My mother was an important figure in my life. She was 100 percent evil; from her perfectly styled hair to freshly pedicured toes. She always chose black bail polish which I understood.

My mother was never a nice person. She constantly yelled and yapped, but for some reason, only when she had the furs on. When the fur was on, I was a terrible and troublesome child, when the fur was off; I was my mother’s prodigy, her pride and her joy.

This always baffled me until the Halloween of my junior year in high school. I was 16 and heading off to my first party. The leaves had turned paper-bag brown and fluttered towards my shoes. My mom told me to dress up like Cruella Daville since my friend, Cindy, was a Dalmation.

My mom’s favorite black, fur coat slid over my arms in a tight, snug way. I continued to put on the black fur until Cindy and my mom suddenly fell through the floor. I jolted towards the floor to see if I could retrieve them but the coat whipped me back upright.

I ran up to the mirror and started grabbing at it to give me an answer. I began to cry with frustration as I couldn’t even see myself in the mirror. Suddenly, my reflection focused and I was terrified.

Looking 7 feet tall, my hair, nails and eyes had turned black. My lips were blood red and big. I had figured it out now.I looked out the door to where I heard footsteps and awaited a figure to appear. It was my father.

“Leah, you look-“ My Dad stared me in the eyes and fell to his knees with only gasps escaping his throat. I did not even want to move or help, I was oddly happy he was suffering over there. A smile crept into my lips as I started to strut out of the room.

That Halloween, I saw what my mother did, and that Halloween I understood why no one would be happy there.