Cracking the Code - Writers Forum

Fictionfreak · 05-27-2008, 11:38 PM

Alright... I've been working on this piece really hard for at least a total of 10 condensed hours, I'm not sure how much you guys normally spend on a 4000 word piece, but please don't let all my hardwork go to the bottom of the threads. Thanks.

I had to do one of those... stalk people in a mall excersises for a class. I came up with a geeky gamer girl with a whole long meaty list of other traits. I never really liked the character from the start, but I had to base my story off of her. So here it goes.

Fictionfreak · 05-27-2008, 11:49 PM

90% completed

An open valley stretched for miles in each direction as two elf soldiers observed the results of their own weapon fire. All that could be seen was a giant inferno, bringing waves of intense heat to their skin and billowing steaks of black. Lights wisps of smoke came from the barrels of their missile launchers. Seconds earlier, a nasty clan of trolls had ambushed them. But ten newb trolls were no match for a couple elves at level twenty-six. Yet they waited… just be sure of victory. They almost rejoiced when a disturbing laugh came from behind them. They whirled around to find the army of trolls, which was impossible; their enemies were just engulfed in flames.

“Hackers,” one elf moaned. And everything went dark.

“Omigosh Stephanie!!” I exclaimed into my headset. “I hate

hackers.”
“Yeah,” came my friend’s simple response.

“They suck,” I sighed in agreement, twirling around in my rollie chair, catching every bit of color in my room. I had a pink floor, barely visible beneath all of my clothes and junk. My walls are white, but it’s nearly impossible to know this because they’re covered in ubermazing posters of Fall Out Boy and Gym Class Heroes. I’m a slob but I don’t care. I love my room.

I straightened my sitting position. “Another round?”

“Ok,” came Steph’s reply, which sounded crappy and full of static through the cheap headsets. They were from Intec which pretty much explained itself. As the game loaded, I glanced out my window, where birds chirped in high annoying pitches.

It was already ten in the morning, a nice morning, but I did not regret being indoors, still in pajamas, and with a hairdo only Cousin It could love. My life had always been that way; the pale, sunless girl who nobody knew existed.

Suddenly, to my surprise, something unthinkable happened. Though it took my brain, like, thirty seconds to register what had happened. I literally sat their looking at my reflection in the glare of the blank laptop screen, wondering what was different. It was like my hearing was ten times clearer. Then I realized that it was because the static on the other line went absent. I even pulled off the headpiece to examine it, but nothing besides the fact that it was cheap material looked wrong. That’s when I stupidly realized that the laptop reflected my image so well because it was blank. I checked the back of it, but the cord was plugged in. Was the power out?

My hand grabbed the remote and pressed the power button for my TV. But there was nothing; just a blank void of boring black. I groaned. So much for gaming.

The birds outside kept singing horribly, so I slammed my window with a loud smack. It was loud enough to make three robins scramble for the skies. It was too loud. I could already imagine my mom’s annoying voice, “Kippers is that you? Are you awake? I’m making pancakes!”

Pancakes were supposedly a favorite food of mine ten years ago, but I never really liked pancakes. They were too filling. Neither did I dig the name Kippers, it made her feel like I was five.

My mom’s voice, however, never reached my room. Which was odd.

“Mom?” I felt my curiosity growing. I practically heard her voice echo down the hallway. Growing up with no brothers or sisters, I was used to having a deadened atmosphere, but never this quiet.

“Mom?” I ventured inside my parents bedroom, but the bed was already neatly made. The cleanliness kind of gave her the creeps. “Helloooo?” I walked all around the house, through the kitchen, in the garage, everywhere. But I knew I was alone. The bright green displays on the kitchen oven were missing. No surprise there, with the whole power loss thing.

Then I spotted the most delicious pair of chocolate chip cookies I had ever seen, and beneath them was a note.

Kippers,

I have some errands to run today, sorry I couldn’t make you breakfast, hopefully these cookies will do. Which by the way, you should get some fresh air, a little… you know, exercise.

Love Mommy

Well shoot, I felt a tiny smile tugging at my lips, she’s not even here and she still managed to slip a fast one on me. My mom was so predictable. Just when I thought I might have escaped her… she outthinks me.

I was annoyed when she suggested the “e” word. Exercise. In other words, I’m not at the proper wait level of a fifteen year old girl. A common term for this concept is fat. Fat ugly pig.

I took a bit of the cookie, rolling my tongue over the chocolate, before spitting it out. A wave of disappointment flowed through her. It was a health cookie. It tasted like cat piss. My hand curled around the remaining cookie as I chucked it out an open window. Who did my mother think she was, telling me how to live my life? Did she not care that I’m happy the way I am? Sometimes, parents were just too much. But I didn’t let it get to me, and instead I went into the basement where the power box nestled in its little den.

