Hey Haunting Hour fans! As requested by fantomdranzerx and thehauntinghourrecap of tumblr. here is my story for R.L. Stine's The Haunting Hour: The Series. I'm really gonna miss the show, especially as someone who grew up watching Goosebumps. (And my brother had a whole shelf worth of the books.) I don't think I've ever written anything with a creepy vibe to it, and I feel the need to put a WARNING on it just for that reason. There will be some dark themes, but my stories are always about finding the bright side. I hope you enjoy!

I do not own The Haunting Hour

12/25/13

The jaws of a snappy Pomeranian couldn't keep up with the flock of chirping birds that came to greet the morning. They effortlessly flew out of reach, fluttering about among the perfectly hedged shrubbery. A trademark of the neighborhood. They hovered over a smoothly paved pathway that led to a glossy wooden door with a gold mail slot. One particularly chipper bird perched on a window of the house his flock had found. He took a moment to rest, and enjoy the peacefulness. For a moment was all he was allowed.

Terrified screams sent the birds' world spinning. They scattered immediately. As they rushed away, footsteps hurriedly approached a bedroom on the second floor. The door was jammed, so it jiggled ferociously while the anguished cries went on.

"Daddy! DADDY!" Pairs of porcelain eyes stared at the girl screaming in her sleep. Her cries drowned out the sound of the three ticking clocks on the wall, that were set to different times. With one strong push, her bedroom door opened with such force it left a dent in the wall, and sent a small lamp to the floor.

The bright colored bedspread was so dissonant to the girl writhing beneath it. She'd found such a dark place hidden in what was supposed to be sanctuary. And it wasn't the first time. Her father shook her free of her nightmare. His empathy for her made him disregard being gentle about it.

"Georgia, wake up!" He shouted into a mess of her auburn hair, which stuck to her reddened face because of all the hot tears that stained it.

Within seconds, she settled as she stirred. He sighed as she caught her breath. While she wiped her wide eyes and set her focus on him, he spotted his concerned wife in the doorway. "Daddy?" Georgia asked. Still somewhat scared and unsure.

Her breathing steadied, and he kneeled down at her bedside.

"It's me," He said soothingly, making sure to lower his voice before he spoke next. "I promise, it's really me. We're safe."

Even a traditional Sunday breakfast didn't look appetizing to Georgia. Not because her mother served it to her on a Wednesday, but because it was nigh impossible to eat while her nightmares lingered. She knew they weren't real. She knew her father had fought back, but imagination seemed to be a bigger monster than anything he'd faced before.

"Eat up, you wanna be well energized for your first day of high school." Monica said excitedly. With no acknowledgement of what had just taken place less than half an hour before.

Georgia nodded, forcing herself to eat. "I know, Mom. Thanks."

"So, are you excited?" Monica asked her daughter, after she served her husband and took a seat.

"Not really." Georgia answered once she swallowed. She felt like she was drinking paint.

"Are you nervous?" Monica asked worriedly, while she cut herself a piece of ham.

"Not really." A near perfect echo. I just hope I survive. It was a grim thought, not a joking one. Expected after where Georgia's dreams led her. She focused on eating, hoping to forget all that.

"Okay, well..." The woman searched her mind for something encouraging, but it didn't come out that way. "try to make friends."

"Georgia shouldn't have any trouble with that." Sam cut in before his daughter had the chance to speak for herself.

Monica swallowed a sigh along with her ham. "I just meant..." She directed her glance at her daughter and finished her thought. "good luck."

"Thanks." Georgia said again, finishing up her food. In trying to look on the bright side, she'd basically inhaled breakfast. She took her new backpack-embroidered with common foreign phrases-off the back of her chair and slid it on, heading upstairs to brush her teeth. When she returned, she found her parents holding hands across the table, which was nice to see. They spoke in whispers, but not playful ones, which was hurtful to hear. So, she pretended not to. "Okay, I'm heading out."

"Have a good day, Sweetie." Sam wished. He and Georgia were in sync, and he knew she'd rather just move on from the morning. On her own.

Monica on the other hand, was feeling guilty about how she handled the situation before. "You sure you don't want me to drive you?"

"No, it's fine." Georgia dismissed. "I gotta get used to walking to school. That's what I got up early for." She sent her parents a smile and went on her way. They mirrored that grin until the door closed.

"It was the nightmares that woke her." Monica mumbled. "I thought she was past this whole... monster fiasco. It's been at least a year, hasn't it?"

