This is a horror story. My first, and probably my last.

I really don't know how I came up with this. It was just- a random idea floating about in my head. First of all it was suppose to be 'A One-shot of Chairs, Vespers, and Frightened Narrators'. I was suppose to go into a conference room and speak my opinions of Damien Vesper. Then nobody showed up. So after that, the chairs started speaking to me in morse code by tapping their legs against the floor. I was 'frightened' then, but decided to speak my opinions to the chairs. Then after that- well, why spoil the ending? So that was the start of this.

I want to thank Rage, Snow, Sunshine, Iris, Sylvie, and Kaye for giving me their input, and for telling me what they would do if I threw away a marshmallow. XD I also want to thank Joyce/Cascading Rainbows, for betaing this. She is awesome, by the way.

Please give them applause.

Thank you.

Horror Story Credits : - The Basement Doll goes to Lil' Sunshine. Her story is appreciated for creeping even me out.
- The Lighthouse Ghost is from a book called Campfire Stories, by Rick Steber. The story was seriously modified by me though. Elsey is fake.
- Pointy Stick Hill Marshmallow is credited to me, as well as 'the last' horror story. (No spoilers.)

* - Don't ask me where my room is, or how to find it in my house.
If you do ask me, I'll tell my Dad, report to the owners of , and have you kicked off of in a matter of 24 hours.
So don't ask.

** - Yes, Iris. I did make a pun about Paint the Sky in the story. HAHAHA! HOW COULD I NOT?
*smirk/smiles/sneers at Iris, then laughs at her horrified expression*

But anyway, here's my first horror story. My first, and probably my last.

Note; I changed the title. The new one fits in better.

A One-shot of Tents, Vespers, and Kidnapped Narrators

Lapulta frowned at the marshmallows roasting on her stick. It's not a stick, really... Lapulta's mouth twitched slightly up in the almost-laughing way she had. The object her marshmallow was roasting on was a steak skewer her father had lent her for this one night. She turned the handle to roast the marshmallow's other side.

"I WANT THE BLUE ONE!" An outlandish roar suddenly burst from the tent. Lapulta leaped to her feet and whirled around just in time to see RageRunsStill burst out the tent flap, bearing a blue sleeping bag in one hand, and being dragged backwards by another girl with the other. "Lappy!" Rage screamed, desperate for help.

"Alright," Lapulta quickly broke the two girls' holds on each other. "Chill. Sylvie, you"ll have to sleep in another sleeping back. It's not that hard. There are plenty of them."

"But that's the only one that's blue!" Sylvie protested.

Lapulta rolled her eyes, and another girl, appearing from behind the tent flap, did the same thing. "Go find another color. Seriously, Syl. You're a writer. Writers shouldn't even need to sleep on sleeping bags. I thought they could sleep anywhere so long as a pen and a piece of paper lays beside them."

Sylvie groaned, then walked back into the tent. Rage wore a wry smile at Lapulta's 'writer's bed', and also a relieved look. The sleeping bag was hers. "Thanks, Laps, that was great. I want this one because I can blend into the night, see?" To support her claim, Rage untied the sleeping bag and laid it out on the ground. It was barely seeable in the dark grass. The campfire flickered, casting shadows on the blue print.

"Sweet," Lapulta sat down Indian style, and bent to pick up her meat skewer- just as her marshmallow burst into flames. "NO!" Lapulta's eyes bugged out. "My Precious!"

Three girls popped out of the tent. "THE RING!" One of them screamed. "It's possessed her!"

"I'LL GET WATER!" Another yelled, and before either Lapulta or Rage could say a word, all three girl were gone, and then back.

The girl who's name was Kaye, came first, bearing a bucket filled with water. With a enormous slosh, the contents of the bucket were dumped on Lapulta's head.

"Don't worry, Lappy!" Sylvie could barely run with the gallon of water she was carrying. "We'll save you! Sauron won't take you in! You'll NEVER BECOME HIS!" And a second container of water was deposited on it's shocked victim.

"MOUNT DOOM MUST BE NEAR!" Lil' Sunshine, 'Sun', or 'Sunshine' for short, stagged into the glow of the campfire, carrying also, a bucket of water. "It's GOT to be! We'll take Lappy to it after this and-" A bucket of water was once more thrown over Lapulta. "-and then she'll be released of the ring's power!"

Kaye shook Lapulta's shoulders and looked the still stunned girl in the eye. "DON'T GIVE IN, LAPPY! REMEMBER FRODO? I'm SAM!"

