Mature Rating: for depictions of violence and language.

*Though it may not be graphic enough to earn the mature rating, I'd rather still give the warning.

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All this has happened before. And it will happen again. But this time it happened in one of the many urban areas of North America. It happened in a central park. Dusk hung heavily over the city with its deep and rich colors saturating the sky and the wails of cicadas blanketing the air. It was a beautiful late summer evening.

Jackson, a smaller fair-haired boy, sat alone on one of the park benches bordering the playground. His arms crossed and jaw set as yet another huff escaped him. This was beyond boring. He watched as a group of boys around his age, just entering high school, hung around on the playground equipment, deterring any of the younger children from coming too close. They seemed more harmless than not, however, they did strike as a bit wild. Most of the boys found pleasure in scaling the equipment in ways it was not intended to be scaled. They did so in trying to tightrope the top bar of the swingset, climbing on top of the hard canopy used to shield some of the playground from the sun, or lounging like panthers atop the monkey bars. Some of the boys just liked to run around, playing a rowdy game of tag that ended, the majority of the time, with them wrestling in the wood chips. All while hooting and hollering, making a racket that could be heard from a good distance away.

As the sun continued to set, more and more of the occupants of the park dispersed. Parents gathered up their children, evening joggers and fast walkers wrapped up their routines, and teens ended their ventures in the surrounding wooded areas. Soon, all who were left was Jackson and the group of rowdy boys. Jackson, although very bored, was not ready to walk back home just yet. He didn't want to deal with the entire interaction. Actually, part of him wanted to stay out of spite. To worry his parents. After all, they were the ones to send him out here in the first place. He could be a lot worse of a kid. He could never finish his homework and get horrible scores. He could cause trouble in school. He could even join one of the many gangs in the area and get wrapped up in a whole other kind of trouble. But no, he finishes his homework on time and in good quality, he stays on his best behavior in school, and he stays out of trouble out of school. He does this by playing video games after he finishes his classwork. After. Not before. After. After he has done everything there is to do for the day. He could be a lot worse. Even so, his parents took away his console for the evening. They said he needed to spend more time outside. To get some fresh air. So, off they sent him down to the central park to be socialized with others.

Like a dog, Jackson thought, glaring at the concrete. It was then he noticed a shadow. The shadow loomed ominously, waiting for Jackson to react. He followed the shadow to its origin. Following it until he came face to face with one of the boys from the playground. The boy stood just a foot away. How he didn't notice the boy approaching, Jackson had no clue, but he did see the boy had elfish-like sharp features, fiery red hair, and golden eyes complete with a sly smirk. The boy leaned back lazily with his hands in his pockets, considering Jackson before holding his hand out, "Peter."

"Peter?" Jackson asked. Movement caught the corner of his eye as the shadow on the ground began to wave at him, but the boy never moved.

"That's my name, it's Peter," said the boy. He glanced down at the shadow. "Oh, nevermind him. He's just being friendly, though not very good at blending in."

The last two words seemed more pointed at the shadow, who immediately stopped waving and resumed mimicking Peter's movements. Peter extended his hand slightly, drawing attention back to it. "And you are?"

"Jackson," Jackson replied, still partly watching the shadow as he shook Peter's hand.

"Whatcha doing here, Jackson?" By this time, the other boys seemed to take notice of the interaction and began approaching as well. They seemed to skulk over to them, almost as if they were trying not to spook.

A tight feeling began to seize Jackson's chest. His ears picked up on even the slightest of sound and his eyes darted between Peter, the shadow, and the approaching boys. "Um, m-my parents said I needed some fresh air."

Peter scoffed and the other boys let out a few snickers. "Parents. Adults." He sighed, then shook his head. "Always ruining the fun."

"Yeah . . . ," Jackson replied, slowly beginning to stand. "I-I gotta get going."

"No, no, no! Wait. Listen, I came over here to ask if you wanted to hang out with us." Peter glanced behind them, motioning to the other boys. "Sorry about them, they don't have great people skills." He turned to them. "Quit slinking around, guys, you're spooking the new kid!"

