Author's Note: Well, I must say: thanks to the biggest plot bunny of the century, we have this lovely little piece of fanfiction. After watching Jumanji, I kind of wondered what happened after Alan and Sarah threw the game in the river. I HIGHLY doubt that it immediately washed out to sea and to France. My guess is that it got stuck somewhere close, and someone picked it up and started another round of craziness. From that, I kind of wondered what happened to the so-called bully from the movie, Billy. I figured it would be fun to mess around with him, Sarah and Alan and throw in a couple of OC's (don't worry Tri-Star, I'll play nicely and put your toys back). Of course, it didn't hurt that I kind of have a crush on Billy, so I saw that as reason for writing this. Anywho, enjoy. Enjoy it, or van Pelt will hunt you down, Sonny-Jim! X)

Title: Hell in a Box

Summary: Post-Jumanji. Billy Jessup once tormented Alan Parrish. Then, the rich boy went and turned the tables on him. Now, Billy's the one being tormented, and it seems like things can't get much worse – until he finds a board game in the Brantford River.

Rating: T, though it might go up in the future. You have been warned!

That being said and done, here's the story. I'm a feedback whore, so reviews aplenty would be much appreciated! Enjoy!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The mid-autumn maple leaves crunched softly, pleasantly under Billy Jessup's feet as he walked down the tree-lined pathway, a peaceful, rather happy sound. Unlike the leaves and the crunches though, Billy was anything but peaceful, and anything but happy.

No – Billy was pissed. Like, steam shooting out of his ears, two seconds away from screaming, ready to punch someone's lights out pissed. REALLY angry.

And it was all Alan Parrish's fault. Jesus Christ, he REALLY wanted to punch his lights out. Billy actually had half a mind to around and go back and do just that to the little bastard. He didn't give a damn if he was a Parrish. Hell, it was all the more reason for Billy to deck him. Stupid rich snot, thinkin' he owns everything in this fuckin' town…

He veered right sharply, nearly colliding with a slouched, middle-aged man; and Billy, without even bothering to apologize, continued his stomp down the path. He didn't give a shit if that old man cussed him out 'til he was blue in the face, or what-the-hell-ever. He just didn't care.

Billy did, however, care about seeing the Parrish kid hanging out with his Sarah Whittle – HIS girlfriend.

No, wait. That wasn't right. Sarah wasn't Billy's girlfriend anymore. Nope, she was his ex-girlfriend now. She had been for four years.

Four years. Four years since they'd split, and Billy still bristled at the thought of Sarah being around somebody that wasn't him. Four years since they'd split, and Billy still couldn't believe that Sarah was now playing sweetheart to the Parrish kid, calling herself Alan's girlfriend. And she always looked so fucking happy saying it. Christ, she looked happy just being around that twerp. Every time Billy saw her, she was happy – they were happy. Happy, happy, happy. So goddamn happy.

It was the reason Billy was walking down the path right now, the reason that his hands were balling into fists and he was glaring at the world like he wanted to kill something. He'd seen that happiness, and he'd seen it in full swing. He'd seen the grinning, the hand-holding, the baby faces and the googly eyes – and the barely-masked smirk the Parrish kid had leveled at him, an eat-shit "Haha I win, screw you" look of glee and triumph that made Billy's blood boil.

He turned another corner, jaw clenched as the memory of that look floated tauntingly about in his head. What the fuck had happened? Four years ago Billy was putting the Parrish kid through absolute HELL, and he wasn't doing anything to stop him. Then, a week went by, and out of nowhere the kid grew a pair and pretty much told Billy to piss off and leave him alone.

A WEEK. Billy had been ruining Alan Parrish's life for years, dating Sarah for years. He didn't know what it was, but something happened and suddenly the little shit had swiped his girl and done in seven days what he'd done to him in thousands.

Even now, at 17 years old, Billy was still bitter about it. He could hold a grudge with an iron grip. Sarah used to tell him that all the time when they were dating.

Sarah.

Billy snorted. If only she knew how long he'd been holding a grudge on her. She'd really see that iron grip then.

Another corner, and suddenly Billy was walking along downtown Brantford's Center Street. He stopped where he was for a moment, shut his eyes, and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes again, he looked around at the various brick buildings and trees lining both sides of the street. This was HIS hunting ground, HIS territory. Alan Parrish might've staked claims on everything else, but he didn't dare try to stick his rich snout in the downtown area. As stupid as the little shit was, he wasn't so stupid as to try to call dibs on downtown. He was wise enough to know that Brantford's Bad Boy would flatten him if he even tried to take it from him. Smart kid, Billy thought with a smirk. You can keep the hell outta here.

