My Protector

And So The Routine Continues

"Wake up Ken."
"Uhh, why should I? I just muck around the house all day anyways. Might as well sleep in."
"In case you had forgotten, you go back to school today. So get dressed. There's leftover pizza for your lunch on the table."
Ken groaned, rolling from under the duvet to the floor. He stood up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stumbled over to the dresser, picking out a white-and-grey striped shirt and a pair of jeans. After changing out of his PJ's, he ran down the stairs, jumping over the last three like he always did. Upon landing, he crumpled to the floor, hand shooting to his side. "Uff, guess I should be more careful," he muttered, "That's not gonna disappear overnight." He struggled to his feet, then limped over to the table. One poppyseed muffin later, Ken was back in action. He put the aforementioned pizza in a lunchbox, brushed his teeth, fed Molly, the cat, and got in a round or two of Jetpack Joyride before the bus pulled up. He climbed on and sat in his seat. Some of the older kids, who had heard about the attack on the news, stared. It was a short ride to the high school, with no stops in between. Ken attracted quite a bit of attention walking to his locker. Word travels fast in a small town, and everyone had already heard the story. He had stuck his lunch on the top shelf, and pulled his math binder out from the bottom when a familiar voice called his name
"Hey, Ken!"
"Chuck!" he called back. Chuck was a short, red-head, freckled boy, with an orange shirt and blue pants. He and Ken had been friends since the first day of kindergarten, and always seemed to be in the same classes.
"Word on the street is you were in a fight with a zombie," Chuck chortled.
"Well, it wasn't quite like that!" Ken chuckled
"Hey, as long as you don't eat my brains! No but seriously, what happened?"
"Well, I had left the pizzeria for some fresh air, when I came across a man attacking a little girl. I knocked the guy's knife away, then told the girl to run. She didn't, so I started shouting. The next thing I know, there's a hole in my ribcage," Ken explained.
"But, you never left the restaurant... If your story was true, you would have been found on the street. I doubt the attacker dragged you through a crowded building unnoticed," Chuck protested. Ken started to wonder too. It seems everyone he had talked to said the same thing, but he knew that he was down the street a ways. 'Why would the killer take me back anyways?' Ken wondered, 'Then again, why would anyone drag me inside?' But that wasn't important now. All that mattered now was math. The rest of the day went by slowly. Ken was always bored at school, because he already knew all the answers. After catching up on linear equations, spending some quality time with Hamlet and balancing some chemical equations, it was gym. Ken made his way across the wooden floor to the office that the gym teachers shared. He knocked on the door, and a large, burly man answered. "Hey Coach Kleatus, I have a doctor's note here, I won't be playing today."
The man grunted. "Stick around for roll call, then you can go."
Five minutes later, Ken was free to go. He walked down to the library, where he spent most of his free time. Reading was his one true hobby, but it wasn't seen as a 'respectable' one by his peers. Another case of this was about to unfold. "Hey bookworm!" A gruff voice shouted. It belonged to Andy Kleatus, the coach's son and local bully. Ken sighed, trying to avoid eye contact. "Not so fast four-eyes!" Andy said, grabbing Ken by his backpack. 'I'm not even wearing glasses ya dunce!' Ken internally screamed, but he knew better that to smart-mouth Andy. "Where are we going, catching up on some fine literature?" the bully teased, "Well, you're in for a treat! There's some great books in this locker! Let me show you the way." Ken got worried. The last time Andy shoved him in a locker, he had locked it, and it had taken an hour to get someone's attention. The panic started to well up inside Ken's chest, sweat forming on his brow, eyes darting around, looking for an escape. Suddenly, Ken froze. Eyes glazed over, he reached into his backpack and pulled out something he didn't know was there: a sock puppet. Unbeknownst to Ken, it was in the form of the mysterious thing that had come for him after he had fallen unconscious in the alley. Completely zoned out, he began to sing.
"The boy played 'round the old apple tree
He fell and hit his head
The neighbours found him after some time
But he was already dead"
This tune, sung to the melody of 'Pop Goes the Weasel', was repeated endlessly. Andy was confused. For seemingly no reason, Ken was now in a ball on the floor, rocking himself back and forth, clutching this sock puppet, and singing. "Whoa. Looks like the nerd flipped his lid," he said, half to himself and half to Ken, "Seriously though, you're kinda creepin' me out." No response came from the boy on the floor. The lights went out. "Uh, what just happened?" Andy shouted. He couldn't see a foot in front of his face, but the singing continued, droning on, never ceasing. "Ken. Stop. NOW!" He screamed. The singing stopped. There was nothing. No light. No sound. Andy was freaking out.
Thump.
"Who-who's there?"
Thump.
"Tell me who y-you are!"
Thump.
"Ken, this isn't funny anym-"
SCREEE!