AN: Based loosely off of a dream. Only the dream was in a temple, with some middle-aged, obese guy with whiskers and glasses in a power chair. I don't know, either, but I think the power chair was magic because there was crap all over the floor and he still kept coming.
SwordStitcher-He never told me anything until after she was dead. Shame, that-I'd have been happy to stick a live frog in her locker. Or in her water bottle. How would you have managed that, may I ask. You'd be surprised. I managed, thank you very much. Bitch. Probably shopped at Whores R Us.
APieceOfThePuzzle-Yes. And why? Oh, I can tell you that. He turns all tomato-coloured and starts stammering. KITTY! It's true. Regardless. Oh, stop complaining, it's adorable. Just stop now. Relax. Who are they going to tell? And who will believe them? That's beside the point!
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-She regretted it. And they all forgot about it after a finch took out somebody's eye. Can't imagine how that happened. Why do I think you had something to do with that? I don't know how it got into that locker...must've been fighting mad when it came out, to act like that.
He can tell she's in a bad mood the minute he comes down for dinner. She's sitting at the other end of the table, straight as a ramrod and glaring at him down her nose. Considering she's barely five-foot-three, she has a talent for looking down on him.
"Granny."
She motions for him to sit down. Once he's settled, she bows her head and begins to say grace. Maybe that'll calm her down. It has in the past, anyway.
Dinner is a silent affair-that's probably bad-and he's just about to retreat to his room when she stands up and tells him to come here.
It's nothing, it's nothing. He'll be fine. She probably just wants to…to…
"What is this, child?" She reaches down-he's slightly gratified to see that it takes some effort-and lifts an old hardback.
Oh.
Oh, dear.
"Granny…"
She drops it on the table and her plate rattles.
"Where did you get this?"
"Th-the school library."
"What have we discussed about reading filth?"
"Please…it's literature…"
She strikes him hard across the face.
"Well, then, my literary young friend, it seems that we'll have to have another discussion."
NONONONONO.
He turns and bolts for the staircase, half-entertaining the idea of hiding in his room and locking the door.
"Jonathan Crane!"
He freezes at the top of the stairs and turns. She's standing at the base, leaning heavily on her cane. If looks could kill, he'd be dead where he stands.
"Get. Down. Here."
Now he's in for it. But he's got a head start on her…and she's always had trouble with the stairs, especially with that cane of hers.
"Granny, please…"
"Now."
He takes a step back and she begins to climb.
He darts down the darkened hallway. If he can avoid her for long enough she might forget…or he can slip out the front door and hide-there's that empty house across the way, maybe he can hide in there.
He can hear her hobbling up the stairs-she's taken them surprisingly quickly-and he slips into one of the unused bedrooms. It used to be a girl's room-the floral wallpaper and porcelain doll collection are a dead giveaway.
The dolls stare at him as the thud-swish of Granny's steps reach the landing. He dives under the bed, hoping he won't sneeze or suffocate on the dust.
"Jonathan!"
He tries holding his breath, but that doesn't do him any favors and he ends up breathing shallowly through his mouth. Surely she won't look under the bed. It's too much effort to bend down.
Breathe. Breathe. He's okay. She won't look here.
He hears her footsteps enter the room and imagines her standing in the doorway, looking to see if he might be in here. Then he sees her walk over to the closet and fling it open.
After one agonizing minute, she turns and leaves. He lets his breath out and eases out from under the bed once he hears her footsteps fade away.
He sticks his head out into the hallway. There's no sign of her. She must've gone back downstairs. He'll just go to his room and lock the door and go to school very early in the morning.
He makes his way to his bedroom, jumping at small noises. A mouse runs across his path and nearly gives him a heart attack.
Finally. Sanctuary. He opens the door.
"Hello, Jonathan."
She's standing in the middle of the room, hands folded atop her cane. He tries to step back and she crosses the room with terrifying speed.
"What has gotten into you?" She grasps his wrist with her birdy hand. "In all my years, I never…"
And she yanks him out of the room and towards the staircase.
THE END