Finding My Killer


I venomously laugh as I read my tombstone. My name is Scarlett Miranda Rose, and I know
one thing for sure.

I didn't fall out of that window.

I was pushed.

*Cover created by: SAISXO


4. Chapter 4

I was gazing out at the night sky from the window in the upstairs hallway of my house. The slight breeze from the outside air giving me goose bumps. I had just gotten home from one of my class mate's party. My parents and my twin sisters, Kaylee and Haylee, went out to eat at Chopstix, so I was all alone. Or so I thought.

I could hardly hear anything over the pounding in my head from the party. So I didn't hear when my killer walked towards me, blending in with the shadows.

Even if I couldn't hear him or her, I could still sense that someone was there, and that something was about to happen.

All of the hairs on my neck stood straight up. I should've seen it coming. But, unfortunately, I didn't.

I was just about to turn my head back, to look and see who was there, when hands push me forward, and I am falling out of my two story house. Falling out of a window, 12 feet high off the ground.

I know I am going to die, so I don't scream or freak out. As I hit the ground, I hear a crack, and I can feel my spirit being lifted out of my body. I stand next to my body, my neck bent at a very painful angle, my long red hair sprawled out around my face, my emerald green eyes wide open in shock--and fear.

I stand there for who knows how long, staring at my broken body. When I finally the headlights of my parents car, mom rushes out and runs to me. My dad already has 9-1-1 on the line. My sisters stand silently watching my mom, in denial, try to wake me up; by jerking my shoulders, slapping me, but I don't respond.

When the ambulances arrive, the paramedics rush over to me, check my pulse, and shake their head as they put a white sheet over me.

My mom went into shock, not moving or saying anything. My sisters both have tears streaming down their faces, and are holding each others hands so tightly, their knuckles turn white. My dad's knees hit the floor and he buries his head in his hands.

My family crumbled. Mom wouldn't talk for days--weeks. My sisters couldn't stop crying. Dad was in denial. But that was what happened on the night I was killed.



I open my eyes, and find myself in my old room. When ghosts sleep, we don't get dreams--Our memories replay over and over in our minds when we sleep.

I sleep in my old room. My mom hasn't been able to even look at my door without bursting into tears. My dad likes to go in my room and clean up, make my bed, dust my shelves, stuff like that. My sisters don't like to go in there. They say it 'creeps them out' and makes them sad. I don't blame them. It makes me sad to be home and see them so mournful.

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