"I'm Sam!" Sunshine shoved Kaye out of the way. "You couldn't even plant a tulip."

"Two lips are disgusting anyway," Sylvie shouldered her way in between the girls. "Planting a pansy- now that's hard. I've tried it. I'M SAM!"

"GUYS!" RageRunsStill planted herself firmly in front of Lapulta. Everybody became quiet and looked at the girl. "Guys, she was complaining about her marshmallow. Look, it burned up," Rage nudged the handle of the steak skewer that was lying at her feet. "You soaked our hostess for nothing."

Everybody glanced at the shivering form behind Rage. "You can at least get me a dry change of clothes," Lapulta snapped, scowling and desperately trying to contain her shivering. "It's an Arizona winter, people. It's suppose to drop to low forties tonight."

Rage snorted and turned around. "That's nothing, Laps. I've been in low teens, and it was like- not that bad."

"Easy for you to say," A death-glare was directed at Rage. "I'll be you've never been in a hundred and twenty degree weather either. Suck it up and go get my clothes. They're upstairs, fourth room to your right and in my dresser."

Rage nudged Sylvie. "You're Sam, remember?"

Sylvie nudged Sunshine. "You can plant a tulip, remember?"

Sunshine nudged Kaye. "You're Lappy's encourager, remember?"

Kaye glared at all of them. "I'm not going."

"Shut up and get me dry clothes!" Lapulta snapped, crouching down and holding out her hands to the fire's licking flames, trying to get warm again. "I'm cold!"

"Fine," Sunshine groaned. "I'll go," The girl disappeared into the dark, signifying that even with the fire - in a metal fire pit; and the tent - in a grass backyard; the girls were just sleeping outside. Not 'camping' in the actual sense of 'camping'.

Sunshine came back five minutes later with Lapulta's dry clothes and two girls in hand.

Snow and Iris were carrying their sleeping bags, which were rolled into balls, and their other personal items in two sacks, swinging with nervous metronomic rhythm at their sides. Lapulta gave a curt nod to Sunshine in appreciate for four minutes spent searching for dry clothes, and then turned to Snow and Iris with a sloppy grin. "Hey, guys!"

Snow grinned, then frowned. "Why are you all wet?"

Lapulta rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Snow. "Some very smart writers decided that I was possessed by the 'One Ring' and that I needed to be drenched to free me from its grasp."

Iris dramatically raised an eyebrow. "The 'One Ring'? Like- from The Lord of the Rings?"

"That's sad," Snow sent a sympathetic grin Lapulta's way. "But there's the tent over there. Ris and I can wait to lay out our sleeping bags till you're done."

"Thanks," Lapulta grinned, then spun around and aimed a suspicious glare towards Sylvie and the rest, then unzipped the tent flap, disappeared inside, and zipped it up again.

When Lapulta was dry and dressed warmly, she came out of the tent to find all the other girls sitting around the campfire roasting marshmallows. Her steak skewer was sitting on the blue sleeping bag next to an empty spot by RageRunsStill. Lapulta gratefully walked around and sat beside the other girl.

"So, what are we doing?" Kaye was sitting opposite of Lapulta and eating a smore. Melted chocolate was dribbling on her dark green shirt, but Lapulta decided not to mention it. Heck, it was part of camping.

"We should tell ghost stories," Lapulta grinned, sticking a marshmallow on her steak skewer and putting it over the fire. "That's what you do when you've got a campfire and you're sleeping outside."

"Ghost stories?" Lapulta turned toward Kaye. The girl's eyes were wide. "It's dark! Isn't it scary enough?"

"We're here," Iris reached over and patted Kaye's back. "We'll protect you. And besides, ghosts aren't real."

"So who wants to go first?" Lapulta enthusiastically popped her toasted marshmallow into her mouth. Nobody spoke though. Running her eyes over the group of six girls around her, Lapulta settled on one that seemed rather indifferent about the dark and the absence of light around the fire's circle. "Sun, you go."

Sunshine's eyes popped up and her marshmallow dropped into the fire. Rage fished it out, but it was too late. The marshmallow was a goner, and covered with ash to boot. "My Precious!" Sunshine squealed. Lapulta could see the sideways glance Sunshine shot her though.

"Hardy-har-har. Very funny," Lapulta rolled her eyes. "For that, you really get to do the horror story."

