons were swimming randomly in the white plastic sea of their casing. She let out a short, quiet, panicked cry and spluttered a little. The man upstairs, his voice muffled, sounded calm, he was talking to her daughter, what was he doing? Why was he here? Then, footsteps, on the stairs, she watched, paralysed as the boy, walked slowly, almost apathetically out through her front door. Why was there a child with this man? She blinked to clear her vision, but the blackness was eating at the corner of her eyes. The throbbing in her head throbbed, unsurprising, and, almost thankfully, the blackness that had been nibbling its way through her vision, took her.

"Mrs Pranderguast?! Is that Mrs Pranderguast?!!" The voice sounded shocked, Mrs Pranderguast forced her eyes open and felt the light of the room beat into head.
"Urghs" She ejected. It was a girl, another stranger in her house, she pulled herself up onto her elbows and stared at her, eye to eye.
"Mrs Pranderguast, we need to get you to a hospital." The half formed image of a girl instructed.
"Your not here for her" murmured a bored voice from the back of the room, every syllable sounding like an effort, "We'll deal with her, you go upstairs and talk to Mary."
"Are you crazy?!" Stammered the girl. Mrs Pranderguast could not make out the owner of the other voice, he was standing in the light, but the voice sounded young, a young boy perhaps, the boy the man was with no doubt.
"Get out of my house!" She managed to half shout between dilating effort.
"Believe me, the child's in a worse state." Drowned the bored boy.
"Mary? Mary's here" The girl said.
"Upstairsssssss" groaned the boy, bored senseless. There was a shuffling of feet and the girl was gone, then the sound of someone ascending the stairs. There was silence for a moment. Mrs Pranderguast could hear her short, sharp, intakes of breath, almost echoing in the emptiness of the room. Then the boy's face swam into view, their noses now almost touching. Then, the face spoke,
"Well well well, Mrs Pranderguast" It paused, then continued, "what shall we do with then?"

Part 6

Eric and Samantha, the sixteen year old twins, were walking back from school. They both had bright blond hair and both were too thin. In school, teachers were buzzing around them, asking them softly about anorexia and other various eating disorders, or, in case of the overly practical resistant materials teacher, if they would like some of his chocolate bar. Mental problems were not the issue, when it came down to it, they were poor and found it hard to get the money to buy food. It did not help that their mother was too proud claim government help and it did not help that their Dad had left years ago with another woman. Rather than going straight home, the twins usually sat on the grass, in a field by their house, talking about the day. Today was not an exception.
"Look Sam, can you talk a little quieter, I've got a cracking headache," moaned Eric, running his fingers through his thin, blond hair. Sam glowered.
"AHRHGHg!!" she yelled at the top of her voice. Eric moaned. She smirked and tore out a clump of grass with her right hand. She liked grass, it was green, unlike bark. At this point, she heard footsteps coming up their hill. Both lazily moved their heads to work out the source of this, people other than themselves rarely came up here. A young boy, about twelve, was running up through the long grass. He was wearing a green t-shirt. He stopped, panting, in front of them. He stared at them expectantly. They stared back.
"Well, get up then." Said the boy. Sam frowned, Eric rolled his head back.
"Whyyy?" he managed to say.
"He's summoned you." Said the boy, nonchalant. Sam was beginning to enjoy the whole sensation of mystery, her brother however, had a headache.
"Who, who's summoned us?" she asked. The boy paused, considering the question.
"He...does not have a name."
"Get lost," Said Eric.
"I'll come,"
"No Sammmmm," gowned Eric, trying to grab at her ankles as she stood up and walked purposefully over to the little boy. She grabbed his hand and said,
"Go on then, take me to him."

Part 5

The suit he was wearing had always been his favourite. It was grey, much like his other suits. His shirt on the other hand was bright orange, he wore it purposely to make people feel nauseous. His watch was old and broken, which he liked as it constantly told him the time he would like it to be, 6 o'clock in the morning.

