I hear a crunching and sense it on the hairs on the back of my neck, and I whirl around. What I see I've seen before, but it doesn't make the sight any less traumatizing. I stare wide-eyed at the little girl inside my house, staring at her torturing herself but feeling no pain (or, showing no signs of pain). Blood squirts everywhere, and oozes like melted cheese out of a sandwich--but this isn't as appetizing.

"E-Emma, what're you . . . " I can't finish, swallowing, hurting my now dry throat.

Emma smiles.