Mood slightly improved now, Billy started a slow, lazy amble up the street, arctic blue eyes jumping from shop front to shop front. He could go anywhere in this town, do anything in this town. He could walk into Dwyer's grocery and buy himself a gyro; he could go to the surplus store on Pommel Avenue and get one of those tricked-out Sherman tank jackets; he could go to Brantford Music Supply and get some new guitar strings and cables. Hell, if he damn-well felt like it, he could find himself a dealer and get a small bag of marijuana in one of the back alleys on Shire Street.

Huh… The weed thing actually didn't sound like a bad idea to Billy. Why the hell not?

Briefly, he sniffed at the gray sweatshirt sleeve covering his right arm – and found that it smelled faintly of marijuana. He scowled; on second thought, no weed for him – not with the way his clothes smelled already. It wasn't noticeable now, but one smoke and it would be – especially to his sister, and god knows if she noticed, Billy was a dead man.

So, he wisely decided to hold off on the weed for now, and made his way over to Brantford Music Supply. It was a safe choice, one that his sister would approve of in a heartbeat. Besides, Billy needed to pick up some new guitar strings, anyway.

He walked into the shop, and was immediately greeted by the soft, sweet keening of Led Zeppelin's Thank You on the nearby turntable. Billy stiffened as he listened to the song play. This was one of Sarah's favorite songs – especially when she'd been dating him. It probably still was; but more than likely she was associating it with her and Alan's relationship now.

Great, Billy was in a bad mood all over again.

"C'mon, breathe," Billy murmured to himself. "Just get the strings and get outta here. Breathe, strings, get the hell outta here. Go."

In stiff, robotic fashion, he scouted out the guitar strings, grabbed a pack, and headed up to the front counter to pay, jaw clenched and lips pursed iron-tight. Leave it to Led Zeppelin to remind him of how shitty his life had become.

As he was waiting for the cashier to ring his stuff up, Billy felt a tap on his shoulder. He craned his head back; behind him stood a girl with pale, freckled skin and nervous-looking slate-grey eyes. Her hair, a shocking shade of ginger, peeked out limply from under the black hood of her jacket, messily woven into a single braid, and her small hands were balled in loose fists.

She swallowed, and pursed her lips briefly before opening her mouth to speak. "Um, are you leaving, like, right after you pay?"

The fuck? "Yeeeaaahhh. Uh… Who the hell-"

"Can you do me a huge favor and walk me to my house – please? I really need to get outta here."

Billy was really weirded out, not to mention irritated. Who was this chick? And why was she asking him for a favor? Couldn't she see that he wasn't in the greatest of moods right now? Obviously not, dickhead. You might as well give it to her straight.

Mind made up, he sighed sharply. "Look girlie, let's get something straight-"

"Oh Jesus Billy, there's nothing to get straight!" the girl hissed at him, her frustration near-equal to his own. "There's someone stalking me!"

She knew his name. Now he was really, really weirded out.

"Okay, STOP" – for the love of god before I lose it – "who the fuck are you and how do you know my name?"

The girl crossed her arms in front of her chest, popped a hip out to one side – the classic "Bitch please" stance that was all too familiar to Billy. It was a stance Sarah and his sister routinely used in his presence. Oh boy.

"You should know," she replied, face crunched up tight in annoyance. "You see me almost everyday."

Billy stared at the girl's face for a moment. Nope – nothing but big, white blanks. In that case, I'm calling bullshit.

She opened her mouth to say more – then suddenly her eyes bulged and she dropped to the floor with a panicked gasp. "Oh fuck, there he is!"

Jesus Christ, this chick's crazy…

Billy looked down at the girl, mouth in a firm frown. "There's something wrong with you," he told her with barely-concealed disdain. "I don't know you, I don't know what you're doing, and I don't know what you're so freaked out about-"

"Shut up! You'd be ducking down and freaking out if Chuck DeLayla was looking for you too, jackass!"

"Oh, bullshit hon-" Billy suddenly paused, allowed his brain to relay what the girl had just said. His brows furrowed in her direction. "Wait a sec – did you just say Chuck DeLayla was looking for you?"

