LOLD versions of Lakewood Memorial and Ashton Memorial going away!

Hey guys. Just wanted to let you know that the Library Of The Living Dead prints of Lakewood Memorial and Ashton Memorial will be going away soon. How soon? I really don't know but I know the plug has been pulled and it's just a matter of time until Amazon updates stuff on their end. So if you want a copy of the original prints with the original artwork, get them now!

Lakewood Memorial here.

Ashton Memorial here.

Sixteen

Angie heard movement coming from the utility closet. She stepped away from the nurse's desk and ran over.

Park was coming down the ladder, a rifle slung over one shoulder.

"My god," she said. "I can't believe that honestly worked."

Park snorted. "Thanks a lot." He stepped away from the ladder.

Kristen was kneeling by Mr. Paulson's wheelchair, helping Freeda check the oxygen tank. She stood up and walked over to the closet. "Sam? Where's Sam? We heard a lot of noise."

Sam appeared on the ladder. "I bet you did. That was genius-boy smashing the outside ladder. We aren't getting out that way now." He dropped to the bottom of the closet and adjusted his glasses.

"We weren't getting out that way before, anyway," said Park. He pulled a box of ammo from his pocket and started loading the rifle.

"Well, it's nice to have options," said Sam. He nodded to Kristen, who smiled and walked back over to Mr. Paulson.

"Okay," said Angie, checking her cell phone for any missed calls. There were none. "Let's get ready to move." She nodded to Freeda, who nodded back. Dear God, let my kids be okay.

Sam was frowning about something. "Give me a second," he said, stepping into the hallway. "Gotta get this thing loaded."

* * *

Sam stepped into the hallway and fumbled with his gun. Dammit, Kristen hadn't even touched him. He'd nearly died out there, and she hadn't even touched him.

Her dad. Always her dad. She barely looked at Sam anymore.

Of course he'd said okay when the old man needed to move in. How could he not? But the old man took so much damned time and attention. Sam was forty-five and childless. They'd never have children at this rate. Hell, the old man was their child. A vulgar, hateful child.

Hot tears stung his eyes and he took off his glasses to rub them. No time for this. No time for crying or for being a whiny little bitch about life. Time to man up.

He put the glasses back on and felt around in his pocket for the box of ammo.

Moaning came from the nearest patient room.

Panic shot up Sam's back. How'd those things get inside? How many of them were there?

Then he realized. It was just Park's friend.

He breathed out and started to the others for help. Then he cursed himself.

Fuck, does the pussy need help checking on some sick asshole? Dammit, Shuab, be a man!

He sighed and stepped into the patient room.

The sick guy was lying on the bed, moving his head from side to side. The guy's eyes were cloudy and his mouth chewed slowly at nothing.

"Hey, Moe? It is Moe, right? Are you okay?"

Moe said nothing. He moved his head around and moaned. He hadn't blinked since Sam had entered.

"Looks like we'll be getting out of here soon, thanks to your buddy's guns," Sam continued.

Moe said nothing.

"Well, fuck you then. What do I look like, a nurse?"

Sam turned to leave. Moe let out a long groan.

Sam turned back. "Shit, that sounded bad. You okay?" He stepped over to look down at Moe.

His glasses slipped down his nose. Sam cursed and took them off. "Hate these things."

Moe sat up and bit.

Moe's teeth closed on Sam's cheek and eye. Skin gave way and peeled back. Sam's eye was punctured. Blood and something thicker ran down Sam's cheek as his body shook involuntarily. Hot pain shot through Sam's head and for a moment he was too shocked to scream. Moe's head slid down to Sam's throat and bit. Sam felt a chunk of his neck pull free. He tried to scream then and couldn't. His voice box was gone. Moe moaned and chewed.

Sam's knees buckled and he dropped. Blood flowed fast. He tried crawling for the door. He was getting weak fast. Moe dropped off the bed onto Sam's back. Sam felt Moe biting into the back of his head. Scalp and hair tore away.

Oh shit, Kristen. Kristen. I'm sorry.

He felt dizzy. Far away from the sounds of Moe chewing.

Then he was dead.

* * *

Angie spun away from Freeda as a loud "thump" came from the hallway. Everyone stopped what they were doing.

"Shit," she said. "What was that?"

"Dunno," said Park as he finished loading the rifle. He slung the gun over his shoulder. "Let's see."

Angie and Park rushed into the hallway, then turned to enter Moe's room. Angie gasped when she saw.

