Original fiction: "Say Uncle."
Title: "Say Uncle." (1,054 words)
Genre: Supernatural, horror, angst.
Rating: PG-13 (language, menacing, horror elements)
Summary: The torment of a middle school girl leads to tragedy in this supernatural tale of revenge.
Additional notes: None.
Marion hates school.
She hates the bus that collects her in the mornings and spits her back out on her front step in the afternoons. She hates the sound of a thousand squeaky pairs of sneakers in the hallway between classes. She hates math lessons that seem to go on forever and make her feel stupider with each passing day.
Most of all, she hates Julia Grosse.
Marion and Julia used to be very close friends. They chatted for hours on the phone every night and took turns shooting basketball during recess. But sometime during the transition from fifth to sixth grade, Julia couldn't stand to be seen with her anymore.
That wouldn't be so terrible if Julia just chose to ignore her. Instead, she became a viper who slung acidic words at Marion whenever she could.
"Garbage," she'd hiss. "Ugly."
Marion would hunch her shoulders up around her ears or stick her nose in a book and pretend she couldn't hear, but that only prompted Julia to say them louder; and eventually Julia wasn't the only one taunting her about her unkempt hair or dirty nylon jacket. Her new group of friends were also very keen on making Marion miserable.
For eight hours a day, five days a week, they shadow her from class to class, prodding her with the point of their pencils during homeroom or wedging her between the locker rows in the girl's changing room at PE.
"Stop it," she pleads.
"Say uncle," they reply, baring their teeth in what hardly passes for smiles, "and we'll go away."
It's small consolation that the torment is guaranteed to end the second Marion steps off the bus after school, but today Julia and her friends have decided to follow her home.
"You can't come in," she tells them flatly.
"We're tired from walking all the way to your crappy house. We want something to drink," Julia retorts, crossing her arms as if that settles the matter.
Marion shakes her head in the negative.
"Maybe we'll help you with your homework, too," pipes up an older girl. "You're probably too dumb to figure it out-"
"Oh my God, just move over." Julia pushes past Marion and wrenches the door open in one deft motion. The other girls file into the apartment with Marion chasing after them, waving her arms frantically as they wreak havoc on the living room.
Couch cushions are tossed to the floor and chairs are overturned; books are dumped from the bookshelf; a family photo is cracked; and wet laundry is taken out of the washer and strewn across the kitchen floor. Marion watches the carnage unfold in disbelief, sucking in deep heaving breaths as her one and only refuge is turned upside-down.
After ransacking the kitchen for snacks - most of which are left messily half-eaten on the counters - Julia approaches an as-yet-unopened door. Marion nearly tramples the other intruders in her bid to act as a barricade just as Julia reaches for the knob.
"Move."
"No."
"What's in here, your room?"
"Yes," Marion says around mouthfuls of air. Adrenaline pumps through her like a drug, making her hyper-aware of every movement, every minute little twitch of muscle, and focuses them all on defending her bedroom at any cost.
Julia's eyebrow quirks in interest. "I want to see."
"You're not allowed."
"Says who?"
Marion doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. Julia's friends peel her away from the door before she can protest further and they shove past each other for the privilege of entering her room first. It's small and cozily furnished with a rumpled bed jutting out from one wall, practically halving it. Porcelain dolls are displayed in a single-tier glass case next to the bed. Julia opens the case and lifts one by the arm. The other girls watch her for cues on what to destroy first.
Marion steps forward. "Put it down."
"What? This?" Julia asks, raising the doll higher so everyone can get a good look at it. It's plain and probably older than Marion is, manufactured to look like a farm girl with thick brown braids and a gingham skirt over a blouse. "Okay." She casually lets go off the doll and it plummets to the floor, face cracking upon impact.
Marion is frozen in mid-pose, one arm stretched out to catch the doll that now lays broken between her and Julia. Her nerves are like tightly wound springs ready to snap and she sees herself in the doll's split-open face. The urge to cry is strong, but she manages to stifle it.
"You… you bitch!"
"We're only playing," Julia insists as she grabs a fistful of Marion's unwashed hair and yanks it hard. Tears spring to Marion's eyes.
"Just leave me alone!" she cries through gnashed teeth. She is helpless in her fury and the other girls can sense it. They form a tight circle around her and Julia, gawking and giggling into their hands. The sound of their laughter is like flint, sharp and cutting and cruel.
"Say the magic word," Julia demands, forcing Marion's head back at an awkward angle. "Say uncle."
"Uncle!" It erupts from her throat. She can't stop it from coming. "Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!"
In the deafening quiet that follows, something beneath Marion's bed shifts and groans as if waking up from a deep sleep. The blood drains from Julia's face and she releases her hold on Marion as whatever it is speaks in a chillingly eager tone.
"You called?"
There's uncomfortable murmuring amongst the girls and they huddle together, moving as one back toward the door.
"Marion...?" Julia trains wide, frightened eyes on her as a sickly grey and long-fingered hand creeps out from beneath the bed like a spider, cautious at first until it ventures out further revealing the rest of the arm up to a bony shoulder. The hand scuttles across the carpet, feels the toe of Julia's shoe and wraps around her ankle. With one firm jerk Julia is on her stomach, shrieking as the arm draws her in.
There's a collective gasp seconds before the other girls explode into panic. They cling to each other and sob hysterically, pointing trembling, accusatory fingers at Marion until they, too, are snapped up in quick succession. One by one they disappear beneath the bed, screaming red-faced and begging for help while Uncle, unseen save for his spindly arm, laughs darkly.
Marion flattens herself against the wall with her hands over hear ears until there is only silence. But somehow that is so much worse.