My basement is decent. It has white carpet, white brick, white… everything; even the pipes going along parts of the ceiling were painted white. Arguably a little creepy, but it’s still better than a cracked cement floor with soggy wooden walls.

All the flips and switches of the power box may have looked confusing to most people, but I was a geek, I knew circuits better than my boyfriend. Well, maybe I have more of a life than I’m letting on… but the fact still remains, I’m a geek. The main power switch was still flicked on, which meant that returning power was out of my control. Sadly, I went back upstairs, knowing the familiar creaks that each step made.

I called Stephanie on the Razor to explain what happened. She answered in a quiet voice, and I muttered something back like hello. I paced around the kitchen like I always do on the phone. My boyfriend, Mitch, pointed out that I always pace, and since then I always think about it, which annoys the heck out of me.

My friend remained silent. I brushed a hand up my forehead and rubbed my eyes. I was dog tired. Staying up till 3 in the morning and then waking up at 7 in the morning will do that. “The house lost power.”

“Oh,”

I suddenly realized that I was rolling my hair around my finger. I hope I didn’t do that all the time too. Damn it Mitch!! Why does my boyfriend have to be so OCD. “So… uh, yeah. Sorry Steph.”

“Oh,”

I sat down. “All I can say is that I’m going to be really bored. I should do something drastic… maybe start a house fire?”

“Oh,” came a soft laugh that was more forced if anything. It was as if she was trying to see the fun in my lame joke but didn’t know how.

I rolled my eyes impatiently. Stephanie was not a social whiz… never had been. Social awkwardness follows her every step like a cursed rain cloud. I shamelessly avoid being in her presence at school for the fear of driving my social status even further into the ground. People just don’t understand that the only crime she ever committed was brilliance.

She’s very smart, too smart. At school, teachers discovered her high IQ too soon. They sent her into a class designed for minds that far surpassed the curriculum. Social hell. She never really grasped the basic, hidden rules of socializing. Making friends. Living.

I came to know her through computer programming. Her strengths in math and the computer language quickly caught my interest. I used to have average computing skills… until she taught me everything I needed to know. I owe her a friendship, and sometimes that feels like a chore.

“I was kidding.”

“Oh.”

“Listen… I gotta go now.” I waited for her timid voice to say goodbye and clapped my cell shut.

Suddenly the front door unlocked and brushed open letting a wave of sunlight hit my eyes intensely. Mom stepped in with a large bag of groceries in one arm, and a cardboard box in the other. The bag covered her face, until she dropped it on the counter. When she finally noticed me she looked almost stunned.

“Oh hey,” there was no hiding the surprise in her voice. “I left you a note… wasn’t sure if you would read it.”

On a normal Saturday I would be upstairs. I nodded. An awkward silence polluted the air. My mom struggled to keep a conversation. “So… uh, I see you’ve taken to those cookies.”

I glared at the remaining, half bitten cookie that lay on the counter. I nodded. I lied.

“Well, I’ve got to tidy up a bit, an executive from your daddy’s work is coming over for dinner.” She clapped her hands together and rubbed thme anticpatedly.

A trickle of annoyance made me blink really hard. I closed my eyes so tightly that I saw red smudges form at the corners of my vision. The kitchen was nearly perfect as it was. Sterile.

Mom looked bothered, like she wanted to say something important, and sighed. “Kips, why don’t you get a little fresh air, hmm?”

I looked to the floor, averting my eyes, only to see my fat reflection in the stupidly perfect shining tiles. Right now, for the first time since ever, I longed to get outside.

“Fine,” I stood like a good kippers and went to open the door.

“Really?... Oh, hon, by the way, this package is for you.” A brown box was tossed toward my direction. I caught it. Without another word, I left.

The sun baked my back like a large oven. The package, surprisingly lightweight, jangled under my arm. First I dialed Mitch, but as useful as any other guy, he wasn’t picking up. Then I tried Rachael, Stephanie, and Courtney… all as respondent as a lamp post. I found refuge under a giant maple tree next to Spencer park which was nearly a block from my house.

With nothing else to do, my attention was drawn to my snail mail. Who did that anymore anyway? The package was simply entitled, “To Ashley,” no address, no other name. Only mine. I secretly hoped it was a bomb, maybe then the day would get uberexciting.

But as I ripped off the tape, and dug through the peanuts, I never expected to find a nutcracker. A plain old nutcracker. Attached to the wooden soldier was a sticky note that read “Solve me”. This seemed like the clue for a cute mystery novel. But yet it was addressed to her. I found the gift humorous until the mysteriousness of it all gave me the chills. I held it up, looking grimly at its polished wooden smile.

The handwriting on both the box and the sticky note looked nearly perfect. So it probably wasn’t Mitch being a crappy boyfriend. The weirdest thing was that none of my friends had neat handwriting either… or neat anything for that matter. I went home a minute later. Confused.

