Note: It's a weird story, I'll admit it here.
The Curious Case of Christopher Craig
They say the average teenage male thinks about sex at least 13 times a day.
They may or may not be right, why would I tell you otherwise? The reason that's the first thing I'm bringing up is because it caught your attention. Doesn't it always? And now that I have your full attention, I can begin to explain as to why I'm sitting locked up in my room on Christmas eve. And I guess the first sentence really does tie in, because I have the "Christmas" swimsuit model edition of Sports Illustrated right here on my desk, not at all tempting me.
Anyhow, this is all relevant. Why I'm in my room, grounded. Why it's on Christmas eve. Why I have a swimsuit model edition of Sports Illustrated locked in the room with me.
It's all a long, complicated story.
And it all goes back to one thing: Facebook.
One week earlier.
We live in the Facebook generation. The generation, Generation X, in which people put stupid pointless photos of themselves and their friends up on a website in which you share stupid pointless parts of you life with to the world. And no one really cares about anyone else's stuff, they only care about their own. But they act like everyone cares about their stuff when no one really does.
The thing is, neither me nor my girlfriend Sammy are the types of people to get all Facebook-photog on anyone or ourselves, but we have one friend who does: Marissa McKenze.
Marissa McKenze, otherwise known as M-Squared or Double-M or "M & M" (like Eminem or something), is Sammy's best friend and so that makes her my friend too. Don't get me wrong, she's great. But she takes a lot of photos. And usually, no one is really posing for her.
I logged onto Facebook and checked my page. A couple of my friends had posted about the SAT on my wall. How they sucked, and what was my score? How did I do? If I did better them them, don't say my score, dude! If I did worse, I could feel free to share it! How many times am I taking it? Have I applied to any colleges yet?
Sometimes my class-friends are a little intense. But that's what junior year does to you, I tell you.
I noticed Sammy Keyes, my girlfriend (as mentioned at least 4 other times before) had been tagged in a bunch of new photos. I clicked on the first one to enlargen it and found myself staring at us. A photo of us.
I've never really said anything this cheesy before in my head, but I think my heart dropped through the floor. So did my eyes.
I checked to see who had tagged her. Someone named Henry Halls (Note: has nothing to do with my name, the name Henry Hall just sounded right to me, and you'll understand why in a second).
Who the hell was Henry Hall?
Wow, that was a tongue twister.
But WHO THE HELL WAS HENRY HALL?
And why had he posted these photos online? It was obvious that Sammy hadn't logged on recently, or she would have untagged herself and reported this dude right away. But they were up there, with about 10 different comments.
I grabbed my phone to call her right away. Voicemail. What else? Marissa? Billy? Who should I call that would know how to contact her right away?
Probably Marissa.
I picked up my phone, and started clicking through all of the other 4 photos she had been tagged in by Henry Hall.
They got worse and worse.
Who was Henry Hall? And how in the world did he get these photos anyway? Why would anyone do this?
The last one, the 5th photo, was the worst. I was just glad they were dark enough that only the silhouettes and faces were mostly recognizable.
Marissa picked up the phone. "Yo, Case. Why're you calling me now, I'm kinda busy-"
"Marissa, this is important. Really important…I can't get ahold of Sammy, she won't pick up…"
"What happened?"
"Log onto Facebook. From your phone."
"Why?"
"DO IT!" I nearly yelled. Not that I wanted all of my friends, including Marissa, to see these photos, but it was kind of mandatory at the moment in getting them DOWN. NOW.
"Okay, okay, jeez!"
In about 21.3 seconds I heard her voice on the other end: "Ohmygod. Casey."
"I know."
"Who is Henry Hall?"
"I don't know! Can you tell ME that?"
"But…why did he put them up? How did he even get photos of you and Sammy going at it, anyway?"
I cringed. "Can you not say it like that?"
"That's the only way to say it! Unless you want me to say 'jumping each others' bones'."
"Stop! Find her! Get them down!"