Murmurs of apology rippled throughout the pack. A few of them sent small waves of their hand to Jackson in a sheepish welcome. Peter chuckled, "We're working on it. So, what do ya say? Wanna hangout with us?"

"Don't you guys gotta get home too?"

This brought laughter amongst the ranks. Peter smiled, there seemed to be something that resembled pity in his eyes. "We don't deal with adults, Jackson. If you hangout with us, you won't have to deal with any of their shit either."

"They really aren't that bad."

"Bad enough for you to stay down here past sunset."

The statement lingered in the silence that came after. The world around them seemed to hold its breath. What should have been seconds seemed like minutes and Jackson could almost see a prominent crossroad in his decision. This tightness in his chest was a warning, but as he met Peter's eyes to say no, the gold glistened.

"Yeah," Jackson said, the word rolling effortlessly off his tongue. "I'll hang out with you."

Peter smirked, turning on his heels and motioned for everyone to follow back to the playground.

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Time flew by as Jackson joined the antics of the gang of boys. The moon hung proudly in the velvet, bathing everything in silver. It was easy enough to see as the gang went beyond the playground and into the surrounding woods. There they played hide-and-seek, a very intense and enthralling game of tag, and Capture the Flag (in their case, a shirt). Jackson even learned how to climb and jump from tree to tree. After a few hours of this, a few of the gang members were becoming bored. They lounged in a small clearing, staring up at the few stars above.

"I wanna go hunting," whined one, followed closely by a stomach growl.

"Then go hunting," Peter replied, leaning against one of the trees.

The whining boy rolled over onto his stomach, looking at Peter. "But I don't wanna go alone."

"Hunting?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah," one of the other boys replied, standing up and dusting himself off. "We gotta get food somehow. We haven't eaten yet."

"Oh," Jackson said. It didn't occur to him that when they said 'they don't deal with adults' meant they had to take care of everything themselves. This included food. Usually, Jackson's mother would be cooking food while he finished his homework and would eat whenever it was ready. Food was never a prominent thought on his mind other than deciding what in the fridge or pantry he wanted to devour. He just always . . . had it.

"I suppose we should probably find ourselves some substance," Peter sighed, groaning as he stood up from his comfy place against the tree.

The rest of the boys picked themselves up as well, dusting themselves off and stretching. They started lazily making their way toward the nearest city sidewalk which was just on the other side of some of the trees and undergrowth.

"Jackson, would you like to join us?" Peter asked.

Jackson looked up at the moon, he should probably get heading back. He looked at Peter. Once again, as he was about to say so, the gold glistened, and Jackson found himself saying yes.

The gang walked through the streets of the city. Every once in a while, one or two of the boys would split off. It finally came down to just Jackson and Peter. Peter kept his hands in his pockets as he walked, almost using the sidewalk as a runway to strut down. Jackson, on the other hand, kept his shoulders hunched and avoided any eye contact with anyone who might happen to be passing. He has never been in the city without his parents before. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Peter rounded a corner into one of the alleyways, he walked about halfway down and stopped near one of the dumpsters. Jackson hesitated at first but then followed, stopping a few feet away.

"So, this is hunting?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Peter replied. "We separate into groups to cover more ground."

Jackson peered into one of the dumpsters, immediately repulsed by how concentrated the metal container made the smell. He gagged, then coughed, "Well, I guess one man's trash is another man's treasure."

Peter smirked, "I guess you could say that."

Before too long, a few of the boys made their way to the alley where Peter and Jackson waited. All had shown up empty handed and seemed more agitated now than before they left. A few stared at the ground, the wall, and a couple were even staring at Jackson. He managed a small smile under the intense gazes and waved a little. This gave him no reaction other than Peter seemed to notice his discomfort.

"Knock it off," Peter said in a gruff voice, effectively averting the eyes of those that clung to Jackson.

"Did I do something?" Jackson asked.

Peter rolled his eyes. "No, they're just hungry," he answered, then turned to the boys who were now staring expectantly up at the sky. "And being idiots!"

He walked over to one of them, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "Don't blame others for your incompetence," he snarled.

