During my childhood, there was a famous rumoured lady in our town. No one knew for sure if she existed or not, but the town's people didn't care about that. Who would? I was a great entertainment in their monotonous lives. Soon everyone was talking about the woman. Some said she was old and looked like she only had a layer of skin covering her bones. Some exaggerated by saying she had bright green hair and was a punk granny. Others deluded themselves by thinking it was actually a hot babe with an evil side. In the end, she was labelled a witch, simply that. How unimaginative! exactly like them.
That "witch" lived on the house opposite to mine- excluded from all the other houses. A lone and haunting house that creaked and groaned. Sometimes a scream could be heard from there, but no one seemed to notice. It was only me. Always only me. The agonizing screech haunted me. Preventing me from getting any sleep, chilling me to the bones.
One day, I saw eleven kids from a nearby school enter the house. They were the same age as me and were looking for excitement and an adventure. What a bunch of stupid kids. They can't be serious? The rumors exist for a reason, you dipshits!
I stared with horror as one by one they walked through the front door; at that time I should have stopped them, but I knew that if I tried 'she' would come for me instead. 'She' must have them. Them who had stepped onto her land. 'She must have food. I looked away and pretended that I had seen nothing- nothing at all.
The next day, as expected, news spread like wildfire about the eleven children. They were missing. All the town's people began a search party. They questioned everybody, but there were no clues to their whereabouts. As for me, I stayed silent. I could not speak. I did not want to. I was too afraid- afraid of 'her'.
I had many dreams of 'her' and the eleven kids after that. She would be in a kitchen with blood splattered all over the walls and her hair dyed red. Heads stacked up neatly in a shelf like trophies. Pale, cold bodies dangling from the ceiling helplessly. She would take a body at a time and start skinning it. Then she would skilfully cut them into fine, little pieces and crush the left over bones into powder to use as flour. Occasionally she would sing a song. A sinister song.
"Skin. Skin. Skin
Chop. Chop. Chop.
The head drops off.
I'll boil them, fry them, roast them.
And eat them.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
To be human again."
Her head would jerk every so often and give out a giggle. At the end of the dream she would always turn around slowly. Her wooden face with the same smile would look at me blankly, head tilted to the side. She would hold out her meat cleaver and beckon me to her, but then her head falls to the floor and rolls to my feet. Crack. Her wooden face began to break, revealing rosy lips that whispered, "Your the last one."
Every night the same nightmare repeated over and over, but as the number of nights increased her face appeared more human and alive.
"AHHHHHHHH," I screamed. Sweat drops trickling down my forehead. Reality sunk in and I slumped back on my bed. A dream. It was only a dream. Thank goodness. I thought to myself. Worried footsteps approached my door and my mother and father came spilling into the room, frantic.
"Are... are you okay, Miah?" my mother asked me with a concerned face and hugged me tightly. My dad still out of breath gave me a little nod to reassure me if I was okay or not.
"I'm fine now. Just a nightmare."
"Oh my. Don't tell me it's the same ones from your childhood?" This time it was my father. He sat beside me. I gave a slight nod, looked at my feet and glance up to look at their expressions. I felt my face blush with embarrasment. What is a 15 year old doing,being scared from a nighhtmare?
My father and mother gave a sigh.
"Honey, I think it's about time that we went to a psychotherapist. It's been over two years and it hasn't improved. Don't you agree?"
"Mother, I... I...um."
"No more. You're going to see a psychotherapist and that's that. Now go to sleep. We'll be downstairs in case you need us."
They each gave me a goodnight kiss and headed downstairs. I curled up into a ball. I chanted all the algebraic formulas I could remember over and over again, trying to distract myself. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, quite footsteps pulled me awake. Were mother and father going to sleep? I listened. The footsteps were coming towards my bedroom. I closed my eyes shut. Covered myself with the duvet. The footsteps did not belong to my parents. I knew it. I felt it. Someone was coming. Coming to get me. Shaking, I stayed silent. The door opened. The door shut. Footsteps. A wet finger tapped on top of me.
"Miah. Miah. The last one left."
My heart sank. Still shaking I opened my eyes and unwillingly peeked out from under the duvet. I gulped. A huge grin greeted me.
I felt a sharp pain around my neck. My body felt heavy and my vision blurred. I touched my head. It wasn't there. There was nothing there. Nothing, but a fountain of blood spewing out from my neck. I could see it. My own body without a head. I blinked. No I it wasn't me who blinked. The head turned around. The light was turned on. Reflected off the mirror I saw what had become of me in clear sight. I cried, but no tears formed. I was me, but not me. 'She' was reborn. 'She' had taken my face- my head. And now 'she' would be me.
