The shed

Maria Scarlet lived on the outskirts of Queens, in a prim, spotless house with a garden she bragged about every summer. She had been a loud voice in the voting circle that decided David should be “handled.” She was the one who said he was a threat. The one who insisted he be “removed before he ruins everything.” She believed she’d gotten away with it.

Until tonight.

David waited in the back of her yard, hidden behind the row of tall hydrangeas she trimmed every two days. It was 11:46 PM when Maria stepped outside, carrying a flashlight and muttering about raccoons. She always checked her shed before bed. It was routine. Predictable. A flaw.

David watched her walk toward the wooden structure, her slippers crunching over gravel. When she pushed the shed door open, David whispered from the shadows, “Maria.”

She froze.
The flashlight trembled.

“Who’s there?”

He stepped into the faint beam, letting her see just enough of his face. She recognized him instantly. Her jaw dropped, her breath caught in her throat, and the flashlight slipped from her fingers, rolling across the floor and hitting a rake handle.

“You—” she stuttered. “You’re supposed to be—dead.”

David stepped closer, voice calm. “I was.”

Maria backed away until she bumped into the wall of the shed. “Listen… listen, David, whatever you think—whatever you’ve been told—it wasn’t—”

He raised a hand for silence.
Maria swallowed hard.

“Please,” she whispered. “We—we only wanted to protect the community. You were… becoming a danger.”

David tilted his head slightly. “You tied me to a forest tree, beat me until I couldn’t breathe, stabbed me, sealed me in a casket, and dumped me in the river.” His voice never rose. “You weren’t protecting anyone.”

Maria’s breathing turned sharp and panicked. “You don’t have to do this. I can help you. I—I can talk to people, explain you’re alive. I can—”

“You made your choice,” David said softly. “Now I’m making mine.”

She bolted for the door.
David moved first.

He grabbed the nail gun from the shelf beside him—a heavy industrial model used for repairing fences—and fired once. The nail shot through the air with a snap and buried itself into Maria’s forearm. She screamed and collapsed, clutching her arm, her breath coming in short, broken gasps.

“Please—David, please—” she sobbed.

He kneeled beside her, almost gentle. “The night you killed me… did I get to beg? Did any of you listen?”

Maria shook her head violently, tears streaking her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I swear—”

“It’s too late for apologies.”

He stood, grabbed the metal canister from the corner—one she kept for dealing with garden pests. A concentrated pesticide, potent enough that the label warned: Danger. Fatal if inhaled.

Maria’s eyes widened in terror. “David—don’t—please, I have a daughter—”

He hesitated for a single heartbeat.
Then Maria made the mistake of trying to crawl toward the door.

David kicked it shut.

He knelt again, leaned in close, and whispered, “You should have thought of her before you helped bury someone else’s child.”

Maria tried to scream, but her voice cracked.
David pressed the trigger of the canister, releasing a dense white mist.

Her coughing filled the shed.
Her body trembled.
Then the sound softened.

David stepped back, expression steady. He opened the shed door, letting the night air wash in, carrying the mist out into the backyard. Maria lay still.

He turned away, walking through the garden path as if he had simply finished evening chores. The hydrangeas rustled as he slipped into the darkness. The streetlights hummed faintly.

He whispered to himself, “One down. The rest will follow.”

And Manhattan would learn that the boy they killed didn’t just survive.

He evolved.