AN: We all know these characters were borrowed from SM's Twilight. No infringement intended.
Halloween is hands down my favourite time of year and for years I've been trying to write something in the horror genre, but nothing ever panned out...until now.
This was supposed to be an entry for the Halloween Countdown this year, however life stepped in and made it impossible to finish it before the deadline, so I figured I'd offer it up as a treat. The chapters will be fairly short and I'm hoping to post the last on Halloween night. Happy reading and I'll see ya at the bottom.
Spooky love to my beta team this time around: Pre-reader wonder woman Lynzylee and beta i2want2knowu. I'll own up to any mistakes made.
(Little Lights)
*The Move~*
1392 Westminster sat at the end of the boulevard. Its recent paint job did nothing to hide its years. You could see it in the bold shape, hear it in the creak of the front steps, and smell it in the musty, dank basement. The wooden siding was a deep, stormy grey; the shutters a butter-creamy yellow, and because Renee's wish was Charlie's every desire the front door was Coke-a-Cola red. The massive wrap-around porch was outlined by wild flowers, bright pops of pink, yellow, orange and purple. Cracked, moss stained stepping stones made up the front path. It had a charming, over-grown cottage like quality to it that I actually kind of liked.
The backyard was home to an impressive array of rose bushes and a gazebo that, once upon a time, was the highlight of the yard. It now looked to be in its final stretch of life, aching to be revived and desperate to be the focus once again.
The thing that put the SOLD sign on the lawn, though ? The porch swing. Iced-tea-on-a-hot-day type swing. That was it. Mom saw that and the next day they were signing papers.
Moving sucked balls—at least that was my opinion. It was a tedious, time sucking event that left you sore as hell and—at least in my case—bruised to shit.
Being about twenty months pregnant, Renee, my mother, snagged herself a cushy spot on the recliner "supervising". The only finger she was lifting was to her mouth. Chowing down powdered donuts was tough work. So was growing a human, I hear. Baby Riley would be (surprise) sibling number two for me. My little sister, Bree, was fifteen, and not nearly as annoying as one would expect a Pop-tart her age to be. She was actually pretty cool beans, a little nerdy, but with an environmentalist lawyer for a father and a pathologist for a mother, that was a hard bullet to dodge.
With the last box emptied; my clothes were all tucked neatly away in the dressers, and my collection of horror movie posters were artfully hung. Half exhausted I lay there on my newly made bed, hands behind my head, and stared up at a ceiling I'd never seen before in a room that was nearly twice the size of my old one. No complaints there. Thirty Seconds to Mars kicked out electric claps of sound that bounced off the freshly painted orange walls.
I didn't understand why they'd bother with the paint since college was only a year away, but Mom had insisted, and I wasn't game for arguing with a hormonal pregnant woman.
A smile stretched across my lips when I heard Dad shout, "First door on the right, Edward. Follow that fucking God awful music." Charlie, aka papa bear, would never admit it, death bed be damned, but I'd caught him singing along to Kings and Queens once.
The bedroom door opened slowly, and six feet and one inches of boy leaned against the frame with a cocky grin that never failed to short circuit my frigging neural network. And he knew it. And I hated him for it … kind of. "Room looks good, Bells."
"No thanks to you. Perfect timing as always, Cullen." Winking, I sat up.
Edward stepped across the threshold, carefully and quietly shutting the door behind him. A sneaky grin was pulling at the corners of his mouth. I was thoroughly aquatinted with that look. "These hands weren't made for hard labour, Tadpole." He glanced around the room again and made his way over to me, creeping like a ninja. He was ridiculous.
Edward Cullen and I met in freshmen year. Skinny, short, and unfortunately uncoordinated, I ran into a tall gangly boy in gym glass…literally. He'd snapped at me, told me to watch were I was going, all hot-headed and arrogant. Uselessly, I tried to explain that my feet and my brain weren't often on the same page. He'd rolled his eyes and walked away, mumbling some shit about short people being a nuance to society. It was not love at first sight.
Late in the second semester of that same year, we'd been paired together to complete a sociology project. Surely Mr. Banner had no idea of the violence that would ensue. Insults flew, threats made, a text book chucked, and if memory served me correctly, a pencil or two died a horrible death. Long story short, the night ended in a hot make out session that blew my mind and changed everything.
"How was practice?" I asked as he pulled a white washed chair away from the desk.
Edward was in a band. Broody, cocky boy in a high school rock band… cliché, yes, but hot, so I kept my teasing on the light side. He played bass, and watching his fingers work those strings was like foreplay. The plucking and strumming of an inanimate object shouldn't be so damned tantalizing.
Straddling the chair, he folded his arms over the back of it and lowered himself. "Not bad. Jazz still sounds a little rough," he commented. "That cold kicked his southern ass, man." Jasper's voice sounded like whiskey and tall grass. He was good. But Edward was better. Edward's voice rolled like thunder and stuck to you like sweat on a hot stormy day.
