Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Why Me? Like, Seriously, WHY me?

Book By: LeahRJones
Mystery and crime



Marcie Stinson is your average girl.
Big family, mother and father, all those regular things.
But for the Stinson's, normal goes down the drain when Christmas comes a knockin'
But one simple Christmas changes her life forever.
A man, masked beyond recognition.
A silver gun, the blood of her entire family litters the kitchen, seeping into the grass in the back garden.
Her aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-grandparents, sisters, brothers, cousins, and her parents, wiped out in the blink of an eye.
The murderer saw her, spoke to her, but kept her alive.
Now Marcie is thrown into a world she's only read about in books.
Murders, kidnappings, stalkers, even magic.
And she discovers she might be different than she seems.
She must survive through Stalkers, Zoos, hijacks, the murderer.
And herself.


Submitted:Mar 25, 2013    Reads: 16    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   


1 My family love Christmas, always have, always will. Me...eh, I can take it or leave it. It's just...the joy, the carols, ugh, it gives me a bloody headache. But my youngest sister, Lila-Belle, is what you call, a Christmas Stalker, as most young kids are. She's small and slight, with sky-blue eyes, and a waterfall of silky blonde hair that cascades around her upper back. She's eight, and does all but cling to my mother day in and day out. My next sister, Lilian, is thirteen with shiny brown hair, and light hazel eyes. She's sarcastic and witty, so she says, and you won't see her without a book under the crook of her arm. Next, is twelve year old Gwen, with raven hair and blue, nearly grey eyes, that pierce your soul. She quiet, but not shy. The only passion she puts into anything is her music, her precious violin. And the oldest girl, me. My name is Marcie, I'm fourteen, and have been described as a mix of all my sisters. I'm slight like Lila-Belle, but quite tall, I have Lilian's humour, and Gwen's grey eyes. The one thing I have in common with my brothers is my flaming red hair. My youngest brother, Richard, is three, he's a little troublemaker that you can't help but love him. He has shining green eyes, and bright red hair, as if you tipped a ketchup bottle over his head. Next, is Ray, aged nine, with the aforementioned red hair, and dark hazel eyes, he spends his time sketching the layouts of buildings, which he is quite good at, considering his age. And finally, Trent, aged fifteen, who spends his time fixing cars...for fun...wonders will never cease. We live in a normal house, with our normal parents. But normal goes down the drain when Christmas comes a knockin'. My family don't have many traditions, except for the usual, the youngest putting the star in the tree, all that, except for one that's unique to our family, at least, I hope it is. Every year, Father helps us carve wood statues. I usually carve an angel, but this year, I'm flat broke, so instead I'm going to carve Lilian as birthday present. If she doesn't like it, it's her problem, not mine. I'm so nice. "Mom!" I hear Lilian whine as I pull the hand-knitted jumper my mother made over my head. "Please!" I hear her plead as I inspect my jumper; a snowman, and two crudely made children frolicking in the snow. Lovely. I walk into the sitting room to see Lilian and my mother arguing. My mother is like an Ewok; cute and cuddly around, but her angry, and she never loses. "Lilian Stinson! I'll say it once more! No more today!" Lilian sighs, but turns dejectedly and switches on the television. Ha, ha! Oh, yes, I talk to myself Never thought I'd see the day, the day a girl refuses to watch television. In my house, we have five televisions, one in the sitting room, one in the dining room, one in the kitchen, one in our parents room, and one in the den. We have a lot of televisions, but don't forget, there's nearly ten people on our family, and most of us love television. But not young Lily-San, not Lily. The doorbells suddenly rings, causing Ray to cheer, "They're here! They're here!" 'They' is our aunties, cousins, uncles, and grandparents. We have a lot of people, so we have the kids eating outside in the garden, and the adults in the kitchen. Trent is classed as an adult. Lucky jerk. I hear the door open and mindless chatter fill the hallway. My family is long, so I class them as a list, which they probably don't appreciate: Auntie Grace with her husband James, and two boys, four year old Sam, and twelve year old Victor Auntie Leilani with her husband Laurent and two daughters, eight hear old Izzy, and thirteen year old Priya. Grandma Victoria. Grandpa George. Grandma Cynthia. Grandpa Michael. Great grandpa Marcus. So, we all pile out. Kids out into the garden, parents inside. For the kids, multiple big tables are put all around, so I just sit with Prija and Victor. We are happily chatting when I hear the front door slam and shake on its hinges. "Get the hell down!" Comes a gruff roar. Uh... I hear shouts and screams, and my mother runs out to us. "Bloody hide!" She hisses at us. But it's too late. Bangs erupt from inside the house, and screams of pain echo in my ears. Prija runs to Izzy, and Victor to Sam. My brothers and sisters crowd around