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.


5. Whatever You Are, Please Don't Kill Me


Ghosts, ha! I'm doing this at night, and I'm still not the slightest bit scared. At least the place is abandoned, so I'm in no danger of being caught.

Sitting in a fir tree at the very back of the property, I was setting the camera up to take a video. I'd set up the Permanent Flash, and was changing the setting to Video. I selected the setting, then began my slow descent to begin filming.

Landing in the waist-high grass, I began trekking my way to the house. I'd start filming when I was in, or it would be too difficult. It would take forever though, as the grass was so long, and hard to move through. I bet I'd get a tick from this, knowing my luck.

Reaching the house, I went around it, taking my camera out. I might start filming now, as I suppose a minute of footage showing the inside of my bag, wouldn't be such a sacrifice. I took it out, pressed the button, then began filming.

"Hello, and you're watching my video. I'm Diana," I turned the camera round, so I was looking down the lens, then back, "and this is me completing a dare. I was dared to break into, then video, the inside of a celebrity mansion. Here's the place I'm breaking into," I turned the camera to see the house,"and I might as well get on with it. After all, I am the dare champi-can you hear that?"

I froze, as I could hear the weirdest sound ever. It was a metallic squeaking and creaking sound, with a strange clicking noise over the top. It was really weird, and strangely loud. Almost like someone wanted me to hear it.

Squeeeaaak, click click. Creeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak, clickclickclickclick. Squeaak, clickclick click click. Creeaak.

"What the devil is that? Can you lot hear it, or is it just me? I'm going to see, and you lot are coming with me." I say, walking through the grounds. I carry on walking through the grounds, following the squeaky-clicking noise. It was so weird, and I couldn't think what it was. I went through the grounds, following the noise, when I found it.

"Well, viewers. That, is what was doing the squeaking and creaking noise. It looks pretty cool, yet it reminds me of somewhere else." I say, pointing the camera up at the massive ferris wheel. It was creaking in the wind, but it wasn't doing the clicking.

"I remember now! Anyone from 10th grade remember the video on Nuclear Power in geography? Remember the ferris wheel in that nuclear plant, Chernobyl? I think I've found it, and it's right here, in Malibu, on film." I say, filming it.

"Well, that's one mystery solved, and the start of the tour. Here is the patio, with the pool. Don't you just wanna dive right in there?" I ask, getting good footage of the algae-filled water, floating leaves and mozzie larvae.

"I suppose, as it's been abandoned for years, I can let it go. To continue with the tour, that is the diving board. I'm not going up there, as if some joker pushes me off, I'll be going straight in there, which is manky." I say, indicating the high diving board, then the filthy pool water.

"According to legend, the inspiration for one of the world's most famous songs, stood right here, all those years ago in 1981. She stood right here, calm and collected, in her string bikini, waiting to be noticed. It was a fatal mistake for that young woman, and she found out how fatal, when the song was released, in 1983." I said, focussing the camera on a spot by a sun-lounger. I've heard that story a billion times before, but it's all true.

I turn and notice the huge french doors, which would be a great feature to the film.

"Every day, for just over 30 years, you can imagine the owner looking out of these doors, into the grounds. Each in different circumstances. Such as, rehearsing lines to himself for the next music video, slow-dancing with his wife on their wedding night, carrying his newborn child in his arms whilst hushing them to sleep, or keeping an eye on his kids as they play outside. You can feel his presence echo through the wal-oh God!"

I leaned against the glass doors, filming inside the house, when my arm knocked against the handle, opening the door. I had easy access to the house now, so there was no going back.

"Well that's helpful. I can film indoors now. Let's have a look indoors, you know you want to." I go through into the room, and I'm thrust into a more sinister world.

"This is the kitchen, which looks out over the pool. Nothing's changed at all for the years this place has been abandoned. Except for the decay, which is obvious here. Eww." I say, focussing the camera around, then on a rotten bowl of fruit. It adds realism.

I carry on to go out of the kitchen, when there's a loud bang behind me. I whirl around with the camera, noticing that the french doors have slammed shut behind me.

