No Need For Screaming

The characters in this story are not ours.  They belong to AIC.  And we also
didn't write Scream.  That's a Miramax film.  But enjoy this fanfic anyway.

    It was night outside Kiyone and Mihoshi's apartment in the city.
Kiyone,
unable to deal with the stress of being Mihoshi's roommate and partner had
left to sing karaoke.  The two Galaxy Police detectives had been working at
a
strip club.  They were unable to find any job other than stripping, but
Mihoshi had managed to get them fired from that job too.  Mihoshi had just
put some popcorn on the stove and was preparing to watch a movie when the
phone rang.
    "Hello?" she squeaked, wondering who could possibly be calling.
    "Hello."  The voice on the other end of the line was scratchy and almost
vicious.
    "Kiyone?" Mihoshi asked.
    "Noooo," came the reply.
    "Kiyone, did you lose your voice from singing karaoke?"
    "I told you, this isn't Kiyone."
    "Kiyone, I'm sorry," Mihoshi said.  "I didn't mean to get us fired
again.
 I didn't mean to fall off the runway onto one of the customers.  And
anyway,
I thought he wanted a lap dance!"
    "Listen you little bitch," the voice hissed, "this isn't Kiyone!"
    "Oh, is this the manager of the karaoke bar?  Did I take the microphone
home with me again?  I'm so sorry-" whimpered Mihoshi, about to cry.
    "NO!" yelled the voice impatiently."
    "Oh!" Mihoshi wailed, really crying now.
    "So," the voice continued, calmer now, "you sound cute.  What are you
doing home on a Friday night?"
    "Well," Mihoshi replied, "My partner, Kiyone, is really angry with me
because we kept getting fired from our jobs so we finally had to work at a
strip club because we couldn't get hired any place else.  And I thought it
was kind of a weird job, because all I had to do was dance around this pole
and take my clothes off and men gave me money.  I think Kiyone was kind of
mad because I made more money than she did and-"
    "OK, I get the point!" the voice exploded.  Then it continued more
calmly, "So, what are you doing now?  Try to answer in ten words or less."
    "I-am-about-to-sit-down-and-watch-a-really-scary-movie," Mihoshi
replied,
counting on her fingers.
    "That's twelve words," the voice stated bluntly.
    "Oh, I'm sorry," Mihoshi apologized, "I was never very good at math."
    "What's your favorite scary movie?" the voice questioned.
    "Sailor Moon Super S, because Chibi Usa really scares me because-"
    "OK, enough already!" the voice cut her off once again.  Then the voice
continued caustically, "Wow, that's a really scary movie.  So, what's your
name?"
    "First Class Detective Mihoshi of the Galaxy Police.  Um, why are you
asking?"
    "Because," the voice replied, "I want to know who I'm looking at."
    "Really, you can see me over the phone?" Mihoshi asked?
    "No, blondie, I'm right outside your apartment!"
    "Why are you outside my apartment?" Mihoshi asked, beginning to feel
scared.  She glanced around the kitchen nervously.  The popcorn on the stove
was beginning to burn.  A think wisp of smoke was spiraling upwards toward
the ceiling.
    "I was going to ask you three questions," the voice sighed, "but I think
I'd be fighting a losing battle."  Then it snarled, "So I'm only going to
ask
you one question, what door am I at?  And remember, there's only one door to
your apartment!"  Mihoshi frantically looked around for her laser gun as a
black-robed figure burst through the front door.  Its face was hidden behind
a white, ghost mask, and it held a shiny, silver, stiletto knife in its
gloved hand.  Mihoshi shrieked as the hand thrust the knife down into her
chest, severing the threads of her carefree, pointless life.  With her last
breath, she reached up and pulled the mask off her killer's face. . .


.

 reached up and pulled the mask off her killer's face. . .



.