Supernatural monsters do not exist. Nothing hides under the bed or waits for you in the closet. There are no weird, clawed creatures trying to drown small children in the ocean. There is never a haunted house with furry little things expecting you.

Monsters like that? Those are not monsters. The monsters you speak of are fictional ideas originated from children's stories and camp fire tales.

The real monsters know you. They know every one of your strengths, weaknesses, and even your breaking point. And they make sure you suffer the most terrible pains imaginable. Monsters won't kill you. Monsters curse you by making you bear unforgettable, unspeakable memories and then let you live long enough to tell them.

And anyone with a personal monster knows that there's no escape.

-----

The crumpled letter lay on the desk pathetically, immediately drawing my attention. I was in my boring bedroom, hiding from the morning and my parents for as long as possible. The only reason I got out of my bed was because of the smell of freshly brewing coffee lightly tickling my nose and urging me to pay it a visit. But the letter on the desk sat there, for no reason at all. I carefully peeled the paper open and read the scribbled letters.

Dearest Charlie,
Today is the day our fun begins. Emma would tell you all about it, but it seems her ability to communicate has been stripped from her; Let's just say she came across an old friend who wasn't too happy.
Love,
Your favourite monster

I stared at the messy handwriting for a ridiculously long amount of time. Anyone who sent this had to be insane. I crumpled the letter up and trashed it. I had better things to think about than the creepy letters that not only threatened Emma, but gave even me the jitters. I couldn't dwell on that. I had plans today.

But as soon as I made it to the breakfast table, I knew I wouldn't be going anywhere.

My family stood around the table with grim faces. My older sister wiped a tear stealthily, obviously trying to hide her fear, and my mother was closing her eyes tightly, either praying or in deep thought. The only one who had it together was my dad. His hands clasped each other as they sat on the table, a bit fidgety, but nothing too extremely cry babyish. My father never cried. Only at funerals, and once at the Grand Canyon. And another time when he was seven years old and hit by a bus.

"Dad?" I asked uneasily. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Sure, that last question was obviously a stupid one to ask, but you never knew what was going on when it came to my mother and sister. After all, it could've been that time of the month again for both of them.

"Sit down, Charlotte," my dad gestured to a chair. I slid into it with reluctant anticipation. Something bad had happened, and it had to do with me. Great.

My mind traced to the letter I had received. Nausea crept into my stomach as I realized what was going on.

Tears burned in my eyes and I couldn't control them. I really wanted to punch myself in the face for revealing the fear that weighed on me.

Stop it, Charlotte. Your acting ridiculous.

I needed to be optimistic and think for the best. My pessimistic thoughts and emotions would crush me if I didnt have control over them.

"Its Emma, isn't it?" My eyes caught sight of Dad's and locked with his tightly, refusing to lose that contact, that one hope I needed to hold onto.

Dad sucked in a sharp breath, and for the first time in three years, ever since my grandfather had died, I watched a single tear roll down his cheek. "Yes."

One word. One word was all I needed to hear to know that my world was crashing down, escalating faster than the eye could see, and that I would never be the same again. One word started a game I wasn't ready for.

But I had to stay strong. Just long enough to know what he really wanted to tell me.

"What killed her?"

Why did I say 'what?' Maybe it was because I knew my messenger, my monster, was to blame. Maybe because, in my mind, only a supernatural, evil thing could take such a young life. I don't really know.

"She..." Dad was at a loss for words.

"A man came into her house and killed her," Mom blurted out quickly, cutting off my dad as he attempted to reply. "She didn't feel any pain. And nothing worse happened before. She went away peacefully. The man was caught and is in prison now. No need to worry."

Okay, that was a big fat lie. Obviously something about Emma's death was being left out. But whatever the truth was, if Mom was trying to soften the story up, then something really bad must've happened

Mom never acted as strange as she did now. Mom didn't talk about sad things. And she certainly never got straight to the point. I chose not to complain though. I would've, but the tears and sobs happened too soon.

