Merida Bell

Photo by Michael Matveev on Unsplash
Merida and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. From childhood crushes to the heartbreaks of adolescence, we went through it all together.

Back in the 1990s, when we were both roughly eleven years old, she and her family moved into the beige mansion across the street. I remember that day vividly and how the warm, sweet smell of baked apple pie wafted through the air as my late mum and I crossed the street to greet our new neighbours.

In those days, people had a greater sense of community and relied on each other for support during trying times. It was customary to welcome a new neighbour with baked pies and friendly conversation. This tradition, once cherished, was now only alive in the world of cinema.

I found the Bells to be reserved individuals who kept to themselves. While my family was very sociable and loved to engage in small talk, the Bells were the opposite. I still remember the way Mrs Bell’s voice trailed off after thanking us, and how she stood in the doorway as if to ensure we wouldn’t insist on getting invited.

My late mum, who was a housewife with traditional values, perceived Mrs Bell as rude and bad-mannered. In these parts of the countryside, it was common courtesy to at least offer a drink to someone who came knocking on your door.

Given the circumstances, my mum cautioned me not to get involved with the Bells. She believed they caught a disease that afflicted only city folk and made them think too highly of themselves. She was worried I might catch it, too. But like many other mischievous boys, I had a weakness for all things forbidden.

I rounded up my friends Dani, Mark, and Carlos after school, and we set out to pull a prank on the Bells. We couldn’t help but feel giddy with excitement at the prospect of what was to come.

We planned to ring the doorbell and then scamper away before Mrs Bell could answer. We’d made a habit of it – knocking on doors around our usually serene neighbourhood and then hiding from plain sight.

We crouched behind the bushes, feeling the dampness of the grass beneath us as we waited for the perfect moment to strike. Dani and I had a clear view of the front door and garden, but Mark and Carlos had to strain their necks to see the fun from their spot in the thorny bush.

Things didn’t go as we planned. No one answered the door. I could, however, see some movement through the window reflected on the curtain. The Bells were at home; I had no doubt. So, I rang the doorbell again. This time, I stood in front of the front door, nervously tapping my foot as my friends giggled from the nearby bushes.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the entire house for several seconds. But there was no sign of anyone coming to answer it. I strained to hear any noise from the other side of the door to no avail. I couldn’t hear anything except the sound of my shallow breathing.

We presumed the Bells were out after all and played football in the nearby park instead. As the sun set and the sky turned dark, my friends headed back to their homes a few blocks away, leaving me to walk alone past the beige mansion.

The closer I got to the Bells, the more aware I became of the eerie silence that hung in the air. The mansion was cloaked in deep slumber, not a single light piercing the pitch-black murk.

The beige mansion weighed heavily on my mind during supper. I almost asked my mum about the Bells, but her piercing stare made me change my mind. I left my plate half-eaten and retreated to my room.

Although the beige mansion was barely visible from my bedroom window, I could still make out the intricate details of the architecture with a little effort. It was remarkable how such an old building managed to withstand the test of time – without a single crack, at that.

The wind howled that evening for hours. It carried the sound of creaking branches and rustling leaves as I stood frozen and stared at the imposing mansion. The darkness was absolute. I couldn’t even see my own hands on the windowsill. It was like a thick blanket covering everything and everyone – like a black hole swallowing the world.

I turned around and checked the clock behind me. It read fifteen minutes past ten in the evening. Where were the Bells? Returning my gaze to the beige mansion, I caught a fleeting movement out of the corner of my eye. A figure darted around the side of the mansion with such speed, they seemed to disappear into the shadows.

Scowling, I leaned against the window frame, frustrated that my view was obstructed by the overgrown bushes and the towering walls of the mansion. The cool breeze brushed against my skin as I leaned forwards.

Footfalls.

I whipped around and nearly lost my balance and toppled backwards. With my heart racing, I could literally feel the sweat on my palms as I turned around in a heartbeat. The heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps grew louder and louder as someone climbed the stairs and drew closer.

