Miss Huxington lived alone, in a small little house just less than a mile off the highway, not far from where you are now. She was a busy lady, and consequently was hardly home but to sleep, which made the house ideal! It was a very convenient location not far from work, nor from her social life. She lived a modest life and spent more time working than anything else. Nevertheless she was happy.

One day, not too long ago there was a sudden pandemic of horror and fear that swept through our little community. It stemmed from a single murder, a grisly one. A man was found in a ditch off the highway further into the city. His neck was slit and eyes gored out. Blood was everywhere but in his hands, wrapped up neatly by the cold fingers, was a baby rattle and a plastic tea cup. It was the most bizarre case anyone had ever seen, but the horrifying part was that the entire crime seemed to have taken place in that ditch, near the highway. There were no tire marks, no witnesses, no true evidence of any sort, except the body and the toys. This was terrifying to the local populace.

Miss Huxington however, did not mind it too much, as she was too busy with other matters. She eventually, as all do, forgot about the incident and would drive past the very ditch everyday. One day, on her way to work, she was caught up in traffic. Sighing from frustration and quite tired she leaned on her door and casually gazed out the window. There, in the ditch, was the man’s body, all gored and dead. He lay there in the ditch, toys clutched in his hands, body decaying, but his mouth started moving. Miss Huxington’s eyes grew wide, a chill shot up her spine, her heart raced, and grew cold. The man’s eyes flicked about and roamed wildly then stopped. He looked at her and mouthed a single word another. Another it whispered. Another it spoke. Another it screamed. Miss Huxington screamed in turn. She tried desperately to push herself away from the door, the door closest to the man.

The car behind her honked loudly, startling Miss Huxington back into reality.

“Move it lady!” Came the tired and exhausted voice behind her. Eyes-still wide, pupils small- glanced back out to the ditch. Nothing. No body, no man, nothing at all. Heart racing, tears streaming, and her car advanced home.

That evening, after a meal of soup and locking all the doors, windows and sealing her miniscule of a chimney, she turned her television on. The news was on, no surprise there. She liked to stay informed. The headlines flashed “Another Toy Murder!” Miss Huxington’s bowl fell to the floor. Her hands shook, eyes filled with tears, heart grew cold. The news reporter was describing the murder, eerily similar to the previous. This time however, the female body was found in the woods, near the same highway. Neck cut open, eyes gored, and toys in the murdered victims hands. As the reporter went on, talking about the murder, Miss Huxington heard a thump from up stairs. She started, and leaped to her feet.

“Breaking news, the police just released the identity of a possible subject. Her name is Julien Huxington-”

Julien Huxington stopped in the middle of her shattered bowl and spilt soup. She turned slowly around. Her? She was the suspect? Oh no. Oh God, no! Her spine tingled, skin grew icily cold. How? She saw a picture of herself flash on screen. Oh… God…

She fell backwards, heart pounding in her ears, her eyes frantically searching around. How… How could this be? She had never hurt someone in her life! How?

Then the thump sounded again.

Her head shot up, looking at the ceiling. She was scurrying back, away, towards the television and the photograph that was on it of herself. Then she heard the stairs creak and a baby rattle shake. A shrill voice called softly, as one does to a dog trying to bring them inside, where they are safe.

“Oh, Miss Huxington. Would you like to play?”