Third Base

# Third Base by KrayolaColor

(Authors note: Hi everyone! In light of all the drama that have been happening in the creepypasta fandom involving the character of Ticci-Toby, I have taken it upon myself to create a substitute to use instead!

So I’d like to introduce everyone to my new OC, Third Base, or better known as Richard “Doby” Doggers (pronounced "Doh-bee Dodgers"). Doby is free to use with or without credit as long as you mention he isn’t yours. Now I’ll stop rambling and let you guys read the story!)

It was a warm day, late spring, and a group of boys were laughing as they ran drills around the baseball diamond. The numbers on their jerseys were: 19, 40, 10, and 3.

Number 3 was a junior, he had short curly hair plastered to his face and neck with sweat, his eyes were bright green and lively, and he had a slight gap between his front teeth. His foot hit back down on home base and slowed down to a jog to start his cool down. He turned around to check on his friends and 40 slammed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a heap.

“Come on Doby! Get out of the way!” 40 laughed as the other boy shoved him off.

3, or better known as Doby, snorted, “Learn to stop, Jay!” He laughed, his right shoulder jerked up and back, hitting his hand off his shoulder.

The four boys started their walk to cool off before another boy ran up, “Hey, yo, Third Base!”

Doby turned his head back, “Yeah?”

“You’re dad’s here to pick you up.”

“Why? -Fucker- Practice isn’t over yet?” Doby protested, putting his hands on his hips.

The other boy shrugged, seeming awkward, “I don’t know…” he paused knowing he’d just triggered Doby to yell,

“Third base!”

But he continued, “he seemed really upset though…”

Doby paused, but he nodded slowly, “Okay, I’ll see you guys later.” He waved, and the others waved back as he went to grab his bag.

—

When Doby exited the field his father was waiting for him in the parking lot by the car.  He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his complexion was ashen and his eyes were red when he looked up at his younger son. “Hey there, kiddo,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. Doby’s father was a good man, he did his best for his family, but it wasn’t always good enough.

The teenager stopped, he’d changed out of his baseball gear and into his usual school uniform, minus the sweater vest because it was pushing eighty degrees and Doby did not want to die. He blinked at his father several times, “What happened…?”

It was then that his father pulled Doby into a tight hug, “John’s in the hospital.” He said, “Your mom found him an hour ago, I rushed up here as soon as I got the call.”

Doby’s eyes went wide. John was Doby’s older brother, they had been close since they were kids, he just texted him that morning, he sounded so much better… the boy pushed himself out of the hug and shoved his bag into the back of the car before he sat down and put his seatbelt on. He looked over at his dad, “What are you waiting for? -What’s on Second- We’re going to the hospital.”

His father jumped a bit but hurried to his side of the car, he slipped into the driver’s seat and started the car.

The drive to the hospital was quiet, interrupted only by the sound of Doby’s nervous ticks. Doby was on his phone the whole way there, reading and rereading the texts he sent to John that morning, going over every message that John sent word by word to try and decipher some hidden meaning that might have been there to tell him John wanted to die today. He knew that John was depressed, everyone knew John was depressed, but Doby never thought he’d actually try and hurt himself. He had to know how much they cared about him, that he could get help, that it would be okay. Part of Doby felt betrayed, he knew he shouldn’t, John didn’t do this to hurt him. He was sick, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Well that part wasn’t true.

John lived with their mother, when the divorce happened Doby went with their father, but John stayed. They tried to convince him to come and live with them, but he wouldn’t, he believed he could help their mom. It just so happened that she didn’t “believe in mental illness” and wouldn’t let her son seek help. It was one of the biggest reasons for the divorce, well that and Doby.

Doby didn’t feel guilty for his parents divorce, his mother was a cruel woman who gaslighted his father for years, but when Doby wanted to be his own person and his father supported him it was just the strain the relationship needed to finally crumble.

He barely ever saw his mother, there was no required visitation, because she didn’t like him all that much. So Doby only had to deal with her on the occasions that John insisted she come to. Holidays and graduations and things that didn’t happen all that often. Doby dreaded the hospital now, fearing what his mother might say in the aftermath.

Doby was brought from his thoughts as the car parked. He didn’t move to get out until his father opened the door for him, he looked up and swallowed.

Going through visitation wasn’t difficult, they gave their names, got tags, and were given the room number. Doby leaned against his father in the elevator, listening to the hum of the machine.

