My name is Lena. I am thirteen. When I was eleven, we lived in a small town in Ohio. One afternoon during art class, my friend pointed to a dark mark on my arm. I had not noticed it before. She said it looked just like fingers. I placed my own hand over it, and the shape matched perfectly. But I knew I had not grabbed my own arm that way. I felt a cold fear.
The following evening, I was alone in the house. I was sure I heard my older brother call my name from the kitchen. I shouted back, but no one answered. I called out again and walked into the room. It was completely empty. My brother was actually at a friend’s house down the street.
Then, from the dark hallway, a low and rough voice I did not know said my name. It did not sound human. I did not wait. I ran out the front door and did not look back.
Another day, I saw a pale leg step out from behind a door. It moved quickly toward my brother’s room. My breath caught in my throat. I could not make a sound. I just turned and fled.
We moved to my aunt’s apartment in a different city after that. I have not seen or heard anything strange since.