Moe straddled Sam's body, chewing at an open wound in the back of Sam's head. Sam's head rocked from side to side in rhythm with Moe's bites.

"Oh god," said Angie.

"Oh dammit, Moe," said Park.

Mr. Paulson's voice came from the nurse's station. "What the fuck is it now?"

Park took the rifle from his shoulder. Moe looked up at Park. He moaned, a hunk of Sam's flesh falling from his mouth.

Angie turned to Park. "Listen to me, Parker. He's not your friend anymore and..."

Park fired right through Moe's brain. Moe fell backward, legs splayed, and slumped against the side of the bed. His head fell to one side. He was still.

"Yeah," said Park, lowering the rifle. "No shit." Park sniffed and rubbed his eyes.

"Sam!" shrieked Kristen from behind them. She pushed past and rushed to Sam's body. "Oh god, god no! No!" She knelt and cradled his head. Blood and muck ran down her lap. "Honey! No!"

Angie swallowed. "I'm so sorry..."

"The hell you are!" Kristen yelled. "Sam was right! This is all your fault! You led us back here!"

"Listen lady," said Park, leveling the rifle at Sam. "You're going to have to move."

Kristen gasped and pulled Sam's body closer. "You keep away from him!"

"What the hell are you doing in there?" yelled Mr. Paulson from the nurse's station.

Freeda ran back and saw. "Oh shit."

Park sighed and lowered the gun. "What the fuck lady? He's already dead."

Kristen sobbed and clutched Sam's body. "You are NOT going to shoot him!"

Angie turned to Park. "Listen. It looks like the head's already injured, so maybe..."

Park shook his head. "Not deep enough. We have to be sure."

Angie turned back. Kristen was sobbing and rocking Sam's body back and forth. "Listen, Kristen..."

"Shut up!" Kristen shrieked.

"I'm all alone out here, dammit!" yelled Mr. Paulson from the nurse's station.

Kristen sobbed.

Angie spoke as softly as she could. "Kristen, we have to be sure. You saw what happened to Moe. If we aren't sure, he'll get back up and he won't be your husband." She felt like a fraud. If her kids were dead, she'd be done. Would she listen to anyone trying to give her perspective?

Please God, please, don't let my kids be dead.

Kristen looked down and sobbed.

"Will some-fucking-one please come help the crippled fucking old man!" yelled Mr. Paulson.

Kristen took a deep, ragged breath and nodded. "Okay. But let me do it."

Park frowned, lowering the rifle further. "You know how to use this?"

Kristen nodded and wiped her eyes. "I know enough."

Angie nodded and took the gun from Park. "Okay then. Here." She handed the rifle to Kristen. Kristen's hands shook as she took it.

"Thank you," said Kristen.

"We'll give you a moment," said Angie, turning back toward the door. Park was blocking the way.

He frowned at her. "You sure about this?"

Angie nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

Angie, Park and Freeda moved slowly back out to the nurse's station. Mr. Paulson was complaining and yelling for his daughter, but Angie couldn't focus on the words. They all waited nearly ten minutes.

A shot came from the other room. And the sound of Kristen sobbing.

Fifteen

"Dalton!" came Maylee's voice from the darkness.

No wait, not darkness, Dalton realized. His eyes were just shut. And his chin really hurt.

He opened his eyes. He was on his back in the basement, looking up at the hole he had made. He blinked at the blurry light from the hole. A shape was looking down at him. He blinked again and saw it was Maylee. He groaned and sat up.

"Shit," said Maylee. "Are you okay?"

"What happened?" he asked.

"You fell. And you've been like that for like ten minutes. I thought you were dead."

Brooke's head appeared next to the hole. "Is he awake?"

Dalton nodded up at them.

Brooke sighed. "Thank god. Now get back up here before you get really hurt. This was a terrible idea."

Dalton shook his head and climbed to his feet. "No way. This is working."

"Maybe she's right," said Maylee.

"No!" said Dalton, glaring up at her. "Let me do this! I can do this. And we'll get to talk to Mom because I did it."

He stepped away from the light of the hole, looking for another light. The unfinished basement was cluttered and dusty, with abandoned tools lying on the floor where the landlord had left them. Dalton knelt and found a wrench, then a rusty hammer, then a flashlight.

He clicked the flashlight on and a dim, dingy light came from it. Like the battery was weak. Have to hurry, he thought. Battery won't last long.

"Dalton!" came Maylee's voice.

