I wrote this a looooong time ago as a sort of take on the Point Horror series. It was just a bit of fun really, not the most serious piece of writing. Enjoy.
~ Bronwen

Babysitting

Emily stood at the front door, waving to Mr and Mrs Richardson as they pulled out of the driveway and disappeared out of view down the street. She shivered, it was getting cold out. She closed the door quietly, as to not wake up Timmon, and made her way silently through to the living room. Only a few minutes before, she was standing in the hallway watching adoringly as Mrs Richardson had said goodnight to Timmon and tucked him into bed. It was only nine o’clock, and he had gotten ready for bed no problem fifteen minutes earlier. Timmon was such a sweet little boy, and Emily felt how warm and loving this family were from him. Just then, Mr Richardson came out of the kitchen and said, “Katy, time to go or we’ll be late!”
“Okay, I’ll be with you in a minute Dear!” Mrs Richardson called back, and then to Timmon, “Now Sweetie, you just go to sleep and be a good boy for Emily here. No getting up and asking for snacks.” The Richardson’s would be spending the evening at an office benefit, and would be back sometime around twelve. If they decided to stay another hour or so, Emily would get an extra ten dollars, which was fine with her. Suddenly, Mr Richardson appeared looking flustered and agitated.
“Honey, we’d better get going, we’re late enough as it is,” he said to Mrs Richardson. Then turning to Emily he told her, “there’s snacks in the fridge if you get peckish, just help yourself. Timmon should sleep all the way through, so you should have no problems. Emergency numbers are on the fridge just incase…”
“Of course you won’t need them…” added Mrs Richardson, “our son is an angel,” she smiled at Emily, before grabbing her handbag and gloves from the dresser.
“Okay, thanks Mr and Mrs Richardson, have a good time,” Emily told them. With that, they had faithfully left the house, and their child, in the hands of Emily.
Now, five minutes later, Emily did not feel so warm and cosy anymore. Looking out from the curtains into the empty street, she saw how dark and foreboding it looked. The grandfather clock constantly tick-tocked in the corner, and suddenly it was all too quiet in the house. She stepped away from the window and as she sat down, she wished that Timmon was still awake, if just for some company. She thought of waking him up, but that would be selfish and stupid of her.
Moving softly towards the kitchen, she quietly fished out her anti-depressants from her pink sparkly handbag, and took two from their little plastic compartments.
Daintily she poured a fresh glass of OJ and downed them without a second thought, as advised by Dr Barnes.
Dr Barnes could be trusted. Although he was a little pervy and always stared mostly at her small swell of breasts than her face, he probably knew what he was doing.
Back in the den, she switched on the television and watched. The voices and fake attitudes of game shows on Friday night TV blended into one, the drone seduced her into a kind of half sleep.
Some time later, there came a knock at the front door. It made Emily jump slightly: the knock seemed forceful, masculine even. Slowly, she stood up and made her way into the hall. With fascination, she realised she was shaking. With a little force, she laughed it off, opened the spy hole and looked through it. What she saw standing there was entirely impossible; a man, half his face gone, one large scary eye staring out at her. She only saw half of his mouth which was twisted and pulled into something that could have been a smile or a grimace. Blood dribbled out and spiky teeth showed through. The other side of his face was a mass of tissue and there was more than a hint of white, where the skull showed through. Where the bone cracked, she saw a pulsing mass of brain.
Emily screamed and back away from the door, shaking all over as her legs turned to rubber and her heart pounded hard in her chest. She had only seen the image for a second, but it was there in her mind as vivid as ever. She uttered a low moan as she stood watching the door, thinking that at any moment it was going to burst open. On her face her expression turned to one of sudden realisation, and of dawning horror. She had left the bolts off the door, the only thing standing between her and whatever it was out there was a flimsy lock. Without another moments thought, she rushed to the door quickly and fastened the three large bolts. Once they were all secure, she stood there shaking madly. Slowly, she calmed down and forced herself to look through the spy hole once more. Taking a deep breath of relief, she saw that nothing was there. She frowned, preparing herself for something to jump out at her; but alas, nothing was there. Finally, she managed to drag herself away from the front door.
“Shit, what is wrong with me?” she whispered to herself in one quick breath. She dragged her hand through her hair, catching it on a small knot which she untangled. She was walking down the hall when something caught her eye on the landing of the stairs, making her jump. Gasping, she realised it was only Timmon, who must have been wakened by her scream.
“Timmon, honey, what are you doing out of bed?” She asked him, forcing a smile on her face. He was standing there watching her, his face looked pale and scared, his hair messy and ruffled.
“Emily, I heard a scream. A-are you okay?”
