Middle School Marisa gobbled up 90s teen horror faster than cones of Baskin Robbins Gold Medal Ribbon. That's saying a lot considering I eat ice cream when I angst and my 12-year-old self lived to angst. And, as I wanted to be a writer, my file cabinet of curiosities had it's own file labeled: HORROR STORIES.
This sample is pretty typical of a 7th grade Marisa story. It contains everything my 12-year-old self loved - an historical preface, a modern-day (circa 1993) tween girl who declares she hates her life in a super dramatic way, evil porcelain dolls, and death angels.
This is fiction that should never see the light of day, you guys. You have been warned. Yep. Here we go.
Preface: 1898, Williamsburg, Virginia
"Oh! Momma!" I cried as I threw open my last birthday gift. It was a doll with pale blonde curls, a soft silk blue dress, cremed rose painted lips in a scary, mocking grin. The doll had clear blue eyes, so clear it almost showed the inside of this fragile doll. I glanced up at Momma. "Thank you, Momma, Poppa. It's a beautiful doll," I said, but I didn't mean it. Not all that much, anyway. Something about her features made me shiver. It was the way she seemed to watch me as I looked at her. "I'll call her Anna-Elise," I said blankly as I set the doll down to continue with the wonderful party given to me.
"Yes, Momma. You can come in," I said. Momma opened the door to kiss me goodnight.
(insert a page of blah, blah, blah, how did you like your party/doll, I loved it, you're the best Momma ever, shivering because the doll is creepy, goodnight, goodnight, ect... here)
"You are one gruesome doll," I said to Anna-Elise. I turned the crank in her back. All of a sudden, her clear blue eyes turned red and she smiled at me in a frightening way.
"Mommaaaa!" Anna-Elise laughed. "Mommmmmaaaa!" I dropped Anna-Elise and backed away, only to see her climb up onto her stubby legs. "Come here, Cemitrum!" she said. I backed away. "Come here, Cemitrum!" she said again. I didn't respond. "Raycastra, Floorum, Cristornien, Traichitum, Clagrium, and Opian!" the doll chanted.
From the window, six flying skeletons dressed in shabby robes with flying skeletal birds appeared. I tried to run out of the room but the door seemed stuck.
(insert a half-page of helpless screaming, here)
"Come to me, Cemitrum. Be one of my death angels. Come to me." Anne-Elise's voice was scaring me. I couldn't bear it. I took a step toward the doll. "Good girl," she said. I took another step then grabbed Anna-Elise and flung her out the window. "Aggghhh!" she screamed, then all was silent. As quickly as they came, the death angels disappeared.
From down below, Poppa yelled, "Catherine Alexandra Castrone! Why is your new doll laying on the ground in hundreds of pieces?"
CHAPTER ONE - New York, 1993
"I can't believe you want to move to Williamsburg! I bet they make butter and soap for fun! It's not fair!" I yelled at Momma and Poppa. I was so mad. I hardly even noticed the hurt look on Momma's face.
"Catherine Alexandra Castrone! If you are going to argue then go to your room!" Poppa told me. "Gramma Susan invited us to live in her old house since she is so old, and now we're going to live there! It wouldn't hurt you to learn a little about family history. Anyway, Auntie Maria and Uncle Johnny's kids are going to live there, too. You'll like having Angela to play with. She's twelve, too."
"But Poppa! It's 1993! No one lives in an old town! Believe me!" I whined helplessly.
(insert three pages of Go to your room! I hate you and I'm not moving! You have no choice, now stop whining! But all my friends are in New York and Angela is a spoiled, conceited brat and I hate her! plus helpless crying x10, here)
Invigorating stuff, eh?
But that's not all, folks. My notes come with a family tree. Too bad I didn't think to include a death angels name pronunciation guide.
Sadly, I was more of an ideas + first-10-pages girl and lacked follow through to the finish, so I don't know how this story ends.
Though I'm sure the final fight between middle school drama queen and evil doll and death angels would have been epic, with lots of blood and plenty of helpless screaming, helpless crying, and helpless whining.
Have a fabulous weekend, folks!