He kicked the door so hard it ricocheted off the wall with a crunch of plaster and shut itself neatly again. He frowned at it.
"That didn't have the desired effect," he said to the boy, slightly disappointed. Sudden hushing noises could be heard from within, and footsteps. The door opened. A woman stood in the doorway. She was in her thirties and reeked of a desperation to be neat. She stared at him for a moment in silence, which was finally broken by the man.
"You've got blood, blood on your check," he said, pointing hesitantly. She blinked, bewildered, watched him for some time, her mouth opening slightly, then, as if her brain had suddenly stopped messing about, started yelling.
"Get out my house!" she screamed, her body looking more angry than neat. The man fiddled with his collar and turned to the boy.
"I've never seen anger like that." he observed. The boy, with a semi-glazed expression, was listening to the faint chattering of the quiz show, apparently uninterested in the woman.
"I have," he stated airily.
"Where?" inquired the man,
"In Star Wars," said the boy,
"Oh you mean the bit where Luke's angry and trashing about with his lightsaber?"
"Yes," The man contemplated this. Indeed he did remember this part, however the anger there was a different sort! He was sure of it. He turned back to the woman.
"Have you got your child in there?" he asked calmly.
"GET OUT MY HOUSE!" she bellowed, waving her fists like an upset windmill.
"Stop waving your fists like an upset windmill," said the man,
"Nice smilie," murmured the boy.
"Mary," called the man. A whimper came from within. The woman was turning red. The man wondered why this was, was it because in the wild, red was a colour of danger and she was trying to scare him?
"Your attempts to scare me with your face are failing," He said blankly, then with one hand, grabbed her by the arm and through her down the stairs. On the way down, she hit the side walls twice, the banister thrice and a coffee table at the bottom once. The man went into the room. It had pale yellow walls and a blue carpet, teddy bears were placed at strategic places around the room to give it a more childlike feel. In the corner was the girl. She was 12, with brown hair that was matted with blood. Her eyes puffy with crying, or bruises, he could not tell the difference.
"This is disgusting," he said, his forehead creasing,
"I know," commented the boy,
"Yellow walls with a blue carpet," said the man, "it's vile,"
"Yes," confirmed the boy.

Part 4

"You don't have to do anything special" the boy suggested, looking at the man, "look," he pointed at the door, "the door's open, you could just go in and tell her to stop." The man eyed the boy. He put his tong over a tooth, the tooth, his favorite thinking tooth.
"Yeah" he said, "OK." He turned and marched towards the house, across number 8's rather similar yet less symmetrical lawn. It was at this point he realised with the boy's foot indents in his lawn, his lawn was no longer symmetrical, he sighed. The door was, as foretold, open. He strode in and stood in to the entrance hall. The wall's were quite a pleasant shade of beige, the carpet, almost pink. The TV was on in the room to his left, some sort of quiz show blaring out some sort of day time TV music. The sunlight streamed in, the birds were fluttering. He heard screams from up the stares then a muffling noise.
"Go on then." The boy said, who had appeared behind the man.
"You, wait outside," the man said sternly, "it's too dangerous"
"No"
"OK, but stay behind me"
They walked quickly up the stares. The rooms were just as well decorated.
"Beige" The man said, running a hand through his brown hair. He went for the door straight ahead. It was a wooden door. On it there was a little sign decorated by flowers. "Mary's room" it said. He turned to the boy. "It's happening in there" he whispered. The boy nodded and said,
"Going in?" The man turned to the door. He kicked it open.

Part 3

Number 8 was out of place. It jarred in his mind, there was something that didn't fit together; like if there was a room full of conservatives, and a person, alone in the middle, saying, "Yes, I'm very proud of the trade union I'm in, they're a very good idea." He turned sharply to the boy.
"I can't believe it's happening again" he spat,
"What is" The boy said calmly, ignoring the man's rage. The man gesticulated towards number 8.
"She's hitting her child"
"Well you could stop that," the boy suggested calmly. The man glanced tentatively at the boy and rubbed his hands in frustration.
"No, no i can't" he said looking worried "i can't interfere in free will and all that." He turned to look away from the boy. He watched a pidgin. He watched a cat. He turned to face the boy. "Well," he said, a mischievious smile dawning over his face, "maybe this once."

Part 2

The avenue was, ascentually, middle class. His house was the same as everyone elses in the row, the conformity comforted him, but he still wished he had something different, some small rebellion. He looked at the boy with more interest now. He was standing on his lawn, there was going to be two imprints in the grass where his feet had been. 'Ha' he thought to himself, there was his rebellion. No one else in the road had two small indents in there lawn, suck on that number 8. He turned towards number 8 and swore violently at the house. The boy didn't look schocked.

Part 1

The day was cold. Drat. He hated cold days because the TV in his house stopped working; unless, he put a towel over it, to warm it up. He didn't have a towel big enough to but over his whole house... and anyway all his towels were being used to stop the rats from chasing his cat. And the cat wasn't really a cat, mealy the potential for where a cat could be, which annoyed him even more. However i digress.

"What?! get off my loarn, i just made it sermetrical!"
"But sir, you said..."
"Shut up" he said, more to himself than the boy, his voice abbed, "why don't you just...." he peired at the boy, "your my son arn't you?" he asked politly.
"No sir."
"Good, being thirty five he should be taller than that."
"Are you drunk?" He paused to think about the boy's question. If the answer was yes... it would explain a lot, especaily the empty beer bottles in his house and the dead man in the garden.
"I say..." he said, trying to look kinder, "would you mind helping me call the police, you see there's a dead body round the back and i can't fine the phone under all the empty beer bottles."
The boy looked confused. He opened his mouth to speak.
"What...again?"