A lone house stood solemn but peacefully in the silent woods. Further out, along the dirt path leading out to the lake or the wider path serving as a drive that lead off of the highway, and from their back to civilization, birds might have chirped and sang gleefully to one another, but around the house itself, the atmosphere was deathly silent. The sun was not yet down, and the summer air was seasonably warm, the leaves healthy and green on their branches. Sunlight glinted off them merrily, as it did also on the ever moving soft ripples of the not quite distant lake. A few unfortunate leaves quivered on the ground, knocked dead early by the pull of wind and already beginning to turn dark and crisp for autumn.

The house was old. Though its roof was not yet ready for repair and its walls were still sturdy enough to endure whatever elements its isolated surroundings might throw at it, there was no doubting the age in its appearance. Perhaps it could even have been called a cabin if not for its size. The outer buildings of it were wooden planks placed side to side, reaching from the stone foundation, to the red plank sheets put atop for a roof. The porch was a bit rundown; several punctures in the fly screen were visible. And on the rustic flooring, dirt mingled unswept with the dust, which left sets of footprints as evidence of resent entering and exiting.

A car sat in the driveway, entirely foreign in the modest settings. Its metallic coat shone silver-chrome, advertising a recent wash, unlike the black SUV that was parked menacingly in the shadow of the house. Its yellow headlights stared out like the sinister eyes of a hungry predator. The other car stood angelic by comparison gleamed with the fading daylight, safely out of the reach of the house's lengthening shadow. It might have been smug.

Then from the house came a sudden bang as the peeling, green painted door clapped away and back to its frame, and a flushed, limping young woman ran out of it, stumbling and nearly falling on the two steps leading to the ground. She was small in build, pretty but clearly no longer in the spring of her life. Her white-blonde hair spilled into her face in slender locks that went unnoticed as she hurried across the clearing. Her eyes fixed on the silver car ahead of her, as if to beg it forward.

Behind her, the door clapped again and a second form exited. This one came forward at a relaxed, large-strided pace that brought him to stairs easily in the same time it had taken the woman. His coloring wasn't reddened in the slightest as her's. By comparison, he seemed to even lack the standard, healthy pink that a normal person would have in their complexion. But the sun-deprived creature fit with the neglected porch, as his pretty counterpart did with the car she ran to. She wrenched the driver's side door open, and her breathing was made loud and irregular by anxiety. But the on the passenger's side she had left an open window, and as she fumbled with the keys, she was too nevus to tend to it. And when he approached the car with his calm steps, he used it to his advantage.

The pixie faced woman's head turned in his direction, her lovely features ruined by the ugly claws of horror, as he braced one arm on the seat beside her and leaned in, one hand stretched out for her. The woman jammed in the keys into their slot in terror, and slammed down her foot with little thought as to which pedal she hit. A moment of relief let her fear recede when the car began to move. But it soon died when she realized that he came with her. The car sprang onward, and the woman's eyes darted franticly between watching its direction and the crazed maniac's hand that clawed the air beside her.

Outside the man was hardly in the same dilemma. He trotted beside the car, his apathetic expression giving to frustration a little more with every. And when finally he jumped and pulled himself far enough inward to reach his target, hatred flashed behind thick, black rimmed glasses.

In the single moment before her car rammed to a halt in one of the ancient trees that guarded the clearing, the woman let out a shill screamed. Not because of the sudden impact, or the blown air bag that came at her like a fist, but at the gut-wrenching grip of her attacker's fingers closing on ear and the sensitive strands of hair around it. Brutal pulling the part of one, desperate struggling on the other, the man yanked his captive through the same he had used to enter her car. Her shrieks went unheeded, or perhaps even unheard. Dragged over the ground and up the rotting old steps, the dried leaves clung to her blouse and pant legs. Her high-pitched screams echoed around the quiet clearing that no animal or bird ventured near.

The two disappeared into the house. A small rustling started in the bushes, accompanied by the crushing of many leaves, and then a stout little man came into the clearing. He strolled over to the car with a mischievous smile on his face, and began to survey the crash. He stood on tip-toe to look over the smooth surface of the roof, peered through the window at the forgotten keys in the ignition, the scattered hairclips and loose change on the dashboard, then finally got down on his knees to note what the setting was beneath it. Smile still on his lips, the little man stood up, brushing off his clothes and adjusting his backward facing cap. He signaled to the house, specifically to a window on the second floor, where if one squinted, a man's face could just be seen. A man's face that was grinned just as inanely as the man on the ground.

The stout man smiled, and quickly spirited towards the house, turning and preparing to go around. In the window, his shadowy co-conspirator stepped away from the window and out of the line of sight.

