“Daddy, tell me another story!” The child’s voice ringed with excitement, and sleepiness
“Okay honey, what of?” He asked, lovingly.
“Scary…I want it to be scary” She grinned
“Okay, here goes” He took a deep breath, as the story began.

Once upon a time, there was a happy couple, not a care in the world. Days upon days, they’d lie at home, and watch movies. Showering one another in kisses, and hugs, they were not married—but in a serious relationship.
Michael worked in a steel-mill factory, crafting and welding iron all day. While on the other side of town, Amber laid at home, relaxing and watching Michael’s daughter from a previous marriage. Her name was Ashlie, she resembled her father in many ways; she had the desired look in her eyes, and the swift, dark-brown hair. Amber had golden hair, and gleaming purple eyes, and light-tan skin, she didn’t have a desired look, but rather an ambitious one. At times she would act more childish than the child herself.
After months passed, amber fell ill. Morning sickness, and constant hunger, and within the next few days she was rushed to the hospital for her sickness and determined she was pregnant.
Michael had become more stressed than ever. He was afraid of what Ashlie thought, and how he could come up with the finances to handle another child. Months passed, and bills piled. He had to get two jobs, so they could move out of their apartment and into a house, but hopefully a home.
…
The overpowering sound of shrieks echoed through the walls, with lights flickering down the hall.
The yells and pleads for it to stop numbed the senses. Overpowering all thoughts and emotions, leaving everybody defenseless—Michael sat alone in the hall. Bags were engraved beneath his eyes, exhausted, scared and alone. He just sat, and then sat some more, Ambers taunting screams keeping his heart pounding. But when they stopped, so did his. Then they begun again, re-igniting his ability to breathe.
The doctor’s voice boomed through the room, enveloping the silence.
“We need a c-section! This child wants to come out its own way!”
The nurses stood in horror and awe, starring at the screens; it showed the child was ripping her apart from the inside. Prying its way out, it’s doll-sized hands and fingers digging into her muscles, ripping it apart piece by piece; vein by vein.
“I said ‘Now!’”
The doctor yelled at the nurses, who stood still.
One nurse jumped, grabbing the scalpel. He yanked it from her palm, like an alpha lion stealing prey from the young and restless. His eyes met Ambers, the horror in her eyes, and the silent question
‘Will I be okay?’
And his silent answer
‘No.’
The scalpel, pressing against the skin, breaking it—discolored liquid pouring like a fountain onto the creek of the hospital floor; she looked up at the bright lights on the ceiling as they all collided. Her eyes now closed.
…
“Wah! Wah!’
The child’s screams erupted, as one nurse wrapped it in a pink blanket.
“It’s a girl”
The doctor said, removing the mask from his face. He gestured it to Amber, who was now unconscious. Not a smile or a quiver. Nothing came from her but slow, quiet breaths.
The doctor sighed, and walked out—holding the new girl. Michael jumped in an instant; a smile swallowed his face as he saw the small child. He carefully walked towards the doctor and took the child. He asked to see Amber. The doctor remained silent.
Michael’s smile disappeared, his chest went still. The doctor placed the unnamed child in his hands, and walked away. Michael slowly started to walk after him, that walk turning into a jog which then turned into a sprint.
Michael looked in, staring at the series of blood splatters on the walls and floor. His eyes then were drawn to Amber, who lay dead and blue in the middle of the room.

“I’m so sorry…” The doctor said, just before closing the curtain.
“No...No!” Michael repeated, denying what has happened. He slammed his fist into the freshly painted walls. A giant crack emitted from his knuckles, he yelled profanities. He then looked in his right arm, to see the child laying there.
Her eyes belonged to Amber. Her smile belonged to Amber.
He then began to cry into the light-pink blanket.
…
Years passed just as quickly as the days. He named the child Arial.
Arial had shown rather violent and artistic traits. She would draw beautiful photos, but they always seemed ‘off’. She had grown very violent, mainly to her stepsister Ashlie. Hitting her, and attacking her, showing remarkable strength for her age.
She had been too many counselors and doctors, but none could determine a reason for these abnormal violent outbursts.

