un-edited copy
Moira O'Hara stared at her work. The piano that had looked so beautifully in the room among all the dark gothic furniture that had been personally selected by the original owner and maker of the house, surgeon, Charles Montgomery.
Pieces of the piano were thrown about the room and some were smashed into tinier pieces to scatter about. Any minute the now, she thought, waiting for the entrance of the boy.
Connie was searching around for Brianna and Rachel, who were both nowhere to be seen by anyone. She didn't worry too much, since this was a big house and it was easy to get lost. She was kinda lost herself. "Rachel? Bree?" She called, stumbling into rooms filled with sweaty drunk bodies grinding on each other.
She climbed up the stairs to the top part of the house, struggling greatly, a little tipsy and in heels. She held onto the stair railings for support. She looks up wards on her way, as if she were climbing up a mountain.
She began to walk ahead, once she reached the top of the stairs. There was a door at the end of the corridor, the only room she hadn't checked.
Rachel was probably up here with some guy. Or maybe even Brianna. How Brianna acted around Rachel was slightly different to how she acted around anyone else, and Connie couldn't help but wonder if there was something going on between the two. It was only a thought so Connie kept the thought to herself.
Whilst walking down the hall, her heel snapped, causing her to trip. She didn't fall to the floor, managing to fall onto the wall instead, which wasn't any better, considering she hit her head.
She continued walking, even with the broken heel. She wasn't all that drunk, but she was drunk enough to forget all about common sense.
She eventually got to the door, and pushed it open.
The words on the walls were clear to read, even in the blurry drunk vision. 'GET OUT OR DIE. GET THE FUC. GET OUT OR YOU WILL REGRET. WE'LL KILL YOU IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE.'
A terrified high pitched cry escaped from her lips.
"No. No, I won't" Tate refused, watching the girl scream at the end of the hallway, trying to resist himself from being persuaded by the only person in the house who'd bothered communication, apart from the occasional Mr Harmon, Hayden. "Come on. You know you want to."
He shook his head, shutting his eyes so he wouldn't be pressured into going along with this plan by her persuasive glare. She sighed, "Violet Harmon will never love you. Not after what you did. Don't you see that. Her, well, you'll have a fresh start. Put all this behind you.. another shot at love."
Words failed to release from Faxon's gaped open mouth. He trembled to his knees, hearing another smash in the other room, he ignored it. He picked up one of the pieces of wood that came from the, once glorious, but now wrecked, Piano.
He stood up, the leg of wood in his hand firmly, like some sort of weapon. He moved into the other room, where pieces of glass and wood were spread around the room like a normal thing.
"Get out of my house!" The music stopped just in time for him to speak. The people dancing about the room, grinding against each other madly, jumping on the couch, all stopped at once and took time to cringe.
"You all need to get the fuck out" He told them all, gesturing to the living room door, quickly adding, "Now!"
The herd of college students who would now hate him around campus all did as he said, dropping plastic cups and glass beer bottles on the ground as a statement to represent their annoyance and anger.
The others around the house followed with them outside, in slight confusion.
Faxon locked the front door as soon as everyone was out, then went upstairs to his room, weeping.
On the way there, he felt a tight grip on his arm. He turned to see Connie, breathing hysterically, "You don't wanna go in there."
"What?" He stuttered, wiping the tears flooding down his cheeks away, and giving her a concerned look, "Why what's happened?"
"Look, I don't know who's done it, but it's a sick prank."
Faxon had managed to gather himself, "Look, I already have enough problems right now. We need to clean up all this mess," He knew the party was a bad idea, "Where's Rachel and Br-"
Connie cut him off, "Both nowhere to be seen, I've checked all around the house."
Before she could say more, Faxon took hold of her hand then took her to the next floor down before stopping suddenly. Connie had heard it to. "Did you hear that?" She whispered quickly. He nodded in response, squeezing her hand tightly. She returned the squeeze.
There were footsteps along the bottom floor, slow paces rather then quick tapping. Faxon slowly took Connie back upstairs, trying not to make a single sound out of fear.
Faxon was sure he locked the front door, so there was no possible way of someone getting in.
They moved into Faxon's room, and to his horror, in red, was the 'sick prank' Connie had reffered to. "We can just paint over it Fax. Just stay calm, okay?" Her attempts at comfort were sort of working, although Faxon's shivering continued.
Connie put an arm around him. The thought of someone being in his house distracted him from panicking about the paint.
"There's someone downstairs," Faxon noted, his tone expressionless.
Connie rolled her eyes, but gave Faxon a soft smile, "It's probably just one of the others," She reasoned.
For a few more moments, he believed her, but as soon as he heard the slow footsteps along the floor, shivers went down his spine, telling him otherwise, "I need a weapon," He stated, his eyes scanning the bedroom for an object. He unplugged the lamp, which was one of the only sources of light in the room, and his fingers gripped it tightly. He held it in front of him. He turned back to Connie, "You, go to the attick I'll go see who it is."
"The atti-" Connie was about to protest, but someone, she recieved the same feeling as Faxon, as his own terror had flown into her with the contact of their skin. She headed upstairs to the attick, and he went the other way, down the hallway, his shaky arms keeping the lamp in front of him.
He halted as soon as he heard the childish laughter, his muscles tensed. When the laughter dissapeared quickly after, he decided there was no burglar. It was some people from the party who'd thought it'd be funny to prank him once again, no doubt they were the one's who painted his room, "Who's there? Come on get out."
Wrong move.
The lights went out and Faxon hissed. "Shit."
comment if you want this continued..
