Leena

Hi! This is my first ever horror fanfiction. I'm just trying out different writing styles here, so bear with me and give me feedback. I will always respond to your reviews. First, I'll give you a bit of background information.

I thought of this story a few months ago, the general idea. I couldn't get the one character that I needed, though. Then I saw that move, Orphan. And Esther was just the inspiration for my character, so in tribute to her, I named my character Leena.

If you'd like to check out some cool trailers for this story, visit my YouTube account: kylexcartmanfan918

Chapter One: Roses- Stan and Wendy are going through a rough spot, and Stan is confused. It's always good to sleep on it!

"God fucking damn it," Stan Marsh muttered as he slammed his bedroom door closed. He locked it, knowing his parents would be up any second wondering what was wrong. Nosy assholes.

Shockingly, he and Wendy had gotten into another fight. They'd stayed together for over five years, and their fights almost always ended quickly. But they still left Stan fuming afterwards.

There was one thing that could make him feel better, and with this knowledge, he quickly logged into his computer. Loads of his friends were online, ladykilla98 (Kenny), more2luv34 (Cartman), BebeBayBay (Bebe), Clap4Clyde (Clyde), and many others, but Stan was only looking for one username: kickasskyle88.

He clicked on the username and typed in his greeting. It was his way of cheering up. Something about pounding his angry words into a keyboard calmed him down. It was a healthy way of releasing his emotions.

Kyle didn't take long to reply with "hey. Wuts up???"

What's up? Well, he was angry, heartbroken, sweaty, agitated, and tired. "Notin. U?" Okay, he lied. Kyle would figure it out. It was their super best friend connection. He knew when something was wrong.

"same. Aren't u supposed 2 b wit wendy???"

Well, he couldn't have put it anymore bluntly. Stan only sighed and typed in his reply. "y wuld I wanna hang wit tht insane bitch?"

Hey, he could be blunt too. He knew Kyle was probably tired of his constant fights with Wendy. In the long eighteen years of their lives, he'd probably argued with her more times than he could count on the fingers of their entire school put together. And he always went to Kyle for comfort.

"another fight?"

Stan typed in his three-letter reply just as his mother approached the door. "Stanley? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, Mom!" Stan called, leaving enough spite in his voice to make her leave.

It didn't work. "Are you sure? Because when you came in you looked kind of upset."

He groaned. "Mom, I'm fine. Seriously." His computer dinged with another reply from Kyle, but he ignored it. "Just go."

"Do you want me to bring you some dinner?"

"I'm not hungry!" he snapped. He should have been more polite to his mother, but she could be quite irritating.

"All right, come down if you need anything," she replied dejectedly, and he heard her retreat down the stairs moments later.

He turned to look at Kyle's response. "Wat is it this time???"

Hm. He was predictable, wasn't he? "Dam bitch says I don't spend enough time wit her. Says that my priorities r screwed up."

What should his priorities be? Wendy before breathing? Wendy before eating? He spent 97% of his waking life with the girl, and it still wasn't enough for her. Sometimes he just missed his friends and hanging out with the guys. Was that a crime?

"O compared 2 our problems dats fuckish."

Stan almost laughed at the usage of Kyle's made-up word. He was the only person in school to use 'fuckish' and 'fucky' in conversation. It replaced the word 'suck' by adding one letter.

"wat r ur probs?" Stan asked. What could his problems be? He didn't have a bitchy girlfriend riding his ass all the time. Riding his ass? He cursed his brain for being perverted at a time like this.

"we miss u 2, dude. Ur spending like 97% of ur time wit her, and we hardly c u anymore."

Hey, he got his opinion on target, right down to the 97%! "im sry, dude. Its just…" he stopped typing. What was it? Why didn't it bother him that Wendy was so clingy? Why didn't it bother him that she got extremely jealous of his friends, and especially his friends that were girls? Why didn't it bother him that she got angry over retarded things like this? The only thing that could keep him with her this long was… "luv. I luv her."

