(a.n: Hi, this tis my first attempt at a fan fic, well actually that's a
lie, I'm midway through writing a pirates one, but I'm alternating between
the two at the moment. I have suffered mahoosive writers' block with this
story, so I was going to call it that, until I read a story called Writers'
Block on fanfiction.net the other day, based on Secret Window. I didn't
want to be accused of plagiarism (You stole ma title!) haha, so I changed
it to 'From Someone' cause it seemed to fit. Please R&R, so I know if I'm
any good at this gig, and I will continue to write it if you like it. Tankx
keira.d)
Chapter One: Mr Rainey Mort sat down at his desk and used his tongue to pick out a piece of corn from his braces. He was getting them removed next week, thank the lord! They were really bugging him, all the corn got stuck, and had been getting stuck for nearly two years now. He got them put on just after this annoying guy, John Shooter, left his house after months of torment. He had had his hair cut into a more manageable bob. He cleared everything out that reminded him of John Shooter, and changed his hair, his glasses were exchanged for contact lenses and he had even changed his teeth. Unfortunately, he still could not get rid of that irritating pain he had in his jaw, that he had to crick every so often.
But, now, the braces were coming off and his hair had grown back into the unruly mane it had been before. One day, a parcel arrived on his doorstep. Dear Mr Rainey, It said I know you have changed a lot recently, but here is a gift for you, to remind you of the events of two years ago. From Someone who cares Inside the thick manilla envelope was a pair of contact lenses. Confused, Mort picked them up and twisted them to look at them in every possible angle of light. He jumped as he caught them in just the right (or wrong, depending on how you look at it) position, and saw, in the centre of one lense a screwdriver and in the other, a shovel. "Gross." Thought Mort. They were a deep red, blood red, in fact. This was some sick joke. As from just after John Shooter left, Mort had always had a fear of screwdrivers and shovels, but he wasn't quite sure why.
All he could remember about that day was waking up in his bed with a massive headache. He had just dismissed it as a hangover, but then every time he went near a screwdriver or shovel, he panicked, but put it down to irrational fear.
He walked over to his laptop to write some more of his latest novel. He was just in the middle of an idea, when a beep interrupted his train of thought. "You have received mail, Mr Rainey." Crackled the computer. Mort cursed the day he programmed his computer to say his name. Now it was always "Mr Rainey, you have left your computer on for more than five minutes," or "Mr Rainey, would you like to save your work?". At the time, he had thought it would be kind of cool to have the computer say his name, but now it was just irritating him and he didn't know how to stop it.
Anyway, he sighed as he clicked on the 'Yes' button, once the computer had asked if Mr Rainey would like to read his message now.
Message to: mortonrainey.aol.com Message from: iknowscl.net Message: Hello Mr Rainey. Did you get my little present? I hope you liked it, remind you of anything? From Someone Else
"Idiot." Muttered Mort, clicking on a button, and cursed as his computer asked Mr Rainey if he was sure he wanted to delete this message. Mort did not know who was sending these things, but he ignored them. It was probably just a coincidence that the shovel and screwdriver had been the design someone had picked out. It was probably an obsessed fan, who had to send him things to keep them selves sane. "Yeah, like they're sane. Nutter." He made a mental note to send them a signed photo in the morning, maybe then they'd leave off.
Mort crawled into his bed, extremely tired and fed up of this obsessed fan. He slept for about twenty minutes and then woke. This went on in a similar pattern until, finally, Mort got up and walked down the stairs, setting up a bed for himself on the sofa. That was another weird thing about Mort, he never could sleep on the bed, and he didn't know why that was either. (a/n: neither can I figure out why he cannot sleep on his bed, so can someone enlighten me please! It might just be me being thick (wouldn't surprise me!) but I really need help lol!) OK. Now I have really bad writer's block (know how you feel Mort, mate!) so I'll write some more tomorrow if I can get over it!
Chapter One: Mr Rainey Mort sat down at his desk and used his tongue to pick out a piece of corn from his braces. He was getting them removed next week, thank the lord! They were really bugging him, all the corn got stuck, and had been getting stuck for nearly two years now. He got them put on just after this annoying guy, John Shooter, left his house after months of torment. He had had his hair cut into a more manageable bob. He cleared everything out that reminded him of John Shooter, and changed his hair, his glasses were exchanged for contact lenses and he had even changed his teeth. Unfortunately, he still could not get rid of that irritating pain he had in his jaw, that he had to crick every so often.
But, now, the braces were coming off and his hair had grown back into the unruly mane it had been before. One day, a parcel arrived on his doorstep. Dear Mr Rainey, It said I know you have changed a lot recently, but here is a gift for you, to remind you of the events of two years ago. From Someone who cares Inside the thick manilla envelope was a pair of contact lenses. Confused, Mort picked them up and twisted them to look at them in every possible angle of light. He jumped as he caught them in just the right (or wrong, depending on how you look at it) position, and saw, in the centre of one lense a screwdriver and in the other, a shovel. "Gross." Thought Mort. They were a deep red, blood red, in fact. This was some sick joke. As from just after John Shooter left, Mort had always had a fear of screwdrivers and shovels, but he wasn't quite sure why.
All he could remember about that day was waking up in his bed with a massive headache. He had just dismissed it as a hangover, but then every time he went near a screwdriver or shovel, he panicked, but put it down to irrational fear.
He walked over to his laptop to write some more of his latest novel. He was just in the middle of an idea, when a beep interrupted his train of thought. "You have received mail, Mr Rainey." Crackled the computer. Mort cursed the day he programmed his computer to say his name. Now it was always "Mr Rainey, you have left your computer on for more than five minutes," or "Mr Rainey, would you like to save your work?". At the time, he had thought it would be kind of cool to have the computer say his name, but now it was just irritating him and he didn't know how to stop it.
Anyway, he sighed as he clicked on the 'Yes' button, once the computer had asked if Mr Rainey would like to read his message now.
Message to: mortonrainey.aol.com Message from: iknowscl.net Message: Hello Mr Rainey. Did you get my little present? I hope you liked it, remind you of anything? From Someone Else
"Idiot." Muttered Mort, clicking on a button, and cursed as his computer asked Mr Rainey if he was sure he wanted to delete this message. Mort did not know who was sending these things, but he ignored them. It was probably just a coincidence that the shovel and screwdriver had been the design someone had picked out. It was probably an obsessed fan, who had to send him things to keep them selves sane. "Yeah, like they're sane. Nutter." He made a mental note to send them a signed photo in the morning, maybe then they'd leave off.
Mort crawled into his bed, extremely tired and fed up of this obsessed fan. He slept for about twenty minutes and then woke. This went on in a similar pattern until, finally, Mort got up and walked down the stairs, setting up a bed for himself on the sofa. That was another weird thing about Mort, he never could sleep on the bed, and he didn't know why that was either. (a/n: neither can I figure out why he cannot sleep on his bed, so can someone enlighten me please! It might just be me being thick (wouldn't surprise me!) but I really need help lol!) OK. Now I have really bad writer's block (know how you feel Mort, mate!) so I'll write some more tomorrow if I can get over it!