My mom bought fat free subs for lunch that were already prepared on the kitchen counter. Even if I was hungry, I wouldn’t have bothered. It was a bold statement from me saying “knock off the diet crap.” The floor felt freshly mopped under my dirty socks. With each step, I felt like my socks were kneading a little bit of life back into the tile. I felt like I was revealing a grand truth. Life is not a big germ free lab. Life is dirty.

I stayed in my room the rest of the day. Around four o’clock the power returned and I rejoiced with a quick match against Steph. Supper was at seven. I told mom about the Nutcracker, who was like “oh that’s nice honey”. And I didn’t even talk to dad, who was as apprehensive as ever when Mr. Milke, his new senior manager entered the house. I excused myself early and went to my room.

One, two, three hours passed as I lay alone in bed. A pink lamp eventually soaked in enough darkness to brighten the whole room. I was unable to burn nutcrackers from my mind. I went as far as imagining a nutcracker being thrown in a fireplace. But like some insane Chucky, it never died, I could not escape it. And it could not escape my mind.

At eleven I stood up and grabbed Chucky from the dresser, knocking off about fifty million scattered papers in the process. My hands turned it around at every possible angle. But nothing struck me odd about it, as far as I could tell anyway, although I wasn’t an expert. I had more of a life than that.

My hand couldn’t move the lever that made its mouth open and close. The thing was just stuck. I wriggled it every which way until the lever wobbled loose. I plucked it out completely and felt my heart flutter. Taped to the other end was a flash drive.

My hand fumbled so much that it took her multiple tries to plug it into my laptop. The pen drive had on untitled folder. I double clicked it frantically, almost angrily, as if I were stabbing whoever was messing with my mind. Seriously, that person has it coming to them. There was one file. It was a video stream of my favorite anime film, “Secret of the Prince.” Anime night was every Friday, and my friends know well of my favorites.

Whoever this person was, they knew her well. I just hoped I could say the same thing for them. The last thing I needed was to be followed by some perve who did this homework.

The movie was obviously some sort of clue. But what about it? The title? The story? The director? I clicked play.

The animated started out like it always did, with three girls discussing their summer crushed in an empty baseball diamond. This version included the original Japanese voices with English subtitles. I always like it better with the original voices. I knew every line and settled back into a more comfortable position to enjoy show.

Thirty minutes into the movie I noticed something strange. There was a very short error within the caption, but a strange mistake to make. Instead of an innocent line by a character, it read something much more forbidding. It was a message that made me want to cry.

There are eyes watching your every move… my pulse jolted to a record breaking high… and they are the eyes of a killer. I prayed that the words meant nothing to her, that I could go to sleep without a worry. Yet I couldn’t convince myself otherwise. My favorite movie of all time has now become nothing short of a death threat.

I looked out my bedroom window. Paranoia sent icy chills down my body, bringing my senses to full alert. It was too dark to see anything outside besides the shallow beam of a dim street light. But as little trickles of fear went down my neck, I was afraid to look away. I wanted to be ready for something unexpected.

My cell buzzed off of my dressed and landed on the floor with a muffled purr. I answered hesitantly.

“Hey,” came a shady voice. It rumbled in a low menacing tone. “Do I have your attention yet?”

I was too stunned for words. I felt as if she had just entered a horror movie where the hot chick knows she’s about to die. But this was no movie, and she was not hot. It felt like my life wasn’t real, like nothing was real anymore. The saddest part was that tonight was jus the opposite. This was very real, with that chilling to the bone clarity to it. I stammered, and forced out what was supposed to be a complete sentence. “Nutcracker?”

“…Spencer Park. Tomorrow. Six ‘o’clock sharp. Be there if you want to live.” The line went dead.

I never got a wink of sleep that night. Instead, I had my back to the wall, with a pair of blood shot eyes pointed toward my window. I wanted to sleep during the Sunday church service, but was afraid to let my guard down even then. I contemplated calling the police, but knew I was being watched.

During church, my dad hardly noticed that I was a sad excuse for a zombie. He occasionally left to take a call. Mom was worried, but mostly because I did look like a zombie, not why. We planned to visit grandma after the service ended. Well, mom did anyway. Dad had to go to an important meeting. And I simply had no choice. The one nice thing about grandmas was that her cookies didn’t come out of a package that had health written on it.

When we arrived at grandma’s house, which smelled of cinnamon as usual, mom and grandma walked to the back porch. I immediately sat on an old flowery couch, flipping the channels on TV. There was nothing else to do but watch TV. There never was. Grandma’s place was always just so… empty. And her computer was the size of a car. There wasn’t even cable in the house, which didn’t give me much to watch, or much to take my mind off of things.

Fictionfreak · 05-27-2008, 11:50 PM

Sorry... too long. This is the second bit.

Last night kept crawling into my mind like ants to a puddle of Kool-aid. I kept imagining what the man looked like which only scared me morel; my mind kept envisioning a guy who closely resembled Brian Peppers.
The growing realization that today might be last night I would live made me feel like a ghost; the same kind of feeling when a ninety-eight year old lady goes shopping and the clerk gives her this incredulous expression that says, “why do you even bother? You’re practically dead.”

