• I sat behind the dumpster, cold and scared. I heard the noises, heard her crying, his heavy breathing. I knew what he was doing to her, but refused to believe it. I couldn’t help her, I didn’t know how. When the night grew silent, I peaked around the dumpster; I saw the blood, saw her cloths shredded and scattered, and him standing over her. He looked my direction; quickly I turned hoping, begging he didn’t see me. I heard his footsteps as he walked away; I breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t see me. What had I just witnessed? Will I get involved in all of this? I hope not. He was gone, he wasn’t going to come back and hurt me. That’s all that mattered.

    For seven years that night had haunted me; even now I wake up screaming. They never found out who did it, but I knew that they wouldn’t give up the case. Abigail Borden was dead. Her family wanted justice. But they would never know that I was the only person who saw what he looked like. He stared into my dreams every night, telling me that I will be next. I knew I wouldn’t because he doesn’t know who I am.