The Plotmaster (plotmaster) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-11-02 01:24:00 |
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Tricks-or-Treats
Young!Rob and Young!Marcus by TSIt made no sense to take the giant home with him, and Rob wasn't sure why he had. It was a bold move. Something she wouldn't approve of, which made it long overdue, according to most. Caravahlo had friends at school, social clout, things Rob didn't have. The fact that the bigger kid had taken an interest in him also made no sense, though Rob suspected it had to do with his mother's money. Neither boy admitted ulterior motive, though Caravahlo's smirk spoke volumes, and Rob hadn't smiled once since their meeting at Sue Foster's costume party.
“Quiet,” he hissed, and then softened the order with a terse, “please. She'll hear us.”
“Heh. Scared of your fucking mother. Man, that's some sad shit.” Caravahlo wasn't speaking in hushed tones, had probably never learned how. His voice seemed to carry in the dark, low but loud. Too loud, Rob thought. Way too loud. “Rich fuckers always got a liquor cabinet, right? Where the fuck is it?”
Predictably, a woman's voice pierced the wide expanse of the foyer moments later. “Theodore! That had better be you!”
“It is!” Rob swallowed, sudden fear mellowing his usually stoic expression into one that was more suited to his 16-year-old face. “Sorry, mom!”
“Theodore?” Caravahlo scoffed, fixating on the least important part, disregarding the fact that they'd been caught. They were about to be in real trouble; she really didn't care for strangers in her house. Oblivious to his imminent danger, Caravahlo was laughing. “Your name's Theodore?”
“Shut up,” Rob snapped, and in that moment decided not to tell Caravahlo about the cage or the toolbox. Let him find out for himself. The ass deserved what he got, and Rob wasn't that desperate for friends, anyway.
Tatum [with surprise Nona cameo] by AmieShe was here now, and there was no getting out of it. She didn't know how she had been convinced to dress up either, but there was no changing that now either. It was a pretty typical situation. Halloween night rolled around, and Tatum had no plans. Both her brother and sister, of course, had plans. Super awesome, cool, popular plans with their super awesome, cool, popular friends. Her step-mother, of course, didn't see why sending Tatum to tag along with these sort of people would be a bad idea. Get out more, she'd say. Make friends, she'd say. Put yourself out there, she'd say. Throw myself off a bridge, Tatum would lament.
But there was no escaping her fate at this point, surrounding shoulder to shoulder with her peers. People drinking, generally being loud, and whatever else they did at a house party in rural Maine. There would probably be fireworks later, someone was usually going to explode something. It was disorienting, a mixture of the joints she smoked fogging her head and the Smirnoff she already had, and just the close proximity to everyone around her. So many people, so much pressure. There was nowhere to sit, nowhere to get away from the crowd, and it was beginning to make Tatum's chest feel tight and her entire body feel shaky.
Escaping onto the back porch of the house was her only chance, and she had just barely had time to lift a lighter to her joint, before her sister had been behind her. Scaring the shit out of her, making her drop her joint. She couldn't speak up to argue, even as Sera pulled her inside. Her sister was smiling widely, and she was clearly drunk, and Tatum hated to think what she was up to now.
She was already nervous before her sister sat her down, but once she looked up and realized that she had been sat into a circle for spin the bottle, a dozen other faces staring back at her, Tatum felt down right sick. Her hand was shaking, even as her sister gave a little shove forward toward the bottle. "Go for it," Sera instructed, and Tatum did as she was told, her sweaty hand spinning the bottle weakly. Her eyes were focused straight across from her, where a pretty blonde girl was sitting. She smiled nervously at her, a knee-jerk reaction, as the bottle spun and spun. Before stopping on the blonde girl. Tatum's eyes went wide, her brain racing with panic as she stared at the other girl's face. Her? How was she ever going to kiss a girl that good-looking?
"Nona has to kiss Tatum!" someone teased, from behind her.