A couple hours passed like this; sitting on an old musty couch, all alone, without anyone to council me but an ancient TV set. I couldn’t take it anymore If I called the police now, I might stand a better chance. It made more sense to seek help rather than wait for a complete stranger to kill me either way. And he might only be watching me at my own house, so chances were, he wouldn’t know if I called the cops at grandmas.

After that, I would start calling everyone I knew. I wanted to say goodbye withouyreally saying goodbye… just in case. We wouldn’t talk about clues and strange messages from a killer, just normal, calming things. It wasn’t necessary to scare them with the details.
As my thumb reached the nine button, my cell buzzed. I answered nervously. “Hello.”

“Ashley I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“Oh. THANK HEAVENS, Mitch.” I let out a nervous breath, brushing the hair out of my eyes to glance at grandma’s odd arrangement of china dolls.

“One day, and you act like you haven’t seen me for months. I like that,” his voice sounded amused. I could almost see the big goofy smile on my boyfriend’s face.

“Mitch, this is serious.” I said. An old season of Family Feud came on. The families were running out on the screen with these ridiculous hair styles. I sort of wished I lived in the eighties, maybe then my chances of getting stalked would go down ninety percent.

“You seem different. Are you alright? And…is that Family Fued?”

I smiled softly, his OCD senses were tingling. On any normal day I wouldn’t be caught dead watching the show. But then again I was dead. Basically. I stood up and started pacing around the house, the ceiling is pretty low, but I’m short so it doesn’t matter. “Mitch,” I snatched a cookie form the kitchen and looked at it thoughtfully. “You know I like you.”

“Yeah?” he said confused. I didn’t blame him.

“Well,” I took a bite, savoring the real chocolate chip taste as much as possible. The world was something you could miss. “What if, after today, we never saw each other again.”

“What are you saying.” Mitch sounded scared now. The poor guy was probably crossing his fingers, hoping I wasn’t going to break up with him or something.

“Would you still like me?” I asked.

He paused, chewing on my words as if they were a trick question, but then answered faithfully. “Of course I would.”

“No, Mitch, I mean would you really still like me.”

“Of course I would.”

I smiled, “good.” I shut the cell phone before he had a chance to ask any further questions. The front of my razor illuminated, I saw that it was already five-thirty.

My thoughts turned back to the problem at hand. A scary guy wants my guts for dinner, and I want my dinner in my guts. Maybe I could just stay at grandmas, call the police, and have them meet this stranger at Spencer Park instead. Actually, that thought made a lot of sense. I hit myself for not calling sooner. A lady answered the phone, she sounded rushed. I gave her some of the details, without mentioning that I was at my grandmas house, or who my parents were. The last thing I needed were cops showing up at grandmas house to talk with me about some killer. I could imagine my mom’s surprised and embarrassed face. But I have reasons not to tell her. The conversation was short and sweet, and the cops were already on their way to the park.

I sighed nervously, and started calling everyone. Relatives and friends alike. Stephanie was a quiet social failure as usual, and I forced away my negative thoughts about her. My insides were screaming, if we were such good friends, then why could I never depend on her. It wasn’t like I should have expected anything different. After I felt satisfied with all of my calls, I went into the back porch where my mom and grandma were having a lovely conversation about camping trips.

Grandma’s back yard is fairly large, with a pond that spits out a jet of water, and little clay frogs arranged all around her porch. Her landscaping consists of white rocks, wood chips, stepping stones, everything. It’s quite a sight actually. I stood beside my grandma and gave her a big hug, squeezing her with a huge, loving “possibly going away forever” embrace. I glanced at my mom who fixed her gaze to the sun set.

“You’re turning into such a big girl,” Grandma chuckled with her fragile hand resting lightly on my shoulder. She meant no harm, but I found her words disconcerting for obvious reasons. My mom looked even more worried as if it were her fault I wasn’t skinny. I hate my mom. It’s never been about me... always about her looking like a good parent. Deciding to paint her mind with elaborate details about how a killer sent me a nutcracker clue, and is now threatening to kill me, would send her off the deep end. She’d think I’m going loony. She wouldn’t want to look like the mother responsible with an insane child. I shifted my focus back on grandma.

“Grandma,” I said meaningfully.

“Yes dear?”

“Thanks for the cookies.”

At that moment the phone rang. Not my phone, Grandmas antique cord phone. Grandma made to get up from her lawn chair, but as she struggled, mom motioned me to get it. I obliged by sliding open the glass door and stepping through a wave of air conditioning. Where was her phone again? I waited for another ring. Oh yeah, the living room. It must have rung six times before I finally picked up. I answered cheerfully, but my heart sank upon hearing the low, sadistic voice of a killer. I should have known to prepare myself for this.

