Stella pulled back the stained, ripped shades just enough to poke her curious eye out. Surprised, she blinked when the light from the sun streaked into her room. The white, blinding snow from outside reflected rainbows.
Stella’s old home on 19th Cherry Lane creaked and swayed with the wind that whipped at its old siding. Its ancient rooms had a mysterious feel to them, and you always felt like you were being watched. Stella wasn’t interested in her old house though. Stella peered out the window and through the fog coming in, and she caught sight of the house.
It’s two-story frame sat with it’s as-old-as-time woodwork poking through the battered shingles and siding. Stella thought no human could possibly live in this crooked, molded, glass-shattered, roof-battered, snow-covered, it’s-only-good-use-is-firewood house. But she had been wrong. 
Wrapped in an ancient, wool coat and scratchy hat, Madam Bethridge rocked on a molded rocking chair--staring into Stella’s eyes. Her face full of hatred for the world. Stella’s body chilled. She felt like turning, running, but all she could do is stare back as an odd boy--around seventeen--walked onto Madam Bethridge squeaky porch. Stella let out a small scream of surprise, waiting for Madam Bethridge to gobble the boy up whole and leave no witnesses besides poor Stella. Madam didn’t eat him. Instead the boy climbed the rickety steps, with a brown case strapped around his broad shoulders, and bent down in front of the old woman’s feet. Stella almost died at what happened next.
Madam Bethridge smiled.
Stella never knew that that woman’s droopy face could make such movements. She smiled, a no-teethed smile, as the boy flipped open his large bag and pulled out a dog. Stella thought she was going to faint.
It was a small dog, brown from what Stella could see from her window. A puppy, it was, just a small chocolate lab with white eyes the color of the untouched snow around. It was the calmest thing she had ever seen, it just sat on Madam Bethridge’s lap, letting the old lady stroke it’s small head with her prune hands. It didn’t move, didn’t bark, didn’t do any puppy-like things, and Stella thought for a second that it wasn’t breathing. The boy knelt down and Madam bent and kissed his head. The boy stood, walking off the porch and into the snow. Dashing through her house, Stella couldn’t have gotten downstairs and outside faster. 
When Stella broke through the old, rotted front door of her house and flew face first into the white, hard, packable snow, they were gone. All of them. Madam Bethridge’s wrinkled old face wasn’t glaring down at Stella from the squeaky rocking chair anymore, and there was no sign of the small, quiet dog: or the boy for that matter. There wasn’t any footprints in the snow. Where had the boy gone? She had seen him walking down here a minute ago.
Stella pushed herself up, still pulling on her jacket. Freezing snow melted and seeped into her soft jacket: numbing her goose-bumped arms. She trudged to the side of the ice-covered road. A white car passed by so quickly that Stella wondered how it didn’t slip and skid from the slippery frozen water on the road. It glided by and Stella chilled. How did it not crash?
A cold, stale breeze drifted among the bare branches of the whispery trees. The ground collected a fog, sending eerie movements and shadows across the dead ground. Stella’s heart echoed in her chest, though everything seemed far away as she stood on the side of the road. Something hard suddenly hit her back, and she stumbled forward, her feet sending her into the fogged street. She turned back to see what had hit her. Nothing but the second story of the forsaken house was visible. She took a breath and tried to head forward with her aching back, but she was drunk on the cold. Her foot caught the ice and she went down.
She tried to fight to her feet but suddenly eyes burned through the fog, and two large headlights blinded her as the car barrelled towards her. Stella sat there, paralyzed and unable to make her stone-legs move. She screamed.
Air. Air was all around her. Stella stood, feeling light, her arms no longer wet; no longer cold. She looked to her right, the car glided softly away, the red lights slowly fading into the soft fog. Had she screamed? She didn’t see why she would, everything was fine. Her parents would be home soon, and they would hurry inside, arm in arm like they always did, and have a warm cup of hot chocolate as they watched a Christmas movie.
More headlights, driving slowly. They pulled into the driveway, the car jerking upwards slightly as if they hit the curb. There was a shriek, and Stella’s head buzzed as her mother’s brown hair bounce from the car. Her face was horror. Why was she so scared? Stella was right here, waiting for them to go inside the warm house and cuddle under the blankets. She walked over to her mom as her dad joined her outside of the car. Stella stopped cold.
They were looking at something, something laying in the road. Had they run over a dog? Why hadn’t Stella seen or heard the dog?
“Oh my g-” Her father’s hand went over his mouth. Stella walked forward as more lights stirred up the fog: sirens from police cars and ambulances blinded her. Someone must’ve saw them hit it and alerted the police. That was fast. The fog dispersed, and Stella caught glimpse of what they hit.
