"Please! Don't hurt me! I never did anything wrong!" The man grinned at her, showing yellow, slimy teeth. Although she was revolted, she kept screaming. He grabbed a knife, and brought it back. In a smooth fluid notion, he threw it into her chest, smiling as her screams died.
"And... CUT! That was great everybody. Just amazing. I don't think we need a second take," the director said proudly. "Alison, go wash the fake blood off before the next scene."
Alison grinned. "Really? I think it's a good look for me. Don't you?" The director laughed.
Everybody knew of Alison Campbell's famous humor. After all, that had been what originally separated her from her Disney Channel counterparts five years ago, and what still made her a household name today. But, even if that had not been the case, she would have stood out just by her perfection.
She was beautiful enough to be a model, yet was well known for her fights against judging on inner beauty instead of outer beauty and being a supporter of every charity known to mankind. She was an amazing actress, who could do comedy, drama, romance, or any other genre you could think of. Even her looks, with her stunningly blue eyes, skinny yet curvy body, and long, luscious raven black hair, set her apart from your average too tan, bleached blonde bobble head that you could see on cable at any given moment. People wanted to be her, and some would stop at nothing to have her.
"Hello? Mom? Dad? I'm home!" Alison cried out, annoyed with her parents. "Hello? Anybody here?" The lights were off, which should have been the first sign that everything wasn't as it seemed, but Alison didn't care.
She marched up all thirty of the hand carved oak steps until she reached the third bedroom on the right. It was marked as belonging to her parents only by a small note on the front, marked to housekeeping, unlike her and her sister's bedrooms, which had their names plastered over every surface available.
Alison stepped inside, screaming when she saw the scene that had awaited her. Scarlet was at every surface, making the cream inside of the room appear to be red. On the bed were the bodies of her parents. Before she could process anything more, she ran out of the room and into the hallway.
Throwing caution to the wind, Alison looked next door at her sister Grace's room. Opening the door a crack, Alison whispered "Gracie?" There was nobody there. She walked into the room, closing the door behind her. "Gracie? Are you here?" Alison heard a muffled groan from the closet. "Grace?"
Alison opened the door to the closet. There was blood. Lots and lots of blood that Alison knew, no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to erase from her memory. She started to cry, but hearing a slight noise on the stair case caused her to run under the bed.
She could hear footsteps on the squeaky floor in the hallway. This was it. This was her end. He walked into the room. Alison could see his black boots on the floor. Squeak, squeak, squeak went the floorboards. The boots stopped in front of her hiding spot. Alison could see his shadow bending down, as he lifted up the blanket that hung over the side. He saw her and grinned as she screamed.
"Help! Help me!" Alison's voice was dry, and her lips were cracked, but she could not give up hope that somebody might hear her. "Help me!" It was too much. She heard footsteps on the stairs and rolled over, knowing that, even if help was coming, it would be too late for her.