Never Alone Version Two

I'm writing Never Alone, my first completed Movella, again as I want to make it even better. I might even send it to a publisher. Here goes...

After a young thrillseeker gets bored in the summer holidays, she comes up with a fun-sounding, if strictly illegal, boredom-buster. Break into, and take photos of, some celebrities homes. Will Smiths' place= Too easy. Casa de Jennifer Aniston= She could do it blindfolded. However, a dare from her best friend leaves her getting caught by the owner of Mansion Number 3. If that wasn't scary enough, the owner died when she was 12.

Now, 15-year-old Diana has a huge secret to hide, and an even bigger one to uncover. Both could leave her the same way as her ghostly companion.

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2. Highly Against The Law

 

"Does this feel like a bad idea to you, because it is!" The demoralising side hisses, as I balance on the high wall. My legs had been shredded by the hard climb to the top, but at least they weren't bleeding.

"When are you a wimp? If you hang around for too long, then you're even more likely to get caught then you are normally." The encouraging part of me says, as I try stabling myself on the high wall. It doesn't work though, and I end up sprawled in the grass. At least I was on the right side of the wall, so I didn't have to climb back over again.

I straighten up, brush some bits of dead grass off me, then carry on creeping through the grounds. It's pretty cool after dark, and I'm eternally grateful for The Karate Kid, and The Cannes Film Festival. Otherwise, I'd be unbelievably screwed.

I reach the back of the house, pressing myself up against the stone walls. All the lights in the place are off, and the windows are all shut. Except one.

I look up at the tiny window, on the second floor. It's the only way in, but what the hell, gotta go through with it.

I push myself through the holly bushes, prickling myself a good one on the way. Why did the architect choose to put the bloody drainpipe, in the middle of a holly bush? I reach it though, tense my muscles in my upper arms, then start climbing. I hug the drainpipe tightly, dragging myself up the sleek plastic.

P.E. lessons are a lot like Marmite, apparantly. Either you love them, or hate them. Personally, I like them sometimes, as I'm quite good at sports and try to keep myself at peak fitness at all times. However, 30-odd teenage girls in short shorts, playing rounders on the field, where a bunch of builders are overlooking, is a recipe for wolf-whistles, catcalls, middle-finger salutes and getting sent to detention for calling them perverts, which they are.

My arms are already aching, and I'm about three-quarters of the way up. I'm also very close to slipping all the way back down, as I'm sweating from the effort. It could be worse though, as I could be trying this in the middle of the day. Then I'd be boiling, as well as aching.

I'm directly parallel to the window, and about a forearms' length away from it. Clutching the drainpipe tightly, with my free arm, I reach out and open it wider. Now it's open fully, and I bet I can get through it.

Clutching the window tightly, I unhook my leg from around the drainpipe and wedge my foot firmly in the join between the windowsill and the wall. That's the strongest point, and you're least likely to slip. It leaves me star-shaped against the wall, 15 feet up.

Ignoring the pain of my shoulder being stretched, I drag my other leg to join the rest of me, still clutching the drainpipe with my hand. That soon joins the rest of me, clutching the window.

Now for the tricky bit. Bending my knees as little as possible, I slip my head and shoulders under the open window, so I'm looking in at the room. It's pitch black, but it shows I'm making progress. I slide my elbows over the ledge, tense up my quads, then spring up from the windowsill, so I'm half-in the place. Stabling my feet on the glass window pane, I give myself an extra push up, over, and in.

The dull, metallic thunk of my head on metal bath taps, resonates through my skull. I clearly landed in a bathroom of some sorts. Fumbling along the walls, I blindly search for a switch. My hand closes around the thin cord, and I pull.

The light fills the room, bouncing off the walls and shimmering on the metal fixtures. It's very, very fancy, and girly. All the ceramics, including the bath, are a delicate blush shade of pink, with a darker shade of pink streaked through it. It looks exactly, like someone's made a bathroom out of raspberry ripple ice-cream. All the metal fixtures however, are gold. I don't think it's real gold, but it's probably expensive none-the-less. Especially the taps, which are shaped like dolphins or mermaids.

