I know who killed me

November 23, 2011
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A girl lying on the road, bleeding. People screaming, squealing, clamorous as ever. Again. I sighed and woke up. “A 16-year-old girl lied dead on the road, cause of death unknown.” As usual, my nightmare came true. However, I didn’t care; it’s none of my business.

The telephone rang. It must be mum.

“Hello!” my mother asked, “Have you finished your lunch?”

“That’s why you phone me?” I always knew how to take care of myself.

“By the way, have you heard of the car accident today? That girl looks so horrible.”

“About that girl,” I went on, “she will be in a coma for a week, and will then have amnesia----- probably forgetting everything about her past, her memories…how miserable.” I said coldly.

“How do you know so much?”

Of course I knew. I was always a psychic dreamer. But how could I tell her this?


“Oh!” I woke up, gasping.

This was a weird dream, I saw a young girl sitting in a taxi muttering something which I couldn’t understand, and then, suddenly, a scar appeared on her neck and she was dead.

“Again,” I murmured with nonchalance. As long as I wasn’t involved, I didn’t mind what happened. People died everyday. How could I help? People couldn’t foresee their death, unless they were like me. They were so vulnerable.

If I were going to die, I could find ways to escape death after I foresaw the future. When I first discovered my dower, I thought I would be longevous. However, life was after all a tragedy.

“No! Never! Never!” I screamed, startled.

It was just a nightmare. It would not happen that way. How could it be? Nevertheless, my dreams were 100% accurate.

A knife was stabbed into a girl’s heart and she took one step backward. Then, she lied still on the cold marble floor.

The next scene was at a funeral. Mum was mourning beside the coffin, and inside, I saw…myself, pale and pallid.

It was so vivid that I almost thought I was already a corpse.

Who killed me?



My dear daughter got that cursed “gift” from me.


And she was so naive that she thought she could put the wool over my eyes, keeping back her secrets.

If she was a psychic dreamer, who did she think her instinct was inherited from?

I dreamt of her death and I dreamt of her obstinately cheating death. It’s useless. You knew we were doomed once we were born. It was not a talent, it’s a nightmare.

She was locking herself up in the room, thinking that she could outmanoeuvre death. I could say that she was quite successful, for ordinarily the death of a person I dreamt of would die almost instantly. The longest one would die within 7 days. Now, it had been 7 weeks since she and I dreamt of her death.

Yet she wouldn’t know that if one cheated death, one would have to pay back. How stupid she was.

The upholstery of the house was marvelous-----the plain white wall, desks, and chairs. Everywhere was in a pure white colour. I loved it. It was the colour of the mortuary. To me, death was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It represented purity.

I phoned her and she said that she was fine except having agoraphobia, whenever she heard the tumult from the crowd, she would tremble.

This was her punishment. She deserved it and I knew she was stepping nearer to death…

“I am back,” I said.

“Hi,”she replied with a monotonic tone.

“I am going to make a steak today. Do you like it?” I asked. All the knives disappeared. Surely it was her work.

I asked for a knife and saw all the knives were hung inside the cupboard in her room.

She finished off the steak quickly, and darted back to her room, locking herself up again. Things seemed to be going on normally, but what I thought was that it was just the lull before the storm.

I was afraid that I would be suddenly killed in the crowd, and gradually when I heard the noise from the crowd, I felt uncomfortable. I hadn’t realised that these were the symptoms of agoraphobia until I searched the Net. Despite all these, I still thought my plan was successful.

About two months later, I came up with a brilliant idea that I should keep an eye of all the knives at home. After keeping all the knives in my cupboard, my mum was back, saying that she was going to cook a steak. I shrugged and simply replied a hi.

Oh God, she discovered that I kept all the knives inside my room. Fortunately, she said nothing. I was wondering if I should tell her my talent, my secret, but considering that she wouldn’t understand, probably thinking that I was insane, I kept my mouth shut.


“I am sure that today is her doomed fate that she can’t escape,” I muttered, smiling sinisterly. She had endeavoured, but the price was…being insane. She was hiding from me and she was weak. There was once I saw her messing her hair crazily.

Mission nearly completed.

I saw a girl's face. A face that same as mine. It must be the killer.

The next moment I was in the street, shivering in the crowd. And, BANG! I was unconscious.

I rubbed my eyes. Where was I? Who was I?