I couldn't take it anymore. I ran to the first room with a door and locked myself in. There, I felt free to sit on the floor and scream. I don't know what overcame me. I had never felt so vulnerable, guilty, and attacked before in my life. My friend, the girl who had showed me what it was like to have unhealthy obsessions over TV shows and movies and gave me a sense of relief when my family was intolerable, the only person ever to make me feel like I belonged with them, was dead. She was killed.

And I was angry.

Funny thing about pain: for me, it always turned into anger. But now...? I was annoyed. I was furious and I was absolutely, without a doubt in my mind, enraged.

So I continued to scream. I screamed til every part of me was exhausted, until I was ready to drown. my parents knocked on the door furiously, begging me to let them in. But I couldn't stand. Not while knowing I was only going to fall.

Eventually, without knowing it, I had fallen asleep. When I awoke, it was evening.

I realized I had been in my father's office. The old place was covered in wooden furnishings and dust, and probably hadn't been used in months. Books were scattered all across the one desk. But what truly caught my eyes was the letter covered in words of black, and a big stain of red ink on the corner.

My hands grasped the paper gently as I read it. This wasn't the first time my eyes tasted the bitter words on the paper.

Charlotte,
I would roast you in person, but you have infuriated me. How dare you kiss Charles and then lie to my face about it? We're over. Have fun burning in hell.
Emma

My fingers caressed the red ink on the edge gently. Those words pierced like a knife every time I read them. My eyes trailed to the beautiful red as I sighed a heavy breath in an attempt to calm myself.

Then the sound of my hoarse scream tore through the silence of my home as the paper fell to the ground. The red ink stain on the paper...

I realized it was blood. My entire body shook uncontrollably. I couldn't live like this. I couldn't know what I knew. It was too much. My best friend... She didnt deserve this. No one did.

Suddenly, I saw another letter from the Monster sitting on the table, right underneath where Emma's letter had been.

Dearest Charlie,
It seems you are in a bit of a crisis. Ha. I hope you liked my little surprise. Because I have lots in store for you now. Meet me at that old abandoned house at, oh, let's say NOW o'clock. See you there!
Lots of love,
The only person (or monster) that's alive to love you

-----

The abandoned house the monster was talking about just so happened to be the closest thing reality could get to a haunted house. The place was an old Victorian-styled building with peeling dark grey paint and green weeds growing all around it. Grass stood waist high and the driveway was beginning to disappear under green and brown plants. The windows were cracked and shattered from age.

Outside of the house, a familiar face caught my attention. As soon as he saw me, he ducked behind a bush. I rolled my eyes and ran toward him.

"Charles!" I hissed. "Get out of the bush, you stupid, stupid person."

His head peeked up from the leaves. He eyed me and our surroundings suspiciously, leaped to his feet, and glared at me curiously with his stunning, emerald green eyes. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair, looking more frustrated than ever. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same question," my hand sassily landed on my hip as I gave him the death glare my mother used so often. "Are you that butt-head who's been sending me letters? Did you kill Emma?"

"I loved Emma!" He cried. "You know I wouldn't ever hurt her. And... Wait. You've been getting letters too?"

He reached inside his pocket and showed me a letter identical to my first one, straight down to the nickname.

"Why is it calling us Charlie?" I asked. "Is it taunting us?"

Charlie was the nickname Emma had given Charles and me. She thought it was funny since our names were so similar. A sense of nostalgia tugged at my heart. I was going to miss her.

Charles wiped a tear that was trickling down my cheek, frowning deeply at me.

"Look, I don't know what's happening, but that creature is inside that house waiting for us. Do you have any clue what's going on or who the monster may be?"

"None whatsoever," I answered. "Let's go in?"

"We have to do it eventually," he said. "But... How-- how are you? You know, with Emma--"

"Fine," I hissed. "Just because as of her time of death you were declared single, that doesn't mean I'm a suddenly available to you--"

"Sheesh!" He interrupted. "Shut up. I was just being nice!!"

