Everyone knew about the town curse. Or at least, one version of it anyway. It came up in whispers, notes passed between high school girls, writing on the
bathroom wall at the local single's bar and the occasional mass e-mail sent out from an anonymous address. Most thought it was bullshit. After all, every town has a
legend, right? This one just tended to be a little...unique.
Regardless of personal opinions, the stories were never stamped out entirely. Just as the latest batch of teens had all but forgotten the tales of the generation before
them, strange things would begin to happen in the town of Glendale, and the rumors would heat up again and spread like wildfire....
* * *
Jake Smith hopped on a single bare foot as he struggled to pull a sock up his left leg. He wore dark blue jeans, his football jersey, and after that he threw on his letterman, as he ran through the large house.
"Martha!" he shouted. "Martha, have you seen my football pads?" He glanced around the hall as he headed towards the kitchen. "Uh, and my other sock?"
"Martha, are you listening to me?"
The kitchen was empty.
"Shit!" He had forgotten it was Martha's day off. What did a maid need a day off for anyway? Like she had a life.
"I swear to God, the world hates me sometimes," Jake muttered, feeling himself scowl as he began to search the room for his shoes. "And where is my
jock strap, anyway?" He thought about it for a moment. Wouldn't the girls just love it if he went without it today? His scowl became a smirk as he imagined all
the high school girls' suddenly becoming interested in talking to him. After all, he was a senior this year. There wasn't a girl alive at East Hampton who didn't
want him.
The phone rang beside him. He was about to call out for Martha to answer it, then stopped himself, cursing again. "Shit." Then he picked it up, in case it was one
of his friends, and answered curtly, "Hello?"
Its...