[Ambrose]

Synopsis: A late night indulgence is interrupted when Will finds something unexpected in his garage.

The evening sunk in on the Lipman residence. Shade crept easily over the backyard, transforming the burgeoning plum trees into misshapen heads. Their cotton candy leaves grew into locks of hair while their wiry branches formed odd and distorted faces. They were sad faces, looking desperately over the lawn: a multitude of sorrowful stares. The grass, still wet from the sprinklers, seemed to be covered with their tears. And above them all, in quiet disinterest, the moon shone dully-an invisible crescent hidden amongst the clouds.

The two-story house was only partially alive. The lights in a room adjacent to the backyard were on, but no others. A soft glow emanated from the window; colorful images were reflected there. Inside, a television set was blaring in the corner. A woman's face appeared on the glass, her eyes wide with terror. Then something else appeared. It was dark. Foreboding music came on. Then the woman returned, only this time she was not alone. Something was standing behind her; the thing was only barely visible in the hazy reflection.

"Look behind you!" Will Lipman yelled at the TV. At the same time, he crammed a handful of chips into his mouth. Then, his eyes still glued to the screen, he took a liberal swig from the can of Pepsi clutched in his right hand.

At Will's warning, the woman on the screen spun around but it was too late. The figure standing behind her pounced. There was a terrified scream, followed by abhorrent choking noises. Will winced. After the hapless woman had been offed, her attacker strode eerily toward the camera and then disappeared. There was a split second view of the grisly crime scene. The woman's body was crumpled on the ground, her face still visible; her tongue hung morbidly from her mouth. A feeling of dread swept over Will as the horrible image seemed to be projected into the room.

The salt from the chips overwhelmed Will's mouth as he began to devour yet another handful. He was gracious for the accompaniment of snacks, a must-have for any horror movie aficionado. The salty taste was now overpowering in intensity and his throat begged for relief. He reached for his Pepsi. A look of displeasure came across his face as the last few drops sprinkled onto his tongue.

Still thirsty, Will waited until the next commercial break before dislodging himself from his spot on the couch. Tossing the bag of potato chips aside, he scampered through the adjacent hallway and began ascending the stairs to the second floor. Arriving at the landing, he felt around for the light switch. All at once, an immaculate dining room appeared. The table was draped in shiny embroidery and adorned with candles. A golden chandelier loomed above. Another switch revealed a kitchen to the right. Will entered, casting a cursory glance over the island blocking the refrigerator, before turning sharply into another small hallway. He pushed through the door at the end, into the garage.

Will had no idea why his mother insisted on keeping the soda in the fridge out in the garage but he hated it. The cement was cold beneath his bare feet and he immediately wished he had put on socks. Without hesitation, he stalked across the empty space (both his parent's had left for the weekend so their cars were gone). Not bothering to turn on the lights, he felt knowingly for the refrigerator door and pulled it open. He blinked as the fluorescent light from the fridge poured over him. Quickly, he began to sift through its contents, in search of his desired beverage.

Will froze when he heard something behind him. Spinning around instinctively, he stared wide-eyed into the darkness. He felt a rush of adrenaline as his heart began to beat uncontrollably in his chest. He stood for awhile, motionless. The refrigerator door hung ajar; the vague outline of the garage appeared before him in the muted fluorescent light. A jumble of boxes lined the wall opposite him; a pile of assorted junk stood in the corner; and his bike was suspended on a hook across the way.

Surely the movie had gotten to him. I'm only hearing things, Will thought reassuringly. Forcing a laugh, he returned his gaze to the fridge. After a minute, he produced an ice-cold can of Pepsi from inside. Shutting the door, he quickly began to retrace his steps across the garage.

The noise came again in the dark. It sounded like someone moaning. This time, Will dashed to the door and flicked on the light. His eyes immediately scanned the garage. And then at once, he was dumbstruck. In the far corner, next to the pile of junk, there was a blonde haired girl lying on the ground, clad only in her underwear. Her hands and feet were bound with duck tape, and a gag bulged in her mouth. She was young, probably fourteen or fifteen-about Will's age. The girl's face was caked in blood, and her left eye was bruised. He felt chagrin as his eyes fell guiltily upon her small pubescent breasts.

Oh my god, Will thought, as he moved toward the girl. Suddenly, the girl's eyes opened wide and she began to squirm incessantly on the ground. The girl let loose a long and muffled scream. Her eyes were following Will apprehensively as he crossed the garage. What the hell is going on?. Setting down the can of Pepsi, he removed the gag from the girl's mouth. When he did so, the girl shook with a series of heavy sobs.

"Jesus," Will said. "What the hell are you doing in my garage?"

The girl did not reply; she only stared back at him with large frightened eyes. Her breathing was fast.

"Hello? I asked you a question."

"Please don't kill me," the girl muttered all of a sudden. Her voice was pleading.

Will blinked stupidly. "What?"

