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.


7. You Messed With The Wrong Girl


I had changed out of my dripping wet clothes, and was sitting on the back wall. He wasn't going to get away with any of this, and he'd better not mess me about this time. I jumped down from the wall, crunching up to absorb the shock. I wanted to be at peak strength for the upcoming battle, so I could cause him as much pain as possible before he eventually killed me.

It felt strange, walking confidently to my death. I should be a nervous wreck, or at least shaking a bit. Not confidently striding through the grass. I guess it's because I knew I'd be causing some pathetic spook to feel the worst pain ever.

I've always been up for a fight, but only for a just cause. Like when I tackled this 11th grader to the floor for picking on a 7th grader, or when I made this total jerk leave the only openly gay kid in the school alone. I'm not going to say how I did, but lets just say that he might have to scratch "having kids" off his bucket list.

I arrived at the pool, with the french doors opposite it. They were wide open, after I flung them open whilst running out, encouraging me to come in and face death. I drew a deep breath in, and entered the place, where my death would happen.

Just like last time, as I entered the kitchen, the french doors slammed shut behind me. This time, it was even scarier, as I didn't have anything on me that could act as a light. Not really helpful, especially when you can't see what'll kill you, until it's standing right in front of you.

Going into the hall, I began thinking about what would happen once the ghost had done what it was going to do. As this place was abandoned, I'd probably just lie there with the deep gash showing up boldly on my neck, as I decomposed into just a skeleton. Maybe even further than that, so when some buyers turn up to check the place out, they'll find a dark stain inside a sports bra, denim shorts, red socks and Nike trainers, with a puddle of blood around the area.

Now that was a nice, happy thought.

I crossed the hall, not sure where to start looking. Where would a murderous ghost be hiding out? I went over to the photographs, and noticed something weird.

There was a mirror hanging above the photos, covered with a thick layer of dust. That wasn't that weird, but the writing on it was. It was sort of like when you draw on the mirror after a hot shower.

"...I could feel the aura of her presence...It was her doom...Someone like you...No-one wants to be defeated...This is the end of your life."

I couldn't make heads or tails of it, as it was so mixed up. The baseline was, that he knows I'm here and I'm going to die today. Yeah, I know that, but not after you wish you hadn't messed with me.

Ignoring the mixed-up message, I went through into the living room, where the piano was. It stood out boldly in the room, beckoning me over. I followed it's call, and stood, with my hands resting on the instrument, working things out.

I was considering where to go next, when the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Someone, or something, was watching me. It could only mean one thing; now was when I died.

I whirled around, wanting to stare death in the face, only to see that nothing was there. I breathed out a deep sigh of relief, as I wasn't quite ready to die. My confidence disappeared though, when something slammed a hand on the piano keys.

I screamed then, and fell backwards over the back of an ornate chair, in my struggle to get away. I reversed further, like a panicky baby elephant, as the jangling mix of notes faded.

Only when the room was silent again, did I go back over to the piano. That freaked me the hell out, and he was definitely going to pay for that. Not content with ripping my throat out, he sets up a remote triggering device on his piano, just to scare me.

After a thorough search of the piano, I found nothing that could trigger it, but I found a ripped piece of sheet music. No title, or artist, and I couldn't understand how it was meant to sound. Probably quite good, if past records are anything to go by, even though I've never heard any of his music.

I left it on the stand, going reluctantly back into the hall. I was very scared of running into him, as I've seen millions of horror films like this. The helpless (yeah right) young girl is exploring a haunted house, when she rounds a corner and ends up face-to-face with the resident ghost. She doesn't have time to scream, before her throat is sliced open, and her blood is drained out by the malevolent spirit. I don't want that to happen to me.

I placed my foot on the bottom step, ready to scout out the upstairs, when there was a loud creaking noise from upstairs. Screaming like a cheerleader in a zombie flick, I rushed backwards into the hard front door, watching the staircase to see if anything would come flying downstairs.

I stood there, backed up against the door, hyperventilating like crazy, for quite some time. Only when I was satisfied that nothing was going to come flying down towards me and suck out my blood, did I finally pluck up the courage to go upstairs.

