flames | The Lost Boys (1987) | revised

| FIFTEEN |

David's hands trailed up and down my thighs soothingly. My back was to his chest as we sat on the ground, watching a movie on the new TV we had. It had lasted longer than we had expected. We were a week into owning it, and it made lounging around the cave much more bearable. Marko and Paul were out for the night, trying to find a snack to eat. Dwayne was reading again, his hand wrapped in mine as he sat next to us. He had gone through a bit more than half of his collection so far, and he had quite a lot of books.

I sighed lowly and turned a bit to look over at the book Dwayne was reading. It was a small little thing that had dust covering almost every page that he had to constantly wipe away. It wasn't printed. It was pen scrawled across the pages in a swirly cursive that I could barely read. I wasn't even sure how he had it.

Most of the books were originally Max's; he had hundreds of them, and when he died, the boys had taken them all. They were filled with information that most humans - hell, even most supernatural creatures - didn't have access to. It was how they had originally found out about the lost.

Dwayne's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and then concentration. I tried to figure out what he was reading, but even if I could decipher the handwriting, it didn't look to be in English.

David shuffled a bit behind me, and I turned to see him looking at Dwayne with confusion. What was I missing?

Dwayne broke away from the book and placed it in my hands. It smelled heavily of citrus, which I didn't understand at all. "What am I supposed to be looking at?" I asked as I stared down at the pages. I was right - even the words I could read clearly weren't English.

David placed his finger on the page and dragged it along as he read it to me. "The newest species I've investigated are, as they've called themselves, the lost. Throughout my time with them and the few people who know of them, I've only collected a bit of data. Firstly, their ritual to become one of their kind, which I've detailed in past entries. Secondly, their hierarchical statuses as explained a few pages ago. This entry will detail their origin."

I sat up a bit more at the sentence, and David pulled me a bit closer before continuing. "There are many different stories told by different people, but the main consensus is as follows. The lost were born out of pure rage. The first of their kind was a boy whom I cannot find the real name for. For this study, we will be naming him Peter Pan after a story created years later based on them.

Peter Pan was seemingly in love with a girl we will call Wendy, but it seems that she did not love him back. At least, that is the conclusion we have come to. We at least know that Wendy certainly wanted to leave, but Peter didn't want her to. The area around here is extremely muddled through the story passing orally. Some believe that she killed him to run away while others believe he did it himself.

Either way, the anger he felt about her leaving festered in his soul after he was burned alive, and it trapped him inside the forest, forever condemned to stay within the forests and the small areas around them.

He then began luring others inside, others with anger in their hearts. The community grew and grew until there were hundreds of them, forever trapped. Of course, being a spirit did come with gained abilities. They're similar to the Christian demons in many ways such as sulfur being an identifying smell and abilities such as teleportation and- oh-" David turned the page only to stop abruptly. The next few pages were torn out roughly, the edges tapered off as if someone had torn it out in a hurry.

I ran my finger along the tear and breathed deeply before turning back to the original pages. There was a picture tacked to the bottom, and I tapped it thoughtfully. I swear I've seen this picture before. I placed the book down gently and clambered up, moving quickly.