“Aww… you listen to mommy like such a good Kippers. I only wish you were smart enough to listen to me. You don’t think I anticipated police involvement?”

My mind was racing. I was all like omigosh. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know how. My words left me again. I fell into the couch, staring ahead at the TV once again, the channels starting changing on their own accord. My mind was far away.

“You think I’m stupid?” the voice continued. “Even though I know everything about you… even though I know everything you’re doing each day.”

I thought about the possibilities, adding his words together like a difficult algebra problem and slowly finding the solution which hurt to think about. Because the truth was indeed getting more painful by the minute. How much of my life was really being watched? All of it? For how long?

I looked at the TV which was now showing something from the perspective of a hidden camera. Like what a stationary security camera at a shopping center might project. Somehow, he was controlling the broadcast. I flipped every channel, which were all the same. All that could be seen on the footage was nature. I glanced at the time the video was being taken… which was right now. This was live footage.

“The cops?” The killer chuckled. “This is your elaborate plan? This is an insult.”

If I wasn’t so scared, I probably would have been pretty pissed. This guy was messing up my life, stalking me, and laughing about it.
I concentrated on the live feed. In the background there were maple trees, pine trees, and fresh woodchips. That was it. Oh, and a stone monument. It was brown and shiny with a smooth looking texture. Letters were imprinted into it, but they were impossible to decipher from the camera angle. The whole scene looked familiar. Slowly the pieces began to fall into place. And, with one sudden realization, I knew I was staring at the memorial of a Spencer Park.

Two pairs of boots trudged into view, then blue pants, and finally lighter colored shirts which were professionally tucked in. Police uniforms. I saw them enter the screen and sort of had a glimmer of hope, until they were both shot.

One took a blow to the head, his life ended before he hit the ground. The other was lucky, he was only pelted in the arm. He used his other arm to scramble for his gun, then duck out of the way and kneel low. The officer used his wounded arm to steady the stun pistol. He seemed to aim his weapon straight of the screen.

“Oh don’t worry about me babe,” the killer’s voice laughed in my ear. “I’m not in the battlefield. My weapon detects movement within a 50 foot radius. It doesn’t need my finger to know how to work, it’s smarter than that, which is more than I can say for you.”

I watched in horror as the officer, my lifeline, took a hit straight through his heart. His face showed an expression of fear and confusion as his trembling hands caught the blood that spewed from his chest. His body soon lost control and slumped over like a lifeless rag doll.

“Listen to me closely, you are not safe anywhere. I know what you’re doing every second of every hour, I know that you were talking to your boyfriend approximately two hours ago, I know everything about you. I have the technology and experience to do that. I could’ve easily taken you months ago. But I thought I’d give you a choice, you seem like a smart girl, I thought maybe you might want to see my brilliance at work first hand.”

I soaked it all in, every last droplet of information that he bombarded me with. I felt like a computer being overloaded with more gigs than I could download. Months? I’ve been stalked for months? All the time? What about at school? What about in the shower? He knew where I was this entire time. That fact sent me chills worse enough to break the coldest recorded temperature in Alaska.

Up until now, I thought I was dealing with a killer. Well, technically I was, but not the kind of cold, mindless person I imagined.

SoNickSays... · 05-28-2008, 04:26 AM

Hey FictionFreak,

First of all, I don't think I should do a full-scale critique of this, since it's not my style of writing so it could be biased.

I like the story, and I like the way you show her emotion, but your style is not my kind. Are you aiming for a YA book? I think words in the narration like 'Omigosh', 'uberexciting' and using the word like as in "i was like, nooo" (like an annoying average teenager) makes your book seem more childish. I definitely wouldn't use it where you have.

For example, when she heard the killer, you used "my mind was racing. i was like omigosh." don't use Omigosh in the narration (even if it is first person) when something like that has just happened if you want to be taken seriously.

I also found a few grammatical errors. There were a few third person mess-ups, and a couple typos, but nothing serious.

If, on the other hand, you are aiming to make this a YA book (which, by the way the plot is going, doesn't seem likely, but by the way you write it does seem likely) then you're doing OK. If you're writing a YA book, maybe not so much description with the deaths of the cops?

But that's my critique.

Nick

Fictionfreak · 05-28-2008, 10:07 PM

Thanks for the comments Sonick. You sound like you've talked to an editor before. I'll take what you've said into careful consideration... as I do with every suggestion.

Anyway. Heres the rest of my story. I think the ending is a bit weak. But what do you think? Here it goes.

Up until now, I thought I was dealing with a killer. Well, technically I was, but not the kind of cold, mindless person I imagined. This guy seemed to have a purpose.

I heard the line go dead. The TV went back to its normal broadcasting; a typical news story. My mom walked in seconds after, she had her purse all ready to go. It was like nothing happened. I noticed that her hair was perfectly combed. If Mitch was a woman that might as well have been his head.