"Here, I'll go," Snow grinned. "Once upon a time, there was a marshmallow that lived on Pointy Stick Hill. It was always warm on Pointy Stick, and eventually the marshmallow realized he was tanning brown. He tried to stay inside a lot after that, but after a time, he turned really mushy and oozy. Then somebody took him off Pointy Stick Hill and ate him." The girl popped her own roasted marshmallow into her mouth to prove her point.

Five girls around the circle snickered. Two rolled their eyes.

"Your turn, Sun," Lapulta looked back at Sunshine, leaned over and gave her a little nudge. Don't worry, it's alright. Just- tell the first horror story that comes into your head."

Sunshine took a deep breath. "Okay... Here goes. This is like- the only horror story I know, okay? So don't laugh.

"A few years back, in my neighborhood, there was this single mom. She had a daughter and the daughter was about- five-ish. It was her sixth birthday, and so her mom took her to the story to buy a toy. The way I heard it, the little girl saw this doll that held up two fingers and continuously said; 'Two... two... two... two... two...'. And it went on all the time, never stopping.

"Well the little girl wanted the doll. So the mom got it and went up to the register. The guy at the register said; 'Are you sure you want this doll? It's been returned lots of times.' The little girl said; 'yeah' and the mom agreed. 'Well, at night, put the doll in the basement, and lock the door', the guy said and then he rang the doll up and gave it to them.

"So that night, the mom put the doll down in the basement, but forgot to lock the door. In the morning, the little girl was found dead in her room with blood all over the place. Not wanting the doll around since it had been the last thing the little girl had bought, the mom took it back to the store and returned it. But when it sits on the counter and people pass by, the doll is heard to say; 'Three... three... three... three... three..."."

Dead silence except for the flickering of the campfire.

"That's creepy," Lapulta muttered. "We don't have a basement, so I'm glad I've like- never bought a doll in my life."

Rage stared so hard and vacantly at her marshmallow in the fire that it burst into flames and she didn't realize it.

Lapulta blinked herself out of her morbid-doll thoughts. "Who else has got one?"

Sylvie cleared her throat. "I'll try," The girl gave a upward look into the sky, thinking. "Alright. So, about two years back, we moved from California. We lived on the coast, and near this lighthouse that was suppose to be haunted. There was like- a group of us kids there. And one day we decided that we ought to explore the lighthouse and prove that it wasn't haunted. Because- well, duh, ghosts don't exist- we thought.

"There was a girl with us. Her name was Elsey was the oldest, I think. Probably fourteen something. She was really pretty, and she was always neat and starched and pressed. You get the picture. Well, we went into the lighthouse and it was dust and pretty dull. Your normal, hasn't-been-touched-in-fifty-years lighthouse stuff. And then we saw this trapdoor on the floor with a huge rock covering it. The boys decided to roll the rock away and they did.

"We all lifted up the trapdoor and looked down. It was pitch-black, and you could hear the sound of the ocean against the rocks below. We explored a bit more, then started going back to town. Then Elsey said; 'I left my handkerchief! I'll be right back!' So we stopped and she went back inside.

"Then we heard the screams."

Sylvie looked at the fire as if reminiscing that day. All the other girls were silent. "We ran back inside, but it was too late. Blood covered the entire lighthouse floor, the trapdoor was closed and..." Sylvie paused, drawing out the moment. "And the boulder was moved back over it."

Dead silence - again.

Lapulta wished it wasn't so dark, but was grateful that she didn't have any trapdoors in her house, didn't live by the ocean, and most definitely didn't live in a lighthouse.

"Don't tell that story again," Rage murmured, staring into the fire. "Ever."

"My pleasure," Sylvie grinned. "I thought that was the whole point of horror stories though - to make you scared."

"Not scared enough to pee your pants," Iris snorted with false bravado.

"Or excited enough to pee,**" Lapulta rolled her eyes as she remembered a few lines in Iris' story. But- but that was it! The 39 Clues! Material for the best horror story ever!

"No more stories for a while," Snow eventually sighed after her seventeenth marshmallow. "I don't feel like sitting in my sleeping bag wondering if a doll or a ghost is going to kill me tonight."

"No!" Lapulta burst out. Heads turned to look at her. "One more. I've got one."

RageRunsStill yawned. "It better be good, Lappy, or you're going to put me to sleep."

"Shut up," Lapulta snapped. "Would I even tell it if I didn't think it might be good?"

"Your stories usually stink. Maybe they're original, but your grammar? Gee, give me a break, Laps."

Lapulta snatched the bag of marshmallows away from Rage and tossed it over the fire to Kaye. "No more for you. Now, I heard this story from my Mom."

