Bubblegum and Bloodlust - Billy Loomis

Chapter 1 - New beginnings

(Hi! Just warning that the story isn't edited very well at all and I'm also s e n s i t i v e so like, be nice. P.S sorry if it's boring and the chapters are too short. Thanks - Anxious, gay author.)

Anisa Harte is an angel. Described as such by friends and dearly departed alike. Anisa Harte does what's right. She colours within the lines and walks between boring and mysterious. Anisa Harte is an enigma. Of course, everyone is wrong. Anisa Harte is... messed up. It's obvious if you know where to look. The incessant shaking of her hands, the little smiles as a tragedy plays out on the news. Even the fascination with her collection of kitchen knives. Of course, she isn't a mastermind, she isn't evil either. Just slightly unhinged. Enough to bear, enough so that no one knows. 

Enough so that she walked away from her life in L. A and looked as though she were totally fine. What a lie. Enough so that she didn't look as though she had turned into an anxiety-ridden mess. Anisa now carried her baggage with her everywhere, even onto the little train to Woodsboro. 

The sun shone down on Anisa through the thin planes of glass beside her. She sat in the train compartment with her head resting against the glass as she thought. It was so bright outside, she liked that. Sunny was better than stormy. Storms weren't good. At least, not to Anisa. And definitely not while her head swirled with anxious thoughts. 

"What if I screw up again?" 

"Maybe I should have visited Nancy before leaving?" 

"When I get to Woodsboro I should probably call Sarah again." 

"Holy shit, what am I going to tell the school for parent-teacher interviews?" 

"Oh yeah, sorry about that, my mum is fucking dead!" 

She almost laughed at some of the thoughts. The ticket collector had passed by at least an hour ago and now Anisa waited rather impatiently for her stop to arrive. She was lucky to have found an empty compartment to sit in; it's because of that that she had sprawled herself across the seats. She moved constantly too, unable to stop herself from fidgeting in anticipation. 

Anisa hummed a soft tune to calm herself down. She reached into her little bag and pulled out her polaroid. The 'snap!' of the camera capturing the moment didn't catch her off guard the way it used to. There was a low buzzing sound as the camera film filtered out the bottom of it. Anisa smiled, watching as the white sheet began to colourize. 

She looked around the compartment too, distracting herself as she shook the little piece of film with jittery hands. The cushioned sheets hadn't seemed to have been updated since the 70's judging by the obnoxiously coloured fabric blanketing the booth. The doors were wooden and creeky, as were the walls. They squeaked loudly to the touch and the table in the center was cool against her warm hands. The icy surface brought back images of slithering serpents and cockroaches crawling across her skin. Anisa's breath hitched, taking in large gulps of stuffy train air to shake the memories from her head. 

A repetitive tapping sound filled the claustrophobic space. It was Anisa's leg. She was shaking it incessantly. To have the noise of her movement was oddly comforting to Anisa. It reminded her where she was; on a train to a secluded little town far away from Los Angeles and the aching drama of her coven. 

"Ex-coven," She had to remind herself of that. Everything was different now. Woodsboro would leave nothing to be the same. At least, that's what Anisa was hoping. 

Stepping off the train was quite literally a breath of fresh air. Her luggage was large though and yanking it through the station to call a taxi was going to be hard work. She had a small backpack that looped over her shoulders, a large suitcase with clothes and shoes and everything of the sort, a smaller suitcase with her "essentials" for her craft and a little purse that held photos. Memories that she could never return to. 

Anisa lugged the many bags anyway. She dragged them over the concrete and linoleum until she reached the road outside. She searched for a taxi, blissfully unaware of the world around her. The people staring at her as though she were a completely foreign concept didn't exactly glide over her head either though. A light flush spread across her cheeks as she noticed people looking her up and down. Even her ears turned red as Anisa desperately attempted to ignore the attention being thrown at her. She clutched at her black shirt, trying to pull it away from her body in order to feel less... confined? There was also the added bonus of men no longer being able to leer at her tits. 

She flagged down the first taxi she saw, quickly putting whatever luggage that could fit into the back and carrying the rest into the car with her. "Hi!" She said, trying to sound vaguely friendly despite the lingering smell of must and mould. 

"Where ya headed?" His gruff voice replied. It was the sound of a long time smoker. Anisa could already imagine the balding, slightly pudgy man taking puffs of a cigarette and coughing his lungs up. She shook the gross thought from her head, quickly telling the man the street she expected to be dropped at. She never told drivers the exact address, a habit she had picked up while in L.A. She learned rather quickly that men can be horrid creatures and that locking the doors and keeping your address on a need to know basis was best. 

The man nodded, his sagging features drooping as he turned back to the wheel. Anisa felt sick. Not from the smell or the spiderwebs clinging to her door handle, but rather from the speed at which he drove. He cut corners and sped like a man on a mission. The dark-haired girl in the back seat couldn't help but wonder how he had got this job as opposed to being a run-away driver. The car swerved to the left and Anisa felt a bile rise in her throat. She clutched her stomach, desperately clutching the seatbelt. It was the only thing keeping her safe at the moment. 

The sheer relief that the girl felt as he pulled onto Featherman Street could have toppled mountains. She thanked him and paid him quickly. Anisa didn't think she could stomach another minute in that car. that utter hell-cage of a car. The man was a speed demon and the thought made Anisa shiver. 

Dragging her luggage into number four Featherman Street's front door proved a difficult task. Much more difficult than Anisa had predicted. The townhouse was cute, small and painted a dull shade of smoke grey. the panels of the house had a very modern feel to it, but the traditional pointed roof and ornate door knocker made it much more average. The thing that seemed to set the house apart from the other houses on the road was the yellow door. The front door had been painted canary yellow and it shone brightly from the other side of the street. Upon seeing it, Anisa's face lit up in a smile.

A heaving groan erupted from the girl as she finally pushed the suitcases through the thin-framed door. She smiled lightly, casting a glance over at the "sold" sign still stuck into the ground out front. 

"Woodsboro," Anisa voiced aloud, hands on her hips. With a wave of her dainty, carefully painted hands, the door 'wooshed' shut. Anisa swept her hands as she turned around "I have a bad feeling about this." 

(I'm so fucking nervous about publishing this but y'know, I'm proud that I did it.)