"Trick or Treat" - Writers Forum

Wildcard · 04-24-2008, 11:12 AM

At exactly 11:45 pm Eastern Time Mikayla Bostic’s cell phone rang. She issued a long groan of frustration, as she looked over her shoulder to where it lay on the kitchen counter. She had just come from the kitchen a few minutes earlier, after fixing herself a ham, pickle and mustard sandwich, which she had planned to eat while she watched the DVD she had just popped into the player.
It was a Saturday and the teenager (nineteen to be exact), who usually spent her free Saturdays clubbing with the girls (college life afforded more than a few free Saturdays), had decided to spend the night at home watching DVD’s till she fell asleep. She just wasn’t in the partying mood tonight – probably had something to do with the fight she had with her boyfriend Ryan earlier that day – and after trying on a few outfits, she finally decided she just wasn’t up for alcohol and loud music.
Her parents had left the house a few hours earlier and were gone for the night, leaving Mikayla with the spacious, three bedroom flat all to herself (benefits of being an only child). It was their wedding anniversary and Richard Bostic apparently had something big planned for Deborah, his wife of eighteen years.
The Beyonce tune which she had set as her ring tone channeled its way into the living room where she sat, as she reluctantly dragged herself from the sofa to heed its beckoning. Her powerful, toned legs – sculpted from years of track and field experience – flexed as she half-walked, half-jogged to the kitchen and snatched the phone from the counter. She checked the caller ID, which read Anonymous Caller, then flipped open the phone and pressed it to her ear.
“Hello?” She said as she walked back to the living room. The large screen television – a new addition to the home – displayed the DVD’s title menu with its multiple options. She picked up the remote and pressed the ‘play’ button as she sank back down onto the sofa.
“Helloooo,” she said once again, louder this time. She picked up the plate with her sandwich as the film’s Anti-piracy warnings rolled onto the screen.
“Trick or treat?” A voice replied.
“Hello?” Mikayla said again, baffled at the response she was just given. She held the sandwich up to her mouth and inspected it.
“Trick or teat,” replied the voice once more. It was a deep voice, not too deep, but deep enough for her to assume that the person on the line was ‘most likely’ a male who had ‘most likely’ passed the stage of puberty.
“Who is this?” She asked, biting into her sandwich and getting mustard on the corners of her mouth and onto her fingertips.
“You haven’t answered my question,” the voice replied. Not only was it deep, but it was also calm and smooth – a little intriguing even – but it was not familiar.
“Who is this?” She asked again. “What question?”
“I’ll tell you who I am after you’ve answered the question.” The smooth, deep and calm voice continued. “Trick or treat?”
The DVD was now at its opening sequence; some girls in an apartment talking.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” Mikayla blurted, disbursing a few miniscule pieces of ham n’ pickle sandwich into the atmosphere as she did. “Halloween was three weeks ago so you’re a bit overdue.” Her mounting frustration could be heard clearly now. She didn’t care.
“The question is simple Mikayla,” came the voice again. Still deep, still smooth and still annoyingly intriguing. “Trick or treat.” It was less like a question now and more like a statement.
Mikayla was at the point now where she definitely wanted to know who this idiot on the other line was, also more importantly, it wasn’t her credit being burned so she decided to play along.
“Okay then, you win.” She responded after a few seconds. “Trick,” she answered.
There was a moment’s silence. A brief intermission it seemed.
“Hello, you there?” She finally said, impatiently.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” The voice replied.
“Okay whatever,” she retorted. “Now who are you?”
The response that followed was not what she was expecting.
“Mikayla Bostic sits at home alone, watching TV,” the voice replied, sounding like a narrator on one of those Frank Miller movies.
Mikayla – who was now way past the point of ‘bordering on impatience’- was about to flip her cell phone shut, when the voice on the line said something that caused her to nearly drop the sandwich in her hand.
“She sits on her sofa,” the voice continued, “watching DVD’s on daddy’s big screen, and looking delicious in her red top and tight blue jeans.
“Nice legs by the way.”
Mikayla froze, phone to her ear and sandwich still in hand. The alarm in her head that usually warned when something was more than a little out of place suddenly went off at full blast. She suddenly sprang to her feet – the urge to watch DVD’s and eat her sandwich was replaced by another feeling now – and spun around as her eyes wildly did a full sweep of the room. Empty.
Her gaze was now directed to the living room’s bay window which looked out onto the main road that ran in front of the house. Split seconds later she pulled the drapes and peered outside past the porch and into the driveway. The Mini Convertible she drove – a birthday gift from daddy – was still parked where she had left it, the security lights were still off and Max – the family’s faithful German Sheperd – hadn’t issued a single bark all night.
She turned away from the window with a puzzled expression on her face and at that point realized that in her excitement she had left her cell phone lying on the sofa. She made a wild dash toward it, almost tripping over the coffee table, snatched it up and pressed it once again to her hear.
“Hello?” She bellowed into the receiver. “Ryan this’d better not be you playing some kind of stupid joke because it’s not funny!” She made her way frantically toward the kitchen and pulled back the drapery guarding the kitchen window. There was nothing to be seen out there either, except the neighbor’s guard wall.
“Hello?” She bellowed again turning away from the window, “Are you still there? Hello, hel-”

