~*• Isabella Garcia-Shapiro •*~ “Mom, where are we going?” I ask. We drive up a road and past a spikey fence, and two girls with hockey sticks. They stare coldly at me. One wears fishnet stockings, a white shirt, a black and grey tie (undone), a magenta-and-black fingerless glove, a spiked neck choke, and a black skirt. The other wears something similar, except she has a chain on her skirt, eyeliner, and black and magenta hair. My mother waves, and one draws a hand across her neck, gives me a cruel smile and mouths “You're dead.” at me. I shiver with fear but try not to show it. “Well, Isa, we're here!” says my mom. We drive past a sign that says “St. Flynn's”, and underneath, it says “Please don't step on the grass”, but someone crossed out the word ‘grass’ and wrote ‘rats’. We pull up in