And with that, Tatum felt it coming, even as she tried to stop it. Her eyes squinted shut tightly, she at least managed to turn her head, mostly throwing up on her sister beside her when she did. Oh god, her nerves could never take things like this.
Marcus goes Trick-or-Treating by AriOffers of booze and a “good time” later resulted in Marcus accompanying eight children trick or treating. How that had happened, the giant of a man wasn’t sure, but he concluded that he’d better get all things promised for dealing with children that weren’t his. Even with it being Halloween, Marcus still pulled worried stares from other parents and guardians. It dawned on him after a few moments of glowering a bit and posturing, that he was getting the stares because he wore only a loincloth and was surrounded by children. That did little to discourage him. Let people think what they thought. He was Tarzan, king of the jungle. And he was going to make sure these kids got some fucking candy.
He didn’t know the name of any of the kids, and resorted to the fact that he was going to call them by costume, whether they –or their parents—liked it or not. So Tarzan was accompanied by Batman, Spiderman, Disney Princess, Ninja, Darth Vader, Witch, Ghost, and Pirate. Batman was nine, and the brains of the operation. His parents were the ones that lived here, so he knew which houses to hit first, who gave good candy and who to avoid. That had won the kid some cool points. The less time Marcus had to spend babysitting the better.
They had been gone maybe half an hour when the door to Batman’s house flew open and through it came a herd of giggling costumed children. Tarzan and the Princess entered last, closing the door behind them. It was after the children had made their way to Batman’s room to swap candy that Darth Vader’s dad spoke up. “Man, that was fast.”
“Heh, some puta didn’t like my costume. Made some off-hand comment about my junk,” Marcus replied with his signature wolfish grin. “Told her that I didn’t mind the cool breeze around my huevos.” He let out a hearty laugh as the other man choked on his Corona. Returning to the recliner he’d been sitting in earlier, he continued on. “She scoffed, dropped the candy bowl, and slammed the door in my face. So, the kids split the candy, and we came back.”
“Speaking of my huevos,” He turned his attention now to the Pirate’s aunt. “Hey chica, you had better not back out of that good time you promised me. I made good on mine.”
BB!O'Brien and Hunter by Amie
*[IN AU 1971 APPARENTLY WHERE WILLARD AND FIDDLER ON THE ROOF BOTH HAPPEN TO BE IN THEATER ON HALLOWEEN NIGHT. HISTORICAL INACCURACIES, THAT'S THE REAL HALLOWEEN SCARE.]"Y'know, this is a pretty gay movie to be watchin' on Halloween.."
O'Brien hadn't even thought about it, really, what other people thought of his plans for the night. Once baseball practice had been over, he hadn't even bothered to walk home to change out of his uniform. He still wore it, as he turned his head to look at the tall blonde girl he hadn't noticed sliding into the seat beside him. Some of the guys had been pissed about their being practice until seven Halloween night, but it hadn't bothered him much. He hadn't really had plans, besides coming to the movie theater, which wasn't playing anything until eight anyway. He wasn't there for Willard or another horror movie though. It was all about Fiddler.
"It's stupid," she repeated, when he didn't answer immediately. Now she was looking at him like he might be slow, and he had to speak up quickly. "It's not," he said, more defensively as he planned, as he tried to sit up more straight in his chair. Uncrossing his legs. Less comfortable, but more confident, as he leaned his elbows on his knees and kept his blue eyes on her. Hers stared back, skeptical. She was pretty, very pretty, and although it was making him a bit nervous, he loathed to show it.
"It's about--"
But she was already shaking her head at him, reclining back in her chair further as she gave him a not so subtle once over. "Baseball?" she scoffed, after a moment, though she was smiling broadly just the same. She didn't sound impressed, but her welcoming face had a bad way of showing it. He couldn't help examining her, although before her arrival, he had been absorbed in the film. She was dressed as a cowgirl, he figured, unless she just liked wearing that hat. He liked the boots though.
"Yeah, baseball. First base," O'Brien replied confidently, but again, her head was already shaking. "Baseball players usually come to the movie theater on Halloween.. to see a musical? Don't you know about that rat movie? The rats fuckin' eat people, man. I came in here by accident, and you're the only guy in here. What's up with that?"