Meanwhile the house's back door slammed open, and again the woman ran. This time her limp was definite. From mid-calf downward. The fabric was bloated and moist with a horrid red stain that was still spreading, darkening. Steady scarlet streams could be seen dribbling down her ankle and coloring her socks.

Visible in the screen door, the man with the thick glasses was rising from the floor, coming after her at the same chillingly patient pace. His face was apathetic again when the screen door let him through, but as he saw that this time the woman had not been able to handle the stairs, he smiled. It was a tiny smirk that showed bloodied teeth, which would likely fall out soon without dental attention.

A sickening cracking sound came when the woman fell on the second step, sending her to the unsympathising ground. A jagged rock sticking out of the ground rose to kiss the side of her head when she hit the ground. When her head raised next a red tear in her temples changed arrangement of her eyebrows and mouth to show pain in the place of fear.

Behind her the man was still smiling. He stooped down by the stairs for a moment and came up with a tool that had been placed there for just this purpose, when a new sound came echoed through the house. A car door shutting and the sound of a voice.


The man froze, and as he met the woman's widening eyes, his smile doubled in size.


The man straighten, the blade of his shovel tucked just under his chin as he moved to stand beside the screen door and waited. Pressed against the wall, he stared at the woman with a morbid pleasure.

"AMY!" came from inside. The door began to swing open. A broadly built man stepped, out eyeing Amy on the ground with a mix of concern and confusion. He didn't notice the creaks in the rotting floorboards that tried to warn him as he took the stairs. Behind him the man flexed his fingers on the shaft of his shovel. He came away from the wall, bringing it back as he would a baseball bat. Too late the woman mouthed a warning for the blade that came crashing into the back of the new arrival's head. The thickly built, curly-haired, man's face didn't even show surprise as he sank down. He hadn't noticed it coming; he was out before it registered.

Continuing to treat the shovel like a bat, the first man rested the shovel against his shoulder as he clasped the other's ankle as dragged him pass where the woman lay, making sure that she saw the body. When he was satisfied, he went on to take the fallen man beyond her, towards the trees. In a barely aware stupor, a groan went up from the second man as the first dropped the ankle and paced around the second's body until his back was to the woman. He brought up the shovel.

Amy sobbed where she had fallen at the bottom of the backdoor steps, as the gruesome wet sounds reached her. "No.." she grievously whispered to herself. "No…"

Then from within the house she heard the sound of someone hissing to her.


Looking up with a deliberate effort to stem her tears, she saw someone standing just beyond the screen door, a finger pressed to their lips as they carefully pushed it open. Spiriting with quick, light steps across the porch and down to Amy, she began to smile. In the corner of her vision she could see another man coming around the house, clearly struggling to avoid crushing loudly on dried leaves. When the one from the house waved her up she rose without hesitation, her wounds apparently forgotten, and hurried over to the stout little man who would lead her into the trees to watch the rest of the scene.

The figure who had come from the house knelt down in the leaves and rocks where Amy had been, looking over to watch Mort's progress as he positioned himself.

The leaves crunching easily under heavy footfalls, Mort turned away from the deformed thing he'd created from Ted. Back to Amy, he thought. She was lying on her stomach, as he had left her, staring towards the porch. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Dragging the shovel in the dirt behind him, he tried to decide on a place to start on her. He knew he wanted to make sure he pierced the shirt. Pink. She had to have chosen to wear that color. The very brightness and cheer that it represented made him sick. Standing over her, the quivering in Amy's shoulders seemed to increase. Mort raised the shovel, angled it to slice between ribs. But before he executed the blow, he had the sudden urge to watch her face as the shirt was ruined, and so forced the toe of one shoe under that disgusting pink thing to flip her onto her side.

The body rolled easily, the thin white locks flipping aside as if the head had signaled them to, and then…then…

Mort's shovel froze inches before hitting target. That face…it…it wasn't female.

A dark, bushy eyebrow was raised, brown eyes regarding him merrily over a larger sized nose. Then an unshaved, sharply made mouth smirked up at him. The creature positively beamed at him, the blonde wig slipping off its head to reveal short, messy brown hair, and the quivering Mort took for sobs. A snort accompanied it this time, instantly schanging it from a movement born of terror to one of barely concealed laughter. "Mort Rainy," the thing said, "you've just been punk'd!"

"What?" Mort drew back. The stranger jumped to it's—because it could only be called an it—feet. The cheerful smile ever present. The figure's breasts bounced with the movement under their terribly colored cover.

The he heard, "Isn't it wonderful, darling!" Another cheerful voice. Squealing and coming closer. And familiar.

