I sat there for a moment, staring at him, and him staring right back at me, then I scrambled away from the window and ran to the door, making sure it was locked. It was locked, and so I ran toward the kitchen where the phone was, but when I got there, I screamed. There he was, somehow inside the house, his hand placed firmly on the phone. “Wait, please, I’m not gonna hurtcha,” he promised in a strangely familiar voice. His voice was British, from Liverpool I believed. His eyes were pleading, as if begging me not to run, and I almost felt compelled to believe him; the desperation on his face was so strong, but I slowly began backing away from him, my hands reaching for something to use as a weapon.
“Wait, please,” he begged again, “Can ya really see me?”
I began backing away a small bit quicker now; this man was obviously full scale nuts. Anyone who asks, can you see me obviously is…
“If ya can,” he continued, “Do you know who I am?” He took a step toward me, and I grabbed the broom that was learning against the wall, the closest thing within reach. Yes, I know a broom isn’t exactly a weapon, but I was kind of rushed… Right away he took a step back again, “All right, sorry.” He shrugged holding his hands up.
He glanced around the kitchen desperately, as if searching for something, then he apparently spotted what he was looking for. He grabbed a sharp knife that was waiting to get washed as it sat next to the sink, and right away I began running backwards, holding the broom in front of me. Instead of coming at me with the knife, though, he brought his long hair over his shoulder and cut it off just below his ears, arranged his bangs over the top of his eyes, then dropped the knife unthreateningly, and I almost dropped the broom I was holding.
If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he looked exactly like John Lennon.
A supernatural/ hurt/ deep/ comfort fanfiction. Not really romance. Other Beatles appear briefly