As he pressed the send key, a strange feeling bubbled in his stomach. He'd never said that he loved Wendy before. And it just now comes out, while they're fighting, out of nowhere?

"thts a bit xtreme, doncha thnk?"

Stan sighed. And of course, Kyle, the romance-starved mathlete, would think that saying he loved her was extreme. He was such a cliché-loving poet sometimes. Living life like a book. Like there's always happy ending. Like 'love' was a thing only meant to be said at the end of the book, just before they kiss and you flip to the last page to find an epilogue about their kids and their jobs and shit. "no. its tru." And he did love her, but he wasn't going to live life like a book.

"Wll, shouldn't u get her bak?"

No shit, Kyle. God, for a genius, he sure was retarded sometimes. "ya, dumbass. How do I do it?"

"Dude, idk, I g2g, tho, my mom's havin a panic attack."

Kyle's icon showed up as 'offline' only seconds later, and Stan irritably shut his computer off. So much for Kyle being his hero. He could ask Kenny, but he never had an ongoing relationship. Kenny went by the fuck-and-ditch policy. And Cartman was just a douche bag. His girlfriends were all blackmailed into liking him or were insanely desperate for a relationship to make their ex-boyfriends jealous.

Now what was he going to do? He usually did something cute to make Wendy come back. But he wanted to do something special this time. Not just take her out to dinner or to her favorite movie. It had finally come to his attention that he loved her, and he wanted to show her with the most romantic thing he could think of.

He remembered Bebe Stevens saying something about playing Peter Gabriel outside her house during their first break up years and years ago. But that hadn't turned out well at all. And he wanted to do something classic. But he'd never done any of that before. Wendy had always been into that cutesy fluff crap, but he'd never provided it for her. And she'd love him if he did.

"Gonna sleep on it," Stan concluded quietly to himself, "I'll think of something in the morning."

Stan couldn't sleep, so he decided to go get a drink of water. He exited his room and blearily stumbled across the dark blue carpet. It looked soft, but he couldn't even feel it under his bare feet. Wait… he didn't even have blue carpet! As his tired focus started to reassemble, he took in his surroundings. Blue carpet, tan walls, curving stairs, a fork in the hallway. This wasn't even his house!

He did know where he was, he just couldn't place his finger on it. But he knew where to go. The eerie silence unnerved him as he padded down the darkened hallway to a door on the left in front of him. A feeling of Déjà vu struck him when he saw a small dent in the bottom left corner of the door. He'd seen that before.

The door was only inches in front of him, so he reached out a pale hand and grasped the cold knob. It didn't make a single sound as it opened, and Stan stepped one foot into the room. There was a small noise, it sounded like sniffling. Somebody was crying.

He stepped all the way inside and saw nothing. The room was dimly lit by a small desk lamp in the corner. It sounded as though the crying was coming from the bathroom.

He crossed the dark room toward the door he could see ahead. It bore a poster of Taylor Swift, a singer he was forced to hear a lot of. The sobbing grew louder and louder until it was pounding in his ears and overpowering his brain. He seemed to be moving in slow motion, and the sound got louder with every step he took. He wanted to scream out from the noise, but he couldn't even open his mouth.

The cold surface of the doorknob touched his skin, and everything froze and fell silent.

The silence, though a relief from the crying, was once again nagging at his lower stomach as he pushed the door open. The bathroom was brightly lit and almost eerily familiar, but the only thing that caught Stan's eye was the figure leaning over the bathtub, shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Her back was to him, and her shining black hair rested silkily on her shaking back. She was wearing a long white nightgown and her bare feet must have been cold against the hard tile.

She didn't notice Stan, so he pushed the door open a bit further and stepped all the way inside. His feet didn't make a single sound as they hit the white ceramic; it was like being deaf. When she still didn't notice him, he decided to make her notice.

"Are you okay?"

The shaking and silent sobs suddenly stopped, and the girl gripped the edges of the bathtub so hard that her knuckles turned white.

"No, Stan. I am not okay."

That voice. He recognized that voice! Where from? His brain didn't seem to want to think about it. He didn't seem to have much control. "Why not?"