"More like hunting me down, but yes, Chuck fucking DeLayla's looking for me!"

Ah. So that's why the girl was acting so weird – Chuck DeLayla had zeroed in on her, and judging from the way she was acting, he must've zeroed in on her pretty hard. Lucky you, eh?

Well, that completely changed things now.

"Chuck DeLayla… I feel sorry for you now," Billy said with an ever-so-slight hint of amusement in his voice. "Whadja do to have the horny teen wonder stalking you?"

"Nothing! I talked to him for three seconds, and now he seems to think I wanna do it with him! I DON'T!"

Billy couldn't help but smirk. Yep, that's DeLayla, all right.

"Will you stop smirking and help me?!" the girl squawked. "Like, NOW?"

Billy sighed. He seriously hoped he'd get some brownie points with his karma for what he was about to do.

"Christ – all right, fine, I'll help you out. Happy now?"

A huge, whooshing breath of relief left the girl at the sound of his words. "You're a lifesaver," she said to Billy gratefully. "Thank you, thank you-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I get it. Thank me later." Billy briefly looked over his shoulder; DeLayla was walking with a purpose, moving in fast on the storefront now. Christ, the girl wasn't kidding when she said he was hunting her down. Guess he'd better get to it. "C'mon, gimme your hand and stick close to me. I wanna talk to him."

"Talk to him? I thought you said you were gonna help me!"

Oh, for the love of Christ – "RELAX – I am. Just do what I tell you and lemme handle this. 'Kay?"

Thank god, the girl finally stopped talking and nodded. So, without another word, Billy gripped her outstretched hand in his, pulled her to her feet – she was lighter than a paper bag, he noticed – and escorted her out of the shop just as DeLayla was making his way towards it.

Immediately, the stalker's eyes fell on the two coming out of the music shop. In typical creepy fashion, DeLayla slowly wet his lips, and sauntered towards the girl with a smug grin stretched across his face. "Samantha," he drawled, "there you are, babe. I was lookin' all over town for you. I was hopin' I'd find you – I wanna get… 'better acquainted' with you."

Oh, man. DeLayla was in full-on pervert mode. This was bound to be interesting.

The girl – no, now her name was Samantha – groaned in exasperation. "Look, Chuck – I'm not interested! I'm sorry if I gave you mixed signals, but seriously, can you just leave me alone?"

"Aw, don't say that. I know you want to-"

"Jackass, she told you to leave her alone," Billy interrupted, his words accented with a slight growl. He inwardly smirked when DeLayla at last acknowledged his presence and his face immediately paled in fear. Yeah, that's right, you'd better be scared.

Despite the fact that Brantford's Bad Boy was standing in front of him, and despite having been told to back off, DeLayla stood his ground, managing to puff his chest out – please, as if – and sneer at Billy. "This doesn't concern you-"

"Like hell, it doesn't concern me. She told you to leave her alone, so leave her alone."

Another chest puffing and a sneer. "What – she girlfriend or something, Fuckup?"

Fuckup. Of all the things that idiot could've called him, he went with that? He should've known better. Fuckup was nothing more than a simple pet name to Billy. But, knowing Chuck DeLayla, he probably hadn't intended to use it as a pet name. In that case, Billy was ready with a pet name of his own – a damn good one, too.

Billy smirked wickedly. Game on, DeLayla.

"As a matter of fact, DeLayless," Billy started, biting back a triumphant grin when the other's face went cherry red at the derisive nickname, "she actually is my girlfriend." For added effect, he draped one arm across Samantha's shoulders; and she, in turn, drew close to him, and put an arm around his waist – the perfect couple.

And just like that, the charade did the trick. Suddenly, DeLayla looked stunned – no, horrified – at the possessive display of attraction in front of him. "You're Samantha's b-b-boyfriend?"

Holy shit. He'd bought it all – hook, line, and sinker. The Bad Boy of Brantford might as well have owned Chuck at this point.

"That's right – I'm her boyfriend. So, unless you want me to beat the shit outta you, I'd scram and leave my girlfriend alone. I see you around her again, and you're dead. Got it?"

No words – only a nod from DeLayla.

"Beat it, DeLayless."

He'd hightailed it down the street before the last syllable had even left Billy's mouth.

He chuckled. "Too fuckin' easy," he said to himself. "Took off like a jackrabbit."

"I'll say. That was pretty spectacular. Nicely done."

The hell – oh. That's right – Samantha was still here. Billy had almost forgotten that she was standing next to him.

