-NOTICE-

SO the other day I was flipping through fanfictions, and found out about something called SOPA, short for the Stop Online Piracy Act, which is a bill in Congress. I'm not entirely sure exactly what this does, but I'm hearing horror stories that it will put all fanart, fanfictions, fan pages, and fan-made videos down the drain. I also think that it will shut down any website with any pirated anything and will also shut down any related websites. So, say, someone puts a link on Facebook that goes to a website that has a single piece of pirated stuff somewhere on the other side of it, then Facebook goes down until the link had been removed. I also hear tell that you could go to jail for five years for putting a cover of your favorite song on the internet. I know that piracy is a real issue and its increasingly hard to deal with, but honestly, the fans should be allowed to use the material under Fair Use and Amendment 1 of the Constitution. There's a petition if you Google "stop SOPA 2014," and unless you want to see the probable downfall of the entire FanFicNet community, you might want to sign it. Please help spread word of this, because this bill WILL become a law unless we the people stop Congress from making this grave mistake.

HI! I originally planned to upload this AGES ago, as well as update my other stories... if any of my peeps from the Lord of the Rings or Zelda is reading this, I'M SO SORRY :( I HAVE ZERO MOTIVATION AND A LOT OF MATH HOMEWORK. AND I GOT GARRY'S MOD FOR CHRISTMAS. But don't worry, this story's supposed to be short and sweet. And suspenseful, and supernatural, and all of those cool words that start with S.

My friend talked me into extending this part into merging the prompts, so this is only part 1. And for the sake of FanFictionNet's rules, the next two parts will NOT be in script format. They'll also be returning to the magical realm of past-tense, because I'm more comfortable writing in the past than the present. So yeah, enjoy. I hope your day is going well.

Cry is sitting at his desk, silently scrolling through comments from his fans on Youtube. He is alone. The bright computer screen is the only source of light in the dark room. The comments are becoming increasingly violent; they are all insults or threats, demanding that he should show his face or quit making videos, often both. He doesn't realize at first, but the Youtube comment section morphs into Skype chat from the last group conversation with the rest of the Late Night Crew. The vexing comments do not stop. He calls his friend Russ. It rings for several seconds, and is answered at the last moment. The screen lightens significantly and then dims slowly as the camera comes into focus and adjusts its brightness. Russ is resting his elbows on his desk and is covering most of his face with his hands. He appears to be very upset.

Cry: (Confused) Russ! Wha- uh- why're you upset?

Russ raises his head and looks at the camera, appearing to stare at Cry. Cry's camera is not turned on.

Russ: (Very angry) F***, Cry, the hell do you want?!

Cry: (Raises voice) Calm down, dude! What's wrong with you?

Russ: What's wrong with you? (silence) Damnit, Cry, why'd you do it?

Cry: Do what?

Russ: (Upset) Why'd you do it, Cry?! WHY?

The Skype call abruptly ends. Cry stares at the monitor. His hands are resting on the desk, between the edge and the keyboard. He clenches his fists, then raises them slightly. He puts them down and quickly stands, pushing away from the desk and walking heavily towards the door. He can barely see at all and finds the doorknob by memory. The hall light is on, but it's very dim. He tramps down the stairs, and his thudding footsteps echo through the empty house. Covering the walls in the stairway are several ornate mirrors of varying size. Cry is not reflected in any of them. The stairs turn right at the bottom and Cry is in an unfamiliar house. On one wall there is a window with wine-red curtains drawn, and it is impossible to tell if it is night or day outside. Against another wall stands an old-looking black piano. The keys are uncovered; they are faded yellow. Next to the piano is a bookshelf. Several large volumes line all of the shelves, except one, which is completely empty. On the next wall is another shelf, but this one has no books. In front of it several board games are scattered across the floor. The only playing board that is unfolded and face-up is "Clue". The 'confidential' file is laying in the middle. Cry opens it and pulls out three cards. The first two are 'knife' and 'kitchen'. The third card is blank. Almost all of the pawns are standing somewhere on the board, but not in any of the rooms. Miss Scarlet's pawn is laying on its side in the kitchen. Cry doesn't recognize any significance in this. He stands up and looks around, suddenly noticing a door in the wall parallel to the stairs. He enters, finding a long hallway, the walls of which seem to extend upwards endlessly. There is light in the hallway, but no visible source. He walks forwards cautiously, perceiving a feeling of dread. The first doorway on the right is wide open. Inside are white cabinets lining the walls. There is a sink and various cooking utensils to be seen on the cabinets. The floor is black-and-white checkered tile. Across from the door there is a window above the cabinet, and the blinds are open. A striped square of sunlight shines through onto the floor. In the middle of the floor lies his friend Red in a pool of blood. There is a knife handle protruding from her stomach.

