The wooden floor began to sing an alarming melody, as I silently lay on my bed. A cool breeze danced into the room and began to nibble at my skin, making it jump. Strange figures began to form in the corner of my room. They stared and smirked as they noticed the fear consuming me. Hesitantly I arose and walked over to shut the window. I pushed it down until it touched the bottom, but as I was about to lock it, it shot back up. Glass flew across the room, unfreezing from its uncomfortable position.

“H-hello,” I whispered into the freezing wind.

The wind began to howl in faster, nipping at my skin every chance it got. My drawers began to open and close. A rhythm began to form with the drawers and the wind. All that kept replaying in my mind was the thought that blood was all over the room. The shovel in my hand licked its lips in satisfaction, and it continued to drip with the blood of my victim. She lay still as it ran down her blonde locks. A shirt which was originally white had then turned dark red in color. Mud caked her ripped jeans and

comfortably sat on her bare knees. She had gotten what she deserved. Her name was Lacey. All of my life she had mocked me. She always found a way to make me feel depressed. I never could figure out why she hated me so much. I never even talked to her, and yet she decided to beat me up every chance she got. It was either a physical or verbal beating she gave me; there was never not a beating.

One day I decided it had to end. I decided I needed to pay her a visit. Her parents were out of town and, like any wild 17-year-old, she threw a party. I arrived at the perfect moment; she was near the flower beds puking all the alcohol she had consumed. I took my chances and ran over, covered her mouth, and dragged her away. My hands dripped in vomit, but it was worth being able to drag her across the dirt. I thought dragging her to my house would be satisfying enough, but my rage was too great. The shiny shovel was calling me. It said, “Come on, give me some action; she deserves it and you know it!” Voices in my head repeated the shovel’s words and bounced around in my thoughts. Finally, I glided towards the shovel, grabbed it, and slammed it against her head. Panic rushed through me. What had I done? I kneeled down and checked her pulse, but just by the feel of her skin I knew that Lacey Simons was no more. I did the only logical thing. I threw her body in a wheelbarrow and wheeled her to the woods. Then, with the same shovel that took her life, I dug up her grave. After I finished I was unsure how to feel. I felt a mix of triumph and fear, but I could not complain. I had finally defeated my enemy. At least that’s what I thought before, but now I think Lacey Simons has returned.

The floors began to chant louder and louder. Nails could be heard rubbing against the cold wall. The lights began to flicker, and my once adored baby doll began to waddle toward me.

“Why did you do this to me Macy?” It said.

“I-I who are you?” I hesitantly asked.

“Don’t you remember? I was the one at the flower beds,” the doll said.

“It was an accident. I didn’t really want to kill you.”

“I guess it’s my turn!” She yelled.

As soon as the words escaped the doll’s mouth, I felt claws scratching my face. Something sharp entered my stomach, and all I felt was warm fluid running down my body. Kicks, punches, and scratches continued to fly at me, but I could not do anything as my limbs refused to move. I felt my soul evaporating. Flames were all I could see; I could see the flames that were about to consume me. Lacey Simons won again.