My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest as I closed the ajar window and dived under the covers. The door handle twisted not long after and my mum stepped inside. She asked if I was asleep. I didn’t respond. She switched off the light before she left my room. I lay there for a few more seconds, eyes closed, before finally tossing the covers aside and opening the window.

The beige mansion stood empty and still as death itself, like a ghostly spectre haunting the night. The sheer beauty of it took my breath away. Something about it arrested me and I couldn’t explain what it was. I had to take a closer look.

I cracked open the door and listened to the quiet hum of the house before advancing. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I tiptoed down the hallway. My eyes were fixed on my mum’s bedroom door the entire time. Thankfully, she did not wake up.

I hurried downstairs, grabbed my jacket, and stepped out into the chilly night. The lampposts cast a soft glow on the deserted pavement. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl at this hour of the night.

My house was just across the narrow road, so I could always retreat to safety if anything should happen. However, what I didn’t consider was the intricate nature of life, which my child’s mind couldn’t yet grasp.

It was a terrible idea. I knew that very well. Of course, I did. But something compelled me to act the way I did that night. It was like my mind was a tangled ball of yarn, and I couldn’t find the end to unravel it. Looking back on it now, I realise I was just a kid – a dull kid who didn’t know any better.

Turning around the side of the mansion, the rustling of leaves in the dense bushes startled me way more than I wanted to admit. Rooted to the spot and unable to move an inch, I perked up my ears. But whatever had caused the sudden noise faded away.

Something else caught my eye. One of the lace-curtained windows was slightly ajar—not a huge gap, but enough for a breeze to slip through and brush against me.

I was never one to snoop around, but my curiosity got the better of me. I took a glance in, assuming there was nobody at home. That one mistake set off a chain of events that led me down a path of ruin. If only I had turned around and returned home…

The drawing room was a sight to behold, with its opulent decorations and gold-dusted ornaments. A chandelier hung in the centre, its crystals catching what little light there was and sending faint rainbows dancing across the walls. Looking around, I couldn’t help but notice the oblong table across the cherry settee. The table was covered with china plates and gleaming silverware, and in the centre was a steaming turkey that looked mouthwatering.

Sensing a strange presence, I looked behind me. My heart raced as I scanned the area. No one was there – yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching me. That was when I figured it was time to go back home.

But as I turned my back to the ajar window, a loud clatter echoed through the air, like the sound of silverware crashing to the ground. My initial thought was that a gust of wind had knocked the dishes off the table or something. None of the plates or silverware, however, were toppled over or shattered into pieces. Where had that noise come from?

As I let my darting eyes search every nook and cranny for an answer, they soon settled on the redwood door in the far-left corner. It was closed moments before, I was pretty sure, but now the door was gaping wide. I squinted to see it more clearly, intently trying to recall whether the door had been left open this entire time or cracked open just recently. That was when I saw it. The shadowy figure.

The ground slipped beneath my feet and I stumbled backwards. Panic gripped me as the shadow grew larger with every breath. Everything around me came to a sudden halt as if by magic, even time itself, and I covered my mouth to stifle a gasp. I didn’t even realise I was holding my breath. Not until the shadowy figure locked eyes with me and crawled out of the window.

I struggled to get up from where I had fallen on my buttocks, but once I did, I charged across the road like a maniac. Sprinting home with all that I had, I locked the door and collapsed.

I gasped for air, my heart pounding like it would tear through my chest. When my mum ran downstairs, she found me in a daze. No words escaped from my lips. It was like I had lost the ability to speak.

I cried my heart out, shuddering from the peril I’d just escaped, and my tears soaked into the fabric of her nightgown. But there was no reason for me to cry.

Yes, I saw something, at least I thought I did, but at the same time, I didn’t. Was it a person? A ghost? I couldn’t even tell. All I knew was that something really terrible would’ve happened had I not regained my senses and fled.

