The girl awoke from a gruesome nightmare and smiled. She was not an average girl; she laughs instead of cries, and gets enthusiastic when people die. Having this nature, many people considered her evil.
Her name was Mary Annette. She lived in the town of Goth with her older brother who was simply known as the Kid. Her parents died in a car crash when she was two and her brother was in jail for shredding their neighbor into pieces. Mary Annette was alone and nobody gave notice. When she was only eight years old, she had seen every horror movie ever made to the present day. This being said, it’s understandable that she built up a sort of immunity to the macabre, and learned to embrace it. To love it. She loved it too much however, and soon grew to be twisted. She started to craft her own dolls and puppets. Not quite like the kind one would find in toy store, but more what one would find in a torture room. Her dolls were beautifully and deftly crafted out of wood, despite her youth. Every doll however, had one characteristic that made it... wounded. Some were missing eyes. Some had holes carved into their chest. Some of them had mouths sliced back to their ears. She would make the dolls exactly the same in the beginning, but then torture them. Sometimes she laughed at these dolls. Sometimes she broke into hysterics stabbing them with her carving knife, gouging the serrated blade into their wooden flesh. Being so alone, Mary Annette’s dolls were all she could talk to, but she only talked to them when they were being tortured. She would say things like, “Close your eyes and embrace death.” “Want to see time stand still?” “Ever wonder what it’s like on the other side?” Pretty soon, she herself came tot these realizations. What was it like after you were dead? Was it eternal bliss? Eternal damnation? Or just darkness? She wanted to know what she was doing to her dolls; her puppets; what they felt. She wandered down to her basement. Her brother had renovated it into a woodshop before going to jail. She climbed up on top of a stool, and picked up her carving knife and slowly discarded the sheathe. She put the knife halfway in her mouth, and pushed sideways, the knife moving backwards and up- extending her mouth towards her ears. She began to have a hard time with the opposite side of her mouth, trying not to smirk and make a false cut down her neck. She let her blood drain from her mouth as well as a small stream of black bile. When she finished warping her mouth, she clasped the knife in between her teeth. She took her fathers fishing wire off the shelf and tied three strings to three hooks screwed into the ceiling. She then tied two around her wrists, and with the third line dangling from the ceiling, she managed to tie a noose and slip it haphazardly over her neck. Since it was lopsided, it would take longer for her to die. This would give her just enough time. Kicking over the stool she was on, she ripped the knife from her mouth and carved a hole around her heart. She never found out if she cut it out.
Mary Annette, age eight, died that night; a marionette suspended by strings, who finally made time stand still.