Ghost Busted

Nightmare

You can call me an idiot. You can think that I was completely oblivious not to see the immediate threats that were imposed upon me on my fateful day. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. But I did not, and here I am, trying to write my story for some stranger to pick up, hoping maybe just maybe they'll believe me, although if I was in their position, I wouldn't believe myself.

The last thing I remember before my death was saying goodnight to Dad, looking at my phone for a minute,  and then I must have fallen asleep almost right away. I never woke up, or that's what I thought. To be honest, I don't remember dying. On the other hand, I do clearly remember a vivid nightmare, the worst I ever had. I might go as far as calling it a night terror, not a nightmare. I wasn't usually the type to have bad dreams, but I have had several for sure. But this one, was like no other, this was a vision twenty times more frightening than classic horror movies I remember watching at 3 AM. Now I begin to wonder, was it a dream at all? Could that have been my actual death? But then, why don't I remember feeling any pain? Those last moments of my life would have been excruciatingly painful, you would think. Unfortunately, I didn't just die peacefully in my sleep. As it turns out, I was murdered.

No, I don't know who did it yet, neither do I know why they would kill me. But I'll get to that later. In my nightmare, I can remember hearing screams of terror, I can remember seeing myself, covered in blood, looking as if I had slashed my own throat. I never thought about suicide, though I had at times thought I was a disappointment, failure, slacker, piece of trash, etc. But I never for once thought of physically harming anyone. Well, anyone but Oliver Jackson. It was so unexpected, to see me covered in blood like that, and I remember staring at my bloody reflection in the mirror, then realizing there was a mad man, not laughing, but just smirking behind me. His face was the creepiest thing I had ever seen in my life if I wasn't already in the afterlife. All I could see was his expression, the features of his face were covered by shadow.

All a sudden I was laying down, looking up at a shiny white knife being held above my head, watching in slow motion as it came closer to my body, not being able to scream. I remember feeling suffocated, as I heard horrific screams echoing around me. Today I wonder, could those have been mine? Still, I felt no pain. Next thing I know I saw myself, standing in front of my bed, moonlight pouring in from the window, my throat had been cut, and I was covered in bloody wounds, the bedsheets were stained red. But I was standing! I took a few steps forward, and before I knew it I was stumbling out the bedroom door, and down the stairs, a trail of my own blood following behind, blood gushing from my neck, extremely bloodshot eyes, and skin remarkably pale, especially for me, as my skin tended to be a bit paler than usual on any given day. I was so pale, you could say I was paperwhite, and I was a paper covered in crimson ink. 

The bloody, satanic image of myself had been about a foot away from the front door, already reaching slowly towards the handle, when I was taken back into time, to only a couple hours or so ago, I was no longer the bloody demon, I was looking myself in the mirror, just for a moment, after putting on sleep clothes and brushing my teeth. I went downstairs where Mom and Dad were telling Bethany to stay in bed, I was right in front of them, and they didn't seem to notice I was there. "Dad?" I asked he didn't seem to notice at all. "Mom?" Mom didn't hear me either, I was speaking clearly, but just in case I raised my voice, "Mom?" How weird that was, maybe they were just trying to play a trick on me, maybe they heard me the whole time, "Bethany?" I asked, hoping she of all people would respond, or at least acknowledge somehow that she could hear, but she didn't notice either. At last, I screeched, "MOM?!DAD?! BETHANY?! MOM?! I'M RIGHT HERE! DO YOU EVEN HEAR ME?!" Mom and Dad accompanied Bethany to her room, without showing the slightest acknowledgment to my cries for attention, and on the way up I could hear Dad whisper, "Goodnight Bella," "Goodnight Dad." I echoed. 

Then it hit me, I must have been dreaming. "See this is just a dream. You're asleep and everything should be just fine. This is only a nightmare, a terrible nightmare. But you'll wake up, and in the morning you'll look in the mirror again to see yourself clean, not covered in blood and gore. You will say good morning to the family, and each of them will respond. It's ok Bella, gosh, don't be so dramatic." That is what I told myself. That is what I had thought. But I didn't wake up in the morning, because by then, I had been viciously butchered, a victim of homicide. 

Just that moment, I zoned out, until I heard a blood-curdling scream, which was suddenly muffled, and it sounded familiar as if I was screaming. I heard the quick pitter-patter of footsteps, the sprinting steps of my murderer fleeing the scene. By the time my parents ran into my bedroom to see what was going on, they both let out a cry of horror. I rushed upstairs, to see my bleeding body, in bed, struggling to hold on to my last seconds of life, suffocating, searching for air, as giant crimson puddles formed around me, as I lay there dying. 

Upon witnessing my own gruesome death, I shrieked and bawled uncontrollably. Although I had previously reaffirmed that this was all an illusion and this miserable night would end, as I stood there, over my own dead body, it just seemed all too real. I still refused to believe it, but by the next morning, I had accepted the truth. I was killed that night. My Dad frantically called 911, and my mother cried for the killer to show themselves, but they had made a clean getaway. 

My sister could not stop crying that morning and hasn't gone to school since that night. My parents are both miserable and enraged, but until the police have made a further investigation, they're not sure what to do. My assassin has not yet received the revenge they deserve. But trust me, I will find them, and when I do, I will definitely make sure they get it.