Rusty Fingers: Difference between revisions
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There was a child, aged around eleven to twelve, sitting down on a couch. Blood engulfed the couch, and when I looked at her face, it was bloody with no skin, just muscle topped with gaping eye holes. There was a disturbing figure kneeling next to her, who was twitching, maniacally laughing. The child saw me, looked up, and spoke:
I turned to face the figure.
I ran, as the figure chased me, gaining ground as it began laughing menacingly again with a smile. I ran up the stairs but fell on the top stair.
After a minute or two of silence and checking it was dead, I continued up to my apartment. I unlocked the door and looked down at my brother on the bed. I screamed when I found his face had been torn up like the girl’s face. He sat up, looked at me, and choked:
{{by|Jerrika12}}
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