A/N : I apologise, seriously I do, for my appalling grammar, please forgive me. SORRY FOR THE WAIT GUYS!

Disclaimer: I do not own scream, or have any affilation to Wes Craven.

The Twins:

Chapter Two- Deep Sleep and pills

The man walked slowly up the sagging porch steps, creaking ominously in the air.

Thoughts were flashing through his mind.

"What was he going to do to her'

'Hit her?'

'Yeah' He thought, 'Yeah that would do to start with'

'Video tapes are good.' He grinned, muttering madly. 'Bloody ones to send to her family. Originality just sucks'

He smiled, grinning slightly manically through the mask of the hulk arranged carefully on his face.

Laughing silently, he bent down to the cheap lock on the Dolsons' backdoor.

He pressed his ear against the lock, smiling in the darkness as a satisfying click reached his ears.

Who ever said that criminals only entered through windows was a liar- who needed to when people bought such crappy plastic locks?

He smiled, pushing open the door, surveying the hallway.

A coat hung over the banisters, and he noted it, storing it in his mind for future reference.

He started up the stairs, cautiously, straining his ears for any sound of life in the still house.

He walked down the top hallway, skirting around the threadbare holes in the carpet with disgust. He poked at one with the toe of his shoe, sending a mushroom of dust spiralling up into the air.

Hannah's room wasn't hard to find- it was the only room that was covered in ancient and peeling girly stickers.

He opened the door, peering through slowly, surveying the room carefully.

Hannah lay as she always did, curled up in the foetus position, her freckled face looking out towards the window. He walked slowly forward, treading slowly up behind her. He seized her hair in one swift movement, clamping a gloved hand over her mouth at the same time, a large wad of cotton wool pressing against her mouth and nose.

Hannah's eyes flickered open instantly, and she stared at the window in confusion. A hand gripped the back of her head, and she gasped, drawing in breath to scream, loudly.

'Damn Jim' she thought furiously inside her head. This wasn't the first time he'd done something like this, sneaking up at night and frightening her.

He used to do it when they were little, creep into her room and yank her pony tail sharply, giggling in delight as she screamed, and then pelting back into his room, rearranging his bed clothes so it looked like he had always been asleep.

A hand clamped over her mouth, and she drew breath, inhaling some kind of fumes into her system. A thought flashed through her head as she realised that this wasn't in fact Jim, and that she was truly in trouble now.

Hannah lurched back upwards, forcing her attacker backwards, and slamming his head into the top of the slanted low ceiling, drawing a curse.

Hannah didn't have much time to consider this, as the fumes overcame her, and she lapsed into silence.

The attacker cursed, watching as she lapsed back into unconsciousness, and he thought furiously about her.

'Stupid little bitch' he screamed at her silently.

He would have to make her pay. The pain had stabbed through the back of his head, and he rubbed it mournfully.

It was surprising that no one had heard, his head had certainly given a crack as he hit the ceiling.

He dragged her body underneath the arms, her head lolling limply to one side.

He dropped her in the hall, her head landing with a thud on the floor, and lying still.

He walked through to the other rooms, checking on Hannah's mother first, seeing her safely asleep in one corner of the huge double bed that occupied one half of the blue room that belonged to Hannah and Jim's parents.

The sleeping pills had worked then, he thought; then, suddenly realising he could, said it out loud.

He stopped as spontaneously as he'd started. His voice had cut through the air like a scythe, ringing, and unsettlingly alone.

The attacker smiled, remembering the bored teenage cashier's face snap into focus as he asked for twenty-two crates of sleeping pills.

Well he'd had to, the man thought to himself reasonably.

If he wanted them to sleep through this he'd had to make sure of a reasonable way to subdue them.

He walked straight to Jim's room, adorned with different posters covering every inch of available wall space.

He turned back to his prey. If he didn't leave soon she would wake up. He dragged her once more through the hall, picking her up to carry her downstairs cradled in his arms.

Placing her on a chair sitting upright, he walked into the kitchen, running his finger slowly along the kitchen countertop. Picking up the phone, he dialled nine- one-one, clipping on the plastic attachment he carried with him to the base of the phone. Contained in that box was a sample he'd made of Mrs Dolson's voice, recorded from the quick call he'd made to her cell phone, pretending to sell endorsements for the New York Philharmonic. He flicked on the transmitter, as a tired sounding woman picked up the phone at the other end.

'Hello, emergency services, which department do you require?'

The man's voice came through, changed into Mrs Dolson's and he sobbed Theatrically.

"It's..m..My 's GONE! He screamed the last syllables into the receiver, pretending to go into hysterics once more.

'Please m'am, could you calm down, I'll get someone on the line for you.' The woman responded, no change in the expression in her voice.

'Damn they can be heartless bastards' he thought bemusedly,

Before giving one last wail and slamming the phone into the cradle, cutting the life from the conversation.

'See kids?" he said softly. "Movies can be fun!" 'Well Scream was a good movie, so ripping ideas from it occasionally was simply complementing Wes Craven right?' ' It was a shame no one was here to listen to his sudden out burst of wit. He thought.

He checked his watch, noting the time.

"Time to go Hannah" he said mockingly to her, hefting her over his shoulder and leaving via the backdoor.

He stepped into the woods bordering the Dolsons' house, vanishing into trees. He strode quickly through, towards the waiting battered red pick up that he'd stolen earlier that day.

'Let the police figure out why the tyre prints matched the police chief's. Considering it was going to be returned later that night, he'd have some explaining to do.'

The man tossed Hannah into the covered flatbed of the truck, gunning the engine and speeding off into the darkness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A/N hope the ending wasn't to lame for you, I had to end it somewhere.

Reviews are incredibly well accepted!