From: An anonymous benefactor
Message:
You are at your window, staring at the building across from you. Usually at this time a night, they are all empty, dark without a soul to be found awake. Still, you stare, wondering if anyone is wide eyed at this hour.
This particular night, you find yourself staring at the whole building, your eyes jumping from one random window to the next. Then, a light comes on. Your eyes are instantly attracted to it. There is a young girl, about ten years, waving to you. You open your window, and you can make out a few features. A black lace dress, a head of chocolate hair, done up in a fancy style, a sweet, round face and lean body. You swear you can even see some tears.
What stands out most is her smile. She has a large smile as she is still waving. The moment you see her, she looks at you. She is staring right at you, right into your eyes. You almost want to look away, but you cannot bring yourself to do so.
You try to see behind her. There is no one in the room. You worry a little. Where are her parents?
At first, you are unsure, but you decided to head across the street anyway. That apartment building was built by the same people who built yours, so judging from where the window is, you suspect that you should buzz room 5F.
You grab a coat and run downstairs (the elevator is noisy and you do not want to wake your neighbors). When you make it outside, you pause, looking both ways for cars before crossing the street. You do not see any and begin across. A chill runs down your spine halfway across, but it is probably the chilly autumn air.
You go to use the buzzer, but it is turned off. You huff irritated, when a gust of wind opens the door. You go inside.
It is quiet. Not usual middle of the night quiet, but. . . too quiet. No heaters humming, no vents buzzing, not even a faint sound of a persons breath. You get another chill, but ignore it. Again, you take the stairs. Even if you did not care about making noise, both elevators are out of order.
You make it to the fifth floor. You were right. The only one with light shining through the crack under the door is 5F. You make your way to it and knock. But there is no answer. You knock again, calling for whoever is inside.
You knock a while longer, when the door opens when you push with your knuckles. You poke your head inside. The room is bathed in a yellow glow. Soft lullaby music is playing on a record player, slightly off key from old age.
When you step in, you notice that whoever lives here is a collector of. . . stuff. Just stuff. There is a white mask is black eyes and lips resting on a shelf on the entertainment system. Next to a large TV is a Nintendo, with one cartridge next to it: unlabeled with the name *BEN* written in black. Next to a large easy chair is a DS, with a Pokemon game: small black card with just the title *Pokemon*. Hanging on the handle of one of the doors is an Armani suit with silver cufflinks and a blood red tie. On the couch is a small, rubber mouse puppet with a skinny snout, two overly large ears, and a dead, hollow stare.
All these things seem familiar to you, but you cannot place your finger on how, exactly. You make your way down the hall, where several portraits are hung up in a line. As you make your way down, you get another chill. Are you being watched?
You open the door that leads to the window you saw. The little girl is there, not waving, her back to you now. She is wearing that beautiful black dress, that you can now tell is bedazzled in small white rhinestones. On a small plastic chair next to a plastic vanity is a hanger, with a raggedy dress with different little pictures sewn on it, and eight different colored wings on the back. On the vanity is a necklace with different colored cone shaped shells, next to a tray of cupcakes.
You call out to her, *Little girl? Where are your parents?*
She turns. There is something in her hands. Two things. One is the headless body of what you think is a Mickey Mouse doll, only with the colors inverted and yellow goo pouring out. In the other is the head to said doll.
*Mommy hated Daddy* she said. *But Daddy loved Mommy. Did you see Mommys mask in the living room?*
You think back. The white mask with the black eyes and smile? She continues before you answer.
*Daddy gave that mask to Mommy a long time ago. Mommy wanted to kill Daddy so badly, so Daddy made a deal. Daddy said he would go away if Mommy would give him something in return.*
There is a pause. Suddenly, you start to realize all the signs. The rat puppet on the couch: Rap Rat. The Pokemon cartridge: Pokemon Black. The Nintendo game: Ben Drowned. The suit: Slenderman. The Mickey Mouse doll: Abandoned by Disney. The things at the vanity: Cupcakes. The mask. . . could it be Jane the Killers mask?
The girl continues. *So, Mommy agreed and Daddy did what he had to do. Then Mommy killed Daddy. A little while later, I was born.*
*S-so. . . where is Mommy now?*
*Daddy has been getting lonely in hell. He told me in a dream tonight. So I gave him company with Mommys knife* She points to her bed, where you did not before notice a bloody knife.
There are no words. You have no idea what you want to do. *My collection is almost complete.* She says. *I have always wanted my dress to be as popular as Mommys mask.*
You still are not sure to this day what happened. Did you blink? Did you sneeze? Did you avert your gaze, just for a moment? But before you know it, the girl is clamped onto your back holding the knife to your neck. *So, you are going to tell the police, right? Be sure to be very VERY clear?*
You can only nod, slightly as you fear the knife will cut you. The girl giggles and jumps down from your back. *Thank you!* she chirps. *I better go. Daddy is waiting.*
*NO, WAIT!*
*I can&��t wait!* She stomps a foot on the ground, raising her voice. *And neither can you for that matter. Do you not remember the bus?*
The bus? What bus? Was she just trying to freak you out. The girl takes your hand and leads you to the window. She points down to the street. There is a bus outside, along with a dozen police cars and an ambulance, putting a bloody body onto a stretcher. Even from the fifth floor, you realize that the body. . . is you.
*Thank you for the help. Tell the police when you wake up* You turn around, just in time to see the girl slit her throat. You pass out before you see her bleed.
You wake up in a hospital. Half your bones are in a cast. You are surrounded by flowers, presents, and a nurse. She tells you that you will be okay. You instantly ask for a police officer, saying that you need to report something that happened in the building. The nurse, unnerved by your excitement, rushes away.
You breath, going over the story in your head, when you notice a large box, done up in orange paper and red ribbon. You look at the tag. It reads:
For you, from Jennie the Killer.