From that day on, I avoided the beige mansion like a pest. The boys stopped hanging out with me; they mocked me for chickening out, saying I was acting like a scared little girl. Maybe I was. A scared little girl, that is… All I knew was that I would never set foot there ever again. But my friends ditching me wasn’t even the scariest part.

No one ever laid eyes on the Bells after that night. They vanished without a trace. It was almost like they had been erased from existence – as if they had never been alive, to begin with. But that was hardly possible. My mum and I both saw Mrs Bell. I didn’t make all these things up in my mind. Everything I saw was real – even if I couldn’t prove it.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and before I knew it, several months elapsed. Little did I know, things were about to take a turn for the worse.

The world froze in time as the winter morning frost settled, and the only sound was the crunch of footsteps on the icy grass. The hills of powdery snow rose all around me, and there she was, standing tall amid it all and beckoning me to come closer to the beige mansion.

A wintry princess in black, surrounded by snowy hills – like a macabre painting from a distant past.

That was the first time I saw her. Merida. Merida Bell. Even after all this time, the mere mention of her name made me shudder. She haunted my mind like a parasite, feeding off of my memories of her. From sunrise to sunset, she consumed my thoughts.

I was on my way home from school when I spotted her for the second time. She sat on the porch. Her head was buried in her pale, slender hands. I recognised her immediately, but she seemed oblivious to my presence. I decided to watch her some more. Was she crying?

She lifted her head, and her eyes locked onto mine. But this time, I stood my ground instead of backing away. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people, I knew I had nothing to fear. She tilted her head to the side and her pearl-black eyes narrowed. I tried to be friendly and waved, but she ignored me and slipped back into the beige mansion.

The third time I saw her was at school. We were part of the same batch. But she ended up in a different class than me. She spent the entire day staring out of the window, lost in her thoughts and oblivious to her surroundings. My friend, Ryu, told me that her name was Merida Bell and that she had transferred to our school from a city that was a 40-mile drive away.

It didn’t take long before everyone was talking about her. The rumours spread like wildfire. It was blatantly obvious that she came from an affluent background, but no one knew why her family moved to the countryside. Hearing the nasty stuff the other kids came up with, I kind of felt bad for her. But who was I to butt in and make myself a target? And it didn’t exactly look like Merida cared for these rumours, anyway.

Leaving the classroom that same afternoon, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and made my way back home. It was then that I saw Merida’s curly hair bouncing in the wind a few steps ahead of me on the pavement. She dragged her foot as if she was too lazy to walk properly.

Some neighbourhood kids threw things at her, shouting insults, but she kept advancing without even once glancing at them. I chased the kids away and followed closely behind her, staying out of sight as much as possible while keeping a watchful eye on her. How could she be like this? So oblivious to those around her.

Halfway down the street, however, she paused and turned around. Embarrassed, I dropped my eyes and felt a rush of heat on my cheeks. Did she catch me staring? I didn’t mean to come off as a creep, but I think I did.

Taken aback and unsure of what to do, I looked up to see her making her way towards me. My heart skipped a beat when she called me by name. My mind went blank, and I was left stunned. How come she knew my name?

Her black eyes seemed to hold all the secrets of the world, sparkling like the moon reflecting off the surface of a shimmering lake. The colour of her plump lips was so vibrant that it was almost as if they were painted on – a perfect shade of cherry red. She was beautiful.

“What do you want?”

I stood there, searching for the right words to say, unsure of how to explain myself and not come off as a weirdo. I must have looked more confused than I thought I did – or wished – for she repeated her question and added one more.

“Why are you following me?”

“I think there’s a—”

“I saw you looking through the window that night. You’ve been watching our house ever since.”

“That night?” I racked my brain before the gravity of her words finally settled. That night! That meant she saw me? But I didn’t see her. How did she—I looked up.