Dalton stepped back into the light. "I found a flashlight!"

"Great," said Maylee. "You can use it to blind the dead people. Just get up here."

"Dammit, Maylee. Let me do this."

Maylee frowned down at him. Brooke appeared back in the hole. Maylee pushed her away. "Okay. Go. But be careful."

Dalton nodded, clicked on the flashlight, and stepped away from the light. He decided to check outside first.

Using the dim light in his hand, he slowly made his way to the door. The door had a small window with a curtain. He pulled the curtain back and peeked out. He couldn't see anything, so he stepped back and looked at the door itself. It was locked, just like he'd expected. He put an ear to the door and listened. Nothing. Or at least, nothing loud.

Then again, he realized, how loud would dead people be?

He grabbed the deadbolt and turned. The lock clicked open. Dalton stopped to listen. Again, nothing.

He drew in a breath and pushed the door slowly open.

The grass of his backyard greeted him. Dark and silent. The moonlight he'd seen before was gone. Cloudy, Dalton thought. Just great.

He stuck his head out to look around. Just in time to see a corpse stumble around the corner.

Crap! He snapped off the flashlight and ducked back inside, shutting the door as silently as he could. He heard the thing drawing near. He'd gotten a good look at it. It was the man they'd seen out the window earlier. The one with his head bent all the way back. So maybe it hadn't seen Dalton. Had it?

The shape of the corpse appeared in the door's window. It moaned, muffled by the wood of the door. It stopped just outside the window.

Crap. It saw me. Or it can smell me.

And he hadn't gotten a ladder ready to climb back up the hole. Was there even a ladder down here? How could he be so stupid?

He swallowed, his heart pounding, and stared at the shape in the window.

With a groan, the shape shuffled out of view.

Dalton breathed out. It hadn't noticed him.

He clicked the flashlight back on and scanned the basement for a ladder. He found one, rusting in a corner. He grabbed it and dragged it to the hole. It was the kind that opened to stand on its own, which was a relief. He opened it and placed it under the hole. He looked up at Maylee.

"Okay. All clear," he said. "You guys start banging in about five minutes."

Maylee nodded and disappeared from view.

Dalton drew himself up and turned to head for the door.

Fourteen

Park pushed open the door to the roof and cursed under his breath. Moe had looked bad. Real bad. He paused on the ladder, smelling the night air and listening. He heard groaning and smelled rot, but nothing that seemed close by. That was good. If the corpses could climb up onto roofs, Park and the others would be extra fucked.

"See anything?" said Sam from behind him on the ladder.

"The sky," said Park, then climbed the rest of the way up onto the roof.

Up here, Park could smell the rotting corpses and hear their groaning even more. It sounded like the fuckers were everywhere.

He stepped away from the opening and Sam climbed up after him.

"Damn," he said, rubbing his arms in the cold air. "Fucking stinks up here."

"Aren't you just full of useful information?" said Park. He turned around, scanning all corners of the roof, trying to get his bearings. Finally he stopped and pointed. "The most light seems to be coming from that way, so I'm betting that's the parking lot."

Park strode that direction, not bothering to check if Sam was following him.

Damn it, Moe had looked bad.

They reached the edge of the roof and looked down. It was indeed the parking lot. A few corpses were wandering around, but it looked like most of them had already crowded their way into the hospital.

"Damn," said Sam as he looked down. "Seems high from up here. Doesn't this place only have the one floor?"

"Yeah," said Park. "There's probably ductwork and crap between the ceiling and the roof, too, though. Adds several feet. Plus, you're a pussy."

"Fuck you."

Park looked to his left and saw the rounded top of a metal ladder bolted into the roof. "That would be the ladder," he said.

He went to the ladder and looked over the side. The ladder ran straight down to the pavement of the parking lot. He looked around and saw his truck, parked over by the emergency room. Even with the ladder depositing them right onto the parking lot, it would still be quite a run. The few corpses wandering around would have plenty of time to notice and come after them.

Moe had barely been able to talk. His voice had sounded like he was choking.

"Okay," said Park, pointing. "There's the truck. We'll have to move fast."

"Fuck," said Sam, looking from the bottom of the ladder to the truck. "You would have to park so far away."

"Yeah, I should have considered having to climb down from the roof to avoid walking corpses. Now shut the fuck up and let's go."

Park climbed onto the ladder first, swinging around to face Sam and putting his feet on the topmost rung.

"Okay," he started, then stopped when the lights on the roof and in the parking lot flickered.

