My breaths started to get heavier, as my eyes darted from space to space, looking for a pumpkin mask or a shadowy figure. However, as much as I checked every book and cranny, I could find nothing. Maybe I was going insane. Perhaps a few years of isolation and loneliness had done that to me. But that was not the case. I knew for a certain fact that I had spilt that milk carton. When I looked in the trash, there it was, the empty plastic carton. And the kitchen still smelled of dairy. Someone bad done this themselves, not my damaged mind. I went upstairs, into the bathroom, bedroom, and guest room for any signs of this mystery figure lurking around my house. For a eerie moment, the only sounds were my panicky breaths.

I put it in the back of my mind, though I still had flashes of that quiet, faceless pumpkin mask. I needed to take care of the rest of my groceries. It took much longer than usual, as I always felt a spine-tingling feeling of being watched by an unseen presence. Soon, everything was in its proper place. My nerves started to settle down. I slowly regained my ease as I was lulled into a strange and false sense of security. Maybe a nice snack would pit my mind at proper ease. I took a pack of popcorn kernels, placing it in the microwave and setting it. I hummed a little melody I had heard on the radio during the trip back from the grocery store. I pondered the party that Megan was throwing. Perhaps it was the best choice. I needed to spread out.

I hadn't been keen on meeting anyone since Sam died. What would I do without her. She was the one thing in my life that put me at ease. She knew just how to balance out my life. Sam would be so helpful in this situation. She was funny and kind, with a degree in Law from Yale. The smartest person I ever met. Samantha was so helpful to other people, so much so that she didn't realize her own fall in health. I wish I had realized it quicker. Maybe things would be much better right then. Her parents were both killed abruptly in a shooting, and I think that's when she started down a dark path. We went to the funeral and a horribly dark and uncomfortable tension filled the air. Samantha started to realize that the world was not the hopeful place she thought it was.

Soon, she started to lose one of her best qualities: the ability to see the light in every situation. However, it was hard to see the light in a family death. Not even she could. Samantha didn't just feel sad. She stopped feeling at all. No happiness, no anger, just a deep emptiness. I tried to fill that gap, but it was all but too late. On Halloween night, the thunder had been roaring and the rain was almost unbearable. Samantha had reached her breaking point. She scribbled what would be her last notes on a notepad and... I'm too squeamish to say. I heard the screams and rushed upstairs to find her body. I called 911 as fast as I could. The funeral was pure anguish to sit through. One thing always stuck with me though.

Sam had always wanted children. That was the last thing she said to me before her passing. She said, "Liz, I think we should have some kids." And those eight words stuck with me, etched into my mind forever. But I refused to have children. I wanted to live my own life more, rather than have a child's. Why she chose those final words is still a mystery to me. But, I never got the kids she wished for. I was afraid. I didn't want to fail a child. I didn't want a child to fall because I was a bad parent. Hell, I didn't know how to parent someone. Maybe I should have gone to Megan's party that night. I could have gone on with my life. That's what Sam always said. "Explore, Liz!" she would prompt, "Expand horizons!"

The beeping of the microwave alerted me, pulling me back out of my memories. For some reason, I didn't hear any partying noises at all, as if the party had stopped altogether. I took out the popcorn, but instead of sitting down on my couch to watch a movie, I sat down in the kitchen, deep in my swirling thoughts and a rush of sadness. I was left alone with silence and creeping paranoia for at least a half of an hour, until a large scream filled the air. It was close, I knew that. My eyes peeked up in fright. I raced over to my front door, where that bloodcurdling shout came from. I opened the door and saw her. Megan was laying down on my front lawn. She seemed to be asleep, though I knew this wasn't the case. "Megan?" I said. I turned over her body and saw it.

A kitchen knife, cleansed and razor sharp, stabbed into her chest, right next to her beating heart. I looked at her face in terror and pity. "Oh please, no! No, not blood! Blood!" I screamed. I searched around for anyone to help, but there was no one. Outside, it was growing darker. A certain fog surrounded the area, making it difficult to see. A deep, guttural voice came from Megan. She was still alive. She was still gasping for air, suffering from blood loss with every second. "Pumpkin... stabbed... leave me... save yourself..." Megan whispered, her breaths becoming slower and deeper. Then, she stopped breathing for a moment. It stretched into two. And then three. Megan was dead. And my fingerprints were on the body. If I tried to find help, they would think it was me. I ran back into the house, the crimson blood on my hands. In Megan's blood, a message was written for me in the kitchen. "Don't hide, Lizzie. I'm already in the house." was painted onto my yellow wall. The clock cooed once more, as I frantically tried to find places to hide. And it struck 8.