It was already bad enough being the official town freak, but then they started calling him "The Albino Brother". Reggie didn't particularly mind what the kids at school said about his step-brother, except that it left a stain on his reputation. "Keep your pasty brother under control, Reg!" That's what they'd say to him, and whenever Ian was around they'd make note of it. He was actually surprised that they came up with the new nickname. Typical name-calling was done on the spot, with little creativity put into the process: Dumbnut; Shitbrain; Freak; Skank. Those were common in name-calling. But albino? Hah! That's actually a pretty good one—it even made Reggie laugh when it first reached his ears.

It wasn't a matter of race that sparked the gossip, (however it was definitely a factor that went into play) instead it was the very nature of Ian. It's only been 3 months since Ian came into the picture, and everyone in town already knows his name.

The Infamous Winston Manor fire, which erupted the past summer, killed off the two richest people in town. Francisca Winston and Nathanial Winston lived in the manor alone, and despite the townspeople being envious of their wealth, the Winstons made frequent donations to the town. Following the great flood of 95', they donated 2 million to the town for repairs. They also gave a grant of 300,000 dollars annually to the school district, which they were allowed to spend however they liked.

Everyone knew the Winstons, not just because they were rich, but because they were—without a doubt—the most intelligent individuals in town. That's how they got rich. Experiments...Projects...they did it all. With about 64 science books published together, it was unsurprising when they each received Nobel prizes for chemistry and physics. The past 5 years they were working on something big (everyone knew), but everything they were working on burned in that fire. Project XVII is what they called it, and the people of the town assumed it wasn't their first attempt at the project. Well it didn't matter, not anymore, the only thing left was a young boy stationed on the beautiful linoleum staircase, his face as dead as a fresh corpse, waiting for the fire trucks and policemen to arrive.

No one knew about the mysterious son (not until the fire, of course), due to the Winstons emphasis on confidentiality. They never left the house, not even to run errands, especially not to run errands, why do that when they could pay people to do it for them? But although they paid others to deliver things to them, they were very strict in the way that it was done. There was a large stretch of pavement in their backyard—resembling a deserted parking lot—where they instructed the deliverers to meet them. That's where they collected the goods, never letting anyone within 60 yards of their house. It was private property, afterall.

One person did try, a desperate young fellow who worked for the daily news, but he didn't get very far. A picture of what the Winstons were working on would be worth millions, but only if you could survive through the process of getting it.

It wasn't like the manor was surrounded by trees or anything that would be useful for stealth. They had a flat plain of grass in front of their house, always mowed, and the backyard was nothing but pavement. So the news guy could do nothing but run, sprint towards the house with his camera banging against his hip. It was a suicide mission, even idiots know not to run at the White House with guns in their hands. He was 10 yards from the manor when an alarm went off, and he was in jail on a trespassing charge before you could blink an eye.

It was just about as fast as the son appeared, live and well, a 15 year old boy kept secret his whole life. Perhaps they wanted to save him from the paparazzi, which would surely be interested in a new addition to the Winston family, but it didn't take long for the people to learn the sad truth.

Ian isn't smart. Not in the slightest. He's average at best, just a simple kid with a simple mind. Reggie, although partly disgusted by his own thoughts, believes that Ian must be on the spectrum. On multiple occasions, he's felt as though Ian has no sense of social cues. If your friend is talking game to a pretty girl, you don't walk over to them and cockblock his chances. If a bunch of people get silent when you enter the room, likely it means they don't want to be your friend. And DEFINITELY, if you walk into your step brother's room and find him crying, you don't make his day worse by asking, "Hey, do you want to walk to the store and pick up some snacks? Then, we can have a movie marathon when we get back!", with your face spread into a big grin. Ian does that though, and it infuriates Reggie.

But before all that, before the name-calling and hateful energy disposed on to him, Ian was just an orphan boy that no one wanted to take. They were eager at first—considering he's a Winston and would inherit their intelligence—but when they learned the truth, no one bothered to show up. For Reggie, unluckily, his parents just had to be 'Good Samaritans', because of his father's insistence upon helping people.

"But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him?" Yuck! That was a part of his father's lecture to him when he decided to adopt the orphan boy, Ian. Preacher, huh? I suppose the saying does go that a preacher must practice as they preach, but did he really have to? The members of the church already respected him enough, he had the look of a preacher and the commanding voice of one. He could make the congregation stand with one helluva "Come Forth!", and make them pray with a soft  "Let us bow our heads, and lay our problems unto God in prayer."

But Reggie knew—although his parents tried to hide it from him—that they wanted the boy for other reasons. About a year ago, his parents were talking in the kitchen of having another child, seeing as though Reggie was so old already and growing up fast. They thought he wasn't home, still off at the schoolyard court playing hoops with his buds, but he got home early and overheard them through his bedroom door. The problem, it seemed, was that his mother got what they called secondary infertility—a result of Fallopian tube damage from birthing Reggie. Didn't stop them from trying though (oh, how fun it was to see them try), and for half a dozen months they did whatever they could to get Reggie out of the house. He loved it: Lots of money; No strict curfew; Practically anything he wanted.

And then, Ian. "A gift from god!", he heard ringing from the living room when Ian first appeared on the news. He knew it would be wrong to testify against it, but it didn't feel right to him at all. They're dark, a pure smooth oily skin tone that is predominantly featured at his high school. Ian is white. Not albino, sure, but white enough to stand out in a black family.

But Reggie had a good rep, and most of his boys were excited to hangout with him and the mystery kid.

Until they met him.

Now, they hardly want to invite Reggie anywhere if his annoying younger brother will be tagging along for the ride. But now, with October seeping in and Halloween underway, they're all going to learn that there are scarier things than what they see in movies.