A girl, with the same brown hair as the woman that stood before her. But these brown curls were covered in what. Was that blood? Suddenly Stella stopped.
The girl was sickly, with pale skin. Blood pooled under her chest that had been caved in. Stella’s mother was on the girl as the responder’s jumped out of the ambulance.
“Stella, stay with me,” her mother cried.
“Mom, I am right here!” Stella bent down next to her mom, confused. Was that girl her? No couldn’t be. She was sitting next to her mom. She didn’t feel dead. “Mom, I want to go inside, it’s cold out here.”
“Stella!” Her scream hurt Stella’s ears.
“Mom, it’s ok.” Stella bent to touch her mom's hand, but the officer pulled the sobbing woman away.
“Mrs. Armstrong, did you just get home from work?”
“I just killed my baby!”
“Mrs. Armstrong, your next door neighbor reported that she saw your daughter fall on the ice right before you got home. She said that she hit her head hard, and was dead before you got home.” Dead. The word echoed in Stella’s mind.
“No...NO!” her mom cried. “She was hit, didn’t you see the marks on her chest, there were four tire marks on her chest. Somebody hit her,” Stella’s mom's arm flung out and connected with the officer. Stella ran to her, surprised.
“Mom don’t cry, let's go inside. Elf is on, that will make you laugh, won’t it?” The officer grabbed her mom’s hands.
“There are no tire marks leading away, ma’am: there is snow on the road, there would have been marks,” his face was bleak. Stella glimpsed the snow-covered black-top of the frozen road. The slushy snow had no trace of the bulky tires.
“Sir, my mom is correct. I saw the car who hit her,” Stella looked at the officer. How had the car not left anything but tire marks on the body? How did she miss seeing this girl?
“Why don’t we ask Ms. Bethridge ma’am, she called us five minutes ago.” the officer turned towards the old house, fixing the hat on his head.
“Madam Bethridge is dead!” Stella’s mom cried. “She has been for six years!”
Stella stopped.
Madam wasn’t dead.
She had seen her this morning. The officer looked confused. “I spoke with her on the phone before I got here, she called us in the station.”
“She is dead! Kidnapped by a luney boy in her own house and killed. The boy fell on his knife and died too. Don’t you read anything at the police department?” The nurses broke through the fight and removed the body. Stella’s mom screamed as she fought to get to it.
“She can’t be dead Mom, I saw her this morning,” Stella turned towards the old house. She had to see this for herself. She had to know what was going on. “I’ll be right back.” Stella took off towards the old house. Dogs howled with the deafening sirens of the cars that surrounded the street. Stella, bounding up the old, rickety steps of the rotted house, bursted through the front door with fear and pain pounding in her chest. Dust seemed to cover everything in the old house: the stairs, the tables, the sofas--and the floor must’ve had at least an inch of it.
Stella’s feet were silent as she tiptoed across the creaky floor. Lights flashed through the drape-covered windows. The furniture was placed perfectly: the sofas looked like nobody ever had sat on them. When she crept past the kitchen, dishes lined the counters-- covered in a slight coat of dust--but still clean of food. The lights were all off, but none were broken or shattered. The whole house sat there, frozen in time. Then she came across the door. It was a strange door, the kind under the stairs. Stella would’ve just dismissed it as a cupboard but one thing stood out to her.
It was splintered from a long-handled ax that split it down the middle and that was still lodged into the mahogany frame. Several hack holes had splinters the size of Stella’s arm. She peered down, acknowledging the dark stairs leading down to what looked like a dark basement. Her breath caught, goosebumps disturbed her shaky skin. Something from down below creaked, and a loud commotion rattled the air. Something crashed as a loud bark shattered the dead silence.
Stella tried to run, but her feet seemed glued to the floor. Footsteps--heavy footsteps--pounded on the stairs behind the door. A figure moved behind the splinters. Suddenly, the door creaked open and Stella stood there in horror. She couldn’t breathe.
The boy pushed through the darkness and onto the floor in front of Stella. A silent, fear-filled tear slid down her cold cheek. He was tall, around six three, but he couldn’t have been very old. He smiled when Stella made contact with his dark eyes--his blue mouth showing white teeth. His skin was so pale it was almost glowing. Stella looked down at the dust-covered stairs and wood where he had traveled. There was no footprints. Stella’s eyes grew wide as she turned to face the front door where she had come in from. There wasn’t any footprints leading up to where she was standing either. Her breath caught as realization washed over her. Police lights, ambulance lights, and headlights floated from the windows--carrying their own sounds. Stella’s eyes fixed back on the boy. No dust stirred as she kicked at the ground. He was still smiling.
“Well, Miss Stella Armstrong, you arrived here right on time. We were about to start without you. I see you're look: it’s ok, just next time make sure you're here early.”