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Sophia’s frantic feet splatter against the wet pavement as she runs through the dark, rain soaked streets of Amberpark. She’s driven by sheer panic and a sick sense that the ambulance and police cars have something to do with her oldest son, Gerald. As she reaches the yellow-taped crime scene, bustling with the chaos created by the low income residents of Amberpark; the police try to bring control to the scene while preserving the evidence nearly washed away by rain. “Is that my son!” she hears herself screaming. She continues as she grabs desperately at the arms of an officer and then a by-stander and then anyone who would listen, “Is that my son? Is that Gerald?” Finally, she notices a drenched Detective purposefully walking toward her. His expression confirms her insatiable sense of dread. A resident just informed the Detective that Sophia knows the identity of his recent homicide victim. He approaches her gently, wiping the rain from his face, “please come with me.” Sophia’s heart shatters hitting the wet concrete, and washes away down into Amberpark’s sewers. She stutters nervously, “Is it Gerald…is it my son?” The Detective motions toward an officer to move the other people out of the way as he patiently guides Sophia into the center of the crime scene. Sophia is unable to make out whether the rain has formed a puddle beneath the outstretched body lying on the ground or if it could be something else, “Oh God no, please no!” she sees the familiar red and white untied gym shoes, one loosely worn on a lifeless foot. Sophia stumbles under the weight of her sorrow clinging desperately to the arm of the Detective who still needs a positive id. From the darkness hidden in the shadows slithers a demonic presence, “Sophia…” its voice hovers like an extinguished cigarette mixed with the nasty aroma of death. “Sophia…” it’s voice now transforms into an eerily sweet sing-a-long melody of children playing, “over here Sophia…over here!” As if in slow motion Sophia turns slightly in the direction of the voice to catch a glimpse of something emerging gradually from the darkness, becoming a three dimensional figure. It moves without the presence of a body, shifting in the night; living absent from any obvious life source. Sophia moves her head slowly side-by-side, trying to speak, but no words escape her parted lips. The taunting presence laughs as it splits its shadowy form in two, revealing a desperate and horrified Gerald within its clawed clutches, its talons buried deep in his flesh. Suddenly it snaps closed like a successful trap housing its doomed prey. Sophia pulls at the arm of the Detective as she screams, “That’s my son, that thing has my son!! Stop! Stop that thing has my son!” The confused and bewildered Detective tries to calm Sophia as she tries to free herself from his grasp in order to pursue the shadow that has now returned to its dark corner. The Detective pulls her roughly, “Gerald is dead” He shouts over the thunder, “Your son is here, he’s dead!” Sophia struggles, with fresh waves of terror falling from her lips, “No! No it has my son…it has my son!”