Post by jenn on Feb 18, 2009 10:44:45 GMT -5
Title: Only Common Sense
Author: ...do you really not know?
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A swear here and there, as well as a bloody violent death.
Summary: Thirteen year old scaredy cat Lucy Harris is left home alone. So what happens when a crazy dude attacks her?
Disclaimer: This was written when I was in seventh grade. I sucked a lot worse at writing then.
I, Lucy A. Harris, was bored out of my mind.
Actually, I was always bored, but on that day it was particularly pathetic, because that day was Halloween. Everyone else was out in costumes with their friends, trick-or-treating, or maybe at some sort of Halloween party if they were one of many that had recently started encompassing the "trick-or-treating is for little kids" mindset, but I was just sitting at home, alone, accompanied only by my faithful friend the idiot box. Dully I sat on the couch in the living room, flipping aimlessly through the various channels.
Click. "Why, you little--" Click. "Order now, and get another set free!" Click. "Swiper, no swiping!" Click. "Blah blah blah Democratic Convention blah blah blah global warming blah blah blah President Bush." Click. "I haaad a sammich in mah head!" Oooh. I stopped channel-surfing, having discovered an episode of the awesomeness that is Invader Zim.
Most people would be scared if they were home alone, but not me. Sure, I had every single light in the house on, but that was only common sense. And the volume was all the way up on the TV because I like it loud. I wasn't scared! Okay, maybe I was. But just a little! Okay...maybe more than a little. Okay, I'll say it--every single horror movie I'd ever seen was running through my mind, and I jumped ten feet in the air at small noises.
But it was seriously creepy in that house. It was in the middle of nowhere--there was a whole freakin' forest in my backyard; for all I knew, there could be bears or wolves or vampires or some crap like that. Plus, we've got to factor in my hair color. I'm blond. Blonds are always the first to go. And if some psychopath were to attack me, there was no way I'd be able to contact the police in time. Being scared like that is only common sense!
So you'll understand why, when the phone rang, I practically wet my pants.
"Um, hello?" I answered hesitantly.
"Hello." The voice that responded wasn't one I recognized. It was sort of weird, all deep and gravelly. Either a man, or a woman with one hell of a hormonal imbalance.
"May I ask who's calling?"
"May I ask who's answering?"
"Why do you answer a question with a question?" I said, annoyed, deciding to drop the whole fake-politeness thing.
"I'm curious."
"That sounds familiar," I accused, trying to think of what horror movie I heard that line from. I picked a stray thread off of the couch and wrapped it around my finger until it started to cut off the circulation, making my finger glow pink and pale yellow. "Aha! You got that line from Scream, didn't you?"
"Maybe," said the voice evasively. "Does it matter?"
"No. I guess not," I said, shrugging. "Who is this, anyway?"
"Tell me your name and I'll tell you mine."
I laughed, briefly and dismissively. "Nice try, buddy. I think you have the wrong number." And with that, I pressed the little green End button and replaced the phone on the receiver. Forgetting that I had been watching Invader Zim, I picked up the remote and resumed flipping through the channels. For an instant, I saw Teen Titans flash upon the screen. "Oooh! Teen Titans! I haven't seen that in forever," I squealed, thinking out loud. Hastily I changed the channel back to Cartoon Network.
The phone rang again. I wondered who would be calling now and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Why did you hang up on me?"
I frowned. It was the same guy as before. Weird. No, not just weird. Creepy.
"Be-cause...I don't want to talk to you?"
"Why is that?"
"My mommy says I'm not s'posta talk to stwaynjuhs," I said in a mock-baby voice. The guy laughed. What was I doing? I should be calling the cops, not cracking jokes.
"You're right. You shouldn't talk to strangers," said the voice wryly. "You haven't listened to your mother at all, have you, Lucy?"
Time almost seemed to stop. My eyes widened and my insides froze. How did he know my name? I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out, as if my throat had just shut down. "H--h--how?" I managed to choke out.
He laughed darkly. "How did I know your name? Because, Lucy," he said, mocking what I had said earlier. "I am your worst nightmare."
How would you have reacted if someone said that to you? If a stranger had said it, no less? I was completely horrorstricken, couldn't move an inch. My mind told me, hang up the phone, hang up the phone, hang up the goddamn phone, but my clammy hand kept it in place against my ear.