"Ok, that's a bit creepy. Probably just the wind though. I tell you, if this was a horror film, that would not be a good sign. I'm carrying on though, as the show must go on."

I leave the kitchen, and go straight through into a very wide hallway. Several open-plan rooms lead off it, but a few have doors.

"So this must be the main hall, where a lot of people must have come and gone. It feels a bit like a catwalk. Maybe Naomi Campbell, who featured in a music video, practised her walk. Doubt it, but it's possible." I said, scanning the camera up and down the corridor. I notice a cluster of photographs nearby, and go over to them, filming all the way.

"These are the photos, where the memories are kept. This one's really sweet, don't you lot agree?" I say, focussing on a photo. The owner, holding his newborn son gently in his arms, kissing him on his tiny forehead. It's a polaroid, so there's a caption written on the bottom.

" "Welcome to the world, son. It's a beautiful place." It's so sweet. He was a brilliant father, and probably the greatest friend for his kids." I say, quoting the caption. His handwriting was terrible, but shows how he cared more about his family, than how it looked.

"Moving on from there, here's the living room. Huge, isn't it? You can't imagine that anyone has lived here, but they have." I say, slowly guiding the camera across the room. It's absolutely huge. Much bigger than Will Smith's place. The lens falls on the piano in the corner, and I get a new topic.

"This is the piano, where I bet some of the most iconic works were written. Very ornate, and very much like the old-timey french stuff. Like Marie Antoinette style. I would give it a go, but I can't play piano and there's no music around. Bad luck to those viewers who want to hear me play." I say, doing one final sweep of the living room, before heading upstairs to the most interesting part.

"This is the upstairs, where the most interesting room in the whole house is. I happen to know that it's" I push open the dark, mahogany door that leads to the master bedroom, and step into the dark world.

"Here we are, in the scariest part of the house. The master bedroom. Here, the owner of the house met his untimely death. Right on that king-size bed. You can almost feel that he's still here, unable to accept the terrible accide-"

I screamed then, as the bedroom door had slammed shut behind me. Just like in the kitchen.

"Well, that was certainly startling, but not scary. Not scary at all. As I was saying, here's the king-size bed, upon which, he died. Apparantely, his dying words were a curse, placed upon anyone who dares to provoke it. I don't believe it though, and I'm going to put it to the test." I announce, setting the camera down on a table, with the lens facing the bed.

"Ok, here's how to provoke the curse. You have to ask "is that scary?" three times, then perform the most well-known dance routine ever. Before you've finished the routine, his ghost will appear. It's all a lie though, so here goes." I say to the camera, before taking a deep breath and asking the question.

"Is that scary? That's the first time." I say, holding up one finger.

"Is that scary? That's the second time. Only one more, before you get to see me make a fool of myself." I put up a second finger, then ask the third question.

"Is that scary?" I ask, shaking myself loose. I crick my neck away from the door, then towards it. Then I jump.

There's a person standing in the doorway, completely in shadow. I can barely see them, as the only light comes from the camera flash. It's enough to make me jump, and realise that I've been caught red-handed.

"Bad luck viewers. I thought this place was abandoned, but I was clearly wrong." I say to the camera, turning my head for a second, then back. When I turn back, I get a shock. How can anyone move from about 3 feet away, to nearly touching you, in one second.

I freeze, as the person stands so close to me. Something is very, very wrong. A security guard would have slapped the handcuffs on my wrist by now, instead of, I can't quite describe it more accurately than Staring Me Down And Silently Taunting Me From Up Close. It's a very unnerving feeling, especially when they try circling me.

"Uh uh, don't you let anyone get the better of you. You let whoever this is break eye-contact with you at your own risk. Follow their pace." The encouraging part of me says, as I follow the footsteps, staying one step ahead. The camera's behind me now, so they're completely in shadow. I can't even see their eyes. I stay locked onto his movements, tracing each step. It feels like I'm a kid again, playing tag in the playground. Trying to stay one move ahead, and several more after that. I'm stepping backwards, keeping my distance, when I bump into the table with the camera on it.

