Jackalope M. Cummins
R
Tim Caston
UDY SNUCK OUT OF HIS ROOM AT 3 AM. Tucked into his backpack was a flashlight, his phone, some Rice Krispies, and a bottle of Gatorade. Under his covers was a vaguely childshaped lump, just in case he wasn’t back before his parents got up. The window, his co-conspirator, barely hissed a whisper as he slid it up, then popped out its screen. With his footsteps hushed by the long grass outside his window, nature aided the boy’s escape as he slinked into the treeline. Rudy had been playing in these woods for as long as he could remember. In his youth, it’d been a treasure trove for him and his friends. Every bush promised hidden boogeymen or buried treasure, and every tree dared them to climb to it’s highest branches. They had started three separate tree forts and finished none. As he got older, though, Rudy spent less time chasing dragons and more time throwing rocks at cans. Recently it seemed more like he went there out of habit than anything else. The woods at night were unfamiliar though. It was noisy, not quite like he’d expected. Crickets screamed invisibly from the grass. Somehow Rudy felt better this way. Things would be a lot scarier if everything was silent, and if he was scared he wouldn’t be able to do what he had to. Jackson deserved that fat lip. His uncle wasn’t a liar. Rudy would prove it. He stumbled around in the dark. Saving his battery was his number one priority, but he suddenly got spooked by something moving in front of him. At least, he thought it was moving. His flashlight’s gleam revealed only an old tree stump. It was weird how the shadows swam around him. Shutting it off again the woods seemed even darker and quieter, and only the thought of feeling like a fool
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