"I thought your Mom hated ghosts stories."

"Shut up, Rage!" Lapulta snapped. "You're ruining my theme!"

"Like there's a theme to ruin."

Lapulta narrowed her eyes at RageRunsStill. "I am the hostess here, and I can also uninvite you just as quickly as I invited you."

"Fine. Get it over with quick."

Lapulta rolled her eyes. "So my Mom told me this story, and she heard it from her Mom, who heard it from my great grandma. And my great grandma was an elite Madrigal agent. Like- she ran just about everything under the branch leader. She was good too, really good.

"It was a while back- before the turn of the century, when my great grandma heard this story about the Vespers."

A united shudder went through all the girls. The Vespers. The most terrifying word for a Cahill. And they were all Cahills here.

"There was a little boy - son of a Janus branch leader, only about seven years old. He was a good writer already, and he showed a lot of promise. Like- Mark Twain, lots-of-promise. Writing came natural for him. It was compulsory. Any ideas - any words had to be written down. His parents loved him a lot, so much, that one night, the mom said; 'Never show your true talent. Write, but keep your inner self hidden.'. 'Why?' The little boy asked. The mother gave a tiny shudder, but didn't allow the little boy to see. 'The Vespers want talent - good talent. They'll...' -a pause for a mother's worst fear- 'They'll take you, just for that talent. Promise me you won't ever write your inner self.' 'I promise, Mommy,' The little boy said. And then he went to sleep."

Lapulta took a deep breath and continued. "In the years that went by, the little boy wrote more and more. It couldn't be helped. All his dreams and ideas were written down and saved in a secret file he tucked behind his underwear drawer. Not even his Mother knew about it. Every thought in the file though, was brilliant and beautifully written. It was him - his inner self that was penned there.

"As he grew older, the little boy realized the riches hidden behind his underwear drawer. He finally took one essay, gave it to a magazine and had it published. He won a prize, and that he hid safely away in the file as well. One month later, the boy's mother woke up to screaming. She raced to the boy's room, but the screaming was silenced, and nothing stirred.

"Turning on the light, she saw the little boy's wooden underwear drawer broken into pieces. The file behind it was gone.

"And over the tousled bed and around the room, underwear was arranged in a giant V."

All the writers around the campfire were silent. Their secret fears and thoughts had all been voiced perfectly by Lapulta. What if the Vespers were to find their inner thoughts - so well written they were a prize to be captured? What if the Vespers would find them?

"Let's go to bed," Kaye finally whispered. "I'll put out the fire."

"Don't," Lapulta stopped her. "It's alright. It'll die out by itself. And I want the light for a few things."

"I think we're all going to bed," Rage smiled at her friend, who, apparently, could think up decent horror stories, as she gathered up her blue sleeping bag. "Don't stay up that late, Lappy."

All the other girls went inside the tent.

Lapulta waited until it sounded like the girls were in their sleeping bags, then she pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil from her pocket.

I told a horror story about Vespers tonight. It was the one about the little boy, and how he gets stolen for revealing his innermost writing. I honestly don't believe in Vespers. They're fake, just like ghosts and banshees and all those silly supernatural things.

Vespers are like ghosts. They're good for a laugh, and for a creepy tale, but they can't be real. It just doesn't make sense.

Oh, well. The party went good tonight. I enjoyed it, and I hope that everybody else does/will too.

Leaving the pen and paper on the grass, Lapulta went inside the tent, leaving the fire to tend to itself.

"What were you doing?" Rage wasn't asleep, apparently.

"Writing," Lapulta crawled into her brown sleeping bag.

"Did you take the pad inside with you?"

Lapulta snorted and curled up tighter into a ball. "No way. There isn't enough room in here with seven girls."

"Go get it."

"Why?" Lapulta tried to drown Rage out. She really was getting annoying.

"Because of the Vespers. Go get it."

"No way. Vespers are fake."

It seemed like RageRunsStill paused, and nearly stopped breathing for a time. "I think, Laps, that Rick, and Gordon, and Jude - they all wrote Vespers Rising for a reason."

A laugh from Lapulta. "Fake. Night, Rage."

Rage sighed. "Night, Laps. But I really think you ought to go get it."

"Night."

The seven girls woke up to screaming in the dark of the tent.

Rage leaped to her feet.

Lapulta's sleeping bag was empty, but there was a sheet of small notebook paper on top of it.

V

Behold, My Horror Story.

Mind the Tales.

Beware the Vespers.

~L~