"You should know, Stan," she said, her voice low and barely audible, "If you loved me, you would know."

Realization hit Stan like a wrecking ball. "Wendy?"

She spun around angrily, her hair swinging around her neck and revealing her pale face. Stan was frightened by her appearance. The deep blue eyes were surrounded by dark shadows, as were her cheekbones. There was an angry glint in the irises that was foreign to him. He only had moments to take all this in, for she was advancing on him.

"Yes, Stan, it's me," she said through clenched teeth, quickly storming across the bathroom.

The look in her eyes made him actually fear her. "What… what's wrong?"

It seemed as though a wave of anger crashed over her, making her even more fierce and frightening. "You want to know what's wrong? Do you actually care, Stan?" Her voice had risen, but it still kept the dark tone. "I'll tell you what's wrong, you stupid fucker. Your friends are just so damn important to you, aren't they? Your fucking friends and your fucking family, and you never fucking think about me!"

"Wendy! I always think about you!" Stan said, his voice rising an octave as he backed up closer to the door. She was still coming at him, but it seemed like an abnormally long walk.

"Don't you fucking lie to me! I waited! I waited for hours! Just hoping, needing you to show up! And all I get is a fucking text telling me that you're not going to make it! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT! Do you know how much tonight MEANT to me, Stan Marsh?"

Stan was afraid, and fumbled for the doorknob. "I… I… Wendy, just slow down… let's just talk."

"Oh, you've had plenty of time to talk! You're going to fucking love me if I have to pound it into your fucking head!"

"I do! I do love you, Wendy!"

She laughed. A cold, echoing laugh that made the hairs on his neck stand up.

"Oh, you do, do you? Then why didn't you show up? WHY WEREN'T YOU THERE?"

She reached her arms out, but she didn't get to him, for he had finally found the doorknob and pushed himself out of the bathroom. He leaned all of his weight onto the wood, but the banging and shaking he had expected never arrived.

After waiting a few moments, he decided that it was safe to stand straight. His heart beat forcefully in his ears, and his hands were shaking. The Taylor Swift poster stared at him, but it seemed as though her smile was gone. Had she been smiling before? Who cared?

His lungs released a calming breath, and his heart resumed to a normal rate. It was all his imagination. When he calmed down enough, he turned around to exit the room.

She was there. Standing in the middle of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, but she was there.

Stan screamed, but nothing came out of his gaping mouth. She was standing there, wearing the large purple dress she'd worn to prom. She'd looked beautiful that night, but now the fierce dark eyes and shadowy cheekbones ruined the appearance.

Why was he worrying about her looks? How the hell did she get out of the bathroom? How the hell did she change clothes?

Stan backed up until he hit the bathroom door once again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her voice didn't hold the angry tone any more. It sounded small and pathetic. "I just wanted to know."

Even through his fear, Stan couldn't avoid his confusion. "Wanted to know what?"

"Why you won't come with me. You promised. You asked me, and I'm ready!"

What? Wasn't she screaming about something else a minute ago? "Ready for what?"

"Prom, of course!" she said, "Why are you bailing at the last minute?"

"What? I'm not…" he drifted off. Prom had been over two years ago! He had bailed out then, and she'd been upset, but… it was over now!

Tears fell from her face and dripped off of her chin. Mascara ran down her eyes and left little trails on her cheeks. "It's always been our dream to go to prom together!" she said, her voice cracking as she burst into full out sobs.

Stan wasn't sure what to do. Was she completely out of her mind? He turned his head to the bathroom again, but it was still shut tight and locked. Confusedly, he turned his head around just to find her face inches from his.

"Why? Are you embarrassed of me?" she asked loudly, her voice whiny and her eyes sparkling. Before Stan could answer, she pushed him back into the wall. "I know your friends call me a bitch! You think I'm a bitch, don't you?" He was breathing heavily, the shadows and running makeup on her face making her look all the more frightening. "Why can't you just tell me the truth?"

