Red hair 58

“Coffee,” A ginger-haired girl said to the waiter. She was wearing a smile, a perfectly beautiful smile.

“Right away miss,” The waiter said before leaving.

As soon as the waiter left, the ginger-haired girl’s smile faded. She stared at the table in front of her. Despite wearing four layers of clothes, she was still very cold.

“Here you go miss,” The waiter said.

The ginger girl looked up at the waiter.

“Anything wrong, miss?” The waiter asked.

“No,” The ginger haired girl said, “you just caught me off guard.” Then the waiter left.

She wasn’t sure, but she thought the waiter had no pupils on his eyes.

She put her finished cup of coffee on the table, stood up and left. She pulled out her phone, checking the time. 9:30 p.m. She needed to go back home.

She started walking.

There were no cars. There were no people. This was strange, considering her town is almost always filled with tourists.

A movement she saw from the corner of her eye made her stop. She stood still under the light of a streetlight. Was anyone there? Was it a dog? She continued walking.

“Ma’am,” a young voice said from the darkness in front of her.

The girl leaped in fear.

“W-who are you?” She asked.

“May I have some spare change ma’am?” The voice said. The girl’s eyes started to adjust to the darkness and saw the voice came from a little child no older than 15. The ginger haired girl pulled out a few coins from her pocket and handed it to the beggar.

“Thank you,” the child said.

She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think she saw if the beggar had eyes. Or ears. Or even a face.

This was getting scary.

It was really dark now. She pulled out her phone and looked at the time. 9:30 p.m. But that can’t be right. It must’ve been at least 15 minutes since she last checked the time. But no, it was 09:30.

This was getting really scary.

She locked the door and ran to her room. She was scared. What was happening? First, it was the waiter. Second, it was the beggar. And third, an old woman. She was standing in front of the door of the ginger’s house. As if she was waiting for the girl. But the girl had no idea who this woman was.

“Hello,” the woman said. And the ginger, scared to the peak, ran inside.

She closed the door of her room and sat on her bed. She stared at her reflection on a broken glass stained with red. Her ginger hair covered her pale freckled face. Her right wrist was covered in red lines that leaked thick red honey. Blood. She started to cry. She was afraid, sad and alone.

Knock knock.

What was that? She lived alone, all by herself. She locked the front door. Who was there?

Knock knock.

“Anything wrong miss?”

“Do you have any spare change, ma’am?”


She was scared. She heard those three sentences today.

Blue and red lights flashed everywhere around the ginger girl’s house. Crowds of people were being pushed back by the police.

“Caution! Do not enter” was taped all around the house.

“So why’d she die?” The policewoman asked the detective.

“She was diagnosed with severe clinical depression. It then got too severe. She started hallucinating. Seeing things,” The detective replied.

“I’m guessing she cut herself a lot. And then it just got too much. She cracked. She stabbed herself with the nearest sharp object she could find,” The detective said pointing to a piece of broken glass on her heart. The broken piece of glass was stained red, and so was the floor.