He sung backup on the odd song, preferring to be just outside the spotlight. Sound engineering and music production was where he was headed, not centre stage.
Alice Brandon, one of the trashiest, yet loveliest people I've ever met was the current lady-friend of the aforesaid lead singer of the moody-boys band. Two weeks ago she came to school with a gross cold that she happily spread like butter on warm bread, sharing it with a huge portion of the senior class. Great way to start a new school year. Thank you, Alice.
"Oh, almost forgot. Housewarming gift." He stood and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. Handing it to me, my bronze-haired bassist plopped down beside me on the bed.
I quirked an eyebrow and offered him a curious look. Unfolding the paper, I looked down. It was the winning bid on a poster. "Evil Dead 2. Nice," I said.
"Should be delivered this week."
Eleven full sized posters, three UK minis, and two autographed photos currently decorated my walls. It was safe to say, I harboured a healthy obsession.
"Perfect. I love it." I turned my face to his and he was right there. His nose brushed mine, and I watched his eyes dip to my lips, tracking the sweep of my tongue across them.
All breath and whisper, he leaned in a little more and said, "Thought you might." His meadow-green eyes were still locked on my mouth.
Heat started a slow walk up my spine, and I felt my face light up.
"You're all pink," Edward helpfully pointed out. His voice was pitched low, but I could hear the amusement in it.
"You're breathing on me." I tried for a bark, but it came out a whine.
He bent forward and kissed the corner of my mouth. My body tipped back without my say so, and suddenly Edward was hovering over me. Warmth spread over me, and I closed my eyes as his lips brushed across my throat. My hands roamed his chest, his shoulders, and his waist. No matter where they began, they always seemed to find their way into his hair. I liked the feel of his silky strands slipping between my fingers. I liked it even more when my tugging earned a groan.
His jean clad leg pushed between mine, and thank you Edward, don't mind if I do. One hand buried itself in his hair, the other was at his waist, gripping. I raised my hips and unabashedly rubbed myself along his thigh. In response, he pushed his knee up just a little higher. And hell yes!
A long hum rumbled through my chest when his hands tickled my sides and pushed up under my threadbare shirt. When a hand glided down between us and stealthy slipped under the waist band of my jogging pants, I let loose an embarrassing sound.
"Shit," I said, slapping a hand to my mouth. As cool as my father was, he'd kill Edward and have him buried in some backwoods trailer park if he knew where his hand was right now.
He snickered and pushed his thumb against me, and my back lifted off the mattress. "Tadpole?"
I opened my eyes at looked up.
"You're squirming." Those beautiful, and sometimes completely infuriating, green eyes of his twinkled with a smug amusement that I kinda wanted to smack off his face. The squirming thing—yeah, all his fault. I'd never been one to fidget … until Edward. The way he looked at me, the wicked grins, the teasing whispers, and God his touch unsettled me in the best damn way. It was like my skin hummed and the energy was too much. Squirming ensued. He said I looked like a little tadpole wriggling around.
"Then get to it," I demanded, grabbing his wrist and pushing up. I rolled my hips and he chuckled.
I sat up and tugged my shirt over my head. Edward didn't miss a beat, pulling the stretchy cups of my sports bra down to expose my less-than-ample boobs. He loved them, I thought they needed work.
"I hate this bra," he mumbled against my skin "…squishes your tits."
I was about to make some snarky remark about my itty bitties, but the words dropped away and my mouth snapped shut when he started sucking. I'd have marks for sure, and I was so very much okay with that.
I bucked and moaned and grinded against his hand, my control slowly walking away from me. My eyes drifted to the door, praying no one came in. The mortification would surely kill me. "Please," I begged. This over the panties shit wasn't working. I needed contact. What I wanted was him naked under me, but this bed was squeaky and well, I was loud. I made no apologies for that.
"Pick a number," he whispered in my ear.
"Two," I said through parted lips.
Two long fingers slipped inside me, and I mumbled something completely incoherent. I started to grab at the bed sheets and he knew I was close. His tongue danced in my mouth and he laid his palm flat against me. I loved the wet slide and the warm, rough patches on his hands from picking away at his bass for hours.
"Three." I panted, watching his face. "Three," I repeated and I felt his hand shift, and I stretched just a little more. There was a little sting and it was more bliss than pain. I fought to keep my legs from clamping shut and another smug-ass grin appeared on his face.
I came in a slow rush of warmth that twisted my stomach into knots.
"I might have enjoyed that just as much as you did." Edward went to the small en suite and washed his hands.
I found my T-shirt and pulled it back over my head. "Don't doubt it." I shook my head. "That's weird," I said, standing and walking to my closet.
"Huh?"
"The closet door … it was closed."
Edward shrugged. "Old house."
End Notes: So ya with me so far?