"....I know."

"Let's go in now."

I hated the idea, yet I wanted to go in badly. The thing is, something was going to happen, and I was not exactly anticipating it. I don't like to know about the future before it happens. It makes me nervous.

We shuffled to the front door awkwardly.

And then there it was, taped to the front door. The third letter.

Dear Charlie,
Welcome to the fun zone! I have a surprise for you. Come in for the fun to begin-- and even better, the truth to be revealed!
From,
Your Dearest Monster

"Don't you fret, little Miss Stupid," Charles patted me on the cheek and then took the letter from me to see it for himself. "So, this monster guy is trying to spook us, huh? He's doing an awfully good job."

I gulped loudly and twisted the doorknob of the big, ugly front door. When we were inside, I felt much more terrified than before. The game was beginning and I was stupid enough to be in it. I shook my head and took Charles's hand. He squeezed it reassuringly as he observed the room skeptically.

"I've been here before. This is the living room," he gestured around us at the dingy room with a fireplace on right wall. "To our left, that's the dining room, and if you go further down there, the kitchen. To our right, I present to you the beautiful hallway in all its moldy carpet glory. And a closet."

"Cool."

I leaned one leg on the wood floor and cringed as it creaked loudly.

Then another creak sounded from the kitchen. Someone else was inside the house.

You're probably thinking, "Well, duh. A psychopath who calls himself the Monster is probably preparing the ancient refrigerator for the two corpses he's going to hide in there!"

You're probably also assuming we were going to run away. Here's the thing-- I was planning on running, but Charles had other plans, and I had to follow him since my hand was trapped inside of his.

"Come on," he insisted as he pulled me the opposite direction I was heading. "We need to kill the jerk who killed Emma."

"The guy who killed Emma is in jail!"

"No he isn't!" Charles hissed. "The cops didn't find a thing when they searched the crime scene. Didn't you read the paper? They could only find her arms, torso, and head. They're still searching for her legs."

We stopped in the kitchen and looked down. A rat who must've made the noise we heard earlier curled its body around a grotesque image I wished to be removed from my memory.

"Found them." I said blankly. "Those are her legs."

I pointed to the fowl smelling limbs lying on the floor.

Charles covered his mouth in horror, trying not to have a panic attack. "Oh, my god! Emma! Oh, god..."

I tilted my head at my dead best friend's bloody legs and tried not to cry. I couldn't believe all that had happened recently. But (yay!) it was happening.

"I loved her..." Charles said.

"If you loved her, why did you kiss me?" I bluntly asked him. "She wouldn't have died had you not kissed me."

"What do you mean?"

I gave him a look that said, 'duh! Isn't it obvious, you stupid, stupid idiot?' And then my emotions and the entire situation changed quickly into something much more.

My free hand reached into the messy tangles of his hair and pulled him down just short of a distance enough for our lips to meet. Our lips grazed each other, but that was as intimate as the moment became.

In a moment of anxiety, I held my breath until I almost fainted. He was more handsome than ever.

"Do you still love her?" I hissed. "More than you love me? Do you wish she was here, even when I'm this close, this much more alive for you. Charles, I'll do anything for us. Please say you love me."

I released his hair and looked as his piercing, green eyes.

Stumbling backward, he let go of my hand and stared at me in wonder. "Why does it matter? I like you, okay? But that kiss was a mistake. I loved her more. That's why I told her about our kiss. I didn't mean for her to freak out and blame the whole thing on you."

"But she did!" I shouted at him. "How dare you share that to her! I don't care how important she was to us! We had something and you threw it away!"

"I threw it away for something more," Charles grabbed my shoulders and shook them violently. "I loved her more."

Its funny how a moment so small and innocent can escalate into something huge and evil so quickly.

