Eric lifted his hand to his Aripods and skipped another song. From the view of the naked eye, he looked just like any other lazy, careless, teen on a skateboard. Inwardly, however, he was trying his very best not to throw those earbuds on the ground and smash them.

My God. This girl has the worst taste in music. Eric thought, skipping the next song in equal disgust.

A few months previous, Eric had asked his buddy, Jack, to hack into Whynn's Spotify and see what kind of music was there. Worst money he'd ever spent.

He cleaned himself out of two days' worth of minimum wage, just to listen to cringeworthy children's show music.

And no, this didn't count as an invasion of privacy. He was doing it for the right reasons. Eric just wanted to know what kind of music she liked, so he could pretend to at least have a common ground to build on.

At the very least so their only conversations wouldn't go like:

"Hey Whynn,"

"..."

"How're you?"

"Never been better. Except maybe a little bit when you weren't here,"

"You look miserable,"

"You're not too hot yourself,"

"I'm just trying to be nice,"

"If I give you a straw, will you go suck the joy out of someone else's life?"

Eric grimaced at the recollection and planted his foot on the ground, coaxing his skateboard up the shallow incline.

Truth be told, he was a jock, not a flirt. Ask him to be on the receiving end of an alley-oop, no problem. Your cleanup batter is sick and you need a pinch hitter? He was your guy.

Ask him to pick up a textbook a girl had dropped, he'd end up hitting her or, more likely, himself with the corner on the way up.

Eric could do almost anything except for girls. And he'd trade all of his sports abilities to be able to talk to a girl right.

No, not all. But definitely hockey. Yeah, at the very least, hockey.

Eric yanked out his headphones and tucked them into his pocket, preferring the silence to listen to the Wiggles sing about rainbows for the eighth straight time.

I swear, if I even see the color red, I'm going to puke.

That was the moment Eric's skateboard decided to skid sideways across the concrete. His arms windmilled rapidly, searching for an invisible ledge in midair to catch onto, before he toppled off the sidewalk, and into the road.

Barely had Eric gotten his senses under control, then he felt the ground begin to vibrate beneath him. Eric rolled back against the curb just as a car shot past, grazing the end of his fingernails.

He took a few breaths to calm his racing heart. Then he checked to make sure his limbs were all still intact.

"Watch it, hotshot!" Eric shouted after the car. "This is a school zone!"

He stood up and dusted himself off, before being illuminated in red and blue lights.

"Hey!" A cop leaped out of the police car and grabbed his walkie-talkie. "11-54 heading south down Clinton. I've stopped pursuit to check on a civilian,"

"Be quick, LaDeck," the walkie replied.

Officer LaDeck ran over and grabbed Eric's arm. "What are you doing?" He demanded. "You were supposed to be home half an hour ago!"

"Sorry Dad," Eric grimaced. "I got detention,"

"Eric," his father sighed, looking at the ground. "Son, what am I going to do with you?"

"I'm sorry Dad,"

"And look, now you're hurt," Mr. LaDeck gestured down at Eric's leg.

"Huh? No, I'm not-" Eric glanced down, and found that his left pant leg had been dyed red. "That's not mine..."

He glanced back towards the side of the road, and found his skateboard laying, upside down, in the grass.

It was odd, that the board just came out from under him like that. It hadn't even rained recently.

Eric walked over and carefully lifted the board out of the dirt.

Splatter. Drip. Drip.

Eric glanced down and saw blood droplets scatter across his shoe and the grass.

Is my skateboard bleeding?

Thick, red, liquid, coated its wheels. True to his promise, Eric bent over sideways and hurled into the grass.

"Eric!" His father rushed over and caught his arm. "What's the matter? Where does it hurt?"

But Eric didn't answer. He glanced back in the direction of the road, and the sickening feeling worsened.

There were streaks of blood along the sidewalk, leading across the street. That's what he'd been going over when his skateboard bucked him off.

His gaze followed the streak back into the grass.

At this point, Mr. LaDeck noticed what his son was looking at. He, ever so cautiously, drew his gun, and made his way across the lawn, following the trail of fresh blood.

Then his left foot met nothing but air. Showing tremendous speed and reflexes, Eric lunged forwards and caught the back of his father's uniform. He pulled him back into an upright position before the officer fell into a large hole in the ground.

It was wide enough that they could both fall through. And an indiscernible depth they would maybe never return from. And whatever that thing was that left the trail in the road... had dug itself out.

Before they had any more chances to kill themselves, Eric yanked out his phone to call the police. Then he realized he was with the police.

And yet, he didn't feel any safer.