Sewing Scissors

It

I could smell it, its decaying flesh, its torn dress, the coppery blood that stained its face. I had to run faster, or face death. The only evidence I had that the thing was following me was the clicking of its polished black shoes on the decaying wood floor. I reached a door, but it was locked. Thankfully, the whole house was rotting slowly. I pulled the handle straight off the door, and kicked it down. I slid in to the dark room, and immediately I knew I had made the wrong choice. The room was so dark, and so big, that I knew I couldn't find a door before the thing caught up to me. It's footsteps came closer, and without thinking, I dove under a table and clambered in to a small cabinet. I had figured out I was in a kitchen. With a set of knives above my head. I smacked my head and cursed under my breath. The clicking of shoes on wood confirmed my greatest fear. It had found me. I could hear it breathing. It started to walk back the way it came. I breathed a sigh of relief. It turned on its heel. And stepped slowly towards my hiding spot. It bent over, so I could see its face. It was terrible, with no face, black holes for eyes. It had no mouth, and long ,stringy, blood-stained hair. From the spot where its eyes should have been, a thick, black substance was oozing from its eyes. It reached a small, child-like hand out at my face, and patted it in an affectionate way. And then the other hand reached out and stabbed me through the face with its favorite pair of sewing scissors. Then I woke up.