Young Writers Society

Used sparingly, death threats can be quite effective. Tracy knew that for sure. She'd seen it lots of times, especially in horror movies. Just throw out a death threat, and people will practically do whatever it is you tell them. Of course, Tracy had never actually used a death threat, but she fully understood what a great tool they were.

In fact, as she walked downstairs to the kitchen, she thought about this. Maybe it was time for her to try out using a death threat. She was nearly six, after all, and should be experimenting with new ways of convincing people to do what she asked them. The thought thrilled her. Her normal nagging and temper tantrums usually did the trick, but with a death threat she was sure she could get what she wanted in less than half the time it took her to do it the regular way.

She was hungry for a cookie at that moment. And she knew that her mother had just baked them fresh and that the cookie jar was still full. But she had already had five after dinner. It was getting late now, almost nine-thirty, and she knew her parents would never let her have another one.

Tracy bounced into the kitchen, where her parents were chatting. Tracy could care less about what they talked about; it was all boring nonsense to her. As she came in, they stopped mid-sentence to look at her. Her dad put down his cup of coffee and gave her a stern look.

"Tracy, I thought we told you to go to bed," he said. "It's past your bedtime."

"I know," she said, inching closer to the counter where the golden cookie jar was.

"What are you doing, young lady?" said her mother, watching her shuffle across the kitchen.

"I just want one more cookie, Mommy," she said innocently, trying to put on a sad face.

"You've had enough for tonight," her dad replied. "Now go back to your bed and sleep, Tracy."

Tracy sighed. She really, really wanted another cookie. She would do anything to get one. Anything. She decided it was time to use her secret weapon.

She took a deep breath, puffing out her chest. Her parents exchanged looks. Then she sighed loudly, preparing to make her next statement as dramatic as possible.

"I'll kill you."

The kitchen stood still as her words resonated. Tracy kept looking at her parents. They didn't even move, nor make a sound. Her dad was just clutching his cup of coffee rather tightly, and her mother had her mouth hanging open. Tracy shrugged. She guessed it had worked.

Tracy simply walked the rest of the way towards the cookie jar, opened the lid, and removed a big tasty one that was sitting at the top. Then she hopped back up the stairs without even a second look at her parents. She eyed the cookie with a big smile on her face. This one was packed with chocolate chips.

As she sat on her bed, she ran the cookie beneath her nose, taking in the delicious smell. To her delight, it was even still a little warm. She took the first delicate bite, and let the cookie melt in her mouth. She giggled as she wiped off a bit of chocolate chunk that stuck to her upper lip. Her death threat had been a success! Tracy almost kicked herself for not trying it sooner. She didn't even have to fight with them this time. They didn't even say a word. Tracy was bubbling with joy. She had finally found the best way to get what she wanted.

Then she heard three quick knocks on her bedroom door. And a sigh. Her father.

"Tracy?" he said, and opened the door. They both stood there, her mother with arms folded tight, and her father with a furrowed brow.

"Tracy, we need to have a talk with you," said her mother as both of them sat on the bed on either side of her. Tracy held tight to her cookie, afraid they would snatch it away from her at any second. But Tracy could tell that her parents weren't mad. She couldn't explain what they looked like. It was something...different.

"Tracy, why did you say that?" began her dad, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Say what?" she replied, taking another bite of her cookie.

Her dad sighed. "Why did you say you'd kill me?"

Tracy swallowed. "I wanted a cookie." She expected her parents to get mad now. But they didn't. They simply looked at each other.

"Where did you get the idea to say something like that?" said her mother, running a hand through Tracy's hair.

"I heard it," replied Tracy, shrugging.

Her mother frowned. "Who did you hear say that?"

"People in movies. At Kayla's house. Every time I sleep over she puts on a scary movie."

Tracy's mother looked to her dad again. They both frowned intensely, and Tracy could sense something was wrong. She didn't want her parents to be upset with her.

"But it's okay," Tracy said quickly. "

This time both her parents looked straight at her. A look of dawning came over them. Tracy didn't know what else to say.

"Tracy, of course people can die," her dad finally whispered. "Is that why you said that? Because you thought it could never happen?"

"Well, yeah," said Tracy uncertainly. "It was like a joke. And what do you mean people can die? I told you the movies were fake."

"Oh, Tracy," her mother said, placing a hand on her daughter's cheek. Tracy was terribly confused. What were her parents talking about? It was just a joke. She knew people couldn't really die. That's silly.

Suddenly both her parents embraced her. Tracy felt even more confused. Why were they getting so mushy? What had happened?

