There are different types of punishments a parent can give a child.

There's the kind where you're sent to your room, times when you might get hit, times when you get grounded. You may be given extra chores or not allowed to talk on the phone. I'm sure you get the point.

My punishment for getting home around 9 p.m. was walking around the garden, guarding it against groundhogs—or whatever was lurking in the dark.

"If you like staying out late, then this is the perfect job for you, dear," Mr. Harmon had said when I got home.

I was just glad it was summer.

As I walked through the garden, the glow of the full moon illuminated the ground around me. I started thinking about the fun I'd had earlier with Violet. We had gotten along right away and talked for hours about games, horror movies, and even exchanged hide-and-seek tips.

I asked her to play in the dark, but she said no. Sadly, she didn't like playing in the dark.

"Not today. Come back tomorrow morning," she had said.

I was really looking forward to tomorrow.

But right now, I had to patrol the garden looking for groundhogs.

Mr. Harmon had made it very clear that if anything got destroyed or went missing, I would be watering the garden for three weeks straight.

Ha. Like I'd ever take Mrs. Harmon's job.

There were hundreds of flowers and plants, and I never understood how she managed to water them all in a single day. Too much bending down for me.

I didn't know how long I had been walking, but after about an hour, I was already tired. As I headed back toward the mansion, I heard something shatter.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked around, relieved to see no one. My heart was pounding so hard it was all I could hear. I turned toward the sound—and saw it.

A flowerpot had fallen over.

"Oh man," I muttered.

I'd be stuck watering plants for weeks after all.

I walked over, hoping it could be fixed easily, but when I got there, I saw it had shattered into large pieces. I stared at the clump of dirt and the orange flowers, now wilted and spilling over.

I know it sounds silly, but it almost felt like the flowers were mocking me. I looked around, searching for whatever had caused it.

No groundhogs.

No holes in the ground.

There never were any out here anyway. I would've noticed.

I started to think there weren't any groundhogs at all, and that Mr.Harfbarf Harmon just sent me out here for no reason.

I let out a small laugh.

"Harfbarf," I muttered to myself.

Just then, I looked down at the dirt beneath the flowerpot.

And I saw it.

I froze.

It's nothing, I told myself. I'm imagining things.

No.

I wasn't imagining it.

My breath caught in my throat.

My pulse spiked.

My heart pounded so loudly it actually hurt.

It wasn't groundhogs.

And I was definitely not alone.

In the dirt was a fresh handprint.

A large one.

I tried to rationalize it. There had to be a logical explanation for a handprint like that.

Then I heard it.

A crackling sound.

It was getting closer.

My eyes stayed locked on the ground, afraid of what I might see in the dark.

When you're alone at night, every sound feels different. You hear something, your chest tightens, and you become aware of your own breathing. Then it goes quiet—but you're still tense, still listening. And then you hear it again, closer this time.

You want to run.

But your mind tells you to look.

Just once.

So I slowly lifted my head.

I shouldn't have.

I should have run.

Right in front of me were two long legs.

At first, I expected a body above them. A stomach, arms, a face—something human.

But what stood there defied logic.

The air left my lungs.

It was a creature.

It had normal legs, but everything above them was wrong.

It had no eyes.

Its torso twisted unnaturally to the side, bent and warped as if broken.

Its head hung low, almost touching the ground, covered in long white hair and rough, decaying skin. A faint light glowed from its neck. One of its arms was missing.

It let out a slow moan.

As it moved, I heard the crackling of bones and decaying joints.

Its hair fell over its face, hiding whatever direction it was looking.

If it was looking at me at all. What's worse than being alone at night with something eyeless staring at you?

"This is almost as fun as watching you sleep," it said.

The voice sounded feminine—but distorted, layered, wrong. More than one voice speaking at once. Just like I had heard in my nightmare.

My legs felt like they were made of water. But I ran. I ran anyway from there as fast as I could.

Behind me, the creature followed, its body dragging and twisting as it screamed words I couldn't understand. It reached for me with its single hand, its voice shifting between languages I didn't recognize. A bright light pulsed from its mouth as it screamed.

I was so close to the mansion.

So close.

But something tripped me. I fell hard.

When I looked up, I saw Mr. Harmon standing over me.

Smiling.