"A true friend is one soul in two bodies."
--Aristotle
Chapter 1: Basement Bogeyman
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Gee, this is so stupid.
Kim's heart ka-thumped, her skin braking into a trillion bumpy rashes of maggoty-white gooseflesh. Very slowly she looked down into the frightening abyss of solid darkness that waited patiently, almost with sinister eagerness, below her.
. . . This is just . . . stupid.
And, Kim was right. It was quite stupid. All this horror-flick nonsense was only doing the laundry, of all things. All she needed to do was put away some stained clothes and stinky underwear, sprinkle on some detergent; simply twist a knob, then press a button, and, presto, the job was finished.
Right. Piece of cake.
Even the hairs on the back of Kim's neck bristled up, porcupine-like, and her palms oiled up with icy sweat.
—A distinct snip-snip echoed up from the shadowed gut of the basement.
A silkily nauseating feeling passed through Kim. Her throat constricted into a paper-dry knot; her head spun like an insane whirligig.
"Are…" Barely stopping herself from squeaking it out, Kim addressed the jet-black labyrinth that densely veiled the basement from view. "Are you down there?"
A flurry of snip-snips came out from the dark as the basement monster replied, very quietly:
" . . . Yes."
Kim's heart plopped directly into her stomach, and it wallowed there for a few overwhelmingly nauseous minutes.
Dammit. Where's Jim when I need him?
It would be nice to call Jim up and have him— deal with it. The sentiment was extremely tempting. Very satisfying, too. Jim probably could even tell. . . that guy. . . to stay far, far away from her or else. Whatever "else" entailed—she was confident Jim would gladly do it. Being captain of the school football team and one of the most popular boys on campus, Jim was not one to cross. He had given big-time "else" to other losers and smart-alecks at school. Why not now, too?
Kim smiled pleasantly. Yeah! What a super idea! She could call Jim up and— wham-bam-thank-you-mam!—the whole thing would be over with.
After a moment of considering it, her shoulders began to slump. No, maybe it wasn't such a super idea. Calling up your boyfriend to explain that you're just too frightened to stuff a few smelly clothes into the washer was kind of babyish, Kim thought. And why couldn't she put her foot down? Besides, this was her house.
And… Edward, or whatever his name was… he didn't even belong here really. If it weren't for Mom and her annoying notions about adopting random strangers, this whole mess wouldn't even exist. Kim had thought that her mom's generosity would stop at stray kittens and puppies. But this was just crazy.
Mustering up her courage and narrowing her eyes down to tiny slits, Kim decided to take the reins of the situation: "Fine. I'm coming down to do the laundry."
Trotting down the creaky staircase, Kim caught the faint gray outline of Edward sitting on top of the fold-out bed. A few shivers trickled down her arms, seeping skittishly into her fingertips.
Eyes slightly adjusting to the nebulous velvet darkness Kim fumbled for the basement's light switch, and then—click-buzz—the fluorescent bulbs blinked to life.
Edward was so quiet, he might've not even have been there; he might've just been a shadow against the wall, or a tiny spider crawling along the cobwebs.
Throwing the last pastel-colored tee-shirt into the machine's round black mouth, Kim prepared to dash up the stairs— but, in a nauseating second, she caught a glance of those shiny, horrifyingly lethal-looking hands.
How could anyone be born like that? Kim's mind suddenly burst to the seams with questions. What on earth happened to this guy? Why did he live all alone up on the Hill? Why hadn't he come down before? How could he survive up there?
Suppressing a large shiver, Kim paused for a second and looked over towards the pasty-faced . . . thing before her.
"Can I ask you something?" The damsel in-not-so-much-distress asked, lifting herself up to her full height.
The scissorhanded boy tensed, feeling an invisible thread stitch up his lips. He mentally struggled for a response, but he was just too surprised and out-and-out confused to find one.
Watching Edward, the girl went on, "How'd you get those. . . ? Those scissors for hands? Were you in an accident or something?"
Edward panicked internally. How could he answer this? After what seemed to be ages, Edward could only force himself to answer softly, "I was made like this . . . by my father."
Kim felt an electrified tremor shoot up her spine.
"Made you?" She said, feeling more wary of Edward than ever, "What's that supposed to mean? Like, you weren't—well, you know—born like a normal person? Well, I guess that's kind of—but, what are you, anyway? And who's your father. . . or whatever?"
Edward's eyes skimmed the floor's glossy and diary cream-colored linoleum titles, hoping that he might miraculously find the answer there. Unsurprisingly though they gave him nothing but bland silence… and there was this lonely feeling, as a gallery of stray memories of his inventor rolled by in Edward's thoughts.
