Wanna Play?

I was never the type of person who believed in ghosts, or anything paranormal for that matter. An incident such as this would have been easy for me to dismiss, had it not come at such a significant time. About five months ago, my uncle Robert was stabbed to death by his supposedly loving wife. It was a shock to my whole family when she pleaded guilty, and was sent to a maximum security prison. Their 8 year old daughter, Abigail, was sent to live with us. My cousin was always such a quiet girl, so the first night she moved in was kind of awkward. In fact, I don't remember her sleeping at all that night. The next night, she suggested that I watch a video with her, an old movie that was always a favorite of hers. I know because I was there when her father gave it to her when she was younger. I set it up and sat down next to her. It was pretty normal until we were 20 minutes into the film. For some reason, the movie began to fast forward, and there was an odd, muted sound in the background. Instinctively, I rewinded the tape so we could actually be able to watch the entire movie, but the same thing happened again. Abigail covered her blanket over her head and started crying hysterically. She started muttering about how this kept happening before. I didn't understand at the time, so I played the scene again with the volume on higher. A scratchy, male voice came on and said: "Hey girls. Wanna Play?" I started to shake uncontrollably because I knew whose voice it was, and I knew why Abigail was crying. Uncle Robert was not as good of a person many people thought he was. Abigail knew it. He had sexually molested her as she was growing up, I finally realized. His wife knew this. It was the reason she had killed him the night she found out. I knew this because he had done the same when he used to babysit me before he met his wife. When my parents finally heard Abigail's commotion, they burst into the room finding me crying silently on the couch and Abigail cowering in the corner, blanket over her head, scratching the paint off the wall. I tried to show them what we heard. I tried to tell them what happened so many years ago. But the scene would not play the same way it had before. And I cried. I cried because whenever uncle Robert asked if I "Wanna Play" he always did something horrible to me. I played the scene again when it was just Abigail and I. This time, he said something that frightens me even more:"One of these days, I'll make you play."