Work Text:
Halloween, 1978
Annie Brackett regretted everything. She regretted some things. She may not have regretted much, but there were regrets. God, were there. Her brain wasn’t really working in coherent thoughts, rather simple flickers of inclinations – each flicker was its own moment, its own tiny brush-stroke in the painting of her life. She remembered feelings and faces. Dad. Mom. Lindsey. Laurie. God, Laurie.
“Listen, I’ll call you back in an hour or so, ‘kay?”
It was the last thing she said to her. Couldn’t have been more than a minute ago. Hindsight is always 20/20, but even still she wished she could have said more, said something of value rather than her last words being about–
“–he was, old Jerko found a way to sneak out.”
– about Paul Freedman. Annie Brackett certainly regretted that.
She thought about Lindsey’s little face, swearing she could almost see it in the fogged-up reflection. The Wallaces had had bad babysitters before, no doubt, but how many of them had skimped Lindsey off on one of their friends so they could go bang Paul Freedman? Whatever. If she didn’t do something quick and do something soon, no-one would ever see her again.
The hands around her neck tightened. Her legs kicked wildly. Lindsey hovered on the edge of her vision. She could hear the memory of her voice – her little downcast okay s, the way she laughed, ‘Annie, Paul called!’
Shit – the horn – fuck – help, thought she, and though the big, greasy hands around her neck were tight enough to stamp coherency out of her thoughts, she still thought enough to jerk her knee into the horn. She thought of Laurie in the Doyle house. Please hear me. Lynda, wherever the fuck she was. Please help me. Her dad, probably still in the office, signing off a transfer warrant on some drink driver. Help me.
The horn was loud and abrasive and anyone with half an ear could have heard it, even if there was a gaggle of kids in witch costumes haggling their door. She was screaming – in her mind only – out for everyone she knew.
(lindsey laurie lynda paul dad mom please please o god please)
She slammed the horn so hard the steering wheel could have collapsed in on itself.
(help O god someone help please O god)
How could no-one hear this? She was still clutching and grasping at the choking hands, trying to wretch them off, to get out of the car.
Annie should have treated Lindsey better that night. She didn’t deserve to be pawned off on Laurie like a shitty Christmas present.
(don’t tell my Aunt Carol Laurie she’ll kill me ha-ha)
Annie had been her babysitter only for however long but she’d already taken quite a liking to the little girl.
“You’re seventeen?” Lindsey asked with incredulity. “You’re ancient.”
Annie saw it then, only the glint of the light’s reflection off its tip. It was metal, sharp, had a few fingerprints on the blade twisting and blurring her wide-eyed face. It was a bit flimsy, and shook in that brief moment like stiff paper. Then she didn’t see it anymore.
She felt nothing, only hands loosening around her neck. Then she felt a warmth trickling down it, then flowing freely. She felt her mouth grow limp and her eyes go wide. She felt her head hit the glass. The Shape saw her fall down. Annie Brackett ceased to see.
Annie Brackett couldn’t regret much more.