"Maybe it's first day jitters." Sam reasoned, not wanting his wife to worry any more than she already was.

She tried her best to hide a scoff. "She said she wasn't nervous."

"Consciously, she isn't." Sam agreed. "but, subconsciously..." There had to be some explanation for why the nightmares resurfaced. At least enough of one to get Monica to stop asking questions.

She looked like she was on the verge of tears. "That... this morning... was worse than any other time." In part, because the door now needed fixing. Though there was an underlying fear Sam' words hadn't soothed, and they all knew it. "I feel so bad about not listening to her," Monica admitted. "but it turned out to be nothing more than her imagination."

In answer, Sam poured his wife a cup of espresso. As he set it down, he said: "We have a very special girl. And we don't have to worry about her. She can take care of herself."

Sam walked upstairs, and stood in his daughter's doorway. The bed had been left unmade. His eyes scanned the room as they glazed over. All the souvenirs given to Georgia when he returned from his travels-which he'd long since taken a break from-were neatly lined up in front of her world map.

Even the one of the German girl in lederhosen, that had been smashed with a hammer and glued back together. Seeing that, he knew what he said to Monica was more of a wish than a fact.

Lunchtime rolled around, and Georgia had an honest appetite back. The only notable thing she thought she'd done was impress her geography teacher, but nobody was calling her a teacher's pet for it. Not that she would mind. She seemed to get on better with adults anyway. It showed in that she didn't have many friends her own age she managed to keep. Most of them had moved away and lost touch. Either that, or they changed completely by the time they got to junior high. Georgia wasn't exactly happy to lose touch with that group, but they weren't the same people. It was as if she never knew them.

Georgia wasn't looking to make new friends, even though her mother had encouraged that and her father thought it would be no sweat. At the moment, she was just curious what was on the menu. In all the commotion, her mom had forgotten to pack cold lunch. She settled for grilled cheese. By the looks of it, the sandwich should've been labeled nuked cheese instead. It was painfully obvious it'd just been stuck in a microwave. Georgia braved herself to take a bite. (That didn't take much mustering. Not after the things she'd seen.) By the taste of it, the sandwich should've been called nuked plastic. Once again, she ate anyway. Nursing her meal this time.

While her mouth solely focused on eating, her eyes wandered. The other students sat in groups, but some were a lot less stereotypical than others. She smiled when she saw a girl decked out in pink-with a pocketbook big enough to house her neighbor Mrs. Edson's Pomeranian- sitting with a boy who was fascinated by something on the slide under his microscope. She found herself giggling quietly when the girl took a look. Her response to whatever she saw, was to kiss the boy on the cheek. Georgia didn't get to finish surveying the area, because she felt a presence in front of her.

At first, she didn't get a good look at the boy's face. His glance was directed at her backpack, which was taking up a seat he probably wished to sit in, considering he had a plate of the same nuked plastic she was muddling through. (Students had claimed the rest of the chairs around Georgia's table before she even got there. She could tell by how crowded the other tables were.) The boy seemed preoccupied with reading the words etched on her backpack, but only for a moment. Then he looked up, and sent her a cheery yet nervous smile.

"Hey." She greeted casually, wondering if he was new to the school, like her. He'd been wondering something, too.

"I thought you might be an exchange student." Judging by her backpack. He hoped that didn't sound ignorant. Thankfully, her dismissal of that was as casual as her greeting.

"Nah, just... worldly I guess. And just a freshman." She wasn't sure he wanted to hear the whole story. Or, at least, the one her and her father gave as cover. She didn't find her status all that interesting, and doubted he would.

The boy countered her doubt with a compliment. "Sick." He gave another signature smile. Hearing the word, Georgia let out another giggle. This one was so quiet it didn't even register in his ears. "Me too, by the way. My dad and I are new in town."

The typical reaction might be to ask where he was from, but Georgia was caught up in something else. The way this boy spoke of his father, his tone mirrored the wonder in his eyes. It made her think of her relationship with her father, and the amount of adoration there. Just by listening, she could tell this boy could relate. What she couldn't tell, was that was something new for him.

Her eyes drifted momentarily to underneath the table, and she saw him shifting in his skate shoes. For a second, she was captivated by all the colors. They were gray on top, with blue laces that seemed to be triple-knotted. The sides were mainly black complemented by purple, with white and red accents. Somehow, it all worked together. She was about to compliment the shoes, but then she remembered why her glance traveled there in the first place. He was probably tired of standing. "Have a seat." She invited.

