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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Molly is just a silly teenager with only the best of friends, amazing looks and a bright future in modeling set out in front of her. Too bad her schitzophrenia just kicked in.

Submitted: November 22, 2011

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Submitted: November 22, 2011



Molly was very excited driving home from school Friday, the backseat of her red Bug filled with shiney decorated presents from her BFFs. Today she had finally turned 17, and this Sunday she was going to get what she always wanted, an chance to meet with the top modeling agency of Hollwood and kick start her career. But before Sunday was Saterday, just as Rebecca Black had told her 1,000 times on her IPod, and all Molly could think about was the amazing b-day party she was throwing tomarrow. The greatest part was that her parents were on a second honeymoon and wouldn't be back for a week, leaving Molly to rip apart the house anyway she wanted and, hehe, with whoever she wanted. Tonight, however, she was alone, and decided to work on what she would say for her interview and clean up the house a bit in preparation for the weekend.

Once inside, Molly sat down at the dining room table with her folders and began organizing her portfolio. It was late in Spring and warm, bright light overflowed in from the sliding glass door in the kitchen. After about half an hour, the heat  called for her to come outside, she could feel it swim throughout the house and was constantly drawn to it. Molly got up and walked through the kitchen and into the backyard, leaving the sliding glass door open. Outside the skys were clear, the sun was glowing and the leaves of her beautiful apple tree was bright green in favor of the season. She walked out to the middle of the lawn and rustled her golden hair in the sunlight letting the light breeze sweep it gently over her shoulders as she closed her eyes.

Molly stood there for a few moments, enjoying the scenery, before in the pit of her stomach she felt something was, wrong. The air around her began to feel cold, her eyes fluttered open in confusion and she looked up to the sky. Dark clouds had begun to quickly swirl around the sun, swallowing it and leaving nothing but a grey sky that stretched as far as the eye could see. Suddenly a violent wind swarmed into her backyard swirling quickly around her, throwing the patio chairs into the fence and vigorously shaking the apple tree. Molly threw up her arms to protect herself, but suprisingly nothing hit her. Almost as fast as the winds came, they died down, leaving the atmosphere in an awkward stillness. Things were extremly quiet, she couldn't hear anything, not the sound of passing cars, rustling leaves, the T.V., not even her own heartbeat. It all felt very strange.

 A sense of fear began to rise in her, she toke a few steps backward, then her head violently spun and her vision blurred. The ground started to shake, the next thing Molly knew the lawn threw itself into the sky replacing the ground with the vortex of clouds. She lost her balance and slammed into the ground. When she flung her eyes open everything was rightside up again, but now a black blob lay in front of her at the base of her tree. Molly got up slowly and stared quietly at the thing that sorta looked like a deflated basketball. For some reason, Molly's main priority was investigating it. She walked over to it and picked it up and held it between her fingers. It was a crow, a dead one. It swayed in wind, its black eyes had filmed over, and its grey tounge stuck out of its disjointed beak. In a fling of anxiety she threw the crow at the tree and ran into her house locking the sliding glass door shut behind her. At the moment it didn't bother her that her footsteps on the kitchen glass no longer held their echo, or that no sound came out of her mouth when she screamed when falling on the grass, she only cared about being safe. 

She sat down on the tile floor and held her chest in her arms, she could feel her heart pounding faster and faster almost as if were going to burst. A twitching sensation ran throughout her body and she began hyperventilating. She felt scared and little, she had always hated dead things, eversince she saw her baby cat get hit by a car when she was  a child. Her eyes began tearing up as she looked out the glass door. Her breath caught in her throat, the crow was flying in mid air. When their eyes locked the crow flew straight for her. It hit the glass with a loud "thud" and started crowing in a high pitched shriek, repeatedly hitting the glass in an attempt to get to Molly.

Voices began to file themselves into Molly's head. Mean, nasty voices. One was a violent voice that demanded that Molly open the door and that she was a little b*tch for shutting it on him. Another demented, creepy voice spoke of spilling blood and the ripping and tearing of flesh reminding Molly that she should do as she was told. But, the most disturbing voice was the sweet, childish voice asking Molly if she could let him in to play. Even though each voice was different, Molly knew that they were all voices of the crow. Her heartbeat began to slow and, accordingly,  the crow stopped banging against the glass. Instead the crow stared Molly straight in the eyes and began turning itself inside out. Molly became lethargic and sat back watching the mess of pink flesh and organs twist and flow together and apart, going from neat black crow to bloody pink blob and back to neat crow again. This happened for five minuetes, though to Molly, it felt like hours. It all happened rather smoothly, the intestings twirling and knotting, the bones breaking through the muscle and ripping into the crows fragile heart, pieces of squishy matter that can only be described as bits of brain liquifing into a black ooze that mixed with the red blood that flowed out of small fragile viens after being stretched into bursting. In mid transformation the crow stopped, its bright red eye became visible in the mess and focused itself on Molly, then, just like a potato left in the microwave too long, the crow exploded. Blood, feathers, and other things covered the glass and ran down in a thick goo. It had happened instantly, like a puff of smoke, only instead of smoke, it was a damned mess. It was at that moment that the voices stopped.

Molly stood up, trying deperately to wrap her brain around what just happened when something wierd started happening again. Blood worked its way under the door and into the cracks in the tile. It swiftly flowed past her torwards the dining room. She turned around to see were it was going and saw a thousand black crows staring at her, all with broken necks, all havingeyes filled with malice for her. In a flash they all darted for her, the first one striking her dead center in the forehead, its beak breaking through the skull all the way into the brain. Black feathers fell and covered her eyes.  Molly slowly sank to the floor, her hand leaving the pen she had just stuck in her forehead. With the formal email invites not yet sent, no one would come to her party the next day, and with no one returning their calls at the modeling agency, they wuld just assume that another irrisponsable teenager had skipped out on them. It would be a week before Molly's parents came back. By that time the house would smell fiercly of death and Molly's quickly decomposing body would be sitting in a puddle of thick blood waiting to be found.

~Happy Birthday Molly, have fun with your dead cat.








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