Ever Since I was little, I always looked to my dog, Charlie, for comfort. Every night when I got scared, she would lick my hand that hangs over the edge of the bed. One Night a bad storm Rampaged against my house throwing waves of rain at my windows. When I went to Charlie lick my hand, I felt a long, slimy lick against the top of my hand. Drip, Drip, Thud. Drip, Drip, Thud. A flash of lighting lit up the hatred filled sky, sending me out of my bed and the hair on my neck to its toes.


Drip, Drip, Thud. Drip, Drip Thud. That’s all I could hear walking down the hall. “Mom? Dad? Anybody” I called. Drip, Drip, Thud was all I could hear from down the hall. Squish. “Ew, Wet Paint. But on Mom’s New carpet?” As I walk into the bathroom, I notice something moving. Its Charlie. She is Hanging on the towel rack, by a hook on the back of her neck, Mauled beyond recognition. Drip, Drip, Thump. Drip, Drip, “Turn Around” something snarls. I turn around only to find a message written on the wall in blood.


That was the last the thing poor Susan Cavler saw before she was brutally murdered by Monster Lick. “DON’T TURN AROUND” was the message she saw.