I originally sat down and began to write what I thought was going to be the first ever Help crackfic. It still is, I guess, but it is not nearly as silly as I had planned. The plot itself is ridiculous, though, and I hope you release many, many giggles. If you don't then you have no sense of humor and should be ashamed. Terribly ashamed.

Warning: The words 'dyke' and 'nigger' are said more than once, so if that offends you, you should probably turn your computer off and leave the room.


There were three things Miss Hilly Holbrook hated most in life.

The first was niggers.

Second, pie. Horrible, horrible chocolate pie.

And lastly, and this was the most important, Miss Hilly Holbrook hated Eugenia fucking 'Skeeter' Phelan.

We all can understand quite easily why Hilly Holbrook hated these things most in life. In fact, one might be skeptical on why a certain negro whose name started with M and ended with –inny wasn't on that colorful list. Why, if anything, she should be at the top, right? After all, she fit into the first category, caused the second, and not only associated with but fucking promoted the third.

All of these things were completely reasonable, were they not? Why was Minny Jackson not on the list?

The answer was simple; obvious to the right people. The first two categories could not be changed; Hilly simply could not help but hate these things more than she hated Minny Jackson. The third could have and would have easily been filled with the nigger's name had Skeeter not displayed such arrogance when speaking to her about the book, when walking or driving or doing normal things. No, Minny Jackson simply wasn't important enough to fill that spot.

And soon, Hilly decided to herself one morning after her daily cup of tea, there wouldn't be a Skeeter Phelan to take that category.


The flight to New York had been unpleasant. No, Hilly told herself, it was not just the flight, but what had happened before.

As sorry as she was to leave someone else in charge of the charity work (those poor, poor starving children in Africa), and how difficult it had been to tell her husband she was leaving (for some reason he had seemed rather relieved; it must have been the heartburn medication he had taken earlier that same morning, it had to be), Hilly Holbrook knew what she had to do.

She had flown in a plane many times before, as she was the type of girl to do such things, and had no qualms about the idea of flying itself. In theory it was very pleasant, the pretty sky view and comfortable, spaced seating arrangements.

In practice, well… let's just say it did not quite meet Hilly's standards.

She was jittery at the thought of what she was going to do, excited, but nervous. The seat she was assigned was right smack in the middle of the plane, and Hilly had sat down with a wave of superiority that she knew would show the people around her who was boss. She had taken out her handkerchief, placing it gently on the seat before slowly adjusting her dress to sit down, making sure no slips, no indecencies, would happen if her dress began to ride up. She simply just wasn't that type of girl.

The ride lasted longer than expected, and Hilly was forced to nod and smile pleasantly as a woman of maybe seventy told her of her late husband who was so horrible in bed that he had simply, in her own words, "drove her into another man's embrace." The woman had told her that to her husband's death she had slept around, he never once suspecting. Hilly just smiled, asking the woman how many drinks the flight attendant had brought her.

Her plane had landed in a station just outside of the city, the city Hilly knew contained drugs and rape and bad things, the city she would soon have to step foot in, to touch. The thought disgusted her, but what else could she do? There was simply no other option.

As she road a taxi with a nerve-wracking limp Hilly couldn't help but think, What now?

Of course she would first go to that tacky place Skeeter worked that they had the spit to call a publishing agency. She would attempt to learn where Skeeter lived: probably in some past-its-prime apartment complex in a crime ridden neighborhood. But, Hilly mused, if that proved fruitless, what next?

Hilly shut these thoughts down immediately. It would not prove fruitless and she would not fail.

She was a Holbrook, after all.

So as confident as ever did Miss Hilly Holbrook walk into the front doors of Skeeter's new workplace, and as confident as ever did she push up against the worker at the desk a little bit more than what would be expected of a good, Christian lady.

And, thirdly, as confident as ever did she walk out of that polished building that smelled of cheap cleanser, with the address of Miss Eugenia Phelan written on a scrap of paper curled firmly in her hand.

There would be no time to waste; why spend more nights than necessary in a cheap hotel when she could finish the job today?

