The horrific string of events that occurred from 2003 to 2009 all began with the red pail that would soon be filled with blood. Marisa Kales carried this home on July 4th, 2003. Mari was bringing home seashells, which she would craft into a picture frame for her mother. This was common for Mari because she was always building things. Ever since she turned 9 this winter, she loved to build things. The cute, short girl, who always wore her hair in pigtails, was not the little girl who wished for dolls. She wished for nails and wood. For now, Mari thought, I will keep the shells hidden underneath my bed frame.

As she walked, she kicked the gray pebbles. They would land in the sewer drain with a plink. Mari continued this routine, veering to the right and left so her shoe would strike the stone just right. This became a game for Mari, seeing which pebble she could get to land with the biggest plink. While Mari shuffled to the left, she tripped over her own feet; the seashells spilt everywhere. Her knee hit the ground, skin skidding across the rough pavement. She felt for the knee, which was now just a layer of cold, wet flesh. Mari took her yellow bandana out of her pocket and tied it around her wound. She pushed up and started to collect the seashells. Her hand brushed the top of a seashell when she got a strange feeling. A feeling of cold breaths down her neck, filling inside of her. A feeling like someone was watching her. She turned around and met face to face with nothing but the cold air. The feeling immediately left. Just the wind, she thought. Mari continued to collect the shells, looking over her shoulder the whole time.

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Mari slid the bucket of shells under her bed. She did not want her mother to find them; the gift was supposed to be a surprise, after all. It was ten at night when Mari realised her wound was becoming infected. Curious, she wanted to see how bad it was; she took off the bandana. The wound was pus-filled and becoming yellow. A sharp sting on pain shot through her knee as her finger touched it. A small grunt escaped her lips before her hand could cover it. Mari knew that if her parents found out she was awake this late, her father would be furious.

Her father never let her out of the house during the darkest hours of the night. Mari, nor her mother, never quite understood why. Mari’s father feared the night, for he saw the tragic death of his neighbor, Claudia Newman. Claudia was stabbed, but not by any creature, She was stabbed in the stomach, then the eye. The girl

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screamed, but no one came. The figure grew larger and Claudia could smell its musty scent. It ran after her, just as it would do to Marisa eleven years later. The figure ran, making sounds of clinking shells. A shell-like dagger came out of this figure. The dagger slashed the girl’s flesh, then coiled deeper. The figure pulled the dagger back. Blood was covering the dagger, and the sound of ripping flesh started. The dagger plunged into her eye, twisting and turning all the way in. The screams came to an abrupt stop. The dagger slowly pulled out, glistening red in the moonlight. The only thing left by the hollow corpse were red smears, speckled with grains of sand. The figure

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she was drawing would go in the picture frame. Mari finished the drawing and was putting it in the frame. She noticed a bare spot on the corner of the frame. One more shell, she thought. Mari looked at the clock. It was eleven at night. It would only take five minutes to run to the beach and back. With this thought in mind, Mari slipped on her red Converse and shut the door softly behind her. She ran to the beach with the red pail in her hand. Mari heard the waves crashing into the shore and knew the beach was close. To Mari, the waves seemed awfully loud tonight. She soon felt the ground go soft, so she knelt and reached around for the shells. Her fingers felt a shell, and she threw it in her bucket. A chill passed over her, and she knew someone was there. Mari spun around and was once again greeted by the face of nothing. She turned back and started walking home. The chill did not leave this time, it went deeper into her skin. The chill got stronger. A figured grew behind Mari. She glanced back and screamed at the sight. Ten feet towered over her. It smelled of a strong must. All Mari could think of was the beach. It always smelled musty. It was running directly at her. Mari gained speed, but not enough.

A hard hand grabbed her shoulder. It jerked back, taking Mari along. Her head slammed the ground; a loud crack sounded as her skull split open, sending a ringing sensation through her body. For a short moment, Mari saw the figure in the moonlight. It was made of seashells. The figure hit her face, spilling sand in her mouth. It clinked like seashells and smelled of must. A small object appeared in the figure’s hand, a small dagger. The dagger slammed into Mari’s arm and slid the whole way down. Short, sharp screams escaped the small girl’s mouth. The dagger yanked out of her arm, then shot into her throat. The warm blood that was once in Mari’s mouth began to flood over on her hair. The figure put her bleeding head into the red pail. The red pail that Mari carried seashells in, only this morning. The dark figure walked away into the darkness, a trail of sand forming behind.