This is a story I have posted on Animal Crossing Community. It's still there, but this is the uncensored version. Well, 'uncensored' in the "WTF ACC MODS I DON'T HATE YOU BUT WHY DID YOU LOCK A THREAD ABOUT NERF GUNS?" way.

The horror isn't violent, in case you were wondering. I'm still in the process of writing this, and so far it's…very mild. 0_o

"What do you get when the worst fanfiction writer of all time (...on a particular website, that is), a raving psychopath, and an ordinary resident walk into the museum?

Uh. The start of a really bad joke?

Basically, you don't know who's playing each role (writer, ordinary, psycho) : Chrissy, Stitches, or Elise. Throughout the story, you can try to figure it out. There will be clues at the end of every chapter."

Chapter One: The Last Chapter

Stitches woke up every single morning with a smile on his face. It wasn't because the previous day had been especially good, or that his dreams were pleasant, or that he was excited for this new day. It was because Stitches was an extraordinarily cheerful bear in an extraordinarily bleak world-and that was a-okay with him.

Oh yeah, and his mouth was stitched on so frowning would be a really bad idea.

He would eat the same old cereal for breakfast, would brush his teeth for about two seconds (he couldn't wash his face-the last time he did that, his stitches became undone and he'd scared Astrid's kid when he'd gone out to get the paper), would sit on his creaky wooden chair in front of his old computer-and then he would log onto his favorite website of all time: "Starcruiser X Fanfiction: May the Peace and Prosperity be With You". Today, only one thing was slightly different in his routine; he brought a suitcase downstairs with him.

Stitches honestly wasn't as in to Starcruiser X as he was the community. He'd made a ton of good friends there, more friends than he had in real life. There was the aptly named "Jenny", the founder and best writer on the forum. There was 'killerqueen' who gave a ton of constructive criticism to struggling writers. (Although how much of it was actually helpful was debatable) Last but not least, there was 'chrissyanthem', whom most users agreed was quite possibly one of the worst fanfiction writers of all time.

It wasn't easy being a basically sentient teddy bear. For starters, you can't swim, go on monkey bars, own a pet (which you probably shouldn't be doing anyway…slavery is bad), or prepare a Thanksgiving meal (not because there are any physical hazards involved; rather, everyone would keep making puns about stuffing which he found VERY irritating indeed). Whenever you want to take a shower, you need to put yourself in a giant washing machine, and then when you want to towel off you either need to put yourself in an equally gigantic dryer or hang yourself on a clothesline…the list goes on and on.

But it's okay, Stitches thought, everything is a-okay.

A-OKAY

Elise was never happy. She wasn't miserable, but she believed that total happiness was fleeting and completely useless. Instead, she enjoyed her state of bland normalcy, sitting in front of her computer on a perfectly good Friday night with a bottle of highly caffeinated soda.

She lurked around a few communities, but she had a few good friends in the Starcruiser X fanfiction forum; 'youinstitches' and chrissyanthem. Youinstitches seemed normal and nice enough. But chrissyanthem, oh, chrissyanthem…

HAY EVERYONE AN WELCOME TO MY NEW FANFIC! I WROTE IT ALL IN CAPITOL LETERS SO ITS EASIER FORU TO RED. ENJOY!

dOeS uR mInD A S P L O D E?

Episode 1: Their is a shoot in the nite

'Good morining' argon told balastier as he drew his saber 'I am going too se if the hi priest has our new misson' 'ok argon but be carefull' argon climbed up the yellow steps but than triped on it. 'aaaahhh!111!" he cryed 'I tink I have broken my leg! Than the gargon armys burst thru the door so balastier jumped in front of his frined when they shoot an then he was badlyly woonded. 'I am dieing argon' he said and than he died, Argon cryed more and it was sad.

Wat do u tink? GOOD RITE? : D

Elise sighed and wrote her usual comment:

Good job! Just make sure you capitalize the first word of every sentence and names. Also, you need to end a sentence with an ending point, like a period, question mark, or exclamation point. There were a few other stuff but…uh…they didn't seem that obvious to me. Yeah. I'm just gonna let you absorb that. I might have more to say tomorrow. Possibly.

And, uh, this is on the wrong board too.

Day in and day out, Elise would painstakingly weed through chrissyanthem's writing, picking out the bad grammar and spelling, the awkward sentence structures, the way she would end every single one of her 'comedies' with someone screaming, "I AM A JEDI VAMPIRE FROM MARS!" and then jumping out the window…but Elise could manage.

Sure, chrissyanthem was a pain, but she seemed nice enough. And she was getting better too: there had only been ten spelling mistakes in her last chapter of "the grand duke of pie". Granted, that chapter only had twenty words...but they were big words. Uh. Right? Oh well. She would continue to encourage chrissyanthem to be a better writer, no matter how long it took. Consequently, Elise didn't have many buddies as she spent all her time correcting, but she didn't care. She would rather to do this. Wanted to. Had too.