More comments popped up as I refreshed the page.
What the hell?
wowowow sammy you scored (;
damn girl!
you give some you get some ;)
WHAT THE HELL?
?
!
WTF?
who is henry hall?
Each comment made me sick. Some comments were from people I barely knew saying things like, "I don't know who that guy is but he sure lucked out that night".
I banged my head against the wall.
We were so dead.
I woke up the next morning with a major headache. I grabbed my Android and checked Facebook. The photos were gone from her page.
But Henry Hall wasn't. I searched his name and found out everything about him, even his wall, was private. Except for his photos. His photos were completely public.
And guess what photos he had up?
Yup. The ones of me and her, "going at it".
I nearly threw my phone but stopped myself. Instead I texted her. 'You up?'
'Yes, omg'.
'Why didn't u text me last night?'
'I knew you went to sleep, i called, your phone was off'.
I replied, 'Oh well, can you come over? we need to talk'.
Suddenly my phone was ringing. I picked it up. "Jesus, Sammy."
"Is that all you can say? I am mortified. Who is Henry Hall? A friend of yours? Marissa said you said you didn't know who he was, but I swear, he's probably in one of your classes."
"No! He's not. I don't know him. He's not in any of my classes. I even checked my freshmen and sophomore yearbooks last night and he wasn't in them. I even googled him, but apparently there are a million 'Henry Hall's in the world."
"Well, duh. Was there anyone else in the yearbook? Under Hall?"
"Like, siblings maybe? Yeah, but I highly doubt if he had any siblings that they would be in the book but not him. Besides, he wasn't even in the 'not pictured' section. Those other Halls are just not related."
"We could try. Did you see all the photos? And comments?"
"Yeah." I put my head in my hands and kept the phone pressed against my ears. "I found it, Sammy. I seriously couldn't believe it."
"When was that? What night, I mean."
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She was silent a moment. "I dunno," she finally said, sounding a little defensive. "Because practically naked photos of me are online and I want to know when they were taken and by whom?"
"Crap, I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot…" I thought a moment. "I think that was the night of the basketball game?"
"You mean, when we went to Billy's house afterwards and he was baking a cake? And we were like, 'Alright, we have better things to do then play Cake Boss' and left to your home because no one was home?"
"Yeah."
I remembered that night perfectly.
"Besides," I said, "You weren't naked, Sammy."
"Okay, well, almost."
I'm almost too mortified to describe the photos. Photo number one was a dark photo of us on my bed, kind of under the covers (thank the Lord) and no, we weren't naked. Trust me. But I did kind of have my hands up her shirt.
The last photo was the worst, because it was a brighter shot and our faces were very noticeable, so we couldn't even deny that was us.
"Can I meet you?" she asked.
I said yes, but suddenly she said, "Hold on, I have like 2 calls at once."
I waited.
She came back on 5 minutes later sounding really freaked. "Okay, what the hell?"
"What?"
"I just got 2 calls and 4 texts from some random dudes I don't even know asking me to…"
"To what?" I demanded. "What did they say?"
"You know, do it. Saying I'm easy."
I checked back onto Facebook on my phone as we talked and clicked through Henry's photos.
"That's because he put your number on each of the photo's captions." I said dryly. "I am going to fucking kill this guy." I wasn't even watching my language.
"I reported it to Facebook. But I didn't get any replies back from them, godammit! You coming to school today?"
"Yeah, meet me outside like, in 10 minutes. Can you make it?"
And with that, I was getting up, getting dressed, and preparing myself to find this Henry Hall dude and beat the crap out of him. Wherever he was. Whoever he was.
At school, people noticed. And stared. And yes, a bunch of guys came up to me saying, "Nice, man! Didn't know you did hook-ups!"
Between my teeth I'd reply, "She's my girlfriend." I could not punch them, even though I was tempted to. Because they didn't know any better.
Finally, I caught up to Sammy in the hall. "How are you?"