Hilly smiled to herself. There was no reason at all to do such a thing. So she called down a taxi, using that sweet girl voice her mother had taught her as she paid the driver. Oh, mister, it seems as if I'm a nickel short. You wouldn't be willing to shave off just a nickel for a girl like me, would you? Seal it with a kiss, her mother said. Oh, thank you! I think your kindness deserves a kiss on the cheek.

Why not? A nickel she didn't have to waste on a greasy slob's alcohol collection is a nickel in her pocket, after all.

Hilly looked at the apartment building with distaste. How ugly it was, dust collecting in the corners and paint chipping in places. Though, she must admit, it was nicer than she had expected.

The agency must pay the bitch a decent sum.

"One…" Hilly smiled, walking down the first wall and looking at the door numbers cheerfully. An old man was walking his dog nearby, and she waved at him politely. "Two…"

A beautiful magnolia tree sat to her left, its branches swaying in the wind. Everything was just so lovely. "Three…"

Things got better. Birds whistled from the top of the building, a wooden birdfeeder hanging on a brass hook. Their song was chipped and sweet, lighting the air with ease. She imagined Skeeter opening her front door to see her. "Four…"

Oh, how lovely it was! It was almost unbearable. A cute little sign saying 'Magnolia Ridge Apartments' swung on its hinges, making a soft tickling sound that was carried with the breeze. She and Skeeter were arguing, Hilly all the while smiling pleasantly. "Five…"

The leaves crunched under her feet where they had blown onto the sculpted sidewalk, reminding her of the cheerful commercials she saw on TV about winter clothing. Skeeter had started to walk away, telling her to leave, and she—Hilly—had begun to reach for her purse. "Six…"

The doors slowly became blurred, and Hilly began to slow down, smiling at how bright the sun looked today.

Skeeter was bleeding dead on the floor, hideous gashes covering that lanky body of hers, a scream still ringing from her lips even though she had long since closed them.

"Seven."

Hilly plastered on her most intimidating smile and knocked on the door.

There was no sound of movement, no "Coming!" called with a gruff voice, no anything. She knocked again. And again.

And again.

"Oh, shucks," Hilly said as she clicked her tongue. "Eugenia must be out."

Of course she was out. She had to be out. There was no way Skeeter could have found out what she was planning to do, locked the doors, and hid in the bathroom.

Was there?

Hilly reassured herself with the knowledge that people had to eat sometime, and chose to sit very ladylike on a nearby bench. The sun beat down and Hilly watched the people entering and leaving their apartments pant with dehydration. How silly they were. For a moment she felt a pang of pity for Elizabeth, back home in the dry heat having to deal with two screaming children.

She checked her watch. It was getting late. How long did it take the bitch to run her errands?

No worries. She could wait. Patience was a virtue.

But the waiting only made her more anxious, more high strung.

She checked her watch again. It was getting later.

Hilly began to close her eyes, the warm breeze and sun starting to take their toll on her body. It was a nice day, not to be completely wasted with such lowly filth as Skeeter. If only all days were like this, she thought. Filled with revenge, or would be, and a wonderful temperature. It simply could not get better.

Hilly awoke some time later to the sound of a key entering a lock.

The scene was blurry at first; night had fallen and for a moment Hilly could only sit up, confused. As her vision cleared she saw a tall, lanky woman with such familiarity that her upper lip began to curl into a sneer.

"You."

Looking at the scene more closely, Hilly realized that Skeeter had indeed noticed her before she spoke, and was trying to get into her apartment before Hilly woke. Skeeter ignored Hilly and finally wrenched her door open, flinging it with a loud bang against the wall and attempting to close it just as fast.

But by now Hilly had gotten up and wedged her foot between the door and its wall.

Skeeter gave Hilly an overly sweet, sarcastic smile, as if she was just seeing Hilly for the first time. "Hilly! It's been ages. I can't believe you came all the way from Jackson just to see me."

Hilly, as unpleasant and unladylike as it was, snorted. "I came to discuss something with you, Eugenia." She had her own uses for sweet smiles. "About the book. The…the…was it called Help?"

