I suppose everyone has their own secrets. Some may be worse than others but we all have them. The only problem is that a certain few secrets should never be revealed......or discovered. As a typical 17 year old teen babysitter, I never thought I would get caught up in anything particularly bad, yet that was not the first time I was wrong. Still what sucks is the fact that I have been sitting here for who knows how long, tied to a chair and gagged, left only to my thoughts. I am left only to the horrible images that fly threw my head, left to re-live that same moment that I snooped a little to far into my employers house.

It was a Saturday night, date night for the Valman's. I was called in to be their babysitter, to their 6 year old daughter, as usual. Around 8 o'clock Veronica, the 6 year old, wanted to play a game of hide and seek. More than happy to tire her out before bed, I willingly accepted and the game began. Of course she hid first and I had to find. I counted for 35 seconds exactly and began my hunt. Through this massive house I searched, and soon came to a room which I had never noticed before. It seemed to be a bedroom and was placed at the far end of a long hall. Sure that she was hidden inside, I opened the door to reveal the Mr. Valman's office.

The weird part was, that I never knew exactly what Mr. Valman did for a living. I asked, of course, but he simply evaded the subject all together. Mrs. Valman was a stay at home mom, so I knew the income was not form her. Flooded with curiosity, I began to look around for any hints about his work. The only thing I found, and God I wish I hadn't, was a folder filled with gruesome photographs of people being tortured and killed. Stunned and afraid, I quickly began putting it all back, only to find Mr. Valman himself, breathing deeply over my shoulder. There was a chuckle, a crack, then it all went black. When I came to I was here. In that same room, now spotless, from those awful photographs.

Was I next in his collection, only time would tell. Oh how I pray to be free though, for the means of death shown within those photographs, were far worse than any punishment waiting for the foul sinners in the after life. Still if this is the end of my story, you best believe that I will come back, and make it the end of his too.

My name is Jessica Marsh, and I was brutally murdered on September 24, 1988. This is my story.