Stuart Evans died on the way to Benjamin Silverstein’s slumber party. He’d taken the Raven’s Crest shortcut and while peaking over the cliff side, had slipped on an abandoned snail shell and had fallen neck first onto the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. There Stuart Evans lay, his left eye popped from its socket, dying for an excruciatingly long duration of time, suffocating, bleeding-out, and dreaming of the fun things he’d be likely to miss out on at Benjamin Silverstein’s slumber party. Stuart Evans’ body died, but his left eye worked with great vigor to free itself from its attachments to the boy’s corpse, tugging and straining.

         The boys played in the woods behind Benjamin Silverstein’s house, chasing one another with sticks that served as machine guns. ­Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch, shouted Douglas Van der Diamond. Guh-guh-ghat, guh-guh-guh-ghat, shouted Travis Cheng. Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat, shouted Benjamin Silverstein. Trotting between trunks of trees, they shouted orders that were not followed and claimed kills that no one else agreed to. I got you, shouted Douglas Van der Diamond. No, I got you, shouted Travis Cheng. Pop-pop-pop, I got you both, shouted Benjamin Silverstein. No one really died in their games. Douglas Van der Diamond, with his teeth, pulled the pin from a grenade that was a pine-cone and chucked it over the fallen log where Travis Cheng had established his base. Travis Cheng saw the pine-cone fall, picked it up, and threw it over to Benjamin Silverstein’s base in the sword ferns, making an explosion sound to prove the effectiveness of the grenade. Got you, Travis Cheng shouted. Benjamin Silverstein shouted, No, my base has a force-field around it. Bullshit, shouted Douglas Van der Diamond. Then both Douglas Van der Diamond and Travis Cheng agreed on a treaty between their armies, and focused their alliance on an all-out attack on Benjamin Silverstein’s base. The alliance proved to be quite powerful, though the strength and integrity of the force-fields became the debate of the afternoon.  

         After a long time of play, one of the boys asked, Isn’t Stuart Evans supposed to be coming?

         Benjamin Silverstein chewed his thumb, thinking. Yeah, he offered upon reflection.

         Where is he? Travis Cheng asked.

         I don’t know, was the reply.

         So, they played.

         They wandered deep into the woods, shooting fake bullets that never fell. It was Travis Cheng that found a set of clothing hung up on a tree – there was a pair of pants, a button-up shirt, socks, and shoes, all dangling from the tree. The boys discussed the oddity at great length, creating all kinds of wild explanations for the hanging garments. But soon their games continued again, and the clothes were left unexplained.

         The twilight encroached upon their play and no one called them in from the forest, so the boys continued shooting one another with sticks until the tree shadows vanished and the cloudy sky turned a starless black. Benjamin Silverstein had his arms tucked inside his t-shirt by the time it was suggested that the boys retire to the house. Travis Cheng and Douglas Van der Diamond held like links in a chain to Benjamin Silverstein’s shirt-sleeve as he felt his way along the muddy trail with his feet.

         What was that? Douglas Van der Diamond whispered from the back of the line, sounding quite upset of a sudden.

         What was what? asked Travis Cheng.

         I felt something.

         What did you feel?

         I don’t know.

         Well, what did it feel like? Travis Cheng prodded as they continued at their slow pace through the dark.

         It was wet, he said, waving his free hand in the air in an attempt to shoo whatever it had been that he’d felt.

         It was probably a leaf, Benjamin Silverstein suggested, hoping to calm his friends. Don’t worry, we’ll be home in just a minute.

         There it was again! Douglas Van der Diamond’s voice filled the forest shadows, making the other boys jump and stop their progress home. It touched me! It was wet! Was that you, Travis?!

         No.

         Shut up, Doug. Just calm down, we’re almost home, Benjamin Silverstein said. Come on. He tugged the boys forward. Come on.

         Come on, Travis Cheng tugged on Douglas Van der Diamond’s arm and the chain of boys fumbled through the woods.

         It wasn’t until Douglas Van der Diamond screamed that the other boys became truly concerned. The three pushed through the woods at high speed, leaving the trail, letting go of one another, and running straight toward the light coming from the house. The boys ran inside the house and closed and dead-bolt locked the back door. Douglas Van der Diamond was looking away from the other boys, hastily wiping away his tears. What wuzzit? he whimpered.

