"Quit messing with the radio," she scolded, slapping his hand away from the dial. "I like this song." She bopped her head along with the music, ignoring the scowls from across the car.

"It's so lame," he complained. "You've got no taste in music whatsoever!"

"Do you want to walk home? Because I'll stop this car right now and put you out!" She laughed. "Oh, man. I sound just like my dad."

Jason smiled, and gazed out the window as the familiar streets passed by. When Megan pulled into the cul de sac where he lived, he glanced down at his watch to see how much trouble he was going to be in. Two hours late, he thought. A lecture, at the least. He was supposed to be home to watch his little sister at three, so his mom could go grocery shopping. Megan let him out in front of a modest, split level house. With a quick wave and another look at those gorgeous legs, he made his way down the sidewalk to the front stoop. He noticed his dad's jeep parked in the driveway, next to the blue minivan his mom drove. His dad was home early. Jason cursed to himself. Now I'm really in for it.

He left his skateboard leaning against the entranceway, hoping that if they didn't see it then they wouldn't get the idea to confiscate it as punishment. He turned the key in the lock of the front door, painted red as his mother had insisted when they moved in. Red is a lucky color in China, she had explained. He had rolled his eyes and retorted, "We don't live in China, mom. And we're Jewish."

"Exactly. Jewish people have been exceptionally unlucky for thousands of years. We need all the luck we can get."

He pushed the heavy door open. His mind didn't register the dark splatters right away. Paint? He stepped inside, and his shoe stuck to the tacky substance. A terrible realization sunk in, and his chest squeezed in on itself. Blood. Everywhere.

He screamed for them, as he ran from room to room, searching. Mom, he cried, his voice high and tight. Dad, answer me! But there was nothing, no sound, only the red horror around him. The walls were painted crimson, furniture upturned, and no sign of his parents or sister. He ran to the phone in the kitchen, his feet slipping in the gore. He sobbed and clutched at the reciever, begging someone on the other end to come, that something terrible had happened to his family. It wasn't until he hung up that he noticed the bloody fingerprints on the phone. He wondered if they belonged to his parents, or their killer, for surely they were dead. He looked down at his shaking hands, stained scarlet from his frantic searching. Or maybe they were his.

He collapsed on the floor as the sound of sirens drew closer. His soul was cracking in two, and he wept bitterly. The only thought he could hold onto repeated itself endlessly in his head. Red is a lucky color, his mother's voice echoed. But Jason knew, red is also the color of death.

And now it covered his life like the hues of their front door.

You're the one I'll be calling in the middle of the night when I have a nightmare....