The Lights in Their Eyes

*Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk*

The knock on the door made Dylan jump. Not many things scared him, but he wasn't used to visitors. He popped the thick plastic lid closed on his toy box and threw his blanket over the top before meandering over to the door and swinging it open. "What do you want?" he asked the man standing on the porch.

"Home alone as usual, right?" The man smiled. "What's it to ya?" Dylan cocked an eyebrow. Without waiting for an invitation, the man walked inside the house and made his way to the kitchen. He opened up the fridge door and grabbed the milk. He walked across the room and reached into the cabinet and pulled out two glasses, filling both.

The man set the glasses down and pulled out a chair at the little round dining table, gesturing for Dylan to sit across from him. Dylan was intrigued. He sat, taking a big gulp from the glass in front of him.

Dylan stared at the man. His shaggy blonde hair hung over his eyes a bit. He had a scar over his top lip and wrinkles around his eyes. "Who are you?" Dylan asked the mysterious man. "What's it to ya?" The man chuckled, taking a sip from his own cup. Dylan glared at him. "Are you a stranger?" he asked. The man shook his head. "I'm not afraid of you if you are." "I know." The man said. "What are you afraid of, Dylan?"

Dylan smiled. "Nothing." He filled his glass with more milk and reached into the jar in the middle of the table, pulling out a chocolate chip cookie. He dunked it into his glass and took a huge bite. "Why are you here?" He asked the man, who watched as a single line of milk ran down Dylan's chin. Dylan could see the hint of a smile on the man's face, but he hadn't given him an answer yet. He helped himself to another cookie.

"Mom doesn't actually bake these, ya know?" Dylan said, "She just buys em from the store and puts them in this jar to make it seem like it." The man chuckled. "My mom used to do that too." "Yeah." Dylan said, "I guess they taste fine but I don't know why adults do such weird things." He wiped his chin. "It's funny, isn't it?" By now, the man had his own cookie and was nibbling away. "That she puts them in a jar?" he asked. Dylan shook his head, turning a cookie over in his hand, "No." he said. "It's funny adults are always telling you not to lie but they do it all the time." "It's just a cookie, Dylan." "No. It's a lie." He smashed the cookie in his hand and watched as the crumbs dropped onto the floor.

"Are you gonna clean that up?" The man asked him. Dylan picked up his milk glass. He held it out to the side and dropped it to the floor as well. It shattered as it hit the tile. Glass flew in multiple directions. "Nope." He said, matter-of-factly. He stood up and began walking away. "Dylan, pick it up." The man said. Dylan stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around. "Or what?" he said. "Do it." said the man. Dylan snickered and continued walking. He was almost to the door when he felt something hard hit him in the back. He fell face forward and smacked his face into the door frame. His top lip split and blood began to pour from his face.

Dylan tried to catch his breath. He rolled over onto his back as he heard the chair the man was sitting in slide across the floor. He was coming! Dylan knew he had to get up and get away as fast as he could. He scrambled to his feet and started rushing through the door. The man was a lot bigger than Dylan, who was only six years old. But Dylan was faster and had the advantage of being in his own home. He knew every turn, corner, and hiding spot here. Making his way down the hallway, he zoomed into his room and glided under his bed.

Dylan used his sleeve to wipe the blood from his mouth. It stung a bit, but he was still alive. He slowed his breath and huddled himself into a ball underneath his bed. This was a good spot to hide. The man surely wouldn't be able to see him here. Dylan's room was far from clean. He had miscellaneous piles of broken toys and dirty clothes strewn over every inch of the floor. Even if the man did try, was a small kid like Dylan worth the trouble of tripping over such a mess? He didn't think so.

But he was wrong. He held his breath as the footsteps approached. He barely heard them. The man wasn't stomping or rushing. He was very light on his feet. He stopped right in front of Dylan's bedroom door and walked inside. He stepped lightly over the piles of junk and headed towards where Dylan was hiding. The man crouched down and picked up Dylan's smashed toy sword. It was bent in half. The man chuckled a little and tossed it aside. He kneeled down to peer into the dark cavern under the bed.

"Peek a boo." he whispered. Dylan didn't make a noise. He was surrounded by various broken things. Maybe he wasn't caught just yet. He held his breath and stared from his hiding place, hopeful the man would go away.

That hope was short lived as the man reached under the bed and yanked Dylan out by the straps of his overalls. The boy struggled to break free. He used his arms to push his own body weight back against the leg of the bed, but it did nothing. The man didn't look it, but he was strong. He gave Dylan one good tug and out popped the little boy. He picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder like a rag doll. Dylan pounded his fists against the mans back. He kicked his feet. The man didn't even flinch. He walked over towards the corner of the room and tossed Dylan onto the floor like a piece of garbage.

Dylan looked up at him with eyes the size of golf balls. "Are you crazy or something?" He squeaked. "Leave me alone!" The man pointed to Dylan's toy box. The blanket he had tossed on the top was still safely resting over the lid. Dylan gulped. "I can't." said the man. "You have to be stopped." He fell to his knees and grabbed Dylan by the throat. The boy scratched and pulled at the man's hands. "Get off me!" Dylan barely managed to whimper his last sentence. The man squeezed until Dylan stopped kicking. He watched as the light left the boys eyes. His lips were blue. The veins in his eyes had erupted. Dylan was dead.

The man tried to catch his own breath. He was feeling faint. With the last of his strength, he ripped the blanket from the top of the toy box and cracked the lid open. The smallest little moans and coos could be heard from within. The man peeked inside, the smallest of smiles rested on his face. His body began to fade away. It crumpled into nothing. Not a single shred remained of the man. He was gone.

But Layla was safe. That's what mattered.

The little blonde-haired blue-eyed baby girl wiggled her arms and legs from inside the toy box, waiting to be found. Behind the toy box, a bottle of bleach and Windex sat next to a pile of dish rags. If Dylan hadn't returned from the future to stop his tiny self from murdering his precious baby sister, she would be dead. So would one hundred and fourteen other young girls.

This hadn't been the first time Dylan had tried to rectify himself. He had tried many times to stop himself from turning evil. He had failed every single time. Dylan never wanted to be a bad guy, but it seemed as long as he survived in the world, women would get hurt.

He hated himself for it but he knew why he was the way he was. The conception of Layla had caused his father to leave. Daddy didn't want another child. He never even much cared for the first one as it was. He tried to hurt Mommy to make Layla go away, but that didn't work, and Daddy just ended up having to leave for a long time. No one could say when or if he was coming back.

The birth of Layla had caused his mother to have to stop making homemade meals and take on a job of her own. She never had any time for Dylan anymore. They had too many responsibilities now and Mommy had to make money for bills while Dylan filled his role as "the man of the house". Dylan was responsible for helping out with Layla while Mommy went to work. Dylan had to sacrifice his allowance to help with Layla's expenses.

Daddy had a point. Layla was the problem. If Dylan could just make her go away...

Daddy could come back home. Mommy could make him meat loaf and mashed potatoes on Wednesdays again. If Dylan could just make Layla disappear....

Well, things would be better. That's what he thought at just six years old.

But he was wrong.

Dylan woke up an insatiable evil that day. Watching the light drain from Layla's eyes stirred something inside of him. He wanted to watch it again and again. For the next thirty three years, he would dim the lights in many sets of eyes. He would watch it over and over like his favorite TV show.

No matter how many times adult Dylan tried to correct his mistake, it never worked. He had finally realized the only way to stop the evil was to eradicate it completely.

So he did.