"Terrible! I've gotten ilk, 6 calls and 10 random texts. And people keep coming up to me saying stupid things. Its like, 'shut up, you all KNOW its not my fault so stop telling me about it!'"
"We need to find Henry Hall."
"Can I have to honor of curb-stomping him?"
My jaw dropped. "How violent can you get? That could kill him."
"I'll curb stomp him while you hold him down. I swear, I won't kill him."
I shook my head, "No, you can't curb-stomp him."
A look of annoyance flashed across her face. She was flustered and embarrassed and probably didn't enjoy being called a "slut" all day long so I cut her some slask. "Fine, you can curb-stomp him. A little. And you can't kill him." I rolled my eyes.
I couldn't me and my girlfriend were actually talking about this, like we were some Socs in the Outsiders movie/book, plotting and planning to jump some random Greaser.
Except, Henry Hall wasn't some random Greaser. He was a freak and a creep and a perv.
So, the curb-stomp was quite possibly a well-deserved earning, if I do say so myself.
Sammy:
I felt like Henry Hall was going to jump out of a bush and snap a photo of me on my way home from school.
He'd be like, "Hey, you, I remember you! You were the one with that guy who had his hands shoved up your shirt."
My response?
Curb-stomping.
It's not like I'm really violent. Trust me, I'm a good girl. Only like, one case of punching someone in freshmen year, and that was a guy who called Marissa a tart. So yeah, I was gonna punch him in the face, alright?. But this year, sophomore year? I'd been pretty good, if I do say so myself. I was hoping for a visit from Santa next week that's how good I've been.
But now that my sort-of sexcapade has been captured on camera and broadcast to the Facebook Universe, I think my name had made it to the bottom of the naughty list.
Good way to start off winter break, right? Next week is when it starts, and this is not the way to be spending my last week of school before Christmas.
I wished Casey didn't have basketball practice today because I wanted him to walk with me. And of course, Marissa was out and about around town, probably in a car with some new crush she's picked up. And Billy was at practice with Casey. And the rest of my friends, big surprise here, also had plans.
So I walked home alone.
No Henry Hall burst out of any bush, but someone did approach me. Actually, two guys.
"Hey, you Sammy Keyes?" one asked.
I shook my head, "Uh, no."
"Yeah, you are! I recognize your face." a wicked grin spread across his face. "You're dirty."
"Oh, shut up. I don't need this." I pushed away from them and continued my trek along.
One grabbed me by the arm.
I turned around and between clenched teeth I said, "Let go of me. Don't touch me."
"Ooooh, are you telling me you don't want us to touch you?" he laughed out loud. "Hmm, are you on a sex fast this week?"
I rolled my eyes again, because they weren't harmless. I could tell. They were just being morons.
"Yes." I said very sarcastically. "I have sworn it off for a week. Because I'm trying to prevent all that bad stuff, you know. STDs. Pregnancies. By the way, those photos were of me and my boyfriend, not some random guy. And they are totally misinterpreted. So leave me alone."
"You got a lot of things to say, right?" the taller one asked. "You should chill with us."
"Maybe I should go, that sounds good."
Suddenly he checked his phone. "In fact, we're bringing you to a party right now."
"A party? It's like, 4. No."
"It's a different type of party."
"I'm not a stoner. Sorry guys, we cooooool?" I said in fake-stoner voice.
They laughed. "You're funny."
"I'm even more funny when you're faces are on the curb and my foot is on your faces." I muttered.
"Curb-stomping? You into that? See, you'll fit into our group just fine."
The party turned out to be a bunch of guys playing Skyrim in their basement.
"And why am I here?" I asked.
"Because you're a guys' girl and we like guys' girls. They can put up with our burps and farts."
"Ew." I rolled my eyes and they laughed.
"Seriously. Can I leave? This is so stupid."
"No."
"Do you want me here because you saw the photos and want to get some? Because I'm not like that, really." I got up. "You're gonna have to check Craiglist."