Cry: (gasps in shock) RED!

He kneels next to her. She is laying on her side, glasses askew. Her eyes, glassy and sightless, seem to stare at him. There is blood on her hands.

Cry: DAMNIT, RED! Please don't be dead! (silence) ...f***...

He lowers his head for a few moments. A change in lighting catches his attention, and he looks up to the window. "WHY" is written in blood across the wall and window. Cry slowly stands. A drop of water lands on his forehead. Dripping noises can be heard rapidly increasing in number until the room is drenched in pouring rain. He looks at Red. The water puddling on the floor is dyed scarlet. He hears laughing echoing from above him. It becomes louder until it sounds as if it was coming from right above him. He looks up. The ceiling is a mirror reflecting him. His reflection is laughing, and wearing a broken mask. The mask is streaked with thin glowing blue lines in a pattern reminiscent of something you'd see on a computer chip. The mirror cracks suddenly. With an earsplitting noise it shatters. Cry wakes up with a start. It's raining heavily outside, and wind-driven rain lashes against the window. A cat meows from somewhere else in the room.

Cry: ...Cat?

The cat meows again, closer. It jumps up next to Cry on the bed. He strokes it gently.

Cry: I had a really scary dream, friend. Do cats ever have bad dreams? (pause) ...probably not, huh. You don't have to worry as much. Don't have… so much shit going on in your life. (sighs) ...Yeah.

Cry rubs behind the cat's ears. It starts purring. He sits up and stretches, then glances at the stormy weather through the window. The alarm clock on the windowsill blinks out an early hour. Still dressed from the day before, Cry stands and walks over to his desk. He opens a drawer and fishes out a pad of sticky notes and a pen. He quickly scrawls a note that says "Out for a walk. Be back soon," and sticks it on the computer monitor. On the other side of his room, the door is ajar. Careful not to make much noise, he exits the room and heads downstairs. He opens the closet near the front door and pulls his favorite green sweater off of a hanger and puts it on. He opens the door, and disregarding the umbrella leaning against the wall, steps out into the rain. He is soaked to the skin almost instantaneously. Drab houses line the street. Walking slowly, he closes his eyes and turns his face skyward.

Cry: Why... did I dream about killing Red?

After walking for several minutes Cry reaches a park. The colorful play equipment is deserted. The He sits down on a bench. The streets are empty. Everyone in the neighborhood is either asleep or inside to avoid the rain. A small gray car drives past, trailed by thin wisps of fog. The rain begins to lighten significantly as the storm passes. Sunrise stains the eastern sky blinding orange. Some time later a car he recognizes comes up the street. He stands up as it pulls over. The passenger window rolls down, revealing Red, whole and very much alive. She looks worried.

Red: Holy shit, Cry, we've been looking allover for you! Get in!

Cry climbs into the backseat of the car. Russ is driving and Scott is sitting next to him in the backseat. Scott yawns as though he had been woken up mere minutes ago. Russ U-turns and drives back towards Cry's house at speed, despite the rain-slick conditions.

Scott: ...What the hell, man, why are you all wet?

Cry: What's going on?

Red turns around in her seat to look at him. She is still worried.

Red: They're back.

Cry: (Whispers) Oh, God…