What had made him into this, he did not know.
Was it the television?
The video games?
The movies?
The music?
The bullies?
The drugs?
All he knew now was he wasn’t going back. This was better. He felt stronger, faster, smarter. Nobody made fun of him anymore, no one came near him. He stared at the devil’s mark, carved into the underside of his arm, and grinned.

The room was dark. He kept staring at the door, as if waiting for something or someone. A small, maniacal laugh rumbled once in a while from his scrawny neck. He kept grinning.

His skin was clammy, sweat forming in his palms and on his forehead, and yet he felt fine… Better than fine.
A head popped through the door.
“Stewart, honey,” his mother started “Dinner time!”

“Come her mommy.” Stewart answered, reaching behind his back.