It was almost unsettlingly silent in John’s hospital room. At least it would have been if not for the fact that Doby could hear the piercing vibration of the electricity and the machines monitoring the sleeping man. Doby walked quietly up to the bed, there were no tears in his eyes, but he wanted to cry. John was pale, his eyes sunken, his close cut hair was somehow mussed out of place. His arms were bandaged to his elbows, and he had IVs in both arms. He looked almost dead, but his chest rose and fell with shallow signs of life. Doby reached out for his brothers hand, pushing down that familiar feeling building in his arm in favor of holding his brother’s hand. He sniffled, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes. His father put a hand on his shoulder and reached his other hand to set on top of his two sons’.

John didn’t wake up.

—

For the first few days it didn’t feel real, even when they were cleaning out John’s room, because his mother didn’t want his things in her home anymore. Doby picked up clothes and folded them, putting them in a box marked ‘Donate’ because that’s what John wanted. While going through his things he found an old striped jacket, it was purple and grey, their school colors, but the name of the school 'Grant E. L. Academy’ was nowhere to be found on it. The boy folded it and placed it in the box, but it only stayed there for a moment before Doby pulled it out again and put it on. It was warm so he tied it around his waist.

Doby filled boxes with old CDs, there were bands from Three Days Grace to Journey. He carefully took pictures off the walls, posters from bands and pieces of art that John had thrifted. He loved art, even having a few of his own paintings on his walls. Doby wanted to keep them, but he couldn’t stand to look at them. He put those things in a box marked 'storage’.

He cleaned the shelves of knick-knacks and keep-sakes, carefully wrapping snow globes in newspaper to keep them from breaking. He put all of the books that John had in the donation box, but put every notebook in with the storage.

At some point Doby stopped working, sitting on the floor flipping through John’s portfolio, the one he made to apply for art school. He smiled at some of the pieces, noting the colors or the details. He stopped at a picture of a baseball player, it was painted in blue and pink and white. He felt his eyes start stinging once again.

He put the portfolio in the storage box.

Doby claimed John’s pictures, the ones of their family and the team and trips they had taken.

Doby did not speak to his mother at all while he was there, especially not when she looked at him with such disdain and adamantly refused to call him by his proper name, referring to him constantly as her daughter as if he had not been Richard for twelve years now.

By the time he left with his box of John’s things his father had to stop him from smashing the woman’s headlights in with his bat that hadn’t left the back seat of their car since the day they went to hospital… the day John died.

—

The fact that John was dead always felt worse at night.

It was hard to fall asleep when all Doby could think about was John.

How he was gone and he was never going to come back.

The idea was difficult to conceptualize. The idea that John wasn’t with him anymore, they hadn’t lived together in years, but John had always been a phone call away. If he called John’s phone it went to voicemail, as if maybe he was just busy or he forgot to turn his sound on.

“Hi! This is John Doggers, sorry I missed your call, but if you leave a message I’ll get right back to you! Have a great day, bye-bye.” *Beep*.

Maybe if Doby called enough he would answer.

“Hi! This is John Doggers, sorry I missed your call, but if you leave a message I’ll get right back to you! Have a great day, bye-bye.” *Beep*.

If he just sent him another text he might reply.

“Hi! This is John Doggers, sorry I missed your call, but if you leave a message I’ll get right back to you! Have a great day, bye-bye.” *Beep*.

If he answered he’d ask about his day and Doby would tell him how he hit a home run in practice, ask if he was going to be at the pizza party before their first game, tell him how close Jay had come to kissing him and how much the boy blushed when he realized it. Then John would talk about his newest art piece and he his college applications were going, he’d laugh at the idea of missing a single party and tell Doby that he should just kiss Jay first because the poor boy might never get there on his own.

Doby whimpered into his pillow, holding it tightly as he squeezed his eyes shut.

How was Doby supposed to tell John about the new season and how excited he was to be back on the team if he wouldn’t answer his phone? How could he gush about tryouts and cute boys and his new favorite song if all his texts went unanswered?

What was he supposed to do now?

He felt that the only thing he could do was lay there and think about all the what ifs and all the unanswered questions.

Thinking about it hurt so much…

He was drowning and there wasn’t anything he could do.

The boy shut his eyes. It was almost two in the morning.

After what seemed to be hours he opened them again.

It was only 2:30.

