Alone in the house, I look out the window and see an empty driveway. It’s a cloudy day, perfect for sweatpants. I open the windows to let in as much natural light as I can. I look out again, this time focusing on the front yard. I see our Halloween decorations. Foam headstones and fabric ghosts are barely intimidating in the daylight. But there’s something new, in the middle of the yard, centered with the front windows. A big leaf pile. My parents wouldn’t have raked the leaves before they left, and it wasn’t there yesterday. I figure that my brother did it with his friends. I decide to ignore it. It’s just a leaf pile. I just can’t explain why I get an eerie feeling when I think about it. I close my eyes and all I see is golden and red leaves. I open them again and move into the kitchem. I can’t help but notice the intense feeling of eyes boring into my back. Whipping around, I see nothing. But it catches my eye again-- red and gold leaves. Is it closer now? Something is different, but I can’t place my finger on it. I shake my head. I’ve never been scared easily. But now, I don’t like the unwelcome feeling of dread forming in the pit of my stomach. I see the leaf pile again and turn away quickly. I sit down on the couch and turn the volume up. I’m still uneasy. There’s got to be something about that stupid pile of leaves that makes me so freaked out. I stand up and look out the window again. Undoubtedly, there it is-- closer than last time. The leaves are fading now. I hurry to the front door and swing it open, walking towards it before I change my mind. I stand before it, looming over it. But I don’t feel any better. “There,” I say aloud. “It’s a leaf pile. Nothing more to it.” I turn away and walk back towards the house, still aprehensive. Before I reach the door, I turn around. There it is, right behind me. I had walked away from it, but I’m still right next to it. “There’s nothing more to it,” I say again, louder. Am I going crazy? I kick the leaf pile for good measure. Leaves turn to dust as they fly up into the air. My foot hits something hard and I coil back. What was that? I bend down, black dust swirling around me. I push through the leaves; they crumble in my hands. Soon I reach it-- soft to touch, hard underneath. I look down, blinking. I must be seeing things. Rotting skin lays limp around a human skull. I see hair, stiff and dry, a familiar golden blond. The eyes are open, a dark chocolate brown. The face is unforgettable, because I look at it every day. My eyes lock on the rotting corpse. The body is mine.