He did as he was told, as if the offer was an order. A reflex that was difficult to rid himself of.

She didn't notice, especially with how he sounded. She wondered if her mother would want to trade children, given how earnestly excited he was. Excited and-as she would soon see-very polite. "So, what's your name?" He sounded fascinated to hear the answer even though he'd only just asked the question. (This is when she got her first good look at him. Light brown hair lazily sculpted with gel, and eyes she guessed were green. His face was sprinkled with faint beauty marks.)

"Georgia." She supplied automatically. "Georgia Lomin."

He found this slightly amusing, like he saw it coming. "The worldly girl named Georgia." It was funny, now that she thought about it, and she was glad he hadn't been expecting something more exotic. "I'm Logan Frost." He said, extending his hand. A behavior he'd been taught, and one she felt refreshed to see as well as reciprocate. They shook. Silence fell for a second, while Logan thought of another question. "You like football?"

That was something else refreshing. She was a petite girl, with her hair back in braids she made herself. Her room was full of porcelain dolls, though he had no way of knowing that. Another more obvious fact? She was all of 5''1', and he wanted to know if she liked football. "Yeah, sure." She didn't just shrug it off, she was completely serious.

He gave another grin, to reflect hers, and rattled off another question. "Model trains?"

The surprises just kept coming. She'd never met a jock who liked model trains. Not until Logan, who stuttered through some of his sentences. That was another thing that surprised her, thanks to stereotypes. She rolled with it anyway, answering: "Of course." To be honest, she liked model anything. Airplanes, cars, even dollhouses. If those counted as model houses.

"Do you skateboard?" That was something she expected to hear from someone wearing shoes like his.

She shook her head, disappointed in herself. Just when they started to find common ground, they were losing it. "No, but I want to."

"I could teach you sometime." He offered.

"Awesome." She said gratefully. "Probably the only thing I can teach you about is geography. My mailman says I'm good at it, and apparently my teacher agrees."

Logan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're tight with your mailman? Cool. And I'd love to learn about geography, I can barely read a map." He admitted this sheepishly, but she didn't see it as anything to be embarrassed about. Most people their age couldn't. She was happy to hear that he didn't find that geeky. Or maybe he did, but he just didn't care. It seemed to fascinate him anyway. So, it was settled. They had something to teach each other.

"Working on homework?" Logan looked up from his desk at the sound of his father's voice. He could see how the notebook and pen would give off that vibe.

"None today." He informed happily. Hank Frost moved one of the handles of his aviator sunglasses back and forth between his thumb and pointer finger. His son was glad to see that his well-worked hands weren't shaking with nervousness, but instead relaxed. Hank's mood brightened even more with that information. "In that case, wanna come with while I visit potential clients?"

Potential clients already? Logan thought. That was fast. Things were going well for the both of them. "Absolutely." Logan answered enthusiastically. Though his father was in no rush, he raced to the black pickup truck in the driveway.

When Hank got in, he asked: "So, how was your day?" Once he made sure Logan remembered to put on his seatbelt.

"Great," That's what Hank liked to hear. He wanted to say so-since his son couldn't see his smile because he was facing the road-but he also didn't want to interrupt. He had done more than enough of that in the past.

"I met this girl, Georgia. I'm gonna teach her how to skateboard and she's gonna teach me about geography." So much seemed strange about what his son was telling him. He knew by his tone that he already considered Georgia a genuine friend, but he was talking so fast. As if the words would escape him if he didn't chase after them. This deal they made didn't seem fair. He had no clue Logan was interested in geography. (Sure, it was instinct for him to explore, but he never seemed to care where he was going.) Realizing that ashamed Hank. He felt like he was sitting next to a stranger. Until he felt that stranger's eyes on him. "She's really close with her dad, too."

Hank hadn't expected to hear that either, but it was heartwarming. "That's wonderful." He couldn't help but interject. As his son's kind words echoed in his head, the shame he felt subsided.

"Yeah." Logan agreed, though he was silenced for a moment by a memory. "He used to travel to all kinds of places. They'd write letters and he'd bring her back souvenirs." Logan thought his dad might comment on that, since letter writing seemed like a lost art.

Instead, he asked: "How come he doesn't travel anymore?"

"I don't know," Logan answered after a pause. He hadn't thought to ask, and didn't see anything wrong with not asking. He could tell his father didn't either, despite how naturally curious they both were. "maybe she just… missed him too much." That was something they could relate to.

