I technically died, three years ago. I was only sixteen. The worst part? It happened on the anniversary of my family’s death. Then, I was only nine.
All of them were murdered; my mom, my dad, Carrie, Sierra, Jody, Ana, and even little Terri, who had never hurt anyone in the four years of her young life. My whole family was dead, except me. I didn’t understand why.
I was in the house the night they were killed; I woke up to hear my sisters screaming. That was a sound I never wanted to hear again. Ever. I ran downstairs and into the basement. Their bloodless, still-warm bodies were lined up on the cold stone floor; their lifeless eyes staring upward, still open, seeing nothing. That was the end of my existence. I was only a hollow shell, devoid of all feeling. A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made me jump. I saw a shadow moving across the other end of the basement. Without thinking, I ran toward it. The shadow stopped moving and turned toward me. It was a man. He had cold blue eyes and a sharp, angular face. His smile chilled me to the bone. Within seconds, he was right in front of me with his hands around my neck. He leaned close to me.
“Hello, little girl” he whispered. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt but a second. One quick twist and it’s all over. Trust me.”
I felt his hands begin to tighten and cut off my air supply. I felt like I was going to scream, but didn’t have enough air in my lungs. At that moment, we both heard sirens in the distance. I turned my head slightly toward the sound. In that instance, he was gone. My only memory of him was his breath on my neck and his cold voice whispering in my ear.
“No worries, we’ll see each other again. I’ll be back for you, little girl.”
And then he was gone.