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The Boy Next Door

All these of course were just rumors. No one knew where the family had come from, actually. It was like they’d just shown up suddenly, out of nowhere, about four weeks ago.

The Thomas Stokes question had been weighing on Victoria’s mind for some time, ever since the family moved in next door.

“Dad,” she said one morning at breakfast, “have you ever noticed anything about the people next door?”

“Mmm?” her father responded absent mindedly from behind his newspaper. She couldn’t see his face, only the fat black headlines on the front page. The president was scheduled to give a press conference about some regional conflict in the Middle East. A movie actor she’d never heard of was caught dealing drugs. In local news, a second child had gone missing in town. “Did you say something?”

“It’s just – oh, never mind.” He wouldn’t understand. It was her impression that adults didn’t pay nearly enough attention to kids anyway.

“If you’re sure,” he said mildly, not looking up fro
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The Boy Next Door

WARNING: The last contribution for this story was flagged as innapropriate - further contributions have been suspended.

The story is a Closed Book story and someone has flagged the last contribution as innapropriate. An administrator has been informed and the last contribution will be reviewed and removed if necessary. Please be patient this story will be resumed soon.


The Self Aware Story

"Dr. Clark," you say. "A science lab. An experiment. Okay. That's where you want to go? Tell me, then, what does this Dr. Clark look like?"
He is tall, almost so tall as to be freakish, six foot seven at least. He smiles a lot, but that smile does not quite reach to his eyes. I instinctively distrust him.
"Of all the infinite possibilities," you say, "they fall now by the trillions. Whole races and empires pruned out of me to create this science lab. I am not sure if it is pleasurable or painful. I'm not sure if I want you to go on or not."
I will go on, though, because now it is done. There is a almost freakishly tall doctor leaning over me, and he cannot be unmade. He has a destiny and so do I.
"All right," you say, with a sigh, as if ready yourself to go under the knife. "Let's continue."
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It started with a toothache.

I left work early, got home,looked for painkillers, but no luck. I should have done something before now, but you know how it is. My wife, ever the sensible one said, Phone now, your early enough, tell them it's an emergency.I have not turned up for an annual check now for ages. I got my appointment and duly turned up at my dentist office, It looked like its been modernised since I was last here. I climbed the stairs to find the receptionist on the phone, she cut short her conversation and treated me to a large smile and asked my name, then took me to the doctors consulting room and asked if I would like tea or coffee. The doctor will be with you shortly she said.
There was not the usual pile of old magazines, in fact the whole place had gone upmarket since I was last here.
It was then I began to think something was not quite right. At this point my pain addled brain had focused properly on my surroundings and I observed the framed certificates about the place. I then realised with some horror that what the signs were telling me was this was no longer the dentist practist, this was the consulting room of a psychoanalyst and I was waiting to be examined to see if I was mental or something. Panic. I had not the courage to face the receptionist, so then what..
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