Genre: Supernatural, horror, angst.
Rating: PG-13 (language, menacing, horror elements)
Summary: The torment of a middle school girl leads to tragedy in this supernatural tale of revenge.
Additional notes: None.
Marion hates school.
She hates the bus that collects her in the mornings and spits her back out on her front step in the afternoons. She hates the sound of a thousand squeaky pairs of sneakers in the hallway between classes. She hates math lessons that seem to go on forever and make her feel stupider with each passing day.
Most of all, she hates Julia Grosse.
Marion and Julia used to be very close friends. They chatted for hours on the phone every night and took turns shooting basketball during recess. But sometime during the transition from fifth to sixth grade, Julia couldn't stand to be seen with her anymore.
That wouldn't be so terrible if Julia just chose to ignore her. Instead, she became a viper who slung acidic words at Marion whenever she could.
"Garbage," she'd hiss. "Ugly."
Marion would hunch her shoulders up around her ears or stick her nose in a book and pretend she couldn't hear, but that only prompted Julia to say them louder; and eventually Julia wasn't the only one taunting her about her unkempt hair or dirty nylon jacket. Her new group of friends were also very keen on making Marion miserable.
For eight hours a day, five days a week, they shadow her from class to class, prodding her with the point of their pencils during homeroom or wedging her between the locker rows in the girl's changing room at PE.
"Stop it," she pleads.
"Say uncle," they reply, baring their teeth in what hardly passes for smiles, "and we'll go away."
It's small consolation that the torment is guaranteed to end the second Marion steps off the bus after school, but today Julia and her friends have decided to follow her home.
"You can't come in," she tells them flatly.
"We're tired from walking all the way to your crappy house. We want something to drink," Julia retorts, crossing her arms as if that settles the matter.
Marion shakes her head in the negative.
"Maybe we'll help you with your homework, too," pipes up an older girl. "You're probably too dumb to figure it out-"
"Oh my God, just move over." Julia pushes past Marion and wrenches the door open in one deft motion. The other girls file into the apartment with Marion chasing after them, waving her arms frantically as they wreak havoc on the living room.
Couch cushions are tossed to the floor and chairs are overturned; books are dumped from the bookshelf; a family photo is cracked; and wet laundry is taken out of the washer and strewn across the kitchen floor. Marion watches the carnage unfold in disbelief, sucking in deep heaving breaths as her one and only refuge is turned upside-down.
After ransacking the kitchen for snacks - most of which are left messily half-eaten on the counters - Julia approaches an as-yet-unopened door. Marion nearly tramples the other intruders in her bid to act as a barricade just as Julia reaches for the knob.
"Move."
"No."
"What's in here, your room?"
"Yes," Marion says around mouthfuls of air. Adrenaline pumps through her like a drug, making her hyper-aware of every movement, every minute little twitch of muscle, and focuses them all on defending her bedroom at any cost.
Julia's eyebrow quirks in interest. "I want to see."
"You're not allowed."
"Says who?"
Marion doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. Julia's friends peel her away from the door before she can protest further and they shove past each other for the privilege of entering her room first. It's small and cozily furnished with a rumpled bed jutting out from one wall, practically halving it. Porcelain dolls are displayed in a single-tier glass case next to the bed. Julia opens the case and lifts one by the arm. The other girls watch her for cues on what to destroy first.
Marion steps forward. "Put it down."
"What? This?" Julia asks, raising the doll higher so everyone can get a good look at it. It's plain and probably older than Marion is, manufactured to look like a farm girl with thick brown braids and a gingham skirt over a blouse. "Okay." She casually lets go off the doll and it plummets to the floor, face cracking upon impact.
Marion is frozen in mid-pose, one arm stretched out to catch the doll that now lays broken between her and Julia. Her nerves are like tightly wound springs ready to snap and she sees herself in the doll's split-open face. The urge to cry is strong, but she manages to stifle it.
"You… you bitch!"
"We're only playing," Julia insists as she grabs a fistful of Marion's unwashed hair and yanks it hard. Tears spring to Marion's eyes.
"Just leave me alone!" she cries through gnashed teeth. She is helpless in her fury and the other girls can sense it. They form a tight circle around her and Julia, gawking and giggling into their hands. The sound of their laughter is like flint, sharp and cutting and cruel.
"Say the magic word," Julia demands, forcing Marion's head back at an awkward angle. "Say uncle."
"Uncle!" It erupts from her throat. She can't stop it from coming. "Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!"
In the deafening quiet that follows, something beneath Marion's bed shifts and groans as if waking up from a deep sleep. The blood drains from Julia's face and she releases her hold on Marion as whatever it is speaks in a chillingly eager tone.
"You called?"
There's uncomfortable murmuring amongst the girls and they huddle together, moving as one back toward the door.
"Marion...?" Julia trains wide, frightened eyes on her as a sickly grey and long-fingered hand creeps out from beneath the bed like a spider, cautious at first until it ventures out further revealing the rest of the arm up to a bony shoulder. The hand scuttles across the carpet, feels the toe of Julia's shoe and wraps around her ankle. With one firm jerk Julia is on her stomach, shrieking as the arm draws her in.
There's a collective gasp seconds before the other girls explode into panic. They cling to each other and sob hysterically, pointing trembling, accusatory fingers at Marion until they, too, are snapped up in quick succession. One by one they disappear beneath the bed, screaming red-faced and begging for help while Uncle, unseen save for his spindly arm, laughs darkly.
Marion flattens herself against the wall with her hands over hear ears until there is only silence. But somehow that is so much worse.