It wasn’t a hoax. Before that tweet, I had been eating breakfast cereal and mindlessly staring into the kitchen. There was a shimmering light, and then I saw a human shape, dark as if in shadow. I hollered, asking who the person was. When I received no response, I got scared. I ran and hid in a closet. Not wanting to make any noise, I tweeted instead of calling 911.
It didn’t take too long for it to find me. It pulled open the closet and yanked me out. It was a human form but it had no face, no clothes, no features. It was just black, black as shadow. It reached for me and I screamed as it put its hands into my head. Yes, into my head. The sensation was cold and it stung.
After that, I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember calling a cab and I don’t remember getting onto a train. And I don’t know why I am sitting in this house covered in blood, watching news stories about myself. I see a remote next to me and I attempt to change the channel. My hands smear blood on the remote. The channel doesn’t change. The television changed and another news story about me is on, but its from a different station.
“Stupid. It’s a recording,” I say to myself.
I stand up and look around the room. I’m in a living room with the blinds drawn. The only light is coming from the television and a tiny bit sneaking out from the sides of the curtains. I had just been sitting in a recliner. I know it is blood on my hands. There is enough light to see that. I can see an entrance hall and a mirror there. I walk over to the mirror and look at myself. It’s much brighter in here. I’m in a white dress, very ethereal. The dress has red blood all down the front. My hands and arms have blood on them and my face and hair also have blood in them.
“What did I do, sit in a bathtub of blood?”
There are stairs to the right of me and I walk up them. I hear the sound of a bathtub filling and I go to it. The bathtub hasn’t overflowed yet, but it’s close. The water coming from the tub is a light red. I take a second to prepare myself and walk into the bathroom. There is a woman in the tub. She’s dressed in white, too. But she’s dead. Clearly, very dead. Her eyes are vacant and the water is covering half of her face. I can see slashes all over her. Her dress is cut open at the stomach and blood is still gurgling out.
I turn and run out of that bathroom. I look at my bloody dress again. I touch my stomach. I’m not cut, I’m not bleeding. This must be someone else’s blood. The woman in the tub, maybe? If I run out of this house, I’ll be seen - and apparently, the world already hates me. Add to that murder. But if I stay, I’ll have to deal with the woman in the tub.
I go back to the living room and sit back in the recliner to think. The TV is still on and there is a new news story. “Has Kara created a trend of copycats?” a news anchor said. He then went on to say another girl had tweeted and then ran away.
I hear the bathtub water turn off. I had forgotten to turn it off, but who was there to turn it off?
“Christ on a cracker,” I mutter. I jump out of the recliner and head for the sliding glass door to the side of the living room. I open the blinds and escape into the garden. I figure I can jump over a back fence and make my way to somewhere safe without getting arrested on sight. I’m not prepared at all for what I see. Graves. Lots of little mounds of fresh dirt and makeshift crosses. Some of the crosses are made out of garden stakes, a few out of nails and screws, and one out of dried spaghetti of all things.
I hear the sliding glass door open and close and turn around and look. The girl from the TV. It’s the girl from the TV and she’s wearing the same white dress I am. I run to the tall, wooden fence and start to climb it. The girl yanks at my hair, my grip falters and splinters shoot up into my hands. I scream. It doesn’t stop her. She pulls me by my hair back into the house and into the kitchen. There are knives laid out on the counter.
She throws me to the ground and begins to slash at me. She doesn’t stab, just cuts me up. It hurts every time she does it until the endorphins kick in. I get weak and tired and stop feeling. When she slashes open my stomach, all I feel is the warmth of the blood as it seeps out onto my dress. She drops the knife then and heads over to the living room. I crawl out to the living room, leaving streaks of my blood on the linoleum floor.
She sits in the recliner and the shadow figure I encountered seems to crawl out of her. The TV is showing her story now. The copycat’s story. The shadow figure comes towards me. I’m about to pass out, I can feel it. I guess it is my turn for the bathtub. I just want to pass out before that shadow touches me. I’m already cold enough.