Doby sighed, rubbing his eyes and slipping off his bed. He yawned and whistled and tapped his wrists together five times as he went about stretching and pulling on a shirt. He padded down to the kitchen and quietly made a cup of coffee, hoping that the caffeine will make his brain be quiet for a moment. Coffee was poured into his mug carefully, then sugar and cream. He paused while stirring, taking his hand off the spoon and his shoulder jerked back, the back of his hand hitting his shoulder, then he continued stirring. He settled into the corner of the couch with his hot mug in his hands, trying to let the heat soothe him. The fluffy grey menace in the house jumped up onto the couch with him after he settled down. The cat, Dennis, meowed at him. He blinked at the cup several times then looked over at the cat. After tapping each of his fingers against the cup, in a pattern that he’d been using to stim since he was little, he reached over and pet the fluffy monster. He was as soft as ever and he purred as he curled up next to him. He wondered if Dennis understood that John wouldn’t be coming over again. His head felt like it was buzzing, like it was full of static, like he couldn’t think about anything.

At some point he shut his eyes, listening to the soft purr beside him.

When he opened them his father was shaking his shoulder. He blinked at him, rubbing his eyes, “Who’s on first?” He muttered.

His father laughed, “Naturally.” He said as he sat back on the coffee table. He picked up Doby’s half empty coffee cup, “I couldn’t sleep last night either…” he said quietly, setting the cup down as Doby stretched out from his curled up position in the corner of the couch. “I got a few calls last night, from the team, Coach wanted to know if the kids could come down to see John… I said of course, I’m sure having everyone there for support would be nice.”

Doby nodded, looking at his hands in his lap, “He really is gone now…”

The man nodded.

Doby balled up his hands into fists, “It’s *her* -bitch- fault.” He hissed.

“Doby, it isn’t anyone’s fault,”

“No. It is her fault! -Fucker- If she would have just let him get the help he needed he wouldn’t have killed himself!” The boy barked back at his father.

“Doby-” his father stopped, checking his tone before continuing softer, “I know you are hurting right now, we’re all hurting, but being angry at your mother will not bring John back. We don’t know if anything could have prevented this, we can’t know. Blaming people won’t make it stop hurting.” He said gently, setting his hand on the boy’s knee.

Doby relaxed his hands, but he still glared at the floor as his eyes welled up. “What time is it?”

“Its,” he paused to look at the time, “a little after seven."

Doby nodded, "I’m going to shower…”

His father sighed, “Okay, I’ll have breakfast once you’re out.”

—

After the shower Doby dried off, but waited to get dressed by combing out his hair and putting on eyeliner. He threw on a t-shirt and shorts so he could go eat breakfast, but he didn’t eat much…

After breakfast he pulled on his binder and picked out his suit from where it hung in his closet. He did a few stretches before he continued, rolling his shoulders, loosening his spine and expanding his ribcage. He put his arms through the sleeves of his dress shirt, and buttoned it up to the collar. He pulled on his pants and tucked in his shirt. He put his collar up to tie his tie, but gave up quickly and hunted down his dad to do it for him.

His father hummed softly as he fixed his son’s tie, after folding his collar back down he smiled sadly, “You are such a handsome young man. I am so proud of you.”

Doby smiled back, and disappeared to finish getting dressed. He buttoned his vest and pulled on his nicest dress shoes. He stared at himself in the mirror for some time, fixing little things that weren’t important, that single flyaway, the one cat hair, the small scuff on his shoes, things that John would never care about. He swallowed, resisted the urge to rub his eyes and smear his eyeliner all over his face. He tapped on his leg and then on his arm and hit his wrists together five times. He sighed and left his room.

It was quiet in the car, his dad had stopped to pick up his friend Jay who didn’t have another ride due to his parents being at work. The two boys sat in the back of the car, Doby’s head resting on Jay’s shoulder. Jay was also wearing a nice dress shirt and tie, but his shoes were sneakers. Doby kind of smiled at that, knowing John would have found it endearing that Jay wore sneakers to his funeral. He was never very fancy.

When the car parked at the funeral home there were already people there. Doby got out of the car after Jay and the two walked into the establishment together, when Doby started to anxiously pick at his fingernails Jay grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The viewing room was nicely furnished and filled to the brim with flowers, orchids and lilies in whites and yellows. There was a picture of John on an isle by the casket. It was taken at his graduation, he was absolutely beaming. Doby held Jay’s hand tighter, walking slowly over to the open casket.