Grandma followed behind. Mom looked at me curiously asking who called. I said they got the wrong number. She bought it, which made me happy. On that note, I gave grandma another hug, we got in our car, and pulled out.

Our car is fairly new. Mom was toying with the GPS functions. That typical, lusty female voice told us to head straight for five miles. Mom seemed mildly impressed with the technology, despite it being a few years old.

My mind was in a flurry. I never felt so hopeless. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing I could do. Branches and shrubs blurred past, as I stared out the passenger window. Darkness had already swept over, and a full moon hung luminously in front of us in a pretty sort of way. But for me, tonight it just looked eerie. I was going to die tonight, all because some bastard got his kicks out of torturing the minds of innocent fifteen year old girls.

“Ashley… why is it doing this?” The confused voice of my mom snapped me back into focus.

I realized she was talking about the GPS. The map looked normal. But I was the geek in the car. I was expected to know how to fix this kind of stuff. “What do you mean?”

“I’m telling it to take us home, but it keeps insisting…” I didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. My mind was shot to the brink of chaos. The only voice I heard was the machines, head left two miles for Spencer Park.

“Spencer Park?” I asked trying to keep my voice even. “It wants us to travel to Spencer Park?”

He hacked our GPS! A quick glance at the unit told me that he didn’t configure it manually. He must have done it wirelessly. That meant he would’ve had to breach a US satellite first. If that was the case, then his abilities to work with computers far surpassed anything I’d imagined. I couldn’t believe the decision I made next. I was tired of getting played with. There was only one way to settle this.

“Mom,” I said softly. “Something seems wrong with the program. But I might be able to see what’s wrong with it depending on what it does when we reach our destination.”

She looked at me quizzically. “You want me to go to Spencer Park?”

I nodded. “Just for a minute.”

When she pulled to the curb, I sprang outside. Pumping my legs to a full head on sprint, the grass was slightly dewy, and I almost slipped twice. Halfway through the park, I heard her calling after me, but it didn’t matter. I just ran, trying to avoid the areas where the cops explored. I didn’t want to trigger bullets into my body. Eventually I just stopped and stood near a street light. I wanted the guy to see me. I didn’t want step into a trap. My mom gave up in looking for me, and I saw through some trees, that she was talking on her phone frantically. I felt bad for her. I knew it was a matter of time before either she spotted me, or he did.

He did.

At first his figure was nothing more than a shadow. I thought maybe it was some random guy just as curious as I was, or one of my friends who saw me and thought it would be fun to try and spook me. My mind came up with all of these stupid possibilities, prolonging the obvious truth. My stalker was coming to get me, and I stood there like a worm on a fish hook. I was open bait. I was so stupid.

“So… you are smart?” I heard the familiar voice that didn’t sound any different off of the phone. Cold and heartless. Eventually I could see his face enter the ring of light. He was scruffy. His hair was longer than mine, even though mine is only shoulder length. His eyes looked blood shot and told many tales of sleepless nights. He gave this cocky smile, revealing his teeth, which weren’t as bad as I expected them to look.

He kept walking with this slow, hostile movement. His shoulders were hunched, his hands in his pockets. In a way he looked like a highschooler. But I knew he was at least twenty five. I was totally creeped out.

“You know,” he shoved a cigarette through is lips. “You haven’t said a word to me. Not once. Are you scared?”

I was so pissed. My anger was slowly taking over my fear. I clenched my fists. “I didn’t come all this way to get raped jackass.”

“Of course not,” he paused to take a light. “Trust me, tonight serves a much grander purpose than my personal gratification. You’re not much of a looker anyway.”

I charged at him. Slamming my beautiful body into him, stumbling him backward. He reacted by grabbing me in a neck lock and pinching a pressure point in my neck.

“I think its best if I show you before you hurt yourself.” He seethed. A cloud of smoke blew from his mouth and into my face. Then he dragged me to the other side of the park where an RV was stationed between some trees. I screamed at the top of my lungs, flailing my arms stupidly. Hopefully somebody would hear me. Anyone. But he struck me in the face and stuffed leaves in my mouth. He got to the camper, and ripped open the door, pushing me inside. I gave up without a fight.

I could only guess that this was his place. The interior was amounted to a very narrow hallway. Everywhere around us was a sea of gadgets, wires and chips were everywhere. I saw several monitors, one for almost every room of my house. That didn’t surprise me. I was just happy to say that the bathroom wasn’t one of them. There was also a screen that showed the inside of the RV, it was seeing things through my perspective. Cameras must have been installed in my clothing.

I turned around to my kidnapper. The guy just looked at me, trying to suppress his anger. I must have cut his lip somehow because he was wiping away his blood. “You’re quite a handful.”

I stared back at him, silently waiting for him to make his next move. This was his show. The fire in his eyes cooled down. And he brought himself back to a more professional manner.

