It was a dark and rainy Friday and I just got a call for commotion in the abandoned house on Seventh Street. It might be the serial killer that started making appearances in town three weeks ago. I’m a cop working in Southern Chicago and I’m the only one available at the time this call is made. I pull onto Seventh Street, only two minutes from the house with the so called “murderer” inside.

I park the car in the street in front of the house, and I make sure I have my gun, check, my radio, check, and my supply vest, check. I get out of the car with my M16 ready for anything. I slowly approach the house hearing the rain pouring, thunder roaring, and with every step my shoe squishes and sinks into the wet slimy ground. I hear this massive CRACK and a tree limb falls on my car, scaring me half to death. Well, looks like I’m not getting home that way, I think to myself as I try to get my wits about me. I approach the front door; reach for the old, rusty, brass handle, pull it down and it hits a bump. The door doesn’t budge. It is either rusted shut, or barracked. Old doors like these don’t have working locks. So I make my way around the side of this eerie house with the rain pelting me like little BB’s. My foot suddenly slips down a foot in the deep chucky mud, and it takes all I can do to get it all the way back out. Just great, this is the last thing I want to be doing on a Friday night.

I make it to the back porch and the patio door is wide open creaking and swaying with the wild rain wind. I step into the old creaking wooden house ready for anything, checking all corners. I hear a very faint crying and wonder if it is just my imagination or in the “real” world. Anyway, I start to approach the noise and head up the stairs, lightning being my only other light in the house so far. As I’m half way up the stairs the ten steps behind me crack and tumble into a heaping pile of old crumbling wood. I keep pressing on, the crying getting increasingly louder and eerier.
I reach the door it appears to be coming from, and as I open it the crying turns to deep demonic laughter the door shuts behind me and I am staring into the eyes of a pale, closer to gray colored and scarred six year old girl. She has an unnatural smile and deep glowing red eyes. There is blood dripping from her face and her teeth are sharpened to needle points. She is in battered and ripped clothing; there are ten rotting corpses on the floor all partially eaten. I feel true terror like none you could ever imagine. I probably would have barfed if I wouldn’t have been so terribly stunned. I started to shoot but the bullets did nothing to her, she charged me with a bloodcurdling scream, and dug her teeth into my neck, taking me down. The last thing I remember is hearing the station on my radio, and her dragging me over to my own edge among the other victims.