"Only one thing: never, ever, turn out the light..."
She comes to you at night. Always children. Be careful when you sleep, and one more thing. Don't turn off the light at night. Eliza is out there.
In the mist that covered the ground, a young girl sat crying, her face red. She looked through her tears at a grave.
"Oh Eliza!" she moaned. "Why did you have to leave?" she continued, then she broke down into tears, and fell to the ground which was covered in dead grass which signified the atmosphere under it. Death.
Looking up at the crumbling gravestones, and the darkness of the old cemetery, her eyes encountered an enormous archway that was once beautiful. It was now as dead as everything else in the miserable graveyard.
It seemed like the sun; the only ray of hope, was too afraid to rise. The girl held her head in her hands, crying hysterically.
Suddenly, there was a crack that sounded behind her.
"I-is anyone there?" she inquired warily.
"Misery" a low voice hissed,
"Who's there?" the girl cried, terrified. Suddenly, a high pitch screaming interrupted the silence of the dead.
"Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it!" the girl demanded.
"Mary..." The voice whispered. A moment of silence passed, "Mary!" it repeated, louder this time. The girl's eyes widened.
"H-how do you know my name? Who are you?"
"It's me, Mary" the voices whispered. "Eliza"
A girl walked out of the forest. Falling over her face, hiding her eyes and all of her other features, her hair hung straight and black as the night. She was wearing an old nightie, made of lace. It was the same nightie that Eliza had worn the night she was brutally murdered. Mary's breath caught.
"E-Eliza?" Mary whispered, her face a mask of shock.
Eliza ghosted towards Mary. She laid her hand gently on her own grave. Mary rose slowly. Eliza whirled around and faced Mary.
"Your fault!" she croaked, sounding like a dying frog. Eliza pulled out a hunting knife, stained with dry blood. A horrible laugh erupted from Eliza's lips, as she stalked forward, and raised the knife. Mary backed away, new tears falling from her crystal-blue eyes. Eliza grabbed Mary's neck with an in-human force, and brought the knife slowly to Mary's throat. The cold blade touched her sweaty neck. One movement, and she could be dead.
"Your fault that I died! Baba Yaga doesn't forgive!" Eliza exclaimed.
"Baba Yaga?" Mary breathed. But then Eliza leaned to Mary's ear,
"Goodbye, sister!" she said, and then the knife slid across Mary's neck.
Eliza stepped out of the dark forest into a small village in the countryside of England in 1901. It was night, so not many people saw her glide across the dirt road.
There were loads of small cottages, surrounded by flowers and grass. Eliza laughed darkly to herself.
"More people that I would've thought." She muttered.