The Big, Bad Wolf

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Her little brother had friends. Or, more specifically, one friend.

Submitted: November 03, 2018

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Submitted: November 03, 2018

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“Hey, wait up for George,” Her little brother, Jon, who was a few steps behind us, yelled to their mum. She rolled her eyes so only her daughter could see. They stopped for several seconds, waiting for her brother to give them the all-clear. He trotted up to them, asking Mum if they could get ice cream. Mum shook her head and loaded the groceries into the boot, with Jon sitting in the backseat kicking his legs back and forth, sulking. 

George, Jon's imaginary best friend, was pretty much a part of their family at this point. Nobody knew how long he’d been there, but nobody could imagine a life without her little brother and George. 

The ride home was an unusually quiet one, with only her mother swearing under her breath at the traffic and Jon’s iPad. She and her mother packed away the gluten-free food, while Jon and George had escaped to their room. 

Her parents were going on a date tonight (gross) but since her mum was going on a gluten-free fad, they had to go to the only gluten-free restaurant, three hours away. Which means she had to babysit her brother. For seven hours. Ugh.

She spent her last few hours with her parents home, in her room, on her laptop, ignoring her brother talking incessantly to George right outside of her window. She yelled at him a couple of times, but he still had to play right outside of her window. 

Her mum called her downstairs, gave her a list of instructions and left with her father, muttering about arguments that neither of them had won. She turned around to see Jon, standing there at 4 foot 3, glaring at her. He tried to scowl, and look intimidating. The only thing about him that made her scared was the fact he was holding a lit match, eyes glazed over.

She leapt for the match, forgetting the fact that fire hurts. She yelped, letting go of the match and panicking when it hit the carpeted floor. Jon watched on in not-quite-amusement as she cupped her hands under the running tap, and threw it onto the ruined carpet. She shook her little brother by the shoulders, screaming at him, cursing at him.

After a few seconds of her letting go, he stopped looking through her, and snapped out of his trance, seeming to not hear a word she said. He fiddled with his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Sis, can me and George go play outside?”

His sister leaned on the counter, digging her palms into sharp marble. She tried to calm herself down, and replied, a lump in her throat, “No, Jon, it’s too dark outside. How about we watch some Power Rangers or something instead?”

Jon looked satisfied, and ran to his room. She tried to stop herself from screaming, tension built up in her muscles. Plus her hand hurt. After counting to ten and taking a few deep breaths, she turned and run her hand under cold water, keeping a watchful eye on Jon’s door for a sneaky child wearing teenage mutant ninja turtle pajamas trying to light the damn house ablaze. After ten minutes of clearing her mind and watching Power Rangers with a devil child, she realized that calling her parents might be a decent idea. She reached for her phone, forgetting that she had been grounded for the week. Of course it was, why couldn’t anything go her way?

Jon looked at her strangely when she slammed her phone down on the floor, catching her tongue before she swore. She grabbed the remote and turned down the volume, causing Jon to pout. She ushered him into bed, trying to come across as a stern figure and asked him, “Jonny, what does George say to you?”

He stopped fiddling with his hands, and started to tug on his pajama shirt, “He tells me that he’s my only friend and-and that everyone’s out to get me,”

She stopped listening to him when she saw what was in the window. At first she thought it was watching them from outside, which, on its own was terrifying. But she realized something that made her heart stop and her blood turn cold. It wasn’t coming from the outside. It was a reflection. She tried to steady her voice and asked Jon a question she didn’t want to know the answer to, “What does he look like?”

Jon didn’t seem to sense her hesitation, “He’s like, ten feet tall and has this awesome hat!” She urged him to tell her what he dressed like or what his hair colour was, “He has this dark blue suit that he wears alllllll the time and curly orange hair and he makes silly faces in the glass.”

She shushed him, and told him to get out of bed slowly to get under the bed. As he did this, she kept her eyes on the glass. Hot breath on the nape of her neck made goosebumps spring up under her skin. She turned. Nothing was there.

Jon’s description matched the figure in the window perfectly. Besides the ten feet tall, but he probably looked like that from Jon’s perspective. She dropped to the floor and wiggled under the bed at the sound of a roaring wind. No, it wasn't wind. Wind didn't turn out the lights in the house, and wind didn't grab her by the neck, throwing her across the room like a ragdoll. 

She heard her back crack, and a lightning strike of white hot pain coursed through her bones. Her brother whimpered and she turned, groaning, and tried to stand. Another gust of wind slammed into her back, bringing her to her knees. She stood, her whole body screaming in protest and grit her teeth, muttering a few prayers and swears.

Jon wiggled out from under the bed and grabbed her hand, and tugged her into his closet. It wasn't dark, and when she turned around she found out why. Purple mist covered as far as the eye could see, dark trees like spindly lines in the distance. She stepped forward, onto black grass and bright blue flowers. The scene took her breath away. Jon paced, counted to ten and opened the door. It was pitch black, not even the stars could illuminate the shadows. She grabbed his hand, trying to pull him back into the closet, but his feet dug into the ground like concrete. He took a few, deliberate steps forward, as if searching for bear traps. A glint in nonexistent light. A cockroach. It whirred, clacking claws that weren't there, like a slaughterhouse machine. 

Did she mention she was afraid of bugs? Because she was absolutely terrified. Luckily, the shoes she was wearing were heavy enough that she could step forward and crush them. There were more than she expected, at first only 5 or 6. Then 10 or 11, and soon the entire floor was covered in creepy, crawling cockroaches. She squealed, and stomped her boots. 

Jon copied her, without the squealing. They stomped their way to the kitchen, grabbing Mortein and sprayed the floor incessantly. She opened the cupboards and spiders flew out of it. She screamed, tears stinging her eyes from the spray. Jon burst through the front door, with her following soon after. This wasn't right. Even though they lived in a sparsely populated area, there were no stars in the night sky. She reached up, and in its place was an almost invisible web. 

Jon tore off, but she could match his speed. He stopped cars on the roads, almost getting them into crashes and she yelled apologies to them. He weaved through rose bushes like second nature, while she tumbled through them with the grace of a baby giraffe. He ducked down and wiggled through a hole in a metal chain link fence, and her jeans tore at her calf when she followed him. They were in a school, glass at every turn. George's face at every turn. She took this time to catch her breath. He wiggled the door of the largest school building, and surprisingly, it was unlocked.

The linoleum tiles reflected not only Jon and her, but a man in a wide-brimmed hat and a navy suit, with orange frizzy hair and a grin that stretched the size of his entire face, more teeth than any human had. The story of the Little Red Riding Hood came to mind, Red Riding Hood had said, "Grandma, grandma, what sharp teeth you have!"

The wolf in the navy suit and a wide-brimmed hat and frizzy orange hair replied, "All the better to eat you with, my dear."


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