Suddenly everything stopped. A second later, the zipper was undone (accompanied by a horrified croak from us), and Lisa crawled inside. "There was some guy outside the tent, but he ran off when he saw me," she said, confirming my worst fears. Kira and I quieted down, reduced to whimpering.
This was horrible. What if he came back to finish what he started? "Are you sure?" I ask, a feeble attempt to rectify the situation by making sure I heard wrong. I had heard wrong, right?
"I don't know it was dark. But I definitely saw someone out here," Lisa replies. She's still outside, casting about looking for further evidence of the mysterious psychopath bent on slaughtering us all. It was sort of calming to know that Lisa wasn't dead, but what about-.
"What about Shelby?" I gasped. "Did you see her? Is she okay? He killed her, didn't he?" The questions flooded from my mouth so quickly I barely had time to comprehend them. "She went to go check on you after the breathing started."
Lisa gave me a look that asked what I meant by "the breathing," but didn't ask. "I haven't seen her, so maybe he got her. You guys stay here, I'm going to see if I can find her."
"Do you have any weapons on you?" I ask. It was the most important question to be asking the next victim. If she was set upon by that freak, she could at least attempt to defend herself. If we were really lucky, she'd kill him before he killed her. If we were only moderately lucky, she'd injure him enough that we could defend ourselves. I we weren't lucky at all, we'd be out a weapon, but it was a risk worth taking, in my eyes.
"Pfft. No," Lisa replied. That's right, I'm the only one in the group psychotic enough to carry weapons around with me, if I were allowed, any way. As it was, I wasn't (I'm still not) so I had to think on my feet. Anything can be a weapon with a little ingenuity. Even Pillows are deadly.
I looked around the tent. Portable DVD player; good attack rating, bad reach - she'd be dead before it was useful. Pillows - poor attack, slightly better reach, gains a plus twenty to attack if applied directly to the enemy's face. Nope. Sleeping bags are unwieldy, have poor attack and are more likely to get you killed than save you. That left Kira - who'd curl up into a ball on the ground at the first sign of danger - and me - who'd futilely attempt to sprint my way to safety under the assumption that serial killers operate like zombies and bears and cougars and I'd only have to outrun Lisa to survive. What we needed was a baseball bat, dammit! But wait, wasn't there one of those ugly little wannabe scooters just outside? You know, the ones that come in generic metal color or colored metal colors? The ones specifically designed to be absolutely useless on any kind of terrain that wasn't completely smooth concrete and were apt to send you tumbling if the cracks in the sidewalk were even a little bigger than non-existent?
"Lisa, grab the scooter and fold it up. It'll do for protection," I said quickly. It was made of metal, so that'd give it a high attack; it was long, so it had reach; and, best of all, it had a couple sharp corners. Score!
She nods and disappears, reappearing, scooter in hand, just long enough to tell us that she's leaving. Like we didn't already know!
So there we were, alone together again. It didn't take long for the distraction of a few minutes prior to be completely wiped out by fear again. Where was Lisa? She'd been gone forever! We hadn't even heard a struggle yet. He must have taken her unawares and killed her in cold blood without giving her a chance to defend herself. We were too scared to cry, but we wanted to.
It wasn't too much longer after we came to the conclusion, for the second time that night, that Lisa and Shelby were both dead, and we'd only be safe if the sun came up at that exact second to save us, because everyone knows serial killers burst into flame if they go in the sun. The breathing started again. Then the voice came, taunting us from every direction at once, it seemed. He began harrying the tent again, pushing and pulling at the thin fabric, casting his anonymous shadow on the side facing a light source.
Of course we took to screaming again. When everything stopped once more, we knew, deep down, that there was no way we were getting out of this. We needed something to write on, to tell the world of our fate, and bequeath our most valuable possessions - our manga, anime, and Pokemon cards - to our love ones, but there was nothing. At least, I thought there was nothing. Kira produced a notebook and pen, much to my surprise, from the backpack I hadn't seen. What else had I missed when Lisa needed a weapon? I lamented.
