For a long time, I had dreaded moving to Salem. I had my reasons. My Granddad told me he grew up there, and strange things happened. I moved into a quaint house, which was oddly located much less than a mile from my home. Every night I felt a bit more comfortable with my surroundings. My sister, (Emma, I was living with her) left the house. I was home alone, and every feeling of comfort, or hope had disappeared.
I had decided to lie down, and read a book. I felt a sudden pain ripple through my stomach. It shocked me, bringing my eyes away from the book. I looked up, seeing the shadow of someone walking away. I thought it might have been my sister, but something was telling me otherwise. After a very long, unbearable minute had passed, I decided to look around the house. I walked slowly to the door, a chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, I felt myself crash, fall hard to the floor. When I looked to see what I had tripped over, there was bloody footprints, the size of a young kid. 8 or 9.
I jumped up quickly when I heard a loud crash, sounding like glass being broken. I ran to the kitchen. Glass was everywhere, nearly all the cups and plates had been busted. I looked around, scanning for anything. I found bloody hand prints covering nearly all pieces of the broken China. I felt something scratch my revealed leg. (I had been wearing a robe, and slippers.) Without hesitation, or looking back I ran outside. I called my sister via cellphone. I told her what happened and she rushed home. The blood had been brutally spread, and she told me that blood had been in her showers, rooms, carpets, clothing, etc. We moved out of the house, never looking back.