“All of a sudden,” the voice interjected, still sounding like a narrator, “she hears a knock at the front door.” There is a barely audible click on the other end of the line, then silence.
“Who the fuck is this?” Mikayla demanded. There was no response. She then pulled the phone away from her ear and checked the display. It was at that point that she realized her late night caller had hung up.
Immediately and almost instinctively, she dialed her boyfriend’s number. There were three rings and halfway through the fourth there was an answer.
“Hello?” There was some noise in the background, loud music.
“Ryan, where are you?” Mikayla asked.
“Wait hold on Kay, I can hardly hear you.” He responded.
A few seconds later the sound of the music faded.
“Yeah what is it?”
“Ryan listen to me,” she continued, “did you call me just now?”
“No. Why?”
“I’m serious. Did you call me?”
“I didn’t call you Kay. What’s going on?”
“Someone is fucking with me and I just hope for your sake-”
Mikayla froze halfway through her sentence as someone banged on the front door. Her heart began throbbing against her chest and the room seemed to tighten around her.
“Jesus Christ Ryan is that you?” She shouted into the phone, her voice reflecting the surge of panic she now felt.
“Me what?” He replied. “Kay what the fuck is going on?”
There was a loud banging at the door again as Mikayla stood frozen in her position.
“Kay... answer me girl…what the fuck is going on?”
She was now backed up against the kitchen counter, eyes wide with fear.
“There’s someone at the front door,” she finally said, “I’m scared Ryan.”
“Who’s at the front door…scared of what?” Her boyfriend sounded both bemused and concerned at the same time.
“Ryan if that’s you out there I swear to God-”
Another bout of banging erupted, startling her. It was so heavy this time that it caused the door to rattle in its frame, and for a second Mikayla expected it to break free of the hinges which held it in place.
“Oh my God,” She gasped as she pushed herself further back against the counter, hard enough to send streaks of pain from her lower back from the pressure of the marble countertop. Her breaths had become short and rapid and her heart pummeled against her chest, seemingly in an effort to escape the confines of her body.
“You asshole!” She screamed at the door as the intense banging continued. “I’m calling the police!” Her head throbbed and tears of rage mixed with panic streamed down her face as she remained stapled to the counter.

Then as abruptly as it had started, the banging suddenly stopped. Mind numbing silence ensued.

The pain in her lower back had intensified and her legs and calves had become stiff. She allowed herself – very cautiously – to relax a little sending a surge of relief to her aching muscles.

“Mikayla!” Ryan bellowed on the other line. She had momentarily forgotten about the cell phone in her hand.
“Yeah,” she responded in a low quivering voice, “I’m still here.”
“What the hell’s going on over there?” His tone had risen substantially.
“I don’t know,” she responded. Her body was still tensed as she expected the door pounding symphony to resume.
“I got a call a few minutes ago,” she continued, “I thought it was you at first playing some kind of stupid joke.
“And then they told me what I was wearing so I started freaking out,” there was an undercurrent of panic in her voice as she spoke. “And now someone’s banging on my front door-”
“Kay listen to me,” he interrupted, “I’m coming over there right now so just stay where you are and don’t answer the door.”
“I’m calling the police Ryan!” She objected.
“Look,” he said, “I’m only a few minutes away so don’t do anything rash. Besides, I’m strapped and I got Scott with me so that prick had better be gone by the time I get there.”
Mikayla considered the situation.
“Okay,” she said after a few seconds. “But hurry!”
“Don’t worry babe, I will.” He replied. “Just stay where you are and don’t answer the door. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Okay,” she responded. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He hung up and so did she.
(Continued...)

