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My name is Alexa Marie Mosley and today is my 18th birthday. I should be spending it with my family in friends. For a week my friend Maya joked about how tonight she'd take me out to an adult "toy" store and buy me my first toy. I didn't want that, and God, now it won't happen.

Last night around 8 I was walking home from a party my friends from youth group threw for me. I took my usual rout home from the church. Across the back yard where the church held picnics and yard sales, through a gate hidden behind a row of tall evergreens, across the soccer field of St. Mary's School for Girls, through an alley between Hill's Used Books and Records and Schneider's Hardware, down the street all the way to the end where an old general store use to be that now houses two apartments, the one on the top belonging to my parents. From the start, the walk was creepy and dismal. The sky was dark with clouds and tiny droplets of rain fell. Despite that, the walk was normal until I got to the alley. It's usually home to about three to five hobos. Last night, however, there were none.

When I walked to the end of the alley, rather than being on the open street, I found myself in this room. I don't know how I got here or where it is. It's large with concrete walls and floors. No windows. There's an old wooden staircase leading up to a large metal door. I tried opening it but it was locked. I banged on it and screamed. I begged for someone to let me out. After about five minuets the door opened and I was face to face with a man in a black cloak. He stared at me for a while, making no sound, not even breathing. His face was snow white and wrinkled and his eyes, oh God, he had none, or if he did they were all black.

He stepped back, never taking his eyes off me and slammed the door shut. I just stood there. I was numb. I couldn't move, I couldn't blink, I could hardly breath. He said nothing as he stared at me yet he said so much. My frightened heart felt it. "Do not yell. Do not cry. Do not make a sound." And I didn't. I was too afraid.

I walked to a corner of the room where an antique brass bed was neatly made with old sage green sheets and a matching quilt that was stained with something. For all I know it could be blood, but for my own sanity I pretend it's anything else. Other than the bed, there's a toilet and sink and an old claw foot tub but nothing else.

It's a prison. A prison with a pretty antique tub and antique bed. A prison without bars. A prison with a perk. This computer is the perk. This morning when I awoke, the man in the black cloak had set it up. He didn't say anything, just hooked it up and left.

By now you're wondering, "If you have a computer, why don't you contact the authorities?"

I've tried. I've sent email after email. I tried calling 911 on Skype but they didn't believe me and said if I kept "playing this stupid game" they'd track me down and arrest me. Of course, I did keep playing that stupid game. At around 12 today I tried calling one more time. The officer I talked to tracked my call and said, "What kind of sick games are you playin' here, lady? The IP is showing you're in an abandoned lot out near the highway. I sent a couple of my guys out and you wasn't there. And we ain't never heard of no Alexa Marie Mosley. No one's reported her missin'."

I replied with, "Please, if you could just contact my parents, they'll tell you I didn't come home last night."

And the officer said, "We did. Ronald and Niki Mosley at 223 Barron St. Said they never had a daughter named Alexa. They don't even have any kids. The wife's infertile."

And with that I hung up.

It's now around 3:00 PM. I created this blog as proof that I, Alexa Marie Mosley exist. That I, Alexa Marie Mosley, was born on September 13th, 1992 to Mr. and Mrs. Ronald J. Mosley. That I, Alexa Marie Mosley am losing her mind. If the cops won't believe me then why do I think random people on the internet will? How do I know people will even read this?

If anyone does read this, please don't try to help. I don't believe there's anything anyone can do at the moment. The only help I need is for someone, even if it's just one person, to read this blog and realize that I am real. That Ronald and Niki are my parents, that I am missing.

That I'm trapped. God help me, I'm trapped.