"You know what?" I walked to a cabinet in the kitchen and opened it. Inside, was a chainsaw ready for action. "I was planning on hiding Emma's murder weapons later, but I think I'll use it on you too!"

"What?" Charles stumbled a few feet away from me, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"The Monster said he'd reveal the truth!" I explained as I cranked the chainsaw into action. "Well, here it is: I'm the Monster."

Terrified, Charlie stumbled away from me. "You don't have to do this!" Charles cried. "Please!"

"You didn't have to choose Emma!" I raised my chainsaw and swung at him.

"Think about what you're doing!" Charles continued. "This is crazy!"

This is crazy.

"But isn't crazy fun?"

I ran toward him with the end of my weapon aiming at his stomach. He sidestepped, causing me to knock a chunk of wood off of the kitchen island.

This thing was too hard to carry. I needed something lightweight.

I dropped the chainsaw and reached into another kitchen drawer to pull out a machete.

Charles looked like his eyes were about to bulge out of his face.

"Hold still, handsome!"

He stumbled backward as I slashed the blade at his neck. I missed, but when he walked back, he tripped on his own feet and fell on the ground. I dropped my machete and pounced on him, trying to hold him down. It was hard to keep him on the ground since I was so lightweight and he was a muscular football jock.

"Get off of me!"

"Why don't you love me?"

"Because you're a freak!!"

I bent my head down and managed to graze his lips with my own. His body hesitantly relaxed underneath me as he realized I wasn't exactly thinking about killing him during this particular moment.

"You know, she's dead now," I shrugged. "I killed her for us. Its never too late to just give in. Kiss me."

He stopped to stare at me with wild eyes. He probably didn't see things the way I saw them. But that's okay. I'd help him see everything clearly.

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a syringe needle. He moved a bit, trying to escape my grasp again.

"Hush, hush," I said, gently stroking his cheek. "Its just air. It won't hurt."

"Please don't," Charles eyes welled up with tears as I forced the needle into his arm and squeezed the oxygen into his veins. His entire body relaxed as he let out his last breath.

"Now isn't that better?"

I stood up and stared at Charles happily.

"Charlie, get up." I said. "Get up."

I bent down to his level and tugged at his arm.

And then it suddenly occurred to me that the same thing had happened again. I had killed someone again.

"No! You're not dead! Get up, Charlie! I said, get up! Charles!"

My sobs became loud and pathetic. I couldn't believe it. I had killed him just like I had killed Emma. I was caught up in so much emotion, I didnt realize what I had done until the deed had been completed. My face buried into Charles's chest.

"Wake up!" I pounded my fist against him. "Please!"

I grabbed the syringe needle and threw it across the room. I couldn't believe I had used that on him. I loved him. I wrapped my arms around his dead corpse and wept.

-----

I had walked home that day. My parents were concerned for me, so they hired a therapist to ask me questions and do whatever else therapists do. She asked me about my friend, and my feelings, but I didn't like it very much.

As I told everything to her, I saw flashes of blue through the window. I had called he police right after my third incident. I couldn't handle myself anymore. I told them everything.

"You're not very good at your job, are you?" I asked my therapist, whose bleeding corpse was lying on the floor. A knife stuck out from her chest.

"You're supposed to make me feel better. You're supposed to make me good again. Why couldn't you just be better at your job?"

That's when the cops ran in and put handcuffs on me. I guess I knew that was going to happen eventually. I just wished someone could've put me in jail before I killed Charles.

So, I guess supernatural monsters do not exist. The real monsters, the worse monsters, hide inside of you, waiting to be unleashed. The problem is, though, we don't know they exist until the opportunity for them to strike exists. We don't know if we have control over our demons until we've gone through a trial that may end for better or worse.

In the midst of it all, we forget that we're not the only ones with struggles. But can we stand triumphant over our mistakes and hardships?

Let's hope to god you can. Because crap may be coming your way.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading my story! It means a lot!!! Please leave constructive criticism in the comments section below.