“What I’m about to show you is the turn of the century.” He said, turning to a device. At first it looked like just a glove, but then I saw that a red wire was attached to every finger. I had to lean in a little to see that the wires lead to the plastic model of a hand. It looked much like the hand of a manikin.

The killer slipped his own hand into the glove and wriggled his fingers. The plastic hand mimicked the movement perfectly.

“This glove is installed with a nerve system,” he went on. These wires work as a brain to transmit nerve signals to the robot hand. A simple concept.”

He smiled passionately. “But what if I did something like this?” The glove was slid half way down, and he bent the pointer finger of the glove backwards. I watched as the hand replica snapped its own finger back, making this loud, unsettling crackling noise.

The stranger pulled the glove back on and started moving his fingers again. As expected, the robotic hand was forced to move with it, broken finger and all. I couldn’t imagine the pain that machine was feeling… considering machines had feelings. He kept moving his fingers around the injured one, rubbing them together, until something unbelievable happened…

The machine fought back.

I gasped. I couldn’t believe what was happening. No sooner was the guy in charge of the machine, than the machine in charge of the way his glove was moving. With difficulty, he ripped the glove off and cut the power. The hand died instantly.

“That,” he said breathlessly, “is our future.”

I looked at him dumbstruck. I pinched my skin. I slapped my face. I was unwilling to believe this was real. What I just witnessed was a machine with a mind of its own.
“Isn’t that dangerous,” I had difficulty keeping my body from shaking.

My kidnapper replied confidently. He was expecting a response like that. “Potentially. But all machines have a power button.”

The concept was both brilliant and crazy; robots with minds, doing things without anyone having to give them functions. They could replace house maids, body guards, help desk clerks, taxi divers… this concept was way above my level of nerdity. For a while I thought maybe my kidnapper wanted me because I was good with computers. That I could be his assistant for a technological based heist. But it’s clear now that this technology is beyond me. I know one thing for sure, the idea leads to a road of potential disaster.

“Ever heard of a man by name of Robert Milke?” my kidnapper asked.
The name rang a bell. If I recalled correctly, that was the name of my Dad’s company manager. The one he had dinner with last night.

I nodded my head. “Why?

“Milke designed the first robot to think. Your daddy took part in the process… but he backed out. The idea scared him.”

The thought of my dad being a part of something so big... so advanced, baffled me. I didn’t want to believe that anymore than a robots ability to think freely. “What’s this have to do with me?”

“Daddy wants to go public,” was his quick response. “He wants people to doubt our prototype. But that won’t happen when we have his daughter.”

So the truth came out. I was a bargaining chip. Nothing more. Part of me was disappointed, I sort of wished I could’ve taken a grander part in this whole scheme. This guy really had a way of pissing me off. My fear was evaporating with every extra second I was with him. Among the vast mountain of gadgets I searched for something. My eyes surfed the contents, I saw cell phones, various batteries, printers… I was looking for something sharp. Or shocking. I smiled at a pair of wires I found. I knew that together these wires would cause a jolt.

It all happened so fast. I grabbed them and ran for the stranger. Surges of adrenaline aided me the entire way. However, I never reached him in time. He reacted quickly, grabbing both of my arms and throwing me outside the RV. I landed on hard dirt with an oomph.

“I should just kill you know.” He jumped down to my level and kicked me square in the gut. I cried out in surprise, I couldn’t breathe. It hurt so much. My face was smeared into the earth with his shoe.

But I couldn’t give up. With all of my remaining strength I flipped his weight off of me, which caught him off balance. One leg wobbled in the air as I wrapped the cords around the other and pulled hard. He fell onto his back. I went into an upright position and pressed the wires together into his torso. I held the rubber end, so I didn’t feel anything. But I heard it. The sound was painful; a loud searing pop. The eyes of my killer opened wide, and he went limp. I hoped I didn’t kill him as my strength left me, and I fell on top of his body.

My mind fluttered weakly between dreams and reality. I lost all sense of time. I heard crackling voices through some sort of receiver. I saw blurred dudes with blue hats, I wondered if they were dancing nut-crackers. I heard a woman crying over me, saying something about her baby. I heard the deep, counseling voice of a man.

“Mom?” I said weakly. “Dad?”

“Oh baby!” I felt tears splashing onto my face. I opened my eyes, and things slowly started to make more sense. My mom was looking down at me with tears of joy. I saw my dad with this concerned face. The police were all around, I saw three bodies being loaded onto stretchers. Two of them were officers. I couldn’t tell who the other one was, but I sort of just knew.

I saw Stephanie making her way over, fighting her inner demons of shyness, being so brave for me. I started to cry. Of everything I’ve experienced since last night, the threats, the pain, the loneliness, seeing her making such a big sacrifice to see me was what got me. Mitch was with her too. If he came to close I was afraid I might give him a big unexpected kiss.