When Hank pulled up to the house where his potential clients lived, Logan was surprised by the elegance of it. It didn't look like a place that needed any work done. If he were a contractor, he wouldn't want to take a job in the house and mess with the classic feel of it.

"You wanna ring the bell or should I?" Hank asked, thinking for most that would be a pointless question. He knew his son had a thing for pushing buttons. A childlike sort of appreciation for it. In response, Logan gladly took the opportunity. The homeowners answered the door, and he suddenly felt underdressed.

Hank was dressed for work, but the couple looked like they were going out somewhere, in semi-formal attire. "Hi," The woman said. "you must be Hank." He nodded as she went on. "I'm Kerry and this is my husband, Paul."

Hank shook their hands, and then nodded in Logan's direction. He was already following suit. "This is my son, Logan."

Kerry smiled, opening the door and ushering the Frosts in. "Ah, the more the merrier."

In Logan's opinion, Paul didn't look like he agreed. Expressions of disapproval were easiest for him to spot. Regardless, the man didn't voice his thoughts. Nor did he speak to Logan directly. Instead, he made a side comment to his wife. "He looks to be about Jeremy's age."

Kerry nodded. "Our son would've been at the high school today, but he's been getting over a bad cold and we figured he could use one more day off."

Once again, Logan found himself looking at Paul. The man seemed to be wondering why Kerry brought up any other business besides what they wanted to be done to the house. Hank, however, just said: "Well, we hope he gets well soon."

"Oh, thank you." She said, holding up a platter of crackers, cheese, and snacks of that nature. "Here, have some." She gestured to one side of the plate and said: "This side's kosher if you have a preference. If either of you are lactose intolerant there's soy cheese in the fridge. There's also gluten free stuff-"

"Kerry, I'm sure they'll find something they like." Paul insisted. He didn't mean to be rude, but he had his priorities. He directed his glance to the Frosts and said: "There's drinks in the fridge, too, Make yourselves at home." He focused his glance on Hank, and gestured toward the French doors that led to the dining room. "Let's talk." The two men went that way, and Kerry debated whether or not to watch over Logan. He didn't seem like he needed that, but 'make yourself at home' could be lethal advice for a naturally curious explorer that lately attracted danger.

Logan overheard Paul and Kerry dish out compliments to his dad about the work in his portfolio. None of the words seemed forced. What started out as a business meeting was turning into a luncheon with a favor tacked on to it. He listened as they discussed knocking down a wall to make more room. For what, he didn't know. Especially since he happened to walk by a room that was practically empty. Apart from-as far as he knew-a few old photos. For a second he couldn't help staring, wondering who the people were. The apparent age of the pictures had him doubting they were around to tell him themselves. He decided he might not ever know, and tried to shrug it off.

He just enjoyed the scenery, taking in every inch of the house. Not long ago, he would've made his father angry with this behavior. He knew it wasn't exactly appropriate, but he couldn't help wandering.

After awhile, he was no longer walking aimlessly. He was trying to find a bathroom. He had just reached the second floor landing when he heard a sneeze. "Bless you." He said. Only after did he realize how weird it must've sounded, being spoken by an unfamiliar voice.

Which stood to reason why the answer came out like a question. "Thank you." Logan figured Paul and Kerry's son was given a heads up about the visit, because he only sounded confused. Not startled.

Logan approached the other boy's door as a few more sneezes were heard-about to kindly ask to be directed to the bathroom-when something caught his eye. A handwritten sign on the bottom of a packing slip, in what Logan could only call a language other than English.

карантин

Underneath that was an arrow and a note that read: Jeremy,

I know that college kids are supposed to have packages sent to them and not the other way around, but I guess I've gone soft on you since you resorted to faking sick to avoid high school. I know everyone else is so used to you being an angel and thinks this is legit, but trust me, it's not the end of the world. If I'm still here, you'll be just fine. I can't believe I'm rewarding you for being 'sick' though. Even I'm under your spell now, and I thought I was the only one immune to it. Enjoy the cookies. And the book.

Love,

Bonnie

(P.S. Good luck not going insane being in quarantine. I made you a sign for it. In Russian, too! Gotta love college.)

Even though his eyes could be as fast as his feet when he made the effort, Logan thought he might be startling Jeremy by that point. Since he'd wished him well and said nothing else, but could probably be sensed standing there. Though Jeremy was still too sick to take notice. "Sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where your bathroom is?"

"It's no bother." Jeremy assured nasally, from the other side of the door. He then gave directions. Logan gave thanks, and went on his way. As he walked, he wondered what Georgia was up to.