"Just go to sleep," said her mother, finally letting her go. "We're going to make a phone call to Kayla's mom. We'll talk more in the morning."

"Yes," her dad said, sitting up. "Just forget about what happened and rest for now."

They gave her warm smiles, got up, and left the room. Tracy's dad shut the door gently, and she was left sitting on her bed, dumbfounded. She really had no idea what had just happened. She decided to crack one joke in front of her parents and all this happened. Oh sure, she intended it to frighten them like people in the movies, but it was still a joke all the same. But her dad's words still rang in her mind. Why did he say people can die? Was he lying to her? Was this some kind of sick punishment?

Tracy didn't have much of a sweet tooth anymore. She got up and threw her half eaten cookie in the waste basket near her door. She even felt her stomach churn a bit. Maybe she did have one cookie too many.

She got into her bed, feeling sick. Crawling under her covers, she looked for her white teddy bear. He was hiding in the corner. She grabbed him, and then made her way back to her pillow, where she snuggled in to sleep. She looked to her window. It was starting to rain. The soft patter was starting to grow louder. Tracy sighed. If there was one thing that ever soothed her, it was the sound of rainfall outside her window.

She held her precious bear tightly and closed her eyes. Dad was just making up stuff. In the morning they would come in and yell "Gotcha!" and they'd all have a rousing fit of laughter. That brought a smile to her face as she began to drift off into slumber. The soft fur of her bear caressed her cheek, and she felt at peace. In an instant, she was asleep, sweet dreams floating around inside her subconscious. Wonderful sleep.

A crack of thunder.

Tracy woke with a jump. Her covers lay skewed across her body. She looked to the princess alarm clock on her nightstand. Three-thirty in the morning. Tracy had never been awake this late before. Then something struck her. Where was her teddy bear? She groped around her bed in the darkness, but couldn't feel his fuzzy presence. An instant later lighting struck outside, lighting up her room in a flash. In that one moment she spotted her bear on the floor near her bed, by the window.

She must have dropped him during the night. Slowly, she got up and climbed down on the floor. She noticed how the creaking of a bed is always much louder in the middle of the night for some reason. She bent down a few feet from her bed and picked up her dear teddy bear, embracing him in--well--a bear hug.

But as she looked up, something caught her eye. It was on the outside of the window, sitting on the shelf of wood. It was some kind of black lump, and she couldn't make out what it was. She touched her hand to the window's surface. It was ice cold.

Suddenly another flash of lightning illuminated the room, and she had a chance to see what the black thing was.

It was a small bird.

Tracy gasped. What was a bird doing on her windowsill? Why didn't it fly away? It would surely catch a cold or something in all this rain. She put her white bear down on the floor near her feet and tried to open her window. The thing always stuck, so she had to pull quite a bit. But finally she was able to nudge it about half a foot open, and the drops of rain began finding their way into her room. She didn't mind though, because she needed to wake that bird up.

"Get up," she whispered. It didn't move. It probably couldn't hear her over the rain. "Get up," she urged even louder. Water was starting to drip down her nose. But the bird still didn't stir, not even a bit.

Cautiously, Tracy stuck her hand out the window and nudged the bird with her index finger. Its feathers were soaked. But it still didn't move, even as she continued prodding it carefully with her fingers. Why wouldn't it wake up? It needed to wake up. Why if it didn't, there was a good chance it could...die here. Her father's words came back to her as if he was speaking them inches from her ear. This bird was dead. Oh, no, Tracy thought, this bird was dead.

Tracy pulled her hand back inside so quickly it was as if she had been reaching into a flame. She pulled the window back down hard, making a loud thudding sound. She backed away a few inches from the window sill, feeling tears in her eyes.

Things could die.

Without hesitation she ran to her bedroom door and thrust it open. She ran across the hall to her parent’s bedroom, not caring to be quiet as a mouse. She would be lucky if she didn't wake up the whole neighborhood.

"Mom, Dad!" she screamed, knocking on their bedroom door with all her might. She just kept pounding it as fast as she could. Soon she heard frantic footsteps inside, and the door was opened. Her parents stood there, a look of terror painted on their faces.

"Honey, what's wrong?" her father demanded, looking shaken.

Tracy's face was stained with tears now. "Oh, Dad, I'm so sorry!" she yelled, and gripped her dad's legs tightly. More and more tears started streaming down her cheeks, and now it was her parent's turn to be dumbfounded. They simply knelt down and hugged her.

Ah, death threats. Though effective, it was her first and last.

***

Corny much?