"And don't you even think about hanging up on me again," he added, as if reading my mind.
Suddenly I regained control over my limbs.
"Up yours, asshole," I snarled, and slammed the phone into the receiver.
"Hah. Can't even hang up a phone right," said the now faint, slightly muffled voice, snickering, as I had not put the phone into the indentation meant for it. I picked up the phone again and hung up properly. Not a moment had passed after I did that when the phone rang a third time. Exasperated, I sighed, wishing that my parents had had the sense to get caller ID.
"Hello?" I answered, irritably. If it was this same guy... (Insert slightly violent motion here.)
"It's not wise to antagonize a psychopath, Lucy, my dear," said the voice. "We're in the middle of nowhere. If I were to attack you, there's no way the police could get here in time."
How was he doing that? Reading my mind? It was freaky, and he knew it.
"What do you want?" I blurted.
"To talk," the voice purred.
"Why couldn't you call someone else? There's a whole phone book of other people you could be tormenting!" My voice was as high and shrieky and ragged as an old violin. It was getting ridiculous.
"Ah, but Lucy, I want you," said the voice.
"Leave me alone or I'm calling the cops!" I said threateningly.
"Do you want to die tonight?"
"Do you want to spend your pathetic little life in jail?"
"Oh, I'm so scared," said the voice sarcastically. "You don't have the guts to call the cops, Lucy. It doesn't matter, anyhow. No one will care when you're dead. You're just an inconvenience to everyone you know, just a stupid little know-it-all who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone around her." He laughed. "But enough chit-chat for now, Lucy, my dear. It's time."
I ignored the stinging and slightly oxymoronic "stupid little know-it-all" remark. "Time for what?"
Silence.
"Time for what?" I bellowed.
The line had gone dead. Letting out a roar like an angry lion, I threw the phone across the room. It smacked against the wall with a clunk and fell to the floor, a crack running down the side of the phone's plastic coating.
Ding-dong. The doorbell rang. I ran to see who it was, but when I reached the door, there was no one there. Heart pounding a heavy thumpthumpthump inmy ears, I went back to the living room. Not a minute later, someone came through the living room window and fell onto the floor. He got to his feet, all more-than-six-feet of him, and raised his knife high in the air in the quintessential serial killer "I'm-gonna-kill-you-now nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo" position. I screamed in a way that would make the Jamie Lee Curtis proud and bolted down the hall. Incomplete thoughts raced through my mind like snowflakes in a blizzard.
ohshitohshit it's the guy the voice gotta get away gotta get AWAY baseball bat in the closet
I opened the closet door and whipped out the baseball bat. The guy was coming after me now, so I did the only thing I could think of to do.
I took the bat in my hands, and swung. I swung, and swung, and swung, the guy was screaming in pain, I was screaming, a primal sort of war cry like a caveman would make, I was defending my cave, swing, swing, swing--and then he just stopped screaming, stopped moving, stopped breathing--
Stopped living.
Baseball bat still in my hands, I stood there, breathing, in, out, in, out, as heavily as if I had just run a marathon. There were red smudges on the bat. I shrieked, dropping the bat (it dropped to the floor with a sort of clang-thump sound) and stepping back in horror. Then, as if seeing him--it--tfor the first time, I looked at the guy. He didn't look like a guy, didn't look like a human at all--a deflated balloon of a body, leaking blood on the floor. Oh my god, I killed him, I killed him...
But it was only common sense, wasn't it? I had been attacked, and I defended myself.
Wait a minute...
I looked more closely at the knife in his hand. Pried it out and felt it, running my hand lightly over the blade. It was made of plastic.
Oh.
My.
God.
What have I done?
I tore the rubbery Ghostface mask off his face and almost vomited at the sight that met my eyes. I knew him. I knew him, and I had beaten him to death with a baseball bat. It was my best friend's boyfriend's older brother's roommate, whom I had only met once or twice and had found extremely annoying, but still. I knew him. This whole thing had probably just been a prank. A sick, twisted prank that had come to a gruesome end because of me.
I don't know for sure, and I'll probably never know. One thing I do know: I have a lot of time to figure it all out. The judge says it'll be years and years before I'm allowed to leave this jail cell...