“Why are you doing this? You do realise stalking can get you in juvie, right?”

 “I… I didn’t mean to go to your house, it just… I thought I saw something and I wanted to—”

“Saw something? You’ll have to do better than that to fool me!”

“I- I did see something! I swear! Or… at least I think I did.”

“Right,” she said, adding nimbly. “You seriously expect me to believe that?”

I resigned myself to the situation with a sigh. She wasn’t going to believe me no matter what I told her.

“Forget it; shouldn’t have said anything.”

She rushed up to me. “Are you being serious?”

“Never mind what I said…”

“What… what did it look like? The thing you saw.”

I looked at her, my mind churning as I tried to process her words. She repeated her question, each syllable clearly pronounced so that there was no room for misunderstanding. Seeing my bewildered expression, she looked around us before dragging me along.

“I know a secret place where we can be alone. Follow me.”

She’d just accused me of stalking, and now she wanted me to follow her. As I broke free from her firm grasp, she slipped away into a dark alleyway a few blocks away from our neighbourhood. Despite the bright daylight, a sense of unease crept over me as I approached her.

“So, what did it look like?”

She stressed the word ‘it’, drawing out the vowel sound as if trying to make a point. I shut my eyes for a moment and tried to recall the past I tried to forget. She repeated herself.

“Honestly, I have no idea. It… it was pitch-black. I couldn’t see a thing.”

“You said you saw it.”

“I said I thought I saw something.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Look, I don’t have a clue, all right? Can I go now?”

Just as I was about to leave, she clamped onto my arm with an unearthly force. I winced as her nails dug into my flesh.

“Just… just tell me what it looked like.”

“I told you – I don’t know!”

“Please, just say something – anything!”

My words caught in my throat as her desperate voice cracked. What was up with her? Why did it even matter?

“All I saw was a table full of food and—”

“Table full of food? What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean? You said you saw me! Then you must’ve seen the table as well!”

“No… no, I did not.”

By this point, my patience was wearing thin. The images from that night replayed on repeat in my mind and haunted me. I knew what I saw, and none of it was a hallucination.

I wrenched my hand free from her grasp and retreated. She shouted something, but the distance between us made it impossible for me to catch her words.

My jaw was clenched, and my fists were balled up as anger coursed through every fibre of my being. Being accused of being a creep was bad enough, but now I was being accused of being a bloody liar as well.

I lay in bed that night and listened to the sound of the rain tapping against my window. Her words echoed in my mind over and over again. I couldn’t tell if my memories were real or just a product of my mind any longer. But if they were real, then why did her words get to me so much?

Even though it was obvious she was lying, one way or the other, I couldn’t help but feel like there was some truth in what she said. Was I mistaken about everything? How? Why? Was my mind playing tricks on me? No, that couldn’t be it.

That night, I was completely awake and alert. The opulent table was right there in plain sight, I was sure. Merida must’ve seen it too, or at least, caught a whiff of the dishes. But she said I was wrong, she said there was no table. Nothing made sense. It was driving me up the wall.

With a grunt, I sat up in bed, feeling the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. It was like I was losing my grip on reality, unsure if I was being gaslit or if my brain was meddling with my memories and showing me things that never happened.

When I arrived at school the next day, I was surprised to find a note on my desk. I snuck into the boys’ restroom to read it. The message used a strange mix of capital and lowercase letters. It was so short that it could hardly be called a letter.

I Know wHat yOu dId

Why did she feel the need to tell me this? I couldn’t wrap my head around the way her mind worked. I tossed the note, watching it swirl down the toilet bowl and vanishing from sight. With the note gone, I decided to invite Ryu over for a game night. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

We were so engrossed in playing games we lost track of time, and before we knew it, my mum returned from work.

The smell of exhaust fumes filled the air as Ryu’s mum pulled up an hour later to take him home. As much as Ryu’s presence helped me forget about the beige mansion, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to it again as I gazed across the road.

