The Good The Bad and The Mad

A family with a gift thought to be extinct. A mad girl who can't speak. The person who wants them all dead. How will they survive... when there is a traitor among them, filtering information to the killer?

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1. Chapter One

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Boredom can kill. Not physically of course, but mentally, you’re dead. Well, that’s what everyone likes to believe. I'm sure someone in the world has died of boredom before. I bet no one yet has gone around graveyards looking for the engraving on a certain obscure stone at the back of the cemetery saying:

“Died of boredom, but we don’t really give a shit, it’s depressing”

I'm sure there must be someone in the world that nobody cared about and died of the boredom of having nothing to do with no one.

You can’t imagine the depths of the boredom I feel right now, I must be pretty close to joining the dead guy with that engraving on his tomb. Maybe mine will be a little different though.

People wouldn't bother to write on it.

Hell, they wouldn't bother to give me a fucking stone. I’d get something like a turd or a tuft of grass to mark my final resting place.

Yep, that sounds about right. I can just imagine some mistaken child destroying my tuft of grass after my dead body has fertilised a single dandelion in that single tuft of grass, then some kid comes along and tears it up to shove on someone else’s grave who actually has  A FUCKING STONE!

I could kill that kid, but obviously, I wouldn't be able to, because the nutrients of my dead body are in that weed he’d be carrying in that podgy little fist to shove on some old biddy’s grave who’s been dead for at least a century and the kid feels sorry that she doesn't have any flowers.  Well at least that old fart actually HAS a stone, I HAD a tuft of grass with a weed sticking out of it, but NOOOO, some little shit comes along and takes my only marker of my life to shove on someone else’s.

That’s a bit insulting if you ask me.

See, this is what results from dying of boredom. It just goes to show that when you’re bored, you just have to find something to entertain yourself. Like this. This whole moaning about boredom and how my un-dead life is going to be plagued by children tearing up my weed grave markers has entertained me to no end. Seriously. I am now plotting the possibility of haunting the person who first picks my dandelion.

That would entertain me throughout my boring ghostly life.

Did I mention death must be just as boring?

Oh, wait, something’s happening at the house I'm supposed to be watching yet have ignored for the past 10 minutes or so talking about my death by boredom.

This is why I'm so bored you see, I had to watch this place sitting in a tree.

A TREE for crying out loud.

Trust me; it becomes REALLY uncomfortable after sitting still for an hour with a twig up your ass.

Okay, time to get serious.

Maybe I should snap that twig up my bum to see if they notice it. I mean, they’re supposed to have good hearing, but they haven’t heard me breathing yet, so I think that’s a good sign, right?

Oh well, goodbye Mr Stick-who’s-been-invading-my-rectum-for-the-past-hour, it’s not been nice knowing you.

Fuck, that was louder than I thought. I think they might have possibly definitely heard that, they've stopped walking towards the house and are staring in my direction.

Crap, I really am stupid, but that stick was really annoying me…

Oh dear….

 

I groaned and raised my hand up to my forehead.

Turns out Mr Stick-who’d-been-invading-my-rectum-for-the-past-hour had been pretty important; like, half of the entire branch I was sitting on important.

I opened my eyes, and knew I wasn't outside any more, last I looked the sky didn't have a lampshade.

Or a bed; a comfy bed at that, but still, outdoors has no beds.

I wish it did, but it doesn't.

This must mean I'm inside the house. Their house.

I sigh and sit up, gasping as I notice I'm not wearing my clothes. Not. Wearing. My. Clothes.

I'm wearing some huge men’s t-shirt and trackies.

Meaning a man changed my clothes.

I silently jump out the bed and gasp as I put my weight on my right foot; I must have twisted my ankle when I fell out of that tree. Damn.

I desperately look around for my clothes, and thankfully, their sitting folded on a chair.

I hobbled over to them and quickly shove on my t-shirt and jeans, throwing the men’s clothing on the rumpled bed covers.

Crap, I hope I didn't have another nightmare.

Suddenly, the door opened and a man stood there, staring at me. I stared back at him, frozen, before turning and running to the open window, ignoring the pain in my foot as I climbed out on to the conservatory roof.

I hate glass floors, and this was really glass like. What am I saying, it’s a bloody conservatory; of course it’s made of glass.

I heard the guy in the room shouting, and I slowly walked across the glass.

I heard a crack and froze, looking down; I saw the glass beneath my feet starting to crack. Fuck.

‘Hey, come back! What do you think you’re doing?’ I turned back to look at another guy who had stuck his head out the window.

Yeah smart-ass, what does it look like I'm doing, I'm getting away from here that’s what.

I turned back to face the way I was walking and carefully shifted my weight to my right, ignoring the pain in my foot as the glass cracked again.

‘Are you crazy?’ He shouted. I could imagine how red his face would be from shouting so loud, like, beetroot red. I really don’t understand that expression, seeing as beetroot is actually kind of purple, so shouldn't it be beetroot purple, not red?

I heard another crack beneath my feet, and forced myself to concentrate. I have a really short attention span now I can’t speak. Don’t understand why though. Maybe it’s something to do with my neurological pathways being screwed with... FOCUS!!

The glass cracked again, now a spider web beneath my feet.

Oh fuck it. I thought, and ran forwards over the glass, jumping through the air towards the grass.

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