An uneasy feeling arose inside of Will as he studied the girl's eyes. Am I imagining this? he thought. Unconsciously, he reached out his hand and touched the girl's arm. Her body convulsed at his touch. If I am imagining this, he thought, it is the most real imagination I've ever had.

"Who are you?" Will said.

"Angela. My name is Angela." The girl said, her lower lip now trembling.

Will thought for a second. "Angela, what are you doing in my garage?"

Angela looked at Will, bewildered. Her eyes were alive with thought, as if she was trying to think of the correct response. Then, hesitating, she spoke. "You brought me here."

Will's head was spinning. A minute ago, he had been down stairs enjoying a good horror flick on television. Now, he seemed to have stepped into one.

"No," Will said finally. "This can't be happening." Retrieving the can of Pepsi on the floor, he started for the door, not looking back. Once out of the garage, he pressed his back to the door. I must be dreaming this or something, Will thought stubbornly. His hands were now shaking. There's no one in the garage.

And then, like a reoccurring nightmare, the moaning started up again. Now free of her gag, the girl in his garage began to wail loudly. Her voice, with its youthful quality, carried a harsh and unbearable suffering. Will cringed. He could not bear to think of her in there, bound in duck tape and all alone. But she isn't real, Will thought defiantly. He pushed off from the door and ran at full speed through the kitchen and into the dining room. When he arrived at the top of the staircase, he paused. Rethinking his course, he skirted the stairs and headed for the bathroom.

The water felt cool and refreshing. Will cupped his hands under the faucet and lifted the water to his face. It ran over his features, bifurcating into parallel streams around his nose and dripping down along his chin. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was still shiny wet. He dried it with a towel. The curly brown hair that crested his forehead receded back while his long sideburns remained plastered to his skin. A soft face, with a downy chin and bright eyes, stared back at him.

Will sensed that something was different though. His features seemed hazy and somehow removed. He looked hard at his bright, brown eyes. Angela's feeble voice crept into his mind: you brought me here. He swallowed hard, tears now welling in his eyes.

The memories flashed in Will's mind like a strobe light. Each one brought with it a searing pain that rose to his temple, evaporating all other thoughts. He saw the chestnut house that wasn't his, the plaid bed covers, the white nightgown, the truck with its headlights searing the darkness; and lastly he saw the diminished fleshy form struggling in the back.

Oh god, what have I done? Will thought in sudden anguish. When he looked back at the mirror, he no longer saw the youthful face he had grown accustomed to, but a much older one. Its skin was sickly pale, accentuating its gaunt cheeks. Its mouth, which was surrounded by thick stubble, was cracked open to reveal a series of decayed, yellow teeth. Its nose was broken near the top. And its eyes-these scared Will the most-were strangely dark and impassive.

Will gasped, clasping a hand to his eerie new visage. The thick stubble around his chin and along his jaw prickled his fingers. This isn't me, he thought desperately. I'm having a nightmare.

Will's new face was keenly repellant. He dashed out of the bathroom, not daring another glance at the mirror, and ran back into the dining room. The immaculate embroidery and the chandelier were gone, replaced by a dingy fold-out table covered in newspaper clippings. Reluctantly, he fished out an article from the top. It was dated May 2nd, yesterday. The headline read: Midnight Kidnapper Strikes Again.

The nightmare continued as Will found himself standing in front of the door leading to the garage. Slowly, he turned the door knob. The door creaked open, exposing a narrow rectangle of impenetrable darkness. He stepped inside. The air was stale and swarming with dust. He felt a fit of coughing coming on and brought an arm to his mouth. Fear was now pervading his mind like a sponge. He groped cautiously for the light switch.

The garage lit up. Will hoped against hope that the girl would be gone. But something else caught his attention. A baby blue Ford pickup was now parked here, its jaded hood buried under a coat of rust. Will had no idea whose car it was. He moved around to the side of the truck, trying to see into the cab. The inside was dirty and unkempt. On the dashboard, there was a roll of duck tape. A knot formed in his stomach. Against his better judgment, he peered into the back.

Will doubled over, making horrible retching noises. He had to plant his hands on his knees to keep himself from falling over. For what seemed like an eternity, he stood silent in his garage, hovering over the pool of vomit. Then he stood up and wiped his mouth.

The fear drained from Will's face as the realization set in. His eyes became hard and callous and his features relaxed. Running a coarse hand over his balding, thirty-five-year-old head, he thought about what he had to do.

Retrieving the shovel from the garage, Will headed into his backyard. The girl's body dragged behind him. Rigor mortis had set in, making her arms and one free leg bounce stiffly on the grass. By the time he reached the gigantic plum trees, her blonde hair was matted and speckled with dirt. Quickly, he began to dig. As the tears streamed down Will's face, he cursed himself for having to carry out such a terrible deed. Still, he would bury her beneath the plum trees like he had buried so many others.

