Page 54 of Caged Hunger

He wasn’t sure why, but Cameron had seen something in him. Something that piqued his interest and made him look deeper, trying to see through the walls he had so heavily fortified.

They sped through town and out to the desert. A few days ago, Basher had found an advertisement on one of the bulletin boards at the local grocery store and immediately thought it might be something Cameron would enjoy.

Now, speeding toward their destination with Cameron wrapped tightly around his body, he sure hoped he was right.

20

CAMERON

They pulled into a dirt parking lot just off the main road, where nobody and nothing drove by. They were in the middle of the desert, at some isolated location no one had probably ever heard of.

Cameron looked around.

He was pretty sure this was where they had filmed all those The Hills Have Eyes movies. Nothing but desert and rolling hills as far as the eye could see.

Was this where he and Basher got murdered? Was a small child going to appear out of nowhere, ask for help, then lock them in a cellar somewhere, forcing them to watch as they make skin suits out of their previous victims?

Okay, perhaps he needed to stop watching horror movies alone late at night. Clearly, they were filling his head with paranoid thoughts and delusions. Murders like that didn’t happen.

This was America after all.

The land of freedom and security, where nothing even remotely dangerous ever happened anywhere.

Cameron could almost hear his inner thoughts laughing at him.

Okay, perhaps they weren’t living in the safest, most loving country in the world.

Cameron looked up at the large sign posted next to the front door of the old farmhouse.

Maggie’s Pottery Designs.

Cameron looked at Basher, still unsure where the fuck they were. At least Maggie didn’t sound like the type of person who enjoyed wearing skin suits.

“Maggie’s Pottery Designs?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s a pottery-making class. Apparently, they teach you how to make clay bowls and vases and shit.”

A flash of excitement burst through his body.

“Oh! I’ve always wanted to try making my own pottery!” Cameron exclaimed, excitement lighting up his face.

Grabbing Basher by the hand, he immediately began tugging him toward the door. “Come on, let’s go!”

Basher burst out laughing and allowed himself to be happily dragged toward the entrance.

The bell overhead dinged as Cameron threw open the door and stepped inside the old farmhouse.

“Wow.” Cameron gasped, taking in the space around him.

Just inside the front entrance sat a small reception desk where guests were greeted. Beyond it, the space opened up into a large room filled with tables, chairs, and an assortment of pottery-making tools. At least, Cameron assumed they were pottery-making tools. For all he knew, some might have been medieval torture devices, but they certainly looked like they belonged in an artist's studio.

“Hello?” Cameron called, glancing around for anyone looking like a Maggie.

A middle-aged man wearing a bright purple-and-green apron, fastened over a pair of blue, paint-stained jeans, walked out of what Cameron could only assume was the kitchen area.

“Oh! You made it!” the man screeched, throwing his arms up into the air as he appeared to praise the powers that be.

“It wasn’t hard to miss,” Basher grumbled in his usual, friendly, angry-man manner.