That little mistake, costs me. I'm backed up against a table, with someone standing, literally an inch away. It's the first time that I've ever been scared, as I have no clue how I'm going to get out of this. I can't duck to the side, as this person has me trapped. Strong arms either side of me, keep me imprisoned. I have an idea as to how I'm getting out of here though, and it had better work. Or, I'm dead. Maybe even literally.

I stare directly at the shadowey attacker, trying to appear strong. Never look weak when you're a thrillseeker, or you're in trouble. I let it go when they actually touch me though.

One finger. One single finger placed gently on my bottom lip, with the fingernail on my bottom teeth, is enough to let the fear out. I get the shakes all over, as a glacier runs down my spine. Not just a chill, but a whole glacier. I've had many experiences where I could have died, but I actually feel that I'm going to die. That this person will kill me.

"Who-Whoever you are. P-P-Please, d-don't kill me." I stammer, before the person moves their finger over my whole mouth, silencing me.

"Don't tell anyone that I exist." They whisper, with threat and malice dripping off every word. They slide their finger off me, and I speak again.

"Wha-What are you?" I ask, before the finger returns to my mouth, silencing me again.

"I'm what you don't believe in, remember." They say, before the shadow disappears for some reason, and I stand, horrified.

This guy is dead. It was shown on the news, I could find his grave, and read the online obituaries. Yet I'm standing in his mansion, paralysed with fear, as he threatens me. How is this possible? Please, let someone tell me how this is happening.

"It's happening because you're what I need. I need someone exactly like you." He slides his finger down my top lip, before the first joint flicks onto my bottom teeth for a split second. It's all I need to get away.

"Go!" The encouraging part of me says, and I do it. I clamp my jaws together, biting hard, forcing my teeth into his finger. I should taste blood by now, but he doesn't have any, but he can clearly feel pain. He backs off, as I let his finger go, instinctively grab my camera, then run out of there, throwing the mahogany door open and taking the stairs two at a time.

"Get. Out. Of. Here! Move it! Not to the right, to the left! You're panicking, and that's a baaad thing to do when chased. Think of it as forest-running, and he's a wolf that you've bumped into. You run as far away as possible, then get a barrier. Come ON, girl! Move IT!" The encouraging part of me says, as I charge blindly through the dark halls. I bolt blindly through the kitchen, my hands as thick and clumsy as uncooked pork sausages on the handle. I finally get it open, then it's a wild dash through the grounds.

I draw breath the way that we're taught to in P.E., to get maximum distance between me, and that thing back in there. I force myself to run faster, breathing in through the nose, and out through the mouth. My legs ache from the sheer amount of lactic acid in my muscles. I don't think I can make it to the back wall. I can't make it! Ican'tmakeit! Ican'tmakeit!

Something moves in the long grass behind me, and I tell myself that I must make it. I drag myself up the high wall, barely aware that I'm screaming like a cheerleader in a B-movie horror flick. My legs are ripped apart by the rough spackle stuff that's painted on, and the hot, sticky, wet blood runs down my leg. I don't care though, as I must get away. I have to get far, far, far away. Oh, why did I try to prove that curse wrong?

I collapse on the other side, lying flat on the sidewalk. I'm too worn out to do anything but lie there, and let myself just collapse into nothing.

"MOVE IT RIGHT NOW!!! If that thing comes over the wall, lands on you, then sucks out your blood, you're on your own." The encouraging side of me shrieks, as I force myself up and into a sprint. The cold night air turns into razor blades the second it goes into my lungs. I have to move though, and right now. I charge through the streets of Malibu, not even the slightest bit worried about getting stopped. Nobody stops a running girl, especially when she's in sports-kit.

I bolt in my house, upstairs to my room, slam the door shut, then hunch up in a corner, desperately catching my breath.

I'm going nowhere near that place again. Not whilst that thing "needs" me. What for, I have no idea, but not with me.

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