me, clinging to each other. "Trent!" Lilian sobs. Soon, the screams cease, and a tall man with a stocky build walks into the garden, his stony glare fixated is on my mother. I'm confused... ~WhyMe The man has a stubble ridden face with piercing grey eyes and flame red hair. He wore a black beanie cap, and a black all in one. "Die!" He hisses at my mother,pointing a small gun at her face, eyes narrowed. I need some context here! He pulled the trigger and a loud bang erupted from it as a bullet hit my mother square in the face, the impact sending her spiralling backwards onto the grass, face down. There it is. The are children just staring, shocked, while I stare deep into the man's unyielding, cold eyes. "You all die!" He scowls, and pointed the gun, shooting it repeatedly. "What is wrong with you?!" I screech, but he ignores me. Rude. He says nothing, and keeps on shooting, again and again. I scream as they all go down; Izzy, Victor, Sam, Priya. Then I screech as my brothers and sisters are shot down. Ray, Richard, Gwen, Lilian. And then...Lila-Belle... "No!" I yell as he shoots, but he pays me no heed. I watch as Lila-Belle drops to the ground, and I feel my heart break. He turns to me, and I close my eyes and wait for the gunshot, but it doesn't come. I open my eyes to see his expression has softened. He smiles at me and turns to me, "Goodbye, Marcie." And he turns and runs out the back gate. What the hell?! I freeze for a moment, shocked beyond repair. And then it sinks in. I'm an orphan, an orphan who just witnessed about twenty people die. Therapy anyone? I look at the dead bodies littered around me, and feel my heart wrench. I take a deep breath and walk slowly into the kitchen. Everyone is sitting at the table, with bullet wounds in their backs, their heads in the dinners. I see my father lying on the kitchen floor, a smashed plate on the floor beside him. A place that just moments ago was a happy, loving home, has just turned into a living nightmare. My living nightmare. I can't even look out the back door, not now. Tears trickle down my cheeks, staining my face. I don't sob uncontrollably, like in a sad, make believe film, instead I cry silent, sorrowful tears that make my shoulders shake softly. I'm alone, forever. What if I go to an abusive home? Someone who hates me? Will I ever be loved? Sigh, probably never again. Then I hear something that snaps me out of my depressing, yet shockingly true, but still cynical, thoughts. A voice, but not any voice. A deep gruff tone that almost sounds like- "Marcie..." The voice croaks at me. I whip my head around, but none of them are moving. "Marcie!" The voice croaks again. My father's body shifts, and I'm to his side in a second. "Dad?" I whimper pathetically, kneeling at his side, ignoring the blood that seeps through the material of my jeans. His head moves slightly, "Marcie...Marcie there's something you should know..." He coughed, "I'm not...I'm not..I'm...not..." And he stops, never to move again. What was he going to say? I need to know! He's not...he's not... ~WhyMe~ Here I stand, shocked, as my father's body stops moving. 'I'm not...' I'm not what? Dear god...so I turn and walk back out into the garden. There's nothing left for me to do, and I don't know what compels me to do this, but I quickly pull my brothers, sisters and my mother's bodies close together, and cuddle up beside them, sniffing as I feel their usual warmth slip far away from my grasp. And, despite my day, and the mingled blood of my brothers, sisters, and mother, my loved ones, seeping onto me, I fall quickly into a deep sleep. ~WhyMe~ It's dark, cold... "Is anybody here?" I call loudly. Is not dark, but...black. It's as if I'm a white piece of paper being dragged across a black page. I run across the black, calling and calling, for my sisters, my brothers, my mother, my father. My feet slap loudly against the ground, feeling like tiles against the underside of my feet. And after a while, the tiles turn to gravel, then slowly it shifts, and changes. Water. I fall under, screaming as the water fills my lungs. My chest burns, my throat scratches, my muscles scream. I use my arms, trying to propel myself towards the top of the water, but it's useless, and my body sinks down, down, down, to the bottom of the abyss. Then I see them. Ray, Richard, Trent, Father, Mother, Lilian, Gwen and Lila-Belle, all of them, sitting at the bottom if the water, calling for me eagerly, their arms outstretched. I quickly push all my weight down, sinking my body lower and lower, closer to them. Closer to my life. But as I reach them, I see the blood stained clothes, the wide, unblinking eyes, the bullet wounds on their bodies. They weren't reaching for me, they were trying to protect themselves from the bullets. They failed. Hey weren't calling for me, they were screaming in pain. I was too late. It's my fault. ~WhyMe~ "Holy God. What the hell is this?! Are they all dead?!" I jerk upright to see my neighbour, twenty one year old Trina Welsh. "Oh thank God!" She breathes, and pulls me into a tight hug, "Someone's alive!" "Trina..." I croak. "Marcie! It's okay! I'll call an ambulance." She assures me. "No!" I plead, "He didn't hurt me...he killed all them, but didn't touch me...I was scared so I lay down here beside my