Summary: Whoever is in charge of luck hates my guts. A lot. I mean, who else can decide to take a walk in the woods, and then fall into a hole covered by a broken bed frame? Only me, I bet./OC-centric, takes place post-RotG.
It was official: luck was out to get me.
In my fifteen years of being, I could give you many examples, like the time the railing at the zoo gave away and I landed in the lion's den, or the time I somehow managed to reactivate a WWII bomb at the museum, or even the time a stray dog bit my leg and shattered the bone in four different places.
As you can see, I am not the luckiest person in the world. And the jam I'm in proves it.
It all started when the two kids I babysit, Jamie and Sophie, who are also close friends of mine, said I should go outside more instead of "wasting away" in my room. Looking back on it, I don't know why I took this to heart, but I did, and it leads me my current dilemma.
I took a walk in the woods, being mindful to watch where I stepped and where I put my hands; I wouldn't be surprised if the first tree I touched was covered in poison ivy. After a few minutes of walking, I came across a clearing in the woods, which wouldn't have been that unusual, if it wasn't for the old, broken, wooden bedframe smack-dab in the middle.
Now, being the curious teen that I am, I went to investigate this strange sight. Looking in every direction for any sign of freak bear attacks or something, I ventured to the bedframe.
From what I could see, the wooden structure was very old, with splinters jutting out of the sides, but that's not what caught my attention. What I noticed was the dark, ominous hole directly underneath the broken boards that would usually hold the mattress. My curiosity got the best of me as I leaned over to get a better look.
Worst. Mistake. Ever.
My best friend, Luck, returned to stab me in the back. I leaned too far and proceeded to trip over air. I could feel fear taking over as I tried in vain to catch my balance. My movements mirrored Alice of Wonderland as I fell down into the darkness.
Which leads us to my current problem.
I'm stuck in a cave with a bunch of cages hanging from the ceiling and a strange globe with twinkling gold lights. This cavern had me in a state of awe, but that passed quickly as confusion took its place.
Slowly sitting up from my place on the stone floor, I tried to find the hole that I'd come through – but it seemed as if all trace of it disappeared, like it was never there to being with.
I frowned. "That's odd. I could have sworn…" I sigh. No use trying to figure it out now. The most important thing is to get out of here before my mom calls the cops. Looking around at the maze of stone, I realize that might not be possible.
I slump my shoulders. This might take a while…
After a few hours of wandering aimlessly through the tunnels, I collapse near the light-up globe. Lying on my back, looking up at the ceiling, I start to wonder if I will ever see the sky again.
I shake my head, my frizzy blonde hair flying in every direction. I will not think emo thoughts, no matter how hopeless and useless it… not helping.
Suddenly, shadows consume the cave, leaving everything pitch black. I scream; I can't help it. The change of light is so sudden – and as quickly as the darkness came, it disappears.
During this time, I somehow ended up on the floor in a fetal position, preparing for the worst. After a few minutes of waiting, I slowly stand up and look around for changes.
Studying each nook and cranny, I don't see anything that could have made it so dark. There are no new cracks or holes, just some dude lying on the floor uncon-… wait a minute, dude!
I run over to the person on the floor and flip him over. The first thing that I noticeis his strange light grey skin. Then there's his dark grey robe-dress thingy, not to mention his black hair, which looks like a strong gust of winter wind blew it back and froze it in place… or maybe Jack Frost threw a snowball at him.
Either way, what I want to know is: how did he land so gracefully, and not in a mess of tangled limbs, like I did? It's not fair, I tell you!
Although, this man can't be too lucky. I mean, he is in this cave with me.
Unthreading my arms from my jacket and backpack, I fold my jacket to make a pillow for the stranger. I shiver a bit, my bare arms exposed to the cold.
Carefully lifting the man's head – so that I don't bother any injuries he might have – I slide the makeshift pillow under him and slowly lie his head back down on it. I have a bad feeling about this guy, like he could give me nightmares for the rest of my life… but I'll just have to deal with that. I don't want to be stuck here alone – I don't really want to be stuck here at all – and if he dies, if he leaves me here BY MYSELF, I think I'm going to go insane.
