Lacy Stumpkin walked up the stairs of the old, rundown apartment building. With the giant lumpy, stained cardboard box she was gripping in her hands she could barely see what was in front of her. The box was heavy too. It was filled with kitchen utensils, and there were a lot of them. Her parents were always overstocked with kitchen supplies because of how many parties they enjoyed throwing. Lacy always hid in her room, since most of the guests were adults. She hoped that her parents wouldn't throw any parties in their new two bedroom, one bathroom apartment. She heard from her mother that it was quite small.
Lacy grunted as she finally reached the top level, "Ugh." The elevator had been packed with old, wrinkled seniors rushing to get to their rooms and feed there twenty cats. She walked as fast as she could to the open door, hopeing to put the old box down before her arms fell off. "Mother!" She called, seeing her parents lingering around in the kitchen discussing important matters quietly. Mrs. Stumpkin quickly turned to her worn daughter, "Dear! Did you carry that up all by yourself?!"
"Just get it out of my arms already, Mom! It hurts!" Lacy's mom quickly grabbed the box before it tipped over and spilled knives, forks, spoons, and other knick-knacks all over the floor.
"Oh my, your arms are puffed and beat red!" The paranoid mother pointed to the room by the bathroom, "Your room is ready, please go rest!"
"Mother, I'm fine!" Lacy placed at stubborn expression on her chinadoll-like face and refused. Yet, her mother lingered there with her foot tapping impatiently.
Sighing, the young girl made her way around the spread out sea of cardboard and went into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.
Lacy's room wasn't much, just a old twin sized bed in the corner with faded blue sheets. A desk with a typewriter filled with paper was by the closet. The closet was completely empty, and in the back there was a small door. A crawl space? Lacy wondered. There was one long strip of eroded wood nailed across it, as if someone didn't want anyone to open it. Lacy of course, didn't mind this and used all her strength to yank it out. she quickly put the peice of wood to the side and opened the small door. What she saw inside nearly put the heavy beating of her heart to a stop. She let out a strangled scream because she saw a pile of old bones stacked in the corner, covered with dust! "DAAAAAD!" She cried., "HELP!" She slammed the entrance shut and scrambled away from it. Climbing on to her bed she put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. Lacy hypervantilated, shocked. Her father rushed into the room armed with a bat, "Lacy! What is it?!"
Lacy choked the words out, "Crawl space... bo- bones... help!" Her father investigated the closet and looked into the crawlspace. He sat there for a moment, staring into the darkness. Finally he shut the door and stood, "Um, dear..."
Lacy looked up at her father, "What...?"
"There... um, there was nothing in there." He scratched his chin, not knowing how to deal with this situation. Lacy had never really been the imaginative type, how could this start at age ten? Usually kids stopped talking of tales about ghosts and goblins at age seven.
Lacy stood up, "DAD! I saw it, with my own eyes! Just because you didn't see it doesn't mean it's not real!"
"So what your saying," Her father leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, "is that the bones just evaporated?"
"Um..." Lacy held her hands behind her back, staring at the floor nervously.
"Maybe your just full of anxiety from the move," Her father suggested, "Get some rest, I'll call you when dinners here." With that he walked out the door and shut it behind him.
From after seeing the bones Lacy was paranoid, every night she heard scratching along the peeling walls and feet skidding across the wooden floors. The noises made her heart freeze in terror, she never got any sleep. Her parents started taking her to counseling. Nobody believed her. Lacy thought that after opening the door to the crawl space she had opened a door for a demon. After about two weeks, it stopped.
Her parents were going to a party in an apartment a two floors down, they told Lacy to get some sleep.
Lacy rested her head down on her pillow and shut her eyes, her heart beated, fast. She expected to hear the scraping and the tiny footsteps. But... nothing.
It was completely silent, all around her. Not even a peep was heard. Lacy began to get drowsy and fell asleep. She awoke about two hours later, the house was still silent. Lacy hopped out of her bed and felt a wet sticky coating covering the floor. Her eyes widened. She quickly flicked on the lamp, her heart pounded. A trail of rose red blood led to the desk, to the typewriter. Lacy slowly made her way, the keys were red. On the paper it read:
Please die, my dear Lucy.
A small green, scaly hand smothered in the gruesome liquid rested on Lucy's neck. It squeezed, and it squeezed. It squeezed the life out of the small child.
After the job was done, the green goblin looked at the outcome, a little girl laying dead on the floor. "I did ask politely, you know."
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