“

They had ripped my favorite painting to shreds. There were claw marks in the paint.

“

It was one of those makeshift projects, stapled at the edges. Not even important enough to get laminated or placed between a hardcover.

“

“She just wants a friend!” Ben screamed.

“

“There be the other ones out there.”

“

Dread put its cold hands around my heart and squeezed.

“

I heard it then. Crunching of boots on broken glass. There was someone out there, walking around my car. Why hadn’t they tried to help us? What were they doing? 

“

“Don’t you worry, I still know how to paint a happy picture. I’m just saving it for the year when your mother finally forgives me.” 

“

How did he even know where I lived? Everything about this creeped me out.

“

I found a few of my Instagram pictures, some with my eyes marked out in red. Some with a black sharpie line across my throat. Some with my head cut out completely. 

“

I woke up with marks on my wrists. Two vertical, red slashes on each side. They were written with sharpie, but meant to look like self-harm scars.