Mischief
One cold, dark night a teenage girl was left alone to babysit while her parents went out to watch a movie.
They had been gone for a few hours and a strange noise came from the bedroom.
"What was that?" The girl was scared but she was brave and went to check it out.
She went to the baby's room and there was nothing but then she was leaving and there was a noise again in the closet.
Being brave still she went to the closet and opened it and saw the ghost of her dead sister!
She was killed the same night and still people say her head can be found in the closet.
REPOST DIS 2 UR FRENDS B4 MIDNIGHT OR U WIL B KILT ON HALLOWEEN
I DONT BELIEF DIS BUT IM SCARED LOL LY ALL xx
"Hm," I was never sure how to respond to those things; I tended to get them from acquaintances along the lines of a mutual friend of a mutual friend of someone I met in the street. Writing rushed, pseudo-angry replies was a waste of time for everyone involved. I'd end up getting irritated and feel dumb after having sent it, the receiver would probably just laugh and show it to their friends. Then I'd be seen as more of a "downer" and dubbed even more antisocial.
It was Devil's Night, Mischief Night... call it what you will, I don't like it. I wasn't necessarily any sort of Scrooge of Halloween, quite the opposite really. I loved buying too much candy under the guise of preparing for Trick or Treaters. I'd often be grabbing handfuls from the bowl for days after. The thing is, where there's smoke there's fire. Where there's Halloween, there's Mischief Night. I don't own a car so I'm safe from car arson and the chance of hitting either of my two four-storey windows with a brick is quite low. All the same, I could never help feeling exposed and uncomfortable in my own home. Mischief Night is seen by some as a time in which the law doesn't exist and therefore ruining anything in sight is easy to get away with. While that's true, it makes me sad that, given a single night's freedom, people will wreak havoc without any sort of regret. Having said that, it's a big city; I'm sure it will cope. Besides, it was raining hard enough to put out a burning car before it could even begin to spread.
A lightning storm had been coming closer by the minute; the time between lightning and the consequent thunder lessening with each strike. Lightning caused problems for me since a sensitivity to light had my head protesting in pain whenever a bright light chanced upon my sight. I'd closed my curtains and now the lightning's mighty power only turned them a lighter shade of blue. The curtains on the further window were distant; hard for me to make out in the space between me and them that spanned four wall-less rooms. I essentially lived in an attic that was previously the four separate attics of a terraced row of houses. I sat on my bed in one corner, my laptop's dimmed back-light barely illuminating my own tired expression. Resigned to my bed and walled in by lightning and hedonists, I felt claustrophobic, not to mention still mildly irritated by the chain mail that sat fizzing in the darkness. An insertion point sat temptingly in a message entitled "Re: OMG U HAV TO READ DIS" and I considered it seriously for a minute or two. The pros and cons of replying were essentially balanced and in the end it came down to my heart or my mind. Torn between the two, I sighed to myself and snapped the laptop shut, swinging my legs across to the side of the bed and sitting up.
Head rush had me swaying on the spot for a second or two while my blood pressure slowly recovered from being hauled around after hours of sitting still. I set off towards the other side of the room-that made up the majority of my rented property-with no real purpose. We all do it, I suppose: walking around in the hope that something will appear for entertainment in the time it takes to reach our destination. We often just reach it and turn back again which turns into an elongated pacing of a room. I reached my window after a distinctly uneventful journey and resisted the temptation to turn back and repeat it, instead waiting for a flash of lightning before pulling back the curtain to stare into the street. I'll admit, I half-exaggerated the Devil's Night stuff. From the way I said it you'd probably imagine a street of flaming wrecks and riots. The street sat empty and bathed in the dull orange light of the fizzing lamp posts that lined the pavement. Nothing but concrete and electricity distorted by the miniature droplets that flecked my window and altered the outside world. The sky, or rather my view of it, was starless and deep blue. I knew that it was in fact black and full of stars. What I saw, however, was a city sky: polluted and hidden from my eyes by the selfsame orange lights that illuminated the ground.
I sat there on my windowsill for a short while, looking inwards and listening to the rain as the occasional flash of lightning lit the walls by my sides. The gentle patter of rain drops on my window was unaccompanied by the wind, but instead a strange scuffling sound that was barely audible below the quiet rain. I listened on for some time before I could say for sure it was coming from inside. It was moving, inside my walls. It would be at its loudest when I imagined it was close and became inaudible for a few seconds after trailing off, only fading back in after a few seconds and becoming louder again. I stood up again, slowly this time to avoid head rush, the noise stopping the moment I did so. Sitting again made the sound audible once more. I assumed it was coming from outside, or was some sort of echo of the rain.
