An Urgent Need for Ruin (Full-length Novel Version)

He. Knew. My. Name. How the HECK did he know my name? Don't get me wrong; weird things happened in Louisiana all the time. Superstition ran rampant, supplying the demand for all the psychics and voodoo practitioners. But whoever Stranger Danger really was, he didn't seem like any kind of spiritualist, just a creeper. The kind you wouldn't want to encounter walking down the street, whether night or day. And he lived next door. And knew my name.
I was in trouble. Lots of trouble. Was it even safe to sleep tonight? And even if it was, how could I sleep knowing there was a creeper who knew my name next door?
Okay, okay. Maybe I just hadn't heard him right. He could have easily actually said "toenail," right? That sounds sooo stupid... Or, or maybe he just overhead my mom or dad. That's possible, right? Except that's even scarier! Ohhhh, heck. Who lived next to us?!
The shower had now become lukewarm on the verge of pure freezing. I had no idea I had been in that long. My dad must be wondering what in the world happened, because I rarely took showers this long. Let him wonder. This required lots of thought. I slid down the bathroom wall until I was sitting on the grimy floor still littered with garbage bits. I still hadn't rinsed the soap in my hair and eyes. Which was a huge mistake. My eyes were burning right out of my head but I could care less. How HOW in the world was I supposed to react to him knowing my name? I still didn't even know his! And even if I did, he'd still be Stranger Danger. He just wasn't the type of guy you'd ever want to be stuck around. He had pedophile-rapist-kidnapper-creepy guy written all over him. And he wasn't even middle-aged! Imagine how creepy he'd be then! And it wasn't like he was unattractive or weird-looking or anything. He just...He just put off that whole vibe that just creeped with you.
Soon, the water hitting me was like freezing hail, so I slowly rose to turn it off. I left my hair sticky with soap: I'd wash it when the water was a reasonable temperature. Instead, I donned my garbage-covered clothes (I'd be taking another shower soon anyway) and trudged out of the bathroom and passed Dad grumbling about "seems like a nice boy" (Really?! Could no one else feel the creepy?!) and into my room. Which, of course, had the curtain open. And, of course, I had to get up and close it. Down by that corner of the house I couldn't help but check by habit stood a chuckling teenage boy just stamping out his cigarette. And just before I had closed my curtain all the way, with perfect timing he look up to flash me a mocking grin.
So not only did he know my name, but now he was mocking me. Great... Great! Life after this was going to be swell.