Emily gave a sigh of relief as she ran upstairs to him. Holding him close to her she said, “Yes Sweetie, everything is okay, I just got a bit of a fright…” she was taken aback by how cold he felt. Again, she noticed his paleness. “Honey, have…have you been outside?” Thoughts that maybe he had played this cruel trick on her entered her head, and maybe that was why he had gone to bed so early without complaint. Stop it, she told herself. It was her first time babysitting for the Richardsons and Timmon seemed such a sweet little boy. Besides, he wouldn’t have had enough time. She realised it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her.
“Outside? Ermmm, no…Why would I go outside Emily? Are you okay, you look a little funny?”
“Oh yeah, sorry kiddo, course you didn’t go outside, you’ve been in bed since your parents left. Come on, let’s get you back to bed, you feel so cold.”
“I know, can I please get my hot water bottle?” Timmon asked her.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll bring it up to you, now get back to bed,” Emily said warmly, gesturing towards his room. Timmon began to walk up the stairs to his room, only looking back at her once, uneasily. Emily made her way to the kitchen, found Timmon’s hot water bottle under the sink where Mrs Richardson had said it would be, and turned on the hot water tap before checking what was in the fridge. Maybe all this happened because she hadn’t had a thing to eat earlier. She took out a soda for the moment, as she was thirsty. The water would be hot enough by now, she thought turning back to the sink. As she started to turn, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the water was red. Jumping slightly and turning round fast, the water looked as clear as ever. Sighing, she walked over to fill up the bottle and then took it upstairs to Timmon.
The second top stair creaked loudly as she reached the hallway. Timmon’s bedroom door was open, and she saw he was lying in bed, waiting for her. Again, she chastised herself for thinking he would play such a cruel joke on her.
“Emily, can I please have a drink of milk?” Timmon asked her politely. She looked at her watch; it was twenty past eleven.
“Oh, I don’t know Timmon… you should really be asleep by now,” she replied as she handed him his hot water bottle.
“Please Emily, I’m thirsty. It’ll help me sleep better,” pleaded Timmon, looking as sweet as possible. Emily sighed.
“Well, okay.”
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Emily heard a faint trickling sound. She decided it was coming from the kitchen, and as she walked through, the sight of blood over the floor made her gasp. Just as quickly it turned clear again, leaving her startled and trembling. She must have left the tap on and the water had overflowed onto the floor. She could feel herself shivering as she slowly went to turn the tap off (I’m sure I turned it off…).
Frowning, she picked up a cloth and started to wipe up the floor. Rinsing it out, she thought there was a trace of red as she squeezed it dry. There was a sudden noise at the window, causing her to jump. It had sounded like a rustling, like someone was spying on her.
With that, she made her way back down the hall and into the living room, intending to phone her boyfriend. This was all starting to freak her out, although she knew he probably wouldn’t take her seriously. Sitting herself down on the couch besides the cordless, she thought of Jake. He was always so funny and kind to her, plus he was really cute, what her mom called a ‘catch’. Smiling, she picked up the receiver and put it to her ear, reaching out her other hand to dial the numbers. The first thing she noticed was no dial tone. Then what she heard next made her jump.
“Get off the phone you little whore,” a voice spoke into the phone. It was a deep, croaky voice, male. “Get off the phone, no-one is coming to help you,” the voice went on in a kind of groan, breaking up into eerie sounds she didn’t recognise as words.
“Timmon is that…”
“Shut up, bitch! You are going to DIE tonight…” the voice went on. Emily hung up the phone, fast. Of course it was Timmon; he must have picked up the phone when he heard her downstairs. His bad language had shocked her, and now she rushed upstairs. She was pretty mad, how could such a little kid use such bad language?!
When she reached his room, she opened the door quietly, as she could hear whisperings coming from inside. She was perplexed to see Timmon fast asleep in bed, doing that thing that kids sometimes do, when they sleep with half their eyelids open, so you could just see the whites of their eyes. He’s not really asleep; she thought to herself, he’s playing tricks on me. It was then she noticed the phone in his room. Creeping over to it slowly, she saw how easily he could have picked it up and started speaking into it. Get off the phone you little whore. On impulse, she picked up the receiver. No dial tone. She frowned, looking at the wire. It was plugged in okay, so she once again slowly held the phone up to her ear. Her face fell as she heard the noise, the painful groaning, then one word; bitch. The phone cut off, and she dropped the receiver. Fear in the pit of her stomach began to rise up into her chest and she just managed to hold onto a scream as it rose up inside of her, born from terror. How had someone been able to do that… unless there was another phone in the house.
“Timmon,” she whispered, then louder, “Timmon! Wake up, we have to get out of the house,” Timmon woke, and looked at her in a confused way through sleepy eyes.
