I feel helpless. Like a man held to a debt. I seek help from others, but they don't believe it's real. I'm constantly on the alert but can't seem to see my pursuer.
You must be wondering who I am. I can't tell you because that's what my pursuer wants to know. I can't trust anyone. Not even friends or family. Well there is one thing I can tell you, I've come into this state of horrification because my father was just killed. Cruelly killed. We found him in his room. Cold, and bloodless.
I call the terrible thing that did this 'The Artist' its not human, I don't know what it is. I call it the artist because of what it leaves behind.
The Artist, follows behind you all the time and when you turn to look at him he's gone. When he learns your name he strikes. So you can't mention your name, at all. He will follow you when you least expect it, day or night.
Back to what was happening. I can't go to sleep, because Im shaking so bad. so i get up and go to the bathroom only to find a bloodstained floor. I turn on the light it flickers and burns out. I don't like darkness its only purpose is to hide things so they can get you. I breathlessly hurry to my room in fear. I know he's waiting under my bed, trying to find out what my name is. So I stay motionless in terror. I calm myself down by knowing this Artist can't be true. How would he know my name when I've never spoke it?
Rustling wakes me, it's near morning and almost light. I look and see his masterpiece. I can barely read the blood smeared on the wall. With the handwriting of 3rd grader.
'Good morning, lovely Madison'
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