I stood in the doorway, listening to the sound of my mum’s footsteps as she went back inside, while Ryu’s car disappeared around the corner. The beige mansion loomed before me – its eerie grandeur impossible to ignore.

I squinted. What was that? A person? It moved closer to me, whatever it was. I blinked and stared down at my feet, feeling the weight of the world as I stood there in silence. My feet felt glued to the ground. Why couldn’t I move?

With each step, the shadowy figure moved more erratically, its body contorting in unnatural ways. I felt my body tense up as panic flooded my senses, leaving me gasping for air. I shut my eyes. The weight of dread settled in my stomach as I prepared for what was to come.

Then I felt the rough grip of two hands pulling me back into the hallway before the door slammed shut. Collapsing on my knees, I heard the click of the lock as my mum peered through the peephole. It was real. I wasn’t hallucinating. But the thing we saw couldn’t be explained by science or reasoning.

My mum yanked me up, and we dashed up the creaky stairs. She opened the hatch to the attic, and I reluctantly climbed up. She followed, trying to ascend as quickly as possible, but her efforts were cut short by a loud bang on the locked door.

She put a finger to her lips, warning me to be quiet before descending the wooden ladder. Peering through the gap in the hatch, I could see her fingers gripping the doorknob as she stood there, trying to keep whatever was on the other side locked. Not once did she turn around and look back.

I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as she finally twisted the doorknob and opened the door. The echo of her footsteps faded away, and I knew deep down that this was the last time I would see her. Tears streamed down my pale cheeks.

The sound of my mum’s screams reverberated through the empty hallway. I blocked my ears. I didn’t leave the attic. I couldn’t. That night, my mum disappeared without a trace. The police found no evidence of foul play. They believed she left on her own.

I lived with my grandmother afterwards. Ten years went by. Merida and I stayed in contact. She believed me, she was the only one who did. The tragedy that befell her family also affected mine.

The creature, she said, was fuelled by curiosity, and the more I tried to uncover its secrets, the more it yearned to be noticed. I summoned it, she said, and now my mum was no more. But it wasn’t like that. It never was. In the end, it was the moment I stopped grieving that made it angry, only I learnt this too late – far too late.

Night after night, I witnessed my mum lock me in the attic and disappear down the hallway. It was driving me mad. I couldn’t shake off the guilt that was eating away at me, and waves of shame kept hitting me time and again.

To break the vicious circle, I fell asleep to the image of her smiling face. It was the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay. Merida told me to stop dwelling on the past and to focus on tomorrow instead.

Try as I might, I couldn’t do it. It was always on my mind, the shadowy figure, and I couldn’t help but think about it. My heart yearned for its arrival. I wanted it to take me to my mum. But it never came.

Merida and I developed a romantic relationship in our twenties. She said she liked me since the first time she saw me but couldn’t confess her feelings until our late teens. I didn’t feel the same way about her. For a long time, all I felt was a sense of pity. But I needed her friendship and I couldn’t bear to see her leave me.

When she gave me an ultimatum – either her or no one – I chose her. She was in love, madly in love, which surprised me. I sort of always knew she had a crush on me but I never knew it was this deep and this persistent over the years.

Our first night… I couldn’t go through with it. I told her I couldn’t. I saw her more as a sister than a lover, and my complex feelings for her led us into this awkward position. She left in the middle of the night and didn’t return my calls for several weeks.

Without her, as strange as that was, I found myself in a more stable place. I was feeling better, much better. The heavy weight in my chest lifted, the nightmares ceased, and my mum no longer disturbed my sleep.

When Merida returned, I broke things off with her and decided to take a break and heal my scars. She didn’t take it well. A neighbour had to step in as she screamed and cursed at me. I had never seen this side of her – never imagined she could be so violent, so unhinged. It felt like I had dodged a bullet. A big one.

