In this world, there are many cursed items tied to the spirits of those who suffered. If you come into possession of one, the spirit will haunt you until you die...or until you pass it on to someone else.

But there's some good news. You can't just slip the item into someone's pocket. They have to accept it willingly. That's why people try to pass things off in the weirdest ways. Someone handing you a button along with their change? Don't accept it. It might be cursed. Be careful about gifts with "sentimental value." Avoid garage and yard sales like the plague. But whatever you do, if you do get a cursed item, don't be like some assholes and hand them over to little children!

You see, kids are great like that. If they're young enough, they trust everyone and everything. You hand a kid something, anything really, and they'll happily accept with a big grin. Best I can tell, that's what happened to me. You see, she's been around as long as I can remember. I call her Mrs. Noface.

Some of my earliest memories were looking up in my bed to see her hovering there. At the time, I didn't understand that people were supposed to have faces or what blood and gore were. I just knew that Mrs. Noface was always there for me and always would be.

My parents weren't around all that much. Well, my dad never was. As far as I can tell, he ran off before I was born, but my mom... Well, let's just say I'm sure my mom was doing her best. You see, she never wanted a kid, as she was quick to tell me at almost any opportunity, but at least she made sure I was fed, clothed, had a bed to sleep in, and even got a present every Christmas, so I was luckier than many.

When mom was at work late at night, I could watch TV, but whenever she had her guy friends over, I had to go to my room. When I was five, there wasn't much in my room. There were a couple picture books from my first few years, an old brass button I'd always had, and my new set of crayons from the most recent Christmas. That's how my mom first learned about Mrs. Noface. You see, I drew one of the first things any kids draw, a family picture.

It was a crude picture like you'd expect. Stick figures in clothes, with the only features being simplistically drawn faces. But where mom was in a nice dress, and I was in my pajamas, Mrs. Noface had on her bloody white gown, and where her face was supposed to be, I drew a black void with crimson around the edges where it looked like her face had been torn away.

I don't remember the exact conversation that followed when she saw the picture, but I do remember her asking about the picture and reacting rather strongly when I told her about Mrs. Noface.

Not long after that, I met the doctor. The doctor was one of my mom's guy friends, but she told him she'd "cut him a deal on the price if you talk to my kid about her weird-ass drawings."

The doctor never told me his name. He said officially he was never here, but he did like talking about my drawings and Mrs. Noface. He told my mom that at my age, having an imaginary friend was normal, and I probably just got her from something I saw on TV late at night but didn't understand.

However, my "imaginary friend" never went away. Eventually, I started going to school, and I learned very quickly that my mom wasn't the only one bothered by drawings of Mrs. Noface, so finally, I stopped drawing her or speaking with her in public. That seemed to be enough to appease the teachers, but most of the kids still avoided me. They called me weird and spooky. Maybe that's because I was obsessed with ghosts and monsters, or maybe it was because mysterious things happened around me. At least, according to them.

I still remember the time Rick hit me. I'd never really seen Mrs. Noface interact with anyone else, but she picked him up and tossed him a few feet away. He wasn't hurt, but he sure was scared, and so were the other kids who saw! I got put in detention for that one. Also, whenever people played tricks on me, it always seemed to backfire. There was the time Alex propped a bunch of dirty erasers above the door so they'd fall down on me when I walked through, only for Mrs. Noface to grab them before they fell and then throw them back at him one at a time.

As we got older, the pranks got crueler, but Mrs. Noface was always there to protect me. When kids threw stones, she'd throw them back. Cruel letters always seemed to find their way back to the students who wrote them. Everywhere I went, kids would whisper to each other, calling me "Witch" or "Monster." But I didn't mind all that much. I was used to being alone, with only Mrs. Noface to keep me company.

At some point, I figured out people found entities like Mrs. Noface scary. Not everyone thought horror movies were secretly comedies like I did, but I couldn't imagine monsters actually hurting people! After all, Mrs. Noface never actually hurt anyone, well, not seriously, anyway.

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As years passed, everyone got older, rocks stopped getting thrown, and people just started ignoring me. Slowly, Mrs. Noface seemed to appear to me less and less as well. By the time I graduated and got a job, I'd go days or weeks without seeing her around, though she still often showed up behind me in mirrors, which always made me smile.

By this point, I was starting to have a relatively normal life, at least by most people's standards. I worked a nine-to-five that I hated just little enough not to quit, got my own apartment, and even went on the occasional date, few of which ever went anywhere. I lost contact with my mom. I'm grateful she didn't just abandon me as a kid, but we'd never really been a family, and once I could take care of myself, there just wasn't a connection there. I remember swearing that if I ever had a kid, I wouldn't just let them go. We'd be a happy family, like the one I never had! Then, late one night, when I was walking home, everything changed.

