students collaborate: cade hawks and mckinley shindell
Horror fans will dig this story by JH Community School student McKinley Shindell, written with inspiration from a photo by her fellow student Cade Hawks.
She Was the First Killed; I Was the Last She Saw by McKinley Shindell
It was plastered all over the front page of the daily paper, the large print headline. The rest of the paper was filled with articles about politics, the new bridge installation, or some other thing. The front page glared at me, it was the product of my planning, the anger that built up, and the single moment it happened. Looking at the page brought a vicious smile to my face. The hours of watching, thinking, planning, all to end here, but only to begin again. The house was small, the doors big, surrounded by trees, and lots of windows. The family was small, a dad, who wakes up every morning at 4:45 to go for a run, at 5:45 he returns home to get ready for work, puts some toast in and wakes up his daughter, she slowly takes her time in the morning to get ready for school, then at 7:15 she hops in a new car with a new boyfriend and leaves for school. She was about 16 and the only teen girl in the neighborhood. The one I wanted. I had lived on the same street for years. I had seen her learn how to ride a bike, mourn over the mother’s death, every first occurred in that house. And now it was my first, and her last. I had grown an obsession with her and her family, everything that they did, where they went. One night when the house looked empty, and her dad went out with friends, it was the perfect time. There were a few lights on in the house and, I could see the TV was on and she was sitting there, crying since yet another relationship was over. The garage door didn’t lock I knew that. I slowly approached the garage door, dressed in day clothes, with the knife, duct tape, and rope in hand. The rope crunched in my hand, my face getting hot, and a grin appearing. The brisk autumn air hitting my face, the sky was cloudy, and the house looked like any other house on the street at that hour. I opened the door and slowly made my way inside. The floor was creaking, the rope, rough and scratching my hands with every step. The door opened, I froze in my step, thinking through the plan one last time. Getting ready, I heard the door open and her sweet foot steps sliding across the floor. Her slippers just barely scratched the concrete. Once I heard the noise, I knew that I couldn’t turn back, the choice had been made, she was chosen and her life was about to end. The closer she got, the closer I was to the goal. I could hear her breathing, see her steps. When she peaked around the corner I was ready….
It was plastered all over the front page of the daily paper. The large print headline… Why me? Why? I was sitting in the living room, watching The Notebook. I heard the faintest noise outside the house, but when I heard a door shut, I knew someone or something was in the house. I grabbed my cell, thinking it was a friend playing a trick, I walked to the mudroom, and put my ear against the door. I couldn’t hear anything. Dead silence was ringing through the air. You could here the movie playing in a faint eerie way. I twisted the silver, cold doorknob and stepped into the garage. Our garage was a maze; my dad had boxes of my mom’s stuff, her clothing, books, anything that meant anything to her. There was a refrigerator, camping gear, old electronics, and shelves all over, covered in my child hood, old girl scout cookie boxes that my dad bought out of pity since I never sold as many as the other girls. I made my way quietly, in my pink Kmart slippers and snowflake pajamas to the end of the shelves, the center was open, with a couch that my father had since he was in college and, it smelled like a guys gym bag. I peaked around the corner to see if someone was there. A man who I thought I knew was standing there with a grin on his face. I thought he was drunk and wandered into my house thinking it was his. But when he held up the rope and the tape, I knew this was no accident. He tied the rope around my wrists, and my ankles and the tape over my mouth. I couldn’t believe what was going on and tried to get away for a few seconds, but then I gave up when the knife hit me. The cold metal plunged into me. I could feel the razor blade ripping through me, the blood soaking my clothing. My phone was buzzing on the floor next to me. Then he left and, I was helplessly laying there, and then it all went black as I could hear the sirens….
It was plastered all over the front page of the daily paper. The large print headline. The rest of the paper filled with articles about politics, the new bridge installation, or some other thing. How could this have happened to her, I never should have left her alone. She was only 16. My Baby…. It was late when I got home, I had called her to let her know I was going to be late, there was no answer but I thought she would call me back, or that she was just being stubborn, or, or… As I was driving I could feel that something was wrong. When I pulled up to the house, there were sirens, lights, and police standing around. I knew something had happened to her. Her face was totally pale, her eyes closed, and her clothing drenched; I couldn’t realize that she was gone. The house was empty, a bowl of cereal half eaten, a movie playing, and the lights on. Besides from the garage, with the her blood stained on the flour, the house looked exactly the same….
It plays over and over again in my head. It was a wonderful thing. That moment the blood dripped, the noise ended… I was addicted….
I saw him driving home. I knew he wouldn’t get it. I don’t get it….
The house ghostly, her phone buzzing. How do I tell her friends, family, she was still growing up…
She was the first…
I was only in high school….
In a blink she went from being a baby to now 16 and dead…
It was plastered all over the front page of the daily paper. The large print headline that read, “33284 willow street, a murder scene. Suspect unknown. One 16 year old girl dead…”