Samantha. A frown creased his face. He'd heard that name before; he couldn't, for the life of him, remember where, though…

"…well?"

"Well what?"

The girl named Samantha looked up at Billy with one thin eyebrow quirked. "Aren't you going to walk me home?"

Crap. He'd forgotten about that part. Damn it.

C'mon, you DID say you'd help her out. Do it for another TEN minutes and you'll be free. "Yeah, I'll walk you home." He sighed momentarily. "All right, where do you live?"

"Kramer Street. It's about a mile, mile and a half from here."

A mini lightning bolt tore down Billy's spine as the two began walking. Sarah lived on Kramer Street. Ah, shit – what if she was Samantha's neighbor?

He cleared his throat. "Uh… Any chance you know a girl named Sarah Whittle?"

Samantha nodded. "Yeah, she lives next door to me. We hang out all the time."

"Oh." Billy was suddenly crossing his fingers that Sarah wouldn't be home by the time they got to Samantha's place.

"Yeah…" Samantha looked up at Billy, grey eyes glinting expectantly in the afternoon light. "So lemme ask you something, Billy."

Billy shrugged. "Shoot."

"Do you remember a little girl with red pigtails that you used to call Carrot Top?"

As a matter of fact, Billy did remember that little girl. Something or other Ryland… He couldn't remember her first name, but he did know it started with an S. Sally – no… Not Sarah, he knew that… Sandra – nope… Samantha – a-ha! That was it – Samantha Ryland. But, how could this girl know about that?

Then it hit him. She was Samantha Ryland. She was that little girl he used to tease all the time.

Well, boy fuckin' howdy.

"Hot damn… Samantha Ryland. So you're that chick I used to give shit to all the time."

"Yep, that's me. By the way, the name's Sam now. No one calls me Sam except my parents."

Well, hell if I knew that – "Oh. Okay."

They took a right onto a maple-lined road. As they walked on, Billy looked at Sam – really looked at her. She'd gotten tall. She'd gotten curvy – not by much, but enough for him to definitely notice things that hadn't been there before. She'd obviously ditched the pigtails, not that he minded. They made her look like some dumb country girl, anyway.

He chuckled. "You grew up," he said off-handedly.

"Well, no shit, Billy," Sam snorted. "Not like I was gonna stay little forever."

Looked like little Sammy Ryland had gotten a mouth to go with that growth spurt, too. She was a far cry from the awkward and shy little girl that Billy used to tease – a REALLY far cry. Christ, no wonder he hadn't recognized her.

Sam suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and Billy, too concerned with his thoughts, walked right into her.

"Ya know, how 'bout a little heads-up next time, Ryland?"

"Well, Jessup, if you didn't have your head up your ass, maybe you would've heard me say we're at my house now," Sam retorted with a roll of her eyes.

Holding back the urge to mimic what she'd said, Billy looked up at the house in front of him, a little white bungalow with a giant maple in the front yard, then at the houses flanking it. Sure enough, Sarah's house, in all its prim glory, was standing to the right of Sam's.

He nodded. "Cool. Well, here we are."

The hell was that, Jessup?

"Mmm-hmm, here we are. Home sweet home." Sam slowly crossed the front yard to the front door, and pushed it open. Just before she stepped through, she turned around to look at Billy, and gave him a smile. "Thanks again for helping me, Billy. I'll see ya around."

Then, she disappeared into the house, the door shut, and Billy was alone once again.

I'll see you around. A small smile cracked across his face. She sounded so sure about it. Billy found it amusing – not in a douchebaggy sense, but in an uncharacteristically sincere, kind sense.

Christ, was he getting soft? Hoped like hell he wasn't. He couldn't.

Well, regardless it didn't matter much now – Billy was alone, Sam was home, and he was free. He could do whatever the hell he wanted now.

He tilted his head back, and looked at the sky, a powdery, purply blue – an east-coast twilight sky, rapidly closing in on dark. It couldn't have gotten dark that fast, could it?

Billy pushed a sleeve back to glance at the watch fastened around his wrist, and he swore when he read 6:23. Sonofabitch – no, he couldn't do whatever the hell he wanted; unfortunately, Billy's sister was expecting him home in seven minutes, which meant he was gonna have to high-tail his ass across town if he wanted to avoid her wrath. Goddamn it.

He rolled his other sleeve up, pulled some air into his lungs, and started running.