She was but a little girl. Of unknown dangers, she hadn’t learnt. Gleefully, enjoyably, she ran amok other little children. She did not know there was a monster lingering on. She did not even know monsters existed. She skipped and hopped, laughed with a shrill cry, that only little girls are capable of. Unbeknownst to her play, afternoon turned to evening and before she knew it, she had wandered off into the dusky boonies. She was left alone now, all the children had heeded to their mother’s call for supper, except her.
The cold wisp of the upcoming fall made her long for her coat. The blades of the grass were feeling wetter with each step now. She wondered what she was walking upon. Her judgement was telling her to turn back and find her way home. But curiosity trumped her psyche. Very soon, she was in need of galoshes; the squish and the squirm was too much for the little huaraches she had strapped on. Her yellow dress and her light brown hair were starting to bear the brunt of the muck surrounding her. She finally began to fear, she longed for home, she longed to be safe.
The monster lurking behind her all this while sensed that the little girl was ready to prey upon. At first, his red eyes gleamed with gluttony. His breath sharpened as he got ready to pounce. His heart, or whatever that organ was that thudded within his dirty chest, paced at a thundering rate. He did not make a sound, slithering like a snake. The trees sighed at his soft maniacal laughter. His eerie presence was sensed by the little girl. She turned back and screamed, screamed like only a scared little girl can. The wilderness came alive with her screams. Torches were lit, pitchforks sharpened, and men, women and dogs, ran towards the squishy puddle.
Horrified, the monster froze. He did not know if he should hide or run. He looked around himself, he looked at the disapproving trees. He saw the slowly marching torches towards him. He decided not to make a run for it, not this time, when he had come so close to being discovered. He stood his ground, all the while listening to the little girl scream. He made no attempts to silence her, he made no attempts to calm her. He just stood there, waiting for the discernment. He discovered a small knife in his pocket and whipped out the shiny blade out of his pocket as fast as he could. He laughed and told the still screaming little girl, “Ally, my little girl, I was looking for you!” He slit his wrists and let the blood gush out; the red mixed with the murky water in the puddle. The slit wrists resembled a fountain of red, a raging stream of red, leaking wildly. Ally now looked at the unconscious man closely, lying in the pool of blood and dirty water, and wondered, “He looks like the man from the pictures mum showed me.” She began wailing, confused and scared. Soon, she saw her mother approach in the distance, carrying her yellow galoshes. The galoshes she knew her father had brought her, not so long ago.