The British Nutcracker

"Alex! I'm going out!"

"Bye!" As the slam of the door echoed, I stood frozen in place. I had just realized my situation. Most teens would much enjoy being left home alone. They could order a pizza, have a friend over, and watch a movie their parents were too reluctant to let them rent.

A creak from upstairs interrupted my thoughts, and I impulsively snapped my head at the stairs. No one else was coming down. I sure hate my house. No old house was complete without a dead garden free with the purchase and creaks and squeaks. My mother told me it was 'charming', but surely, she was just under the influence of her peppy, optimist of a boyfriend.

Steve Denver was my mother's date that night. They would eat dinner at a fancy restaurant with a name I couldn't care less about acknowledging, and then attend some boring old play at the town theatre. The production may have been boring, but surely, it was 'charming'.

I cautiously entered the kitchen and breakfast area, and retrieved the cereal. I kept a close watch on the living room, as if something would pop up and kill me over my bland Wheat Crunch. It's not as if this was the best cereal in the world, although the commercials would tend to say the exact opposite.

After adding the milk, I stepped carefully into the living room. I've always been such a freak about not letting the food or drink hit the floor. I plopped down and switched on the TV. Well would you look at that?

An announcer with a cheesy voice became audible. "It's the best cereal in the world!" Interestingly, a ninja accompanied by cliché sound effects shoved a box of Wheat Crunch in my face-or at least the screens'. Television advertisements were growing stronger and stronger in the 'psycho' category.

My show came on, so I got settled and listened intently. My mom didn't usually let me watch this show, because she thought the jokes were a little too mean. Since she was so intent on spending time with Mr. Happy Pants, I could watch whatever I wished.

I would have described myself as being absorbed into the show, however there was one bit of a distraction. A nutcracker in that British Royal Guard sort of dress sat on the coffee table, eying the lamp way over to the left of me. I didn't care if it wasn't staring at me, its painted black eyes were still the picture of creepy. I could imagine a mother taping a poster of its face in a small child's room, encouraging good behavior. If you don't eat your potatoes at dinner, the creepy nutcracker will come and get you. Okay, not a very good mother.

I reached over and clamped my fingers around the nutcracker. I was surprised at how cold the thing was. I turned him so I couldn't see his eyes at all, then sat back, trying to relax. All the commercials had ended, so I returned my attention back to the show. After a couple of minutes, the picture and sound started acting up. There were pixels and blips in the audio. At first I was disappointed, but then I realized I had already seen this episode. While waiting for everything to get back on track, I glanced back down at the nutcracker. It was facing me.

Startled, I stood up and speed-walked out of the room. I would just go watch a movie in my mom's bedroom. No big deal! But the nutcracker was. I hadn't so much as put my feet up on the coffee table, yet some how the doll had made a complete one-eighty. I traveled through the curved, smaller version of a hallway and into the bedroom. Both the hallway and the bedroom had their lights off, making them give off an eerie blue glow.

The door to the bedroom was open and against the wall, and homed a small rectangular mirror I would always check my hair in. I walked up to the mirror and smoothed my locks, but something caught my eye. According to the reflection, a few feet back, the nutcracker stood on a table against the wall. I took my eyes away from this, and focused on something else in the mirror. I moved my head to the left a little. Way behind me, a man was crouched next to the bed. He had messy hair and an evil grin on his face. He was staring at me. I froze in fear, but the slam of the front door snapped me to my senses. I sprinted out of the room for what seemed like eternity, and met my mom.

"I'm home! Steve's mother fell ill, so he needed to postpone our date and take care of her. I really wanted to see that play, though. I've always loved that one."

Just before I told her about the man, I asked, "What play were you going to see?"
"The Nutcracker."