Well, I was suitably entertained after my arduous journey to the unfathomed corners of my own room, and so headed back to my bed. As I passed my door, the scuffling noise became audible again, this time alarmingly close. I turned in its general direction and was greeted by my door, shaking ever so slightly in time with the noise. I wasn't a particularly superstitious person but I'd seen the shows and videos about ghosts and the like. This was typical of them and, though I didn't believe it, possibilities were already racing through my mind. At the time I figured it was best to simply confront those sorts of things head on. The fear of the unknown was the main primal fear of our species. Therefore it made perfect sense to make it known. My steps towards the door were the sort that were conflicted; wanting to move both forwards and backwards at the same time. As a result I made what felt like confident, but were most likely hesitant, steps towards the door. As I neared it, the shaking grew more violent and the noise became louder to the point where I could clearly hear the door's lock banging against its confines in the frame. I reached out, my fingers touching the shaking handle just as the phone rang, throwing my heart into spasms and my body jumping. I hit the door, involuntarily, the shaking stopping, taking the scuffling with it.
I had barely any time to consider the implications of what had happened and the undeniable lack of an explanation in the way it had ended. I'd almost convinced myself it was the wind, which was impossible, unless the wind reacted to my kicking of the door. Like I said, however, I had no time to think about it as I hurried, heart pounding, back to my bed, happy to be reunited again with the outside world rather than my own overactive imagination. I picked up in the middle of a ring, the shrill tone piercing its way through the air and dying out as I answered, shaken but unwilling to show it. "Hello?" I was greeted only by the sound of something rattling. "Hello? Anyone there?" More rattling, followed by a startling crash and an exasperated,
"Damn it!" My phone wasn't expensive enough to warrant a caller ID but I recognized the worn-out, down-on-her-luck voice of my friend Lyrafiltered through a crackly line.
"Lyra, is that you?" I knew it was her but had no idea as to how else I could start a conversation.
"Hang on a second, Eeva." She was definitely exasperated; I suspected her to have knocked over a pile of something, and was now restoring it to its former glory. I waited patiently for some time as I heard nothing but distant rustling and breathing. Eventually, a rattling and the breathing became louder before she spoke to me again. "Okay sorry. How are you?"
"I'm as fine as I'll ever be, how about you? Are you okay?" I laughed a little. She was a very clumsy woman, yet strangely organized. I would have thought the two to be mutually exclusive had I not been friends with living proof to the contrary.
"Just the usual: pervy patrons and poor pay," I wasn't sure if the alliteration was intentional or not, but laughed anyway. She seemed to appreciate my laughing about it regardless-another thing that should be mutually exclusive, this time appreciating someone finding humor within your own oddities.
"Well I was about to go and make some tea if you want to come o-"
"Do you mind if I maybe come over? It's just my day's been pretty crappy." I smiled to myself. Really I'm the sort of person who likes it when people just come out with what they want. Not necessarily in a rude manner, just not dressing up their request in wrapping paper complete with bow. That was beside the point, though, since
Lyracame round every other night and was as comfortable in my house as I was. She was my closest friend, and a pleasure to have round.
"Sure thing... mmm... I'm running a little low on tea to offer that you like. I think I have enough green tea. Oh, and raspberry if you feel like it." Imported tea is as addictive as any sort of drug to me. I'd vowed to try every possible type before I died, and was getting close to finishing a hastily drawn checklist. There was a pause after my question, then:
"The pink one, it makes my mood lighter." I laughed at her description of "the pink one". I was unsure what she meant, knowing for a fact she didn't mean Kashmiri Pink Tea since she didn't even know of its existence. I assumed she meant raspberry and made a mental note to show her more variations that she would most likely despise.
"If you're sure you need your mood lightening, it'll be here waiting for you. I'll see you in a while." We never felt the need to extend phone conversations with small talk. We were far from the "no you hang up" stage but comfortably within the bounds of understanding. We typically saved the talking for when we met in person. Besides, the phone line was particularly crackly that night, most likely thanks to the storm.
"See you soon, bye." And with that I put down the phone, stretching and rubbing my eyes in an effort to fend off encroaching sleepiness. I set about tidying the only area of my room I'd used that day, stripping the duvet of its sheets and waltzing through the door without even thinking about what had happened beforehand. I remember feeling a distinct cold lingering in the air but little more as I hurried down the stairs. As I reached the ground floor, the doorbell rang. I fumbled with the handle, half expecting a very fast arrival of Lyra, but instead being greeted, in pyjamas and carrying a cumbersome duvet cover, by the cast of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
"Trick or treat!" A group of kids I guessed to be about twelve stood in various typical outfits featuring sodden vampires, dripping Frankenstein and saturated witches. They all looked surprised-and wet-though by what I couldn't guess. It was something within my appearance as a pajama-wearing, duvet-carrying twenty two year old who was as tall as and even shorter than some of them. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, I tried my best to smile and reply;
"Hey! You guys look great! But it's not Halloween yet, I wasn't expecting anyone tonight."
