The town of Brooks was a lively town off of highway 96 in the northern part of Maine. There were always tourists and families coming and going through the town. There were the occasional accidents where one car hit another, but not much more than that usually happened. But that was about to change.
It was a cold day in November, and it was hunting season. But it was a Sunday so no one was really out hunting. Three boys were hanging out over one of their houses, when John had the great idea of taking his fathers rifles and going into the woods to try to find a deer. Jack and Dylan weren’t so sure about concurring to go out into the woods, but John reassured them that if they got caught that he would say it was all his fault.
John, 14, was a tall, thin but muscular boy. His father was the best hunter in the town and they lived off the money his father made during hunting season. Jack, 14, was a scrawny boy whose parents had left him in Brooks when he was 12 years old with his aunt and uncle. His uncle too, was a hunter but was nowhere near as good as John’s father. Dylan was a young boy who was only 9 years old; he lived on the outskirts of town with his grandparents, and tried to get away from home as much as possible.
After John persuaded Jack and Dylan to come with him they snuck inside and grabbed his fathers three 22’s. They dashed out of the house and into the cold. They ran through John’s backyard and into the woods. Dylan kept looking back to make sure that no one saw them. As they darted through the woods, Jack had thoughts racing through his mind about what would happen if they got caught.
As they were running through a clearing, they stopped when Dylan saw something out of the corner of his eye. Jack said he saw it too, and thought it was a deer. John laid down in the tall green flora, in the middle of the clearing, and waited for another movement. When he saw it he took aim and deftly fired. He heard a loud yelping noise then a thud as the deer fell to the ground. The three boys ran over to see how big the deer was.
Jack was the first one to reach the deer. He screamed when he got there. The other boys ran up behind Jack.
"Whats wrong?" said John, and Dylan.
Then they saw it. There wasn’t a deer laying there on the ground limp, there was a man. There was a hole straight through his head. It went in the back of his head, and in the front there was a gigantic hole where the bullet had come out. John and Jack started freaking out.
"Now I rue ever coming out here at all!" Jack said, with a scared voice.
"What do you mean, you wanted to come out here!" John exclaimed.
"No, you said that nothing bad was going to happen and you convinced Dylan and I to come out with you!" said Jack
"Nevermind that, what are we going to do?" said John.
"We?" Said jack "You shot him!"
"But if we go back and tell we will all get in trouble for being out here with the guns anyway," said John.
They looked over at Dylan who was just shocked at what happened. . . He started murmuring something and then started lamenting. The man that was shot was his grandfather. He could tell because he had his name tag on from the garage he had worked at. Dylan leaped and grafted John and tackled him to the ground.
"Why did you shoot him? Why did you kill my grandfather? You asshole!"
Dylan was thrashing John for about five minutes before he got tired and rolled over onto the ground. He lay there weeping.
"Now what?" said Jack.
"I know said John. "The only way we could possibly get out of this without any of us getting in trouble is to quiet the only person who will talk."
"What do you mean?" said Jack.
"We have to kill Dylan," John whispered
"What? that is absolutely insane!" Said Jack. "You are kidding right. We can’t kill Dylan!" Jack Screamed.
Dylan over heard their fracas and stood up and started running. John quickly turned around, aimed and fired. Dylan fell to the ground.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Screamed Jack, "You just killed one of your best friends."
"I had to make sure he didn’t say a word," replied John.
"How do you know I won’t say something," said Jack.
"Because if you do, I'll kill you, too. I didn’t want to kill him Jack! But if I hadn’t I would have gone to jail for life," John replied calmly.
Then John’s voice deepened, "And I don’t want to go to jail JACK!, Now help me bury these bodies, We cant leave them out in the open like this."
Meanwhile back in Brooks the whole town was looking for the three boys and no one could find them. It was starting to get dark so the towns people started into the woods looking for the boys because they knew the boys wouldn't last in the cold at night.
Back in the woods Jack was reluctantly helping John drag the bodies to a hole that he had made Jack dig with his hands. The palor of his skin was caused the the freezing cold zephyr that passed through the area. John had subjugated him and was making him do whatever he said. Jack’s hands were all scratched up because the dirt was frozen, so Jack had to break through the frozen dirt with his fists.
As John was dragging Dylan’s body to the grave, Jack saw an opportunity to escape and started sprinting, back to town. John saw him, and started shooting. He shot twice and both times bullets just hit trees that were next to Jack. He was running for about five minutes before he noticed the towns people walking through the woods looking for them.
Jack ran up to the sheriff and told him what was going on. The sheriff sent three men back to the station to get rifles and the rest of the police ran into the woods following Jack to where John was. The police stopped a few hundred feet from the place where John was, and planned out their approach. Then two officers went in and took John by force. John got two shots off, but luckily nobody else was seriously injured. They pinioned his hands, and dragged him out of the woods to the police station.
John was charged with 1st degree murder, on two accounts, and was sent to a Juvenile hall until he turned eighteen, He would then be sent to a state penitentiary, where he would stay for the remainder of his life.
