SUMMARY: What if Morton, after losing inspiration for novels, began a
hunt for a new theme. He begins to stalk school students, finding out the
story of their lives to fit into his new twisted story. But something
happens...of course. Read to find out! R/R!
Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Morton *sigh* or the story, but I DO own the plot and most of the characters!
Gloomy were the only words that could correctly define that night. Far up towards the top of the water and a bit over stood a cabin. Surrounded by trees, this cabin gave off the image of a wide space country area. No one would possibly think that this was in New York. Now, then...there is also the owner of such cabin.
"Great...just perfect!" Morton exclaimed, quickly tossing aside the oven mitt as he got a scorch mark from the hot steam coming from the top of his kettle filled with corn. The stove hissed in protest as water hit the hot metal on the top. Quickly sticking his hand under the faucet, he ran cool water over his wound, wincing slightly as felt it go over the red skin.
That was when he heard the car pull in the driveway. Turning his head slightly, he watched as it slowly began to drizzle outside and a figure in a black and white outfit slowly made it's way up to the top of the steps on his porch, then passed up to the door and knocked, the person's face concealed by the small curtain on the door.
"Brilliant, what a perfect addition to such a lovely day," Morton rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door, quickly grabbing a rolling pin on the counter.
Whipping open the door, he could barely make out the man...that much he could tell...through the now downpour of constant rain. But even so, he knew enough to figure it out. Tossing his rolling pin into a corner unnoticed, he looked at the man.
"Well, hello there, Sheriff Dave," he nodded. Inside his head muttered, 'Ahh, fuck me.'
"Yes, I thought I'd pay you a visit here, now. We've been doing some figuring and we're sure that we know now where you have indeed put those bodies," Dave told him, a smile playing on his lips. "We will find them, and we will get you."
"But as of now, you have no proof as to what I could have done, now do you?" Morton asked, raising an eyebrow in question. "So you just pretty much came to tell me that you still have no clue about a thing that has happened, yet everyone is just going to continuously accuse me of crimes no one is yet sure that I have committed."
"Oh, we're sure. Sure enough, that is," Dave answered. "We just have to abide by the law...innocent until proven guilty. We're positive you're guilty, but you see...no one has proof that we have proof towards it, you get what I'm saying?"
"Clear as Root Beer," Morton made a grim, quick as a flash, smile.
"You do realize, the smarter you get with me the more I have towards my own mind that you are indeed at fault."
"Well, then...I'll just have to dumb myself down a bit, won't I?" Morton asked, standing up a bit taller and then cracking his jaw by opening and shifting it.
"Indeed," the sheriff replied. "Well, then...just thought I'd let you know, then. I'll be seeing you again shortly, no doubt. Most likely behind bars," he added as an after thought. "Good day."
With that, he walked out only to get an even larger spout of rain to soak him as he attempted a run to the vehicle.
"Good day my ass," Morton muttered, and pretended to shoot Dave as he had so long ago to his Mrs. Garvey, his old housekeeper, with her complete idiocy.
As he watched Dave slowly drive out of the driveway, he waited until he was out of complete view.
'Bugger this,' his mind told him as he quickly ran through his house and tossed down a bag and quickly began to throw a scramble of things after it, such as his favorite pillows, bedroom robe, a bunch of bundles of papers, razors, and bags of chips from various nicks and crannies around the upstairs as everything went flying off the little loft and landed either on or around the bag with amazing accuracy.
"Gotta get out of here...come on, faster!" he mumbled to himself as he raced back down and grabbed an arms load of corn and let it drop in an assorted order, and a few rolled into random places, such as under the couch and some ricocheting off of the rug and table.
"Why won't it all fit?" he demanded, exasperated. He was busy fumbling with the bag, trying to cram almost everything, including his computer, into the small sports bag. Finally giving up, he put everything except the computer, two pillows, and the corn in the bag, and he ran it out to his vehicle, throwing it into the back. The raining had stopped, but water was drizzling from the trees and the ground was extremely soft. Then he began to run towards the house when he came to an abrupt stop.
'Of course, can't forget that,' his mind urged, and he agreed. Speeding as quickly as lightning, he grabbed the shovel...his tool. The object of his dirtiest work. He held it as though it was an idol and walked it over to the truck and tossed it in as well, not wanting to forget it. Then he turned to return to the rest of his items.
He yanked open the door, and that was when his mind began to race. He could hear another voice in his head yelling, 'No...I did not do this. This isn't me.'
"Oh SHUT UP!" Morton screamed. "I don't need to hear from you! This is me...the real me!"
