Under your bed

Part One

You won't ever know my name, because I don't want you to. But I want to know all about you.   

 The rain is pounding on the roof, I feel like I'm in a horror film and a thousand skeletal zombies have risen from the ground and they are now clawing with those bony decayed fingers against the tiles, trying desperatly to get into my apartment. 

 Either that or I've been watching too many Rob Zombie films in the middle of the night again. 

I live in the attic at the top of an old victorian house, I keep to myself because I don't like the outside world, I like my world. 

The old floorboards creek with every step I take, it feels like the house is giving up and wants me to know about it. 

Mrs Miggins ( I don't know her name) she lives with her Cat Boris ( that is his actual name) It shouldn't be though, everyone knows that Boris is a Spiders name! he should be called Salem, Binx or Fluffy, Boris is a stupid name for a Cat. I don't like Boris and he definatley does not like me. 

I feel like a Vampire as I cling to the shadows to avoid, Ken and Barbie on Floor 1 and Marsha Brady- Floor 2 and of course Mrs Miggins, I keep away from the windows so they don't see my reflection. 

I have nightmares, that Mrs Miggins will hear me as I skuttle down the dimly lit corrider, my clumsy feet lightly trying to tiptoe against the crimson carpet that masks the old screeching floorboards. 

I imagine that one will creek too loudly and she will peer out and smile at me with those yellow nicoteen stained chompers of hers. Desperate for conversation she will infect my mind with dull conversations about the boring place outside... talking about the weather...or the news, both topics will be bad, bad weather, bad people. 

Boris spys me and bares his little feline fangs, I bare mine back wishing I was a Vampire...if I was I would tuck into the little kitty cat for breakfast. 

Then the next time I had the unfortunate incident of bumping into Mrs Miggins at least the conversation would be about something other than the weather. 

My sanctuary, is painted black, I don't like colours they depress me, we live in such a grey world especially in Britain it's like we are trapped beneath a constant fog, If I avoid the sunshine and colour then I won't miss it. Although to be fair the Summer months dislike me like Boris, my pasty white skin turns a rouge red and blisters like i've been exposed to holy water. 

I'm hungry, a pot noodle catches my attention, my culinary skills are of boiling water and getting up to the kettle is my excercise to. 

I sit next to the bright screen, I call my computer Ted, I'm the wicked queen out of Snow white and Ted is my mirror. 

" Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all" I say as I decide who I'm going to be today. 

I log onto the site, I have to decided I will be Stephanie Stewart today ( all my names are aliterated like superheros should be) Stephanies face is actully Libby Maguire from the USA but all my 100 friends don't know that. 

What am I feeling today- " Stephanie is eating a pot noodle :-( think someone should take me out for a nice meal...any offers?" I sit back, who will come into my web. 

I look at Stephanie's picture she is blonde, blue eyed, aged mid 20s, olive skin, she is James Bonds dream, a beautiful bombshell, a girl you would live next door to and just by her sight you would fall in love and be so greatful that you were so close to her, but would end up hating walls. 

She was the kind of girl that would smell like fruit and would make you think of holidays and heaven. 

Or the girl in a horror film that is being chased by the bad guy and is thrown like a doll through windows yet all the time, her skin is flawless, her bones are in tact and her makeup is like that of a rimmel advert! she is that spectacular. 

Steve B: " Time, Place, I'm yours ;-)" 

Steve B was one of my favourites he was late 20s, he was toned, tanned, typical adonis statuesque male. His photos were perplexing as he was the face of fitness magazines yet his photos looked like beer adverts, he was always out on the town. 

But he was like a cheeky imp, mishevious and naughty, I liked how he played the game, his face may have been his own but was he not wearing a mask? 

I shoveled some of the worm like wriggly pasta shapes into my own yellow stained nicoteen teeth, the noodle juice went all over the keyboard, I actually felt like I had been stabbed, the juice soaking into the keyboards glowing like some sort of evil globulated monster from a comic book. It made me feel physically sick!

I would have to have some Jack Daniels and coke, I couldn't ignore Steve now especially with how perfect Steve and Stephanie sounded, I needed things to be more intresting and I had just the perfect way to stir things up. 

I knew lots about Steve and he didn't know anything about me...if I laughed I would actually do an evil one right now. But I don't like laughing, its for clowns. I'm sure if cats could laugh...Boris would.