CRICKET BALL -- short story(NOT about cricket guys he breaks a window!!)

OK so i wrote this for a competition. Though i forgot to enter it lol woops. It's supposed to only be 1000 words but it went a little over. lol anyway becuase it could only be 1000 words its not very desciptive. Also we had to pick one of the three story starters...anyway i'm bored as always so here it is anyway:

Cricket Ball                                                    

I want to. I think.

If I don’t, then I’ll explode wondering and that outcome’s worse. Well, almost.

The thing is I know I’ll come back different. That’s okay, if it’s good different. But what if it’s not? Just say I’ll come back bad different. That’s what bothers me the most. What if I never recover?

If the others knew I felt like this, they’d tease me for the rest of my life. That’s a certainty.

I could try and explain to them, but I don’t think they’d get it. Actually, I know they wouldn’t. They’d think I was strange and I’ve spent my life trying to ‘unstrange’ myself in front of them.

My hands are still in my pockets. I realise my left fist hasn’t let go of the twenty bucks that’s sitting in there. The paper is stuck to my palm and whoever’s face is on that note hasn’t had a whiff of air for at least ten minutes.

But it’s like if I keep it there, hidden away in the dark lining of my jeans then nothing can happen. I can pretend I’m not standing here, trying to convince my other hand to drag itself out and bang on number Thirty One, Patterson Parade.

You see if someone answers the door then I’ll have to – do it. And that means, well I don’t know what that means and…suddenly the door handle is turning. I check my hands. They’re still in my pockets.

Someone on the other side of the door is about to come out and it’s too late to run.

“What do you want?” demands Mr Peterson sharply staring at me with his black eyes, the same colour as the crows in the school courtyard. He even looks like one, eyeing his next prey.

It takes a while for me to get my voice. Even for an old man, Mr Peterson is pretty intimidating. He is really, really tall. So tall, in fact, that if the creaking front door of his (extremely expensive) mansion wasn’t about ten foot, he would have had to stoop to peer out of the door at a skinny twelve year old boy sweating and stuttering like a five year old caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“W…Well I um…I just wanted to err…it’s just that…” is all I manage to get out of my suddenly dry mouth.

What I want to say is “excuse me Mr Peterson; it was me that accidentally hit the cricket ball into your front window. I’m sorry that I didn’t come to you sooner but to tell you the truth, I was really scared of what would happen if you pressed charges. I have twenty dollars to pay for the damage.”

But no. Oh no. I can’t even apologize. I am such a loser. I mean it isn’t my fault that I’m scared of this hundred year old guy who lives in a creepy mansion across the road.

It isn’t my fault that when I was playing cricket with my friends I accidentally hit the ball over the fence and broke the window of, well, only the most terrifying guy on my street. And when he came out all angry and irritated my friends patted me on the back saying “way to go!” or “good job. He deserved it!” (My friend Jimmy even said ‘yeah that’ll teach that alien a lesson!’ I mean seriously, an alien! Jimmy is one of those ‘imaginative’ types).

Nevertheless, even if he does deserve it (or is an alien) I can’t help feeling guilty for what happened. So what do I do? I take my pocket money (which I got by doing some serious cleaning) and walk over to Mr Peterson’s.

“Well? Spit it out” hisses Mr Peterson angrily.

“It was me who hit the ball into your window. I am so sorry. Please don’t press charges. Here’s twenty bucks to fix it.” Now I said that really fast. I’d be surprised if he understood a word of what I said and, if he didn’t, he would think I was some freak because as I was doing my short speech I shoved the twenty dollars in his face.

I expect him to start screaming at me or slam the door in my face and call the police. But I don’t expect him to smile. And it isn’t one of those don’t–worry-about-it, nice guy smiles. It’s one of those creepy you’re-in-for-it-now kind of smiles.

Ok. I freak. I mean I am dealing with a possible alien! Not to mention all those stories about people going missing after going to his house. But their just stories, right?

“Why don’t you come inside and we can have a chat?” he asks politely, the freaky smile still painted on his face like a clown’s in a horror movie.

How can I say no? Especially since I can’t say yes either. I am so scared my mouth is impossible to open, so I just nod.

After we are both settled Mr Peterson says, “I know you young uns’ think I’m some kind of ‘monster’ or ‘alien’” (at the word alien he laughs) “but I’m really not that bad. Just because I get angry sometimes doesn’t mean I’m, well, mean!” Yeah. Try evil. “Thank you for the twenty dollars but it costs a bit more than that to fix my window. Oh and don’t worry,” he winks, “I won’t press charges.”

Then Mr Peterson stands up and points his bony hand in the direction of the door. “We should do this again some time, maybe after school tomorrow.”

“Umm… I have lots of homework. Maybe next time,” I tell him.

As I’m being led to the door I look up at the old man. I begin to think that he isn’t actually such a bad guy. That is until I see a flap under his chin. As he steps forward the flap opens and underneath his wrinkled skin is dark green.

He looks down at me and smiles. I run.

If you dont get the ending, the old guy is an alien. (most aliens are green and i only had a few words left so yeah lol anyway enjoy lol