'No it's not!' came another voice. 'I didn't do this, you did. And you are not going to bring me down with you. Just give up...let me come back!'
"I will not!" Morton yelled back. "I have worked too hard...for too long. I am not going back in!"
Then there was nothing but silence. The old Morton had given up...for now. To the big bad John Shooter.
"Yeah, that's right...just shut your trap and we'll be getting along just bloody peachy, alright? I'll even add damn cottage cheese to the peaches if you stay quit long enough," Morton murmured as he huddled to the floor, picking up his computer and two pillows on top of it. He would come back for the corn on his next trip.
Finally, he was done. The bags, the corn, and the shovel...everything was stowed away and ready. It was time to break free.
"That's it...I'm so gone. Yeah, that's right. Next time he sees me I'm behind bars...right, in his dreams," Morton spent his time talking to himself, shifting the rearview mirror and adjusting the seating. He was ready for the ride of his life.
"And everyone out for a ride needs some music," he grinned to himself as he turned on the station.
Over the speakers blared, much to the dislike of Morton, 'Bye, Bye, Bye', by N*Sync.
"Oh no no no!!!!" he yelled right when they said "Bye, bye, bye."
'Fucker,' a voice in his head called out.
"That's it," Morton said, frustrated as he began to switch the stations and it landed on 'Born to be Wild'. "No cottage cheese for you."
After a couple hours, Morton stopped at a small looking town...or atleast small for New York. Looking at the sign, it read, 'Auburndale Population-3,967.'
"PERFECT! My day just keeps getting better," Morton said triumphantly, no sarcasm at all.
He slowly drove through the town until he stopped at a run down motel, which was across from a five-star hotel, a Plaza.
"Well...beggars can't be choosers. And how many know that better than me?" he asked himself as he slowly walked into the small front of the Motel and strode up to what looked to be either the manager or the person in charge.
"Hi, I'm planning on staying here for a while. Could you find me a decent room that may be open for a while?" he asked hopefully, leaning casually on the desk.
"Why...let me check here. Yes, in fact there seems to be an entirely unbooked room, number six. Any idea on how long you'll be here?" the man at the desk answered. He had on a nametag that said, "Hello, my name is Mark. How may I help you?"
"Until I find a place to say. I'm actually thinking about settling in for a while if I like it well enough," Morton shrugged and looked closer at the tag, "er...Mark."
"Alright, then. You just need to sign and fill out these forms, then you can pay upfront, if it's alright with you, and then get the keys," Mark told him.
Morton nodded and heaved a sigh, "Ok, where's the paperwork?"
"Right here, sir," Mark replied, picking up a clipboard with a pen attached and slowly passed it over to him.
"Sir is just so...so formal. Just call me Morton, or Shooter if you please," Morton grinned creepily.
"Er...right. Well, I'll be right over here, just call me when you're ready," Mark said awkwardly and took off to the cash register and began working on the till.
Soon enough Morton was done signing...changing his name a bit to Morton Shooter...and then he filled out a check and waited silently as Mark ran it through the usual process, strumming his fingers on the desk.
When they were finally done, and after he got the keys, Morton towards the door, realizing that it was once again raining.
"Goodbye, Marky!" he called over his shoulder as he stepped out the door. Cold, icy water rushed over his face as he slowly screwed his eyes so he could concentrate on finding his door number while he tried to think up a topic for his next novel when he felt something slam into his side. Going into defensive mode and, quick as a flash, he had turned around and was face to face with a teenaged girl, even though she was sprawled on the ground.
"Sorry!" she gasped to him as she picked herself up and raced off towards a door not too far from where he stood. Before she even reached the handle, it swung open and the girl seemed to be trying to say something before a hand reached out and grabbed her roughly, bringing her into the room.
"Ok..." Morton said softly before shaking it out of his mind. He continued looking around for his number when he noticed number six was just one away from where the girl had gone in. When he got into the room, he immediately smelled a rush of moldy fabric and he shrugged. He was used to it by now.
That's when it hit him.
"I've got it!" he said, ignoring the thumps against the wall from the other room. "Perfect...wonderful for my story! Children...no students...no, teenagers. The horror of teenagers," Morton grinned triumphantly, happy with his knew found idea.
A/N: Alright, then...what do you guys think so far? I just watched Secret Window today, so I'm just beginning this. I know the first chapter is dull...but it had to be done. I'm still figuring out the plot, but it will eventually come to me. R/R, please! Also...if you will...please read my other stories. Especially if you like the following: Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, or The Lost Boys. I have never gotten a bad review yet, but also there aren't that many either. But as I've seen not many people like the Lost Boys, I expected that. But I need to watch it again for more inspiration, but I'm gonna wait till I get far in this story, or I'm gonna have to wait till the movie comes out for me to think up good plot!
Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Morton *sigh* or the story, but I DO own the plot and most of the characters!
Gloomy were the only words that could correctly define that night. Far up towards the top of the water and a bit over stood a cabin. Surrounded by trees, this cabin gave off the image of a wide space country area. No one would possibly think that this was in New York. Now, then...there is also the owner of such cabin.
"Great...just perfect!" Morton exclaimed, quickly tossing aside the oven mitt as he got a scorch mark from the hot steam coming from the top of his kettle filled with corn. The stove hissed in protest as water hit the hot metal on the top. Quickly sticking his hand under the faucet, he ran cool water over his wound, wincing slightly as felt it go over the red skin.
That was when he heard the car pull in the driveway. Turning his head slightly, he watched as it slowly began to drizzle outside and a figure in a black and white outfit slowly made it's way up to the top of the steps on his porch, then passed up to the door and knocked, the person's face concealed by the small curtain on the door.
"Brilliant, what a perfect addition to such a lovely day," Morton rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door, quickly grabbing a rolling pin on the counter.
Whipping open the door, he could barely make out the man...that much he could tell...through the now downpour of constant rain. But even so, he knew enough to figure it out. Tossing his rolling pin into a corner unnoticed, he looked at the man.
"Well, hello there, Sheriff Dave," he nodded. Inside his head muttered, 'Ahh, fuck me.'
"Yes, I thought I'd pay you a visit here, now. We've been doing some figuring and we're sure that we know now where you have indeed put those bodies," Dave told him, a smile playing on his lips. "We will find them, and we will get you."
"But as of now, you have no proof as to what I could have done, now do you?" Morton asked, raising an eyebrow in question. "So you just pretty much came to tell me that you still have no clue about a thing that has happened, yet everyone is just going to continuously accuse me of crimes no one is yet sure that I have committed."
"Oh, we're sure. Sure enough, that is," Dave answered. "We just have to abide by the law...innocent until proven guilty. We're positive you're guilty, but you see...no one has proof that we have proof towards it, you get what I'm saying?"
"Clear as Root Beer," Morton made a grim, quick as a flash, smile.
"You do realize, the smarter you get with me the more I have towards my own mind that you are indeed at fault."
"Well, then...I'll just have to dumb myself down a bit, won't I?" Morton asked, standing up a bit taller and then cracking his jaw by opening and shifting it.
"Indeed," the sheriff replied. "Well, then...just thought I'd let you know, then. I'll be seeing you again shortly, no doubt. Most likely behind bars," he added as an after thought. "Good day."
With that, he walked out only to get an even larger spout of rain to soak him as he attempted a run to the vehicle.
"Good day my ass," Morton muttered, and pretended to shoot Dave as he had so long ago to his Mrs. Garvey, his old housekeeper, with her complete idiocy.
As he watched Dave slowly drive out of the driveway, he waited until he was out of complete view.
'Bugger this,' his mind told him as he quickly ran through his house and tossed down a bag and quickly began to throw a scramble of things after it, such as his favorite pillows, bedroom robe, a bunch of bundles of papers, razors, and bags of chips from various nicks and crannies around the upstairs as everything went flying off the little loft and landed either on or around the bag with amazing accuracy.
"Gotta get out of here...come on, faster!" he mumbled to himself as he raced back down and grabbed an arms load of corn and let it drop in an assorted order, and a few rolled into random places, such as under the couch and some ricocheting off of the rug and table.
"Why won't it all fit?" he demanded, exasperated. He was busy fumbling with the bag, trying to cram almost everything, including his computer, into the small sports bag. Finally giving up, he put everything except the computer, two pillows, and the corn in the bag, and he ran it out to his vehicle, throwing it into the back. The raining had stopped, but water was drizzling from the trees and the ground was extremely soft. Then he began to run towards the house when he came to an abrupt stop.
'Of course, can't forget that,' his mind urged, and he agreed. Speeding as quickly as lightning, he grabbed the shovel...his tool. The object of his dirtiest work. He held it as though it was an idol and walked it over to the truck and tossed it in as well, not wanting to forget it. Then he turned to return to the rest of his items.
He yanked open the door, and that was when his mind began to race. He could hear another voice in his head yelling, 'No...I did not do this. This isn't me.'
"Oh SHUT UP!" Morton screamed. "I don't need to hear from you! This is me...the real me!"
'No it's not!' came another voice. 'I didn't do this, you did. And you are not going to bring me down with you. Just give up...let me come back!'
