It came for me. One night, I saw it... Then, I found this. A story. I'm not mad like they say, I saw it. This story proves it! But they don't believe me. They'll never believe me because I'm the only one left alive...
Jemma awoke in the middle of the night, her eyes burning slightly as one ray of light shone into them. Her room was black in colour, books lined up on the shelves. Her carpet was cream and she had few things in her room. The curtains blew to the side and a frown grew across her tanned face. Jemma walked over to her window to see it was open.
She shrugged merely, her auburn hair a mess, and shut it. Jemma looked to her digital clock to see it was 00:00, midnight. She shuddered slightly, her mind filling up with horror stories like Slenderman and Jeff the killer. Of course that was stupid to think of, horror stories are just that, stories.
Ha, so innocent minded. Horror stories are real, creatures exist in the shadows, waiting, watching… Jemma tried to get to sleep, but it eluded her. Once she was awake, she was awake. She ambled downstairs, minding to keep quiet so not to wake her parents, and trotted into the kitchen. The kitchen was white in colour, black stone tiles laid the floor.
“Just a snack.” she said to herself, “To make me sleepy.”
A cold breeze swarmed into the house, nipping at her heels. Jemma shivered, it was winter middle of the room and the utility lined up against the right wall. Time so the wind felt like icicles being embedded into your skin. She looked around and saw the back door was open.
“Strange.” Jemma thought aloud, “I thought mother locked that.” she walked to the door and closed it, putting the chain onto the latch.
Jemma felt something weird then. Her eyes diverted to the side of her, she didn’t move from her position. Was someone watching her? She tried building up her courage to look. If someone was watching her, who? Fear gripped her heart, making it skip a beat. Jemma slowly turned around and sighed with relief, there was nothing there. She cursed herself lightly for her idiotic behaviour.
She was safe in this neighbourhood. Nothing could touch her there… Right? She opened the fridge door and grabbed out some strawberry jam which she spread across the buttered bread. Jemma took the sandwich upstairs and to her room. Every step she climbed, a groan occurred. It was like the moans of the suffering, escaping through the cracks in the steps. Jemma reached her doorway and frowned.
The window she had closed was now open again. She put the sandwich down and went to the open space. She locked the window this time and turned around. Jemma gasped, staggering back. There was one, red eye staring at her in the darkness.
Jemma could see the torment and emotion in the eyes owner’s soul. Pure hatred and despair filled this mysterious figure. She rubbed her eyes, not wanting to believe it. When Jemma look again, the eye was gone.
She chuckled weakly, shaking her head. She was being silly. Her insomnia must have been playing tricks. Jemma ate the sandwich and lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Darkness came to her, her eyes slowly closing. The last thing Jemma saw was that one, red eye…
She awoke again, a frown on her face. Jemma couldn’t think of what disturbed her slumber so looked at the clock. It was 01:24. Jemma frowned, why was she waking up? She sat up, yawning as a shadow slipped by the side of her. She frowned at turned her head slowly to the right. Jemma went to scream when a hand grasped her mouth. Her eyes opened wide in fear. She stared in silenced hell at a horrific sight.
Stitches stood in front of her. She was a 17yr old girl who’s skin was pure white. She had one eye that was that bloodshot, it was only red in colour now. Her other eye was missing and a big, yellow button was sewn on in place. Her chin and mouth was burnt and her mouth was only stitches now. A piece of square, patterned fabric was sewn to her cheek. She wore a ripped dress which was made out of different pieces of rag doll cloth and her heels were snapped from her shoes, but she seemed to float so that didn’t matter.
Her hair was jet black, thick, and fell down to her waist. Jemma tried to scream, but Stitches grip was strong. She twirled a knife in her hand and cut Jemma’s cheek so it looked like the square patch that Stitches had on hers. Jemma’s blood ran down from her wound, covering Stitches’ hand.
Jemma winced at the pain, trying to struggle. Stitches placed the knife behind her ear and grabbed Jemma with her free hand. She kicked out a chair and chucked her onto it. Jemma’s hands were tied and she screamed for help,
“Somebody! Please help me!” she yelled, tears streaming down her face. Stitches made a noise, like a chuckle. Since her mouth was tied up, she couldn’t speak. Stitches’ index finger extended and swayed side to side. Jemma knew this meant her parents couldn’t hear her cries or it was best not to shout. “Who are you?” Jemma asked, looking at the monster.
Stitches placed her finger on Jemma’s blood then wrote on the wall her name. Stitches. “Can you speak?” she questioned, which was a stupid question to ask, but she wondered. Stitches shook her head then walked right up to Jemma. Her expression said it all. Playtime…Stitches grabbed the knife from behind her ear and stabbed it into Jemma’s right eye and pulled the eyeball from its socket. Jemma screamed in agony as blood squirted everywhere from her blood vessels.
She tried struggling, trying to get away from this madman, well woman. However, Stitches had her pinned down tightly as she began sewing on a big, yellow button into the eye socket. Jemma kept yelling out for help, shrieking at the top of her voice. The pain was unbearable, there was blood everywhere. When Stitches had finished with her eye, she grabbed a matchbox. Stitches jolted the matchstick across the rough material and a flame ignited on the end of the wooden stick. Jemma’s eyes lit up, not because of excitement, but the fire reflected in them.
“Please stop!” Jemma begged, “I’ll give you anything you want!”
Stitches looked at her and shook her head to show she had nothing she wanted. Stitches placed the flame by her mouth and chin, burning it. Jemma’s skin blistered and she went to scream out in pain, but it was useless, she’d just suffocate on the smoke. Stitches threaded some thread into a needle and stitched up Jemma’s mouth. Jemma knew she was done for, her death was near. Stitches smiled slightly as she ripped out her heart.
It was still beating for a couple of seconds before the heart gave up. Stitches got flesh under her taloned nails and blood covering her hands. The crimson liquid squirted everywhere then merely dripped to the floor. Jemma’s head bowed loosely as Stitches grabbed a box.
She placed Jemma’s heart into it then began setting the child up onto the bed. Jemma lay on her bed innocently, well, dead. Stitches placed the wooden box which had the heart in on Jemma’s chest and made it seem the girl was holding it. She looked to the door then disappeared into mist, the wind coming from the window catching the smoke and vanishing.
- The next morning, Jemma’s mother walked into her room. She saw the blood on the floor then looked to her right to see Jemma. She screamed a screeching noise, tears flooding down her cheeks. “Jemma!” she screeched, running to her massacred child. Jemma’s father ran in and held his wife back…
- Police swarmed the house, searching for every scrap of evidence. However, like they expected, there was none. You see, the same M.O as this murder was on several others in different states.
- The police, sadly, had to broadcast a serial killer. Tut, tut. How do you catch smoke with your bare hands? You can’t. This is the same with Stitches. No witness statements, no evidence, only a kill.
You see little children, none of you are safe. Stitches is coming, she's waiting. If you suddenly awake from your sleep and wonder why, stay close to someone else because Stitches is the one who disturbs your slumber. She's crawling through each window, reaching out a hand to claim your life. As soon as Stitches grabs you, your life withers down to those final moments.
Heart thumping loudly in your chest, brain ticking away at the tiniest of noises. The police never caught Stitches you see. She's still out there, prying on some innocent child's welfare. Anybody could be next. You could be on Stitches' hit list. So night, night. Sleep tight. Let's hope Stitches doesn't kill this night...