It was the year of 2006 that I died. But I keep dying. And dying and dying… I can’t stop reliving my death. I am now in a debt of eternity. Something just won’t let me die and keeps coming back again to watch me suffer in pain. I can still feel that icy draft that hit my face as I walked over to the window, placed my hands on the sill and pulled it down with ease. I can still hear that old dog whimpering from under the dining room table. I can still see the darkness that lay ahead of me when I turned to go back to my bedroom. And I can still smell the lingering scent of that night’s dinner; a thanksgiving dinner.

It is November 27th, 2006, 12:02 AM. At this time, I should be leaving my room to close the large window across the hall that was left open, but I’m not. I am staying where I am with my pen and paper and I am writing this. I am changing reality. I am not going to die over and over again anymore. I will stay here and I will write about my death instead of living it. I will write until she finds me… and kills me again. And then I will write all of this again. I will keep doing what I am doing until I finally finish it.

I rolled to the side of my bed, kicking the blankets off before I sat up and reached over to my bedside lamp, flicking it on. I groggily stood up and exited to the hallway, trudging forward to the window. It was then that I thought I heard the sound of some kind of keys jingling in a lock, I ignored it and regarded it as nothing and continued on to pull down the window, flipping the lock. When my stomach began to growl loudly I rubbed my eyes briefly and took one last glance to the window and headed for the kitchen and dining room for a midnight snack.

Overall everything seemed normal, other than that one sound I had heard and disregarded swiftly.

Opening up the fridge I glanced around it for a minute or so, not able to find anything I really wanted. Making the decision, I took out the milk and sat it on the counter. Grabbing a glass, I poured it into the cup and took a few sips before setting it back down, my fingers still wrapped around it tightly. My eyes opened widely when I heard the door creak open and shuffling footsteps across hardwood floors. I picked the cup back up, sipping it again as I walked to the living room to see who – or what – was there.

Before me stood a red-haired lady who casually looked around my house as if she had no idea where she was. She was wearing a black tank top, black miniskirt, a long black trench coat, and untied military combat boots. I was utterly confused as to who this was that broke into my house. As soon as she pulled a dagger from her boot, I lost my grip on the cup and it shattered. As soon as that happened I turned and ran for my room as fast as I could. It was almost as if she hadn’t noticed me. I didn’t care what she had noticed and what she hadn’t just as long as she left me alone.

I locked the door and ran for the closet, practically tripping over my own two feet as I ran for it. When I was inside, I slid the door shut and prayed that she couldn’t find me. “Meine süße, wo bist du?” called the woman’s voice to me in a language that seemed to be German. It took a few minutes, but the footsteps kept getting closer and closer until they finally stopped and the door knob was jiggling as she tried to open it.

It took a few seconds but she got it opened, probably the same way she did the front door. My breathing became heavier and faster as she checked everywhere I could hide until she finally came to the closet. The door squeaked as she pulled it open to find me, curled against the wall in fear. That is when she began laughing hysterically, dagger still in her hand. I was too shocked to move and with her standing in the way, flailing that knife in her hand, how could I?

She slowly knelt down on her knees. Getting to my height, she held my neck tightly with the hand she didn’t have the knife in and whipped it around to face her. “Darling, I’ve been looking for you...” she whispered, leaning forward so our faces were only about two inches apart. I could only whimper and stare at her as she held my head in place. “I have something to ask you,” the woman continued to say. Tears began streaming from my eyes as it became harder and harder to breath as she kept applying more and more pressure to my windpipe. “Satin oder Seide?”

Those were the last things I heard other than the sound of her hysterical laughing continuing as she took that knife to my cheek, making a deep incision there before moving down to my neck where she held it. I was drifting off into unconsciousness just as she let go and pressed the knife slowly into my throat. I can only remember looking down and seeing my blood dripping from the cut and my killer, sadistically laughing as she continued the very slow sliding of her dagger.

I am forced to repeat this so slow death with the image of my crimson haired killer in mind and everything that I am forced to do over again, and the German words that, to this day, I still do not understand. With writing this all I hope that I shall defy my death and that this strange happening will have never occurred and I will have simply died...

Here she comes again.

Written by Glass.wire.kite
Content is available under CC BY-SA