"I will not!" Morton yelled back. "I have worked too hard...for too long. I am not going back in!"
Then there was nothing but silence. The old Morton had given up...for now. To the big bad John Shooter.
"Yeah, that's right...just shut your trap and we'll be getting along just bloody peachy, alright? I'll even add damn cottage cheese to the peaches if you stay quit long enough," Morton murmured as he huddled to the floor, picking up his computer and two pillows on top of it. He would come back for the corn on his next trip.
Finally, he was done. The bags, the corn, and the shovel...everything was stowed away and ready. It was time to break free.
"That's it...I'm so gone. Yeah, that's right. Next time he sees me I'm behind bars...right, in his dreams," Morton spent his time talking to himself, shifting the rearview mirror and adjusting the seating. He was ready for the ride of his life.
"And everyone out for a ride needs some music," he grinned to himself as he turned on the station.
Over the speakers blared, much to the dislike of Morton, 'Bye, Bye, Bye', by N*Sync.
"Oh no no no!!!!" he yelled right when they said "Bye, bye, bye."
'Fucker,' a voice in his head called out.
"That's it," Morton said, frustrated as he began to switch the stations and it landed on 'Born to be Wild'. "No cottage cheese for you."
After a couple hours, Morton stopped at a small looking town...or atleast small for New York. Looking at the sign, it read, 'Auburndale Population-3,967.'
"PERFECT! My day just keeps getting better," Morton said triumphantly, no sarcasm at all.
He slowly drove through the town until he stopped at a run down motel, which was across from a five-star hotel, a Plaza.
"Well...beggars can't be choosers. And how many know that better than me?" he asked himself as he slowly walked into the small front of the Motel and strode up to what looked to be either the manager or the person in charge.
"Hi, I'm planning on staying here for a while. Could you find me a decent room that may be open for a while?" he asked hopefully, leaning casually on the desk.
"Why...let me check here. Yes, in fact there seems to be an entirely unbooked room, number six. Any idea on how long you'll be here?" the man at the desk answered. He had on a nametag that said, "Hello, my name is Mark. How may I help you?"
"Until I find a place to say. I'm actually thinking about settling in for a while if I like it well enough," Morton shrugged and looked closer at the tag, "er...Mark."
"Alright, then. You just need to sign and fill out these forms, then you can pay upfront, if it's alright with you, and then get the keys," Mark told him.
Morton nodded and heaved a sigh, "Ok, where's the paperwork?"
"Right here, sir," Mark replied, picking up a clipboard with a pen attached and slowly passed it over to him.
"Sir is just so...so formal. Just call me Morton, or Shooter if you please," Morton grinned creepily.
"Er...right. Well, I'll be right over here, just call me when you're ready," Mark said awkwardly and took off to the cash register and began working on the till.
Soon enough Morton was done signing...changing his name a bit to Morton Shooter...and then he filled out a check and waited silently as Mark ran it through the usual process, strumming his fingers on the desk.
When they were finally done, and after he got the keys, Morton towards the door, realizing that it was once again raining.
"Goodbye, Marky!" he called over his shoulder as he stepped out the door. Cold, icy water rushed over his face as he slowly screwed his eyes so he could concentrate on finding his door number while he tried to think up a topic for his next novel when he felt something slam into his side. Going into defensive mode and, quick as a flash, he had turned around and was face to face with a teenaged girl, even though she was sprawled on the ground.
"Sorry!" she gasped to him as she picked herself up and raced off towards a door not too far from where he stood. Before she even reached the handle, it swung open and the girl seemed to be trying to say something before a hand reached out and grabbed her roughly, bringing her into the room.
"Ok..." Morton said softly before shaking it out of his mind. He continued looking around for his number when he noticed number six was just one away from where the girl had gone in. When he got into the room, he immediately smelled a rush of moldy fabric and he shrugged. He was used to it by now.
That's when it hit him.
"I've got it!" he said, ignoring the thumps against the wall from the other room. "Perfect...wonderful for my story! Children...no students...no, teenagers. The horror of teenagers," Morton grinned triumphantly, happy with his knew found idea.
A/N: Alright, then...what do you guys think so far? I just watched Secret Window today, so I'm just beginning this. I know the first chapter is dull...but it had to be done. I'm still figuring out the plot, but it will eventually come to me. R/R, please! Also...if you will...please read my other stories. Especially if you like the following: Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, or The Lost Boys. I have never gotten a bad review yet, but also there aren't that many either. But as I've seen not many people like the Lost Boys, I expected that. But I need to watch it again for more inspiration, but I'm gonna wait till I get far in this story, or I'm gonna have to wait till the movie comes out for me to think up good plot!