The sound of laughter touches my ears. Innocent and childlike. I climbed out of bed with the intent of going to my eleven year old's room, but the laughter was coming from my daughter's room. I frowned opening the door.

"OH GOD!" I screamed. "Oh dear god!" Theresa, my little baby, was curled in a puddle of her own blood. Her eyes, so crystal blue, were open, her Barbie nightgown slashed through. "Baby," I breathed, I stretched a hand toward her small body, though I had no chance of reaching her.

The laughter continued, pounding on my ears. I turned. Logan. Logan on the floor. Logan curled in a ball rocking back and forth. Logan covered in blood, holding a knife.

"Logan," I said. His head snapped up, the maniacal laughter stopped. "Logan, what did you do?"

He looked at Theresa, and then met my eyes again. "It wasn't me, Mommy." He sounded Theresa's age. He sounded five.

'"Logan, what happened?"

"They made me do it," he whispered. "Honest Mommy, I didn't want too."

Tears dripped down his cheek, falling on the flat blade of the knife, marring the dark blood.

"Who made you do it Logan?" I needed the knife out of his hands. I needed to call the police. I needed to cry.

"The demons," his blue eyes were watery. "I tried to fight, but they're strong Mommy. So strong,"

"Can you put down the knife Logan?" Theresa wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. Oh my baby.

Logan glanced down at the weapon in his hands. He placed it beside him. I nodded, "Good boy," I rushed to Theresa's side. I touched her wrist, her neck, her chest. No heartbeat. I cried, my tears pouring onto her hand.

Footsteps, I turned looking. Logan was standing above me, knife clenched in his left hand.

"I thought we put the knife down," I met his eyes and gasped. They were pitch black. The whole eye.

"Sorry Mommy."

I drew in a sharp breath. That wasn't the voice of a boy. It was the voice of a man. "Put it down Logan, we don't need to hurt anyone else."

"Die Mommy." The man voice hissed. I screamed and tried to cover my head. No blow ever came.

I glanced up. Logan's eyes were now flashing: blue, black, blue, black.

"Love you Mommy," His own voice. His blue eyes. He raised the knife to his throat, crimson blood leaking forth.

"Logan!" I reached for him but he was already gone too. I held him and cried.

Then came a flash of laughter.

After there was nothing.

*Written for English class.