It sounded like the crack of a whip, the skull splitting on the ground. All Jackson could do was freeze like a deer in headlights and hold a breath he didn't know he was holding as blood splattered the concrete, the brick, the dumpsters, and even the boys and himself. Peter got the most on him, looking like a walking Jackson Pollock painting. He looked down at the headless body, the blood all over the concrete, brick, dumpsters, and everyone around him. He then looked at himself and started laughing, "The dipshit filled up! He wasn't even hungry, the greedy bastard."

He spun in a circle, the other boys laughing too. "I mean, look at this!" Peter motioned to the display of gore, then licked the length of one of his fingers. "He didn't even want to share. Well, have at him, boys!" He motioned to the body and within a blink of an eye the other boys in the alley converged on the spot. Peter, however, was staring at Jackson. He had a wicked smile, grinning from ear to ear. His body leaned in a partial bow as though he had just performed a magic trick. His golden eyes blazed brightly against the moon-dipped ambience of the night.

Within the chaos, the two boy who had yet to return emerged with two extra figures, twisting and struggling about. Muffled screams came from the silhouettes and as they came into view from the shadows, Jackson realized the two extra figures were two adults. One was a middle-aged man and the other looked no older than thirty. Both were writhing on the blood-soaked concrete where they were tossed. One of the boys who had brought them back snickered, "It's like they're marinating themselves."

The younger man muffled an unmistakable insult at the boy, but the boy just laughed harder. All Jackson could do was stare. It was hard for his mind to make sense of what he was seeing. He kept going back, thinking about what led him to this point. Going from playing around in the woods to getting involved in a murder and two kidnappings.

"Kill him."

It took a moment to realize Peter was looking at him. Jackson turned. "W-what?"

Peter took a step forward, his gaze deadly. "Kill him." He pointed at the young man.

Jackson turned his head, the young man was screaming at him and struggling much to the entertainment of his captors. "N-no."

Peter cocked his head, his fiery red hair falling into his eyes. "What do you mean 'no'? You said you wanted to join us, right? We don't deal with adults." He spat the word like it was poison on his tongue.

"I-I not gonna k-kill this g-guy," Jackson stuttered, beginning to back away only to find his way blocked by the two boys who captured the men.

"Aw," one of them cooed.

"D-does s-somebody have a s-stutter," mocked the other.

"Kill him." Peter growled.

"N-no," Jackson whispered.

"Kill him!"

"No!"

"KILL HIM!"

"NO!"

"KILL HIM!"

"NO!"

Peter snarled, "Fine! I'll show you how it's done." He turned to the middle-aged man who seemed to have long since shut down, he was far far away from this world. He didn't even seem surprised, certainly not as surprised as both the young man and Jackson, when fangs sprouted from Peter's mouth. He didn't even flinch when the fangs sank into his neck. He never let out a noise, never changed from his blank expression. His eyes were vacant. Sightless. Yes, he was far far away from this horror of reality.

The corpse of the middle-aged man fell to the ground, drained of all blood. Peter grimace, "Uck, alcoholic. Their blood always tastes so . . . ick."

"Vampire?" Jackson asked, more to himself than to anyone else.

Peter grinned, wiping his arm across his mouth, smearing the blood from his lips, "Vampire. You never grow up. You live forever. You become myth and legend. The countless stories people will create about you is," he shivered, "invigorating."

"Peter . . . ," Jackson murmured. In stories, myths, and legends, the name rang a bell. Something his mother used to tell him as a bedtime story . . . "Oh my God," he whispered, "You're Peter Pan."

Peter smirked, extending out his arms and head held high in presentation of himself, "The one and only."

"You kill adults?"

He waved the question away, "Adults are such unnecessary creatures." He grabbed the shirt of the younger man and tossed him at Jackson's feet. "So, kill him."

The younger man stared pleadingly up at him. Begging. Begging him not to kill him. Begging him to get them out of here alive. When Jackson didn't move Peter scoffed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Break his neck, bash his head in, rip out his throat, just do something."

Jackson looked at him. "Peter, no, I can't."

