It was early morning. Jimmy sped through the neighborhood on his new ten-gear bike, enjoying the sensation of the wind against his hair. He was seventeen, and now, he hated his nickname. It makes me sound like I'm five, he thought as he made a sharp turn onto Gordon Street. He changed gears as he sped up the hill, made it to the top, and changed gears again as he made his way down. The neighborhood was a good one: Quiet, peaceful, and filled with fun people. Personally, he never felt this way. It was way too boring, and not enough excitement. Jimmy was continually trying to fix this, which resulted in him getting a bad reputation and quite a few warnings from the police. T.P. attacks, eggings, drag racing, and broken windows were often reported, but Jimmy was never caught all the time. Just for fun, he decided to go off-road biking through people's yards.
Jimmy didn't know how bad of a mistake that was.
He sped through beautiful front yards, and made damn sure to tear up as much grass as humanly possible, and gardens were always a bonus. Unfortunately for Jimmy, he happened to cut over to people's backyards and ran over Mr. Holland's vegetable garden, which just so happened to be Holland's main concern of every waking hour. What was even more unfortunate for Jimmy was that Mr. Holland happened to be sitting on his back porch...
...cleaning his shotgun.
Once he saw Jimmy speed through the garden, squishing the squashes, pummeling the pumpkins, and terminating the tomatoes, a look of disbelief crossed his face. Then it was depression. And finally, it was sheer, homicidal anger. He bolted his muscular form out of the seat, and screamed at Jimmy.
"YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THAT! YOU'RE A GODDAMN DEAD MAN!"
Jimmy laughed at loud, totally oblivious to the mechanism of total annihilation Mr. Holland was wielding. Total fury took control over him, and he aimed the gun.
Jimmy heard a loud report and a large explosion going off next to him. The bullet had nearly blasted the Brock family's swing set completely away.
"HOLY SHIT!" were the only words Jimmy could muster as he pedaled as fast as he could. Tears were running down his face, but even with his blurry vision, he could see Holland leap off of his porch and give chase, with a pocketful of shells. He screamed for help and pedaled faster. Holland was what was known as a "man's man." He was very strong, and his speed was unbelievable. But even he was no match for the power of a ten-gear bike with a frightened teenager behind the handles. Jimmy turned around to see if Holland was still chasing him, and didn't even see the house in front of him.
Jimmy saw it at the last second, and attempted to swerve to avoid collision. However, he made too sharp of a turn, the bike fell on its side, and the whole thing crashed through a basement window. It was a five-foot fall, and Jimmy luckily managed to land on his side on the concrete floor. Had he landed on his back, he would have probably broken his spine. The wanted teen groggily stood up and started looking for someplace to hide. Holland had obviously seen the ordeal with the window, and it wouldn't be long before death came knocking on Jimmy King's door. Jimmy looked around frantically, and his eyes came to rest on a large hole in the middle of one wall. It was about six feet tall and three feet across, with lots of room inside.
Without thinking, Jimmy ran inside of it.
The darkness surrounded him like a blanket that had been kept in the freezer for a century, and Jimmy could have sworn he felt something brush against his arm. He heard Holland step up next to the broken window, and Jimmy felt fear clutch his heart...
...and a claw clutch his ankle.
He yelped in surprise and flipped onto his stomach and felt himself being dragged away. He couldn't see whatever was holding him, but he could feel its presence and could have sworn he heard it chuckle. He started screaming, and saw Mr. Holland standing in the doorway of the cavern. He aimed, fired, and hit whatever had grabbed him. The claw retreated, and Jimmy scrambled to his feet. He ran out of the cave and tried to climb out the window.
"Wait!" Holland shouted at him and grabbed him by the leg.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to destroy your garden! I won't bother you ever again!" Jimmy sobbed.
"I'm not going to kill you! I just want to tell you something. I don't want you telling everyone that something tried to pull you into that hole in the wall. You see that skeleton back there?"
Holland pointed, and Jimmy followed his finger to a bloody skeleton leaning against one of the walls of the basement.
"Oh my God...is that...?"
"Mr. Campbell. I'm going to report this to the police, but I don't want you screaming about the whole situation with whatever that...thing was in that hole. After all, I just saved your life. I'll forget about the garden if you forget about...well, you know."
Jimmy nodded his head. He wasn't even lying this time. He was genuinely thankful toward Mr. Holland for helping him escape. Jimmy grabbed his bike, hoisted it out the window, walked it to the street, and rode off, never to concern himself with the Mr. Holland or the Campbell residence for a long, long time.
Christopher Holland climbed out of the window, watched the little punk ride off, and was thankful for the promise the teen had made. After all, he didn't want to reveal that when he shot the creature, he was aiming for the kid.