The dying sunset sank behind the mountains as I trudged down the long, winding street. It had been a horrible day. I’d flopped the test in History by answering wrongly a question about the Titanic’s sinking, earning myself an hour or so of detention work with Mrs. Higgins, my class’ demonic teacher. I’d somehow managed to survive her constant bombardment of screams, scolding and stories about the good old days where teacher could whack students using canes. The long, grueling hour had finally come to an end, and I was hurrying back home. It was already 10 pm, and as I made my way down the street, history books in hand, I noticed a queer looking figure standing just 10 or 20 meters away from me. Since it was getting rather dark, I couldn’t get a proper look at him. His silhouette was tall and lanky, but it leaned to one side like the Tower of Pisa. He walked strangely; it seemed to me that he had a limp.
I wanted to go nearer for a better look, but I hesitated. What if he was a gangster, or maybe even a murderer? My mother had always told me to avoid strangers if possible, especially in isolated places. But curiosity got the better of me. Surely just getting closer for a look wouldn’t hurt!
I took a few steps towards the person. Under the dim glow of the street lamps, I could see that he had a vaguely Texan figure, with an old and torn jacket draped over his hunched shoulders. Upon closer inspection, I saw that he was somewhere around my age, 16 years old.
And then he turned and saw me.
I knew it had been rather rude of me to spy on him like that, and I gave him an apologetic smile. He looked at me and said: “Who’re you? ”
“My name’s Angela. I study at the local university. What’s your name?”
I replied, somewhat surprised by the unexpected question.
“Name’s Jerry. I come from the West.”
He winced in pain, and muttered indistinctly:
“Stupid ol’ limp.”
“Are you okay?”
I questioned.
“I’m fine, missus, and I dun’t need no help from no one.”
He snapped back with unusual ferocity, and I jumped backwards.
“I – I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you angry!”
I stammered. He seemed to cool down a bit.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Me, I’m kinda hotheaded at times.”
“It’s alright.”
Following the brief exchange, we started to converse as if we had known each other for years as old acquaintances. Time flew past on silver wings, and soon it was already 10.20. I was actually somehow reluctant to leave my newfound friend, but I knew my mother would kill me if I didn’t go home soon. However, as I proceeded down the road, I had the feeling that someone was following me. Whipping around, I turned to face the stalker, and who was it?
Jerry.
Exasperated, I tell him:
“Will you please stop following me?”
He doesn’t reply, but merely flashes me a smile.
“Don’t follow me!”
I’m starting to get seriously annoyed. But he still doesn’t answer.
“Fine! You can follow! Whatever you want.”
I storm off down the asphalt. The soles of my shoes squeak and grunt in protest as I channel my anger through my legs into the ground. Soon after, my tantrum fades away into the night and I start talking to Jerry again, my feet still aching from the pressure of my stomping. This time, he answers back.
The conversation seems to speed time up. Soon enough, we arrive at my house door. As my finger pushes the bell button in, the supposedly merry melody resonates through the air. But in the darkness, the tinkling notes linger like eerie little spirits. I’m relieved when my mother opens the door. The first thing she does is to ask:
“Who is this young man?”
Before I can react, Jerry speaks up.
“I’m her classmate. We need to work on a school project.”
She seems to believe him.
“Now don’t just stand there! Remove your shoes and go up to Angela’s room to study.”
We obligingly make our way up to my room and enter. Once the door is closed, I stare him in the eye and yell:
“I didn’t say you could come into my house.”
“You didn’t say I couldn’t, either.”
He retorts, and I know that I have absolutely no chance of winning this battle of words.
“Fine. Just stay here. I’m going to wash my face.”
I head into the cramped and moist bathroom. As I splash water onto my face, I notice something touch the back of my head.
“I told you to stay in my room-”
Before I can finish my sentence, Jerry’s hand forces my head into the water- filled sink with surprising ease. I scream. At least, I try to. But all that emits from my mouth is a pearly string of bubbles. And in the reflective porcelain surface of the sink, I see not myself, but a scared, helpless girl; one like a passenger on the Titanic; another victim of the water.
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Canary word: Present
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,855 Reviews
Hey there,
I won't make this too long, but I did notice a few things.
First, at the beginning, you said: I’d flopped the test in History by answering wrongly a question about the Titanic’s sinking. To be honest, my first thought when I read this was, she 'flopped' down onto her bed to "submit an incorrect answer". So you could think about changing the wording on that bit.
Also, I think using the word "West' is too vague, perhaps mentioning Texas and then proceeding in some way to mention living "West".
If Angela's mother had warned her about creepy guys, then I highly doubt any mother would allow a boy into her daughter's room unsupervised. I know my mother wouldn't.
Just some thoughts, I enjoyed your story, very creepy.
~Skye~
Hello there,
So this is difficult stuff. Where you planning it to be "surreal"? If not then you have some problems with this. logic problems.
# 16 year old kids don't go to universities normally.
# Universities usually takes classes in morning and noon. There are night classes but in that case I feel you have to mention it.
# University faculty do not give detention to students ( to my knowledge)
# A mother hardly takes the bait of "group studying" from an unknown boy with that ease at 10.30 in the night.
prose
I felt the prose was good. it was neat. But you just couldn't click the titanic irony. Maybe this was because the ending looked random and nonsensical.
overall
This can turn out good if you work on it. 3.4/5
Keep writing,
Puck.
Oh well.
I didn't take much time working on this.
This story was a bit hard to follow. Your protagonist states that she is 16 (well, around that age, at least) but also attends university. And says that they have detention there. Until 10 P.M.
You don't really appear to give any detail or description in your dialogue. Sure, you do give a few descriptors at first, but you kind of stop for a long period of time before restarting for a few sentences.
And lastly, the ending seemed a bit...what's the word....anti-climactic or like a Diabolus ex Machina (That last one probably isn't the correct term). There was an attempt at a creepy build-up, but ultimately it didn't seem to work out too well.
The titanic simile, on the other hand, seems to kind of work out in this story. It implies that the protagonist is an innocent victim of a terrible circumstance that nobody could've seen coming.
This story has the elements of a good horror story (I certainly haven't seen a double subversion/deconstruction on the old "don't judge a book by its cover" Aesop), you just need to work on the execution a bit more.
(Please note that I have not done many reviews before, so please correct me if I got anything wrong).
Thx for the review. I had a word limit, so the ending was a bit rushed. I'll try to do better next time though!