[Stylist] I'd appreciate some thoughts

[Vejas Vasiliauskas]

Hi everyone, 
My English teacher of my Jamaica Kincaid class has given us a neat opportunity which can result in winning a scholarship. This is for writing gothic fiction. 
I'm typically not into horror. I know that "gothic" in most cases refers to ghosts, death, Poe, Dickens. 
I'm not really into ghosts or the supernatural at all, so have tried to start something today erring on the side of the psychological. I've spent a few hours today with this piece and fear it's not "gothic" enough. 
I'd appreciate it if anyone could look at what I have so far, and see if it has enough of a horror element. I don't want to try to explain what I was trying to do yet, because I want to see if others can figure it out. I'm not really interested in grammar or spelling mistakes at the moment (can catch them later). 
From here, I should then hopefully decide whether I want to continue this plot, create another, or just wait for a writing contest in something I might be more familiar with. 
Thank you so much! Here it is: 
Horror Story Attempt 2
1

"Where should we eat?" asked Juliet.  The 4 of them were walking down the dim LA streets, because Frank, the only one of them who could drive, didn't have any method of transportation: his car was in the shop, and he had forgotten his phone, hence no Uber app.
"I'm really hungry!" complained Steve.  "Watch it, Frank! People are staring at you."
"Why are they staring at me?" Frank asked incredulously.  He stopped walking to light a cigarette, and the others (Steve, Juliet and Wilf) quit walking with an abrupt start.  Frank knew he had to choose a restaurant.  Juliet would adapt easily and find the cuisine of her choice anywhere.  Steve would eat something, after complaining for a long time.  And as for Wilf...
"Wilf, you OK over there?" Frank asked.
"Hi!" A blond, olive-skinned woman approached the four of them.  She spoke only to Frank: everyone spoke to Frank.  "I'm Natalia, from the bereavement group? Frank, isn't it?"
"Yes." Frank smiled.  "So nice to see you."
"Would you mind recommending me some nice barbecue places?" asked Natalia.  "My phone ran out of charge a few hours ago."
"Isn't there one over that way?" asked Juliet, not really pointing to one place in particular.
"Wilf, you're a quiet chap," said Frank, "but very dependable.  Would you mind..."
Natalia shrieked and ran, knocking over a small trash can in the process.  The four of them looked on the ground, where they found nothing but...  apple cores.  Hundreds and hundreds of them.

"What the actual..." exclaimed Frank.
"No wonder you don't have a girlfriend," Steve said as if all the apple cores no longer existed.  "You scare people away like that.  Maybe you're gay, but even then, us men aren't usually s...  accommodating at least."
"You have us, though," Juliet smiled.
"Any plans to take that vacation any time soon, Steve?" Frank asked.
Steve shook his head.  "No...  my asthma..."
"We're all unavailable as far as relationships go," Juliet said.  "But we're available for you, in all other ways!"
"Like now," Steve said.
"OK, everyone.  Remember, at the restaurant," Frank said, "I need to get one meal and you 3 can't say anything.  It will have to be a meal we...  oh, fuck! Guys, Wilf is starting to hum again."
"Well, that's hardly my fault," said Steve.
Wilf wasn't much of a talker, but occasionally had these episodes.  His hums began like soothing lullabies and quickly turned to the sound of jet engines.  And then he spoke.  "Last year, last year."
"Shut up, Wilf!" hissed Frank.
"Last year," he continued.
"Wilf, we'll buy you a taco, OK? And maybe then you can shut up?" Frank said hopefully.  "Please stop being so gloomy and stuck in the past.  It won't do you any good."
Frank hadn't realized that at their position in the street there were several Victorian-style houses nearby.  A tanned-looking, middle-aged woman opened her door and stepped outside one of them.
"Excuse me, do you need help?" she asked them.  Frank pointed at Steve and Juliet to shut up.  They did, and although Wilf was currently silent Frank knew he could start up again at any time.  He just didn't have the mental understanding the others did.  So, trying to be subtle but instead very forceful, Frank grabbed Wilf.
"I think you need help," the woman, with a nametag on her reading DIANE (probably still on from some other event she had attended that day) said pointedly.  "I'm calling the police."
2
Interview with Officer Milt Plaidy and Natalia Weller
Plaidy: Hi, Natalia, and thank you for agreeing to come over here.  Can you tell me what you saw?
Natalia: No problem, Officer.  I ran into Frank Towers walking down El Segundo BLVD.  I remembered him.  He was always a little strange, but that was to be expected...  well...  see, we were in a bereavement group together.  It's specifically targeted for these who lost a child or children between the ages of 13 and 19.
Plaidy: So you knew him.
Natalia: I asked him for recommendations for a barbecue place.  And this is where I feel so awful! See, the child that I lost...  that was 12 years ago.  I'm mostly here to help the newbies like Frank.  So I really should have known better.
Plaidy: Go on.
Natalia: He started talking to himself.  That's a clear sign of grief.  And putting on different voices.  But I...  I just ran.  I don't know, I felt so uncomfortable, I feel so guilty...
3
"I don't understand it!" Psychotherapist Abigail McClure was sitting at her chair facing Frank.
"Well, I don't understand it either.  I'm not the one who pointed the knife at Diana, or whatever her name is.  That would be Wilf.  Wilf Peddler? Well, full name Wilfred.  I was grabbing him to try to restrain him, but he...  well he has some issues.  PTSAID, they say.  Listen to me, OK? Sometimes people in a situation like this refuse to give the names and details of their friends, but I'm telling you loud and clear.  Well, fine, it's Wilfred Levi Peddler.  He didn't actually kill her, did he?"
"Thankfullly, she's fine.  But Frank.  Listen to me," Abigail said in a mock gentle tone, while also trying to express her frustration.
"I know his number by heart.  It's..."
"Unregistered."
"And Juliet Snow is his...  well...  um, caregiver," Frank said quickly.
"But Frank.  Don't you see?" Abigail said.  "That day on the street, there was only one...  only one person walking."
"Oh.  I..." How could Frank explain that the shrink was wrong? Then he realized he didn't have to.  He saw a pale figure wave from the window of a green Volkswagen.
"Juliet!" he yelled.  "My therapist doesn't believe you're real! Can you come say hi?"
"Hey, Frank!" the figure called, giggling with glee at being noticed.
"See?" Frank asked, turning to Abigail.  "That was Juliet.  She was driving that bright green Volkswagen over there.  She loves Havana capuccinos from Starbucks, and was most likely about to go and get one..."
"Frank.  You're...  well, quite sweet when you compliment yourself.  Most of my clients have the opposite problem.  There haven't been any green cars in the vicinity, though.  Havana capuccinos can't be found at Starbucks.  And didn't you say that none of your friends drive?"
"I think she mentioned something about learning over the weekend?" Frank muttered.
"How long have you know these 3 friends of yours? Wilf, Steve, and Juliana?"
"Juliet," Frank corrected.  "I've known them for the past year, but it's like they're a part of me now.  I moved here from England and it was great to meet some other English expats.  Especially because I'm so lonely..."
"Do you know their families?"
"Ahhh no, none of them.  We're kind of...  drifters, they say."
"Do you ever go out on your own?"
"Why yes, of course.  Like right now, none of them are here.  Who actually brings a friend to therapy?"
"Well, we have had some instances of this, but for other reasons...  this isn't relevant now.  But you decided..."
"I decided I'm lonely," Frank said.  "And so I went out to eat Mexican food with them.  They said they'd always be there for me."
"I'd imagine," Abigail replied.