• In the darkness I could feel his eyes on me. The walls were covered in blood, the redish liquid dripping down the walls like a horror movie. Only this was different. This was real. The blood covered my hands, neck, and cloths. What was this? I looked up at Vlamdemir. "W-w-why?" His eyes held a bloodthirsty, animal- like complextion. "Genevieve. Don't run. Genevieve, my dear Genevieve." "Vlademir." I got up and ran out the door, my feet a blur as I tried to flee. The old Victorian watched me go, and I risked a backwards glance. The darkness was captivating, not a light in the house- except; those glowing red eyes. 'Genevieve.' The door flew open and those red eyes peered out. 'I'm still hungry!'
    Then I woke up. My hands were covered in a reddish liquid. I moved my hand to my lips. It was just water. But why was it red? 'Genevieve.' A voice in my head. 'Gene-' and then my alarm went off. "Time for work." I said to myself. I glanced around at my 18th century surroundings. This house is as old as it is creepy. Peeling paint, faded furniture, rotted wood, and that voice.
    My eyes were bloodshot and my mind a blur as I sat on my bed, picking cloths out of my dresser. Black jeans, black shirt, black shoes, black baseball cap. It was my uniform at my work, Pyras. It was an entirely vegan/vegitarian restaraunt(which is why I work there, I'm a veg.) owned by Claire Pyra. Claire is a childhood friend of mine until she went to college to be a manager and I left school with my graduating of Kiana High. I'd had enough learning- plus, I HATE math.
    I slid on my jeans and shirt and looked in the mirror. My pale white skin looked even paler with my black cloths and hair. I didn't mind, but I found it made my purple eyes stand out even more than they already did. The light behind my mirror flickered and I spun around. Shadows never did spook me, but I've always had an undying curiousity to find out what it was. I'd never found the secrets of this house; the old Victorian was good at keeping them from me. I sighed and ran my hand down the wall, scratching off paint with my fingernail. "Hi there, Vicky." 'Hello Genevieve.' I smiled lightly, Vicky always greeted me this way. Vicky was my nickname for old Victorian. The creaky old whisper that came from the walls was no coincidence. This house was haunted, everyone in town knew it, I knew it, my parents had known it. They died here, joined the spirits within these walls. Maybe scratching that paint away could scratch away that presence that had haunted them so, killing them inside until they had killed themselves. I felt a tear roll down my face and tasted the salty pain. I hadn't even realized I was crying. 'Don't cry, Genevieve. We love you.' I know. 'I love you, too.' Who are you? 'I am your love, your lust, and I'm coming.' What? 'No, stay away from her! Stay away from my daughter!' Mom. Dad. 'No, I love her.' This is what I had heard the night that they died. I slid down the wall, dust blowing everywhere and paint getting all over my uniform. I pulled my hands up to my face. The door opened and I jumped, but kept my eyes closed.
    "Don't cry, Genevieve. I'm right here, my dear Genevieve." I heard the words echo through the room, sounding like the speaker was right up at my ear, sitting next to me. Frightened, I uncovered my eyes, jumped up, and turned towards the voice. There was nobody there.