[Quick Note: I am not Janet Hapsfield. I apologize to anyone who is.]
= Bloody Hell =
Chapter 1 - I'm Confused
My car had broken down about a mile and half down the road and I was trying to find a gas station or something along those lines. At that point, I was mentally smacking myself for not buying that cell phone when I had the chance. Leave it to me to spend my money on that antique hourglass I saw in the Pottery Barn catalogue.
But getting back to situation at hand, it was raining like hell and all I was wearing was a System of a Down t-shirt and a pair of flare pants from Old Navy. I never said I wasn't a hypocrite, okay? As I reached the peak of a hill, the dark image of a small house appeared through the rain. Before I could even think of who might be living there, my fist was banging against the door.
It opened, and a young man answered. He was dressed in a green-striped collared shirt and khaki pants. His dark brown hair was neatly combed and his eyes were wide and bright.
He looked like a ridiculous fruit. But then again, he was dry and I was soaked to the freaking bone. I'll bet he even had a perfectly good cell phone, too. "Hello," he said cheerfully. "What can I help you with?" At first, I passed his words off as normal.
"I don't suppose I could use your phone to call a tow truck?" I asked, shivering. "My car gave out two miles back." Jesus H. Christ, was he going to invite me in or not? He grinned and opened the door the rest of the way.
"Well," he replied. "I have a phone. So come on in! What's your name?" I cautiously stepped inside and he shut the door behind me. At once, I could tell something was not right. There was hardly any furniture and the walls were painted a psychotic sort of yellow. An enormous red chair sat against the far wall.
I gulped in spite of myself. This scenario was most likely the start of an episode of Unsolved Mysteries; either that, or a pornographic independent film. I couldn't tell which, yet. "Janet Hapsfield," I introduced, too cold to extend my hand.
"Steve Burns," he said. "My phone's in the living room. Follow me."
So I did. I know, it was stupid of me to even give the man my real name. As I trailed behind him, something very odd happened. The house seemed to...stretch...out in front of us. If one were to look at the building from outside, it would look quite tiny. However, from the inside, it was much larger. In fact, taking a quick glance over my shoulder, it appeared that the entire house was set up in a straight line.
Steve handed the phone to me and I dialed the operator to get a number for a towing service. It was only after I put the phone up to my ear that I realized the phone had no dial tone. I grimaced and hung up. "Your phone line's been knocked out because of the storm," I told him.
"Oh," said Steve. "Would you like to spend the night?" I was disturbed by the promptness of his question, more than the content of it. When I didn't answer right away, he added, "You could sleep in my room."
I put up my hands in defense. "That's quite all right, Mr. Burns. I should be leaving, actually," I argued. "I'm sure there's a gas station close by with a working phone, or at least someone with a cell..." But the man wouldn't have it. He took hold of my waterlogged shoulder and directed me past the living room and through a door.
"This is my room," he explained. "Feel free to find a pair of pajamas that fit you. And, in the morning, you can call again and get a truck to help you with your car." It was a very bad idea. Sleeping in a strange person's bed was the last thing I wanted at that moment. The mattress was rather tempting, though...
Steve left and returned hastily with a towel in hand. He gave it to me, saying, "Here; dry your hair a bit." I did so. He grinned pleasantly and shut me in the room. I pulled my shirt over my head and let it lay on the floor on top of the towel. My pants, being wet, were a struggle to remove, but I finally tossed them alongside the shirt.
My bra and underwear came next, and then I noticed a walk-in closet to my right. Opening it, I began to search through the drawers before finally stumbling across a pant-shirt pajama outfit with sailboats. It didn't even occur to me to think of why a grown man would own sailboat print pajamas. I sat down on the side of the bed and grumbled.
It felt a little funny not wearing any underwear, but I didn't want to get Steve's bed wet, much less his clothes. My eyes wandered over to the clock on the nightstand to see what time it was. 10:43 pm. The clock smiled at me and I smiled back. Perhaps spending the night at a stranger's house wouldn't be so bad af--
The clock...smiled at me...?!
I jumped up with a yelp. "Hi," greeted the clock. "Are you one of Steve's friends?" I distinctly remembered not smoking anything prior to the encounter with the timepiece. Now I almost wished I had.
"How can you talk?" I asked, completely dumbfounded. Not only was this situation entirely illogical, it was just stupid. In fact, it started being illogical the second I walked through the front door. The clock wobbled from side to side.
"Can't all clocks talk?" it questioned. I slapped my forehead with a groan. Obviously, being upset and flustered was not going to help, so I took a deep breath and decided to go with it. "I'm Tickety-Tock," the clock continued. "Who are you?"
"Janet," I said. "It's a pleasure."
------
A/N: Okay, I realize this is disturbing. It's not meant to be serious, I swear! I swear! In any case, please review. If I receive over 5 reviews, I'll post another chapter. Mwahaha.
