I flicked the light on, scanning the room for more differences, as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up from the cold draft. It could have been a mistake on my part – hell, if the worst thing that had happened was I’d forgotten to close the window then I guess my cautious nature was stronger than I thought.
In the world of darkness, where monsters still exist and things go bump in the night, I have found since a young age that whistling is quite often the simplest and most effective cure. And yet, as if I knew what was coming, I couldn’t seem to find enough breath as I walked over to the heavy door of my bedroom that I always left shut yet, like the window, it was open.
She was a relatively young girl, maybe sixteen years old, or fifteen, with staring blue eyes ringed in makeup that hadn’t been completely removed; her hair was unkempt and fanned around her head where she lay; sometimes it shone brown, sometimes ebony black, in the moonlight shining through the blinds. Her lips were parted, blood red against her face that was drained of all other colour.
The eyes never moved from where they were fixed on the ceiling
Her lips never shaped those final words
She was dead in my bedroom, and I had no memory of how she had got there.