I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 8.1 - Brandon

"Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us and sometimes, they win."                         - Stephen King

Tramping down the street, we looked like the very definition of trouble. It was two hours past midnight, and the five of us walked in a line, side by side, adrenaline pumping through our blood. We collided into each other, drunk on excitement, fist bumping as the moonlight guided our way. All of us were dressed in our usual shades of black, and snickered as we discussed the possible outcomes of tonight, not the plans. If we had been more careful, maybe we could've gotten away, but our immature foolishness blinded us, and the anxiety of wanting to do something so spontaneously clouded our thoughts, pushing us to speed over to Principal Bakker's home.

Stefan and Isaak carried plastic bags overflowing with trash, from orange peels to old stroopwafel wrappers to wasted fries dipped in ketchup that they gathered from their homes. The bags rustled with heftiness as they rubbed against Stefan and Isaak's jeans. Rye and Christiaan guarded their sides, sneers sewn onto their faces as the streetlights played with their shadows. Everyone's mind was focused on only one thing.

Even then I didn't feel fully complete, like I didn't fully belong. There were so many things pulling me away, like the small tingling within my stomach, the tiny headache I felt approaching, and the thought of what Hailey might have said if she saw me doing what I was doing. But just like the boys, I was blinded, and their legs led mine down the street.

We arrived at the Principal Bakker's front porch, and Christiaan picked the lock. The door swung open without a sound. Stefan and Isaak went inside first, heaving up the plastic bags, followed by Christiaan, then me, and then Rye, who carefully shut the door behind us.

"All right, boys," Isaak half-spoke, half-whispered. The lights were off but I could still see his sneaky grin. "Let's trash this place."

Each of us found our own individual act to play. Rye took Principal Bakker's trash can, and dumped it over the couch. Christiaan ripped up paper towels and scattered them across the rooms. Stefan grabbed some plates from the cabinets and dropped them onto the floor, shattering them to pieces. Meanwhile, Isaak carried the bags we brought ourselves, and I followed him around the house, the two of us grabbing a huge share of trash and then throwing it onto the floor, rubbing it into the furniture and the corners of the house.

But a minute into doing the work, my headache worsened, and I had to kneel down onto the floor, groaning. My heart was racing, and I felt light-headed, like I was going to faint. Butterflies were bursting from my stomach in rage. I drew in a sharp breath and clutched my head with my hand.

"Brandon, you good?" Isaak asked.

"Honestly, no," I mumbled under my breath. "I've got a headache."
"A little dirty work isn't getting to you, is it?" teased Stefan, as he dropped a mug onto the floor.

"No," I retorted. "It's not that. I don't know why but I just don't feel so good."

"Do you want to sit on the sofa for a while?" asked Rye, but realized he already trashed it. "Oh, never

mind, do you want to take a seat on a chair?"

My head was throbbing like a speaker blasting electronic music, as if a a kick drum was being experimented with inside my brain. But there was no music. My eyes watered from the pain as I tried to claw it out of my skull. "Aghh!" A high-pitched ringing vibrated through my ears. "Do you hear that?" I groaned.

"Hear what?" questioned Isaak. His eyes, intense and serious, studied the wall as his ears searched intently for a noise. "Sirens," he breathed, the word as sharp as a knife.