I back into a corner, taking my camera from my bag. I have to get a picture of this, as it's too awesome to not have one. I switch the flash off, hold it up, try to get everything in the picture, then press the button.

It's one of my best snapshots, and dead impressive. I slip my camera back in my bag, and head on to the next room in the Smith Family Home.

I push the door open into the next room, where it's pitch black. Taking my camera out, I fiddle with the settings until I find the Permenant Flash setting. Now I can use my camera as a torch. Holding up my camera, I shine the flash around the room, so I can tell where I am.

I'm in a bedroom, and a girly one at that. All the walls are a creamy white colour, with the thickest violet carpet I've ever seen. This has to belong to Willow, as it's an 11-year-old girls' pastel paradise. The ebony four-poster bedframe is the darkest thing in the room, and stands out from the delicate pastel swirl. I have to get a snapshot of this.

Holding up the camera, I take a picture of the room. It's an amazing shot, and it'll make everyone SO jealous when it's back to school in September. A few more photos later, and I'm ready to go looking for that climbing wall.

I go down the clear, plastic staircase, looking around for the climbing wall. I'm in an open-plan hallway, with a ma-hoo-sive living room off to my right. I mean it too, as it's probably bigger than the whole first floor of my house. Being a movie megastar may be shallow, but it's good at getting you the best things in life.

I can't help myself, as I have to get a picture of the living room. I lift my camera, and take a picture of the whole thing. Including the flat-screen TV on the far wall. The flash dances around, and there's a flicker of movement from the connected kitchen.

"Who's there?" Comes a shout from the kitchen. "Come out now, you're trespassing!"

I turn and bolt back upstairs, running full-tilt. I don't care that I missed the climbing wall photo, as I don't want to get arrested instead. I retrace my footsteps back into Willows' room, and back up against the wall, listening out for anyone.

I'm about to relax, when I hear the regular tapping sound of someone coming upstairs. Whoever saw me, must want to catch me. Fat chance of that happening.

I turned and ran back into the small bathroom, with the open window. Scrambling onto the window ledge, I hooked my torso through the window, kicked hard at the ledge, got myself completely through the window, then realised I'd made a big mistake.

I draw my knees up to my chest, breathing in sharply. I'd forgotten all about the sharp drop on the other side of the window. Relaxing my knee joints for the impact, I prepare for it.

"This is going to hurt." The demoralising side of me hisses, as I crash into the holly bush below me. I get prickled and scratched all over, before finally touching down. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it was going to, but the stabbing pains of the holly prickles absolutely kill.

Wrestling myself free from the holly bush, I ignore the loud ripping noise coming from my back, and run across the grounds at full tilt. There was more than holly in that bush; there were brambles aswell. One bramble vine has caught around my ankle and keeps whipping the free end against my calf. Beads of blood keep springing up from the lash-marks, to join the rivers of blood running from the prickle marks on the rest of my body. I would stop to unwind the bramble, but I might get caught.

Reaching the back wall, I jump as high as possible. My inquisitive fingers lodge themselves on the other side of the wall, acting as an anchor. I drag myself up onto the top of the wall, then over the other side, landing perfectly on my feet.

Safely on the other side, I gingerly unwind the spiny bramble from around my ankle. That was totally awesome!

"You have GOT to do that again! That was the most incredible thing, ever. Your friends are going to be so jealous." The encouraging part of me says, as I catch my breath. It's right though; they will be jealous.

I walk back home, considering who will make my friends really jealous. They have to be in either Malibu, or nearby Hollywood though, as I'm not going all the way over to Anaheim.

I carry on through the Malibu streets, planning who would impress my friends the most.

Who would impress my friends?

Impress my friends?

My friends?

Friends?

I've got it. The fact they live in Malibu, is also a big help aswell.

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