"Who the hell is Craig?" one guy asked. He had big ears and a cute smile.
"It's not-"
"Is Craig some perv who puts girl's phone numbers online?" a redhead with glasses laughed.
I stared at them.
"No, that's Henry." the tall blond guy who had dragged me here took a cigarette out of his pocket.
"See, you're stoners. Bye." I got up.
Stoner-Boy pulled me back down onto the couch. "Nah, they don't smoke. They're not into it."
"Into pot?"
"That's right. They're more into the virtual reality of Skyrim." he smirked cockily.
I rolled my eyes. "Uh, okay?"
"So, who's Craig? Is he the one who taught you how to be so dirty?" one guy joked.
I shot him a look. "I should go."
"You don't play Skyrim?"
"Uh…no."
"Any game?"
I sighed. What did these morons want? It seemed like they really didn't care about the pictures.
They just seemed like 4 loners who played video games together and needed some more girls in their life.
I mean it. My instincts usually don't fail me, either.
Finally I got up, though, because I was just really confused.
"Why am I here?" I asked. "The real reason. And by the way, Craig isn't a real person. Or, he is, I don't know. Actually, I don't know who he is, but Craiglist is a website where you can basically find anything. It's like to buy things, but from local areas and stuff."
"So Craig is a local creep, then?" one guy joked.
I don't remember anything after that.
Casey:
Sammy was gone. No one knew where she was. And the stupid girl left her cell phone in her locker, too.
She was gone and I was having a heart attack. I called her mom, Hudson, Marissa, Billy, Holly, Dot, all her other friends, Officer Borsch.
Officer Borsch nearly died, too, and that's why he informed about 5 other police officers.
She was missing for exactly 49 hours. Since I last saw her. After school, two days ago.
No one knew where she was.
And I was on the verge of a breakdown.
No, I was having one.
At about 7 pm was when I finally got a call from Officer Borsch.
"We found her. Get over to the station." was all her said. HIs voice was cold, not happy.
I grabbed my car keys and broke about 10 different driving laws getting down to the station.
Officer Borsch was out front waiting for me, and he silently led me to a room.
"Where is she?" I asked. My heart stopped suddenly. "Is she dead?" I thought I was going to explode. I wished I had a gun so I could just shoot myself right now. A real Romeo and Juliet. Nice.
No time to joke.
Not now.
Not when…not when she could be…gone.
He shook his head, my heart rose. If that's even possible.
"Is she okay?" It barely made it out my mouth. I caught my breath and he said:
"No. But she'll be fine… but she's not. Not right now."
And then he took me into his squad car and we went to the Santa Martina Hospital.
Sammy
I hate those annoyingly cliche stories when a person wakes up in a hospital room after a really traumatic event and everyone they love is surrounding them going all, "OH MY GOD YOU'RE ALIVE!"
So instead of starting off like that, I'll start at the part I was sitting in my hospital bed sipping orange juice.
Casey burst into the room.
"Oh, thank the Lord!" I said sarcastically. "Finally you come. I've been wai-ting. Can I have a kiss?"
Casey and Officer Borsch just stared at me.
"You said she'd be okay." Casey says to Borschey.
"She will."
"Look at her."
"Nothing is wrong with me." I rolled my eyes.
Casey stared at me so long. He couldn't peel his eyes off me.
Then he turned and ran out of the room.
"What's his problem?" I said, genuinely hurt. "Sure, maybe black eyes aren't too pretty. So what? He's seen me at my worst before." I was getting pretty pissed.
"He hates seeing you like this, that's all." Borsch said sadly.
"What is wrong? So, I was pretty much tricked. They were just creepers, you know, looking for some old doll to beat up."
"You're not an old doll, Sammy."
Finally he said: "Henry Hall is a fake name. You wanna know what really happened?"
"Okay. Go ahead." I waited patiently. I sipped some more OJ.
"Henry Hall is not…."
