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Sleepover from Hell

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It was about a year ago, all alone in my room. I was pretty damn bored being home all alone so I invited my boyfriend over. The moon shone through my window, like a mocking flashlight. My boyfriend, Avery arrived and we started making out. About halfway through he pulled away, removing my hand from his black tousled hair, his blue eyes glistening like diamonds. The happiness melted off his face and turned to horror.

"Jessie, what happened to your face?" he cried, getting up and stumbling backwards.

"What do you mean?" I asked, a little hurt, touching my face self-consciously.

"Go to the mirror," he gasped, pointing across the room to my vanity. I got up self-consciously and moved to the mirror, afraid to look. I looked straight into the mirror... but saw nothing. My blonde hair was a bit of a mess and fell messily over my green eyes, but nothing out of the ordinary. I figured he was just a little tired so I turned back to him. His gasp was the loudest thing in my room.

"Avery!" I cried. "What is wrong with you?!"

He gulped audibly, "Your face got all scratched up. And it was bleeding! But... it's gone now." He seemed really shaken up. I opened my arms and he hugged me tight. I asked him if he could spend the night since I was home alone for a week (my family was on vacation) and he agreed. He left to go get his things but promised he'd be back soon. I figured he probably needed a break after hallucinating the scars on my face.

I figured I'd watch some TV while I waited for him to get back, so I went into the living room. What I found wasn't my sixty inch flat screen. It was Avery. Blood covered his body and a long kitchen knife was shoved through his chest. I felt my scream echo through the empty house and I stared at him in horror. For some reason, I turned my head to the television and saw my reflection. Scars and cuts and bruises littered my face and above my head written in red liquid was, "Why couldn't you see the cuts?"

I screamed until my neighbor ran in and called the police for Avery. At his funeral, I stood near the coffin (it was closed) and just as they lowered it to the ground I saw on the lid in red letters, "He saw the cuts, and we had to kill him, he might have told."

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