Saturday, November 22, 2008

Don’t Wake Her, Darling

"Shhh!" Jen hissed at Bree, who caught her stupid nightgown on something in the dark. Everyone else was still but her, and Jen would have slapped her, but she was across the room. If Stacy woke it would be ruined. They all hated Stacy. And tonight was supposed to be special.
Huddled in the bathroom earlier, everyone held hands and chanted for Bloody Mary, Stacy giggling hard to fit in.
“Mary went to our school five years ago,” Jen intoned. “She was kidnapped, wrapped in a blanket…”
“And then she was buried alive,” Bree added, while the others pretended to shudder a bit, just like they’d practiced. Right after they’d finished rubbing the blanket in all kinds of dirt and putting it in the cellar with the trunk that was just the right size and had a good, solid lock. They weren’t going to hurt Stacy, course. Not really. Not much.
In the basement Jen could hear Bree stumble again, and she wanted to kill her. She was so sure stupid Bree would wake Stacy, she came flying up the stairs drawing a bead on her in the corner with her back turned in that hideous ripped blue thing. And Jen was so mad she didn’t notice the lights were on and something bright as nail polish covered the walls.
A glove that wasn’t a glove lay staining the carpet and pointing to a tiny ball in the middle of the room. A ball with a spot the same hazel shade as Bree’s eyes.
It wasn’t Bree wearing Bree’s nightgown. It turned around, but then the lights went black, and the only thing Jen saw was Stacy sleeping deeply next to the others, who were not sleeping at all. A terrible smell wafted over as it glided in close, and Jen heard:

1 comment:

  1. Jesus Christ. Not the slumber party I dream of spying on.


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