Soon afterwards, I landed a job as a butcher, just a short ten-minute walk away from home. Life started improving. It was the best decision of my life – at least while it lasted. But sometimes, I’d find myself staring too long at Gin, wondering if her laugh had always sounded quite like that. Or if the colour of her eyes had shifted. I chalked it up to paranoia. But was it?

Mr Jekeil was the one who hired me. We worked together most of the time, taking turns between the butchery downstairs and the counter.

Gin, the girl I fell in love with, was Mr Jekeil’s only daughter. She was out of my league in more than one way. Gin was a university graduate and had a 9-5 office job in a world-renowned investment bank.

It is kind of funny I think about this now, but she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. When she beamed, time came to a halt.

I confessed to her on the day we strolled down the street aimlessly – young, reckless and madly in love. With her in her arms, I was another person. She was the drug I needed to heal, the calm after the storm, and she was real.

We kissed. The rest is history.

Mr Jekeil had seen it coming for he told me one night to take good care of her. I intended to do that. Gin made my past non-existent. All those miserable events that shaped my life and my personality vanished in a puff of smoke. Yet, sometimes, I’d wake in the night gasping for air – not from nightmares, but from the absence of them. Like something was missing. Something that had fed off my sorrow for so long it couldn’t stand my happiness…

And like this, another decade passed in bliss. I was now the father of a three-year-old daughter, Emma, and I finally understood what my late mum must have felt when she locked me in the attic and faced her demise. I felt the same way. I would do anything to keep my baby girl safe.

I had no father of my own but I tried my best to be a good dad for my daughter and the best husband for Gin who made dreams come true. It was a miraculous feat, and I was fearing its collapse.

The past no longer haunted me, I swear it did not, but sometimes I found myself looking across the street and shuddering. The paranoia eating my heart out hadn’t consumed me yet. But both Gin and I sensed it – growing deeper, bolder, with every passing year.

She suggested we consult a psychologist – a former friend of hers from university. We arranged a session just two weeks later. I never went to that consultation. I never had the chance to.

It was the dead of night. Gin slept with our daughter in the next room in the hallway while I was still wide awake. We went to bed early that day since Gin had to go to work at half past six to finish a report. We woke up three hours later to a bone-chilling scream. I was the first to find our daughter hiding under her draped bed.

The window was open, the whistling wind chilling the inside of the room and rocking the window like it was singing a sombre lullaby. We were on the second floor by the way and the window was secured just in case. I still can’t wrap my head around how it became unlocked. It shouldn’t have. Gin slept with our daughter that night and asked me to wake her up at five o’clock.

I lay on the side and hugged the pillow I rested my head on, watching the moaning wind from our bedroom window as it forced the crooked trees to sway in a macabre dance in the middle of the night. I must have dozed off not long after.

I awoke to the alarm I set up and noted that it was still dark outside. After putting on my clothes, I dragged my feet across the hallway and opened the door to our daughter’s bedroom.

I was still groggy, but I knew the gruesome sight before me wasn’t a dream. The wallpaper was shredded, the rug torn down the middle, the closets stood wide and empty, and the lamp was crushed into shards of bloody glass.

I stopped breathing and backed away. There was blood everywhere. I pulled the ripped covers down and frantically tried to find a sign of life. When I didn’t find any, I looked out through the open window and out into the darkness, which was about to turn azure. No one was outside.

A shard of glass cut into my feet as rushed out of the room and downstairs. My eyes grew wide. There, right there, in front of the cracked front door, I saw a grin I knew too well.

I took a step forwards, holding my breath. The shadowy figure carried my little girl. It was as still as the rigid mountains, lifeless and stiff like the undead, just like how I remembered it.

I stepped forwards, my hands reaching out, desperate to stop it. It grinned wider than before. Had I brought it here? No, I stopped being curious about it the day I met Gin. I just wanted to live. I just… How did it find me?

