I sat there on the computer. It was late, maybe around 2:16. Everyone was sleeping except for me. I always was more of the nocturnal type. I was listening to music, with head phones on of course. But every now and then static would burst through. So I unplugged my headphones and turned the volume way down so I didn't disturb anyone. But the song would garble up and glitch. I figured something was wrong with it. Then I switched to my I pod. The same thing would happen. This time though the static had a voice coming through. It wasn't The singer's voice though. It sounded like someone was trying to communicate with me. It was garbled. I heard sounds and syllables of words. Soon the static stopped. But the song was in a completely different language. It was no language belonging to humans. I wondered what the **** was happening. I heard a few English words and translated them onto paper. The message said "Don't go upstairs!" me being me curiosity struck. I walked over to my drawer. I took out my hand gun and loaded it. I made sure there was one in the chamber. I heard coughing. I walked cautiously upstairs. And there on my child's bedroom door was a blood stain. Being a protective parent I busted through my daughter's door. I saw her safe and sound in her bed. I figured my imagination was running wild. She must have heard the door fly open because she woke up instantly.
"Daddy what's wrong?" She asked me. She saw the gun in my hands. "Why do you have a gun daddy? Is someone in here daddy?" I saw the streak of fear across my poor girl's face. She started to cry.
"No sweetie. Daddy is just seeing things. Very bad things you wouldn't understand." I told her. I hugged her and wiped the tears from her eyes. I finally decided It was just memory's of the war. My wife heard us. She walked in.
"Whats wrong honey? Why do you have a gun?" She also looked frightened. I explained I was just seeing things. "Okay well come back to bed. You too Val. You shouldn't be up at this time of night. You have school."
"Okay mommy." I left the room. But something caught my eye. The doll. It had crosses on it's face. And a crucifix was behind it. The doll's eye had been ripped out. I didn't like it.
Finally we all went to bed. A knocking on my door had woken me up. I thought it was Valentine. I thought she just had a bad dream. But when I answered the door the doll was there with a bloody crucifix in it's hand. I dashed to my daughter's bedroom. But she was missing. There was no sign of her leaving. The doll had followed me. I picked it up by the leg. "What did you do too my daughter! What did you do to her you little plastic *****! I threw the doll down. I Blew it's brain's out. I shot a whole round into it's little head. Blood poured from it's head. Brains splattered across the floor. I kicked the doll and cursed at it. "Daddy why? Why daddy?" I heard my daughter. But the doll's mouth moved. "Why would you kill your own daughter daddy. Your little girl," I froze and started to cry out my daughter's name. "I was your Valentine. Your little Valentine."