Chapter 4Mature

We're sitting in Calvin's basement now, playing a wonderful game of Fat Cat, although I'm losing miserably. He looks at me and smiles a mischievious smile.

"What?" I ask.

"I just got that new movie, want to watch it? It's a scary one!"

He knows I hate scary movies.

"Uh . . . O-Ok," I reply, putting down my controller with slightly trembling hands. He gets up and turns off the gaming console, then pops in the DVD. He come and sits down beside me again, putting his arm over my shoulders in a strictly friend like manner. I hate that.

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"It's ok Jennifer, he can't get us in here,"

The stupid lead actor in the movie makes use of his idiocy by leading "Jennifer", the lead actress, into the closet. In my mind I am thinking he must have something mentally wrong with him to do that. I'm shivering into Calvin's side. I hate scary movies, and this one is no different, I'm so scared. I shut my eyes. A scream rings out across the basement, but when I look at the TV, nothing's happened. I look at Calvin who's looking at me.

"Did you scream?" he asks.

"No, I heard it though, where did it come from."

"I think it came from upstairs, come on." Calvin gets up, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs. When we get to the top, his Mother is lying on the couch, obdviously taking a nap. We go over to see if she heard someone scream. I feel as if we are the people in the movie we were watching, the heroic male and idiotic following female. As we approach his mother, it is my turn to scream.

Blood drenches the couch and floor. A long cut goes across his mothers throat. I collapse onto the floor, Calvin holding me from the side. I can't help it. I heave up my breakfast into the glowing blood on the floor, and cry many tears. Then a door slams up stairs. I feel as if I could jump out of my skin, I don't think I've ever been more scared. I wish you were here, you could help us.

Once again, Calvin is the heroic male. He picks me up and forces me to move to the front hall where the stairs and the front door are. At the top of the stairs, lies a flowing river of blood that continues down the stairs. His little sister stands at the top, blood spurting from her chest. She smiled then collapsed down the stairs. My scream gets caught in my throat. A man exits the farthest room. He carries a red knife in his hand, if only it was painted red.

This time, Calvin is not heroic. He grabs me and we run back to the basement. As we descend down the stairs, one thought passes through my mind,

Take me, not Calvin.

The End

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