         I didn’t see anything, said Benjamin Silverstein.

         Me neither, said Travis Cheng, suddenly holding his hand up to his mouth, eyes bugged-out at his friend. What’s that on your sleeve?!

         Douglas Van der Diamond’s white sleeve was smeared with fleshy pink smears. He screamed again and in a panic, tore his sweatshirt off and threw it away from himself. The sweatshirt landed on the couch.

         Hey, said Benjamin Silverstein, Get that off the couch. It’ll stain.

         What wuzzit!? Douglas Van der Diamond shouted.

         Things progressed no further, having no answers to their desperate queries forthcoming. Soon, Benjamin Silverstein offered the others some cold bacon from a Zip-Lock bag in the fridge and apples. Travis Cheng ate reluctantly, while Douglas Van der Diamond called his mother outside the house, asking if she would come pick him up. She refused. He then called Stuart Evans’ phone, but no one answered. The voice mailbox was not set up so he didn’t leave a message.

         The night was a snail at the track. No one could agree on what to watch on the TV, so they just ended up watching COPS. Their sleeping bags were laid out on the living room and Douglas Van der Diamond was the last one left awake, ignoring the TV, so he turned it off and tried to close his eyes. Sparks of light pulsed behind his eyelids and little floaty things did flips. The other boys were drooling and splayed out on the couch and the recliner. The sound of nothing bothered Douglas Van der Diamond much more than usual and his mind rang a bell against sleep. The silence broke at the window pane, a discreet rubbing on the glass – ert. Douglas Van der Diamond lay perfectly motionless, holding his breath to hear, sweating. Then again, against the window something wet rubbed: errt. He sat up and walked to the window, which was covered by blackout curtains. He pushed the curtain aside, screamed, and ran from the room.

         The other boys awoke and got up, rubbing their eyes and questioning to no avail. By now, there was a dull, arrhythmic thud on the window. While Travis Cheng pulled back the blackout curtains, Benjamin Silverstein turned on the light. The window had pink sluggy-streaks in circles. Then, Stuart Evans’ eyeball bashed through the glass, sending long shards of glass into the room, cutting itself to squirting, spraying Travis Cheng with pink goo. The boys ran from the room and from the house at a hectic pace, not having any idea where they might be headed, just sprinting into the darkness of the road, where they found Douglas Van der Diamond crying in the child-sized A-frame bus-stop. The boys gathered together, therein, and Travis Cheng called his father on his cellphone.

         Dad?! he sobbed. There’s an eye trying to get us.

         His father spoke into his ear for a long time, and by the time he’d finished, Stuart Evans’ eyeball had caught up with them, hoping to continue their game of chase. He had them cornered now, but as the other boys reeled back in terror, Stuart Evans’ eyeball did not know what to do with them, so it bobbed up and down, dangling its sinews and whatnot, trying to egg-them-on to chasing him. The eyeball bounded away into the darkness, but was not followed by the other boys.

         Dad! Travis Cheng begged, Please, just come get me! Please! We’re out in Doug’s bus stop and there’s something really really weird going on.

         His father relented and came to pick the boys up in his truck. But by the time he got there, the boys were gone. So, he shone his flashlight inside the bus stop, finding only pink slime dripping from the old plywood structure. He tracked Travis’ cellphone to a place in the woods where three fallen trees converged to make a triangle. There were three pairs of pajamas – one being his son’s – hanging from the tree trunks, facing one another. He cried out, Travis! Doug! Stuart! Travis! Ben! but his voice returned unanswered. He tried his phone, but the signal was inexplicably gone: No Service. Ben! Travis! he shouted in the dark. Then a swarm of eyeballs came all at once and rubbed, cold and wet, against his skin and the man screamed out as lights turned on overhead, illuminating the forest with unnatural light, the vast horde of swarming eyeballs swirling around him like harmless hornets. Travis Cheng’s father cried out with dread as his eyes bugged out of his skull, trying to escape him, splitting his tear-ducts and watering pink. He fell to the ground to die, his insides liquefying and escaping from every hole, his clothes, taken up by the swarm and hung with the boys’ garments in the trees. The lights turned off again and the trees whispered in the breeze.