I am half asleep in the state I'm in right now. I can hear a faint tapping on my window. "It's probably a bird," I murmur in my sleep. I jolt upwards and say aloud in a panicked whisper, "Birds don’t fly at night and there aren’t any bats around here."

My thoughts flash to the horror stories my friends and I read and the nerve-wracking killers in them. The most popular one amongst my friends and I that I've read involves killings by a most terrifying monster called White Razor. It's described to look like a man from afar, but up close he has a Glasglow grin, a  jagged and grotesque scar that goes from from his right eyebrow to the end of his left jaw, razor sharp blade-like claws for hands, and eerie yellow eyes. He dresses in white, to be better noticed by his victims, it is assumed in the story that he does this because he gains joy from the panicked expressions and pounding heartbeats.

Out of pure fear, I stand from my bed and creep over to my window. I peek outside and instantly stumble clumsily away, shaking my head in denial. A figure in white stands across the street, starring into my bedroom window with glowing yellow eyes and I catch a glimmer of light reflecting from one of it's hands. The white clothing, the razors for claws... It's all just like that story. Could that story really be true? If so, them I'm completely doomed! I can't let myself believe in such monsters and I refuse to believe it, I refuse to believe everything! I run to my closet and search out the shotgun that my daddy bought me some time ago so we could go hunting together. My eyes land on the chilling black metal and my hands follow suit. The gun is loaded with only five bullets and I haven’t learned how to load it yet so it seems that I only have five shots.
        I can't just stay here, waiting for my demise. I have to try and save myself. I snatch my pocket knife, yet another gift from my dad, from my bedside table and pocket it. I grip the shotgun with nervous hands and peek around every corner until I make it to my downstairs living room. All of the lights are off. I flip the light switch and nothing happens. My power was cut. SMASH! The monster smashed in two windows to my right and upon taking a glance at him, I see the descriptions were completely correct, but they did not mention his abnormally long limbs and stature. He's a good five times bigger than me. I try to run away but the glass is everywhere. I am not wearing shoes, so as I try to flee and hide my feet become slashed and bloodied. The numbness of shock and adrenaline has worn thin already and I am beginning to come back to my senses of pain again. Agony, paranoia, and escape are the main focuses of my hazy mind.

        Behind me, I hear the killer climbing through my window with a taunting laugh. I sprint down a flight of stairs to the basement and I slam the door shut and lock it, along with pushing anything I can find up against it. I wait in painful silence. One of the cement walls begins to crumble. A hole opens in the wall and inside the hole is the mutilated figured known by the alias White Razor.  Tears fall freely from my eyes and whines of fear pass my quivering lips. I'm not ready to die, especially not by the hands of a monster. I aim my gun at his face and pull back the trigger. It hits him in the forehead and he looks confused for a moment before reaching into his own flesh with his long razors and removes the bullet. The wound that he had depened now begins to stitch isteslf back together, leaving nothing of a gash and completely healed. A wicked smirk is displayed with his shark like teeth and sliced skin.
        I've shied away  so far that my back is touching the wall. With a twisted expression that would scare the most fearless men, he stalks closer. It seems as if this thing emanates a feeling of dread and sorrow with those unnatural eyes and and always smiling cheeks. In one last attempt for life, I take out my pocket knife and open it. Next, I jam it into the barrel of my shotgun and pull the trigger once more. The blade is shot from the gun and into my killer's neck. The White Razor remains unfazed as he pulls the knife from his throat. His smirk that's never left, widens, if at all possible. He grips my pocket knife and again he stalks closer. Standing less than a foot away, he takes my face in his claws. Some of my skin is broken, but I forget about that when he speaks, "Would you like to have a smile like mine?" My trembling becomes so much the I become dizzy and so my sobbing seems as if I’m screaming. He chuckles like an insane homicidal maniac, just as he is. He tightens his firm but light hold on my face before tightening his grip and slicing clean-cut stripes into my flesh. "Don't struggle," he warns before taking my own blade to one corner of my mouth. I scream in misery and anguish as my mouth is litterally cut open. "It hurts so much more when it's your own knife" White Razor laughs with an inhuman tone. The pain, it's indescribable as well as unbearable and it’s all I can think about. I don’t even remember to breathe and I cannot handle this type of torture any longer. "Please," I beg, "Just... just get it over with." He chuckles a second time and replies with, "As you wish."