Waiting for this guy to wake up is like watching a pot of water that should be boiling – nothing happens. I've cartwheeled, sang Numa Numa, poked the wacko-wearing-dress-man… for goodness sake, I even took a Sharpie to his face and gave him a French moustache, but he still won't wake up.
I'm starting to really dislike this guy. What does it take to wake him up, an air horn? Wait… that might just work!
Rooting through my back pack for the desired object, I find magic markers; silver, gold, and black duct tape; meds for my ADD; enough food and water to last for a month; an iPod; and some blankets – but no air horn. Figures. Why would I have an air horn?! I was right. I really am losing it.
Great – now what?
I glare at Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot and proceed to nudge him with my foot. "Hey! If you're alive, wake up already!"
Almost instantly, his eyes flash open – and if I ever thought that he was normal before, this has changed my mind.
Why is he not normal, you might ask? Well, besides the flipping grey skin and the seventeenth century clothes, he has gold eyes… glowing gold eyes.
In shock, I stumble backwards, giving the man some space. He slowly stands up – not even noticing my brown jacket he used as a pillow – and starts grumbling something about "defeated", "Sandman", "Frost", and "Bunny".
From what I've gathered, this guy got beat up by Sandman, Jack Frost, and the Easter bunny. I do believe in those legends, even if I'm supposed to be too old – but seriously, this guy got beat up by the Easter bunny? If so, that's kind of sad.
I laugh, loudly, which prompts Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot to finally notice me. His eyes narrow with anger, and suddenly he is walking – wait, that's not it – is he… gliding? How is he GLIDING? A shadow falls over me as I realize I've been distracted again. I look up, and Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot – let's revise his name to Mr. About-to-Beat-My-Brains-Out – is towering over me.
"Who," he whispers, "are you?"
I shiver, but I force myself to glare at him. Scary voice or not, it's kind of hard to take him seriously with the moustache that I drew on his face. I smile my I'm-crazy-so-fear-me smile. "The name's Haley Davidson. And you?"
His frowns, clearly furious, which only makes the mustache look that much more ridiculous. "I am Pitch," he announces dramatically, his voice booming around the cave. "Pitch Black. The Nightmare King and Boogeyman."
I stare at him, trying to grasp what I just heard. "So you're the… Boogerman?"
So help me – he really is going to beat my brains out. "Boogeyman," I blurt. "Yeah – got it – sorry!"
He nods. It makes the mustache twitch.
I can't help it. I'm feeling brave again. "And you got beaten up by the Easter bunny," I say. "The fluffy rabbit that hides eggs for kids."
He scowls at me, giving me his glare-o-doom. "Leave, child – before I make your worst nightmares come to life."
I give him my best serious look – the kind of look that my mom gives me when I'm on the Internet reading fanfic instead of doing my homework. "Of course! I'll just magically fly right back through the hole I fell from, which isn't even there anymore!" I storm over to my jacket and tie it around my waist. "And you didn't even thank me for giving you my jacket." I plop to the floor with an exaggerated thunk. "Thank you for nothing, Boogerman."
TO BE CONTINUED
A/N: This is "Shadows of a Dream," Spark's nerdy writer friend – picture a fifteen-year-old with glasses, frizzy hair that resembles a tumbleweed on bad days, a fangirl's crazy smile, and fingers frantically typing: you now have a visual of me. So, now that we have that covered… I was going to be Spark's Beta, but I'm a self-proclaimed Grammar Natzi and couldn't resist adding some of my own humor, so Spark says I qualify as her assistant now. I think I deserve a badge. Her candy stash will have to do.
Please review this story, for both of us – constructive criticism is encouraged, but flames are the mark of a very bored, very nasty, very unlikable person. Summary: Don't flame. It will make your life that much happier.
Thanks for reading!