Skeeter reached behind the door, not taking her eyes off of Hilly's. As Hilly waited politely Skeeter brought up a book with a bright blue cover and shoved it into Hilly's hands, trying to close the door again. "The copy's on me, no need to send a check."

"No, no, no…" Hilly shook her head. "You don't understand me, Skeeter. May I come in?"

Skeeter sighed, as if accepting defeat. "Fine, Hilly, but this won't turn into another argument, for your sake."

"Oh, don't worry." The corners of Hilly's mouth hurt from the strain her smile was putting on them. "By the time I leave I'm sure we'll be the best of friends again."

Skeeter looked as if she didn't believe this, but held the door open any way and watched as Hilly walked through.

Hilly's smile only increased at the sight of Skeeter's apartment. Typical. There was only a few pieces of furniture: a navy blue couch that had begun to fade, a small chair of different color next to it, a coffee table, and shoved in the corner a small desk with an oily typewriter perched on top of it, words already dotting the paper in its grasp.

And, of course, the endless amount of books placed on every surface, some even lining the back of the couch.

Hadn't this bitch learned about the great invention known as a bookshelf?

But it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all. Making sure to keep her hand in her bag, Hilly approached Skeeter, who had by now locked the door back and was standing in the center of the room, looking at Hilly with half-closed eyes, waiting for her to speak. "It's been so long, Eugenia, since I've seen you. I always have wondered how you have been, and I guess I finally know. Such a wonderful place this is, really."

Her tone was not dripping with sarcasm, but Skeeter would be an idiot not to catch the blatant malice weaved in between the lines. "Your point?"

"Why Skeeter." Hilly gripped her bag harder, biting the inside of her cheek until it bled. "Everyone in Jackson has wondered about you, how you so suddenly got that job opportunity. They knew you wanted to be a writer, but let's be honest, no one expected you to really, well, go anywhere. I couldn't tell them the truth, of course. The truth about your book, the one they all read so eagerly, desperate to know who each maid was."

"Your point?"

"My point is, Skeeter, dear, that despite all of this, I pretended to care about you. I told them lies, false speculations, all of the sort. You know why?"

"No."

"Because if you were going to be finished, Eugenia, if you were going to be destroyed," Hilly dropped her bag, something silver gleaming in her hand. "I wanted to do it myself."

Hilly had plotted this for weeks, staying up many nights thinking up the details, the possible failures, the inevitable victory. She couldn't kill all the niggers in the world, they simply bred like bunnies, and she couldn't ban pies from the world, either.

But the one thing she could do was stick a knife into Eugenia Phelan's fucking side, and at this very moment, that was what she was planning to do.

To her surprise and disappointment Skeeter did not seem very scared. In fact, she seemed almost amused. "You're going to stab me? With a knife? Are you insane?"

"N-no," Hilly hissed, walking a few feet forward. Satisfaction swelled up as she saw Skeeter take a few steps back. "I'm perfectly sane. I've been planning this for weeks. I fucking hate you, Skeeter Phelan, and I plan to make it show."

With that she lunged in Skeeter's direction, the knife in her right hand jutting forward in a wild and desperate attempt to stab the woman standing before her. Skeeter dodged and the knife sliced at the old couch, stuffing soon appearing from the wound. "COME BACK!" She screeched as Skeeter ran down the hall, tripping over stacks of useless books and copy paper. "Come back, you insolent, frizzy-haired dyke!"

"I'm not a dyke!" Skeeter yelled from behind her shoulder, grabbing at one of the doors and pulling it behind her as she stepped in what Hilly guessed to be her bedroom.

"BULLSHIT!" Hilly was into the chase now, she was like an animal, and the knife sunk into the wooden frame of the door. She wretched at it, trying to pry the door open, and after a few seconds she managed to break the lock. With one wild kick she caused the door to break from its hinges, splintering and falling in front of her with a crash. "I saw you at that barbecue, standing next to Irene Dufrane! THE WAY YOU WERE LOOKING AT HER WAS GROSS!"

Skeeter rolled her eyes. She was currently digging into her closet, trying to find something before Hilly could approach her. "Irene Dufrane is my cousin, you misinformed pervert. You are clearly deranged, and I wouldn't at all be surprised if you were the one harboring lesbian tendencies."

