She’s watching me again. I don’t need to look to know that she’s there. I can sense her. I can feel her hollowed out, lifeless eyes boring into the back of my skull in an attempt to reach my soul. I can see her ghost white fingers, nails scraping against the wood, tapping out a drum that’s hauntingly sweet. This girl has been watching me, night after night, for as long as I can remember. She’s become so integrated into the walk home from my late shift that if she wasn’t there I would be concerned. Even though her presence frightens me to the core. I’ve always questioned what I’ve done, what did I do to deserve her piercing yet colourless eyes darting in and out of my thoughts every night as I pass this abandoned house, with her stuck in that eerie treehouse. This time I’m not waiting for any answers. This time I’m going in.