As for Jack, six years later he moved from Maine and is now living in Omaha, Nebraska with his wife and two children. Their names are Dylan, and Jordan. Dylan was named after his best friend, who John had killed.
It was a cold day in November, and it was hunting season. But it was a Sunday so no one was really out hunting. Three boys were hanging out over one of their houses, when John had the great idea of taking his fathers rifles and going into the woods to try to find a deer. Jack and Dylan weren’t so sure about concurring to go out into the woods, but John reassured them that if they got caught that he would say it was all his fault.
John, 14, was a tall, thin but muscular boy. His father was the best hunter in the town and they lived off the money his father made during hunting season. Jack, 14, was a scrawny boy whose parents had left him in Brooks when he was 12 years old with his aunt and uncle. His uncle too, was a hunter but was nowhere near as good as John’s father. Dylan was a young boy who was only 9 years old; he lived on the outskirts of town with his grandparents, and tried to get away from home as much as possible.
After John persuaded Jack and Dylan to come with him they snuck inside and grabbed his fathers three 22’s. They dashed out of the house and into the cold. They ran through John’s backyard and into the woods. Dylan kept looking back to make sure that no one saw them. As they darted through the woods, Jack had thoughts racing through his mind about what would happen if they got caught.
As they were running through a clearing, they stopped when Dylan saw something out of the corner of his eye. Jack said he saw it too, and thought it was a deer. John laid down in the tall green flora, in the middle of the clearing, and waited for another movement. When he saw it he took aim and deftly fired. He heard a loud yelping noise then a thud as the deer fell to the ground. The three boys ran over to see how big the deer was.
Jack was the first one to reach the deer. He screamed when he got there. The other boys ran up behind Jack.
"Whats wrong?" said John, and Dylan.
Then they saw it. There wasn’t a deer laying there on the ground limp, there was a man. There was a hole straight through his head. It went in the back of his head, and in the front there was a gigantic hole where the bullet had come out. John and Jack started freaking out.
"Now I rue ever coming out here at all!" Jack said, with a scared voice.
"What do you mean, you wanted to come out here!" John exclaimed.
"No, you said that nothing bad was going to happen and you convinced Dylan and I to come out with you!" said Jack
"Nevermind that, what are we going to do?" said John.
"We?" Said jack "You shot him!"
"But if we go back and tell we will all get in trouble for being out here with the guns anyway," said John.
They looked over at Dylan who was just shocked at what happened. . . He started murmuring something and then started lamenting. The man that was shot was his grandfather. He could tell because he had his name tag on from the garage he had worked at. Dylan leaped and grafted John and tackled him to the ground.
"Why did you shoot him? Why did you kill my grandfather? You asshole!"
Dylan was thrashing John for about five minutes before he got tired and rolled over onto the ground. He lay there weeping.
"Now what?" said Jack.
"I know said John. "The only way we could possibly get out of this without any of us getting in trouble is to quiet the only person who will talk."
"What do you mean?" said Jack.
"We have to kill Dylan," John whispered
"What? that is absolutely insane!" Said Jack. "You are kidding right. We can’t kill Dylan!" Jack Screamed.
Dylan over heard their fracas and stood up and started running. John quickly turned around, aimed and fired. Dylan fell to the ground.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Screamed Jack, "You just killed one of your best friends."
"I had to make sure he didn’t say a word," replied John.
"How do you know I won’t say something," said Jack.
"Because if you do, I'll kill you, too. I didn’t want to kill him Jack! But if I hadn’t I would have gone to jail for life," John replied calmly.
Then John’s voice deepened, "And I don’t want to go to jail JACK!, Now help me bury these bodies, We cant leave them out in the open like this."
Meanwhile back in Brooks the whole town was looking for the three boys and no one could find them. It was starting to get dark so the towns people started into the woods looking for the boys because they knew the boys wouldn't last in the cold at night.
Back in the woods Jack was reluctantly helping John drag the bodies to a hole that he had made Jack dig with his hands. The palor of his skin was caused the the freezing cold zephyr that passed through the area. John had subjugated him and was making him do whatever he said. Jack’s hands were all scratched up because the dirt was frozen, so Jack had to break through the frozen dirt with his fists.
As John was dragging Dylan’s body to the grave, Jack saw an opportunity to escape and started sprinting, back to town. John saw him, and started shooting. He shot twice and both times bullets just hit trees that were next to Jack. He was running for about five minutes before he noticed the towns people walking through the woods looking for them.
Jack ran up to the sheriff and told him what was going on. The sheriff sent three men back to the station to get rifles and the rest of the police ran into the woods following Jack to where John was. The police stopped a few hundred feet from the place where John was, and planned out their approach. Then two officers went in and took John by force. John got two shots off, but luckily nobody else was seriously injured. They pinioned his hands, and dragged him out of the woods to the police station.
John was charged with 1st degree murder, on two accounts, and was sent to a Juvenile hall until he turned eighteen, He would then be sent to a state penitentiary, where he would stay for the remainder of his life.
As for Jack, six years later he moved from Maine and is now living in Omaha, Nebraska with his wife and two children. Their names are Dylan, and Jordan. Dylan was named after his best friend, who John had killed.