John was dressed nicely, in a neat suit and tie, his eyes shut and his hands resting on his stomach. He looked like he was sleeping. Just sleeping. Like maybe if Doby tried hard enough he could see him breathing softly.

Doby felt his throat tighten up and his eyes start stinging. He blinked quickly to try and stop himself from crying, there were already more people here, he didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. His friend squeezed his hand again, helping him stay grounded. His father appeared at his side with a hand on his shoulder, and Doby drifted back from the casket, not knowing if he could bear to look at his brother any longer. He pulled Jay away and they found a small group of other players on their team.

It was nice to see them, considering Doby hadn’t been back to school in almost two weeks, and they talked together about happy things. About pizza parties and field trips and games they won, times were John had been there. While he was never on the team he was always a chaperone, always a ride to games, always their best cheerleader. It was emotional, it made Doby’s heart ache, but he didn’t feel that oppressive dread that loomed over him when he was alone. The boys managed to pull a laugh from him once or twice, while they waited for the official ceremony to start, Jay’s arm slung around his shoulder in a way that made Doby feel safe.

Then he saw someone at the corner of his eye. Doby turned his head and his heart dropped into his stomach which twisted up and made him feel sick. The woman was dressed nicely, a black blouse and pencil skirt, her dark hair was pulled up into a neat bun, her makeup was professionally done, not a single smudge to be seen. She wasn’t even pretending to cry.

“What is she doing here?” He hissed under his breath, staring daggers at his mother, his shoulder jerked under Jay’s arm and he blinked several times.

“I don’t know-”

Doby clenched his teeth, “Third base- third base- third base-” he muttered trying to make the feeling go away before, “Third Base!” He shouted, cringing back on himself.

He received a scoff and a glare from his mother as people turned to look at him for yelling.

“Sorry,” his friend muttered.

“It’s fine- I’m just- going to find my dad.” He broke off from the group and went to search for his father among the crowd, finding him talking to a relative that Doby didn’t know well. He grabbed his Dad’s arm, “Why is \*she\* here?” He asked nodding back to his mother.

“Doby, he was her son too,”

“No- that’s not fair- if it wasn’t for her then we wouldn’t be having a funeral for John at all!"

"Please, Doby, not now, can’t we please be civil, for John?” His father begged.

The teenager grit his teeth, “No.” And turned on his heel walking right up to his mother and yanking her back from the casket, “Get out.” He hissed.

The woman pulled her arm back, “Excuse you, I have every right to be at the *funeral* for my *son*.” She spit back at him.

“If it wasn’t for you -bitch- he wouldn’t be dead!”

It was at this point the people started staring.

“Well maybe if you didn’t *abandon* him for your penis envy my son wouldn’t have-"

There was a crack, a crunch really, that sounded as Doby slammed his fist into the woman’s face, breaking her nose.

"I am your son!” He screamed, before he was grabbed from behind. “Let go of me-” people were rushing over making sure the woman was okay, providing tissues as Doby was dragged back. “I’m not done-”

“Keep her away from me!” His mother cried, as she was ushered away people muttered about the 'her’ glancing back at Doby who was male to everyone else here.

Doby was pulled out of the funeral home during the fuss. He was finally released from his hold when Jay slammed the doors shut, “What the hell, man!?” Jay grabbed Doby’s shoulders and shook him, “Are you absolutely out of your mind- you just punched your mom in the face!”

Doby spit in the direction of the door, tears dripping down his face, “She’s not my mom! She deserved worse than a broken nose!” He yelled, blinking his eyes quickly, his shoulder jerking. “It’s all her fault!"

"Doby- what would John think of-”

Doby shoved his friend off him, “Don’t you dare use John against me! He was my brother! And he wouldn’t be dead if- if- she- if she wasn’t such a terrible mom-” the boy covered his face, choking on his words, crying harder. Jay hesitated but wrapped his arms around his friend and hold him, letting him cry. Doby’s father came out a minute later to tell the boys that Doby’s mother was leaving. Doby didn’t talk for the rest of the funeral.

—

After the funeral Jay stayed over for a few days, it was easier to sleep with someone else in the room with him, but it wasn’t *easy*. It didn’t help that Doby struggled to regain a sense of normalcy. He struggled with eating and talking and remembering to take care of himself. It felt like nothing was real anymore. How could anything matter if it wasn’t real?

