I woke up in the middle of the night, my mother lay beside me. Ever since the divorce, she sleeps in my bed. The moonlight shone through my cracked window. A faint clatter of metal alarmed me. I threw the blanket off me and stood up. Walking really slowly, I made sure I didn’t trip over anything. Once I got to the door, I turned the knob slowly with my index finger and thumb. My bare feet went cold on the platform when I walked out. Again, I heard a clatter of metal. I look down the stairs. It’s dark and really hard to see.
I started down the stairs. I got down to the entrance of the kitchen and pushed the door open. Not a thing moved. I closed the door and turned around to face up the stairway. Red eyes glowed with a faint growl.
I was frozen. I urged my feet to move, but they wouldn’t budge. Finally they moved forwards, stumbling at first, but moved swifter as I got closer to the steps. I stood at the stair way and looked up. I was afraid to go up, but then I heard my mother’s’ scream. I ran up to find a bloody body scrawled out on the bed. Sheets twisted and soaked in blood. Her neck was slit and her stomach was turned inside out. Organs hung out in the stone cold air. I searched frantically for the phone to call the ambulance, but hearing sirens already, I supposed one of the neighbors heard the scream.
How would I explain my mother’s death to the police? I see no one around, hiding. There’s no knife; no signs of escape. Could it have been the shadow? No I won’t let my childish mind take over. Tears welled up in my eyes and began to scream down. I heard a knock at the door. I guess that’s the police. I run down the stairs, past the couch, and open the door. It wasn’t the police, nor was it a neighbor coming to check on me. It was a bloody man with a knife in his right hand, and a smile that looks as if the devil himself was inside his soul.
I was scared, but the man neither said nor did anything. Instead he just stood there with his head tilted to the left. Suddenly it was pitch black. I regained my sight. In front of me was the mirror at the base of the stairs. In the mirror, I saw myself soaked in blood. A knife in my right hand, head tilted to the left and a nasty smile plastered on my face. The door swung open and I turned around. The police shone a light on me and their faces flushed with white. They asked what happened, but I just pointed up the stairs. They ran up. In less than a minute they came back down. The taller man asked me to put the knife down. I immediately dropped it. Both of them grabbed my arms and dragged me outside, then threw me in the back of the police car. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” I screamed but neither listened. I looked up at my cracked window and standing there was a black shadow, knife in one hand; my mothers’ head in the other.