= Bloody Hell =
Chapter 1 - I'm Confused
My car had broken down about a mile and half down the road and I was trying to find a gas station or something along those lines. At that point, I was mentally smacking myself for not buying that cell phone when I had the chance. Leave it to me to spend my money on that antique hourglass I saw in the Pottery Barn catalogue.
But getting back to situation at hand, it was raining like hell and all I was wearing was a System of a Down t-shirt and a pair of flare pants from Old Navy. I never said I wasn't a hypocrite, okay? As I reached the peak of a hill, the dark image of a small house appeared through the rain. Before I could even think of who might be living there, my fist was banging against the door.
It opened, and a young man answered. He was dressed in a green-striped collared shirt and khaki pants. His dark brown hair was neatly combed and his eyes were wide and bright.
He looked like a ridiculous fruit. But then again, he was dry and I was soaked to the freaking bone. I'll bet he even had a perfectly good cell phone, too. "Hello," he said cheerfully. "What can I help you with?" At first, I passed his words off as normal.
"I don't suppose I could use your phone to call a tow truck?" I asked, shivering. "My car gave out two miles back." Jesus H. Christ, was he going to invite me in or not? He grinned and opened the door the rest of the way.
"Well," he replied. "I have a phone. So come on in! What's your name?" I cautiously stepped inside and he shut the door behind me. At once, I could tell something was not right. There was hardly any furniture and the walls were painted a psychotic sort of yellow. An enormous red chair sat against the far wall.
I gulped in spite of myself. This scenario was most likely the start of an episode of Unsolved Mysteries; either that, or a pornographic independent film. I couldn't tell which, yet. "Janet Hapsfield," I introduced, too cold to extend my hand.
"Steve Burns," he said. "My phone's in the living room. Follow me."
So I did. I know, it was stupid of me to even give the man my real name. As I trailed behind him, something very odd happened. The house seemed to...stretch...out in front of us. If one were to look at the building from outside, it would look quite tiny. However, from the inside, it was much larger. In fact, taking a quick glance over my shoulder, it appeared that the entire house was set up in a straight line.
Steve handed the phone to me and I dialed the operator to get a number for a towing service. It was only after I put the phone up to my ear that I realized the phone had no dial tone. I grimaced and hung up. "Your phone line's been knocked out because of the storm," I told him.
"Oh," said Steve. "Would you like to spend the night?" I was disturbed by the promptness of his question, more than the content of it. When I didn't answer right away, he added, "You could sleep in my room."
I put up my hands in defense. "That's quite all right, Mr. Burns. I should be leaving, actually," I argued. "I'm sure there's a gas station close by with a working phone, or at least someone with a cell..." But the man wouldn't have it. He took hold of my waterlogged shoulder and directed me past the living room and through a door.
"This is my room," he explained. "Feel free to find a pair of pajamas that fit you. And, in the morning, you can call again and get a truck to help you with your car." It was a very bad idea. Sleeping in a strange person's bed was the last thing I wanted at that moment. The mattress was rather tempting, though...
Steve left and returned hastily with a towel in hand. He gave it to me, saying, "Here; dry your hair a bit." I did so. He grinned pleasantly and shut me in the room. I pulled my shirt over my head and let it lay on the floor on top of the towel. My pants, being wet, were a struggle to remove, but I finally tossed them alongside the shirt.
My bra and underwear came next, and then I noticed a walk-in closet to my right. Opening it, I began to search through the drawers before finally stumbling across a pant-shirt pajama outfit with sailboats. It didn't even occur to me to think of why a grown man would own sailboat print pajamas. I sat down on the side of the bed and grumbled.
It felt a little funny not wearing any underwear, but I didn't want to get Steve's bed wet, much less his clothes. My eyes wandered over to the clock on the nightstand to see what time it was. 10:43 pm. The clock smiled at me and I smiled back. Perhaps spending the night at a stranger's house wouldn't be so bad af--
The clock...smiled at me...?!
I jumped up with a yelp. "Hi," greeted the clock. "Are you one of Steve's friends?" I distinctly remembered not smoking anything prior to the encounter with the timepiece. Now I almost wished I had.
"How can you talk?" I asked, completely dumbfounded. Not only was this situation entirely illogical, it was just stupid. In fact, it started being illogical the second I walked through the front door. The clock wobbled from side to side.
"Can't all clocks talk?" it questioned. I slapped my forehead with a groan. Obviously, being upset and flustered was not going to help, so I took a deep breath and decided to go with it. "I'm Tickety-Tock," the clock continued. "Who are you?"
"Janet," I said. "It's a pleasure."
------
A/N: Okay, I realize this is disturbing. It's not meant to be serious, I swear! I swear! In any case, please review. If I receive over 5 reviews, I'll post another chapter. Mwahaha.
