I'm Still Seeing Dead People

Chapter Nine: Dog Ate Dog

A/N: I totally didn't plan out how I wanted this book to go, but there's been a slight change of plans. Since it's nearly my birthday, and one out of one person who gave their opinion on the birthday idea, a birthday we shall have. I know I said Billy's birthday was in January, but oh, well. This book will be over by January. So, let's say he was born on September 5th. 

"Seriously?" Billy groaned, appearing at the stop of the stairs. "On my birthday?"

By this time, most of the house (or, what was left of the members) had gathered in the living. And suddenly, everyone remembered the one thing that shouldn't have been forgotten: Today was Billy's birthday. 

"Oh..." You didn't know what to do. You had found a pretty nasty looking dead body, and you knew Billy would want to celebrate. "Happy birthday?" 

"Yeah, not so much." Billy grimaced slightly. "I was kinda hoping Freddy would show up to celebrate." 

"Y/N, come talk to me in my room. We'll discuss this there." 

You follow Michael upstairs and sat on his chair while he sat on the bed. 

"Tell me everything."

You told Michael everything. He listened patiently, nodding every so often. It took everything you had to keep yourself from vomiting. Reliving the event that occurred no more than ten minutes, smelling burned skin, the metallic, sharp smell of blood, the torn tissue on the ground, everything. It was putrid and horrifying. 

"Stay here with Billy and the others. Jeff and I will go get Freddy. We'll bury him and make headstones later tonight." 

"No. No, I don't want to be anywhere near this house, or these woods, not with everyone dying. I'm no therapist, but it's not healthy to see people die every day. That's got some bad psychological effects. And, personally, I'd like to keep my mind as little messed up as possible."

"Well, you've got dinner tomorrow, don't you? Why don't you ask if you can stay the night at your friends' house?" 

"Because he's on vacation." 

"Well, apply for a job. Or move out." 

"I'll look for a job, sure. Who's going to want to hire a psycho who claims to have been kidnapped by a bunch of serial killers and wanted to move back into the house where she was held captive? If you can find someone who will do that, then let me know. Because my last job fired me because my performance dropped after I got back. So, if you find someone who wants to hire me, then tell me." 

"Calm down or I'll put you in the cell and make you calm down."

"Well, then, I'm going out to get Billy a cake or something, because I cannot be here right now." 

"That's okay. Maybe see if any place is hiring while you're out." 

You didn't reply. You were probably just going order Billy's cake, maybe get some coffee, and come back. Or, maybe you'd order Billy's cake, see who's hiring, and work on a resume once you got back. 

You stepped out of Michael's room and went down to the bathroom. You pulled your hair back in a loose ponytail and dry-heaved into the toilet. You dry-heaved for a couple more seconds before you finally vomited. You tried to keep as quiet as possible, not wanting to concern anyone. 

You wiped your mouth and flushed the toilet. After splashing some water on your face, you walked out of the bathroom. You smiled at Billy, who was sitting on the couch and watching the news. 

"Hey, I'm going out to pick up a cake from F/C/P (Favorite cake place; like Dairy Queen or some place like that). Can you text me your favorite flavor and how old you are?" You asked.