There was once a guy living in our neighborhood named Jimmy, he got picked on a lot for being a confident and funny guy, his mouth tended to get him into a lot of trouble and he seldom learned his lesson. He was just very content with who he was and refused to change it. When people asked him why he let them wail on him for his blunt comedy and wisecracks, he’d smirk and say, “Honesty is the best policy, at least they’re not hiding anything from me and neither am I from them.”

One of the kids he indadvertedly pis*ed off with a rather crude MILF joke was something of a psychopath with a sadistic streak who didn’t take kindly to the insult. So he rounded up the other guys who didn’t like Jimmy and they cornered him after school in the science room.

“Your mouth got you into this… I want you to remember that.” Brett, the ringleader, told him as he looked into Jimmy’s terrified eyes.

They grabbed some formic acid stored in the lab and threw it in his face. They stood around watching him scream in agony as it ate through his flesh before sniggering and running out, pretending to be concerned and wanting help for him.

When the paramedics arrived and were attending to Jimmy (who was no longer able to scream), the principal asked the boys if they knew what happened. Their leader Brett explained they were walking past when they saw Jimmy skulking around the lab room, by the time they got in there, he was already in that state. The other members joined in and backed Brett up with other fake details as Jimmy tried to protest in silent agony. The principal nodded and told them he would speak to them after he had a word with Jimmy and gotten his side of the story after he was out of hospital.

A few days passed and Jimmy was kept in ICU with bandages on his face, the doctors salvaging what little they could of his face, his vision still intact in one eye and his jaw withstanding despite the loss of flesh. He was still unable to speak and refused to respond to anyone. He just sat there, eyes unblinking & staring at the ceiling, bloodshot and filled with animosity. When he was discharged sometime later, he would not respond to anyone with anything other than the word “LIARS.” His social life gone, unable to smile or even crack a joke anymore, he secluded himself in his room and began planning. Sick vindictive thoughts started appearing in his mind, he would get them all one by one, decimate them, slice them, burn them. He waited patiently until the the group would be vulnerable, late at night when they said their goodbyes and went home separately. That’s when he would strike.

-

That weekend, Brett received a package in the mail. Curiously, he opened it to find a VHS tape with the words “For You” etched crudely onto the front. He put it in and played it.

It was a crudely recorded home video by an unknown camera man who didn’t speak at all for the duration of the film. It began with the camera pointing at the date on a newspaper, it was yesterday. As he zoomed out, you could see it was in a basement, a single flickering lightbulb hanging above and casting an uncomfortable scene. By the time he’d completely zoomed out, it was apparent this was no normal video. In front of the cameraman & on his hands knees was one of Brett’s friends. He was naked, a dirty blindfold around his face and a crude gag in his mouth. He was covered in blood, horrific burns, lacerations and wounds. One particularly large one on his back stood out that almost looked like a word….

The cameraman, with gloved hands, took the gag out of the crying boy’s mouth and immediately he begged to go home.

“Please, PLEASE let me go man….I…I did what you wanted! Oh god…Jesse, Mike, Keith….you made me butcher them! I just wanna go home man….Please….I’m sorry guys….I’m so…so sorry….”

He just kept repeating it over and over, rocking back and forth as he did so.

Brett’s legs began to shake and he felt the bile rise in his stomach, he could see the burned, mangled bodies in the background. The bodies of his friends. All of them have markings on their body in deep, large cuts.

The cameraman reached out for the boy’s chin and lifted it up, encouraging him to stand. He did so obediently as he was slowly led to a door off screen, whimpering. Brett can see what’s been cut into his friend’s back now. It’s the word “LIAR”. The camera cuts out temporarily.

When it restarts again, they’re no longer inside. They’re instead out in the cold snow on the outskirts of the woods and it doesn’t appear to be the original man holding the camera anymore. It’s Brett’s friend. He’s whimpering and shivering as he holds the camera in one place for 30 seconds, pointing at some trees in the distance, hearing footsteps draw ever nearer.

“WHERE ARE YOU MAN? YOU SAID I COULD GO MAN! YOU SAID I COULD GO!”

The boy is screaming and crying, frightened out of his mind as the sound of crunching snow draws nearer from seemingly every angle.

It stops.

He turns around to see the mangled face of Jimmy, a horrifying howl blares through the speakers and the word “LIARS” appears before the tape abruptly stops.

Brett feels faint and darts to lock the front door, knowing what was coming. As he turns to run for it, he immediately hits something and falls backwards.

The last thing he ever hears is “LIARS” as acid runs down his face and begins to slowly eat away at his flesh.

The last thing he ever sees is Jimmy’s face, contorting into a sick, twisted smile.

I met Ethan Miller when we were both about 12. We were next-door neighbors, and I was out in my backyard playing soccer by myself, kicking the ball against the fence. It was then that I met Ethan. It took me a while to notice his little, glasses-framed face peering down at me from his bedroom window. When I spotted him, I waved. He waved back and opened his window to chat.

