• Her pitch black hair blends in with the night. The only contrast being the light shining back from her hair to my eyes. The black flow of locks caress the front of her face, hiding the supposed crazed expression from my sight. Her breathes come in ragged pants as if she ran a marathon. My eyes cautiously rake to the movement at her side. One hand clutches and releases the cloth hanging from her sides, repeatedly. Over and over. Almost like a nervous twitch or a sign of anticipation. I glance to her other side. The opposite hand clutches a bloodied knife. Long and sharp, glinting in the moonlight. Her head tilts slightly upward, parting a small portion of tresses aside. Showing her ghost white face, whiter than the moon. Her face showed a horrifying look. Eyes wide open with a vacant gaze, darkness lining them. Her mouth curled into a forbidding smile. A smile I’ll remember in my nightmares. Even with that horrifying expression on that face, it seemed empty. The empty look you’d find in a person’s face after they die. I look back down at her hand that clutched her gown repeatedly. Taking more notice in the gown she was wearing, her attire. The silky cloth looks dirtied yet hardly worn. It extends past her knees and to her ankles. Swaying above her bare filthy feet. One foot scrapes forward against the ground. Then the next foot shuffles along with it. Step by step. She steadily shambles closer. With each tread, her stride lengthens. Running. My legs lock up, trapping me in one place, never falling to the ground or to run away. All I can do is stand in fear and watch the horror approach me. The bloodied knife rises into the air as she gets closer. Much closer. To close.