"Well?" Kim persisted.
Black eyes still scanning the floor, the scissorhanded boy became completely woebegone.
Tilting her head cautiously to one side, Kim gave Edward a suspicious, appraising look—scanning over his worn, stitched-up thick leather suit and layers of enormous buckles that gleamed grotesquely underneath the old-fashioned suspenders and starchy white shirt.
And, suddenly, it hit Kim how skinny this guy was. Skin and bones, practically. Not like he ate much at dinner either— secretly, Kim believed that he only ate just to be polite sometimes and to make Peg feel good, maybe.
". . . Did you have food in that mansion, or anything?"
The razor-bladed boy shook his head, a little puzzled, his bleak eyes still glued to the creamy-colored linoleum floor.
"Why didn't you starve?"
Edward's mind instantly arrived at a brick wall. What did she mean by that? Starve…? That was a horribly daunting question.
Kim became more curious by the minute, "Exactly how long were you in that mansion?"
Edward was silent.
Moments passed. Gradually Kim's frown slightly lightened up into a tiny, hardly viewable, smirk. This guy obviously wasn't very bright— it was kinda pathetic, actually. She felt a little nip of pity for him. . .
Kim perched on one of her dad's tall barstools, somewhat compelled to keep prying this non-conversational boy-man-thing. Since only junk like pro golf was on TV and Jim was probably off at football practice by now—Kim chose to at least try this out, if only to kill the time.
"Well." She began, awkwardly, "So, I guess I scared you last week. You know, with the whole… me coming in from my trip and freaking you out. But it was my room. And, it's not like I wasn't scared too. I mean, not because of…well, I just didn't know who you were, being in my bedroom and everything. So," Kim paused, "I'm apologizing, I guess. Sorry."
Kim was dumbstruck. What the heck was she doing? She didn't need to apologize for anything! . . . especially for what happened when Edward made his grand entrance, utterly ruining her waterbed and dismembering half of Kim's favorite stuffed animals with those hazardous hands of his. If anything, Edward should be apologizing to her.
Shocked with herself, Kim bit her lip. Surely, she had better people to talk to than him?
She could always ring up Susannah, or Tina, or Denny, or Gabby… but Kim just wasn't up for listening to them twaddle and bicker and bitch about every microscopic, micromanaged thing in school. Of course, they were her friends—but lately they were becoming just a tad repetitive—everyday, talking to the same people—everyday, talking about the same things—
And, Edward served as an exotic change of company . . . however disfigured and grotesque.
Kim went on, "I can always buy another water bed anyway. I probably won't even buy another one—they get kind of irritating after awhile."
Nodding slightly in agreement, Edward's eyes skipped across each linoleum tile.
"Yeah." Shrugging, the girl leaned slightly on the pepper-red plastic armrest, "It burst dozens of times before you punctured it. Sometimes waterbeds do that—pretty annoying, I guess."
Edward was hesitant for a moment but then said, "I'm sorry for scaring you. And for the water bed."
Feeling a little surprised at this, Kim traced her bright pink fingernail along the side of the plastic mini bar. Finally, after a minute of pensively scratching her fingernail and examining her whole collection of nails, Kim sighed out lazily:
"No big deal. So, why aren't you outside, you know, trimming bushes? Don't you like doing that?"
Edward's hands snipped once or twice, and he replied quietly— " . . . It's hot today."
"Mm, I guess. That's summer for you. Always sweltering. Especially for you, I bet, 'cause of your…" Kim's eyes gave a hurried look over his Frankenstein-worthy leather suit, "… your outfit. Must get pretty toasty under all that leather."
Edward simply nodded.
Leaning smoothly back in the brilliant red barstool, Kim's eyes twinkled. "Is that why you're so pale? You can't stand the heat, so you keep inside?"
Thoughtfully, Edward considered it. He wasn't quite sure… maybe she was right. He'd never really thought about it before.
"A little sun could do you wonders, though." She gave a slight smile.
Edward looked at her, large eyes questioning.
Feeling awkward under his stare, Kim went on with, "It'll bring some color into your face, y'know?"
Pretending to get what she meant, Edward nodded again and smiled shyly back at her. He'd never been so flat-out confused in his entire life.
Disclaimer:
Me: poor fledgling writer. Tim Burton: genius who I wouldn't steal from. Get the pictcha, fellas/gals?
More coming soon. Do comment, please. Please? Puh-lease?