Title: Just a FanAuthor: Saturday MorningRating: R Genre: HorrorSummary: Travis Barker is afraid to go to sleep at night. Someone has been on his property in the last week, and someone still is.
<center><font size = 10 face = "Viner Hand ITC">DAY SEVEN: Part Three </font size = 10 face = "Weltron Urban"></center> “Ready, now?” Vincent asked. “Please don’t, <i>please,</i>” Tom was sobbing openly now, not ashamed of his begging. He really didn’t want this to happen again. To be honest with himself, Vincent was surprised Travis had let it go this far. Maybe he really wasn’t in here- maybe Vincent just hadn’t searched the other rooms hard enough. I mean, would Travis really hide and listen to his best friend’s torture idly? Well.. This final test would prove it. Vincent adjusted his position on Tom less-than-carefully, then slid his arms around the guitarist’s waist and unfastened his belt tauntingly slowly. There was little resistance; Tom was near passing out. Travis, on the other hand- his mind was becoming more clear. The chloroform was wearing off fast now, and he could feel some of his strength returning. Maybe strength enough to make a break for it and succeed? The drummer stared down at his bound hands and feet. Okay, maybe not make a <i>break... </i> When he got Tom’s pants down enough to be able to ‘work’ with, Vincent got started on his own. Surely <i>this</i> would get Travis out- just the other day Travis threatened his own death to spare the life of this insignificant , tone-deaf guitarist. The guy must mean a lot to him- surely his screams for mercy would not fall upon uncaring ears. That thought had hardly crossed Vincent’s mind before a loud pounding sound caught his attention. Someone was knocking- <i>hard</i>- on a glass door. The noises echoed throughout the whole house: <i>Boom boom boom boom boom!</i> “FUCK!” Vincent screamed, anger seething through his words. How <i>dare</i> someone interrupt him! “That is IT!” he yelled, climbing off of Tom and pulling up his pants as he headed for the night stand where his pistol lie, “I have HAD it with your house guests, Travis!” He looked down at Tom with spite, “I’ll be back for <i>you,</i> later,” he spat, clicking off the safety and using all his willpower to resist putting a bullet in that head right then and there. His rage was difficult to control- when he got angry, he got violent. And he was angry, alright. Mark hammered away on the door for what seemed like a minute before he remembered the concept of a house key. “I gotta have one here <i>some</i>where,” he muttered, pulling his heavy set of keys from his pocket and sorting through them with a frown. “Waaay too many,” he told himself. What were these <i>from</i> anyway? ...Tom’s house, Tom’s old house, Tom’s house before that, Tom’s old apartment- Jesus, that guy moves too much- car key, Tom’s car key, the key to the shed in the back of Tom’s old house, key to that stupid padlock used to lock he and Tom’s candy stash...Ah ha! Travis’ house key. Mark smiled victoriously to himself as he separated this one from the rest and fit it neatly into the hole on the golden-handled french doors that barred the dining room from the patio he stood on. The door opened easily, but as soon as Mark stepped inside he dropped his keys. They hit the carpeted dining room floor with a soft thud. Mark sighed, getting down on his hands and knees behind the dining room table to pick them up just as Vincent breezed past- shooting a glance at the open French doors but missing the ‘intruder’ entirely as he continued on to the other rooms. Meanwhile, Hoppus received confirmation that all was not well: blood. All over the floor. Still on all fours, he remained frozen like that- he could see through the chair legs and table legs blood... all over the carpet, against the wall, and a baseball bat. Holy shit... “COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE!” Mark jumped as the unfamiliar voice penetrated the silence of the house, hitting his head on the top of the table. He muffled his “Ow!” with his hand and backed up a bit so that he was no longer under the table. “I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE, HOPPUS!” the voice announced from a distant location- maybe the living room, maybe the foyer? Mark glanced left and right then peeked hesitantly above the table, searching for the source of the voice. As he peeked, he caught a glance into the kitchen. More blood. Mark slowly reached a hand back into his rear-pocket, removing his cell phone quietly and bringing it up to his face. “I’VE BEEN EXPECTING YOU!” Oh shit, was that voice getting closer? Mark’s thumb rolled over the buttons: 9...1...1
OMG! OMGOMG! AAAAAAAaaahAHhhhhhhhhhhhA Poor Markie! !!! Make him rape Tom :D
Oops sorry that was me...I was so signed in stupid livejournal o.0