"AGH!" Hilly screeched at the accusation, lunging for Skeeter once again. She managed to topple her over this time, but the knife only dug into the wooden floorboards as she tried to sink it into Skeeter's flesh. Hilly had underestimated the girl's strength; despite her lankiness, Skeeter managed to push Hilly off of her and stumbled back to the open boxes littering the floor of her closet, digging through one frantically.

"Come back!" Hilly hissed and began to approach Skeeter, but as she did Skeeter pulled something out of the box and made her stop dead. "Where did you get that?"

"I bought it. I figured you'd expect me to since you're always rambling about 'how the city is dangerous, and a girl needs protection.'"

In her hand Skeeter held a pistol, a little rough around the edges, but Hilly didn't assume it was any less than functional. The knife dropped out of her hand, and she smiled again, backing up slowly. As unsure as she was about if Skeeter would actually use it, she wasn't taking any chances, and maybe this was a bad idea to begin with.

"Now Eugenia, no need to let matters get out of hand."

"Out of hand?" Skeeter snorted. "You tried to kill me."

"T-That?" Hilly laughed nervously, glancing around. "I wasn't serious. You wouldn't think I was serious, would you?"

"Nah. I guess the 'I've been planning this for weeks' and the 'If you were destroyed, I wanted to do it myself' were jokes, right? Funny jokes that have been in the Holbrooks for generations?"

Hilly took another step back, not responding. She thought if she could just get out of the room, she could get out of the house, out of the city, and then out of Skeeter's life. Things obviously weren't going to work.

"It's funny, Hilly." Skeeter waved the gun around casually, making Hilly flinch. "You have just given me an open opportunity to kill you. No one would ask questions, because even if you aren't attacking me now, you were, and how would they know that you stopped?"

"Skeeter, I don't think-"

"No, you don't think, and thankfully so. In fact," Skeeter raised her eyebrows slightly, looking at Hilly with interest. "I feel like my life is threatened right now. I think you're attacking me, Hilly."

Hilly glanced at her, confused. "But I'm not, I'm just standing here."

"No you're not; I believe you're attacking me. I think the police will believe that to, don't you think? That's your problem, Hilly; you underestimate everybody. You think you're better, you think that everyone respects you. You think people will care about your bathroom initiative, or care that your husband ran for Senate, or care about anything you've done. You're as prejudice as you are white, Hilly, and that's finally caught up with you."

Skeeter pulled the trigger.


As unlikely as it seems, Hilly Holbrook did not in fact die that night, nor did she die in the many years to come. And when she finally croaked, it definitely was not by Skeeter's hand.

Skeeter did not want to kill Hilly Holbrook. That would have been easy, wouldn't it? To die right then and there, never paying for your sins? No, Skeeter simply wanted her to suffer for the things she had done. Hilly, for her horrendous crime, was put in prison for many, many years, and everyone rejoiced when she finally offed it inside her cell. (If you're wondering, Hilly's sentence was doubled and then tripled because everyone on the jury was black. If you're wondering why black people were on a jury in this time period, stop reading fanfiction.)

Skeeter's next book, a true work of true fiction, was titled "Hilly Holbrook: The Monster of Jackson and How She Killed Me." Although she did not mention that Hilly was in Help, or the pie incident, Skeeter summed up her former friend's bad qualities, and the few good ones, and devoted a chapter to how badly she treated her maids.

Aibileen, Minny, and all the other maids had a good laugh when they received the clipped newspaper article headlined "WOMAN HICK ATTEMPTS TO KILL STARTING AUTHOR: SHOT IN KNEE."

Of course the Jackson papers were very much toned down on the matter.

So Hilly died, and Elizabeth Leefolt, with unfathomable loyalty, did two days later. Slowly everyone who idolized Hilly, or at least pretended to, started to die, being picked off by accidents or natural disasters. It was said one woman walked calmly out into a tornado, abandoning her family, for no reason.

Hilly had power, she did.

So that was the end of Hilly Holbrook, and had she not attempted to destroy something from blind resentment, she might very well still be alive. But she's not.

So this is kind of the end.