Wildcard · 04-24-2008, 11:14 AM

Ten minutes had passed, but it seemed more like ten hours as Mikayla clutched her cell phone waiting for her boyfriend’s call. She was tempted to dial 911 a couple times but she eventually decided that she would just wait it out. Her ‘hubby’ wasn’t always on the right side of the law so the last thing she wanted was him and police in the same room together, especially if he was ‘strapped’ like he said.
She had relocated herself to the dining room and she sat twirling her phone around on the large mahogany table. It was an elaborate eight-seater with carved designs and symbols around the edges and corners. A masterpiece, her father called it, and it was often made party to the many guests they entertained -
The Beyonce tune started up again as her cell began to ring and in one rapid motion she snatched it up and flipped it open.
“Ryan,” she said expectantly. No response.
She pulled the phone from her ear and checked the caller ID. Anonymous Caller was in the display. Her heart once again began to race as she hesitantly placed the phone back to her ear.
“Ryan, is that you?” She said. Lips quivering as she spoke.
“Guess again,” responded the voice on the other line; a familiar voice but not Ryan’s.
She slowly stood to her feet, legs shaking.
“Who are you?” She asked. “Why are you doing this?”
No response.
“Who are you?” She suddenly screamed into the phone. “What the fuck do you want from me?” Her breathing was heavy and her heart pounded.
There was a moment’s silence.
“You really wanna know who I am Mikayla?” The voice was still as calm and as cool as ever.
Mikayla’s breaths were just a stone’s throw short of gasps now.
“Yes… please tell me,” she said, grabbing hold of one of the chairs for support.
She stood there, phone in hand with her eyes pasted on the front door as she anxiously awaited the answer. But then a strange feeling suddenly overshadowed her.

Mikayla felt the presence before she heard the voice, and she suddenly whipped herself around to come face to face with what appeared to be her late night caller.
The figure stood about an arm’s length away from her and wore a dark leather jacket and a white latex max. There was a cell phone in one hand and (Jesus Christ, was she seeing right?) a large hunter’s knife in the other.
She opened her mouth to scream, but it came out as a quivering sigh. She was paralyzed with shock and she just stood there staring at the figure standing before her. The low murmur of an engine could be heard outside as a vehicle came to a screeching stop.
Ryan, she thought.
Then, as if triggered by the sound of the vehicle, Mr. Latex Mask lunged forward and Mikayla felt a sudden explosion of pain surge from her mid-section. Never before in her life had she experienced a pain so excruciating and she issued a sudden ear shattering shriek.
She grabbed onto her attacker in a feeble attempt to fight him off but Mr. Latex Mask overpowered her and slammed her onto the table’s edge, causing another surge of pain to erupt from her lower back. A powerful hand now gripped her throat and pushed her upper body back and her head bounced off the table’s mahogany surface with a sickening thud.
A bloom of colors suddenly danced before her eyes as she squirmed atop the table, and her head began to feel like a block of lead on her shoulders.
She tried kicking but Mr. Latex Mask just forced himself between her legs.
Another explosion of pain tore through her body as her attacker wrenched the knife from where he had buried it in her midsection. She shrieked and grabbed onto his hand, tears streaming down her face. “Please,” she pleaded. The sound was low, desperate.
Her attacker ripped his hand away and plunged it into her body once more, this time in her ribs. Again she shrieked as the blood gushed in torrents from her wounds… again the knife was torn from her body… again it was plunged back in.
Mikayla could feel herself slowly beginning to lose consciousness as Mr. Latex Mask continued stabbing her. The world around her swirled and started to dim, and a sudden icy chill enveloped the teenager’s body.
She could feel herself falling, deep into the dark realms of unconsciousness, and as the world continued to fade, so did the pain of her wounds until finally the pain was gone completely.
He stood there watching her as she slipped away. Her blood formed a puddle on the table under her and streamed its way over the edge and onto the tiled floor.

Falling… falling… falling…

Someone pounded on the front door.
“Mikayla!” A voice bellowed. But it sounded hazy and distant.

Falling… falling…

“Kay open the door!” Someone screamed again.

Was that Ryan’s voice? She couldn’t tell.

Falling…

The world was completely dark now and Mikayla entered the realm of eternal silence.

-fin

WriterJohnB · 04-24-2008, 12:58 PM

I don't know what level of critique you're looking for, but here goes. The writing's okay, but there's no story development and no character motivation. To explain: the boogeyman can see what she's wearing, but the reader never finds out how. He appears inside the house and the reader never finds out how. She'd have locked the doors well before he appears.

The boogeyman kills the girl. Why? The reader has to know. Is he an escaped loony? He's not a rapist or a burglar, they don't phone ahead and she wasn't raped or robbed.

Without any explanations or motivations, this is not a story, it's the telling of an event.

Also, it starts slow. Do the beginning of the phone call, up to trick or treat, right off the bat and then fill in about the girl - after you've hooked the reader.

Why does she "issue" moans and screams. She moaned. She screamed. keep the extra words out and don't give so many details about the mundane. Details are not horrifying and they detract from the mood.

Hope that helps,

JohnB

HippoHead · 04-24-2008, 04:28 PM

mr johnb is agreeable

the writing was unspectacular, details were unnecessary and plot holes were easy to find

but other than that, it was seriously intense stuff!