I stood on the landing, looking around for anything that could have made that creak. It could have come from any one of the many rooms up here.

"Just like that Monty Hall Theory thing. Pick a door, check another with nothing in it, decide whether to check your original choice, or check a different one." I joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere. It would have worked better if my voice wasn't very high-pitched. I sounded like Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls.

Picking one at random, I strongly pushed it open to reveal what looked like a mini-cinema. I only got to look for about 10 seconds, before the door slammed shut in my face, and there was a loud, frantic clicking on the other side, as the door was locked. Clearly that was the wrong room.

Stepping back to my original spot, I go to pick another door, when there's a quiet sound behind me. Like an empty swing blowing in the wind, combined with a bedsheet being hung out to dry and flapping in the wind. I took a deep breath in, then slowly turned around.

A cloaked figure was suspended in mid-air behind me, hovering inches above the ground. Their black, hooded cloak wasn't the scariest thing about them. That was under the hood. Their face was nothing but a skull, with empty eye sockets and a grisly, toothy smile.

I jumped back, hammering frantically on the recently-locked door, hoping that someone would hear. It was all in vain though, as the door remained locked. I kept looking frantically over my shoulder, not taking my eyes off the ghostly figure.

Having given up on calling for any help, I turned back to the apparition, who hadn't moved one bit. Shaking like mad, I kept my eyes locked onto it, when something struck me. The ghost appeared to be attatched to something. There was a white ribbon coming down from under the cloak.

Curiously, I edged closer to the figure, until I was standing right in front of it. Up close, it didn't seem at all scary. The skull-like face looked cheap and tacky. I stretched out a trembling hand, and pulled back the hood, revealing a Hallowe'en mask attatched to a red helium balloon. That explained the ribbon tying the balloon down. This "ghost" was no more than a cheap prank made of a black bedsheet, a helium balloon, and a Hallowe'en mask.

"Ha, ha, ha, very funny. God, how immature are you? This pile of junk wouldn't scare anyone." I shouted, making sure that the real ghost heard me. I gave the balloon a hefty kick, sending it flying backwards. The weight it was attatched to was dragged back by the force, sending the balloon a decent distance down the stairs. That felt good.

Satisfied with de-bunking a pathetic prank, I turned to pick another door. I jumped though, when I saw that the door to the master bedroom had mysteriously opened. Clearly this was the right room. It had to be the one where all the trouble started, didn't it? Just my luck.

Going through to the master bedroom, I had barely gone two steps in the room, when the door slammed behind me. I was kind-of expecting it, but it still made me jump a fair distance back. If the door slamming wasn't a bad enough sign, then the clicking of the door locking behind me, definitely was.

After I recovered from that mini heart-attack, I turned back to the empty room. All was seemingly normal, even the grey square on the bed. I went over to investigate, and had just picked it up when I saw it was a book. Moreover, it was a popular children's book: The Spider And The Fly. I'd read it when I was about six years old, and it gave me nightmares.

" "Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly "Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;" " I read.

"Very appropriate for right now, don't you agree?" Came the voice I'd been hoping I'd never hear again. Dropping the book, I drove my left foot down and aimed my right leg at his side in a perfect roundhouse kick.

Well, it would have been perfect if he hadn't caught my foot. I was stuck on one leg, as he held onto my right, completely helpless.

"Never try to kick above the hips. Otherwise someone could easily do this." He pushed my leg back, forcing me over. I turned to my side as I went down, catching myself before the impact. One of the first things you learn in thrillseeking, is how to break-fall. I carried my weight over, landing on the palms of my hands. He was standing right over me, giving me this weird look. Almost like he was slightly impressed with me.

"I admire the attempt though." He added.

"Who said anything about an attempt?" I replied, curling my knees into my chest and flipping myself up. I smacked him hard in the shins as I got up; not completely by accident though. As he went down, I gave him a hard dragon-fist punch to the throat. Dragon-fist is brilliant for soft targets, as the knuckle sticking out acts as a double-punch to the area. The throat, and bottom of the ribs are best. Add the crotch to that list if you're fighting a guy, but not if it's a girl. Trust me, pelvic bones plus dragon-fist punch, equals a broken hand. I still have the plaster-cast on top of my closet.

