JEAN HATCHET

Peter Scops gazed out his window at the foggy streets of London. He combed his hair back with his fingers absentmindedly. Suddenly, a limping figure caught his eye. The figure hobbled closer and closer. Peter remembered only one person who walked like that:
Jean Hatchet.
His worst fear. They had met one day on Peter’s vacation in Athens. Something had been off about Jean. Maybe it was the fact that when she spoke it sounded like she had more than one voice, or the fact that she enjoyed talking about dead things. Maybe it was because her hair looked like a bird nest, or because all her clothes were dark and scratchy. It was probably the fact that she was extremely flirtatious. Whatever the reason, Jean was undoubtedly creepy. She had followed Peter everywhere. To every museum he entered, to every restaurant he ate at. Everywhere. One day, he had abandoned her on a bridge where Jean had been telling him about a particular dead lizard she had spotted on the road. Quietly, Peter had snuck off. He never saw her again… until this morning. He shut the curtains and locked the door. Jean hobbled closer. He put his belongings in a closet and looked for a place to hide. Jean hobbled even closer. Peter had been about to dive into the basement when a knock came from the door. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. Then, Peter did something he would regret for the rest of his life: he opened the door. “Peter!” Shrieked Jean as she rapped her dirty arms around his neck in a rough embrace. She was about to plant a kiss on his cheek when he pushed her arms off him and said, “stop!” Jean was shocked. “What?” She squeaked in what seemed like two voices at once. “S-stop.” Repeated Peter fearfully. He knew how vengeful this haggish woman could be. Jean pulled her prickly, purple shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I was hoping for a warmer greeting,” she announced. “Er…” was all Peter could manage. She giggled, but it sounded more like a cackle. “Your hair smells divine,” Jean noted. Peter’s shoulders seized up. “P-please go away, Jean.” He requested. Jean frowned. She looked at him defiantly for a moment and said, “fine.” At that, she tore for the door, her scraggly brown hair seemingly crackling with electricity. “I’ll be back!” She called over her shoulder, and the door slammed close. Peter’s heart threatened to leap from his heaving chest. He sat down on his old couch and took a moment to think.

THE END

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