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'Teenage Girl Found Dead in Own Basement; Police Suspect Murder'

I'd like to remain anonymous, but I'm writing this to warn people. "Of what?" I hear you asking. Well... you're never going to believe me, but...

...of two little girls, aged eight and ten. The two children who caused my death.

They somehow chose me as their victim. While I was in the woods the first one strangely made her appearance. I agreed to being her friend, not knowing what else to do. From then on, I visited her every day for a week in those woods.

Then she asked to come with me to my house.

But I think I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. Perhaps I should start from the very beginning...


1. Chapter One

I know, I know, this is the most cliché way to start a story, but you'll see why this was my choice of words as you read further.


That fateful day started as just any other day. The air was hot and humid since it was summertime, but the light breeze made it cool enough to step outside. About half a mile from my house is a fairly large patch of trees (but let's just call it a woods for now.) I would go there frequently to clear my mind, so it wasn't abnormal in the least for me to saunter over there that day. But something about those woods didn't feel quite right for some reason. I pushed any thoughts of anything being unnatural to the back of my head, though, and trekked on until I reached my favorite spot in the middle of the woods and settled in.


But I got the eerie feeling again.


In fact, the whole atmosphere seemed eerie as I sat there alone, almost as if someone was watching me from up in a tree. I stiffened, not liking the idea of being stalked. His or her eyes bore into my skull as I hugged my knees close to my chest.


A chill went down my spine. I spotted an army of ants. Even the ants seemed to be scrambling to get away instead of working busily! Was I going crazy? Nothing was different, but... everything seemed different...


A few more minutes passed, and during that time I did nothing aside from trying to recollect myself. There wasn't a clock anywhere, but I could just feel one loudly ticking away in my mind...


Tick tock. Tick tock.


...echoing... volume gradually increasing... my sharp breaths following its steady rhythm until...




...seemingly out of nowhere, a little girl around the age of ten appeared directly in front of me, staring right into my eyes and firmly restraining my arms.


Why, oh why do I always conjure up an internal clock when I'm anxious?

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