The little girl in the corner
The faded silhouette in the corner of the room fiddled with her fingers. All alone.
The wall she leaned against was covered in thick dust and soot. Ants and other insects inhabited the insides of the wall. A small movement was made. The little girl shifted her weight from her left leg to the right.
Darkness. Black. That was all she could see. Not because of the dim lighting. Because of her eyes. But, that only heightened her other senses.
A cold drift of air through the crack in the door was felt. She turned silently towards the newcomer. "Who's there?"
No answer.
She knew someone was there. The presence was felt. Someone standing on the same floor, breathing the same moldy air, having the same lonely surroundings was in the vicinity. Someone was there.
"Answer," she commanded. But her voice was hollow and lacked the air of authority. A soft footstep was heard.
"Answer," she commanded again. This time, it was louder but had lost its confidence. A creak in the broken floorboard. Another footstep.
A chill crept up her spine. Her hair stood on end. She felt scared.
"Answer!" she cried, now desperate. Tears threatened to fall. But, she would not show her weakness, her vulnerability to succumb to the obvious tension that filled the usually empty peaceful room.
In a flash, the tugging of her collar was the only thing felt. She cried. Suddenly, a slash of whipping pain cursed through her body. Sorrowful cries for help emitted from her mouth. A cloth was jammed unceremoniously into her mouth. The beatings continued as did the muffled wails. But soon, the latter faded slowly but gradually into nothingness. The last battle between life and death was fought. The last breath of life-saving air was taken. In that second, the girl's heart stopped and no sound was heard from the forgotten cottage except wicked cackles. She was dead... she was the victim of murder.