The Real Story
"Crime of Passion - Obsession is Not Healthy, It's Cruel"
By: Jeremy Watkins
December 23rd, 2011
It seems as if the Christmas season for 16-year old Samantha - Sammy - Keyes is not so jolly after all. An attempt murder went down at 143 East Castwood Street, at the home of Christopher Craig. It seems to be a case of obsession - a natural stalker he was, obsessing over Sammy, a sophomore in highschool, for quite a while without her knowing. Creating the online persona Henry Hall and updating about her every day since the start of the school year, the senior in high school seems to have an obviously unhealthy obsession.
He stalked her. He watched her. He watched her boyfriend, her family, her friends.
The more he saw her with her boyfriend, a 17-year-old junior in high school, Casey Acosta, the more jealous he got.
And so, the archetypal case of psychopath-in-love took place.
He stalked her all the way to her boyfriend's house and took photos of some , er, let's say "private" things with his fake Facebook profile of "Henry Hall".
Christopher Andrew Craig then had his friends trick her into going over to his house where he there attempted to kill her.
Because he loved her so much and knew he could never have her?
Because he was jealous that she was in a relationship?
We don't know.
He was shot by the Sergeant Borsch of the SMPD on the very night, December 22nd, that it happened at 5:34 pm after he was caught pulling out a gun of his own and aiming it at Sammy's head.
She was taken to the hospital immediately.
Yes, she survived the dangerous part.
But the fallout will be inevitable.
She's still getting to the hardest part.
(extra note: Christopher's friends are being tried and possibly charged for assisted murder)
Sammy:
The story was almost unbelievable. I was very shocked, let me tell you that. I was scared that I had almost died. Scared about stalkers. Creeped out that he had stalked me.
Christopher Craig was the same guy who had asked, "Is Craig that creepy per?"
I can't believe I'd been duped.
What a joke.
The whole Craigslist thing, how they had kept asking me and joking around about it.
That damn Christopher Craig.
He really got me, didn't he? Haha, so funny, the irony! Craiglist! Sarcasm.
I can at least give him credit for only trying to kill me, and not rape me or anything.
It's almost the quiet ones who turn out as the secret psychos, hm?
Casey:
I couldn't stand seeing her like she was.
Because she was hurt.
Because after Officer Borsch told me the story in the car, I still believed that she'd be in the hospital bed, looking as clear and beautiful as ever , telling me she was okay.
I guess I just couldn't bear looking at her face that way. I couldn't stand to think of any bastard hurting her so much. Pointing a gun.
I'm glad he died.
I wish I could have been the one to curb-stomp him to death.
And now I'm grounded because of course, my mom knows about it.
In fact, I had come straight home and in my room was the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated.
Heather told me my mom had put it in my room when it came in the mail.
I so did not want to look at it.
I'd like to believe that it's Christopher Psychopath Craig's fault that all this happen.
But deep down, I know it's not.
The truth is, Sammy and I both knew that very night that somehow, fooling around would come back and bite us both in the butts. But, we did it because we thought we could.
I did it because I really, really wanted to.
Even though I knew I shouldn't. I knew it was too early. We're still teenagers.
But now, I sit in my room, grounded on a Christmas eve, knowing that even though we didn't really have sex, this whole Henry Hall/Christopher Craig case was just another lesson to put in the book.
Sex = bad. While we're teens, at least.
So, that's the story as to why I'm sitting in my room on a Christmas eve, grounded. I probably will be allowed to visit Sammy in the hospital tomorrow, though. Hopefully she'll be out by then, though she'll probably have some casts. Broken bones. Bandages.
I cringe.
I pick up the magazine and toss it in the trash can.
They say the average teenage male thinks about sex about 13 times a day.
Maybe that used to be something like me. I'm human.
But after what happened this week, I'm pretty sure I have a lot of ways to go until I'm ready for much again. So I can just throw that statistic away.
But, come on.
There are so much better statistics out there in the world.