Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Mikey!" I heard called out to me as my little brother pounded mercilessly on the bathroom door. I woefully stuck my head out of my steamy haven and frowned unhappily at the door as he began to get more violent in hitting the meager, wooden barrier that separated his wrath from my clean body. "I will KILL you if you don't get out of there!"

"Bretooooon, I'm not done yet!" Calling back mockingly, I stuck my head back behind the shower curtain and proceeded to wash the soapy lather from my soft hair. This happened every morning; I was surprised that Breton hadn't learned just to get up ten minutes earlier so he could beat me to the shower.

"Mikey, if you make me late for school again, I'll shave your head!" he threatened, banging on the door again, even more violently than he previously had.

"I haven't made you late before...!" I gently turned the shower knob off and turned off the hot and cold water knobs as well. Sliding the curtain over slowly so as to make my brother even more angry, I giggled to myself and grabbed a towel, rubbing it against my face and hair before wrapping it around my waist.

"Bullshit!" cursed Breton, fury apparent in his partially-matured voice. "Now get the hell out of there!"

"You're lucky mom isn't here to hear you talk like that," I slyly said, unlocking the door and opening it. Amidst the quickly-disappearing steam cloud that emerged from behind me, I saw my brother looking towards my face as though he would set me aflame.

"You are a DICK, Michael!" Breton hissed, charging forward to get in the bathroom. I just laughed. My brother and I were normally good friends, but in the mornings it was almost impossible to tell. Hearing the door slam behind me, I allowed another chuckle to escape my lips, and I stepped happily to my room and began the lengthy process of getting dressed.

I was seventeen, in my junior year of high school, and a bit of an outcast.

Well, more than a bit. Actually, I was a whole lot of an outcast. Most boys my age were interested in girls, cars, and college. I, myself, found myself entwined with an entirely fake world. I knew I was crazy, but I continued to live in my fake reality. I shielded myself behind music, comics and stories while everyone else was surrounding themselves with girlfriends and mall buddies. They were out every night; I never left the house. They went to school events; I didn't even know they were going on. They went out and had experiences; I lived vicariously through electronics. I definitely couldn't say I was happy with the arrangement, but it got me through things.My brother, however, was the social butterfly of the family. He had friends over all the time, he went outside and went to places with people, he even got involved with the school; I felt bad for him having to be related to me. Me, the "girly boy" who wore eyeliner and eye smudge, me, the "unsociable" guy that always ended up having to partner with the odd numbered kid during school assignments, me, the "freak" who spent more time sketching morbid cartoons in a bent-up note pad than talking with real people. But Breton never complained and I admired him for it. He would often ask me to go places with him, but I always declined; though I knew he wouldn't mind if he got crap from his friends about his "faggoty older brother," I would.

I gently finished smudging around my eyes with bright red colour and smiled at myself in my dirty mirror; I often wrote reminders in eyeliner on it, and because I never fully erased what I wrote, I almost couldn't see myself. I checked my hair in the clean part and I made sure it covered one of my brown eyes completely before I grabbed my messenger-styled bag and shut off my lights and closed my bedroom door behind me.

"Breton!" I called, knocking gently on his door, "we're leaving in three minutes." I heard him give me a muffled response and I headed towards the kitchen, picking up a piece of bread from the open loaf that was sitting on the counter. "Two minutes!" I called, spitting a bit of chewed food out on accident. I flushed a bit at being so careless, but brushed it off, instead choosing to grab my car keys out of the glass dish resting by our front door. "Bretoooon!"

"Coming, coming! Jesus!" I heard my fifteen-year-old brother tromp down the hallway sleepily. His hair was still slightly wet, but he didn't seem to notice as he grabbed three pieces of the same loaf of bread I had just eaten out of. "Ready, fucker."

"Is that any way to talk to your chauffeur, dear brother?" I asked, grinning at him. "All I did was call you!"

He scowled at me. "I could have been ready but you take fifty years in the shower every morning!" I laughed and ushered him out the door, closing it and locking it behind us. Outside was still pitch black-- it was only 6:36 in the morning-- and we fumbled our way to my old, beat-up car I had gotten for my sixteenth birthday. Sure it was a pile of junk, but I loved it like a son.

Well, almost like a son.

"You piece of shit, OPEN!" I kicked the car door forcefully, attacking the handle with a new-found strength I hadn't thought I possessed. The lock must have been broken again; I mentally cursed it and threw my bag in through the open, front-seat window. I always left it rolled down for this occasions; though I got a lot of lectures about how the car would be stolen if I kept doing that, I was positive no one with half a brain would ever even want to get within ten feet of my car. It might start leaking radon, or something. I was terrified one day it'd end up the next Chernobyl.

