Tales Of Sycamore Street

Be Careful who you call Lame - 1

"Did you see Eric's face? It was priceless when I finally dumped him. He can go lick Allison's potty mouth now," seventeen year old Debbie Canhum said, throwing back her glossy golden head in a drunk laugh as she threw an arm around her best friend Brooke Montgomery.

Brooke rolled her clear blue eyes and shrugged uncomfortably. "You could have waited until Eric had driven us home from the party. Look where we ended up walking now."

Debbie grinned, her cherry coloured lips lifting up to reveal her pearly whites beneath. "Where we're walking now is beautiful, Brooke!"

Brooke hooked up a black brow at her friend as she scanned her surroundings. They were walking down Sycamore street which was pretty much deserted of any sign of life, save the lush greens that had sprouted all over the sides like a dampening blanket. The trees were crowded on either side, twisted and bent with age, fused to form a woody and leafy canopy so thick that the midnight moonlight could hardly penetrate the darkness of the winter night. The shadows looked strange and long, like withered fingers of rotting corpses inviting the girls for a blood meal. It was too silent except the occasional hoot of an owl or the sound of branches scraping against each other. It gave Brooke a dreary, foreboding feeling. 

But it wasn't just the creepiness of the place, but the history behind the street that scared Brooke. Sycamore street was where you found psychos and murderers strolling around quite often, where people were found dead, were raped. A couple of months ago, two cheerleaders from their school had been hacked to death there. Despite the killer never being found, people loved to prod in the secrets of the street often daring each other into spending time alone there. Brooke found it disgusting. It gave her an ominous feeling to walk the streets where her schoolmates had been brutally murdered. Even the rotten leaves that carpeted the road under her silk boots seemed like fungus.

"Shut up Debbie. I know you aren't that drunk. This place is weird," Brooke whispered. She wrapped her arms around herself, drawing her jacket around herself tightly feeling suddenly vulnerable.

Debbie laughed, her voice floating around in the darkness. "Stop being a coward, babe. This is quite thrilling. Admit it. Sycamore street is just..." 

Debbie paused mid sentence like she was listening to something. "Brooke, do you hear that?"

Brooke crossed her arms against her chest. "Stop it, Debs. It's not funny."

Debbie's brown eyes were wide, her pupils dilated. "I'm not joking. Can you hear the footsteps?"

Brooke tried to ignore the blood rushing in her ears and strained to listen. And then she heard them - footsteps that were muffled by the trampled leaf carpet. Instinctively, both girls turned back to spot someone walking to them. The dark, loose coat and hoody proved to be difficult to judge the gender, but it was enough to see that whoever was under it was well built. 

"Debs! We're being followed," Brooke cried, her stomach flipping in nervousness.

Debbie, the braver of the two pulled on her friend's arm and made her walk fast. "You don't know for sure Brooke. We'll be fine, we just need to get to the main road."