Sina could hear the banging against the shed door, and the soft crying of Casper from within. Metal shook; probably Casper's little head turning and hitting the old magazine rack that held the two-by-fours. Casper got louder, screaming now, his small voice hoarse with terror. "AMMA!"

He started kicking against the door, bashing his little boy's feet against the barred lock. "THERE'S BUGS ON ME," he cried, his voice thick with phlegm. "I CAN'T SEE THEM!" He sobbed louder and louder, kicking again and again, and Sina saw Zeke get up from the porch and set down his can of beer.

He wiped the condensation off onto his blue-jeans, grabbing the hammer from the wooden floor. Silently, he walked back towards the decrepit shed before BASHING the hammer against the shed's locked door once, twice, three times, four . . .

Eighteen times. "TWO MORE HOURS IN THERE, BOY," Zeke yelled. "NO CRYING, EITHER!" Casper sniffled, backing away from the door with a wet shuffle. Zeke turned to Sina, pointing the hammer at their chest. "You stay quiet, too. You're the good one, but not by much."
Sina nodded, terrified; they walked closer to the shed, putting their lips to the door and whispering, "You okay?"

"I hate you."