We talked about all sorts of things – interests, favorite foods, favorite video games. I asked Ethan if he wanted to come to my house and play soccer with me. He politely declined, telling me he suffered terribly from asthma – among other illnesses – and that his parents wouldn't let him leave the house or have anyone visit. He asked me if I had an Instagram account and said he'd add me on there.

I checked my Instagram later that night, accepted Ethan's friend request, and we started chatting. And from that day on, that's pretty much how our friendship went. I'd head off to school in the morning, finish up, come home, and get straight on Instagram to talk with Ethan. That was how it was for about five years.

Unfortunately, Ethan's illnesses got the better of him one day, and he grew very sick. The inevitable happened though. I hadn't spoken to Ethan on Instagram for a few days. I spent some time in my backyard too, waiting for him to open the window and let me know he was okay. He never did. Instead, his dad came to my house one evening and presented me with a small funeral invitation.

"He told us about how much you both had in common," his father said. "You were his only friend as far as we know."

The funeral was very touching. I did my best to hold back tears, but completely lost it when "Fields of Gold" by Sting played as they took Ethan's casket away. After the funeral, still dressed in my suit, I kicked around the same soccer ball I had when I first met Ethan and had a beer in the backyard. It felt strange knowing the room he used to talk to me from was now empty.

As sad as I felt, I knew he was in a better place, a place where his illnesses wouldn't bother him anymore. His death had come so suddenly though. The funeral just hadn't done it for me. Perhaps I needed some kind of closure, just to let me know that Ethan was truly gone and wasn't coming back. So that night, I logged onto Instagram again, opened up a chat with Ethan's account, and typed "Hello Ethan."

At this point, I realized how silly I was being, and promptly deleted the message before settling down in bed. I left the computer on, just in case any of my other friends sent me messages.

Then, something happened that sent a chill up my spine. The only light in the room was from the computer screen, and as I peered across the room at Ethan's still-open chat window, I saw the words "Ethan is typing..."

Right now, I’m a freshman in high school. I guess I could be called the “weird” type. You know, the one who always sits alone, glaring at the more popular kids. I guess you could also say I have to put up with a lot of crap from them, since they aren’t exactly the “friendly” type.

The female leader of the group, Loraine teves, is the worst offender of them all. She thinks she’s SO great, with her perfect blonde curls on her head, and her skinny figure. And I’ll admit, I DO want to be like her. We were friends when we were younger, but that’s LONG since over. My only friend is named Mary, and we’ve been friends since grade school. We got into a big fight in 7th grade, but she told me she’ll never do anything to make me mad again.

“You really should stop obsessing over her.” Mary sighs, shaking her head.

I just wrinkle my nose in disgust. I hate Mary. She can be so annoying sometimes. Me and her are just alike, though I don’t want to be like her any more. I want to be like Loraine. Beautiful Loraine who can get all the cute boys she wants and have them at her disposal.

“I do NOT obsess over her,” I snap. “Why am I even your friend?”

She just rolls her eyes. “If you LIKE her so much, then go BE her FRIEND.”

“Fine.” I reply, grabbing my food and walking over to Lorain.

“loraine, can I sit with you?” I ask meekly.

“Oh, sure.” she answers with a smile. “Hey, we haven’t hung out in so long, maybe we could today?” loraine questions.

“That’d be great. How about my house at 6?” And after a few minutes of conversing and me giving her my address, the bell rings and we go back to class.

After school that day, I hurry back to my house. I giddily clean up the house a bit and make sure my parents are out of the house so me and Loraine have plenty of alone time together.

When Loraine arrives, we have a lot of fun watching TV and sharing laughs over the fun times we used to have. And everything is okay until she says she has to go. I insist that she stays longer, but she says she has cheerleading practice in the morning and has to leave.

She’s just at the door when I have a knife to her throat. Suddenly, it’s as if I’m in 7th grade again, and I’ve got a knife held to Mary’s throat. She begs me not to hurt her, almost in tears. I insist that she stays longer, but she says she really should leave, stating that she doesn’t know why I’m mad but that she’ll never do anything to make me mad again. So I tell her that now, I can be just like her now, and I let the blade slice a large gash in her neck.

I’m brought back to reality when I hear loraine's corpse hit the ground with a thud. I give out a sigh when I see my clothes are stained red now. But no matter, those are my old clothes. I carefully pull off Loraine's pretty blue dress, peel off my own clothes, and put the dress on. After a bit of hard work, I’ve got her scalp peeled off of her head and onto mine. I smile widely when I look in the mirror and see how beautiful I look.

“Honey, does your friend want to stay over for dinner?” I hear my mom yell from downstairs. My grin stays plastered on my face while I touch my beautiful hair. “No,” I yell back. “But I’ll be down in a minute!” I kneel down to Lorain's body and put my hand on her soft cheek. “Oh, Loraine,” I start.

“Now I can be just like you.”