I spent 25 seconds inside the Devil’s Toy Box. That’s how long it took for Jason to run my car into it. Thankfully, the Cherokee was still drivable afterward and we promptly got the fuck out of there.
I dropped Erin off at her house, telling her I was sorry and that there was nothing else I could do. Honestly, I don’t know what she expected from me. This isn’t Supernatural. If your boyfriend is missing, you call the cops. I’m going home.
Do I feel bad that I couldn’t help her? Sure, but for what it’s worth, we disabled the Toy Box and probably saved countless generations of dumb kids from making the same mistake as Troy. The bad news is that doing so has almost certainly scarred me for life. Even as I sit here days later, writing this all down for the second time, I’m still worried that it’s not over. I’m worried that when I wake up tomorrow, it’s going to be in front of that goddamn box.