She had been waiting there, in the basement. Head hung between her legs, and wreathed by long brown hair, like a secret kept from god herself. She had been surrounded by drawings, scribbles, really, but to her, high art. But they had been tainted, ruined, and broken by a smattering of thick dark blood. It coated them, wet and think, but quickly drying. But as I drew closer I could tell, that they were concealing something, like a blanket of snow conceals a corpse. I tried to get a better look but before I could decipher anything, a small, cold hand had grabbed onto my wrist, and held me fast. My entire body was frozen, then. Like I was completely incased in a metal mold of my body. The waifish thing was stronger than was natural, and I had to fight to break free. I snatched one of the papers and dashed out of the basement, and through the door, slamming it in the child’s ungodly face. The girl omitted a howling shriek that filled my entire house. It permeated my very soul, grabbing it with icy fingers, and twisting. An awful banging on the door started then. Each thundorous boom split into my head, and reverberated until I was rendered deaf and panicked. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t open the door. I’m not sure I wanted to. All that mattered was that she couldn’t. A sense of security washed over me and I read what had revealed itself to be writing on the drawing. My blood stopped dead in its tracks and turned to ice as I read the shaky words scrawled across the stained paper; “That is not my daughter” And then the door opened, and it was out.