Doby started to sleep even less when Jay left because he started having nightmares.

He started dreaming of the woods. When he and John would run around and climb trees and play games in the forest behind their house. But the woods weren’t the same, they were dark now, dead now, and silent. No sounds of wildlife or the nearby road, just the sound of radio static. John kept running away in the dreams, running away and looking for something. Doby didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t find it.

Every time he passed out from exhaustion he had the same dream, with the dead trees, and silent forest, chasing John until he vanished in the darkness.

Doby thought he got a little farther each time, a little deeper in the woods, a little closer to what he was looking for… Part of him wanted desperately to know what it was, but he was scared of the dream. Not that any part in particular was scary, but in the moment, the panic and adrenaline of losing John over and over is too much to bear.

So he stayed awake.

At least he thought he did.

It wasn’t too alarming when Doby woke up in his bed, he couldn’t remember going to bed, but Doby was forgetful. Then he woke up on the floor, which was weird, but not too far from normal. It was when Doby woke up standing with one hand on the front door that he started to get worried. It was possible he was sleep walking but he’d never done it before. He asked his dad about it, but he wasn’t too worried, the door was always locked.

When Doby woke up outside with his bat slung over his shoulder his father started to worry.

It didn’t help that he was still having that dream, that he was chasing John, that he was getting deeper and deeper into those woods.

They mostly chalked it up to Doby being stressed out after everything, which was reasonable. Doby’s father suggested they try doing something to get their minds off everything, and Doby remembered watching a video that looked like it would be a perfect stress relieving activity. Which is how they ended up in the back yard with three watermelons and Doby’s bat.

—

Doby remembered hearing once that crushing a watermelon was comparable to crushing a human head.

It was all he could think about as he swung his bat into the fruit. The dull sound it made as it cracked, the splatter of water and juice on his face, the weight of the bat in his hands as he brought it down again onto the broken rind.

He adjusted the goggles over his eyes again, the world tinted pink around him. His bat felt sticky in his hands, flecks of red mush were splattered about from the fruit carnage, his head felt like it was full of static. He fixed his grip and brought the bat down again, ***splat***. Red chunks gushed from where the wood made contact with the soft insides of the melon. He wondered if that’s what brains did when crushed with a bat…

Doby looked back over at his father, lifting his goggles with his sticky hand, grinning widely.

All he could think about was how easy it was to crush a human head.

—

Doby was laying in bed when the image of hitting his mother with his bat until her head cracked open flashed in his mind. He thought of how much force it took to break the watermelon, how many times he had to hit it, and then applied that to the image of his mother. How much of a difference was there between a watermelon and a human? It couldn’t be that much… it might sound different, the crack of bone wouldn’t be the same as the dull thunk that the watermelon made. The screaming might be an issue, but only for a moment, and not if he hit her from behind. It would probably be easier than the watermelon in fact. He wasn’t angry at the watermelon, it didn’t kill his brother.

The boy shut his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them.

He reached out to his nightstand and pat around for his phone in the dark, his head felt that familiar static. When he had his phone in his hand he opened his messages, scrolling down through his contacts to the familiar 'Jay’ before he realized what he was doing. He jumped, his phone getting flung from his hands as his body pulled back. He cursed and got out of bed to grab his phone. He set it back on the stand and plugged it in before laying down again.

—

The boy opened his eyes in the woods, the dead and silent buzzing woods. He was holding his bat and walking slowly.

This was not the usual pace for this dream. John was nowhere to be seen, they were not playing any game that he could recall that would lead him to hide.

As he walked the static got louder, like the sound of electricity in the hospital machines.

It was cold and dark.

The path felt different this time, like it was leading him somewhere he had been before, it felt like he was coming home instead of trying to desperately escape.

He just kept walking, bat slung over his shoulder, the world tinted pink.

It felt like hours of walking, deeper into the woods, the world getting darker and colder and louder around him. But he kept going. He had to know what he was looking for, what he was coming home to.

The path seemed to dwindle, it pulsed, shrinking and growing again in certain areas. The forest, despite being black and burned seemed to breathe, as if it was alive.

The path stopped at a clearing.

The sky was empty and starless.

In the center was a tree. It towered over all the others, its barren branches reached the sky in twisting arches. He was blackened and old, but yet it felt alive..