He could explain himself, about the part he was going for, but he had a feeling that wasn't going to help his case with her. Some girls really loved an actor, but something about this girl told him that nothing short of Hollywood was going to impress her. "It's a good movie, you just have to give it a chance. It's better on stage, too, you know," he settled for. How could she judge Fiddler about being in here for two minutes?
"Whatever, man. That rat movie is probably dumb anyway.. think I'm gonna go egg my house. You stayin' here on the roof or you in?"
O'Brien was already standing up, as soon as she was. "Your house?" he asked.
"I'll explain later.."
Last Haunted House on the Hill
Hunter [with surprise Charlie and Marcus cameos] by AmieThey were all dead, all of her friends, Hunter knew that. One of two things was going to happen to her, and she knew that as well. She was either going to bleed out, or they were going to get her next. She was the last one left, which for her, would have naturally led to some sort of bragging rights. But with just one eye left, and what felt like half of her intestinal workings ready to fall out of the gash those things had ripped in her, she wasn't sure if she was really in the mood to gloat about anything. Things were getting blurry, and not just because half of her vision was gone, but she was so no stranger to pushing against pain, even if this weekend had provided some of the worst of her life. When she had managed to get into this bedroom, she had needed to use all of her strength to slam against the door, to keep them out.
Even with one arm kept wrapped around her stomach, keeping whatever was hanging out in for now, Hunter managed to hold her shoulder and weight against the door until they had given up, or at least backed off. By the time the clawing and scratching from the other side stopped, Hunter was wiped. Holding them off that last time had taken her last strength out of her, and she had slumped to the floor, her back pressed firmly against the wooden door. Keeping it shut, for the time being.
She hadn't been able to will herself to move since, just sitting there with her head tipped back, breathing raggedly through her tightly clenched teeth. She still hadn't actually looked at the wound across her abdomen, but it felt bad, and it was still bleeding terribly. Her jeans were soaked with it now, and a puddle was slowly forming under her, leaking under the door and out into the hall. They'd like that, it might bring them back, but there wasn't anything she could do about it.
Bleeding out was slower but maybe better than being torn up by those things. Dying like everyone else had. She hadn't even been staying in this stupid cabin, they had just been tenting nearby, but she had never been able to resist joining in on a party and the guys in the cabin had seemed fun. They obviously hadn't known this was going to happen. Charlie was the worst, poor Charlie. And Marcus went down last, but he had fought the hardest, even when there was six on him, he had still been throwing them, last Hunter had seen. It had been hard to keep track of everyone in the chaos, when it gotten dark.
It was too late now anyway. She could hear them returning, it sounded like twice as many, clawing and scratching the door and coming for her. She couldn't fight it anymore, sliding forward to let the door open a crack.
Attack of the Killer Kids
Jenny Goes Crazy by AmieWhen it had first happened, Jenny hadn't been able to do it. Kill something, kill someone. She hadn't believed any of it, the news could say what it wanted, Jenny knew her son, and he was fine. It didn't matter what was happening somewhere else, even when it began to happen in Detroit, when children began to turn feral, attacking their families, anyone they could get their hands on. Even when she saw them closing the Ambassador bridge, fires breaking out downtown, or videos of savage children attacking people in the street, one latching onto the newscaster before the channel cut out, she couldn't and wouldn't believe it. Chase was fine, of course he was fine. Those were other children, not her boy. She had to protect him now.
Killing became easier though, she needed to save her son. Charlie never come home, that was hard, but she had willed herself to get over it. She could do this on her own. She had needed to, after Chase's friend from next door had burst through the double glass back doors in their kitchen, lunging at her and going straight for her throat. He had smelled filthy, and he was filthy and bloody and awful, and although she knew he was only ten, the same grade as Chase, she had needed to wrestle with him for ten minutes before she had managed to bury a paring knife into the side of his throat and kick him off of her. Her cupboards were still wet with arterial spray. But Chase was fine, and that was what mattered.