I glanced to the left and noticed a wooden block with a knife on top of the marble counter. It was a gift from Gin so I took care of it like a baby, so that it would never become stale and useless. But it was too far away from where I stood. It would be safer to charge forwards than seize the knife. Still, it was the only thing that made sense at the moment.

I snatched the knife and lunged at it. The figure didn’t budge. I raised the knife and drove it through its hollow chest. Its wolfish grin turned into a horror-stricken expression, and the dark and hollow eyes turned brown.

I pulled the knife out of my wife, who collapsed with our daughter in her arms. It was first then that I noticed the pool of blood beneath my feet and found my little girl stabbed more times than I wanted to count. Her tiny head hung by a thread from her severed neck.

I collapsed beside them.

The bloody knife fell through my trembling fingers and my laboured breath came in short, ragged bursts. As I turned my head and peered out of the open door, I noticed a dark figure amidst the downpour.

I couldn’t discern its face at first, but I knew who it was. It spoke to me. A wretched shriek escaped from my lips as I grabbed the blood-stained knife and tightened my grip around the shaft. Merida. Merida Bell.

Running into the brightening darkness, I stabbed her until she bled to death and the rain washed her away. Only a trail of blood on the pavement remained as evidence of her existence. Every fragment of her presence in my mind evaporated with the prattling torrent.

That was when I knew Merida lied to me. The shadowy figure didn’t feed on my curiosity, it fed on my grief. The happier I became, the more I forgot the past and the hungrier it became. Mrs Bell didn’t invite us in out of rudeness. It all made sense now. She acted the way she did to keep us safe. Because once grief took root, it opened the door. And once it opened, it never shut again. And I had kept it open, all these years, without knowing…

That night, when I went out to explore what was hidden in bushes, Mrs Bell had already been murdered. Now I knew she was also the one who took away my mum. She wanted me to be all alone and hers only – her prey. She fed on me like the parasite she was. In the end, it was my fault – all of this.

I covered my eyes, my hands trembling out of control. I was still holding the bloody knife. But the trail of blood was no longer in the current. I don’t know if it was really her I killed. Maybe she was just another mask it wore. Maybe she never existed at all…

A car door opened behind me. Someone yelled at me to put the knife on the ground and raise my hands. As the police handcuffed me, I looked over my shoulder to bid farewell to my family. Dejected. Without hope. In despair.

I frowned. My heart skipped a beat. The woman on the floor wore Gin’s robe, but it hung differently, shorter than I remembered. Her hair was parted the wrong way, too. The little girl’s socks were green, not pink. Gin would never have let her wear mismatched socks.

That’s when it hit me. These weren’t my family. I had never seen these people before!

I shoved the officer aside and frantically searched the deluge, trying to find a trace of my missing family. The officer shoved me to the ground. I turned my head and looked into his eyes, pleading with him.

“It’s not them! These people, I-I don’t know them!”

He followed my eyes, I think he could see the last bit of good in me, then forced me up and into the police car. Something in his gaze told me he knew I was telling the truth, but he feigned ignorance, or so I thought. I’ll never forget the terror in his eyes as he looked into mine. Never. Like I was some kind of monster…

I wasted away in prison for over a decade. I was placed on death row for the murder of my family. But I didn’t do it. I saw it – clear as day! Those people weren’t my family! I had never seen these people before – not once in my life! The officer knew I was telling the truth – I could see it in his eyes. But no one believed me – no one wanted to believe.

As the injection took hold and darkness crept in, all I could think about was my wife and daughter. Where were they? What happened to them?

Mr Jekeil was there too, watching me, although I couldn’t see him through the glass. He would never forgive me – nor should he. I failed to protect my family. I promised him I would, but I failed.

The last image that burned into my fading mind was her.

Merida. Merida Bell.

Merida and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. From childhood crushes to the heartbreaks of adolescence… we went through it all together.

I wish we didn’t.