"Shit," said Sam, looking around. "Be all we'd need to have the fucking power go out."

Park grunted and nodded.

And down they went. Slowly, hand over hand, Park descended the ladder. Sam was several rungs above him. Park could smell rotting flesh and blood, but the moans were still relatively far away. So far, so good. As long as the light held...

And then the lights went out. All around Park went black. Seriously black. No nearby lights worked and the sky was overcast, obscuring moon and stars.

"Shit!" said Sam from above. "Can't see a fucking thing!"

"Damn it!" Park said, stopping his climbing. "Just stop up there. Hopefully it'll come back."

"How far did we get?"

"Not sure. Close, I think."

"Shit. Maybe we should jump for it."

Park's hands were slippery with sweat. "Don't be a fucking idiot. If you sprain your ankle or some shit, I ain't stopping for you."

"Let's go back up."

"Dammit, just stay where you are... wait, do you smell that?"

"What?" said Sam. "Just the same stink of those rotting fuckers."

"Yeah, but it's stronger..."

The lights flickered back on just as Park was looking down. A corpse closed its hand on Park's foot and pulled him off the ladder.

Park hit the pavement stomach first. It hurt and the air rushed from his lungs, but there was no time to worry about it. The corpse was behind him, moaning and squeezing his leg. Soon it would be biting.

Park rolled over as best he could and kicked at the corpse. It was a man, bloated and slimy. He wore a blue button-up shirt that was torn and rotted. Fresh dirt clung to his body and clothes in thick clumps. This one's been buried a while, Park thought.

He took a quick glance up and saw Sam still clinging to the ladder, looking down with wide eyes. Useless. Park kicked at the bloated man with his free leg. The bloated man's head whipped back with a cracking noise and he let go. Park pulled his leg away and stood. The bloated man squirmed on the pavement, his head lolling around loosely. Park kicked again, hard. The man's skull caved on one side and he was still.

Sam was climbing down the ladder behind him. "Thanks for all the help," said Park, turning to look at him.

Sam blinked and turned red. "You know damned good and well that happened too fast to do anything..."

"Whatever," said Park. "Just don't shoot yourself from shaking so bad when you get a gun."

Park turned and headed for his truck. Why was he even bothering? He'd been planning on killing himself earlier today, why hadn't he just let the bloated thing do it?

Damn it, Moe had looked bad.

"You know what?" said Sam from behind him. "I'm getting really sick of your bullshit."

Park stopped and turned. Sam stopped and looked at him. "You really want to do this now?" said Park. "You want to have this discussion right fucking now?"

And a corpse came out from behind a car and grabbed Sam from behind. It was a young girl in a cheerleader outfit. One of the two Park had seen earlier.

"Shit!" yelled Sam. The cheerleader moved her mouth to Sam's neck. Park stepped over and punched the girl in the forehead. She stopped, blinked and hissed at him

Sam pulled away and stepped back. "Damn it! I can't take this disgusting shit."

"Goddammit, get something heavy!" yelled Park.

Sam glared at him, then rushed off. From the corner of his eye, Park could see Sam rooting around in the back of a nearby pickup. Park watched the girl. She moaned and reached for him, but slowly enough that Park could keep clear of her. Finally, Sam rushed back over with a crowbar.

"Here," Sam said, handing it to Park.

Park glanced over at Sam. "Really? You're giving it to me? She's right there. You could do it."

"I can't handle this disgusting shit!"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," said Park. He took the crowbar and slammed it down on the cheerleader's head. She shook from the force. Her arms twitched. Then she collapsed to the ground, still.

"Go team," said Park.

He turned to look at Sam. The big man was adjusting his glasses and staring at the collapsed cheerleader. "Here," said Park, handing him the crowbar. "This is for cheerleaders. Now let's go."

They walked the rest of the way to Park's truck in silence. It sat where Park had left it, crooked in a handicapped spot in front of the emergency room doors.

"Nice parking," said Sam from behind him. Park fished out his keys and unlocked the door. The door creaked as he pulled it open. Park reached inside and found the two hunting rifles he and Moe had been using.

Moe had barely been able to speak when Park had last seen him, lying on the hospital bed in that empty room.

Moe's lips had been dry and his voice hoarse. "I'm not going to make it, Park."

"Sure you will," Park had said, knowing full well it was bullshit but not knowing what else to say. Not knowing what else to think.