A few wrong turns made Georgia's walk home take longer than she'd hoped. She couldn't believe she managed to get even a little lost considering her great sense of direction, but she was glad for the mixup when she spotted a familiar face. "Hey, Tim."

"Georgia!" Her mailman greeted, apparently surprised. "I didn't expect to see you today. How was your first day back?"

"I made a friend." She reported proudly.

"That's great. I bet your mom will be happy about that."

That was an understatement. "She'll probably throw a party." Georgia didn't sound seethingly sarcastic, but Tim figured she could use a little bit of humor to lift her mood anyway.

"If she does, don't forget to invite your new friend."

Once the initial plans had been made, Hank and the Alastars were just sitting around chatting. A twenty minute meeting was going on two hours. Logan joined them at the table. Though he didn't have much to contribute to the conversation, he was still having a good time. When the hosts went to get more food. he turned to his dad wearing a wide grin.

"You made friends."

Although the man had only just realized that himself, he seemed insulted by the comment. "Yes, that can happen for old people, too." He saw his son's face drop, but not for the reason he thought.

"You're not old." Logan insisted.

"Nice save there, son." Hank said, packing up his portfolio.

"I mean it." Logan told him. It wasn't a save, since he hadn't called him old to begin with. "And you've got me beat." He pointed out. Not hurt, but proud.

Though he must not've sounded as happy as he thought, because his father said: "Don't get discouraged, it was only your first day." Don't get discouraged. Those words held so much value to Logan. He couldn't remember hearing things like that often. Not until recently. He smiled as he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

Paul and Kerry returned with a few things they fetched from the fridge. "This has all been so nice." Hank told them. "We'll have to have you over to eat soon." That seemed like a fair way to repay them for their hospitality, and they were certainly up for it. Before they had the chance to answer, the group heard footsteps on the stairs.

Jeremy wasn't prepared for an audience of four, thinking the Frosts had left. As he entered the room. all eyes were on him.

His dark hair redefined the term bedhead, and his brown eyes were so bloodshot they could send chills down a vampire's spine. His runny red nose could give Rudolph a run for his money, along with a feeling of disgust. Despite how he looked, he was doing much better. At the moment, embarrassment was the only thing that pained him.

"Perfect timing." Paul joked, reinforcing Logan's theory that they had very different ideas of funny. He had a feeling the other boy was mortified, even though he didn't look anything but sick.

"Aw, Jeremy." Kerry cooed as he made attempts to fix his hair and clean his nose again, thinking he felt worse physically and emotionally. He saw her fiddle with her bracelet, trying not to let herself get too worried.

"Hey, you stopped sneezing." Logan knew he was pointing out the obvious, but he seemed to not have control of his mouth at the moment. Jeremy didn't mind the comment. He was used to that sort of thing from his sister. He gave a slight nod, trying to remember why he came downstairs in the first place. Even though his body was gaining strength, his mind was foggy. His dreams that day had been filled with scenes of another time and place. It felt so distant. but once he found himself back there he started to feel healthy again.

Jeremy managed a faint smile, and quietly cleared his throat. He turned to his mother and asked: "Do we have any orange juice left?"

"Yeah, I'll go get it for you." She said, running to the kitchen before anyone could disagree with that. At that moment, Paul thought of a question he'd forgotten to ask Hank. The two had barely begun discussing it when Logan made his way to the doorway, where Jeremy still stood.

Hank interrupted himself to ask his son: "What're you doing?" In a much less stern tone than he'd been used to hearing.

In an uncharacteristically smooth movement, Logan walked backwards while he replied: "Living dangerously." Hank knew this was a joke. His son made the choice to live dangerously only once before, and almost ended up dead because of that.

"Hey, I'm Logan." His extended hand was snubbed this time, since Jeremy folded his hands behind his back. Though this was a caution, and-like him monitoring his breathing to make sure that was only done through his nose-it wasn't seen as mean. "We go to school together."

That was somewhat of a relief to hear, given the treatment Jeremy had been given at his previous schools. Not that he was ever vocal about that. His cold kept him from being vocal about the things that made him smile.

For Logan, his smile said enough. He left Jeremy to his orange juice, and joined his dad to say goodbye to the Alastars. He knew it wouldn't be long until he saw them again, but hoped Jeremy would be back to feeling one hundred percent very soon.