Doby stepped closer to it, he reached out and touched it’s smooth surface, it felt cold. He pulled his hand back, it was covered in a wet black oil.

Suddenly eyes opened up on the tree and its long branches grabbed him, pulling him closer, lifting him off the ground.

Doby screamed, he kicked and thrashed and screamed until he jerked awake in his bed.

—

Doby looked at the time, it was almost five AM. He rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. He threw off his sleeping clothes and pulled on his binder, grabbing a pair of shorts and the button up he wore to school. He pulled the vest over his head and tied John’s jacket around his waist. He grabbed a pair of socks, and didn’t notice they didn’t match until he pulled them both on over his knees. He didn’t change them and grabbed his sneakers.

He took his phone off charge and unlocked it, clicking his texts, he found Jay and hit call. He walked down stairs quietly and got outside grabbing his bat and goggles off the porch before he got Jay’s voicemail. He listened to the message and smiled.

“Hi, this is Jay Myles, I’m probably at practice right now, or otherwise too busy to answer the phone, so leave me a message or I’ll never call you back, bye!” *Beep.*

“Hey Jay, I know you’re asleep right now, but I wanted to say goodbye. Tell my dad that I love him, okay? And don’t worry, this is going to be really cool when it hits the news. I don’t know -Third Base- if I’ll come back, but if I don’t you guys have to win the season for me, alright? Thanks man, bye.” He ends the recording and starts walking.

Doby’s mother lived in a modest little house across town pushed back against the trees away from the other neighboring houses. It wasn’t the house that he grew up in, but he still knew it well, having been there many times to see John. It was barely dawn when he got there. He grabbed the spare key that John had hidden under his window sill and unlocked the front door. He slung his bat over his shoulder and stepped into the home. He walked to the kitchen and picked up the home phone located there, putting the phone in the cabinet, then he picked up a few plates and smashed them on the floor. The sound of breaking ceramic echoed through the house. Doby stepped over to the left of the doorway as he heard uneven footsteps stumble from the bedroom down the hall. “Who’s there?” The woman called out.

Doby smiled, his heart pounded in his chest, he did not dare think as he adjusted his grip on his bat.

“I don’t know-” she started as she stepped into the kitchen looking towards the mess.

“Third Base!” Doby shouted in response and swung at the back of her head before she could scream.

He thought about the watermelon, about how hard he had to hit it to break it.

The sound of a wooden bat hitting someone’s skull is nothing special. In fact, Doby liked the sound the watermelon made more. That didn’t stop him from stepping over his mother’s body and bringing his bat down hard. He hit her again and again, over and over as hard as he could swing. Blood splattered up into his face, on his clothes, it covered the floor. The crack was wet when her skull split open, he was panting hard, his chest tight, but he kept hitting her. His bat was wet and slick in his hands, his arms were sore and every part of his body was shaking, his ticks started to interrupt his movements to hit the pile of mush and bone that was once his mother’s head. So he stopped, he was finished, it was over.

Doby washed his hands in the sink then looked around the house. His bat slung over his shoulder, smearing blood onto his clothes. He scrounged around her bedroom for a few minutes, looking for something to clean up the mess with, he found it in a few candles. He smiled and swung his bat at the mirror on the woman’s vanity for good measure as well, shattering the glass. He left the room and grabbed a chair, using it to reach the smoke alarms which he took the batteries out of. After there wasn’t a single smoke detector in the house he grabbed the candle and a lighter. He lit the candle under the curtains and set them on fire, the fire spread to the carpet and furniture, he lit his mother’s clothes on fire as he left the room, and he dropped the candle in the kitchen. He took his phone from his pocket, scrolling back through his messages to his friends and his brother and his father. He clicked on John’s messages and pressed call, listening to it ring for a moment.

“Hi! This is John Doggers, sorry I missed your call, but if you leave a message I’ll get right back to you! Have a great day, bye-bye.” *Beep*.

Doby coughed as he breathed in, smiling brightly with tears in his eyes, “Hey John, I took care of everything for you, and I’m going to see you really soon. I’m coming home, okay? I love you.” He hung up and then he dropped his phone onto the carpet. He didn’t need it anymore.

The boy shut the door as the house filled with smoke and he walked into the woods. Bloody bat on his shoulder, his clothes sticking to his skin with blood. He was going home…