Sunny Side Up Insanity
The story will be mostly told through Canary’s point of view, in the second person. If any part of the story is not told from their perspective, it will be in the third person.
By: Rey Coljee
Chapter One
The whispering wind nearly blew Mr. Quintas’s wig off as you and your friends climbed into the massive, bright-red Ford Explorer. You glance at Skizz, and he has to cover his mouth with both hands to keep from laughing. Shelly gets in the passenger seat while giving you two a glare, while you and Skizz get in the next row of seats. In the last row is Maxwell and Cracker—sorry, Elliott.
You lean back, sinking into the seat’s soft cushioning as you buckle yourself in.
“Is everybody buckled in?” Mr. Quintas asks. A chorus of “Yes!” greets his question. Not to your surprise, Skizz is not buckled in.
About two minutes into the ride he is still struggling, making loud noises while fumbling with the seat belt. You eventually get so irritated by the noise that you reach over and buckle him in yourself.
“Thank you,” Skizz says, his words nearly drowned out by Shelly, Elliott, and Maxwell chatting. You don’t respond in any manner, leaning back once more.
The car goes over a speed bump, and your black and orange backpack jumps in your lap.
“So, Elliott, your mom is picking you all up from the movies, right?” Mr. Quintas asks, momentarily gazing into the mirror hanging from the ceiling to make eye contact with Cracker.
“Yeah, she said she’d be off work by then.” That is your cover story.
Mr Quintas drives your group to the movie theater, and Ms Graham picks you and your friends up. For all they know, your group just went to watch the new Marvel movie. It's sort of weird they believe you because none of you are even into Marvel.
When Mr. Quintas drops you off, nobody plans on getting popcorn and milk duds.
There’s an abandoned insane asylum only two miles down the road from the theater. You are confused about why it is still up because it is crazy old.
You and your friends love the idea of checking out the place. In your backpack, you have all you need to search the place for ghosts. Skizz leans against your shoulder, and you nudge away.
“Stay awake,” You order him. For some reason, Skizz always passes out on car rides that are more than five minutes long. He shakes himself and nods, but you know he’ll probably fall asleep anyway.
Once there, Mr. Quintas waves goodbye from the car, pulling away and then streaking down the street. Skizz, still half asleep, is leaning on your shoulder again. Shelly claps her hands loudly next to his ear, and Skizz jumps five feet into the air, rightfully startled. Shelly chuckles, and Maxwell gives her a weird look.
Once there, Mr. Quintas waves goodbye from the car, pulling away and then streaking down the street. Skizz, still half asleep, is leaning on your shoulder again. Shelly claps her hands loudly next to his ear, and Skizz jumps five feet into the air, rightfully startled. Shelly chuckles, and Maxwell gives her a weird look.
Chapter Two
Maxwell and S’mores are panting by the time you arrive, even though you walked the whole way there. Shelly checks her watch and reports that there are three and a half hours until the movie is over.
“So we have about two and a half hours,” You say. Shelly nods.
Shelly has slightly dirty blonde hair, and it’s cut so wildly that it looks like she was dragged backwards through a bush. She’s wearing a thin army green sweater with no pockets and a big zipper, along with ripped jeans that are rolled up around her ankles.
You honestly thought you wouldn’t make it, so you’re confused about what to do next.
Skizz strides past you, his no-sleeved, far too large for him, yellow and navy blue sweater billowing slightly behind him. You always thought his sweater was cool, only having the pockets, shoulders, and edges a bright yellow with the rest a matching navy blue.
“What if the door is locked?” You ask, and everybody turns to stare at you. Nobody had thought that far ahead. “We kick it down?” S’mores asks. “Break a window and crawl in?” Shelly suggests. “Pick the lock?” Skizz recommends. You watch them look at each other. “What if we just find the key?” Maxwell puts in quietly.
“That sounds best,” You say decisively, walking towards the door.
The asylum looks massive. The light green paint is peeling off everywhere, making it look like it was painted white. The door is barricaded with rotten wooden planks, and you reach for the doorknob, just in case it isn’t locked.
It is. Shelly stares at it while she bites her lip, narrowing her eyes.
Maxwell, his white, long-sleeved shirt quite noticeable in the dark, crouches down and begins searching the creaky, broken porch for a key. His black shorts and dark grey sweater tied around his waist make it seem like he didn’t have a lower body in such low light.
S’mores start crawling around, helping Maxwell. But Cracked hates getting dirty, so he has his oversized teal sweater sleeves over his hands, trying not to get dirt or splinters in his hands. He also keeps stopping to pull his weirdly long grey shorts over his knees.
Skizz takes a step back and puts his hands on the railings of the porch, pulling himself up to sit on it. Shelly takes two steps back, and you curiously cock an eyebrow at her. Shelly turns sideways and rams her shoulder into the boarded-up door. A cracking sound fills the silent air, and the door swings wide, slamming into the wall next to it.