This went on for the next three years. I kid you not, years. Freshman, sophomore, and junior years. During that time, it goes without saying that he learned my schedule. Whether unintentionally or by studying me like he always had, that was still creepy in and of itself. So sometimes I tried varying it: I tried different, shorter routes home (when I was walking); I took out the garbage and checked the mail at different times every day; and so on. that even managed to throw him off a few times. But usually he still had that annoyingly perfect timing and could still catch me. Surely he had more to accomplish in life than creeping on the girl next door, right? Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good question to think about. All in all, though, I'd managed to grow pretty indifferent about Stranger Danger. It was too exhausting to worry about and he knew I'd never break my vow of silence, so that wasn't threatened anymore. Which is why I was on the porch swing right now, just listening to the ever-present ambiance of Moss Bluff. I didn't need a book or music or anything to keep me occupied; nature was a lot more interesting than anyone gave it credit for. Yes, I was outside. And no, I wasn't worried about or looking out for Stranger Danger. I was that indifferent now. He may as well have not even existed. Okay, maybe that was exaggerating. But I was indifferent. So indifferent that I barely even noticed when he came outside or even cared when he yelled "Hi!" in the most annoying way possible and waved.
The Sunday evening sun was blanketing my porch and yard in pinks, reds, oranges, and gold, and the spring breeze was lifting tufts of my bright hair to throw back into my face. I just quietly laughed it off: the wind was childish in that way. And no, I didn't notice Stranger danger coolly studying me, cigarette hanging between two skeleton fingers. And no, I didn't pretend not to hear him muttering to himself, wisps of smoke puffing out from his teeth every time he spat a word. Why would I? I was indifferent.
I threw my head back into the porch swing with a groan. Okay, maybe I wasn't so indifferent. Maybe I was hell-bent on studying his every move like he did mine. But not because he was mysterious or even the least bit interesting or appealing. He wasn't the brooding Byronic hero of some cut-rate romance novel: he was creepy to the extreme. So creepy that you have to be paranoid enough to be alert to his every move. And maybe I just wanted to get back at him. Maybe I wanted him to notice me studying him like a creeper and ask why and I would unload the last three years of hell upon him...without wasting any oxygen. ...Okay, so that would backfire on me. Who knows why I was doing it? My eyes betrayed me over and over and refused not to be focused on him, like some sick way of keeping me on my toes.
All right. That's it. Day ruined. I'm going inside. Thank you, Stranger Danger. Huffing, I rose from the patio bench swing (it's like a tradition in the South to have one of those) and trudged my way inside. Of course, as soon as I got in I was almost trampled.
What? Mom was supposed to be off today.
My big-boned, ruddy mother was sprinting around like a chicken with its head cut off. She was supposed to be relaxing since Vincent had insisted he take that night himself and she get some well-earned rest. But here she was, running about, throwing her uniform together and grabbing her keys and a Tupperware of leftover scalloped potatoes.
I managed to finally grab her and fix her with a skeptical look and raised eyebrow. Her hair was frizzed and sticking up all over her hurriedly fixed ponytail, a sign that she didn't have time to even dry or brush her hair. She was barely mumbling, too, which was a dead giveaway that something was horribly wrong. My mom was the extreme opposite of me, so for her not to talk, just like for me to talk, it meant something wildly important was going on.
Finally, my staring wore her down enough for her almost-watery eyes to meet mine. "Vincent," she eventually grumbled. Then her face hardened as she snapped out the rest. "Idjit wen' ta work all by hisself today. Who'da thought da Lawd's Day woulda ended up bringin' the rowdiest buncha scum to pop'late dis earth? Dang moron jus' 'bout kicked da bucket from pure exhaustion an' doggone stress. Was too moronic to e'en call me neither! Ended up bein' a customer as let me know. Kind soul even helped 'im kick 'em out an' lock up 'til I got there. 'E brought 'im home and demanded 'e rest. I demand 'e keep restin'! Ain't no business working yo'self to da grave! I done TOLD 'im dis!" She was too angry to go on, but years of not talking gave us powers to read each other clearly, so I knew she still have more to say. And I knew it concerned me. "As a result, ya know I can't keep takin' ya ta school," she finally breathed out. (Yes, Mom was still driving me to school. And yes, a junior in high school should have their driver's license. And I did. But having one wasn't much use when your parents need their cars on a regular basis. So Mom dropped me off at school and picked me up when she could so that she had the car.) I knew this. It was a given. I was fully prepared to start taking the bus or walking to and from school but what Mom said next submarined all that. "But then Francis offered to take you."
Blankness... I had never known a Francis in my life. Why then would Mom agree to them taking me to school? Okay, so maybe wasting oxygen just this once wouldn't hurt. After all, it was kinda important to know who I'd be stuck in a car with. But I didn't even need to waste any because Mom could already read the "Francis?" in my expression. "Francis," she repeated, like all people do when they think repetition will magically awaken a memory you probably don't even have. "Francis Gautier[Go-tee-ay]? That Frank boy next door?"
It took only the took seconds before I registered that to decide to heck with sacred oxygen. Self-destruct in 3...2...1. "I don't even KNOW him! I can take the bus. I can walk. I can make friends solely for the purpose of carpooling. Anything better than being trapped inside a car with a CREEPER!" Fortunately, my voice box performed perfectly and emphasized all the correct words without croaking, leaving a nice echo as a remnant of what I'd just done.
Undortunately, Mom's mood left her not the least bit deterred by my reaction. In fact, it backfired, if her smirk had anything to say about this, probably because she thought my talking was a good thing.
"Toni, stop bein' so melod'matic. You've known Francis since you was a youngin'. Surely ya got ta 'member him. Either way, y'all 'll get ta know each other again. An' 'e ain't much a talker neither, so y'all should get along just fine." With that, she readjusted the things in her arms and walked out the door, leaving me sputtering more questions.
School started back on Tuesday, so I had two days to mentally prepare myself. Two days... Scratch that; one, because the sun was already set. I had one day to mentally prepare myself for being locked up with Stranger Danger. One day. It would take an eternity to prepare myself. I needed an eternity and I had one day.


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You'll excuse my spewing of hatred and distrust and the boring route this story seems to never be able to get off of. But it's important for you to understand who Frank was and who I was and the circumstances of our "meeting" for the rest to make sense. Now I look back on those days with hatred and disgust of my mindset and a clear understanding of just why Frank put off such a palpable bubble of creepiness. Bear with me. I can't guarantee the writing gets better, but I can guarantee the introduction ends soon. Just know that it is just as crucial as the story itself.

Notes

Dun dun DUN! How'd y'all like that little surprise? Although you probably saw it coming a mile away. How about the snippet from Toni at the end? I hope it makes sense.
I feel it beneficial to tell you that most of their "meetings" are based off of real-life interactions between me and the husky Gerard Way doppelganger across the street that I lovingly refer to as "Gee-across-the-street" (since we haven't really met yet) that comes out in a baggy band shirt and basketball shorts and smokes in front of his house. Poor guy has tried to acknowledge me several times but just hasn't caught on yet that I'm a hermit. No exaggeration there. I spend 99% of my time in my house hardcore writing, reading, housework-doing, and interacting with pixels.

If you want to know what a Cajun accent sounds like: https://www.facebook.com/Miltonpostweekly/videos/456020541243559/