He stood on the porch, in front of the oak door. Pulling his sleeves to his shoulders, he knocked on the door, but nobody answered. Scout thought his friend hadn’t heard, so he tried again, but was given the same answer; maybe he was playing his guitar in the basement.

After countless times knocking harder and harder, louder and louder on his door, Scout gave up and sighed. He turned around to leave. One step down the small flight of stairs and he was cut short by an abrupt scream.

His heart pounded in his chest. “Nate…” He muttered, flipping back around and returning to the door. When he tried to open it, he found that it was locked. “Nathan, let me in!” He called out, slamming his fist against the wood, trying desperately for his friend to hear.

The scream came again, but it was farther away. Desperation dripped from the sound, as if he were trying to get away from some person or animal.

Scout reared back and slammed his shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge, but that didn’t stop him from trying again. Over and over again, he rammed the door until the lock broke and the wood plank slammed into the wall inside. He scampered in, calling, “Nathan!” at different times, in different places, as he tried to find him.

He stopped in his friend’s bedroom, staring at the bed in front of him, panting and out of breath from his struggle of a search. The sheets had been pulled off and were sprawled on the ground, one over the other as if he were in a rush.

Sighing, feeling like giving up, Scout left the room and walked down the small hallway, but not to the living room. He was pulled towards the basement door. To it’s right was an oval, silver-framed mirror hanging a couple inches over a mahogany desk.

Scout gazed at his reflection in the glass. His dark brown hair was a mess, his green eyes shining, frantic and weary. Black-rimmed, small glasses sat atop the bridge of his nose. The previous ironed, green shirt was covered with wrinkles and small sweat stains. After rubbing his eyes, he ran his fingers through his hair and half growled, half groaned.

Footsteps thumped down the wooden stairs on his left. His eyes shot over, and soon his curiosity got the best of him and he went to investigate. The low-hanging lights swung, from left to right, as if something had bumped them. A dark door slammed shut at the bottom.

Taking a step forward, he stopped himself and began to think; Door. Door. Okay, I’m in a horror movie. It’s April, right? Maybe Nate’s pranking me. He would. He’s down there.

Scout walked down, one creaky step at a time, and arrived at the door faster than anticipated. He twisted the gilded handle and pushed the door open, immediately welcomed by a darkened, purple-red room. The bed on the right had been neatly fixed up, like whoever was there knew that Scout would be there. As for the rest of the room; it was a mess.

Looking around at the contents on the many tables, Scout thought the room belonged to a psychic. There was a velvet cloth-covered table with a crystal ball, countless decks of cards strewn about, and an odd looking cane with talons holding a smaller crystal sphere at the top.

Scout shook his head and began to look for his friend again, checking in the closet first--there was a hole. After further investigation, he noted that he couldn’t see the bottom and, since there was no way anyone could go down, moved on, after inspecting a silver knife in a glass box. He closed the door behind him when he left.

Gazing around again, he then realized there was no other place for Nathan to hide. His eyes returned to the closet door and, before he went to open it again, was interrupted by an all too familiar voice, “Gullible, are we?”

“Nathan.” Scout sighed, relieved. “Do you really have to prank me that hard? I thought something bad happened!”

“Turn around and look, Scout. You’ll find that I’m not who you think I am.” His tone rained evil down in the room. When Scout didn’t do as said, the other added, “Not going to obey a king?”

Scout let out a scoff. “A king? Nathan, you, a king? You don’t have any ounce of royalty in your blood. Besides, what would you be a king of?”

“Hell, I suppose. Since that’s where I’m from.”

Scout turned around and looked at his friend; he was wearing a red, button-up, long-sleeved shirt and black jeans. Nothing else had changed. “Hell, really? Look, Nathan, I know you’re all in on this ‘King of Hell’ facade, but come on, pranking me to try to prove it? You’ve been talking about this for weeks. Give it a break.”

“Oh Scout, you’re the one that needs a break. Go ahead, take a seat!” Nate grinned, flicking his wrist towards a chair near his desk. It moved, sliding fast on the carpet, slamming against Scout’s knees and forcing him to sit. Nate leaned in and, with a deep voice, said, “Think. Do what you do best.” He paused, slowly closed his eyes, opened them, and added, “But not too much, kid, or you might hurt yourself.”

Without Scout realizing, rope had tied his wrists together and his ankles against the wooden legs. He growled, “Nathan, you’re not funny! This isn’t funny!” He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped when the crystal ball on the staff was pressed against his lips.

“Oh hush now, kid. You’ll be fine. I only need you to cooperate and get this over with. Trust me, I don’t want to do this as much as you don’t.”

“Then why are you?” Scout barked, pulling at his wrists and noticing the tightened rope. “And let me go!”

“Your little friend made a deal with me. Something about wanting to surprise someone on their birthday today. I told him I’d set something up, but that the next person that walked in was going to get their own surprise. So here we are.”

“What deal? With who?!”

“Oh, you’re all questions, aren’t you?” Nate smiled. “I just told you what deal! That’s what I’m doing and what I don’t want to do! I made it that little… thing you keep calling me. What was his name, Nathan? Kid, I’m not him. I’m someone much worse.”