I remember this place well. All too well. What was it that I was supposed to remember? Ever since that night, I've had bad feelings of this place, and I can't think of why. All of a sudden, a door slams, and it came back to me. The door slamming the same way, one of the last things I had heard. Footsteps shuffled up the stairs, and I followed them. Just like I had last time. But why? I thought I'd finally get to remember but no. It wasn't him. I watched the man rummage through files. Over and over in a paniked manner. Who was this man? When he found a folder her opened it. I recognized the girl in the picture, barely. She was too happy. Too niave. The man picked up the files and dropped them in the trash. He picked up a lighter, and the pages went up in a brilliant red and orange , if felt as if I were falling. Falling back to the night it all happened. Back to the middle of a freak-horror show.
I remember the closet. It was cold and damp and very dark. It smelled of blood and mold. I sat in the corner, in the back. Nothing good would come of this, and I knew it all too well. Then, I heard the shuffling, and I knew it was that man. He came over to the coset, his shadow holding something bulky. Then the door flew open. I remember screaming. I didn't know if it was me or not. It didn't sound like anything a human could make but I heard it. Mumbling to me, the man knelt down. Why couldn't I remember his face? That's when I heard it. Blood froze deep withing my veins, shattering my stone heart.
Run Ali. Run.