[A.N. This was originally going to be a one-shot, but ideas just came flooding into my head and now it'll be a few to many chapters long! Please review, telling me what you think! I really appreciate it! :)

I do not own Hey Arnold! or any of its characters and whatnot. Craig Bartlett does. He is an awesome guy. I am insanely jealous of him. Enjoy!]

Chapter 1 – Something's Different

Arnold opened his eyes and saw nothing but blue. He was confused for a moment, but then realized he was laying face up on the ground. He must have fainted or something…but what had caused him to fall down? The last thing he remembered was that he was playing baseball with his friends in the vacant lot. But it didn't sound like there was anyone else there. Also, no one had come over to see if he was alright. Carefully, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his back and looked around.

How long had he been out? He could have sworn he had been standing in Gerald Field just a moment ago, but the vacant lot looked as it had before it had become Gerald Field…it was covered with garbage, the grass was tall, and all of his friends were nowhere in sight.

His mind racing with questions, he left the lot, walking on the sidewalk towards the boardinghouse.

The city had a different air somehow; more mysterious and dangerous, if it was possible to feel the emotion of the city itself. He walked slower, attempting to take it all in. No cars drove by him on the street, no other people were walking on the sidewalk. It was eerily quiet, quite unlike how busy it usually was at this hour with kids playing outside, adults returning from work, and the bells of the shop doors ringing. His footsteps almost seemed to echo.

Then things started to get weirder when he approached Green Meats.

The shop was closed, but not just for the day. Peering inside the dusty window, which no longer said "Green Meats" on it, Arnold could see the counters and shelves were empty and covered in dust, and on the floor lay stray pieces of paper, whole and ripped, and fallen ceiling tiles. The locked door no longer had the open/closed sign, but in its place hung a "for sale" sign in a faded red color that looked like it had been there for years.

But how could this be? He had just said hello to Mr. Green that morning on his way to school, and the shop had been open and running smoothly as usual. How could he have sold it and it gotten that dusty in one day?

Arnold continued along the sidewalk, trying to justify these weird occurrences. The wind blew swiftly, and Arnold quickened his pace as he did not have a jacket. His long plaid shirt that hung beneath his sweater flapped against his legs, but he ignored it. When he got home to his grandparents, they would be able to explain everything to him. He hoped.

"And stay out!" a harsh voice called from up ahead. It sounded like it was coming from Mrs. Vitello's flower shop. He hurried ahead to see what was happening.

"No good kids!" Arnold heard her yell before he heard the sound of a door slamming. He reached the shop, and something was definitely different about it. The window display, usually filled with brightly colored flowers in carefully done arrangements, was full of nearly dead flowers scattered carelessly in chipped vases. He saw a few older kids, perhaps fifth graders, running from the shop, trailing flower petals and leaves and laughing aloud as they went.

Arnold opened the door to the shop, to ask Mrs. Vitello what had happened, but was not greeted with the usual "Hello, Arnold, how are you?" Instead, he dodged a flying chrysanthemum.

"Come back for more, eh?" Mrs. Vitello yelled at him. "I've had enough of you kids messing up my shop! Now go before I get to the roses and other flowers with thorns!"

Not wanting to make her angrier, he quickly hurried out of the shop, and ran several yards down the street before he stopped to catch his breath. What was going on with people today? Mrs. Vitello knew who he was, and always greeted him warmly, no matter how bad of a mood she was in.

He breathed a sigh of relief, for he was almost at the boardinghouse.

But just when he had it in sight, a pair of hands grabbed his arm and pulled him into the alleyway. They covered his mouth with one hand and held his arms firmly at his side with the other. A voice that did not belong to the person who had had grabbed him began to speak, with influence and slight threat. Although he could not see its owner in the darkness of the alleyway, he recognized the voice immediately.

"What has he got on him?" the voice said, in an authoritative tone that Arnold had not heard from this person before. He felt a third person search his pockets, which were empty, a surprise to both of them. Arnold could have sworn he had his wallet with him. Had he dropped it somewhere?

"Nothing, huh?" The voice was disappointed, but not angry. "You got lucky this time, punk. Don't think we'll let you go this easily next time. We're keeping our eyes on you."

The hands let go of Arnold and left him in the alleyway gasping for breath. He shouted out the boy's name into the darkness, but the three were already out of earshot.

"Gerald? Gerald!"