That night

She wasn't tired at all. It wasn't fair! She wanted to continue to play with her dolls, but her mother simply told her to go to bed. And unfortunately for her, her parents checked on her some time to time just to be sure she was still lying in her bed. She decided to close her eyes and imagine cool stuff like unicorns and fairies. When she was close from falling asleep, she heard a voice calling her name. She frowned before getting out of her bed. She went to the window. She couldn't see anything. Outside, the swing was gently balancing with the breeze. The backyard was empty. The little girl sighed and was about to get back in her bed when she heard her name again. She got closer to the window, watching beyond the backyard now. The woods were very dark and thick with trees.

"Rachel... Rachel..."

She suddenly saw glowing eyes in the woods. She smiled and waved.

"Rachel... Do you want to play with us?"

"Yes! Who are you?"

"We're your friends, Rachel."

"When do you want to play? I can't get out right now. My mom will not allow me."

"Not yet, little Rachel. Not yet but pretty soon we'll play together and we'll have so much fun, trust me."

The voice was soft and low. It wasn't a child and not quite an adult either. The eyes disappeared into the woods but she heard the voice asking her to be very patient. It also said to get back to bed and tried to get some rest. It will tell her when the coast will be cleared for their little game. She shook her head and smiled again. She jumped back in her bed and waited to fall back asleep.

The night was very dark because there was no moon in the sky and the stars seemed unable to pierce the clouds. The whole house was quiet. The only sound which could be heard was limited to the continuous ticking from the huge clock that stood in the impressive lobby.

"Rachel... It's time for you to wake up..."

The eyes in the woods were glowing again.

"But first, let's make sure nobody will get in our way."

At the clap of thunder, the eyes of the little girl suddenly opened. They shone with a strange evil light. She slowly pushed the sheets and then got out of bed. Without making any noise, she took the stairs to the kitchen. The light from the lightening illuminated the path she borrowed. She walked over to the drawer where all the kitchen’s instruments were. She opened it and a wicked smile lit up her angelic face. She took the serrated knife. Then she turned back to the stairs she climbed very slowly. She walked down the hallway with her slow approach. She slipped into her parents’ room without making the slightest noise.

On the ground floor, the clock had suddenly stopped ticking.

She remained a short time at the bedside to observe. Then she climbed onto the bed next to her father and raised the knife to cut his throat. He opened his eyes, emitting strange gurgling. The blood flowed from the wound, soaking the fabric covering the pillow. He died quickly. At her side, her mother woke up, alerted by small jolts that her husband had before dying. With a quick movement, the girl suddenly struck her with the blade. The weapon found itself pressed to the stick inside the throat of the poor woman who had no chance. She scratched her neck, desperately begging her daughter in silence. When her mother breathed her last breath, the girl pulled the knife and jumped out of bed, then left the room as quietly as she had entered.

“Let’s stroll in the woods,” the little girl sang while heading towards her older sister’s room, “while the wolf is not there. If the wolf was here, he would eat us. But as he’s not here, he won’t eat us.”

She came to the door and opened it slowly. The girl was sleeping peacefully in her bed. The little girl climbed onto the bed and positioned herself on top of her sister, a smile distorting her lips.

“Wolf, are you here?”

Her sister moaned, numb with sleep. Without opening her eyes, she turned to her sister.

“Rachel, get out of my room.”

The girl cut her throat with a sharp blow. The girl’s eyes widened, bringing her hands to her neck. Blood slipped between her fingers. The evil light was still shining in the little girl’s eyes while she was smiling, observing her sister dying. Satisfied, she returned to her own room. She placed the bloody knife on the bedside table before slipping back under the covers where she fell asleep very quickly.

In the morning, the housekeeper came to work as she did every day of the week for nearly ten years. However, she had a bad feeling when she entered the house. She frowned at the sight of a kitchen drawer left opened and no dishes from breakfast on the counter. Finally she shut the drawer before her eyes wander around her. Nothing seemed to have changed, but something was wrong anyway. Back in the hallway, she noticed that the clock was not working anymore. She looked down and froze in amazement. The two school backpacks were still at the foot of the clock… She frowned again. Why the house seemed empty as Natalie and Rachel’s school bags were still there? Trembling, she toured the ground floor but she saw nothing. She approached the stairs and climbed them very slowly.

“Ms. Carter?” she said with a trembled voice. “Mr. Carter? Natalie? Rachel? Is someone there?”

Then she thought about what she had done. And if a misfortune had happened to the Carter family overnight? Should she call the police? And if there really was someone with her in the house…? She went to Rachel’s room, but the girl was not there. The housekeeper risked a glance in Natalie’s room and she was relieved to see the girl. They simply went straight, that’s it. There are mornings like this! A power outage in the neighborhood, maybe. It can happen anytime! she thought with a sigh of relieve. A smile on her lips, she approached the bed to wake her. Teens were sometimes rather heavy sleep… She suddenly stopped after seeing the blood-soaked pillow. She rushed out of the room to erupt in the parents’ room. She froze again. Rachel was lying on the bed between her father and her mother, against the wall. She caressed the red hair of her mother, singing a lullaby to her. The girl looked up, a wicked smile on her lips.

“Hello Beatrice,” she threw in a calm voice.

The housekeeper glanced at the little girl with blood stains on the sheets.

“Rachel? But what…?” she stammered. “What has happened?”

“They’re all dead,” the little girl replied, still smiling. “I’ve killed all three of them. They did not want to play with me.”

“My God…”

“Will you play with me?”

Beatrice began to scream like a lunatic before going out of the room. She was still screaming when the neighbor who always had to get his newspaper outside drew her into his own house to calm her. She did say one thing: Carter. As the old man knew the maid, he hastened to call the emergency services. When the police arrived, Beatrice repeated what Rachel had told her before she fled. Of course, the police didn’t take her seriously. The old man told them that Rachel was just ten years old. The cops, however, went into the Carter’s. At gunpoint, they entered the house cautiously. They may not believe Beatrice’s story, but she was totally hysterical. In addition, she spoke of murder… a triple homicide… It was very dark in the hallway. They scrutinized the darkness with great difficulty before the ceiling light will suddenly turn on. A little girl was sitting in front of them on the stairs. She sang a song, cradling a doll. Her hands were covered with black blood. There was also blood on the nightgown she wore. She raised her head slowly to look at them, getting away sticky strands of hair that covered her face. With a quick movement she tore the doll’s head before throwing it behind. She dropped the plastic body on the stairs. The cops jumped. She raised the knife covered with dried blood.

“Will you play with me?”

She laughed.

The police had recoiled, horrified by the scene before them. She suddenly stopped laughing, gazing at them. Her smile grew bigger before asking again if they wanted to play with her. Still not getting any response, the girl stood up and cut her throat. Her body slumped on the stairs. She was still smiling despite the blood spurted from the gaping wound.

THE END