"Wha'…Missus?" Mort was at a loss for words as his would-be victim suddenly ran into his arms, clamping onto him quite firmly. And uncomfortably, he was sure she was cutting off circulation somewhere.

"You should have seen your face! Honestly, you didn't have a clue!" he heard from under the blonde head.

"Yeah, that was awesome!" Mort turned to the strange man, who also came forward to hug him. From behind a wall of trees, a third person emerged to join in the knot of bodies clinging to one another. Mort struggled but found himself quite trapped in their embrace. Even his shovel seemed useless. "Dang, Missus! Let me go about my business, the story—"

"Oooooh!" Amy's voice erupted from the mass. "He hasn't figured it out yet!"

Then one of the men, "Really! That's so cute!" Then the tight circle around him separated and Amy-man started talking.

"You see—"

Mort, not passing up the opening and sudden freedom of movement, raised his shovel.

"—last year we started—"The man-thing stepped to one side when the blade would have hit him, "—planning this."

Mort changed to a vertical swing. The man-thing stepped back. "We were going to just go with the affair at first, but then you left before we got there—"

"Some guy at the front desk wouldn't let us in!" the short man who had come from behind the house grumbled, then went on with something that sounded like, "Damn TV hating ass…"

The man-thing nodded.

Mort raised the shovel yet again and aimed for the Amy-man-thing's shoulder.

"Stop that, Mr. Rainy." The man thing caught the shovel staff when it would have struck.

"So we took it a little farther," Amy piped in again, pushing aside Mort's shovel to make sure he paid her due attention. Then when she began cuddling his arm again, Mort stared down almost glaring at the pretty female face smiling at him.

It took him a moment after losing the use of his beloved tool and distraction before the information began to register. "You mean…?"

"We're not divorced!" the woman declared happily, her hair falling away from the punter in her temple as she beamed up at him.

"But I just…George…!"

"Don't worry, honey!" Amy threw her arms around her husband cheerfully. "He's gay."

"I…I just killed him back—I'm going to jail!" Mort grabbed a fistful of his own hair as realization struck, his John Shoot act and accent going out of memory.

"Noooooo, you didn't, Morty!" the man thing declared, and as if by cue, a rustling sound as feet crunched down on leave rose up behind them.

"MORTY!" And then there was the big, curly-haired man smiling behind him. Right behind him.

"But I have your intestines on my…"

"Raspberry Jell-O!" Mort turned to blink at the source of the cheerful, loud declaration in his ear. The man-thing smiled.

"…Really?" Mort licked the area of his shovel with the least amount of dirt and…things.

The man-thing waved his arms and more rustling came. "You didn't kill the other guys either. See?"

"We got ya'll real good!" a deep voice thundered as Tom Greenleaf, no relation to the elf, and the bodyguard guy stumbled out of the forest, smiling like sniveling idiots.

"No!" Mort snapped suddenly, nervously. "No, you got it all wrong! I'm a madman. And I'm going on my mad, murderous rampage for revenge!" A pause. Then, "Really." And in one fluid movement Mort jerked back his shovel free and thrust it forward in one last attempt at ending his beloved story.

The man thing stepped back quickly. The blade of the shovel just barely managed to brush his chest, and jab the thing's breast. It jiggled. "Please, Mr. Rainy, stop that."

The curly haired man suddenly caught the confused little madman's wrist, saying, "Morty, Morty, Morty, we told you, I'm gay."

"The voices! I had voices and images in my head! And I burned my house down!"

"Noooooo," the man thing declared yet again. "That was just Johnny…we don't let him drink anymore."


Then suddenly there were arms hugging Mort from behind, and a man's chin resting on his shoulder, breathing, "Hiiiiii, Mort."

"But…he…he was in my head!" Mort cried in a pleading voice. The man on his shoulder smelled of alcohol and burning…something?

"Yeah. He's just a really good actor."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Amy said again, snuggling closer. Then suddenly everyone wanted to hug poor Morty. The actor, the man dressed like Amy, the gay guy, the stout man, the bodyguard, and Tom Greenleaf. Not relation to Legolas.

Again hugged to the point of helplessness, Mort looked at the faces around him, and while clutching his shovel, he said one word in a scared childish voice. "W…why?"

There was a moment of silence, where everyone blinked, and looked to one another. Only Tom Greenleaf spoke. "I'm workin' for a tuna sandwich."

And that is how the story could have gone.


coughcough This was one of my first shots at fanfiction. My attempt to have a little fun with the ending of Secret Window. As you can see, it's about two thirds crack. Reveiws are welcome though! They make the world a better place!