My dad quit his job. He won’t talk about the robot hand. I feel like he’s been holding back on me for a long time, I never knew he was such an expert with technology. My mom didn’t even know about the prototype, and I don’t think he would like it very much if I brought it up. It’s like he just wants to forget. I never heard from my stalker again, which is always a plus. The whole park incident seemed to break some ice for Steph. She’s more talkative now, and not in a bad way. She seems more normal. Mitch is still an OCD. When I think about it, I really do hate it when people who like everything perfect, which doesn’t make much sense. But I love him anyway, differences aside. Some mysteries will remain unsolved. Every once and a while I will find a tiny lens stuck near the bottom of an air vent or on a picture frame. It seems like the memories will haunt me through the rest of life. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day I found something as innocent, yet sinister as a little wooden nutcracker.

Ghost.X · 05-29-2008, 05:08 AM

This was quite an enjoyable read. Your characterizatoin is very well done. I get a clear idea of all the characters. I also like how the majority of the information is only revealed to the reader as neccessery. The only exception of this is when you paused the action for narrative description such as Ashley's room and the Grandma's back yard. That doens't effect the readability too much, just something to consider. I was wondering if the effort you put into the other characters was being wasted since they didn't have any particular impact on the story. But I like how they all contributed in the end by showing how worried they were, and strengthening Ashley's faith in them, and then in each other. Still, I think the other characters could have been a little more involved. But for 4000 words (I assume) not bad at all.

As Sonick mentioned, there are a few mistakes in the Point of View. I only noticed this in the first part you posted though. It might be well worth it to read over this to fix, and a maintain a first person POV. Rather then switching into "her" rather then "I". As for terms like "Omigosh". A little uneccessary in some parts like how she reacts to a killer, but I think in context of casual conversational style (like before she met the killer), it wasn't a bad input. It depends on your style really.

Another thing I would like to comment on is that I wasn't entirely convincved of how she reacted to the killer. She had little back bone during the 'stalking' process but she made a stance in the end. Suspense was well done, but I don't think the atmosphere of fear was all that effective. I didn't think Ashley should have been so scared as to stay up all night and still be scared during church.

Other then that, very well written indeed. keep that pen stirring.

balanceseekr · 05-29-2008, 01:47 PM

Comment after first few paragraphs: vibrant. real. I feel I know who this girl is already. "I’m a slob but I don’t care. I love my room." "They're from Intec, which explains everything." - brilliantly succinct character development, which I am going to try to learn from and emulate in my own writing. ("Good artists borrow; great artists steal!")

You might want to put the first paragraph in italics though. I understand why you didn't use quotes, which was a good choice, but you also don't want the reader to think your story will read like the first para, and get turned off, put it down (which I almost did).

Later: "The cleanliness kind of gave her the creeps." and "she" was disappointed at the cookie being a health cookie -- please stay in first person. This kind of switching is not working. You can't change emotional distance that rapidly within prose. It's just weird.

I'm really enjoying it, though. Gotta break, but back with more feedback in a bit.

balanceseekr · 05-29-2008, 02:24 PM

Nice. Very nice. Wow. Kind of Stephen King-ish in character and plot but written more roundly, not stilted and cynical like his writing. Still hopeful, somehow, in tone.

Your style and command of your character are admirable. I thought the plot was a little over the top, however, given what it turned out to be. The thumbdrive in the nutcracker was pretty genius, but when you got to the phony subtitles, the phone call at Grandma's, etc., it seemed too elaborate to be real. I thought maybe it was a story about a descent into madness, maybe bipolar psychosis. I'm glad it wasn't, b/c that is so cliche nowadays. But if the stalker was only out to kidnap her, why would he make it so personal, unless in watching her over the months, there was something about her that inspired a personal kind of hatred, that made him want to add the toying with her into the equation, just for his fun? It could be that he's just that sadistic, but if he's kidnapping her for a particular corporate goal, well, you're mixing "Ransom" and "Saw" and they're just different villains, inherently, unless you can link them together into one. But it's not an intuitive leap your reader will make, IMO; you have to make it for her, at least a little.

Your dialogue, your attention to the details of the environment - excellent. For a character whom I assume is so different from yourself, since you mention not liking her all that much, you do an amazing job of presenting her with depth, empathy, even humor. You bring out her humanity, as so for her best friend, too.

Very well done!

superduperwriter · 05-30-2008, 12:17 PM

you have a command of language and the ability to write. but you didn't keep me interested in this one. I don't know. it's probably not your fault, maybe a generational thing. This is the second story in one hour that has computers and cell phones as central characters almost...and so far the main action between real human beings is mommy getting awful cookies and bringing home groceries...it's just not compelling to me, but maybe it is to teens and young adults.
I would encourage you to keep writing and find the story and cut out all the excess crap which IMO there is a lot of so much so that this feels like some boring excerpts from somebody's diary in parts.
I won't finish the rest, but based on what you have here, I think you have ability, but this story didn't hook me.

thanks.