All doctors and counselors had suddenly dropped her. Refusing to see the child again—Michael saw this as a strange coincidence, but never saw any problem with it. Just another dropped doctor, is what he would say; thinking it as no big deal.
One day, he started going through her drawings. He never paid very much attention, and as he went through them he started to notice the strange colorings as if the back was the photo and the rest as blinding colors in every photo, he would notice a vague figure, which would appear smiling in the back-round. The man, stood very tall, and had no face, nothing but that one smile. In every photo, it was identical; every photo had the same man. But in different drawings, each had one letter.
One had an ‘S’, another ‘E’ and so on. It was a puzzle he did not get.
The next day, he asked her about the drawing
“What is this, Arial?” He asked, trying to act as if it wasn’t a big deal.
She looked at him, and did not say a word. After a moment of silence, she said
“I don’t know.”
He replied with
“What do you mean ‘I don’t know.’? Did you draw this?”
She sat quiet. He started to shake her repeating
“Who drew this?” Arial! Answer me! Who drew this?”
She looked up, un-wavered by the physical contact
And said “Joseph…Joseph drew it”

Michael stood quiet, who was this ‘Joseph’?
He walked out, quietly. He did not say another word. He started to mess with the drawing again, putting them in different orders. Making combinations—finally with no luck, he looked up on google,
“Joseph”
150,000,000 results, no help, at all; turning off the screen he sat, and he thought, and thought.
He suddenly felt a wisp of cold air, brush swiftly down his neck. And indistinct whispering, sneak into his ear and plant itself. He closed his eyes, and heard…
“Put the colors together…put the pieces in place…”
His mind shot up “A puzzle!”
He ran up, into his room. Arial sat calmly on his bed, swaying her feet causing the bed to creek.
Creek…
Creek…
Creek…
The sound got louder by the second, anger swelled up inside
“Stop!”
Creek
Creek
“I said stop!”
His hand whipped the side of her face. She looked up, no emotions showing on her blank face and got up. Walking out of the room, as if nothing had happened; Michael whispered things about her to himself. He got out the pictures, and slowly started to line them up. Word by words, it spelled out,
“She’s mine.”
He jumped back, after reading the few words. The stairs started to creek, as if someone was walking up. He tore the photos off each other, disassembling the words. The man in the background photos was gone. Michael’s heart-beat started to pound, cold-sweat trickling on his face. He heard the words
“He’s mine” come from the back, as Arial slashed a hammer across the back of his head. Michael was now dead. His body lay bloody along the floor, an indent in his skull, and the blow destroying part of his brain. Instant death—his blank stares focused up at the ceiling, staring at the ceiling lights, as they all started to collide together, Ashlie lay dead in the other room.
The faceless man, smiled. Wrapping his arms around Arial, and whispered in her ears
“And you are mine”
And picked her up, and disappeared back into the papers and drawings. The man now stood, holding a small child’s hand. Her face now gone, just a small, peering smile.

…
The father chuckled; his child grabbed the blanket and hid underneath. Quivering gently, she asked
“Is that a real story?”
He smiled, and replied chuckling
“No, baby girl, it’s not. Just a story daddy made up. Go to bed now.”
Kissing her forehead, he got up and exited the room. Closing the door he smiled and walked down the stairs. He stopped in his office, and started to dig through his old folders. Going through the Alphabetical bin, he quietly whispered,
“A…B…C…D…This is it, drawings.”
He began to smile, and poured all the papers onto his desk. Every photo had a single child— all faceless. Slowly, voices started to overwhelm the room, handprints in the shape of fists and open-hands landed on the wooden desk, and mirrors. The voices screamed
“Let me out! Help us! Help Us!”
The man then laughed, and looked into the mirror on his left. The faceless man stood in his place, with several children by his side. The large grin opened, as he laughed.
“You’re all mine”