He always loved how I looked in my school uniform, especially in summer. We had these cute little dresses for the summer months. Down to the knee, red and white checked with the school badge sewn onto the cardigans that slinked around our shoulders when the British weather decided to flip between sweet sunshine and summer rain, as it often did.
He would count down to the start of summer term like it was Christmas. A grown man, bubbling over with excitement at the thought of a little girl in her poly blend school dress. It's sick. I know that. I knew it at the time too, but I was trapped. I should have blocked him, or reported him, but I couldn't do that.
It all began so innocently. I thought he was my age, and a girl. We'd talk about movies and music. I thought that he was cool, because he was from America. Thirteen year olds are easily impressed, I guess.
A few months in, we agreed to switch on our webcams. My stomach was full of butterflies as I clicked on the webcam icon and fixed my hair one last time. As his webcam flickered to life, I recoiled, horrified and betrayed. He wasn't my age, he wasn't a girl. He was a gross old man.
I say old, but he was actually in his late twenties, so having grown to a similar age now, it doesn't feel too old, but to a teenage girl, it feels ancient.
We argued in hushed tones. I felt betrayed, lied to, manipulated, swirling in a cyclone of pain and embarrassment that I wasn't yet able to understand. He tried to talk me down, and when that didn't work, he threw his last ditch grenade in my direction. He told me that he was going to kill himself.
Drowning in his self loathing, sobbing and suicidal thoughts, I was captured and collapsed upon by a wave of guilt. It wasn't my fault, but he had a way of making me think that it was. I told him that I forgave him. I never really did, but I told him so all the same.
I needed to buy myself some time. I couldn't be responsible for a man's death, but I needed a way out.
I thought about telling my mum, my teachers, my grandparents, just anyone, but I didn't know how I could explain how I'd got into the situation or how it had all become such a mess. I didn't want to get into trouble. It's an irrational fear. I know that now as I look back, but thirteen year olds are easily frightened.
I'd been given hours of lectures from my mum about internet safety before she let me have my laptop in my room, and I should have listened.
I had a suicidal paedophile on my hands and no choice but to keep playing his game so that he wouldn't kill himself.
I wished more and more every day that I'd let him die.
He was my endless torture. I couldn't escape him. He held the tale of his tomb over me, and I wept, wondering when I would ever be free.
He became more demanding. He knew he had something over me and wasn't shy about using it. I despised him. My hatred grew with every conversation, and as he began his countdown to my summer dress in that last summer, I had never wanted anyone dead more in my entire life.
It became so normal. It's sick, I know, but appeasing my monster became a normal part of my day. I'd sit there, shyly avoiding the inquisitive eyes of my webcam, while he drooled over me. After a while, I became numb to it, while it was happening, but once it was over, I broke down.
When he was gone, I'd fall apart. Sitting in the shower for hours, begging my body to feel clean. Every time he told me that he loved me, I hated myself a little more. Every time he told me that he wanted to die, I silently echoed his wish.
I lost all hope of salvation, and then, at last, it came.
I had spent long, sleepless nights crying, praying, begging for a way out, and then, as if by magic or grand design, there she was.
After falling into a restless sleep, I was suddenly awake, staring at the slowly opening door as the clock struck three.
My eyes wandered to the window, watching a storm settle in. The wind wailed and the trees bowed low, as if they knew that something was coming.
I should have been afraid, but something about her soothed me. Her slender claws shone beneath the lonely moon, and I was transfixed.
Her long black dress danced in the shadows as she approached my bed. I thought she was an angel, looking up expectantly at her shoulders, waiting for wings to appear, uncharacteristically unmoved as the room began to fill with flames.
The warmth was so welcome, soft against my skin as we embraced. I was enveloped in the fire, and the safety of her arms. Her raven hair tumbled down her shoulders and my eyes fixated on the tall, seemingly endless crown that adorned the top of her head.
I'd never seen someone so beautiful. I was stunned. Speechless. I had so many questions, but could not summon the words. I cannot explain why, but I felt safe with her.
She smiled, introducing herself with a flourish. Lacey, Princess of Hell. I stared at her, awestruck and enthralled.
Heaven had heard my prayers, and deemed them forgettable, but the Princess of Hell had found me, and she was going to make everything right.
"I have been tormented by your tears." She whispered, her dark eyes filling with tears of her own as she gripped my hands with her claws.
My whole body was captured by comforting warmth. The dark and ancient power inside of her did not frighten me. It gave me hope, for the first time in a long time.
We talked long into the night, and as I watched her weep for my plight, I knew that at long last, my suffering was coming to an end. I could feel her strength, and it made me strong too.
I didn't know it at the time, but something dark had awoken inside of me too. I was reborn, recrafted in her image and given my freedom.
She taught me so much in one evening. It seemed to last for years but it was just a few hours. For those few hours, I forgot how small and helpless I had been, and I became a warrior.
As she parted, she pressed a small silver whistle into my hand, and though it sounds strange, as our eyes met one last time, with no explanation, I knew exactly what to do with it.
I decided that I would destroy him. It wasn't just for me, but for every child he had hurt, every child that he would hurt, and every child who might fall prey to scum like him.
The next day was a blur as I bubbled with excitement. Everything felt brand new, and beautiful, as I lived without fear for the first time in so long.
After what felt like days of waiting, the moment came.
It was 3AM, and my house was silent. I told him that we needed to talk, and after I promised that I'd wear my summer dress, he agreed.
As his webcam flickered to life, I saw him at his desk, a smug smile filling his face as strands of greasy hair fell across his face.
He tried to speak but all that escaped his lips was a gasp. To his surprise, I wasn't there. I had vanished right before his eyes, or so he thought. He couldn't see me, but I could see him. I crouched behind his couch, watching him at his desk, tapping the screen and calling out to me.
With a snap of my fingers, I was behind him, whispering the last words he would ever hear, before vanishing from thin air, and finding myself jumping on his bed with a gleeful giggle. I watched him whirling round the room, beginning to panic as he just missed me every time, seeing nothing but a flash in the darkness.
I played with him for a little, before appearing on his desk, drinking in the strange mix of fear and wonder that filled his eyes. He was stunned, his greedy, grubby hands grabbing at my legs, groaning in disappointment as I vanished again.
I had seen enough. He could not be saved, and so, I blew the whistle.
He turned to me, confused, before he crumpled. He fell from his chair, howling in pain as his skeleton snapped and shattered, singing a sweet song of slaughter as blood began to pour from his mouth like a river.
He couldn't reach up to me, too broken and butchered, but he stared, with such sadness in his eyes, and I felt free for the first time.
I travel the world with one purpose, ruthless and rigorous, I leave no stone unturned, and no predator alive. I fly through the room, in and out, quick as a flash, powerful beyond measure and pissed off.
With just one blow of my whistle, their body begins to crumble. Their bones breaking and splintering as I stand over their collapsing frames, consuming the confusion and fear as they try to understand what is happening to them.
The fun doesn't stop with death though. I enjoy killing them, of course I do, but as the last breath breaks free of their lungs and their life comes to an end, I get to watch them realise where they are going.
Another blow of the whistle, and suddenly, there are new guests.
The huntresses gather, and carry them away. I never see them again, but I know that they are suffering, far below, where nobody can save them.
I say that I never see them again, but Lacey lets me visit my monster sometimes. Is it evil that I enjoy it? Perhaps, but I don't care. The greatest joy in my life is knowing that he's dancing across hot coals, dressed in my little summer school dress for all of eternity. Never to be free of me, and never to be free of what he's done.
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