Traveling for days at a time, my eyelids start to grow heavy, and I must pull alongside the road before the next town.  Every day I have been texting her and leaving messages, but nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I see hints of blazing red here and there, but nothing from my sister.  One night, I even swear that I see the soul eater laughing at me from the box of the truck, but then I stop along side the road to check, and she is gone.  Not even a bone or a pool of blood are left behind, so I am pretty sure it was just a figment of my imagination.  However, I hear her claws drag across the top of the cab many times while driving along the empty roads on the way to my sister’s. After five days, I finally reach my sister’s house and pull in the driveway.  Cautiously, I survey the area and notice several things.  One, her car is sitting next to the truck, and two all the lights are on but there is no movement in the house. 

Driving into town, I see a sign for White Cloud and remember that I have visited here once before a couple years back on my way to Charlevoix.  I don’t remember what I was going there for, but either way this town is so small that they have one gas station in town and a grocery store.  There is a Family Dollar and a Dollar General as you head on out, but that doesn’t really matter at this point.  What does, is that I saw in the news yesterday on channel 13, a man had been attacked by a strange woman here in this little town.  He figured she was either hopped up on meth or not in her right mind.  The thing that stuck out in my head was that he mentioned her blazing red hair and that it seemed like she had “black eyes that peered at him.”  In his exact words. Since my sister has died, not much seems to matter anymore except for the constant reminders that “she” keeps leaving me here and there as I get closer to the day that I end her. 

After leaving Philadelphia on a wild goose chase, I drive to the small town of New Hope ironically in the hopes of catching her in the act this time.  When I stop with my new car in the driveway of my parent’s old house, I hesitate before unlocking the door.  The last time I had been here was when I was 7 years old. Remembering ice skating in the backyard and breaking my arm, I wince at the thought of just how much it hurt and the whooping I got when my dad found out.  My dad had a temper not unlike mine and when he was mad you did not want to be found.  The problem is that I always had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and still to this day it haunts me and is evident when she plays her game. Opening the front door, I notice the cobwebs as the first thing that catches my eyes and then on the floor in front of me is something I didn’t expect here at all.  One of my old train sets from when I was small is laid out on the h

Sitting in my room, I stare out the window at the picturesque scene.  Between the beautiful Mount Mansfield, or the dense forests of Smuggler’s Notch State Park, this place is quite an eye full.  Everywhere I look, I see trees and a mountain scene to die for.  Maybe that is why she has come here so many times in the last 6 years.  I have researched this place over and over, but the last time she had been here before now was 4 years ago.  So why now?  I wonder as I sit here enjoying the serene mountain scape. Thing is, I don’t have a clue why she would be here.  It is a small town like the other ones, but it is booming and not quiet at all like the rest.  I have noticed one thing about her, she doesn’t like big cities usually. Not knowing why, I can only guess, but at this moment I am too busy relaxing and caring less honestly.  When I hear a knock at the door, I freeze in place.  Hoping that whoever it is will

“Beep” “Beep” “Beep” “Beep” I struggle to open my eyes and when I do, the sun’s glare from the snow hits them and I become temporarily blind.  Feeling for my phone so I can shut off the alarm, I feel the edge just before I hear it drop on the hard wood floor and pray that it hasn’t broken.  “Great.  Just my luck.” Opening my eyes, I see the old Ferris wheel and the old-fashioned carousel just outside my window over by the Old Orchard Beach Pier.  It’s winter in Old Orchard Beach, and nothing is open this time of year except for a handful of shops and small restaurants.  When I made a few phone calls last week on my way around the New England states, I found out that she was seen here within the last 2 weeks which means she may still be in the area. Remembering growing up and reading several of my favorite horror author’s novels, I recall that Maine was always a hot spot for the paranormal.  I don’t know if