Author: ...do you really not know?
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A swear here and there, as well as a bloody violent death.
Summary: Thirteen year old scaredy cat Lucy Harris is left home alone. So what happens when a crazy dude attacks her?
Disclaimer: This was written when I was in seventh grade. I sucked a lot worse at writing then.
I, Lucy A. Harris, was bored out of my mind.
Actually, I was always bored, but on that day it was particularly pathetic, because that day was Halloween. Everyone else was out in costumes with their friends, trick-or-treating, or maybe at some sort of Halloween party if they were one of many that had recently started encompassing the "trick-or-treating is for little kids" mindset, but I was just sitting at home, alone, accompanied only by my faithful friend the idiot box. Dully I sat on the couch in the living room, flipping aimlessly through the various channels.
Click. "Why, you little--" Click. "Order now, and get another set free!" Click. "Swiper, no swiping!" Click. "Blah blah blah Democratic Convention blah blah blah global warming blah blah blah President Bush." Click. "I haaad a sammich in mah head!" Oooh. I stopped channel-surfing, having discovered an episode of the awesomeness that is Invader Zim.
Most people would be scared if they were home alone, but not me. Sure, I had every single light in the house on, but that was only common sense. And the volume was all the way up on the TV because I like it loud. I wasn't scared! Okay, maybe I was. But just a little! Okay...maybe more than a little. Okay, I'll say it--every single horror movie I'd ever seen was running through my mind, and I jumped ten feet in the air at small noises.
But it was seriously creepy in that house. It was in the middle of nowhere--there was a whole freakin' forest in my backyard; for all I knew, there could be bears or wolves or vampires or some crap like that. Plus, we've got to factor in my hair color. I'm blond. Blonds are always the first to go. And if some psychopath were to attack me, there was no way I'd be able to contact the police in time. Being scared like that is only common sense!
So you'll understand why, when the phone rang, I practically wet my pants.
"Um, hello?" I answered hesitantly.
"Hello." The voice that responded wasn't one I recognized. It was sort of weird, all deep and gravelly. Either a man, or a woman with one hell of a hormonal imbalance.
"May I ask who's calling?"
"May I ask who's answering?"
"Why do you answer a question with a question?" I said, annoyed, deciding to drop the whole fake-politeness thing.
"I'm curious."
"That sounds familiar," I accused, trying to think of what horror movie I heard that line from. I picked a stray thread off of the couch and wrapped it around my finger until it started to cut off the circulation, making my finger glow pink and pale yellow. "Aha! You got that line from Scream, didn't you?"
"Maybe," said the voice evasively. "Does it matter?"
"No. I guess not," I said, shrugging. "Who is this, anyway?"
"Tell me your name and I'll tell you mine."
I laughed, briefly and dismissively. "Nice try, buddy. I think you have the wrong number." And with that, I pressed the little green End button and replaced the phone on the receiver. Forgetting that I had been watching Invader Zim, I picked up the remote and resumed flipping through the channels. For an instant, I saw Teen Titans flash upon the screen. "Oooh! Teen Titans! I haven't seen that in forever," I squealed, thinking out loud. Hastily I changed the channel back to Cartoon Network.
The phone rang again. I wondered who would be calling now and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Why did you hang up on me?"
I frowned. It was the same guy as before. Weird. No, not just weird. Creepy.
"Be-cause...I don't want to talk to you?"
"Why is that?"
"My mommy says I'm not s'posta talk to stwaynjuhs," I said in a mock-baby voice. The guy laughed. What was I doing? I should be calling the cops, not cracking jokes.
"You're right. You shouldn't talk to strangers," said the voice wryly. "You haven't listened to your mother at all, have you, Lucy?"
Time almost seemed to stop. My eyes widened and my insides froze. How did he know my name? I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out, as if my throat had just shut down. "H--h--how?" I managed to choke out.
He laughed darkly. "How did I know your name? Because, Lucy," he said, mocking what I had said earlier. "I am your worst nightmare."
How would you have reacted if someone said that to you? If a stranger had said it, no less? I was completely horrorstricken, couldn't move an inch. My mind told me, hang up the phone, hang up the phone, hang up the goddamn phone, but my clammy hand kept it in place against my ear.