"Let me make it easier for you then."

He took out a knife from one of his pockets, flipped it open and shoved it into Jackson's hand. Peter glared at him, "You said you wanted to join us. To join us, you must do this. You will never deal with adult shit ever again if you do this."

"I just . . . I just went outside for some fresh air . . ."

"You'll suffocate again as soon as you step back through that threshold." Peter gripped his shoulder. "Adults lie. They take. They use. They will destroy you. Adults will break you and you'll become just like them. A reanimated corpse of a child, one that they can shove some cookie cutter and soulless manifesto inside. If you resist, be ready to conform or die." The gold in his eyes glistened. "Jackson, let me help you. Let me free you from this curse. I can save you. You just have to trust me."

Jackson gave a slow absent nod and Peter smiled. "Attaboy. Now, kill the creature."

The young man saw the look in Jackson's eyes and immediately began to try and inch away. He didn't get very far before Jackson pinned him to the ground. The motion of the knife was swift and fluid. The young man's muffled screaming turned to gurgling and, eventually, he became still. Blood pooled around his head, spilling from the slit across his neck.

"Drink it," Peter commanded.

Jackson froze, lost in the lifeless eyes of the young man. Drowning. Suffocating. What did he do? What did he just do? His eyes trailed down to the blood soaked knife in his hand. It was shaking. He was shaking.

"Jackson. Come on, bud, keep going. Drink the blood."

"I-I just murdered someone. W-why did I murder someone?" He couldn't breathe. His skin felt so tight. The knife clattered onto the concrete as he could no longer grip the handle properly.

"No, no, no." Peter was there, in front of him. Jackson felt two hands grab his face, forcing him to look once again into the golden eyes that seem to refuse the answer 'no'. "Hey, Jackson, don't lose it now. Stay with me. I got you. Trust me."

"Why?" Jackson asked, no more than a whisper. He felt tears begin to swell up in his eyes. "How--why did you make me do that?"

"I can't make you do anything you didn't already want to do. I just provide a push," Peter replied. "Now, drink the blood." The gold glistened.

Tears rolled down Jackson's face as he dipped his fingers into the neck wound of the young man and brought it to his lips. He gagged. The overwhelming metallic taste and the warm viscous mouth feel immediately told his body to reject. To get it out of his body and away. His stomach lurched, but he swallowed anyway. Jackson punched himself repeatedly in the abdomen in hopes to distract from his body's natural instinct.

"Now drink mine," Peter said. The knife that was once on the ground now was held in Peter's hand and had drawn another slice through flesh. Blood ran down Peter's arm, sprinkling the ground below. He held out his hand to Jackson except this time it was not to shake, but to drink.

"No, please God, no," Jackson sobbed.

Peter huffed, his jaw set. Obviously growing impatient. He glanced at something behind Jackson. Seconds after, a hand grabbed a fist full of his hair. Jackson cried out and as soon as he opened his mouth, Peter clamped his palm over his lips. Jackson pushed him away but it was already done. Even with his coughing and spitting, he couldn't help but to ingest a little which is all it took.

The effect was almost immediate. Jackson didn't remember hitting the ground, but he found himself staring into the void full of faintly flickering stars. His body wouldn't move on his command. A burning swelled from his chest, very faint at first but gradually spread and intensified. Soon it felt as though he was being engulfed. He tried to scream but even his mouth wouldn't move. He could only stare. It seemed like hours, but the burning died away. His body felt refreshed. Hungry even. A sweet, intoxicating smell hit his nose and immediately he felt something unsheathe from his gums. Jackson ran his tongue across his teeth to be met with two sharp fangs. A face moved into view and he found himself staring back at those cursed golden eyes. Peter Pan grinned down at him with a fiendish bloodstained smile, "Welcome to Neverland."

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I really hope you liked the short story! It's a bit darker than my usual ones, but I loved writing it. It will probably be one of my favorites for a while.

Remember to leave a vote! It is greatly appreciated :) Feel free to leave any comments and/or reactions! I always love to hear from readers.

Eternally Yours,

~ Phoenix