Movie Night (Redo)

(I didn't care for my first attempt at this prompt...I rarely delete these. Figured I'd take some more time and make it a bit more unique. LMK what yall fine folks think!)

"You've got the wrong guy!" Shouted the man on the screen. There was a dazed expression on his face, his voice coated with confusion.

“He’s the killer,” Denny blurted out. “So obvious. Watch. It’s always the boyfriend…I guarantee you he has something to do with the main chick's mom. They keep bringing her up. So fucking obvious.”

I flashed a nervous smile, my eyes on him but my ears were honed in on the movie. I didn’t know what to say.

“Seriously. I can write a better movie than this,” Denny continued through a scoff and an eye roll.

Why did he behave like this? He acted this way with just about every movie I wanted to watch. Did he not get the idea of just sitting down, turning off the mind, and enjoying a movie for what it was worth?

"That guy too," Denny said with a snap of his finger followed by a point. "That stoner guy. Guarantee you that they're both in on this."

"Ummm...sweetie, maybe you'd be better playing games with the guys if you're just going to rip on the movie that I want to watch...again," I replied. The words just kind of fell out of my mouth, a part of me was surprised I'd said something of that nature.

"Well...shit. I'm sorry babe. I didn't mean to..." Denny's expression drooped and his shoulders slouched, as though he'd been defeated.

"No, it's okay. It's just that I really like horror movies and you have a weird way of savagely ripping on them or completely spoiling them for me. And right now you're ripping on this one and you probably blew the ending."

Denny let out a forced chuckle, "Wow Tara. You're still upset about last week."

"Umm, yeah? I'd heard so much about that movie too, I had no idea Bruce Willis was a ghost."

"You had no idea?" Denny snapped. "The movie's been out for over twenty friggin years. It's the plot twist that started all plot twists!! How that one flew over your head is beyond me. I actually give you credit!"

"My parents banned horror films from the house until I was eighteen! I didn't see anything until I moved out!!"

Denny shook his head with frustration, his mouth moving up and down as he figured out his next statement. I knew what he was going to do, I could see it building up in his eyes. He was going to savagely rip into any form of entertainment that I liked and behave like an overgrown child.

"Forget it," I interrupted. "You go play games with the guys. I'm watching this in the bedroom."

Denny rolled his eyes and retreated to his “man cave” saying something under his breath that I didn’t care to argue with. I’d been regretting the idea of investing in a condo with Denny, and today didn’t help matters.

The first month together was great. Wild late nights together, great talks, and even better moments cuddling. A month ago, I didn’t regret a thing. But that all wore off within the following two months. It started off with petty things like how he washed the dishes with little to no water pressure. How he barely did any cleaning. The fact that he didn’t clean the sink after he shaved. The list went on and-

It was Mr. Whiskey's meows that distorted my train of thought. They were short, then loud, unfamiliar, and staggered. It was as though he was talking to someone or something.

“Mr. Whiskey?” I questioned, frozen in place just a few feet from the bedroom door.

Mr. Whiskey stopped mid-meow, and I could feel his eyes staring out the bedroom door despite not seeing him. My heart began to race as I took the remaining steps to my bedroom. I peered in with caution to see Mr. Whiskey in the corner. He was talking to something, I could see it in the corner, clear as day. I couldn’t figure out what it was…my brain wouldn’t allow it. Mr. Whiskey and the thing looked at me, and then it lunged towards me.


“Denny! Get your fucking head in the game!” Shouted Kenny over the headset. “Seriously, if you’re that bothered by what happened, go talk to her, but don’t cost us the game!”

I heard Kenny’s words and they stung, but I couldn’t think of a valid comeback…my brain wouldn't allow it. And he was right, my mind wasn't on the game, far from it in fact.

The words “DEFEAT” splashed across the screen, the sound of Kenny’s frustrated groans drowning out the game's music.

“Sorry,” I muttered. It was the only word to come to mind.

“Bro…” Kenny struggled for his words. “I mean, not to be a dick, but you’re fucking up my rank right now.”

“Ughhh. I know. I’m going to go talk to her,” I replied. I clicked off my console before I could hear his reply.

I collected my thoughts as I paced around my man cave. I’d been a dick to Tara, I’d been for a few weeks and there wasn’t a valid reason. She’d been the best roommate and beyond that a stellar girlfriend.

I made my way up our flight of stairs, my mouth running at hyper-speed with the words I wanted to say. I’d had them just right…and that’s when I noticed the silence.

Our bedroom door was wide open, but where was the sound? Where was the movie she was watching? I could hear the wind blowing through the window, the cars as they passed by…but that was it.


It was Mr. Whiskey’s bell as he came prancing out of our room, his paw prints leaving a trail of red on the carpet.

“What the fuck…”

I kneeled down and grabbed a hold of Mr. Whiskey. There was fresh blood on his paws, streaked across the white and gray fur of his torso, his mouth was lined with dark red liquid. My heart began to race as I wrapped my arms around Tara’s blood-soaked cat.

“Tara?” I shouted. “Everything all right?”

But I knew full well that everything was wrong, that nothing about this scenario was right. I walked slowly towards our bedroom, Mr. Whiskey's bell ringing with each step. I peered in…and screamed.


“So he killed her.” Detective Harmon’s words sounded like a statement more than a question.

“Looks that way,” I replied.

Harmon frowned. “I think your pale demeanor says it all. Do you have the stomach to tell me what happened?”

I gave a nod, the simple jolt of my head causing my stomach to turn. "They found the boyfriend covered in blood, he was mumbling hysterics in the bathtub...and they found her everywhere.”

Harmon didn’t reply, he simply gestured for my story to continue.

“They found both legs in the bathroom, left arm by the closet, right arm by the window. Her head was on the pillows at the center of the bed. Her torso in the middle, sliced open from top to bottom, her insides spilled along the mattress.”

Harmon thought this through with unsettling silence.

“What did he say when he got cuffed?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “What they all say. That we had the wrong guy."

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