“What…” he replied. Emily took his hand in hers and gently pulled him out of bed, then pulling him out his bedroom and down the stairs.
As they stumbled into the hall, she stayed close by him. The house was big, Emily didn’t have time to check out all the rooms and another phone could be hidden anywhere. She chose the warm glow of the kitchen, where they keep the knives.
“What’s going on Emily? I’m scared, please tell me!” Timmon was looking at her with frightened eyes as she took out the largest kitchen knife from the holder. Just then a loud bang at the window made them both jump. It was as if something had been aimed at them.
“Timmon, you stay here, I’m going to check that out,” she told him, the pitch of her voice rising steadily towards the end of her sentence. She moved towards the door and put her hand on the knob, getting a grip of herself before she ventured outside. Timmon looked on in dread.
Maybe this is someone from school, just joking around, Emily thought. A small spark of anger started up from inside her, and she rushed out of the kitchen and into the back yard. It was totally silent now, nothing stirred and it was cold. Emily wrapped her arms round herself, and cautiously made her way over to the bushes. Of course, she couldn’t see much; it was too dark. She told herself there was nothing there but a racoon, or a hedgehog. Still, she felt fear creep slowly into her, down in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly a loud crash came from behind her. Turning around quickly she saw something dart over to the path leading round to the front, and out of her sight. Feeling that small spark of anger again, she ran after whoever it was, still holding the large knife in her hand.
There was ice on the ground, the patio had pretty much frozen over and Emily felt her feet skidding; she quickly gained her balance before falling over. It was very dark, and she couldn’t see the path anymore as she steadily pulled herself up.
“Whoever you are, this isn’t funny!! I’m not scared of you and I’m calling the cops!” But she was scared. As she came round the corner, there was nobody in sight. Stopping to listen, the street was eerily silent. There were no cars parked anywhere in the street, no people in sight. The houses were occupied by friendly people; it was a friendly neighbourhood, lit up by friendly glowing houses and by this time most of the curtains were closed and many people had gone to bed. Breathing heavily, she realised once again how cold it was; she could see her breath. Her clammy hand grasped the blade and hesitantly, she walked back to the front door, then remembering it was locked, rang the bell.
“Timmon! Timmon?! Timmon, open the door, it’s only me!” she shouted, quite hoarsely, and listening to herself she sounded desperate; she sounded scared. Panic was rising up inside of her, and she turned the door knob. Surprisingly, it opened first time, and standing in the hall was Timmon. She walked in quickly and slammed the door behind her in one, quick movement. Then without turning around, she made sure all the locks were secure. As she was putting on the last chain, Timmon spoke from behind her.
“It’s your turn to die, bitch,” it was that voice again. Emily froze, fear building up inside her.
“Timmon…?”
“I’m going to gut you open, and watch you bleed.”
Turning around, she saw the figure was not Timmon. It couldn’t have been Timmon, it was about the same size, but the face was distorted. The thing was smiling, and she could see it had razor sharp teeth. Its eyes were the deepest, cruellest black, and looking into them Emily screamed, loudly. In its hand it was holding a glass, full of blood.
As the monster came closer to her, she realised she still had the knife in her hand; dumbly, she looked at it, then up at the thing that was slowly approaching her. It was muttering things in a strange language now, always in that deep, croaky voice, the evil intentions in that voice were very prominent.
Suddenly, she charged at it, knife held up high; she brought it down and the thing moved as if to bite her. The knife slashed off half the thing’s face, and now it looked exactly the same as the thing on the porch. As far as Emily was concerned, it was the thing on the porch, and she stabbed it repeatedly. The thing slouched down against the wall, hands going up as if to protect itself, and she still stabbed it, deep cuts going into its body and head. The thing lay motionless, and still she stabbed it, screaming. She could hear a voice from far away screaming the name, a shriek, shrill voice getting louder and louder. Soon she realised it was actually her voice, and as her arm moved up and down in motion, she saw the thing gradually begin to change. There was red everywhere, all over the walls the carpet, the table, and all over herself. It was in her eyes. It seemed all that existed was that colour, and she kept on screaming the word, “Timmon, Timmon, TIMMON!!!!!”
Sudden realisation seemed to dawn on her, and for the first time she really saw what was lying in front of her. A boy, covered in blood, dead like a broken doll. The glass lay two feet away, where it had been dropped, the white milk poured out over the floor, a symbol of his innocence; seeping into it was the redness, his blood.
Emily screamed, but this time her throat was hoarse and sore. She sat there for half an hour or so, staring numbly at the corpse. She didn’t even register when Mrs Richardson started screaming and Mr Richardson called the police.
Everyone saw it for what it only ever could have been; just a dead little boy.