"And don't you even think about hanging up on me again," he added, as if reading my mind.
Suddenly I regained control over my limbs.
"Up yours, asshole," I snarled, and slammed the phone into the receiver.
"Hah. Can't even hang up a phone right," said the now faint, slightly muffled voice, snickering, as I had not put the phone into the indentation meant for it. I picked up the phone again and hung up properly. Not a moment had passed after I did that when the phone rang a third time. Exasperated, I sighed, wishing that my parents had had the sense to get caller ID.
"Hello?" I answered, irritably. If it was this same guy... (Insert slightly violent motion here.)
"It's not wise to antagonize a psychopath, Lucy, my dear," said the voice. "We're in the middle of nowhere. If I were to attack you, there's no way the police could get here in time."
How was he doing that? Reading my mind? It was freaky, and he knew it.
"What do you want?" I blurted.
"To talk," the voice purred.
"Why couldn't you call someone else? There's a whole phone book of other people you could be tormenting!" My voice was as high and shrieky and ragged as an old violin. It was getting ridiculous.
"Ah, but Lucy, I want you," said the voice.
"Leave me alone or I'm calling the cops!" I said threateningly.
"Do you want to die tonight?"
"Do you want to spend your pathetic little life in jail?"
"Oh, I'm so scared," said the voice sarcastically. "You don't have the guts to call the cops, Lucy. It doesn't matter, anyhow. No one will care when you're dead. You're just an inconvenience to everyone you know, just a stupid little know-it-all who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone around her." He laughed. "But enough chit-chat for now, Lucy, my dear. It's time."
I ignored the stinging and slightly oxymoronic "stupid little know-it-all" remark. "Time for what?"
Silence.
"Time for what?" I bellowed.
The line had gone dead. Letting out a roar like an angry lion, I threw the phone across the room. It smacked against the wall with a clunk and fell to the floor, a crack running down the side of the phone's plastic coating.
Ding-dong. The doorbell rang. I ran to see who it was, but when I reached the door, there was no one there. Heart pounding a heavy thumpthumpthump inmy ears, I went back to the living room. Not a minute later, someone came through the living room window and fell onto the floor. He got to his feet, all more-than-six-feet of him, and raised his knife high in the air in the quintessential serial killer "I'm-gonna-kill-you-now nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo" position. I screamed in a way that would make the Jamie Lee Curtis proud and bolted down the hall. Incomplete thoughts raced through my mind like snowflakes in a blizzard.
ohshitohshit it's the guy the voice gotta get away gotta get AWAY baseball bat in the closet
I opened the closet door and whipped out the baseball bat. The guy was coming after me now, so I did the only thing I could think of to do.
I took the bat in my hands, and swung. I swung, and swung, and swung, the guy was screaming in pain, I was screaming, a primal sort of war cry like a caveman would make, I was defending my cave, swing, swing, swing--and then he just stopped screaming, stopped moving, stopped breathing--
Stopped living.
Baseball bat still in my hands, I stood there, breathing, in, out, in, out, as heavily as if I had just run a marathon. There were red smudges on the bat. I shrieked, dropping the bat (it dropped to the floor with a sort of clang-thump sound) and stepping back in horror. Then, as if seeing him--it--tfor the first time, I looked at the guy. He didn't look like a guy, didn't look like a human at all--a deflated balloon of a body, leaking blood on the floor. Oh my god, I killed him, I killed him...
But it was only common sense, wasn't it? I had been attacked, and I defended myself.
Wait a minute...
I looked more closely at the knife in his hand. Pried it out and felt it, running my hand lightly over the blade. It was made of plastic.
Oh.
My.
God.
What have I done?
I tore the rubbery Ghostface mask off his face and almost vomited at the sight that met my eyes. I knew him. I knew him, and I had beaten him to death with a baseball bat. It was my best friend's boyfriend's older brother's roommate, whom I had only met once or twice and had found extremely annoying, but still. I knew him. This whole thing had probably just been a prank. A sick, twisted prank that had come to a gruesome end because of me.
I don't know for sure, and I'll probably never know. One thing I do know: I have a lot of time to figure it all out. The judge says it'll be years and years before I'm allowed to leave this jail cell...
