Eric Donahue:

To nobody's surprise, Freddy is screeching in the hallway. And of course it is right outside my door, because there's no other place in this two-storey house, with six other rooms, where he'd rather have a spontaneous urge to cry out in a loud, piercing sound for absolutely no reason at all.

Man, I hate that kid more than my vegetables.

With a frustrated groan, I push away my school workbooks and open the door.

"What's up, man?" I say to Freddy, who is rolling on the carpeted floor, his knees hugging his chest.

Outside, it's utterly dark, save for the glow of the streetlights and the faint wash of light from the house next door. It has to be no less than four in the morning.

"You!" he yells, pushing himself off the floor in a swift, effortless motion. "You ate my chips, didn't you?"

Sighing, I rub my right temple. "Fred, it is four a.m. You shouldn't even be out of bed at this hour."

"Aha!" he hollers, his index finger rising in mock accusation. "I knew you ate them. You would hate it when Mama finds out about this."

"Auntie Caroline would hate it even more if she were to find out that you were up at four. Did you get no sleep at all?"

"You know how hard it is to find the barbeque flavor. It is never available in stores."

"God's sake, Fred. Do you even care what time it is? Auntie Caro-"

Before I can even complete my sentence, Freddy's already at me, knocking me to the floor with a single punch in the gut. Not having recovered from the first blow, I let out a wail, only to be met with a fist.

"I did not eat your chips!" My voice comes out constrained, and I struggle for breath as Freddy grabs my hair and pulls a handful of them out. The dark strands flutter to the ground, escaping through the spaces in his closed fist.

Freddy probably did not hear that but there's also a thick chance he does not care, so I repeat my statement, summoning all my energy to be audible this time.

From the incoming fist approaching my nose at an alarmingly fast rate, I am guessing he does not care. When Freddy wants to punch, he punches.

Turning my head sideways, I attempt to avoid his blow. His fist collides with floor, the ragged carpet tearing at his skin. He lets out a cry loud enough to wake up everybody in a two mile radius.

From upstairs I hear scrambling, pushing, scrapping. Within a few seconds, I am met with the sight of a very disgruntled Auntie Caroline standing at the foot of the hallway. Most of her hair has escaped the grip of her ponytail, the stray stands sticking out all over her head. She looks terrifying—like she's been electrocuted. Her red eyes zero in on me, slipping past Freddy's raised fist, past the pile of my hair on the carpet, past the purple bruise on my cheek.

She is looking directly into my eyes, my wavering gaze locking with her stern look.

I gulp.

Very slowly, Freddy gets off me, loosening his grip on my shirt. He is careful enough to make sure his feet dig deep into my stomach and I muffle the scream that is threatening to escape my mouth by biting hard on my bottom lip. A dense, hot fluid oozes out, sliding down my chin towards my neck and camouflaging itself in the scarlet red carpet beneath me.

"Mama, it is Eric's fault. He came to my room dressed up as the boggie man and scared me."

To my lack of utter shock, Auntie Caroline envelopes her son into an embrace so tight, I am pretty sure she crushed a few ribs and bruised some lung tissues. My life may not be at its best at the moment, but boy, I really wouldn't want to trade places with Freddy right now.

"But now you're safe, aren't you, my boy?" Auntie Caroline says, messing up Freddy's curls and placing a wet, sloppy kiss on his oversized forehead.

I know what you are thinking--oversized foreheads mean smart kids, right? But I assure you, the fact that Freddy has a large forehead has nothing to do with the size of his cerebrum. Trust me, it is only a mistake, a major malfunction when he was being created. The amount of brain he has in there is smaller than the size of my dinner's portion today, which is saying something since I didn't get any dinner at all.

Once Auntie Caroline and Freddy are done with their icky, eye-roll-inducing display of affection, Freddy departs to go to his room, keenly stopping to stick his tongue out at me from behind his mother's back.

So she believed him.

Auntie Caroline believed the boggie man story, despite the evident lack of attire for me to dress up as one.

She inhales and steps forwards. Towards me.

Reflexively, my eyes shut and I cage myself in my arms.

I hear one more step.

Another.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

The sound seems to be fading. Is she, by some miracle, walking more gently?

Tap, Tap, Tap.

Fainter this time. I open my eyes.

Standing in the previously empty hallway are my parents, their eyes not meeting mine, their gazes trained on the floor. Auntie Caroline is walking away from me, towards them; her chin up, her eyes livid, her hair wild.

Are they also wishing the earth beneath their feet would open up and swallow them whole?

She is yelling now.

Screaming, shouting.

She also called me a bad word. I know it is bad because Derrick from our class said it once, and Mrs. Keen was quick to give him detention. Later, I went to the library and looked up what it means.

It is a very, very bad word.

When she's done taking out all her rage on my parents, she furiously stomps away, bumping her shoulder with my mom's like they do on TV when they're arguing.

My parents kneel down beside me. Dad offers his hand and I lock mine with his to propel myself upwards. Mom picks up my hair from the floor and hugs them to her bosom, her chest heaving up and down with sobs.

They both smile at me and I smile back.

Then, I make my way towards my room, put away my books, shut the lights and go to bed.

The next morning when I go to wake Freddy up for school, my gaze lands on the dustbin in his room. There, the wrapper of the barbeque chips he accused me of eating lies crumpled and crushed. I can feel the weight of Freddy's attention on me, his line of sight directed to where I am looking.

I avert my eyes.

At the breakfast table, Auntie Caroline sits with her back so straight you'd think she had oak wood for a spine. My parents set the breakfast with little talking, so quietly and delicately, you don't even feel their presence.

Freddy acts as if nothing happened last night, or today in his room.

I follow suit.

*****
Author's note: Hi, guys! Here's the next chapter, as promised. I am excited to know what you think of Eric because he is like my little child.

Thanks to anybody who is reading this. Seeing you all coming back from the previous chapter totally brightens my day. If any of you are writers here, don't hesitate in commenting the name of your stories below. I'd love to give them a go! And I guess that is about it. See you guys on Friday!

-RZ.