I was halfway through my will, telling my mother I love her and that she should adopt and Asian child to replace me, when the killers started up again. I hurriedly finished my will, and stood as best I could in the confines of the tiny tent. "If I'm going to die, I'm going to die like the man I am," I said even as Kira tugged on my arm in an attempt to get me to sit back down.
"You're not a man, Squeaker!" she replies, making the best point possible at that moment.
Upon realizing the fact that I've known for at least twelve years, I sit down, defeated, and we wait for our deaths like the women we were.
Minutes later, I'm wondering why the asshole outside our tent hasn't just killed us already. We'd already reached terminal fear and crossed into the territory of resigned acceptance of our fate. And his little game was getting old. I moved to stand again. "If this guy's going to kill us, he'd better hurry up and-."
"Lisa! What the heck are you doing?"
The tent harrying, the breathing, the taunts stopped without warning, and this time we knew why. I exploded out of the tent. Sure enough, there was Lisa, caught red handed just outside with her hood up. If it had happened now, I might have let loose a string of the foulest curses I know - and I know a lot of them. As it was, I was just really pissed off. I wanted revenge. Seriously, that was a horrible joke.
I managed to make it through the night without inflicting any kind of harm, bodily or otherwise, on our assailant. It was an act of sheer will. I'd get her back someday when she didn't remember what she'd done. She'd be sorry she messed with me when I was scaring the hell out of her later.
A week later, I'd all but forgotten the most horrifying experience of my middle school life. I'd go back for her now, but really? It's not like she hurt me; she just provided a dose of fear. The dose of fear I've been questing for for the past year to no avail. Maybe I should go camping with her again.
Disclaimer: This account was largely dramatized, and half of it is, in fact, likely made up. Any resemblance to real people, places or events is entirely intentional, except for those parts that I pulled out of the stratosphere. You expect me to remember something that happened when I was - what? Twelve? Seriously, I can't even remember what I had for dinner day before yesterday.
This was horrible. What if he came back to finish what he started? "Are you sure?" I ask, a feeble attempt to rectify the situation by making sure I heard wrong. I had heard wrong, right?
"I don't know it was dark. But I definitely saw someone out here," Lisa replies. She's still outside, casting about looking for further evidence of the mysterious psychopath bent on slaughtering us all. It was sort of calming to know that Lisa wasn't dead, but what about-.
"What about Shelby?" I gasped. "Did you see her? Is she okay? He killed her, didn't he?" The questions flooded from my mouth so quickly I barely had time to comprehend them. "She went to go check on you after the breathing started."
Lisa gave me a look that asked what I meant by "the breathing," but didn't ask. "I haven't seen her, so maybe he got her. You guys stay here, I'm going to see if I can find her."
"Do you have any weapons on you?" I ask. It was the most important question to be asking the next victim. If she was set upon by that freak, she could at least attempt to defend herself. If we were really lucky, she'd kill him before he killed her. If we were only moderately lucky, she'd injure him enough that we could defend ourselves. I we weren't lucky at all, we'd be out a weapon, but it was a risk worth taking, in my eyes.
"Pfft. No," Lisa replied. That's right, I'm the only one in the group psychotic enough to carry weapons around with me, if I were allowed, any way. As it was, I wasn't (I'm still not) so I had to think on my feet. Anything can be a weapon with a little ingenuity. Even Pillows are deadly.