He caught my fist, dragging my arm back over his shoulder and catching me in a headlock. That proved to be a big mistake on his part.

My mother is a pain. She wants me to be the typical All-American Girl, who's a cheerleader, is obsessed with anything pink and girly, with a dream to be a model. She insists that my thrillseeking is "just a phase" that I'm going through. Phases don't last for 7 years! I can see about the model-thing though, as I'm about 5 feet 10 inches tall, with a longish neck. My long neck does come in useful when someone puts me in a headlock, like right now.

"Now will you actually listen to m-Ahhhh!" He cried out, as I sank my teeth into his arm. I'm grateful for my long neck, otherwise I wouldn't reach.

The thick, almost glue-like stuff he's made of, ectoplasm, runs over my tongue and tastes absolutely foul. Kinda like a chunk of burnt pork, that's had ice-cold, cheapo McDonalds coffee poured over it. Then had several people stub out cigarettes on it. Enough to make me want to turn vegetarian.

I whirled around on the spot, catching him hard in the guts. "So you can taunt me before I die? Dream on!" I reply, as he drops to the floor. With one quick swipe of his hands, my legs are knocked out from under me, and I join him on the floor. With one swift move, he winds up standing over me.

"Taunting? How was I taunting y-"I cut him off by striking both his legs at the same time, like I was making a snow angel, taking him down. As he went down, I flipped myself upright, forcing him down as I stood on his arched back.

"Oh, I don't know? Maybe your stupid, pathetic, immature headgames have gone too far!" I said, straight-punching him in the chest with each strong word.

On the last punch, he caught my hand and dragged me forward and down. My hip caught on the edge of the bed, sending sparks of pain up my body, like I'd been shot. The pain was enough of a distraction for me to forget to break-fall, so my elbow stung as well as my hip.

"I was only having some fun, trying to scare you a bit." He replied, pushing me backwards onto the bed as I tried jumping up with a straight kick. He'd manage to get me to stop fighting him off, but only by kneeling on my lower legs, and holding my wrists down on either side of my head.

"Well, it didn't work." I replied, forced to listen.

"Liar. You and I both know that you were scared." He replied, laugh- Was he laughing at me? I tried kicking out at him, but he was too heavy for me to kick off.

"Fine, I'm a liar. You scared me. Now can you please get off of me and get on with killing me, as I'm starting to get bored of this." I said, giving up and really getting furious with him.

"Why would I kill you? You're the one thing that can stand a chance of helping me out." He let go of my wrists, sinking back onto his heels. He was still on my legs though, which were starting to go dead.

"What makes you think I'd ever help you. You threaten to kill me, appear in my room in the middle of the night, leave a threatening message for me on the back of my homemade crucifix, force me to dive off a cliff, dive in after me later on, try to drown me twice, slam a door shut behind me, leave another threatening message on the mirror downstairs, freak me out with that slamming a hand on the piano keys trick, slam a door in my face, prank me with a pile of junk made to look like a ghost, slam and lock a door in my face, creep up on me, get in a fight with me, then round it all off by crushing my legs. Yeah, sure I'll help." I load on the sarcasm for the last part, much to his dismay.

"Do you have to resort to sarcasm? I mean, I could be stuck walking the earth for years, without the need to be mocked when I ask for help. And have you never heard of a joke? I get the chance to have some fun with the one person who can see me, and she turns out to be a bloody killjoy. What did I do when I was alive that would mean I get stuck with this afterlife? Oh yeah, I remember. I managed to get the most powerful secret society in the world, to kill me." He finally gets off my legs, much to my relief, and starts pacing across the floor.

"You got who to kill you?" I asked, sounding interested.

He sighed, turned to face me, and just scowled at me. "What do you care? You'll probably just laugh in my face, then dash off. After all, I'm pathetic, and before you say anything, yes I can read your mind. I heard everything." He snaps, as a shaft of moonlight shines through the window and hits him, making him look like a moon-god.

"I didn't say I wouldn't help you. I just meant were giving me trouble. I had to fight back. I guess I went a bit too far aswell." I said, feeling ashamed.

He sighs again, then drops the hatred. "Well, I guess I should give you a chance."

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