[Hagetaka]

Fantastic. Your flow kept me involved in a sort of story that I am not usually so interested in. Your word choice here is equally impressive. My praise for this cannot be matched by words. Great job. As a writer, however, there are a few questions and concerns I would like to run by you.

And above them all, in quiet disinterest, the moon shone dully-an invisible crescent hidden amongst the clouds.

You describe this picture with such clarity that it leaves no room for such a strong word as "hidden". Hidden gives the connotation that even if you tried, you could not see it. How is it then that you can describe its crescent shape in this detail. I would suggest a softer word, such as camouflaged. It hints that the moon is generating enough ambiance to see it through the clouds, but still convey that its not in plain sight.

The two-story house was only partially alive...

First off, the way you describe the first scene swells in an ambrosial nature. Showing that you know what your doing. However, I do not like describing things as "partially alive." It breaks the mold you have set for your diction, and your style. Yes, sometimes things do look partially alive. But it begs the question, "how alive is partially alive?" Not something im fond of in my own writing. I would rather say that "his face grew pale" rather than "his face looked sort of pale." Sometimes its better to let pale things be pale.

There was a terrified scream.

There are two ways to look at this sentence. One, is that you are looking back at an action that already happened. A legitimate sentence in the present tense. Two, is that you have inadvertently shifted your tense. Being that is all in one sentence, the latter of the two is the more likely situation. Dont confuse your reader like that.

Angela looked at Will bewildered

See, here is another example of tense changing. To say "looked" in this sentence is ok. Yet, to include "bewildered" in its past tense form makes you wonder. Once again, be careful about confusing your reader.

All at once, the garage lit up.

This is something that struck a strange chord in me. Garages, or rooms in general, light up all at once. Its the nature of light. Unless you need to describe that the room lit up slowly, saying that it lit up at all will convey that it lit up all at once. I usually try to give my reader the most credit I can spare.

For what seemed like an eternity,

I used to like this phrase; "like an eternity." Its a powerful simile. In my more recent studies, I have tried to use it more and more in context. An eternity is a long time. And a ridiculous variable to be comparing standing in one spot to. Tone it down, try and show how long he actually stood there. But, you can still keep the mystifying tone that an "eternity" gives if you choose your word correctly. Good luck with that.

Im interested to see your take on all of this. Im not a linguistics marvel - yet. I often make mistakes and get stuck on words and phrases that uplift my style, while yours may be different. I need to reiterate that this is a great story. Anyone interested in a mind bending thriller, should read this and see how it's done. And if your not, read it anyways and you will find it to be a worthwhile read.

[Peppy]

Interesting. clearly told... as usual. Hmmmmm...

The character is bare though. he needs something, but what?

Very good indeed. Nice twist and extremely well written. You set the scene perfectly at the start.

good job.

[Venomous Vixen]

Then, his eyes still glued to the screen, he took a liberal swig from the can of Pepsi clutched in his right hand.

This sentence needs to be reworked, it could be done a number of ways but as is it is a bit awkward.

I believe this is the first story of yours that I have read and I must say I am very impressed. I was praying you did not take the Scream route in the beginning, the whole there is someone behind him paralleling the movie... but happily you did not. Very interesting turn, especially since I love stories of the psyche and it seems this guy was suffering from some kind of disorder. Your character development and descriptors were very in depth, as well as your plot. I will have to go back through some of your other work, this was fantastic. Oh and I disagree about the house half-alive line in Hagetaka's review, I thought it was one of the most brilliant bits of the whole piece!

[creativeminds]

i love the intro, the play with words was just amazing. i think i am going ot have to read this again when i am not so tired. I kept having to go back, it was good, like a dream

[EternalPen]

Sweet!
This was really good, and it gave me a new look upon the criminal mind. I've always wondered why some big-shot criminals get a good body count going and just stop, turn themselves in, and that's the end of it. This could be a real reason. But... I guess this guy really didn't feel like going to jail, lol.

Anyways, I'm wondering what happened to the can of Pepsi. I don't mean to nit-pick, and it's not really a big deal, but if he retrieved it and went to the bathroom, did he set it down? Did he drink it?

I know it seems stupid to point this out, but I've got ADD and all the time I don't pay attention come back when I'm really into something. It just bugged me.

With no changes necessary, I loved this story. I was just trying to point something out. I loved your descriptions, and without them the story would have been extremely dull. You could have read the whole thing in paragraph. You are VERY talented with describing the surroundings, and I'm still wow'd by it. You did great! ^_^

[RENA HANDS]

A question, would an image ‘seemingly’ project into a room, or would it just ‘project into the room?’

Did you mean an (!) here rather than a period?...What the hell is going on(!?)

Bloody Hell man! This was a GREAT eerie tale. I APPLAUD so loudly (as possible online…lol) the sustained suspense. And then the final outcome, BLOODY MARVELOUS! I rate 5/5!