I heard my brother laughing at me as I dove in the window, but I ignored him, pulling my legs through the opening before I adjusted myself into the "driving position." "Alright then!" I breathed, slightly flustered. I stuck the key in the ignition and turned the car on. It took a few turns before the engine really started, and once it did I clicked on my seatbelt, giving Breton a look so he'd do the same. Once I heard a second click I pushed my foot against the brake and switched the car in to reverse, turning around in my seat to get a better look at how I should back out of the driveway. "Turn the CD player on," I said, backing out, then putting the car in drive. I sped forward as the CD started up, smiling semi-brightly at the open road before me. I wasn't really alive until the first chords of whatever CD I had in the car hit my ears.

"What's the plan for today?" Breton asked me, yawning a little.

"I dunno. Have you got practice or any meetings?" I never had plans and never had; it still puzzled me as to why Breton asked me that same question every morning.

"I've got to stay until five for Student Council. We've got to budget the dance or something like that."

"That means I'll have to pick you up, then?" I sighed. That was an afternoon wasted. "Mom isn't going to be home until late."

"I guess so. Are you just going to sit in the hall like usual?"

"I dunno... There's that old beaten up house I'd like to check out." I mused, more to myself than to Breton.


"That one everyone thinks is haunted. You know the one-- 'like, oh my god, Amy and Jill, like, totally went up there with Ricky and Todd and they saw a ghost! Like, oh my god, it was so scary!'" Mikey's voice was dripping with mockery and he made it so the "quote" was an octave higher than he normally would have said it in.

"Oh, the Jackson's old place? That thing is haunted... I went by it once with Tommy once when we were walking to get supplies for a student council project, and we heard a fucking shriek from it! It's been abandoned for years!"

"It's just someone shittin' you, Bret. Ghosts exist, but not in that run-down hell-hole."

"I dunno, that place is pretty creepy..."

"Regardless, I'll go and check it out. I'll prove you wrong." I said smugly. I wasn't afraid of anything!

Well, maybe some things.

I pulled swiftly in to my assigned parking space and switched off the CD regretfully before unbuckling my safety belt. "I'll pick you up at the front at five sharp, okay? If you're running late, call my cell and I'll come accordingly."

"Okay," said Breton, unbuckling his seat belt as well before he opened his door. For a moment he paused, looking straight at me.

"Go on ahead," I said, softly smiling.

"I don't mind if you walk with me, you know..."

"I know, but your friends don't like me and they give you shit about me, we both know it. Just go on. Have a good day at school, 'kay?"

"I don't care if they give me shit, you're my br--"

"You're going to miss your friends if you don't hurry up," said I, checking my mirror in the rear-view mirror quickly before I grabbed my bag and climbed out my window. I heard my brother's side door slam shut and I said, "see you at five!"

"Bye, Mikey," I heard him say before he ran off to catch up with someone he seemed to know. I smiled to myself; I was glad my brother was so popular. He was too nice of a guy to be a loner like I was.

It wasn't to say I didn't have friends, I just didn't have "home friends." The way I explained it to Mikey was that there were two kinds of friends-- school friends and home friends. School friends were the ones you talked to at school, but contact never extended past the crowded hallways or the quiet corners of classrooms. Home friends were the ones you wanted to hang out with outside of school-- the kid you would take to meet your family and to see your room.

All my friends were school friends.

I trudged up to one of my high school's back doors and swung it open gently so I could walk through. I passed where my locker was, but I hadn't used it since school began; my belongings stayed tucked away in my frayed, black messenger bag like they always had. Just as excitedly as I had walked in to the school, I turned a corner and began to climb the 43 steps that lead to the third floor of my school; I was unlucky and I had chemistry first thing in the morning. That in itself was a death wish, but having to climb up two flights of stairs as soon as I got to do was a pain in the ass. I was an artist, not an athlete!

I was out of breath once I reached the top like I was every morning, but after a minute or two the discomfort in my lungs and legs faded, and I pushed open the heavy door to my classroom. As usual, no one was in the classroom but my wrinkled, whithered, knotted old teacher Ms. Molko. She was more often referred to as, "that barren old hag," but I actually liked her. Of course, I never said that to anybody; I was already that cliche weird guy-- I didn't need me to be even more cliche by being the only one to like the old, bitchy teacher.

"Mr. Urie, good morning," she greeted me, smiling in my general direction. I doubted she could see me well; she was cleaning her glasses and her eyes were obviously very old.