"You know better than that," Moe had said. "Listen, Park. If you get a chance to get out of here, take it. Don't die because of me. Just go."

In the parking lot, Park turned and handed Sam a gun. "Here. You can use this on cheerleaders too." He set the other gun down in the passenger seat, then leaned over to open the glove compartment. He pulled out a box of ammo and straightened back up.

He turned and handed the box to Sam. Sam slung the rifle over one shoulder and took the box.

"You might want to put the ammo in your pocket," said Park.

"Why?"

"So you don't drop it."

"Why would I drop it?

"Because I'm about to punch you in the face." And Park did. As hard as he could.

Sam staggered back, surprised. Park took the moment to climb into the truck and shut the door. Just go.

"What the fuck?" Sam sputtered from outside.

"Best of luck," said Park, starting the engine. He'd take a short drive home, then off himself on his own terms. He was done. He'd been done all day, he'd just been delayed.

Park put the truck in reverse and backed out of the spot. Surprised I didn't get a ticket, he thought, smirking to himself. He pulled away, driving for the road.

In the rearview mirror, Sam was screaming something at him. Park watched Sam's face turn red. Finally Sam gave up and ran back for the ladder.

"Best of luck," Park repeated to the empty truck.

Park reached the road and stopped out of habit, looking for oncoming traffic before he turned. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw Sam reach the ladder. He was climbing. Two corpses had followed him and were grabbing at his legs. A third was approaching. Sam was struggling.

Park sighed at the mirror. "Dumb ass." Then he looked at the road again. It was clear. He could turn.

But he didn't. He looked at the mirror instead. The corpses were still grabbing at Sam. Sam was still on the ladder but probably wouldn't be for long.

Park looked back at the road.

Then at the mirror.

"Shit goddammit hell," said Park, and threw the truck in reverse.

He spun around in the parking lot and sped for the ladder. The truck groaned and clattered as it hit bumps and potholes, but Park didn't slow down. Sam saw the truck coming and started climbing as fast as he could. Park chuckled, sounding and feeling a little crazy. Not really knowing why, he reached down and fastened his seat belt.

"Gotta buckle up," he said to himself.

Then he slammed the truck into the bottom of the ladder. The corpses went splat underneath him. One flew off to one side, groaning as its legs came free from its torso.

The seat belt dug into Park's shoulder as the force of the crash flung him forward. The engine sputtered and hissed. Park eased himself back and shut off the ignition.

"You goddamn crazy fucking trailer trash idiot!" came Sam's screams from above him, up on the ladder. "What in the holy name of fuck is wrong with you?"

"Just saving your ass," said Park, unhooking the seat belt and reaching for the rifle next to him. "Fuck knows why, but that's what I'm doing."

Corpses were already closing in on the truck. They must be coming from inside, Park thought. All this noise must be bringing them out.

The ladder creaked above him. "Dammit!" yelled Sam. "You knocked the ladder loose!"

Park looked out the windows to each side. Two or three corpses were clawing at the glass. I could shoot them, he thought as he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a second box of ammo. He stuck the ammo in his pocket. But no point in wasting ammo.

He slid down in the seat and kicked at the windshield. With a few kicks the glass splintered and came free.

The ladder creaked again. "Shit!" said Sam.

"Just hurry and get up the fucking thing!" yelled Park. He climbed out the window and onto the hood. Corpses reached for him but the hood was too wide.

"Where the fuck were you going?" yelled Sam above him, climbing.

"A party," said Park. "With ice cream and a fucking clown. Just get the fuck up there!" He walked across the hood to the ladder and took hold. It gave a little too much. It was loose.

He looked up. Sam was halfway back to the roof. Park slung the rifle over his shoulder and started climbing.

From below him, Park heard his engine hiss and sputter, even though he'd turned it off. He doubted it'd be running again any time soon. Corpses groaned down there, too. Park didn't look.

The ladder swayed as he climbed. He got several rungs up before realizing Sam had stopped.

"What the hell are you doing?" said Park.

"We're gonna have to slow down," said Sam. "This thing's gonna give any second."

"Fuck it is. Fucker's made of steel or some shit. Just go!"

Sam grumbled and resumed climbing.

Park swore under his breath and followed.

The ladder gave a loud groan and separated from the roof.

"Shit!" yelled Sam as the ladder leaned backward. The corpses down below moaned as if waiting for the meals to drop.

Park swung around on the ladder, grabbing hold of the back. He leaned back toward the building as hard as he could. The ladder stopped, suspending them both in midair. "Do what I'm doing, dickless!" he yelled.