"Nuh-uh!" Replied a stunted Frankenstein. "It is, see?" He held out a tacky wristwatch that, to my annoyance, displayed 12:04 in bright green numbers. I was sure it had only been 9pm a couple of minutes ago. I just figured I'd spent longer staring into space than I'd realized.
"Well, I guess that's fair enough. Wait here a second, I'll be right back." I hurried off into my kitchen that was set apart from the rest of the landlord's rooms, reaching into a cupboard to pull out both a packet of raspberry tea and a bunch of packets of candy. In an effort to drop the duvet, I dropped the tea, cursing under my breath and gracelessly picking it up again. Crouching had me opening a cupboard below the counter to pull out a large plastic bowl, into which I emptied the contents of the candy packets. With the bowl full of various types of sugary disease, I hurried back out into the hall to be greeted by nothing but an empty pathway. The door stood open, rain pouring into my porch as I imagined the kids running away, cackling down the road. My hair was already dripping as I closed the door, walking back into the kitchen and dropping the bowl onto the counter with a "helvetin Mischief Night!" I picked up the blanket and began to rub my hair, being rewarded with nothing but messier hair and an even spread of rain water. Failing that, I drooped the blanket over my head and stood childishly, folding my arms against the world. I'd been fooled by the very thing I was on the lookout for. Thankfully, a far more childish version of the bombs and knives I expected. I felt cheated out of a little immature fun of my own, really. As I stood there with the cover draped down past my feet, I came up with a plan.
The old bell-pull rang just after I'd gotten everything in place. Though I'd repeatedly pointed out the fact that the doorbell was less strenuous, more audible and less pretentious, Lyrastill insisted on using it instead of the doorbell. The chair I'd chosen was the only one in my kitchen that wasn't too uneven to stand on, and this one was barely usable. I leant awkwardly over to the light switch and flicked it off, a consequent lean forwards unlocking the door and leaving it in place. A creak came shortly after as the door opened. It took some time for her to say anything, and I began to think up an excuse, should it be anyone else. Eventually however, to my relief, came a hesitant and whispering voice:
"Eeva?" I shifted myself on the chair, originally thinking to make some sort of cheesy and extended noise, I instead opted for a loud:
"Boo!" I leant back over, almost missing the switch as I flicked it on and pulled the sheet from over my head. I was rewarded by a satisfying yelp that was consequently turned into guilt as she landed on her back with a thud thanks to the as-of-recently slippery floor. Checking the floor first, I hopped down onto a dry patch, and was about to offer an apology as she grinned and folded her arms.
"You are a bad person, scaring me like that. You know how much I hate the dark!" I personally love the dark, for reasons already explained. That didn't mean I could see any better, or had any sort of depression complex. I just couldn't stand light. The childish tone with which Lyra chastised me made me grin.
"And the wet!" I began to re-bundle the cover around me, restoring myself to my former appearance when I opened the door to the "trick or treaters". This time, however, I was distinctly less self-conscious. I grinned down at her sodden hair and pouting expression. "You're like a little cat." To which she rolled her eyes.
"I still do not speak fluent Finnish, shortie, and my dictionary is floating around somewhere under my bed at the moment." That confused me. I wondered what had her talking about her understanding Finnish, and was about to question it when I remembered the tea, and the fact that I had just caused my guest to fall flat on her back in rain water.
I smiled and gestured towards the kitchen, opening the door and leaving it open for Lyra while she went through the ritual of making herself both comfortable and needlessly presentable. The door closed behind her as she complained about her hair through short sighs and grunts while both fruitlessly and irritably trying to straighten and dry it at the same time, with only her hands. I laughed as she took a chair, watching her half-consciously as I began to make the tea. I often wondered why she fussed so much about appearing presentable for me. There I stood with messy, wet hair in old pyjamas and a duvet cover draped from my shoulders to feet like a working class robe.
Tonight had been eventful in some ways and tiring in all of them. Now that Lyrawas here, I was sure that it was going to improve.
Lyra's super-duper considerably more enlightened perspective of awesome (add it to the fanfictiondotnet url):
/s/7114167/1/