The Lomins seemed too busy to discuss the day, which worked out best for Georgia. She hadn't sorted out the story for herself. Why was it that she broke her own promise, and made a friend she was sure she'd eventually lose? She'd lived in one place her entire life. Logan had moved a handful of times. With her history, she expected him to leave soon enough.

She tried to tell herself it was bound to happen, but she didn't want to accept that. She tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere, but the only other thing she could think about was what woke her that morning.

Knuckles tapped lightly at her door. She wanted to turn toward the source of the sound, but her eyes didn't move from the mirror. Her reflection seemed underfed and overtired with hollow, angry features. Sam appeared beside her with a glass of warm milk. "I thought this might help you sleep." He said softly. She took the milk thankfully, but set it down on her bedside table. "Goodnight, Sweetie." He knew she wouldn't say it back unless she meant it, but she had to say something. She never gave him the silent treatment. Even though he knew what was bothering her, he wanted to hear it for himself.

"What if it was a warning?"

She spoke these words without looking at her father, as if she couldn't bear to. She'd almost lost him once already, and the nightmares seemed to mean that would happen again.

Sam's soothing tone was gone, though easing Georgia's mind was still the goal. He lowered his voice again, taking into account that Monica might be listening. "This patient of mine wasn't of the most sound mind, but I think she knew she lost the fight."

His answer didn't satisfy Georgia. She sat at the edge of her bed, biting her lip as she forced herself to think back to the night he came back from Berlin. And then back a little further. She found herself shaking her head. "While you were in Berlin, I had the first nightmare. Tim was attacked in it. And I didn't do anything but scream. I thought… if that thing ever really got close to me, that it would be different." It hadn't been. Just like in the nightmare, she screamed. And her father had to save himself. "After it was over, the nightmares just reminded me of the mistake I made."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Georgia." Sam could hear the edge in her voice before she even spoke again.

"I didn't do anything to help you."

Sam wasn't going to let his daughter put herself on another guilt trip, or let fear shut her down again. He remembered how she let the mail pile up for weeks after he returned. Scared to even go near it. She wouldn't pose for pictures either. She punished herself for awhile, barely talking or eating, and she stayed up in the room that hosted her nightmares. "You want to place blame? I'm the one that lied." He reminded her.

"To protect us." Georgia reasoned.

"And look how that turned out." Now he saw where she got that attitude from. He sighed and sat down with her. "The important thing is, once I quit my job everything quieted down." That was supposed to be reassuring. To Georgia, it meant threats still lingered. They just played dead for awhile to make for easy prey.

"What if things start to go bump in the night again?" She was trying to make light of the situation, but that didn't make her stress any less.

"I'll be better prepared than last time, because I'm here with you." To add to his reassurance, Sam gave her a kiss on the forehead and got up to leave. He made it to the doorway before Georgia replied.

"I don't want you to be prepared." Ideally, she wanted the nightmares to be nothing but a fading glimpse of a rough time her father wouldn't have to face ever again. Instead of a look into the future. "If this happens again, I want us to be prepared." She looked toward the door, at the room across the hall. Where her mother was most likely sitting up in bed, doing paperwork. "All of us."

Instead of arguing, Sam simply nodded. Hoping he wouldn't have to prepare his girls for anything like what haunted Georgia's dreams.

Georgia fell asleep in minutes and didn't need nightmares to make her restless. Something else kept her awake. Opening her eyes, she saw that she'd been asleep for less than half and hour. Her thoughts drifted to the glass of milk her father brought her, which was only half empty. She figured she better finish it. It was only a matter of time before it went sour. She swore she could already smell it going bad, but knew not enough time had gone by for that. Yet when she picked up the glass, she found the milk completely curdled. She gagged at the sight, and went to wash the glass out in the sink. Her main focus was cleansing it thoroughly. She didn't dwell on how impossible it was for the milk to sour so fast,

And she didn't take it as a bad omen…

Thanks for reading, PLEASE REVIEW!

For those who are wondering, I only made up Jeremy and his parents' last name. The adults' given names aren't listen in the credits, but they are spoken. I wasn't sure on the spelling of Kerry. Or Carrie, I honestly couldn't even tell. But I went with Kerry and I hope that's cool. Alastar has meaning for Jeremy's character.

Let me know if there are any spelling/grammar/phrasing mistakes. I'm always open to ideas. I'll update ASAP! For those who read my other stuff, don't worry. I'm still in the process of updating. I haven't forgotten about you.

I have the next few chapters of written, but they're longer. Let me know if you'd rather I separate those. See ya next update, my lovely readers! =]