Seal It With A Stitch

Sealed With A Stitch

Okay down to buisness.

I do NOT own any pictures or media that appear in SIWAS, unless of course,

I otherwise specify. This is my story, my characters, my ideas so no stealing.

You will be reported immediately if you do(and hunted relentlessly).

This story will be rated R so that it allows me room to let

my characters roam free being as violent and foul mouthed

as they want to be.

Emalie is pronounced as Emily just so you know:)

Dedicated to my sister Manda!

Enjoy!

 All Rights Reserved.

A few hours ago at a party I received a letter, it said I was marked for death. Taking it as some elaborate Halloween hoax my drunk friend Noire came up with, I blew it off and threw it out my car window. The words, however, played over in my mind:

To My Dearest Emalie,

You 're next on my list

your death I can 't miss

I 'll tug at your seams

my pleasure will be your screams

Unraveling your secrets is easy

for this I am eager

To bring all your fears to the surface

is my delighted service

Oh, to reveal what lies beneath

what a sickly sweet treat

Don't worry, the nightmare 's nearly at its' end

I 'll bend you till you break

For you to live in horror

is my aim

Won 't you join me in my little game?

 Truly Yours,

 Death

" It 's only a joke. " I mutter over and over trying to calm my nerves and the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I really need to have a chat with Noire about her dumbass pranks.

Mentally exhausted I got home ready for my soft, warm, and utterly fantastic bed.

Alas fate has other plans. Tossing my keys on the counter I stretch, opening the fridge for some chocolate milk before sleep and slamming the door I nearly drop my delicious milk.

There it was in all its freaky glory stuck mysteriously to the refrigerator. Shock over, curiosity set in so I set to investigating how a piece of paper could stick to something without tape or glue.

I blow on it, poke it, and even lift the letter letting it flutter back into place before pulling it from the fridge all together. I shrug it off as static cling.

Crumpling it up I toss it in the trash thinking the idiot I call a friend put it there.

"Moron . . ." I mutter filling my glass to near overflowing, smiling happily.

I hear the sweet sound of sleep calling as I drain the last drop of chocolate-y goodness and yawn. Checking the door I find it locked and so I enter my room satisfied in my safety.