I looked around the tent. Portable DVD player; good attack rating, bad reach - she'd be dead before it was useful. Pillows - poor attack, slightly better reach, gains a plus twenty to attack if applied directly to the enemy's face. Nope. Sleeping bags are unwieldy, have poor attack and are more likely to get you killed than save you. That left Kira - who'd curl up into a ball on the ground at the first sign of danger - and me - who'd futilely attempt to sprint my way to safety under the assumption that serial killers operate like zombies and bears and cougars and I'd only have to outrun Lisa to survive. What we needed was a baseball bat, dammit! But wait, wasn't there one of those ugly little wannabe scooters just outside? You know, the ones that come in generic metal color or colored metal colors? The ones specifically designed to be absolutely useless on any kind of terrain that wasn't completely smooth concrete and were apt to send you tumbling if the cracks in the sidewalk were even a little bigger than non-existent?
"Lisa, grab the scooter and fold it up. It'll do for protection," I said quickly. It was made of metal, so that'd give it a high attack; it was long, so it had reach; and, best of all, it had a couple sharp corners. Score!
She nods and disappears, reappearing, scooter in hand, just long enough to tell us that she's leaving. Like we didn't already know!
So there we were, alone together again. It didn't take long for the distraction of a few minutes prior to be completely wiped out by fear again. Where was Lisa? She'd been gone forever! We hadn't even heard a struggle yet. He must have taken her unawares and killed her in cold blood without giving her a chance to defend herself. We were too scared to cry, but we wanted to.
It wasn't too much longer after we came to the conclusion, for the second time that night, that Lisa and Shelby were both dead, and we'd only be safe if the sun came up at that exact second to save us, because everyone knows serial killers burst into flame if they go in the sun. The breathing started again. Then the voice came, taunting us from every direction at once, it seemed. He began harrying the tent again, pushing and pulling at the thin fabric, casting his anonymous shadow on the side facing a light source.
Of course we took to screaming again. When everything stopped once more, we knew, deep down, that there was no way we were getting out of this. We needed something to write on, to tell the world of our fate, and bequeath our most valuable possessions - our manga, anime, and Pokemon cards - to our love ones, but there was nothing. At least, I thought there was nothing. Kira produced a notebook and pen, much to my surprise, from the backpack I hadn't seen. What else had I missed when Lisa needed a weapon? I lamented.
I was halfway through my will, telling my mother I love her and that she should adopt and Asian child to replace me, when the killers started up again. I hurriedly finished my will, and stood as best I could in the confines of the tiny tent. "If I'm going to die, I'm going to die like the man I am," I said even as Kira tugged on my arm in an attempt to get me to sit back down.
"You're not a man, Squeaker!" she replies, making the best point possible at that moment.
Upon realizing the fact that I've known for at least twelve years, I sit down, defeated, and we wait for our deaths like the women we were.
Minutes later, I'm wondering why the asshole outside our tent hasn't just killed us already. We'd already reached terminal fear and crossed into the territory of resigned acceptance of our fate. And his little game was getting old. I moved to stand again. "If this guy's going to kill us, he'd better hurry up and-."
"Lisa! What the heck are you doing?"
The tent harrying, the breathing, the taunts stopped without warning, and this time we knew why. I exploded out of the tent. Sure enough, there was Lisa, caught red handed just outside with her hood up. If it had happened now, I might have let loose a string of the foulest curses I know - and I know a lot of them. As it was, I was just really pissed off. I wanted revenge. Seriously, that was a horrible joke.
I managed to make it through the night without inflicting any kind of harm, bodily or otherwise, on our assailant. It was an act of sheer will. I'd get her back someday when she didn't remember what she'd done. She'd be sorry she messed with me when I was scaring the hell out of her later.
A week later, I'd all but forgotten the most horrifying experience of my middle school life. I'd go back for her now, but really? It's not like she hurt me; she just provided a dose of fear. The dose of fear I've been questing for for the past year to no avail. Maybe I should go camping with her again.
Disclaimer: This account was largely dramatized, and half of it is, in fact, likely made up. Any resemblance to real people, places or events is entirely intentional, except for those parts that I pulled out of the stratosphere. You expect me to remember something that happened when I was - what? Twelve? Seriously, I can't even remember what I had for dinner day before yesterday.