It started when I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't think much about it at first. It wasn't common to run into other people walking around the neighborhood this time of night, but it wasn't unheard of either. But the footsteps kept getting closer and closer as if something was chasing me. I picked up my pace, but so did they. I broke into a run, and so did they. I was trying to think of if there was anywhere public and open this time of night when I rounded a corner and saw two monsters waiting for me.

One of them had a half-melted face; much of his skin was missing, and his left eye was hanging by a strand. Next to him stood a clown, but his face was distorted, his mouth was too big, his teeth were too long, and his eyes looked like they were bulging out of his head. I turned and tried to run across the street but got tackled from behind.

Looking up from the ground, I could see a werewolf crouching over me, laughing as it brandished...a knife? When he spoke, his mouth didn't move. "Hey, empty out your pockets right now! And I wouldn't scream if you know what's good for you!"

I nodded silently and dug through my pockets, dumping everything on the ground. My wallet, phone, even my pocket change. The wolfman scooped it all up, laughing and calling me a "good mark."

But then the wolfman froze. He lifted his knife up and started shouting. "Hey, you! Do you want to die? Get out of here, now!"

I didn't see who he was talking to, and based on the way the other two were looking around, they didn't either. Finally, the clown spoke up. "Hey man, you messing with us? Now's not the time. Let's just take the stuff and run!"

But the wolfman's hand started to shake, and his voice sounded afraid. "I'm warning you! Get the hell away from us, now, or else!"

Finally, the half-burned man reached up and tore off his Halloween mask, looking around before turning back to his accomplice. "Are you trippin'? There's no one there! Get your shit together, and let's go!"

By now, the wolfman had fallen back and was looking up, pointing a shaking knife at thin air as his voice reached a panicked pitch. "I'm warning you! Get away! Leave me alone!" He started swiping at the air, and that was when something odd happened. The wolfman's hand froze, then he raised it straight up. Then, after a moment, he started hovering as if being picked up by his hand. When his mask flew off, it was clear he was sobbing. "Please! Just let me go! Please!"

By now, his two friends were grabbing onto him as if trying to pull him down, but then they were both thrown bodily aside as if pushed by some invisible force, and he started screaming incoherently, as if in great pain. A moment later, his face was torn clean off, and he dropped to the ground, lifeless. The other two muggers ran away screaming.

I was about to run too, but there on the ground was all my stuff. Thinking that leaving my ID or phone sitting next to a crime scene like this was probably a mistake, I gathered it all up, pocketing it all, but then stopped when I saw something I hadn't thought much about in a long time.

There, among the loose change, was an old beat-up brass button. I'd had it for as long as I can remember and always thought of it as good luck. I reached down slowly and grabbed hold of it. As soon as it was in my hands, I could see Mrs. Noface hovering over the body of my would-be attacker.

Years have gone by since then. For a while, Mrs. Noface was a significant presence in my life again. I spoke with her daily and swore to myself I would never neglect her, and then I met my partner.

It wasn't a particularly noteworthy meeting. We worked together, and eventually, he asked me if I wanted to get coffee. Coffee became drinks, drinks became dinners, and before I knew it, we were going steady. At first, Mrs. Noface hovered around him constantly. I was almost afraid she'd attack him like the mugger. But over time, she slowly backed away, giving us more space. Eventually, she stopped showing up on our dates altogether.

After we got married, she slowly stopped hanging around again. Nowadays, I only see her in the mirrors behind me. But even when she's not around, I know she's watching and protecting me. I've realized that, in many ways, she was the mother I never really had. Aside from my husband and now my daughter, Isabell, she means more to me than anyone...which is why it's so hard to say goodbye.

I know she won't be gone, not really, but I'll never see her again. I'm fighting back tears as I write this. When I look into the blackness of the computer screen, I can see her there, hovering behind me. I wonder if she understands what I'm about to do? I wonder if it will make her happy or sad? I hope she understands how much she's meant to me and why I must do what I'm about to do. You see, during my pregnancy, I got sick, really sick, and I couldn't treat it because it would kill my precious Isabelle.

Now it's too late. I have to break that promise to myself about never abandoning my child. Even Mrs. Noface can't protect me this time. So all I can do is leave Isabel, my beloved daughter, the most precious gift I've ever been given: an old brass button.