TheFlyingWriter
Procrastinating Perfectionist
Jack didn't exactly hear a reply. He heard a voice talking, and it sounded like Max. But he wasn't sure what she was saying and he wasn't sure what was happening. So he just hoped and prayed it was her telling him she was okay. God, please let that be it.
He scrambled across the roof, a bit carefully, though mostly recklessly, until he made it to the second story window. For probably the first time in his life, luck was on his side. The window was cracked open. "Thank God," he breathed softly, mentally apologizing to the deity for giving him the bird earlier. The boy managed to fit his fingers between the window and the sill before heaving the tiny entryway open.
He slipped through, quieter than a cat (if cats had twelve legs and sounded like a train), then slowly shut the window behind him. He found himself in what looked like an attic, if the creaky wooden floor and dusty cardboard boxes were any indication. 'Great,' he thought, 'Number five choice for the angry murderer ghost to catch and kill you.'
~
The ghost was intrigued at first. He hadn't had a visitor in so long. And this one was... pretty.
It watched her for a while, as she hurried away from the fence of his backyard, broke his window, and climbed into his home. Now that was just... rude. The ghost moved to the other side of the wall, watching as the stranger collapsed onto the living room floor. And that was when he saw the light. She had turned it on, using what looked like a little metal... thing...?
The ghost didn't like it. So the ghost tried to make it stop.
It picked up a dusty vase from the coffee table in the main room, before pegging it at the girl, hissing angrily. This was his home now, and it was his rules. No family weighing him down, no pesky neighbors always visiting. No strangers coming in his home and doing as they pleased.
That had been happening a lot lately. A group of people in bright colors kept coming into his house, as if trying to tell him what to do. And he was done with it. This girl, he realized then, kind of looked like Susan.
He hated Susan.
He scrambled across the roof, a bit carefully, though mostly recklessly, until he made it to the second story window. For probably the first time in his life, luck was on his side. The window was cracked open. "Thank God," he breathed softly, mentally apologizing to the deity for giving him the bird earlier. The boy managed to fit his fingers between the window and the sill before heaving the tiny entryway open.
He slipped through, quieter than a cat (if cats had twelve legs and sounded like a train), then slowly shut the window behind him. He found himself in what looked like an attic, if the creaky wooden floor and dusty cardboard boxes were any indication. 'Great,' he thought, 'Number five choice for the angry murderer ghost to catch and kill you.'
~
The ghost was intrigued at first. He hadn't had a visitor in so long. And this one was... pretty.
It watched her for a while, as she hurried away from the fence of his backyard, broke his window, and climbed into his home. Now that was just... rude. The ghost moved to the other side of the wall, watching as the stranger collapsed onto the living room floor. And that was when he saw the light. She had turned it on, using what looked like a little metal... thing...?
The ghost didn't like it. So the ghost tried to make it stop.
It picked up a dusty vase from the coffee table in the main room, before pegging it at the girl, hissing angrily. This was his home now, and it was his rules. No family weighing him down, no pesky neighbors always visiting. No strangers coming in his home and doing as they pleased.
That had been happening a lot lately. A group of people in bright colors kept coming into his house, as if trying to tell him what to do. And he was done with it. This girl, he realized then, kind of looked like Susan.
He hated Susan.