This morning a teenage girl and her parents were found mutilated in their suburban home. Two windows of the home were shattered and it seems the girl, Lainey, at one point in the night ran across the glass, probably to run away. There are deep cuts that delve deep into the bottoms of her feet and the floor is blood-stained with glass scattered about. The married man and woman, Zachariah and Amy, were found with severed heads and missing organs, of which were not found at the scene. The daughter was found with the same missing organs and blood of an unregisterable other. The family of three shared similar wounds to the face, long and ragged cut cheeks in what is known as a Cheshire smile. We advise everyone to be very cautious of a man in white with florescent eyes and lock your doors at night.

Believe it or not, it doesn’t matter to me because I couldn’t care less, but I haven’t always been this grotesque, terrifying, and sadistic creature. I’ve been through multiple forms and in the beginning I was an ordinary man for the most part, without my scars and daunting yellow eyes. I came from a very wealthy family and was also the only child so when my parents passed, I was given all the money. I was also educated in the anotomy of humans and the animals that lived around me. Back in the time of my origin, it was fairly easy to get a body to experiment with. The plague was my bestfriend in these times because it is what granted me this leway. Sure, a few protested my experimentaion on their loved ones and I simply offered money and they went on with their day. And my life went on like that, furthering my knowledge on human anatomy and learning as much as one could about the genetics in this period. It was until I had met a woman with something of supernatural powers. Her power intrigued me because I’d never seen such things. This woman worked as a healer and I was infatuated with her abilities. I’d cut myself gravely just so I’d had an excuse to be healed.
After a while, though, I couldn’t handle my desire to rip through her flesh and find what exactly gave her these powers. One day she was treating my severe face wounds that I would keep for the rest of my life, and I pulled my dagger that was poisoned with snake venom out of my coat and plunged it into the middle of her back while she was facing away from me. In short, she died and I named my forever-smiling wound after her, I would forever refer to it as the Chealsea Smile. I had rummaged Chelsea’s corpse for the better of two weeks and it the smell was unbearable. I decided to pitch her in my well in my back lawn with the many others. She was the first human that had died by my hands, but I felt no guilt or remorse.

I visited Chealsea’s home and searched for anything that would solve my questions. Just as I was walking out, my eye catches the knife that I used to kill her lay on the floor, glowing a strange shade of yellow. I rubbed my eyes, thinking that they were deceieving me, but still the dagger shined. I became frightened and turned to the door, but was startled to find the very woman I’d killed with that blade standing in front of me. Only then, did I feel guilt, but it wasn’t because I felt bad for murdering her, it was because I knew I was doomed. I tried to move my body, but was unable to, there was something that I couldn’t see holding me in place. Chealsea had a very unnatural smirk with the ends of her mouth curled into a spiral like something you would see in a spooky bedtime book that you’d read to scare children into behaving. She lifted her hand and the dagger floated perfectly into her grip. Her eyes rolled back into her skull, the veins protruding from her sclera is all that is shown of her once beautiful, normal eyes. Chelsea’s lips move and her head jerks backwards, she stands on the tips of her toes with her back arched, looking almost as if her bones are breaking and her whispering of strange words becomes louder until it is almost a painful scream. My brain feels as if it’s being inflated and the pressure in my skull is overwhelming. My limbs feel as if they’re being stretched from their sockets and suddenly, Chelsea stops the screeching, her eyes roll forward, and she stands like a normal human should. A blank stare is all that I receive as she takes slow, short steps toward me. In an eerily calm and composed voice, Chelsea speaks, “You weren’t aware, but I felt every cut you made. What you just felt, is a minor portion of the pain you caused me.” She stops to walk behind me and place her index finder and second finger to my temple on either side, and she holds my head upright and straight forward. Chelsea begins to speak again, but this time it’s in the odd language that I’ve never heard again with the sickly sweet voice, something like a poison-laced berry, beautiful like the rest, but completely deadly. I begin to feel drowsy and my eyelids feel heavy. My consciousness leaves me and my thoughts flickered away until they leave completely.

I wake up as an eerie eyed, scary scarred, lanky lurker. Chelsea’s voice echos through my brain, even to this day. She screams for me to kill, and if I disobey, she brings my body pain. I don’t disobey.