Their son had told them that he had made a friend, that he was going to have a weekend-long sleepover with this new friend. That was yesterday morning. They felt overjoyed for their boy, their poor boy who had suffered from crippling loneliness for as long as they could remember; especially since he lost his sister and girlfriend.

As far as customers went, it was just Jack and Karen eating at the diner that night. They hadn't had a date night together in so long, much less at the very diner they first met at as teenagers. It was peaceful, quiet, lovely. Just a hardworking father, the love of his life, and the various sounds of the kitchen that came to a sudden halt as the late night fry cook's body could be heard slamming onto the floor, bringing pots and pans down with it.

Karen just about jumped out of her skin. "Honey, what was that? Is Earl okay in there?"

Jack stared at the kitchen door. "I don't know. Let me go check it out."

As Jack Stevens stood up, an ominous feeling flooded over him. Something was telling him not to investigate, and yet, what if Earl was having a heart attack? The waitress had been in the bathroom for some time now anyway. This seemed to be something that only Jack could see to.

He approached the dated door and slowly pushed it open. It creaked loud, echoing throughout the kitchen. Jack scanned the room in search of Earl. The flourescent lights were dim, horse flies and mosquitoes flew about the place. Hyperventilating could be heard in a shadowy corner on the far side of the kitchen from a figure desperately trying to claw its way up the wall to stand.

Jack squinted his eyes and saw that the figure was surrounded by pots and pans and was wearing typical cook attire.

Jack gasped and started to rush over. "Earl! Buddy, are you -- ?"

"DON'T -- TAKE -- ANOTHER -- STEP!" Earl screamed into the corner, desperately gasping for air between each word, sliding down the wall.

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. "Whoa, hey, it's okay, Earl. It's Jack. Let me help you up, are you in any pain?"

Earl couldn't stop shuddering. He tried to get to his feet again, but was cut short by a horrid, sharp pain in his chest. He collapsed once more, crying out in sheer agony. He began to convulse, but never once did he turn to face Jack. The fry cook slammed his face into the wall of the corner, pressing his widened mouth against it. With no ounce of control left within him, he suddenly - violently - threw up onto the wall. He choked on vomit that fell back into his throat.

Jack sprinted over to Earl, but suddenly stopped again once he saw Earl's vomit. It was all blood. It wouldn't stop. The whole corner was quickly drenched in the stuff. Earl's skin became pale as a sheet.

"Oh, my god," Jack gagged. "Need to call 9-1-1."

Earl continued to suffocate, trying to let out a sob that his afflicted body just wouldn't let him release. He laborously turned his head toward Jack, his eyes sunken into his head, his own blood smeared all over his face. The bloody vomit leaking from Earl's mouth onto his aprin was chunkier now from rapidly forming blood clots.

Deeply disturbed, Jack hesitated. In all of his years working at the hospital, he had never seen such a horrific case of blood loss in such a short period of time. Earl shouldn't be alive at this point, Jack thought, and yet there he laid, hunched over in the corner, struggling painfully to breathe - to talk.

Earl gave up on trying to speak. With what little energy he could muster up, he shakily pointed a finger to the pantry at the back of the kitchen, never lifting his hand, though. His shoulders then finally relaxed as his eyelids attempted to close over his cavernous eye sockets.

Earl laid deathly still.

Jack's adrenaline spiked. He bolted for the door. Halfway there, a shelf suddenly collapsed in the pantry. Jack didn't notice, he didn't stop running. Not until someone called out to him from the pantry.

"Dad," the voice weakly pleaded.

"...Rob?" Jack replied.

Sure enough Jack's son could be seen, but just barely, standing in the pantry. He seemed taller. Lankier. More surrounded by flies than usual. The light bulb in the pantry flickered above his head.

"What's going on? I thought you were with your friend. What happened here?" Jack rushed over.

Rob stuck his hand out to stop him. Now that Jack was closer he could hear that Rob was having trouble breathing, too. Now that Jack was closer he could also see that small, sharp, jagged bones were poking out of Rob's fingertips, almost like cat claws.

"There was no friend, Dad." Rob's voice was deeper, raspier. It sounded all wrong. "I found something else."

Jack shuddered as his son stood taller and slowly limped out of the pantry, revealing a sinister, wide, open-mouthed smile. The skin was stretched apart at the corners of his mouth.

"Son, what's happened to you?" Jack looked up at what was once his boy.

Rob growled, "I don't know."

Jack tried to control his breathing, "What was this 'something else' you found?"

Rob's smile grew even wider, tearing at the corners of his mouth even further.

"Purpose," was all Rob said before Earl, the once lovable fry cook, possessed with a newfound lust for violence, harshly grabbed Jack's head from behind and snapped it backwards. Jack's glasses flew off his face onto the floor, causing a lens to pop out. Rob, startled, stumbled back, nearly knocking down another shelf in the pantry.

The once hardworking father and loving husband crumbled to the floor.

Jack's murderer snarled and limped toward Rob. Rob's deep-seeded anger flared even more in that moment, boiling throughout all of his veins. He roared, lunged forward, and stuck the sharp bones from his fingertips as deep into Earl's head as he could. Earl's mouth gaped open with a gurgled gasp, letting out more bloody vomit.

Rob didn't say anything. He just waited for Earl to truly pass away before shoving him across the kitchen.

Tears leaked like a faucet from Rob's eyes, small cries and gasps escaping from his still wide-smiling mouth. His lips quivered as he bent down to pick up his deceased father. Rob closed his father's eyelids, being careful not to scratch them on accident. With his father in his arms, he slowly stood up, only to find his mother in the doorway, frozen in fear, yet shaking uncontrollably. She too was gasping for air, sobs slipping out.

Rob approached her. He shifted his father's body in his arms so that he could gently hold his terrified mother's face, letting Jack's broken head dangle down.

This time sounding more like himself, Rob whispered, "I'm sorry, Mom."

He then let out a pungent breath directly into her face. The breath from his lungs contained something sinister; something transformative. It caused his mother to finally snap out of it and frantically backtrack out of the kitchen. She fell to her knees, confused, sobbing hard. She felt her throat closing, her lungs began to singe. She grasped at her throat as she rocked back and forth.

Rob hobbled up behind her and grabbed her by the back of her shirt. She was helpless to do anything as her son dragged her across the floor and out the back of the diner.

Off her and her son went.

Off they went to destroy the computer that housed Benjy's security feed.

Off they went so that they could bury Jack Stevens.

Off they went so that Karen Stevens could become one with the rest, in the forest, by the river...

...in peace.