She grew up in a small town not far from here. She was pretty, popular and everyone liked her. And she was murdered on the eve of her high school graduation.
She was a starter on the varsity softball team and was named Valedictorian. She’d been accepted into the college she’d always dreamed of going to. Her future was bright and unlimited. If only she’d had the chance to live it.
She was walking home late from practice the night before graduation, whispering her speech to herself. An elderly old man crossed her path, and she stopped to offer assistance. He asked if she would lead him to a spot in the middle of an open field. Slowly, the old man bent down and pulled open a trapdoor. “I’ve made a clubhouse for the neighborhood children, would you like to be the first to see it?”
Glancing over her shoulder at the setting sun, she replied, “I’m sorry, I have to be getting home.” The old man begged her, telling her it wouldn’t take that long. At last, she gave in and descended the ladder. Suddenly, with agility beyond his years, the old man jumped down afterwards.
“What do you think?” he asked her. The place was small and colorless with concrete walls and cold floors.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered, feeling anxious, “But I really have to go.”
She stood up and tried to climb the ladder, but he grabbed her waist and threw her back down yelling, “No! You have to stay!” Her head landed hard on the concrete, and she felt her skull erupt in pain. The last thing she saw before her world went eternally black was the old man’s gleeful smile as he pulled out a knife.
She grew up in a small town not far from here. She was pretty, popular and everyone liked her. And she was murdered on the eve of her high school graduation.