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Handprint on my Heart Part 2
So I had relived the murders of six of “The Seven.” But there were two murders I couldn’t relive, because I hadn’t lived them in reality yet. However, that was soon about to change. Because I was finally ready. Ready to murder Rob and Sierra.
The realization that Molly really was coming after me made me see the world so much more clearly, and for the first time I looked around the cottage. It was only then that I made a horrific discovery. Someone was living there. There were dirty dishes in the sink, the dryer was full, and there was food in the cabinets and pots and pans on the stove. My breath caught in my throat. Molly lived here. Molly wanted to kill me, and Molly lived here. I screamed and ran out of the cottage as fast as I could, tripping and stumbling all the way.
“Sierra, what is it?” Mrs. Albriton had run out of the house when she heard my scream.
“Oh,” I said, composing myself. “I-I just thought I saw a wolf. In the woods. That’s all.” I stuttered.
Mrs. Albriton sighed. “We’ve been having problems with those lately,” she confided in me. “I’ll have to let Hank know.”
I nodded. “Thanks for, uh, letting me back there to think,” I said, “but I have to be going now. My mom is expecting me.”
“Of course she is, dear. You come back here any time you want, you hear?”
“Uh-uh huh.” I said, and then turned on my heel and sprinted out of the yard.
Someone had been here. I could tell, I could feel it. First the scream, and then this. Everything was still where I had left it. Everything except for my yearbook. It had been dropped on the floor, the pages spread. Someone had been here. And I had the feeling that that someone wasn’t going to be around much longer.
I glanced over my shoulder furtively on the way home. I was convinced that Molly knew I had been in her home and gone through her things. I was convinced that she was following me home, waiting for the perfect moment to murder me too.
I screamed, and ran faster.
“Sierra, babe, what’s wrong? It’s me, Rob.”
My breathing slowed with my heart rate as I realized that the voice did not belong to Molly Albriton or anyone else who wanted to brutally murder me. Instead it belonged to Rob.
“Wh-what? Oh, nothing.”
Rob looked at me skeptically. “Oh really?”
“Really,” I said as I turned around and jogged towards home. “I love you.”
“Love you, too…” Rob’s voice trailed off.
No one was there when I got home, and every shadow seemed menacing, every noise deafening and unexplained. I could swear I heard voices whispering to me, Sierra, Sierra, just give up, give in. There’s nothing you can do. She’ll murder you too. The worst part about hearing those voices was that I knew they were right. There wasn’t anything I could do, and she was going to murder me. There was no explanation for the voices, only that my mind was messed up from everything I had been through. But even when I focused and concentrated, they were still there.
Sierra had toyed with me so much that I couldn’t help but play with her emotions, her thoughts, her fears, before I killed her. And the architecture of her house just helped me with this task. I had hoisted myself up onto her roof and made my way to the chimney. From there, it was a simple matter of whispering down the chimney loud enough that she could hear me, but softly enough that it was still a whisper. I knew this would terrify her, but it quickly grew old for me. I needed to move on to a more mature way of frightening Sierra.
Luckily, cats are stupid creatures, and one came close enough to me that I could grab it. The next part was easy. Cats have such delicate bones that snapping this one’s neck was almost too effortless. A sharp stick would do for the next bit. I found one and jabbed it into the cat’s side.
Disgusted as I was, I forced myself through this, shoved my hands into the warm mess that was this poor animal. Slinking along the ivy covered side of Sierra’s home, I found the huge picture window and put my bloody handprints all over it. Now, I got to finger paint. With two bloody fingers I wrote “Sierra, give up.” I knew she would be able to read this in the huge mirror that covered to wall across from the window. Then I rapped on the glass and ran off.
I had to be going crazy, I told myself. I must be going crazy. That was the only explanation, because the voices had stopped as soon as I had gone to the bathroom to wash my face, and they hadn’t started up again. I walked cautiously down our main hall, pausing to check my hair in the reflection of our wall of mirrors.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!” My scream echoed off the walls of the house, but I had good reason. For I could see in the mirror the bloody reflection of red handprints and writing that could have only been a certain bodily fluid. And the writing. The writing said exactly what the voices had. “Sierra, give up.”
And then I caught a glimpse of something else in the mirror. It was Molly. Molly’s once sky blue eyes were now a piercing black and they seemed to look right through me. The blonde hair that she had always prided herself on was now a stringy rat’s nest. Molly’s hands and arms were bloody, as was her face. She turned toward the house, saw me watching her, and the corners of her mouth turned up grimly. “You’re next,” she mouthed. And that was the last thing I remembered. Because after that I passed out.
Mission accomplished. Sierra was scared witless. And now I could finish what I had started.
My parents were hovering over me when I came to.
“Sierra, honey, are you okay?”
I nodded, sitting up. My first instinct was to look toward the window. But there was nothing there. No writing, no handprints, no blood, nothing, Just glass. Molly wasn’t there either. So, maybe it had all just been a dream.