I found myself lying on the bed, it was midnight. The curtain was fluttering because of the strong wind.

Silence. There was no sound in the street when I looked through the window.


Something dropped onto the floor, someone was here. I was startled.

Then someone was strangling me that I was suffocated.

"Stop it," I heard a voice sighed.

A gust of wind blown through the window.

"Don't interfere..." another voice interrupted.

"Death," the voice changed to a soft whisper, as if the person didn't want me to hear it. But I heard that.

What death? Who was going to die?

"Seems that she's having amnesia," another voice hummed.

I was scared, "who are you?"

"Don't be frightened, we are your friends."

"Why can't I see you?"

"You won't want to see us."

"We just appear at midnight."

"You are...spectres?" I heard my voice trembled.

They didn't answer.

"You will remember everything, soon."

A knife...a dead corpse...I got up.

The scene was familiar, seemed that I had dreamt that before...the corpse was...

Me! I remembered the scene; the dream came and haunted me again. I shrieked, a sense of fear climbed over my back.

"You remember that dream?" the three invisible friends asked.

"Yes, and I am not going to let this happen."


Who was it?

Mum wouldn’t be that early. She said she would be with all the other shopaholics.

Who was it?

The one who killed me in my dream. Death was just around the corner.

I took one step backward, lying on the bed, spotting the knives.


“Don’t come in!” I put a blanket over my head.

“No! No! No!” I was certain that it was coming. It was knocking on the door non-stop.

I didn’t realise that I was messing, scratching, pulling off my hair uncontrollably. I wanted to stop, but there was a voice in my head telling me to go on.

I stood up, picking the sharpest knife, thinking of killing “it”.


There was only me and my dead daughter at the funeral, silent and solemn. Mission cleared.


Cause of death---pierced by shatter of glass from a mirror. It was a bit different from what the Master predicted. Anyways.

As I looked at the cadaverous corpse, I burst into laughter, so loud that it echoed in the still and empty room. With an unknown reason tears went down when I was smirking.

“Kill it! Open the door and kill it!” I heard the voice chuckling. I laughed uncontrollably and yet I was totally freaked out. Madness.

After getting out of the room, I opened the door.

That person was haggard and drowsy.

She was so weak and fragile.

This meant that I could easily finish her off.

Without hesitation, I stabbed at her heart for only one of us could survive. Strangely, she didn’t defend herself but she was “hard”, and I had to stab even harder. I gave out a smug grin. I won! At the same time, that girl was grinning too. A grin so appalling as if it could pierce my heart.

For one moment I heard something shattered. And…I felt pain as if some glass pieces pierced my body. That girl was falling and I was falling too. Why? I cried out. I had already killed the one who wanted to kill me.

I took one step backward, and then I lied still on the cold marble floor. I was panting, blood all over the icy floor. I didn’t have any strength to stand up any more. I was dying. I was stepping into he**.

I saw an illusion and it was all about my past, my memories, and my effort in fighting against death.

All sort of things were clear now. I was wrong in the first place.

Reflection. Murder.

I was crazy, ridiculous.


I opened the door, spotting my daughter’s dying body. She lied on the toilet floor, staring at me with terror, eyes widened like they were going to pop out.

Silly. Ludicrous. No one could ever cheat fate, especially right beside the messenger from he**, my dear.

And I just stood there, motionless, grinning. But in the mirror it looked more like a grimace.

The clanging of the knives whispered in the air.

And it was too late.


I know who killed me.

My destiny, and…tragedy.


"She has eventually seen us."

"Yes, she is frightened."

"It’s normal--- you have only one eye, and you are a half-face creature. And I am a spectre with no legs."

“By the way, the messenger from he** has missed out somebody, US. We were at the funeral too.”

"And she is one of us now."

"Welcome, dear."


Something stirs her from sleep.

"Don't interfere..." I remind them.

"Death." the six spectres reply simultaneously.

"What? You mean I am going to die? Who is going to kill me?" the bonnie girl asks innocently, reminding me of what I was before.

It was midnight. For one second, the reflection in the mirror shows the bonnie blond lass transforming into a ghost with plain white hair, bleeding eyes and separating head and shoulder. She cries in agony, yelling desperately. This is her punishment. Seven of us catch that moment, smiling and all staring at the girl sympathetically.


I am their leader now.

"You will soon be one of us too," I whisper.

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