• January 18, 1981. That was the night I died. At least, that’s what my memory tells me. And my memory hasn’t exactly been working properly lately. I’ll try to remember, though. I’ll try, just for you. It was midnight, I reckon. Oh, what a perfect time to die. And what a perfect way to die. What a perfect person to kill you. That’s right, someone killed me. No, it wasn’t just someone. It was a little girl. I remember her vaguely, but I do recall some things. Like the way her skin was as pale as death. Like the way her hair was as Black as night. Like the way her eyes were as sweet as love. Like the way her dress wrapped around her fragile body like a spider web, and like the way her bow lay perfectly on her pretty little head. Such a lovely little creature, she was. So why did she kill me? Even to this very day, which is non-existent to me, I still look for a reason why somebody would enjoy watching the lives of innocent people fade before them. But that doesn’t matter, now, does it? I still haven’t told you why she killed me, have I? The story is odd.
    I was walking down the street. To where, I can’t recall, from where, I have no clue. But I do know one thing. That night, I wasn’t expecting to die. I remember looking straight at this girl, thinking, what is a small child like her doing alone in the streets at this hour? I was worried, I think. I was worried about her. I called to her, she came towards me. The girl reached out her hand and said, “Hello. My name is Emeline. What’s your name?” Like anyone else, I hadn’t time for this, I needed to find out what this girl was doing here. Does she have any parents? Was she kidnapped? Did she run away? “I want to play a game with you. It’s called,” I remember her whisper in my ear, “Dead man, Dead man.” She said the words so menacingly, so malevolently. I could feel terror racing in my body. “I’ll teach you how to play!” said the little girl, as if she didn’t notice the fear in my eyes. “First, you have to step back a little.” I didn’t move a muscle. There I stand, rigid with horror, fists clenched in anticipation, sweat trickling down my forehead, knees quaking. “I said, step back a little.” Emeline growled. Still, I made no movement. “Step back!” she hissed, and extended her right arm, in one abrupt, fierce motion. I flinched. Suddenly, a strong wind pushed me farther away from Emeline. My shoes made that awful sound that shoes make when they are scraping against the sidewalk. I was absolutely breathless. I was absolutely stunned. I was absolutely disturbed. “W-w-who are you?” I stammered.
    Alas, the brat didn’t make the slightest effort to answer my question correctly. Instead, she just said, “I told you, I’m Emeline. And now we can play Dead man, Dead man.” The girl cleared her throat. And what happened next marked the beginning of the end of my life. With a voice so honeyed and pure, with a tune so pretty, the girl began to sing. What was it that she sang? What did she start singing? Oh, yes, now I know. She sang,
    “Dead man, Dead man, walking down your road.”
    And then, she stepped forward.
    “Dead man, Dead man, coming to your home.”
    She took another step towards me.
    “Dead man, Dead man, knocking at your door.”
    Once again, she took a step. By now, I was drowned in fright. I tried to scream, but my lungs wouldn’t let me. I tried to run, but my legs said no. I couldn’t control my own body! What was this witch doing to me?
    “Dead man, Dead man, entering your house.”
    Another step.
    “Dead man, Dead man, creeping inside your room.”
    Her shoes made a tapping sound as she came closer.
    “Dead man, Dead man, hiding inside your dresser.”
    Now, she was face to face with me. Literally. Her forehead was pressed right onto mine, her eyes were peering deep into my soul. At this point, my fear had left me numb. This is the end. The end of me. The end of my life. The end of my world. The end of everything, I thought. I was right. The young girl pulled out a knife. That is what I remember most of all. The knife. That weapon, the way it gleamed in the moonlight. The way it shone light into my eyes even though it was completely dark. The way it’s blade was so sharp. So sharp indeed. The girl raised the knife. I wanted to shout. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I was stuck there, like a doomed statue. All I could do was shudder. All I could do was shudder as the girl raised the weapon in the air, and aimed it straight at my chest.
    And then, I died. I was covered in blood. I was fading away. Fade, fade, fade. The very last thing I heard before I died was Emeline’s innocent little voice, singing enchantingly:
    “Dead man, Dead man, taking your soul.”