Free The Nelson Files: Episode #1 by Ryan Cecere, Scott Lucas Page A

second floor window and noticed a shadowy–a very tall, and wide–figure moving about. He drew his gun and kicked the door in, right under the knob, so hard that when it flung open, part of it came off its hinges.
    Lance darted up the stairs and into the room just in time to see the boy clawing his fingernails into the carpet as he was being dragged into the dark pit of his closet. Lance didn't get a look at what was yanking the boy in, but he knew what it was.
    The Bogeyman.
    Lance tossed his gun and flashlight on to the bed and dove for the boy. With the help of his tall body, Lance was able to get hold of the boy's hands. He wrapped his long legs around the bedpost for leverage. The boy screamed for help, his hands sweaty and slippery.
    "Don't let go!" Lance shouted. "I got you, just hold on."
    The game of Tug-of-War ended rather quickly as Lance lost grip of the boy, who was yanked into the black abyss. Gone, just like that. Vanishing into thin air.
    "Dammit!" Lance pounded his fists on the floor. He jumped to his feet and shone his flashlight into the closet.
    "Ajay? Ajay?" A woman's faint voice came from the hallway in panic. Lance was too busy frantically searching the closet to take notice to the Ajay's parents who rushed in. "Who are you? Where's my son?" Ajay's mom cried.
    Ajay's dad grabbed a hold of Lance, anger and fear boiling within him. "Where's my son? What'd you do to him?"
    "It got him..." Lance softly said. When it was clear the boy’s father couldn’t listen, Lance shoved Ajay's dad hard, causing him to fall to the ground on his ass. "Get out of my way." He gritted his teeth. "If any of you two call the cops, this will just get worse."
    Lance grabbed his gun and ran down the stairs and back onto the street. "Fuck," he yelled. He places his hands on his head, trying to recollect himself and think. Think of where the Bogeyman could've taken Ajay.
    Then it hit him. It hit him like a bolt of lightning. The abandoned house located at the end of the block.
    He hauled ass down the street, getting to the house in less than two minutes.
    The house was barely standing, forgotten over the decades. Wood chipping off, the roof looked like it'd cave in any moment. Broken windows and graffiti splattered the outside and the partially intact front door. Lance drew his Desert Eagle and jogged up the rickety steps, making his way inside.
    Just like the exterior, the interior was no better. As a matter of fact, the interior was more destroyed than the exterior. The walls were yellowed, furniture was overturned and torn into; the kitchen was full of decaying foods, and scattered on the floor were broken dishes and silverware. The house smelled as if a rotten corpse was hidden inside the walls. Lance was greeted by a cobweb smacking him in the face as he entered.
    He shook it off and spat. "Ugh. Gross." The floorboards creaked under his feet as he moved down the hallway, heading towards a door at the end. Lance didn't move like an amateur--he moved like a professional. His mentor had trained him the best way he could. Lance yanked the door open.
    Bones, small bones. Children’s bones, stood at the top of the stairs, and led downward into the basement. In a pile and thrown to the aside after the last piece of flesh was sucked cleanly off. Lance made his way down, steeping over the bones and shone the flashlight to guide his path. The musty steps creaked underneath his weight. Coming down the last step, Lance scoured the basement–only to realize it wasn't a basement. It was a tunnel that led further down. Lance had to bend over so his head wouldn't bang against the low ceiling. The lack of oxygen became phenomenal and Lance soon found himself sweating and breathing heavy. He followed the leaky pipes down the narrow path for about a quarter of a mile until he came across a metal medieval-looking door.
    Its lair.
    He loaded his gun. The door wailed as it opened.
    The room Lance entered was dimly lit with a few candles hung