“Who cares for a key?” Shelly asks, tossing a look at Maxwell over her shoulder. Why does Shelly hate Maxwell? You wonder. So what if he is rich, and has more common sense than Shelly could ever dream of? Most of the group accepts Maxwell, even if he is new. You accept him. Skizz has already made Maxwell a friendship bracelet as he has done for you and your friends. He made them according to the person’s favorite color, what color of clothing they often wear, and their eye color. For S’mores, he included what color he likes to paint his pinky fingernail (which is purple.)
Yours is crocodile green, azure blue, white, and burgundy. It’s made out of small plastic bands, tied together. It's very intricate and sturdy, unlikely to fall apart. You and the group follow Shelly inside, you going last. You examine the door and the cross bore of the lock is torn off, left in the wall. It was probably locked for a reason. There’s a saggy reception folding table, with a rusty call bell on the edge. Skizz walks up to the desk and repeatedly presses the call bell, giggling slightly at the odd ring it makes from age. Shelly smacks Skizz lightly on the back of his neck, telling him to stop.
You swing your backpack off your shoulder, and place it on the ground, crouching down and unzipping it. You take out the D.O.T.S sensor that Maxwell has bought for the group. It was brand new and hadn’t been used yet, but you had read the manual before today in preparation. D.O.T.S stands for “Detection Of The Supernatural.” “Are there any lights to turn on?” Maxwell asks. “Isn’t that, like, a power thing?” Elliott gestures towards a large rusty metal box on the wall, behind the reception desk and next to double doors at the end of the room, the right one cracked open slightly.
“It’s called a breaker,” Shelly informs them. She walks up to the breaker and swings the small metal door open, quickly flipping on the red switch inside. You straighten the arm that holds the D.O.T.S sensor, and turn in a circle until it explodes with a rough “BEEP!!!” Everybody shuts up quickly and stares at you. You pull the sensor closer, examining the colorful numbers above the handle.
The highest number, five, which is red, is lighting up and creating a high-pitched whine. It’s pointing at a door to the right of the front door, and the door is swung wide. You don’t know why, but the door is thin and almost blends in with the wall. “Onwards!” Skizz exclaims, coming at you from behind and shoving you towards the door.
Chapter Three
It’s like a conga line. Everybody is lined up behind you, probably trembling. The high-pitched whine of the D.O.T.S machine fills the mostly unfurnished room with echoes. There is one very dirty window at the back of the room, and the glass seems very thick, made not to break.
There is also a crocodile green armchair, the fabric torn and ripped. The armchair is overturned, on its side and revealing that whoever had been in the room last had some grudge towards that armchair. The bottom of the armchair, where the black fabric is, was ripped down the middle, and the stuffing is strewn across the tiled floor. There is one very dirty and ripped-up, purple rug that takes up nearly no space. There is also what seems to be a hospital bed, with a bedside table to the right of it. There are restraints on the hospital bed, for arms, chest, and legs.
They have rust-colored stains on them. There’s a green tint to the room, probably from the mold and dirt filtering the minimal light outside. There are ripped-up newspapers scattered around. Sizz, who is right behind you and hugging your midsection, had lit one of the matches from the matchbox Maxwell had bought for the mission. It lights the room up a little.
You keep the D.O.T.S sensor pointed at the smashed clock that's on the floor, next to the armchair and just in front of the bedside table. That’s what the ghost had touched. Of course, you had just assumed the mission would be a disappointment, not expecting to see any ghosts or anything interesting. Maybe the sensor wasn’t working right? Hopefully.
The shattered glass is now on the purple rug, which is right in front of the bedside table. You step closer, and Skizz lets go of your torso, too terrified to follow any further. The room is quite small, so everybody but you and Skizz are outside of the room. The beep starts to get lower pitched, the D.O.T.S level going down every few seconds. Feeling much less tense now, you relax your shoulders. The level is now two.
The sensor erupts loudly with a screech and a painting you never noticed before zooms past your face and slams against the opposite wall with a shatter. You stumble back, falling into Skizz’s arms. “Do we run now?” Skizz asks with a whimper. “We run now,” You breathe. The conga line takes a few steps back in unison, then you all turn and run. As you get further down the hall with matching doors, some on the ground and broken, some swung wide, and some locked, and through the thin door into the main lobby, the D.O.T.S level gets lower and lower. You and the group stumble over each other, falling to the ground in a pile on the dirty, rotten, and moist porch.
Everybody just breaths heavily for a moment, sitting there. You are surprised that Elliott is not whining about how disgusting the porch is and that he’s got it all over his butt and hands and clothes and whatever. You roll off of Skizz and push yourself up to a sitting position with your hands, then shuffle to rest your back against the wall next to the door. “We’re going back in there, right?” Shelly asks with a massive grin on her face. You feel the blood drain from your face. “WHAT?”
Chapter Four
Coming Soon!