Sam did, climbing to the back of the ladder and leaning toward the wall. The ladder creaked and fell back the other way. Park's back slammed into the hospital wall.

"Ow!" yelled Sam.

The corpses below moaned.

"Now go!" said Park. "I'll hold it!"

Sam squirmed out from behind the ladder and climbed back onto the front. He climbed up as fast as he could until he reached the roof. Park saw him jump onto the roof, then turn to grab hold of the ladder's rounded top.

"Come on!" yelled Sam.

"I'm touched, Shuab," said Park to himself as he spun to the other side of the ladder and climbed. He made it to the top and hopped off next to Sam.

Sam let go and the ladder fell away from the building. With a loud creaking groan, the ladder dropped onto Park's truck. "Damn it, you broke the fucking ladder."

"Don't need the ladder anymore," said Park, smirking. "We have these." He patted the rifle on his shoulder.

Thirteen

“Are you sure about this?” said Maylee, peering through the hole in the floor. “I can't see jack or squat down there.”

“I'll be fine,” said Dalton, standing impatiently next to her. “I'll be able to find my way to the door.”

“And then you run to a neighbor's,” said Brooke, next to the sink.

“Are you crazy?” said Dalton, looking at Brooke. “You saw it out there. The neighbor's won't be any safer.”

“I just don't like this,” Brooke said.

“Me either,” said Maylee. “But he's the only one who would even sort of fit.”

“And there's an old ladder down there,” said Dalton. “I'll get the phone, sneak back up here, then we can call Mom.”

“And the cops,” said Brooke.

“Shit, the army,” said Maylee.

Brooke sighed. “Okay. We'll bang on the door and keep them all distracted. You get into the kitchen, get the phone, then get back up here.”

Dalton nodded and smiled.

“What're you so happy about?” said Maylee.

“You guys are doing my idea.”

“Whoopie-doo,” said Maylee, smirking. “Get in the hole.”

Dalton stepped over to the hole grinning.

A woman outside the door groaned, loud and gurgling on some kind of fluid. Blood, Maylee figured. Maybe bile. It sent a cold spasm up Maylee's back.

Both she and Dalton stopped smiling.

“Let's go,” said Brooke. “And please, be careful.”

Dalton sat next to the hole and put both legs down it.

The scratching outside the door grew louder. Maylee looked at the door and frowned. “Are there more of them now?”

“God, I hope not,” said Brooke.

Dalton put his palms on the floor and eased himself down into the hole. He got to just above his waist and stopped.

“Uh-oh,” he said.

“Uh-oh what?” said Maylee.

“I can't get past here,” said Dalton.

“What?” said Maylee.

“Oh crap,” said Dalton. “I can't go up, either. I'm stuck.”

The groaning from outside grew louder.

“Ok, wait,” said Brooke, stepping up. “Don't panic.”

“Crap,” said Dalton, looking around. “Where's the groaning coming from?”

“Outside,” said Maylee, grabbing hold of Dalton's arm. “Same as before.”

“You sure it's not from under me?” said Dalton, real panic creeping into his eyes. “Oh god, I gotta get out of here.”

Loud moans came from behind the door.

“I can hear them down there!” yelled Dalton, struggling.

“They're outside,” said Brooke. “Just hang on.”

Maylee pulled. Dalton wouldn't budge.

“Ow!” yelled Dalton.

“Shit!” yelled Maylee, letting go. “What happened?”

“You hurt my arm,” said Dalton, rubbing it.

Maylee sighed. “Damn it, I thought something bit you, you little shit!” She balled up a fist and bopped Dalton on the top of the head.

There was a “pop” and Dalton slid further down the hole.

All three of them screamed.

“What the hell happened?” yelled Dalton.

Maylee noticed a small shirt button at the corner of the room and let out a sigh. “It's okay. It was just a button coming off your shirt.”

“Oh,” said Dalton, “Okay. Then...”

And with a fast series of “pops” Dalton slid the rest of the way down the hole. Dalton's chin smacked the side of the hole on the way down.

“Dalton!” yelled Maylee as he vanished from view. A crumpled “whump” came from under the room.

Maylee dropped to her knees and looked through the hole. In the small rectangle of light the hole provided, she could see Dalton's head. He was on his back, facing the ceiling. His eyes were shut.

“Dalton!” yelled Maylee.

Dalton didn't move.

Groaning and scratching came from outside the door.