The reporter’s voice was distorted, but the girl could make out the meaning easily enough.

“… escaped …. hooked hand … dangerous”

She looked to the boy next to her. “I want to go home.”

“We just got out, babe. Don’t tell me that’s scaring you.” He pointed mockingly at the radio, then turned it off. “We’re almost there, anyway.”

The girl slumped back into the car seat, grumpily stuffing her hands under her armpits.

The rest of the car journey was quiet, broken only by the mournful cries of the night’s wildlife and the cracking of gravel under the wheels.

As the boy slowed the car into a park, he tried an awkward apology.

“It’s fine.” The girl said. “But I’ve heard all those stories about The Hook. I wouldn’t want to meet him.”

“Babe, we’re hidden up here, he can’t find us. And, besides, I’ll protect you.”

As if you could even protect yourself, the girl thought sarcastically. But they were up here anyway, she thought, so she might as well…

A siren’s wailing interrupted them, and the girl pulled away from the boy, a look of terror on her face.

“It was just the police, babe. They can’t hurt us.”

“Might mean he’s near, though.”

The boy shrugged and moved in again.

She could see the adolescent whisps of half-grown moustache on his upper lip and tried not to think about it.

This time, they lasted a little longer – he’d started moving his hand up the back of her shirt – but, again, the girl pulled away.

There had been a scraping sound on the car’s door.

The boy went white, too. “Maybe you’re right, babe. I mean, I’ve got an empty house anyway.”

The girl nodded enthusiastically but seemed too scared to say anything else.

At one point during the journey home, the boy tried to break the silence by switching on the radio.

“young …. teenage boy … dangerous”

The girl snapped out a hand to switch it off, and the rest of the journey was in silence.

…

“So, you want to go in?” The boy had recovered himself somewhat once they had entered his brightly lit neighbourhood.

Shifting nervously, the girl looked away. But then: “Yes, that’d be nice. Sorry about earlier, I’m easily spooked. Let me just fix myself up a bit.” She quickly applied some lipstick, pouted.

A smile shone across the boy’s face, though he quickly turned it into a greasy grin. “Great, babe. Come on in.”

But, walking to his front door, he saw a light come on downstairs. “Shit, babe. My parents are back.” He turned apologetically to the girl, and saw her get out of the car.

…

Mrs Andrews had heard her son’s car drawing up so was waiting behind the front door, eager to deliver him a shouting.

He was late, as usual, and probably with a girl. He never gave any thought to his poor parents, waiting up every night for him to come home, he was –

Where was he?

She was sure she had heard the engine stop minutes ago.

If those damn kids are going at it on the lawn, she thought as she slammed open the front door.

The door hit against something hard and Mrs Andrews had to force it fully open.

“What on – “

It was her son, dead. A pretty pool of blood formed a halo around his greased-up hair, the red stream flowing from a ragged gash running from his neck down his back. His new leather jacket had been torn to shreds and its remnants lay mingled with that fleshy, bloody mess of his back.

But Mrs Andrews didn’t see any of this. She saw only her son lying dead and alone on the lawn.

She certainly didn’t see the hook which lay to her son’s side, nor the blood red lipstick mark on his cheek.

***

So this was just a little take on the classic Hook tale – hope it gave you something unexpected!

Looking for something a little more original? Here’s one about sex and death and the terrors of virginity: Intercourse [Horror]