The grandfather clock struck twelve as I entered my sunlit home. The familiar thrift shop air that usually made me feel at home, now freaked me out. Something was off.
I set my purse and keys down on the wooden hallway table. I then walked to the living room, calling out, "HELLO?" No response.
I moved into the kitchen and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There, sitting on my island counter top, was a young boy eating a slice of cheesecake. His hair was brown and messy. It looked like he had gotten salty beach hair. He had a white mask with black features lifted and sitting upon his head. His fair skin clashed with his yellow hoodie, and his lips were crumbed with my cheesecake.
"Hello?" I softly called out to the boy.
He looked at me, and then returned to the plate.
"Ok, what the hell? This is my house and that's my food! Who are you?!" My voice was elevated and clearly annoyed at my lack of recognition.
I walked up close to the boy and placed my hands on the counter, "not anymore," he said softly.
And with that, he stabbed me in the eye. I felt each individual fork prong puncturing a different part of my once blue eye. The blood dripped down my face as I fell to the ground screaming.
The boy hopped up, removed the fork and proceeded to stab me in the chest. Agonizing pain shot through me, until the darkness of my death fell quietly upon me.