But today, for whatever reason, something clicked in Elise's mind: if she met chrissyanthem in real life, she might be able to deliver better criticism face-to-face. And maybe she could get another good writer (well, no one was as good as herself, she thought) to come too, to increase the effectiveness of her intellectual conversation. She and most of her buddies lived in the same region, so it wouldn't be too hard to arrange.

"Hey," she typed, "we should meet up sometime. How about the museum in my town tomorrow evening?" Then she sent the message to chrissyanthem and another buddy of hers.

As she spent the night reading more of chrissyanthem's stories, Elise wondered how she would be in real life; if she was as weird as she was online, or if she was actually mellow and simply misunderstood. Maybe she was even vaguely…Elise didn't know…special?

After all, Elise thought, everyone is special in their own psychopathic way.

I AM GO ING SLI GH T LY INSANE.

Chrissy lived in a world of butterflies, rainbows, and small cute aliens who had speech impairments. They were called "Garbellejarjars". Most Starcruiser X fans hated them. Chrissy thought they were AWESOME. Them and sugar and randomness wheeeeeee! were AWESOME and FUN and COOL. Simply AWESOME .

This Friday night, Chrissy logged into the Starcruiser X fanfiction forum, one of the most consistent of the fifty different forums she frequented. She considered herself a pro author, having written about seventy stories. Most of these stories were now defunct, but she ignored that glaring fact and enjoyed her self-title. Chrissy had high hopes for her newest story. (as of yesterday, 11:54 p.m.) It was a comedy mystery western sci-fi adventure tragedy with minor crossover undertones and frequent pie jokes.

She clicked on the thread, bracing herself for the rave reviews, the squealing of her MANY fans, and women chucking their newborn puppies at her.

What is this I don't even.

Uh. You can't write. (oh wait, do I need to say it in a way you'll understand? U CANT RITE.)

And the third was Elise's.

Chrissy sniffled. Suddenly, the world was terrible. Her friends and her family and her online friends and her online friends she had deluded herself into thinking were family were all TERRIBLE. UGH. Just...ugh. Nasty. Nasty, nasty h8rs. At least Elise thought she was good. At least killerqueen KNEW she was good.

She KNEW she was a pretty good writer. Her teacher had said so himself. Okay, so one of the other animals in her class just sat in the corner and screamed at the florescent lights the whole time, then would jump out the window screaming, "I AM A JEDI VAMPIRE FROM MARS". The other didn't have opposable thumbs. BUT! She knew she was good. AWESOME, even! Really! And she knew her constant usage of exclamation points would prove how enthusiastic she was about writing!

Then, Chrissy noticed the blinking message alert at the top of the page. Of course, you and I both know that it was from Elise, asking her if she wanted to meet up the next day.

"Kool!" she typed after very little consideration, "lets met at 5:03!" Maybe she could complain about those sad, sad animals with no taste. Elise would understand. Elise knew she was good.

Chrissy spent the rest of the night writing new stories. One day, the idiots who wouldn't know talent if it slapped them in the face and then tried to poke them in the eye with a lightsaber (going to that school gave her some truly interesting metaphors) would bow to her. She knew it deep in her sweet, fluffy heart. They WOULD love her. Soon.

Or else, Chrissy thought, I could destroy them all. Teeheehee!

By the way, the museum isn't open at five.

SIM PL Y AWESOME.

After all, Elise thought, everyone is special in their own psychopathic way.

After logging off at ten p.m., Stitches opened the suitcase, put in his laptop, and lugged it next to the front door. He glanced around his humble abode, wondering which one of the lights wouldn't turn on tomorrow. Wondering which one would flicker. Wondering which one would E X P L O D E. And he allowed himself one last dark thought as he opened his bedroom door and stepped into the drafty, empty, depressing room-one last dark thought that he could never, ever allow anyone to know. Not until his plan was complete, that is.

Then he looked at the cloudy mirror on his broken dresser and reminded himself that every inch of his stuffing should be as happy as the smile on his face. His grin-his vaguely psychopathic grin-grew wider. Soon. S O O N.

Because tomorrow was the day Stitches would hop on the bus and go somewhere else. Anywhere. And he would never look back.

Not that he could turn his head, anyway.

AND SO T H E MADNESS BEGINSSSSSSSs

The Clues
Stitches's signature on the forum reads: "Smile though your heart is aching. Smile though your face is breaking. :p"
Chrissy's signature on the forum reads: "omg plz read my story plastic hearts and phones! thx"
As of ten p.m., the museum is currently closed.
It's a Tuesday.
In the next chapter, the psychopath will commit a crime, the writer will also commit a crime but it won't be discovered until much, much later, and the ordinary person will enter the museum's art room.
In this story, no one will die.