When I was younger In art class we were assigned to make flip books. I made multiple, although I mostly worked on only one, that had about 50 pages. I even worked on it out of school, it became like a hobbie if some sort.

What happened in the flip book was, a stick figure walked to the middle of the page, smiled and waved, then walked off of the page.

But like a normal kid, I lost interest in the flip book, so I tossed it under my bed, not giving it a second thought.

Two months later I was working  on cleaning my room, when I swept pieces of paper up from under my bed.

It was my flip book.

I gingerly held it, observing it closely. It didn't have a scratch, or any sign that it even aged, like it had never been touched. And there was a lot of dust underneath my bed.

I decided to look at the flip book, zooming through the pages. At first it was normal, where the stick figure walked to the middle of the page. But Instead of stopping and smiling and continuing off of the page, a new figure headed twords the stick one.

The new figure held something in its hands, a weapon of some sort.

It ran up to the middle one and hit it, making him fall to the floor. Then he continuously hit him, over and over again.

Something that I assumed was blood dropped from the victims mouth, then the killer started ripping off the person's limbs, one by one.

I watched in horror as he killed to man, then used his own blood to write on the flip book.

Your next.

This is when I burned the book.