On the
corner of Old Maple Street stood a house, a normal looking one for that matter.
The walls were painted white, the door was an inviting yellow that shouted from
far away 'Come in!'. No one really knew who lived in the beautiful home, but
they knew someone lived there. Every morning at precise the same time, 6
am, the door would open with a slow creak; a black figure would appear for a
couple of minutes and then the door would close again. For the whole day the
home would look deserted, empty; but in the night noises would come from the
one single room that was always lit up. A room with blue curtains; a faded blue
with dirt dried on it. No one dared to enter the property of 73 Maple Street. Until one night...
Sandra walked down the road one night. The moon shined bright over the long
blond hair that hung down her back. The stars glincened in her blue eyes, her
smile broad over her soft face. Reasons only God would know, she walked down
the Old Maple Street.
The clicking of her high heals echoed through the empty street. Not even the
crickets made a sound, and the dark street looked even darker as she walked
deeper into what soon would be her death. Her cream top sat tight around her
breast and the jean clung tightly around her legs. She stopped in front of the
old home, it was then when she saw the flickering white light through the
window. The door opened slowly and the black figure stood tall in the wooden
door frame. She smiled and started to walk onwards, to her destination.
"Get away! Leave me," her screams filled the air around the quiet
street. In the moonlight of this pretty night, a black arm grabbed her by the
neck. The grip was tight and she couldn't brake free of it…
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