family...please..." "Okay, sweetheart..." She soothes, but it's obvious she doesn't believe me, "I'll call the police..." I sit on the grass, and let the tears flow, I sob could sob for hours on end. I don't know how long I've sobbing, but I'm interrupted by a hand on my shoulder, giving it an reassuring squeeze. I look up to see a stout man in a blue policeman's uniform, smiling at me. "Hello dearie." He smiles sadly, "I'm going to take you down to the station. Alright?" I nod wordlessly, unable to trust myself to speak without vomiting. The smell of stale blood fills the air, causing me to shudder. The man takes my hand and pulls me slowly to my feet, murmuring soothing words, that don't reach my ears. ~WhyMe~ I sit stiffly on a plastic chair, a thin blanket wrapped around me, a cup of coffee clenched in my hand, full to the brim and ice cold. "Marcie?" The policeman who found me-Kyle-calls. I sit up straight, causing a drop of coffee to spill onto my lap, "Yes?" My voice is weak. "Will you come with me?" He asks quietly, gesturing to the room behind him. I nod and follow him, leaving my full cup of coffee in the waste bin, upside down. I walk slowly into the room to see a tall woman in a pantsuit sitting at a table, a notebook, tape recorder and a pen. She holds out her hand to me, "Bridgette Meyers." "Marcie Stinson." I croak, shaking her hand weakly. "Now. I'm going to ask you a simple question...alright?" Bridgette asks, smiling. "Right." I reply. "Did you commit those murders?" She asks carefully. "No!" I snap, "What the hell? You think I killed my ENTIRE family?! What the hell is wrong with you?" My attitude is back, my somber attitude gone, but not for long, just long enough to sort her out. She raises her eyebrows, "It was a valid question." "Yeah, I'm a fourteen year old who killed twenty people." I tell her dryly, rolling my eyes at her. "Okay, less of the attitude." Bridgette warns. "My family was murdered only yesterday! It was without a single doubt the worst day of my life. I'm allowed to have an attitude." I retort harshly. That's right, I played the dead family card, beat that. "Alright...calm down! Right. Then can you describe the person who did?" She asks. "He was tall, red hair, grey eyes, sharp chin. Stubble covered face. Black beanie." I explain. "Right." Bridgette makes a few notes on her notepad, and switches off her tape recorder, "Nice talking to you." She stands up and leaves, leaving me sitting alone in a small dark room, thoughts of my family's murders in my head. I don't like her. ~WhyMe~ Moments later, Kyle comes into the room, a cup of cocoa in his hand. "Since you didn't like the coffee." He shrugged and thrust it into my hand quickly. "Thanks." I smile halfheartedly, and take it from him. "I've never had hot chocolate before." I admit sheepishly, taking a small sip. It was like heaven in a cup, creamy and frothy. It scalded my tongue, but I didn't care, I took a big gulp, sighing happily as it lid down my throat. Kyle was watching me, the side of his mouth tipping up, "Nice?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. I nodded eagerly, taking another big gulp. "Slow down there! He chuckled, amused. I shrug and take a small sip. "Kids." He chuckled jollily. "Break your heart don't they." I grin cheerily. "Don't you forget it." He teased playfully, winking at me. For those few moments of banter, I forgot where I was, what had happened, who I was. But unless I could do that all day, everyday, I was going to be in hell. ~WhyMe~ I was sipping from my empty cup of cocoa, when I felt a surge of emotions, and I had a vivid flashback. I was lying in a pool of blood that isn't my own. Dead bodies littered the floor around me. I was surrounded by people but I've never been so alone. He stared at me, a smirk on his face. He lifts the gun and points it straight at me. I close my eyes and wait, but the bullet doesn't come. What I can't understand is, why did it never come? But then something different happens. The man stares me down, "It was never supposed to end like this." "Then why did it?" I ask hoarsely, but I'm in no control of my words, someone else is speaking for me. Although it sounds like me. Am I possessed? The man shrugs, "It got out of my hands." "What about S?" I ask, sniffling. S? Who's S? His face hardens, "She was taken. She has nothing to do with us." "Us?" I snort, laughing loudly, before cutting off abruptly, and my voice turns cold and unyielding, "There is no us. Not after what you did. You don't want me. You're using me. You want H." H? Who the hell are these people?! "I love H." He murmurs. "I hate you." I hiss at him. He flinches, but nods, "Understandable. Now, I must leave. G's waiting." G?! Then he runs out the back gate and disappears. ~WhyMe~ "Marcie?" I start, causing me to drop what's left of my hot chocolate onto my lap, causing me to hiss. Kyle is standing there, his eyebrows raised, "You okay?" "I had a..." I trail off, unable to tell him. "A what?" He frowns pensively. "I'd call it a flashback." I murmur, "But it's different." He nods, seemingly understanding, but he probably doesn't. He probably thinks I'm crazy. Am I? Don't answer that. I think I know. And I don't like the answer.




1

| Email this story Email this Book | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.