There wasn't much that she could do, besides using heavy furniture, dragging and pushing it over the doors and trying to find things to barricade over the windows with. The streets were chaos, but they were okay. They were safe in the house. But she could find Charlie's guns there, to keep the bad children away. The key to the safe was up high, on top of the tool shelf, where Chase couldn't reach. She had gotten a hockey stick from the hall closet, and in the journey from her front door to garage, she had clubbed down six more rabid children, her breath coming in pants and the stick cracked and slick with gore by the time she came stumbling back into her house.
Chase was okay though, he was upstairs in his room. Jenny was smiling as she put down her weapons and began barricade the door behind her, before ascending the stairs. Chase was okay, and she pushed open his door after knocking. "Oh Chase," she sighed, heading to him. He was just where she had left him, snarling at her from his bedroom floor as she came closer. His wrists, bloody from struggling so hard, still bound by the cuffs she had used to latch him to the radiator. He was a good boy. He wasn't sick, at least. "I'm here, let mommy fix it.."
Masquerade Mishaps
Archer and O'Brien by Skip (The Buddy Costume Incident)O’Brien checked himself out in the mirror, adjusting his headgear. Okay, so he looked lousy in hats but this was a cowboy hat. That meant it was awesome and he could pull it off. With a final wave at his reflection, he called, “Hey, Archer. You ready?”
Noncommittal grunt of response.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained: O’Brien tried again. “Arch? Archie, c’mon. We’re going to be late for the party and the brass is gonna hate that.”
The concept of being late seemed to get a reaction. Good cops were punctual. Archer pushed open the bedroom door to see O’Brien grinning like an idiot in his living room.
Maybe being late was a fucking great idea.
O’Brien correctly interpreted the lack-of-expression behind the plexiglas. “Don’t bail on me, Archie. I put a lot of work into this costume!”
Skeptical lift of an eyebrow.
“Okay, so I just got a hat, jeans, yellow plaid shirt, and scribbled on the sole of a boot. We put a lot of work into your costume, though.”
Long-suffering sigh that briefly ghosted over the inside of the helmet.
O’Brien pressed his advantage. “I watched a hundred times--”
Snort.
“--maybe closer to ten. Still, lots of times! Just to make sure the markings on your suit would match the movie.”
Archer’s death glare was definitely less effective, O’Brien decided, when he put his hands on his hips, unconsciously mimicking one of his character’s classic poses.
Pushing his hat off his forehead, putting some twang into his voice, O’Brien drawled, “C’mon, pardner, we better giddyap iffen we don’t want trouble.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Archer finally spoke, voice slightly muffled.
“What? Gotta fit the part. ‘There’s a snake in my boot!!’”
Archer rolled his eyes and adjusted the pack on his back. “Not sure he said that in the movie.”
“You were watching! I knew it.” O’Brien looked smug. “Well, the talking doll Disney released says it. So I’m saying it.”
Archer heaved the second of a long line of sighs he had prepared for the evening. “So. You’re Woody. I’m Buzz Lightyear. Right?”
O’Brien nodded vigorously. “Yep. We’ve got buddy costumes!” He ran an assessing eye over his partner. “You try out the wings yet?”
“No.”
“But I made ‘em special!”
“Don’t care.”
“But they’re gonna be cool...” O’Brien whined. He was close to pulling out the puppy face.
“No.” Archer was in a shiny white space suit with appropriate lime green accents, wearing a heavy helmet and pack. That would have to be enough.
It wasn’t enough for O’Brien, who darted in close to Archer, smacked the big red button over his heart before Archer could say, “Bran, no--”
As O’Brien had intended, two large purple wings jutted outward at the touch of the button.
The left one crashed right into O’Brien’s face.
...
Halloween was spent sitting on Archer’s couch watching TV, O’Brien pressing an icepack to his black eye. He drank Jameson; Archer had beer.
The buddy costume incident was never spoken of again.
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