Anabelle opened her eyes. Her room was dark. Was it still night? She reached cautiously out to her side table and pulled the chain on her lamp. Dim light covered the immediate area, dyed a solemn blue by the lampshade. The clock on her table read 11:46. She looked around. Nothing stood out among her dolls and stuffed toys. What had woken her? She couldn't recall. She rubbed her eyes and stood up. Straightening her satin nightgown, she walked over to the window. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds and everything was inky blackness outside. Her reflection stared back at her, though it looked strange in the dim light. Her hair seemed gray and limp. Her already pale skin seemed almost white and her eyes... There were no eyes, only two empty holes. The longer she stared, the bigger the black holes got. The reflection thing opened its mouth in a silent scream, backing away as Anabelle did. She made a sudden dash for the light switch and then the vanity. She looked carefully at her reflection in the well lit room. Her heart calmed as she looked at her emerald eyes staring back at her. Her cute, round face was framed by golden curls and her mouth smiled nervously. 'Perhaps it was just shadows.' she thought to herself.

A loud crash in the hallway tore her from her musings. She quickly ran to lock her door. As soon as the lock clicked into place, the door began to shake violently. Someone wanted to get in. Looking around in a panic, Anabelle hid behind a bear. She waited, shivering, as the door went from shaking, to banging and creaking. Whoever was on the other side was tearing at the knob in a panic. "Please, mistress! Please, let me in!" screamed a voice on the other side. Anabelle recognized it as Miranda, the new maid. She jumped from her hiding place to let the frantic maid in. However, just as she reached for the knob, she heard a chilling growl. There was a scream on the other side of the door and a loud slamming sound followed by a series of sickening crunches and what sounded like mud hitting the carpet outside. She stepped back away from the door, gripping her hands at her chest. A red liquid seeped beneath the door, soaking into the carpet and filling the room with a metallic smell. Tears rolled down Anabelle's cheeks.

The clock ticked on her bedside table. Anabelle looked at it. 2:10. 'I am ten now.' The thought seemed infinitely less exciting than it had when she went to bed the night before. Her tears had dried and she felt empty. There had been silence in the entire mansion for two hours. She was sure everyone else was dead. 'Maybe it's safe now.' she thought. She had to go to the bathroom. 'Surely I can go across the hall.' She stood up and walked towards her door. The red puddle would be a problem. The smell had started to become acrid and sickening. She put on a pair of socks and rain boots. She then picked up her doll from her bed. It was a hand stitched doll from her mother. It had soft, red hair tied in braids and wore a blue dress. Its smile was sweet and calming. Anabelle looked at it and steeled herself. "I'll find mommy, too." She said aloud. She hoped the words would give her more courage.

Her hands shook as she reached for the doorknob. She unlocked it and it swung open, pushed by something limp and lifeless. Anabelle looked down to see the mangled corpse of Miranda. She quickly looked away, clutching the doll to her chest. She leaned out, using the door frame for support, and looked down the hallway. There was nothing but silent darkness in either direction. Carefully picking her way around the corpse, she scampered across the hall to the bathroom. Five minutes later, she poked her head out again. Her blonde curls bobbed as she looked nervously about. Avoiding looking at the pile in front of her door, she crept her way down the hall. Her mother's room was only a few doors away, but without the light from her room, the hallway was beginning to get quite dark. She pressed on, clutching her doll tightly. She felt along the wall, counting doorknobs. The silence now sounded eerie to her. It felt as if it was purposely quiet. Her eyes were so wide they hurt. Finally, she came to the door. The creak of the knob was almost deafening in the silence.

Her mother's room was dark, too. Anabelle flipped the switch and light flooded her vision. She blinked several times to adjust and looked around. There was nobody there. The room was littered with scraps of cloth and half finished dresses. Designs were pinned to every inch of the wall and splayed out on the tables. Every design was beautiful. They were more amazing than any dresses Anabelle had ever seen, and it looked like they were all designed for her. Several of the pages showed sketches of her in the dress from different angles. Her mother had never worked so hard on a single dress before. Anabelle was puzzled, though. None of the dresses were finished and some had even been torn apart. She shrugged. At least there was no blood. She decided to search for some form of light. In her mother's bedside table, there was a flashlight. It shone brightly when she turned it on. If her mother wasn't here, perhaps she was in her father's room. Her mother usually used this room for work, anyway. She took a deep breath and ventured back into the hallway, leaving the light on to flood into the hallway. She then began walking further down the dark hallway.