A Fine Line

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 1 (v.1) - One

Submitted: August 01, 2016

Reads: 209

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Submitted: August 01, 2016



Laughter rang through the silence. Considering there was a playground nearby, that shouldn't have sent a chill down Patrick's spine. The fact that it sounded like a teenager and that the teen sounded like they'd totally lost it - though in Pat's experience, a teenager's sanity was a dubious thing anyway - made him hesitate. He'd already seen too much of Westborough; the abandoned town gave him the creeps.

Coming around a corner, he saw something that made his stomach churn.

A boy danced around, spinning and laughing and stumbling over the bones littering the plastic playscape. Human skulls, at least a dozen, were scattered about, the rest of their skeletons dissembled, a mess covering the wood chips. A number of ribs and long bones were broken.

Bile rose in his throat. Shaking his head and trying not to lose his stomach, he called out. "Are you alright? What happened here?"

The boy froze, his eyes wide. "They're all dead! All of them!"

There was an emptiness in his eyes and broad smile that unnerved Patrick more than the scene he was witnessing. "I can see that. What's your name? What happened here?"

The boy grabbed onto a pole, running around it as though it were a May Pole. Laughing merrily, he sang out, "Everybody's dead! Everybody's dead!"

It was too much. "Have you completely lost your mind?!"

The boy stopped. His expression, despite not having changed, was now more deadly. "I really don't think this is the time for you to question my sanity, Patrick."

"How do you know my name?" He asked, startled.

The boy laughed again, dancing away.

"Hey! Come back!" Patrick cried. He ran after the boy, tripping when his foot caught in a skull. Pat screamed, seeing the opening in the back of the cranium, wrapped around the toe of his shoe. "I gotta call the police, I gotta get out of here..."

A serious face was suddenly inches away from his. The insane teen was straddling him, leaning forward, and very much invading his space. "They got what they deserved, Patrick. Don't you remember them?" He removed the skull on Pat's shoe. "Remember Freddie Allens? This is him. And Yeah Ruskar is over there -" He pointed to the slide. "And Devon Brooks is on the swings. And -"

"Get away!" Patrick screamed, pushing the boy away and scrambling to his feet. "I don't remember these people! Who are you? Why do you know my name?!"

The teen laughed. "You're my brother. Of course I know your name. Don't I look a little familiar to you? Come on, think a little."

Thoroughly frightened, wanting to run but not trusting his legs, he eyed the boy warily. "I don't know you."

Looking somewhat shameful, the boy straightened up. "It's a fine line between sanity and genius, Pat. You went one way, I went the other. Good twin. Bad twin. Mom gave me up for adoption when we were eight months. That car wreck, though... It sealed my fate. I'm dead, too, Patrick. Just like all these people." Whatever sanity he'd recovered for that moment vanished with a giggle. "We're all dead! All of us! Be dead with us, Patrick! Be dead with us!"

He shut his eyes. "No!"

A buzzing filled the air. Patrick opened his eyes to shut the alarm off, went downstairs, and opened the paper.

"Car Accident Near Village of Skeletons Kills Three."

His jaw dropped at the picture of one of the three dead.

Still smiling, though looking perfectly sane, a young man with his face gazed up from the paper. "Steve Westborough..."

© Copyright 2018 Aldwin Jerrell. All rights reserved.


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