Graveyard, Backyard

5. Disgusting Lie

Unable to see his face due to the cake, I watched in horror as he exclaimed, "WHAT THE HELL!?"

Rage emanated from him as he swiftly wiped his face with his hand. I turned, intending to walk back to my house, but he caught me by my elbow and spun me back toward him. Icing cream still smeared across his face. He was fortunate I settled for slamming the cake; I felt the urge to do something far more drastic, like pushing him into a pit of venomous worms. Who does he think he is, pulling such a cheap, old trick?

Struggling to break free from his grip, I tried using my other hand, but he held me tight.

"What the hell.?" he snarled, his face contorting with devilish intent. "What's your problem, Hunter?"

"Leave me, and don't dare to play any of your stupid pranks," I muttered, my heart still pounding as I met his unsettling gaze.

"Prank? What prank?" He seemed confused.

"Great! You thought I wouldn't be able to find out? I knew the very moment when you were in my kitchen with that cake that there was something wrong with it," I sneered, my anger boiling over. "You're a scum. Now leave..."

He pressed his palm over my mouth, closing the distance between us. Bending slightly, he locked eyes with me, his foul breath mingling with the smell of rotten meat that emanated from the cake. "There's no other way to stop you, now, is there?" he said with that familiar smirk.

I frowned, attempting to remove his hand, but he didn't budge. "Let me go!" I tried to shout, but it came out muffled.

Gently, he removed his palm from my mouth. "Listen, there is nothing... was nothing wrong with the cake. My mom made it, and she forgot to give it. Okay? She forgets everything," he said, a hint of pain in his eyes.

Unable to find the right words, I simply ignored him.

"I came to talk to you," he continued, trying to explain. "What I did this morning, I regret it. I shouldn't have been so rude."

"And what about yesterday?" I yelled.

"Yesterday? At the lake?" I nodded. "Oh, come on, I was hitting on you. That was flirting - making pranks and all," he said, shrugging one shoulder.

Huh? I didn't know what to say.

"I hate the house you live in," he whispered all of a sudden. "My sister died in that house."

Shock washed over me as I looked into his guilt-stricken eyes. Something unexplainable overshadowed his expression, and I felt an inexplicable urge to comfort him.

"I'm so sorry," I mumbled very slowly.

"She was killed in that house a year ago. In front of my eyes. She was just 12 years old."

Killed? I didn't know what to say. Why did he want to tell me that? I remembered him saying this morning that I made a big mistake coming here and that I'd regret it. What was that supposed to mean? He hates my house and doesn't want me to stay here. What... wait.

Oh god!

"Oh my god! Really? You're such a scum! You are making up stories to get me out of my house?"

"What, no.."

"Shut up! I saw your sister yesterday, okay? Your 12-year-old sister was fine and ALIVE."

He frowned.

"You... you think this is some kind of rivalry? You want me to regret coming here and make stories of the murder of your OWN SISTER? UNBELIEVABLE!" I shouted, anger surging through my veins.