I sat in my bed while Molly rested in my lap. She'd fallen asleep during another episode of Speechless on TV. She has a cute way of breathing while she sleeps; one long breath in, one short puff out. She stays still in her slumber, it was hard to tell that she was even breathing until you looked at her face, her chest still and frozen.

My room was nothing special. I didn't have much decoration, being the minimalist I am. My bed sheets are a navy blue, and my television is on a redwood stand. There's drawers and boxes under my bed and a long mirror next to my door. I have a record player and a case of records next to it, sitting to the left of my bed. Other then that, I have a singular poster, a Hellboy comic poster to the right of the television.

After watching Molly sleep, realizing how precious she was and how protective I am over her, I look up to find Emma sitting on the stand the television rests on. She was in front of the television, making me worried she'd knock it back into the wall. She's staring at me, murderously.

"Do you talk, Creepy Little Girl?" I ask again. I don't call her that to mock her, only because that's what she is - I think she knows that, or at least, I hope she does. When I speak to her, I always get the same answer; nothing. She continues sitting.

"Emma, are you human?" I ask again, somewhat pleading. I would be in an Asylum if I tried telling anyone she wasn't, but... what if she isn't? I'd have a creature in my home, living with me, breathing down my neck, for months! Maybe years if things remained the way they are now. What if she's waiting for something? And why does she look so... so caught up in vengeance, almost?

"Are you mad at me? Why?" I ask. After about half a minute, she stands, still staring, her eyebrows still set angrily but not crinkled or edging down. The rest of her face remained blank, as usual. She walks to another room, her arms still dangling at her sides. She sways them like a normal person when she walks. I think she went to the living room again, but I can't be sure. I just hope I don't find her sitting at the foot of my bed again tomorrow morning--that was freaky. I almost chuckle remembering it. I thought the Lord himself was testing me (hell, maybe he was).

I nudge Molly slightly, deciding to wake her up so we could go get some food. I didn't get groceries yet - I know, I'm still getting use to this adult stuff though. I haven't had anything to eat all day, and I don't want her to be hungry either, so I prayed she wasn't a destructive monster when people woke her up without warning.

"Molly. Molly, wake up," I urge, and she blinks. She yawns slightly and stretches.

"W-what?" she demands groggily, sitting up and yawning. She rubs at eye, and then looks to me.

"You wanna get some food?" I ask, smiling.

She thinks for a moment, then nods. Phew, I think to myself. I stand, but she stops me, "But, is Emma coming?" I look through the hallway, seeing no one in return. I decide to lie again.

I shake my head, "I called a babysitter."

She nods in return. I could've sworn I'd seen some relief in her face, but maybe it's because she was tired. She starts sitting up, gathering her surroundings, "'Kay, let's go."

I lead her to the doorway. She takes her jacket, then her elbow, "Shall we?" Her fake accent is hilarious to me, and we prance down my driveway and down the street like we were happy-go-lucky Englishmen, earning a few looks and giggles from strangers and neighbors.

"That's my boy, Dakota!" Mrs. Char from across the street yells from her window. She was a nice old woman, always helping people out and bringing pies to my door.

"Hey, Mrs. Char!" I reply, continuing with Molly.

Out of nowhere, I glance at her. She's laughing. It was a sound that made my chest fill up with joy. I think I love this girl.

I threw my jacket on the arm of my sofa, and pulled off my shoes by placing my toes on my heals and sliding them off, not bothering to unlace the ties. I look around absent-mindedly. Creepy Little Girl was nowhere to be seen.

I grabbed my television remote, flicking it on. Immediately, an old Western show starts. I cringe, and flip through the channels until I find a program worth watching.

I must've fallen asleep around midnight, considering I'd woken up at around nine. I looked up from my couch and climb out of the mess of cushions, noticing how they were moved around out of place from getting comfortable through the night. I stand, catching my balance as I groggily yawn, and move immediately to the kitchen. I grab the handles of the cupboards to grab a bowl, but jump back, skidding across the kitchen floor in my socks once they're open.

Creepy Little Girl sits, her back extremely hunched, her head still looking forward, staring at me between her legs. Her arms bent around her legs, squeezing. At first, I couldn't even tell if that was a position a human body could take or not.  I've seen some gruesome things from her, but as I inspect her and the size of the cupboard, she could fit easily if she was a real girl. I exhale, looking her up and down. There's a long slash on her arm; she's bleeding.

I stare at it with question and concern, wondering how she got it. Maybe a loose screw in my cupboard? Something in me was fearful of how she got it, unusually fearful. Creepy Little Girl doesn't really have a sense of preservation -- nothing really affects her. Why am I worried about this cut?

Despite rationalizing in my head that I should let it be, I open my mouth to ask her, "What happened to your arm, Cree-" She hops out of the cupboard, landing perfectly upright and still in front of me. She looked like a beast, or a spider, something in the air that made me paralyze in fear. All of my hairs raised up and my heart was caught in my throat. The only thing besides Creepy Little Girl that I could focus on was how loud my chest was pounding - it felt like it could break open. I felt a trickle of sweat down my back and wrists, watching as she turned direction and walked around me, entering the living room, moving out of my sight behind the end of the hallway.

I stay frozen.

I decide I want to talk with Molly, hopefully to forget Creepy Little Girl and her ventures in my cupboard, including that long cut in her arm that blood dripped from. Funny, I thought, how whenever she bleeds, she never gets my house dirty. No stains, no marks. I pull out my phone as I collapse comfortably on my bed.

Me: Hey Molly

Molly: hi!
Everything okay?

Me: yeah, just a little spooked

Molly: why?

Me: Emma scared me, that's all, and she has a cut and I don't know what it's from so I have mixed feelings

Molly: oh, that's awful, is she okay?

Me: yeah, I think so

Molly: She is a strange girl... I wouldn't worry too much

Me: yeah she is, I guess. Can I tell you something, Molly?

Molly: Of course!

Me: Emma is, she's kinda-

Before I could finish typing, my bedroom light shuts off and I feel as if the world has stopped. Everything seems to go silent, and my phone screen dims to black. I feel fear in me, but I don't know why. Something in me is saying that I'm not paranoid, I should be scared.

And whatever that was inside of me... it was right. I squeeze my phone, and then my sleeves, trying to grip anything to calm my nerves. I looked around, but my eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness. I begged to be alone, but I didn't feel like I was. Clenching my jaw and trying to stay still, all I could hear was my heartbeat until an unrecognizable voice jerked my head as I swerved behind me to find the owner of it.

"You shouldn't have told her about me, Dakota. I trusted you."