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When I was a child, I would always love and be addicted to a certain thing. A certain item. Each only lasted about a month at a time though. In the month of January, and the year of 2007, when I was six years old, I went to a shoe store with my mom. I was so very excited. My family didn't have a lot of money, so my shoes were around two years old, and boy were they worn out. That still was not the reason I was happy. I wanted the box. The shoe box. I saw one in my mom's closet, and it looked so special. I felt pulled towards it, like it was a magnet. I didn't like the color of it though. I wanted one for my own. When we arrived at the store, I saw one that really caught my eyes. It was red, which is my favorite color, and really shiny. I quickly grabbed it and said, "I want this one!" My mom then said, "but... you haven't even looked at them." I again said, "I want this one!" She just said "fine", and I got them.
When I got home I opened the box. The shoes were purple, and had laces, which I hate. I didn't care at all. I was happy to have the shoe box. It was so special. I just sat there and stared at it. I could tell my mom was worried about me. After about a week, I had taken that box everywhere with me. I never did anything but look at it. It was like my new best friend.
About two weeks after I got the box, when I was sleeping with it (yes, I sleep with the box), something happened to the shoe box when I was sleeping. The next morning it was gone. I went to wake up my mom and ask her what happened. She said to me, "Listen, I have the box in my closet, but I think it's bad for you that you take it everywhere. I think we should throw it out." I could understand her, and I could also understand how unhealthy it was for me, so I threw it out.
The next morning I woke up to my mother's lifeless body at the foot of my bed, with a knife going right through her neck. I instantly passed out. When I woke up her body was gone, and a note was left. The note said, "Why did you throw me out? Why? Why would you do such a thing? We all make mistakes. You made one. A big one..." I knew this had to be a joke, a prank, or maybe a nightmare.
I ran to find my dad, who I found dead. He had a bullet hole right through the side of his head. I found another note on his body that read, "This is no joke..." I screamed and quickly called the cops. Someone answered and when they talked all I could hear was static. Then screams. Then laughing. I quickly hung up. I ran out of my house and went to my neighbors.
They quickly called the police, and they came over. When they got to my house, they searched it, and found nothing. The bodies were gone, and so were the notes. Actually, so was the house. It completely burned down. There was only one item that survived the fire. It was a family picture. It was my mom, my dad, and me. It was taken the day I was born. And what was I holding? The shoe box.