A/N: Sinister is a pretty decent horror film, and I just HAD to write a fanfiction of it. It may be weird, but I hope to do Sinister justice. Please enjoy, and tell me how it is :)
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that you will recognize from Sinister, nor am I making a profit from this. I'm simply writing this to pass time, and hope to satisfy others with more Sinister until a new movie of it comes out :)
Side note: This is going to happen about thirteen years after the Oswalts' murder. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I want to have at least one true survivor of the Oswalt family murder. That one survivor will be Trevor, who is now about 25 I believe. Forgive me if I'm wrong about the age.
The listing price of such an elegant home was ridiculously low. Beautifully carved, white pillars lined the front of the house. There were many large windows that let in a tremendous amount of light to illuminate the rooms during the day, but the best part was a study with a large fireplace on the second floor of the home that had already had furniture decorating it: a spacious, mahogony desk with an overhead light, bookshelves full of classic literature and even the modern crime novel Kentucky blood was on the shelves. To be precise, there were six copies total.
Four floors total. Five if one were to include the attic.
Isabelle set the last box down in the middle of the foyer and breathed in the new-house-smell. This was her first home. Finally having a job and ready to start life on her own, she was prepared for the best of luxuries considering her first house was so large and her job was more pay than she could have ever imagined a high school teacher receiving. Then again, this town was fairly rich in wealth and education. It was a high-class kind of town. Then again, maybe she just got good pay because she worked well with the high shcool students when she was a student teacher. It wasn't hard; she herself was in high school less than five years ago.
After unpacking a dozen or so boxes, Isabelle decided to head out and explore the neighborhood.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" someone yelled, just as she was about to step a foot off her property.
Isabelle turned around to see a lean young man with long brown hair run up to her from her left. She raised her right brow in curiousity and confusion. "What do you mean 'what do you think you're doing'? What am I doing that I'm not supposed to be doing?"
"Living in that house," he stated rather harshly.
"Well, okay, I think I will be leaving. Nice to meet you, too." She turned the opposite direction of where he had come running.
"I wasn't finished talking to you," he called to her.
She tried to be patient and not lash out at this man who was acting quite unwelcoming to her. Maybe not so much the words he was saying, but defnitely how he was saying them. "I'm sorry to have moved right next door, Sir, but I'm not giving the house back."
Crossing his arms, he asked, "Were you not told of what happened there?"
"Of course I was told what happened, but the house was cheap, and I don't believe in ghosts."
He glared down at her. He was pretty tall...well, maybe he wasn't. Maybe she was simply short.
"You'll regret it."
"I don't feel regret. I simply see the good even when there's bad." Maybe that was pushing it a little too far, but Isabelle wasn't used to people being rude to her. Especially for first impressions and first meetings. Usually, people had no problem being polite and formal. Clearly, this man had one.
He shook his head as if he were talking to a child who couldn't help but be beyond the definition of naive. Then, he walked away, not even giving her his name. She watched him enter a house right next to the one she had just moved in. If he had cared so much about the horrors of that house, why had he moved right next to it? Sighing in irritation, Isabelle was no longer in the mood for an exploration.
Unpacking a few more boxes, she recalled what the realtor had told her about this house:
"It was a family of four. The husband was working on a new book in a different town until he and his family made a mad dash for this place. He was going to be a retired writer and find a different job to support his family, but the same night they moved in, they were brutally murdered. The father and the mother of the family were found, heads decapitated, limbs cut off from their torsos. But one of the children, a small girl by the name of Ashley had gone missing, while the other boy who was 12 had escaped. The police still cannot figure out what happened exactly. However, the house is cheap because of the tragic event driving away any and all buyers of the place. Having a house not being sold for so long will probably result in the tearing of it down. But it's such a pretty house. Why would anyone want that to happen?"
She took a few things that belonged to her parents and set them up in the attic. When she entered the vacant area, she noticed a single box directly in the center of the room with the label Home Videos. Setting her own box down, she picked the other one up and brought it to her office with the elegant fireplace, and set it on her desk. There were Super 8 films lined in another smaller box along with a projector to project them. Each roll of film had been labeled: House Painting '12; Family Hanging Out '11; Sleepy Time '98; Lawn Work '86; BBQ '79; Pool Party '66.
Strange, she thought. Each film was taken in thirteen-year increments until Family Hanging Out and House Painting where it was merely a single year. Not just that, but what family takes films so far apart? Where are the other videos? Is this the same family filming?
Deciding to satisfy her curiosity, she picked a random film from the middle and inserts it into the projector. Before turning it on, she struggled to find one of her white king-sized sheets to pin up on the wall. When she did find one, she suddenly noticed a rolled up projection screen on the opposite wall of the fireplace. Rolling her eyes at herself, she rolled the screen down and placed the projector on one of the larger packing boxes. Isabelle finally got it to work. She placed the film roll on and turned it on after switching off the lights.
The family was in the kitchen. There was a mother, a father, two sons, and a chihuahua gathering around to make a family meal. Of course, the dog was merely making its rounds about the members to beg for food; only the youngest son had bothered to give him any. The mother looked kind and gentle. She smiled as she poured some pasta into a boiling pot, and the father grabbed fresh vegetables from the fridge and began cutting them up into minuscule pieces. Suddenly, the film cut off and switched scenes. It was now dark inside the house, and instead of the film having been set down to show everyone like before, someone was moving slowly through the halls and rooms and up the stairs in an eerie pace that didn't seem right. Something was off.
A strange symbol was drawn in some kind of dark red paint on the wall just before a door. The person walked into the room and showed the mother and father lying in bed, tied at the hands, feet and their mouths duct-taped. The little dog was placed in the middle and continued to yap at whoever was holding the camera.
Out of nowhere, a knife was in front of the camera and the throats of both parents were being slit.
Isabelle covered her mouth to keep from crying out; not that it would have mattered, no one would have heard her scream.
The slasher was now walking into another bedroom. This time, the younger boy of the family was lying bound on his bed. The knife appeared once more, covered in blood. Before metal touched flesh, Isabelle jumped back, knocked the box and the projector over and fell to her knees, trying her best to get rid of the horrific images that were swelling in her head.
She brushed her curly brown hair back and forced herself to get up. She snatched the projector and all the films and headed out to her backyard. With much energy, Isabelle began burying the films of horrible and sinister happenings.
A/N: Reviewing/Messaging me really helps! Even if it has nothing to do with Sinister :D