Title: Scream

It was a crisp afternoon in September, the warm glow of the sun fading over the multitude of

hills in the small town of Roxbury. Pamela Jefferson was enjoying the cool breeze that slapped her text book's pages around like an angry, unseen force. Mathematics was probably the furthest thing from her mind as she sat on that park bench. She closed her book and began to gather up her things to head home. She was halfway home when she heard a sort of whisper coming from behind a nearby collection of shrubs. Her feet came to a silent halt on the sidewalk and she spoke.

"Is someone there?" She waited. "Hello?"

Coming to the conclusion that it was probably just her over-worked imagination, she continued walking. It wasn't long before she heard it again, this time much louder and clearer.

"Pamela!" came the hushed sound from somewhere close by. There was not a soul in sight and she started to get a little anxious. "Who's there? Where are you?" she asked. She involuntarily put a much needed spring in her step and within moments her house was within view. A wave of relief flooded over her and she jogged to her front door. Feeling safe, she locked the door behind her and tossed her backpack on the kitchen floor. She needed a drink.

She reached into the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice that was almost empty and chugged right from it. She didn't think anyone would care, or even ask. She went to the window and took a peek out of it to see if anyone was following her home. Nothing. Not a trace of anyone, and she noticed that both her parent's car was absent from the driveway.

"Great." she muttered. "The one time I wish they were home, and they're not."

Suddenly the phone rang. Startled, she almost dropped the carton of orange juice on the floor. She put her hand over her rapidly beating heart and sighed "Good Lord!"

The phone was right near the door so she turned around and lifted it off it's base. "Jefferson residence, hello?"

"Hi Pamela." came a husky voice from the other end of the line. Pamela twisted the phone cord around her hand. "Who is this?" she asked.

"You don't need to know who it is to have a conversation, do you?" replied the voice. Pamela grinned. "Mark, is that you? You have a major laryngitis thing going on."

"My name's not Mark, Pamela." She stared blankly. "Do you like scary movies, Pamela?" the voice continued.

"I don't watch scary movies. Now tell me who you are." She pleaded.

"Oh, I don't think I want to do that." said the voice. "I do want to know what you're doing with that carton of orange juice though."

Pamela's world came to a screeching halt. She started to tremble. He could see her, but where was he?? Why was he doing this? "Who the hell is this?!" she yelled into the receiver. "Tell me now, damn it!"

"Tell me more about yourself, Pamela." the voice said. "Tell me your darkest secrets."

"NO!" She screamed and started to cry.

"Tell me your secrets before I KILL YOU!" The voice screeched. She hung up, and continued to sob. The phone rang again, sending her into a fit of crying and yelling. She picked it up and shouted, "What do you WANT from me??"

"Your life, bitch!" the voiced returned. "Don't look out the window!" She was too scared to even get up from her kneeling position, much less look out the window. She fell to her hands and knees. "What do you want?" the question slipped from between her pale lips. There was a click at the other end of the line.

A moment of eery silence passes, and then a crash as the window behind Pamela Jefferson shatters. "She gets up and runs, a dark figure hot on her tail. A groping hand grabs her shirt and tugs. She darts in the opposite direction, tearing the sleeve at the seam as it hangs loosely off of her arm. As she whirls around she sees her attacker. A tall figure wearing all black except for a ghost-faced mask.

Pamela trips up the stairs from the pursuing fiend, and manages to slam her bedroom door in his face. She hears a smashing sound on the door and within moments the head of an ax bursts through the wooden entryway. She screams in terror and tries to climb out the window.......

Later that night:

Melissa and Marvin Jefferson pull into the driveway of their 4th and Maine home.. only to find their garage door open. Mr. Jefferson asks his wife if they left it open and when she replies with a no, he investigates the garage. Up against the wall, wrapped in duct tape with an ax through her forehead is their lovely daughter Pamela.