Back

I'm Back. For what reason, I don't know. I was killed by someone close to me. But why am I back?

I burned all over.  I felt like those poor people in the 1700's who got torn limb-from-limb by wild horses, only worse.  I was dizzy, everything fading in and out of focus.  Yuki's crying form next to a tombstone, Nico kneeling at the end of the grave, clutching flowers with white knuckles.  Rachel and Melanie were trying to comfort their father.

It wasn't until only Yuki remained, the burning pink sun setting behind him, that I realized it was my grave.  I was dead.  I was seeing the world through dead eyes.  He got up and walked away, pulling his jacket tight around his shoulders.  I saw the moon above me.  Just yesterday, it was full, shining magically, and now, that was a lifetime ago.

Dirt tumbled away as I pushed on the lid of my coffin.  The stars burned holes through the dark blanket of the sky, casting an eerie light over the cemetery.  I hauled myself out of the grave on weak legs.  My skin was deathly pale.  Thankfully, I had been buried in what you would've found me in in life, jeans.  Experimentally, I pulled my shirt back, and sure enough, right there, in jagged pink line wrapping from the middle of my ribs on the right all the way back around, dipping all the way down at my left hip.  The tear was patched hastily with medical staples.

A raindrop landed on the raw skin.  I winced as rain started to pour heavier.  Letting my shirt fall back into place, I scrambled over to the grave next to mine, kicking up mud with my bare feet.  I stumbled and fell and came face-to-face with a name I had hoped never to see on a gravestone.  Taemin Lee. Loving Father and Husband. April 19, 1692-April 18, 1992. Died by Love's Cruel Fist.  I howled.  I couldn't find tears, but I screamed into the rain.  It was my job to protect him, and he was dead.  Dead by Love's Cruel Fist.  What in the world could that mean?

Not caring in the least bit about the mud, I clawed my way over to my gravestone.  It had a similar transcription:

Kristin Delilah Sohma

Dearly Loved Red-head

March 11, 1691-April 19, 1992

Killed by her own Best Friend.

Terror sliced through my gut.  I tried to remain calm.  A rational zombie is always better.  But the only thing I could think was Kyuu Kyuu Kyuu.  I was torn apart by the very person who had kept me alive in so many situations.

The rain was a solid sheet by now.  Icy droplets poured down my back, freezing on the grass around me.  I opened my mouth.  "Help," I whispered.  But it came out as a wheezy rasp, barely discernible as a word.  "Help," I said again.  Still nothing.  I put a hand on my throat.  Only cold, dead skin. 

At the gate of the graveyard, I realized I was walking on gravel.  I felt no pain.  As an experiment, I pulled my knife from my pocket. (Thanks to my wonderful husband for burying me with my trusty jacknife).  Putting the blade against the heel of my hand, I dragged in a diagonal line across my palm.  The white skin split open neatly, but no blood came.  I felt no pain.

With a pang, I put the knife away and stumbled down the road, rain pouring down my back.  The stars were covered now, with silvery-black clouds that seemed to press down on me with all the weight in the world.  I cried as I walked, steadily.  Eventually, I came to a big brick building with bright green flower shutters, and flower boxes full of happy yellow daffodils.  I crunched up the driveway and knocked softly.

A nervous-looking woman answered the door.  She had on a lavender robe over green plaid pajamas.  Her frizzy brown hair was pulled up into a messy knot.  She had wide brown eyes that darted back and forth.  "Can I help you?" She said pleasantly, not meeting my gaze.

"Um..." I started, suddenly remembering I couldn't speak.

"I'm sorry, You'll have to speak up."

I shook my head and rubbed my throat.

"Oh you can't?"

I smiled and shook my head again, sadly.

"Come in, dear."

The woman's face softened a bit as she ushered me inside.  The house was huge with long winding halls that had doors branching off to mysterious rooms.  I sat down at the table where the woman handed me a pad of paper, "My name is Bethany.  Please call me Beth."

I scribbled Kristin, at the top of the paper.

"What's wrong, Kristin, you're pale as death."

Laughing bitterly, I wrote out my whole story, starting with my awakening in my chicken-scratch doctor's handwriting.  Beth took the pad and read quickly, her eyes widening with each sentence.  When she had finished, she calmly set down the pad of paper and looked at me with eyes the color of coffee, "You're dead," she said.

Author's Note

The end seems a bit rushed, I know. But it's supposed to end abruptly, leaving you wondering :)