The Scary Lady

Marilyn’s Point of View. Brooklyn is one of New York City’s five boroughs, and I was born there. Growing up, I often heard scary tales of the dead coming back to settle unfinished business, but I never believed in such stories. My childhood friend, Evelyn, frequently visited my parents and me. Though we weren’t wealthy, my parents made sure I had everything I needed. Evelyn would share stories about a man in black with no face who haunted Brooklyn at night, taking the heads of his victims. I couldn’t resist asking her questions about it. I’ve always been skeptical of superstitions unless they had logical explanations. What was Evelyn hiding from me? I needed to find out. At seventeen, Evelyn, whom I’d known since I was seven, finally decided to tell me more. Goosebumps ran up my arms as I eagerly awaited what she had to say. She sighed and began, Marilyn, I heard that many years ago, a boy was decapitated by a group of teenagers. They were jealous because his parents had more money than theirs. So, they cut off his head. Intrigued, I pressed her for more information. “Is there anything else you know about this?” I felt there was more to uncover. Evelyn smiled faintly and said, “That’s all I know.” Then she left. The next day, our neighbor was found dead, his head severed from his body. I began to think maybe there was some truth to these stories. Was he the latest victim of the headless killer? For years, I dismissed superstitions, but after what happened to my neighbor, I found myself believing in them. One morning, my dad quietly said, Hey, sweetie, your mom and I are going to a party downtown. Can you stay and look after the house for us?  “Can’t I come with you?” I asked, desperate not to be left alone. My mom hugged me, smiling. “Sorry, honey, the invitation is for both of us, not for kids.” Feeling disappointed, I watched them leave. Frustrated, I stormed into my room, flopped onto my bed, and fell asleep. I was suddenly woken up by loud banging at the front door. At first, I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t stop. Furious, I opened the door and found two men standing there, their expressions sorrowful. I felt fear rising in my chest as I asked what was wrong. They told me my parents had been in a fatal accident on their way back from the party. Both had been decapitated. Grief overwhelmed me. Tears streamed down my face, and I collapsed. I woke up in a hospital the next day, confused about how I got there. A nurse entered, smiling. She told me that my medical bills had been paid. “Who did it?” I shouted, “I have no one left!” The nurse teared up and whispered, “He refused to give his name.” Desperate to know who had paid, I began to suspect this person might have been responsible for my parents' deaths. After I was discharged, I returned home. A few days later, I was informed I had to vacate the house. I couldn’t afford the rent on my own. Now, I’m all alone, trying to find the person who ruined my life. But the murders didn’t stop there. Eight years have passed, and more people are disappearing and never to return. Tonight, I came home late from work, exhausted and hungry. I headed to a nearby restaurant, but it was closed. So, I tried to hail a cab instead. As I stood waiting, something moved quickly in the corner of my eye, too fast to see. I remembered my mother’s words:  Fear is just a feeling. You can only overcome it by facing it.  Determined, I kept walking and soon saw the figure of an old woman laughing hysterically. The sound sent shivers down my spine. I tried to run, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place as the figure danced toward me, ignoring my cries. An evil presence filled the air. Just as I caught a glimpse of her face, young but terrified, wearing tattered black clothes, she vanished. When I finally regained control of my body, I ran home, but her eerie laughter echoed in my mind. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake it. The next morning, I still felt uneasy. While getting ready for work, I sensed a shadowy figure watching me in the bathroom mirror. I turned around, but no one was there. I brushed off the feeling and went to work. Brooklyn is dangerous, especially at night, and I’ve witnessed many disappearances. The victims are often found with parts of their bodies missing. I suspect the woman I saw is behind these killings, but I don’t dare tell anyone. I’m afraid she might come for me if I do. A few nights later, a girl named Jane went to a party with her friends. After drinking too much, she called her brother Felix for a ride, but he refused, lecturing her about her bad decisions. Jane left the party alone, trying to find a taxi, but none stopped for her. Suddenly, something grabbed her leg and pulled her down. She screamed for help, but no one heard. The creature that attacked her had black eyes and bloody teeth. It tore her apart, dismembering her body. The next morning, Felix went looking for Jane. When he arrived at the spot where she had been, he found her headless body. Overcome with guilt, he fell to his knees, blaming himself for her death. I watched from afar, knowing the terrifying woman was responsible. Later that night, while driving home, I saw something obstructing the road. Fear gripped my heart, causing me to lose control of my car. The force of the impact knocked me unconscious, and I was left bleeding in the driver’s seat, barely alive. While I was in the driver's seat, struggling to breathe, a voice spoke softly from the shadows, saying, You're next, young lady. This is only the beginning.