"Morning, Ms. Molko." I said, sitting down in my back-brow seat. Those greetings were the only exchanges that ever happened between us in the mornings; we both had a silent agreement that before school was for working, and talking disturbed that working. She began to fill in grade reports at her desk, and I took out my beaten-up sketchbook and immediately began to draw.

This is how it was every morning. It was a comforting routine, but sometimes I got upset with it. I was no one special; I would never be anything in life-- I would always be the quiet boy sketching in the background. Sure, it was familiar, but what would I ever accomplish?

I decided not to worry about it an I went back to shading in a monster I had seen in a dream I had, once.

The releasing bell definitely could not have ever sounded so beautiful before. It was 2:30 on a Friday afternoon, and finally I was away from the prying, poking, scrutinizing questions and gazes of my classmates and teachers. Being such a good artist, attention was always drawn to me when I had my pencil going, but a lot of it was pure mockery, which often made me want to scream.

But now I was left to my own devices, and I could not have been happier. I peppily left the school, found my car, dumped my back in and dove through the window once more. Looking around the car I noticed faint signs that someone had been in my car during the day, but I laughed, realizing the CD I had in the player was still there. My music tastes never had been the mainstream ones.

I started the car and switched on the CD, buckled my seatbelt and then began to drive off towards the house I decided to explore. I honestly just needed something new to draw, and the creepy exterior of the run-down shit-hole gave me hope that there would be an equally scary interior-- maybe it could be new material for a comic!

The house wasn't far-- I could have walked-- and so only after a few minutes I pulled up and parked in front, not bothering to even check if there was someone around first. Sure, it was technically illegal to be on the property, but the cops didn't ever do anything-- the place was basically fucked anyway, so why not let kids have their fun?

I grabbed my bag and climbed through my window for a fourth time that day before dusting myself and starting up the walkway. The house itself wasn't extremely big-- it was just like any other house on the black-- it was just old, musty, and terrible looking. I turned the doorknob and was delighted to see that it was unlocked-- that meant one less window to climb through-- and I entered quietly and carefully, determined not to make too much of a disturbance.

The light from the windows flooded the house with natural light, but the shadows created by the lack of artificial light gave the place an unpleasant feel. The dust and smell created a dank demeanor of the old house, but I was immediately drawn to all the unpleasantness of the place. Sure, it was ugly, scarred and hated, but it had a lot of good, interesting things in it, and that was definitely something I could relate to.

I sat down in the middle of what I assumed to be the living room floor and looked around from a lower view; nothing was too out of place, but some of the windows were broken, and some snotty kid had spray painted graffiti on the wooden walls. Even so, I smiled. This place was a dream home; I was glad it had the haunted reputation-- it made it even more secluded for me to come and sit in. I definitely would come back.

I stood up and made my way to a small staircase; the stairs were carpeted, but stains-- they looked as though they had once been bright red-- littered the carpeting, so they looked as though they fit in with the rest of the dirty old house.

The first upstairs door I tried happened to be nothing more than a dirty old bathroom, none of which caught my eye. In fact, it was not until I tried the fifth and last door, that I even found a room worth looking in to further.

Though all the important furniture had long since been taken out, there were still remains enough to allow one to infer that this had once been a boy's room. It had probably been a boy who had been close to my age; too; parts of ripped rock posters were still on the walls, as if they had been torn off in a hurry, and a stack of bi-monthly guitar magazines rested against one of the faded blue walls. I smiled sadly at how dismantled the room was, but I still liked it best out of everything I had explored so far. It was the only place that felt like it had really once been a home to someone. Maybe the boy that lived here was like me? Maybe he was confused, but trying to do his best? Maybe we would have liked each other?

The thought made my smile switch from melancholy to content, and I spun around on my heel to leave the room and go back downstairs.

Of course, my timing had always been off, and I turned around just in time to see the room's door slam shut with a force that definitely meant that I wasn't the only person taking an afternoon stroll in the house.

I breathed heavily and my adrenaline coursed through my body as I went up to open the door back up to see what was going on with the other person, but all too quickly I realized the door was locked.

But what really got me was the bolt and chained lock that only could have been done by someone who was standing inside the room with the door shut.

And I sure as hell hadn't locked it.

Author's Note:

Another one! I'm getting a bit bored with my other story, so i decided to take a bit of a break and try something new.

Honestly, I had no idea about a plot or anything when i started typing this, and i just kept going and things began to play out in my head. I don't know if the idea is going to work, especially because this chapter seemed kind of choppy, but I hope it's satisfactory for now. I've never done a first person POV before either, so I'm still trying to grasp a handle on how to do it correctly and have it sound like I want it to. Depending on how I feel about this in a day or so, I may or may not continue this.

Tell me what you think, please! :D

xoxo Mitsu