Stan couldn't take it anymore. He pushed her off of him and ran across Wendy's bedroom and through the door into the hallway. He looked back once and saw her grasping the bedpost to get up.

The door shut behind him, but he didn't find himself in the hallway. It was an empty room, and Wendy was now standing by a computer, staring at a large stack of papers. She now wore her pink dress and blue jeans, and her face was clear of any makeup. The only source of darkness was from the shadows.

"Why have you been talking to Beth so much?"

The Beth Connolly incident? That was in ninth grade! He turned around again, bursting through the door before she could freak out again. He was now in her kitchen, and she was looking at a homework assignment he'd distracted her from. The moment her shadowed eyes looked up, he ran through the door again. He found her once again holding a notebook. Once again clutching a white handbag. Once again squeezing a football. He went through door after door after door, but she was everywhere. Always different, but always Wendy.

Until he went through one large doorway. He was now on a long, narrow street where the snow fell gently onto the many buildings surrounding him. The signs on the buildings were illegible. It was as though someone had blurred them out so they were appropriate for TV or something. He decided to walk past them, not wanting any more surprises tonight.

He finally found one shop that was actually normal looking. The sign read 'Petal's Gifts'. There were little shelves outside lined with vases and vases of flowers. And someone else was there.

Stan was relieved to see that it was not Wendy. She was much too young. She wore a large blue overcoat and her short, straight, very dark-brown hair was tied up into one small ponytail behind her head. She was stroking the stem of a bouquet of lilies with a small, gloved hand. Stan nervously approached her and stood at the shelf right beside her.

She looked up at him and smiled. She was no older than ten, and her large, dark-brown eyes were wide and sparkling with innocence. Stan couldn't help but smile back at her.

The girl turned back to the roses, the smile fading to a mild cheerful look. "They're pretty, aren't they? The flowers?" Her small voice was beautiful. It was soft, but it was strong and easy to understand at the same time.

"Oh, yeah, they're really pretty."

She smiled warmly again. "I think roses are the most special of all flowers," she informed him in a distant voice, "I believe they represent love and romance. They're the best for weddings. And Valentine's Day. They fit perfectly with the red and pink hearts."

"Yeah, they do, don't they?" Stan agreed, surprised by the intelligence of such a young girl. All of the fear from before faded to nothing.

She turned her full attention to him with an excited look on her face. "Will you be my friend?"

"Your friend?"

"Yeah. There's not many people around here that talk to me," she said sadly, "And you seem nice. Please?"

Her large eyes looked up at him with such plea that he couldn't refuse. "Of course," he said, and she hugged him.

"Thanks so much! What's your name?"

"Uh… Stan," he replied.

She grinned even wider. "Stan. Hi Stan, I'm Leena."

He bolted upright in bed, tangled up in his sheets and sweating like an animal. His dream was scattered in his mind. He remembered Wendy in the bathroom, Wendy crying, and it made his heart break. His gift! He still needed to give her a gift to help her fall in love with him!

'Roses… I believe they represent love and romance.'

Yes! Roses! Why hadn't he thought of that before? It was so classic, and so easy! He had a strange way of coming up with ideas; his mind imagining up little lonely girls who are probably like prodigies or something because of their intelligence.

But he didn't have time for that. He needed to get the roses before school.

Did that suck? It probably did, but this is my first attempt! Now, I just want to give you a quick note, here. I am working on two stories right now. My top priority is Fight Fear With Fire. I actually planned on starting this fic afterwards, but I was so excited, I just couldn't wait. I tried to contain myself by making YouTube trailers for it, but after the third one, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to write it. So, about my updates. They'll come pretty often. I usually update Fight Fear With Fire once every three days. I think this will be a bit slower, because F.F.W.F. is my top dawg, but just bear with me.

Anyway, I'd love to get some reviews from you guys! I will happily read your opinions and constructive criticizm. Damn, I spelled that wrong. *goes and checks on Microsoft Word* Oh, it's an 's'. I'm retarded. I will happily read your opinions and constructive criticism. So, please review! It helps me get more into the story, so I can update faster!