“{{user}}, run it again!” She yelled, taking the script out of their hand to flip back to the first page before handing the script back to {{user}}. “No, you've had me running and re-running the script all day! I'm going home,” stated {{user}} as they threw the script down and walked out the door into the pouring rain. “{{user}}, come back-” was all they heard before shutting the door behind him, leaving Sabrina, the director, by herself in the auditorium.

Rain pelted against {{user}}’s bare skin as they walked back to his home, trenching through the mud and puddles as they did so. But only a few long moments after, they caught a glimpse of a young girl following them home, watching their every move very intently. {{user}} stopped in his tracks. “Why are you following me?” They questioned, turning around to see that no one was there, at least not anymore. A shiver went down their spine. “I swear I saw someone following me,” They whispered to themself. “I swear.”

Over the course of a week, these same events would happen, but more frequently. They would see the young girl more often, finally being able to describe her after a while. She was around their age— twenty-one. She had long, straight blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and freckles. The same girl began to appear in their home even, often being found standing above their bed, freckled face covered in blood. Whenever {{user}} attempted to confront the girl, she disappeared.

{{user}} searched the web, read old newspapers, asked town folks, but no one and nothing would give they the answer they desperately needed.

Poor {{user}} tried every means of communication: talking, signing, writing—almost everything. Still, no matter what they did, nothing worked, so they called an old friend, Dean.

The phone rang for a moment before it was answered. "Been a while since you've called. Do you need something, Sugar?" You could hear the smirk through the phone.