Chapter One.

My name is Ophelia Lake.

And, I died three days ago.

All was quiet.

I lay alone, in what seemed like an old, stuffy rundown shack. It was dark, with a putrid smell and the floorboards were cool to the touch. There were no windows, no way to escape. Outside, the shack was covered in overgrown weeds and brush, hidden away in a deep, dense part of a very large forest. It was the perfect hideaway. No one would ever find me here.

But, I didn't like being here…

I was slumped onto the floor, my bruised back arched up on the bottom rungs of an old, broken chair. Part of the chair's leg thoroughly penetrated the side of my abdomen; the wound had become pus-filled and crusty around the wood.

My head sat askew next to my festering body, detached from my shoulders. My once luscious, black hair was matted with crusted blood and decomposing tissue. It had become dry, dull, and lifeless… like the rest of me. The corners of my mouth had been ripped up and outward along the sides of my cheeks, my jaw laid hanging on the floor in a pool of entrails that seeped out from my neck.

My eyes were left wide open, staring off into the nothingness in front of me. They had long glazed over with a sticky mucous. No one was home anymore.

I wanted to go back home.

Red was everywhere... it was my least favorite color. All shades; deep, bright, and purplish. I felt that it looked absolutely horrendous on me, despite what I've always been told. I've avoided the color red for most of my life, but I couldn't this time.

My favorite color was coral pink; it was lively, bright, and always put me in the most desirable of moods. I was wearing my favorite coral pink tank top, adorned with white lacy frills around the neckline and straps… it laid ripped open, off my shoulders, and smothered with blood. It wasn't my favorite anymore.

I missed my mother, my father, and my dog. I missed my friends and the boy with the perfect smile. I wondered if they had all missed me, as much as I missed them. I wondered if they were looking for me.

I should have just gone straight home instead of being curious. I've always thought curiosity was something good, where you could have new experiences… but, I guess curiosity really did kill the cat.

The door of the stale shack swung open and a large, mysterious figure stood in the frame. He was someone that wasn't here to help me… It was him.

And, I knew he wasn't done playing.