SOUL

he'll never stop

Mary was running, her breath ragged, the air thick and suffocating. Darkness enveloped her, but she could hear a faint, terrified whisper—

"Help me..."

"somebody please help!"

The voice grew louder, desperate, and then she saw her: Jane Williams, standing in the middle of a dimly lit room, eyes wide with fear. Jane's hands were bound, her lips trembling as a shadow moved behind her, creeping closer. Mary tried to scream, to warn her, but no sound came out. The shadow lifted something—gleaming, sharp, and then—

Mary jolted awake, a scream tearing from her throat. She sat up in bed, her chest heaving, drenched in sweat. Her hands trembled as she reached for the lamp, flicking it on. The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow, but the terror clung to her. It wasn't just a nightmare. It felt real, too real.

She stumbled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, turning the faucet on and splashing cold water onto her face. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide, skin pale. Her entire body was still shaking, as if trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. But she knew, deep down, this wasn't just her mind playing tricks on her. She had seen Jane Williams, and somehow, she knew the horrific scene she'd witnessed had actually happened.

Mary gripped the edges of the sink, trying to steady herself, when she sensed something—someone—behind her. Slowly, she looked up into the mirror, and her breath caught. There, in the dim reflection, stood the ghost of Jane Williams, her expression blank, eyes hollow. Blood was slowly trickling down her neck, staining the collar of her shirt.

"Jane?" Mary whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Help me," Jane said, her voice distant, echoing in the small room. Mary's heart ached at the sight of her—so young, so lost.

"Who did this to you?" Mary asked, stepping closer to the ghostly figure.

Jane's eyes met hers, and for a moment, they were filled with sorrow. "I don't know him. We've never met."

Mary felt a pang of helplessness. "I'm so terribly sorry, Jane," she said softly. "I'm gonna do whatever I can to bring this person to justice."

Jane's form flickered like a TV screen losing signal. "You have to hurry," she said, her voice urgent. "He's already picked out another girl. He won't ever stop."

Mary's stomach twisted. "Please, before you go, give me something that will help," she pleaded, feeling time slipping away.

The ghost of Jane seemed to hesitate, her eyes clouded, as if searching for something. "The knife—it's hidden behind the warehouse, buried next to the rose bushes," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Mary nodded, her mind already racing, planning her next move. "Thank you," she said, her voice steady despite the fear thrumming in her veins.

Jane's form shimmered, then slowly began to fade, until there was nothing but the empty room and the soft hum of the faucet still running. Mary turned it off, the silence now deafening. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her mind was reeling.

She'd been through this before—spirits reaching out to her, guiding her to things the living could not see. And every time, it was a battle to get the police to listen. Most of them thought she was delusional, some crackpot trying to get attention, and she hated how their eyes would glaze over, dismissing her as soon as she mentioned the word ghost. But she wasn't going to let that stop her.

Mary moved back into her room, glancing around as if half-expecting to see Jane again. The room was empty, but she could still feel her presence, her quiet plea lingering in the air. She grabbed her phone and started typing a message to Detective Harris, someone she'd reached out to on a previous case, someone who, at the very least, hadn't laughed in her face.

'I have information about the Jane Williams murder, call me ASAP'

She hesitated for only a moment before hitting send. Then she began to dress, pulling on her boots and coat. She knew how this was going to go—they would question her, mock her, and yet, she would still be out there, looking for that knife. Because she couldn't just not do anything. There was another girl's life on the line, and if the spirit of Jane Williams was right, the clock was ticking.

Mary glanced at the empty space where Jane's ghost had stood. "I'll hurry," she whispered, as if Jane could still hear her. "I won't let him hurt anyone else."

She grabbed her keys and headed for the door, a fierce determination building inside her. She'd follow the clues, she'd find that knife, and she'd do whatever it took to stop a killer. Even if it meant facing the disbelief and ridicule all over again, she would not let Jane's plea be ignored.