Blood Red Murder

Epilogue

Do you ever hear someone call your name when you're alone? If so, then you aren't alone. There's somebody with you. Watching you. Listening to you. They could be anywhere. In front of you. Behind you. Maybe even beside you. Examining your every move, thought, and sound that you make.

They look into your minds and see what and who you love. They look into your soul, to see what kind of person you are.

Are you a good soul?

No.

Didn't think so.

They can access every thought, every memory you've ever had. They will slowly make you go crazy. Make you want to get out of your own skin. Scoop your eyes out. Tear your hair out. Jump off a cliff.

In the end, you'll have nobody left, because they've killed them in front of you. Ripped out the hearts of the people you loved. Break the necks of the people who knew you personally.

They'll kill every . . .

   single . . .

     one . . .

       of . . .

         them.

Then one day, when you're exactly the age of 70, you'll mysteriously die of a heart attack. No reason at all. Even the doctors have come up with a name for it. The sudden death syndrome.

So here is little Sofia, only 15 years of age.

Is she a good soul?

              No.

She killed her whole family single handedly. She stabbed each and every one of them exactly 12 times in the same places. The liver. The lungs. The stomach. The eyes. The heart. The bladder. the throat. The palms of their hands. And at the back of their neck.

But nobody knew that it was the little Sofia Palmer who killed her family, so she was put into foster care. She went from foster home to foster home. Some of them were actually nice, but got killed after exactly two months. This time it wasn't Sofia Palmer. These times it was them.

She'd be reading, when the lamp bulbs would burst. She'd hear whispers from the corner of her room which would make her want to jump out of her window.

She'd see shadowy figures crawling on the ceiling. On the floor. On the trees outside her room. They'd be in every reflection she saw, behind her.

Their eyes would glow white as they made eye contact with her. She knew they would come for her in the future. Take her soul. Make her one of their own.

It never got old. They were always as if she'd seen them for the first time. She'd be frightened every time the shadowy figure was crawling on the furniture. On the walls. On the sidewalk outside.

No one believed her, because no one else saw them.

During the days, the piano would play all by itself. Ravel - Gaspard de la Nuit, No. 2, "Le Gibet" haunted the house. It would play over and over again every day, only stopping when the sun went down.

It got worse during the night. She'd hear footsteps outside and inside her room. She'd hear someone or something scratching on her windows and door. The lights would turn randomly on or off. Every candle would light up.

She was scared of falling asleep, because she'd be woken up at 3.33 a.m. Wide white eyes staring into hers. The shadowy creature on the ceiling. It's face just centimeters from her's, The head would always be twisted upside down. It had four slender legs, which would be on the ground, wall, or ceiling in the carb walk. The nails at least half a meter. The too wide grin showing its hauntingly white teeth, which it had 100, all of them so sharp they could eat raw meat like it's butter. There was no nose. The skin was wrinkly pitch black with no hair at all. Just skin.

Every night the same nightmare, every day the same daymare. It was like hell. Slowly, but steadily driving her crazy.