Revenge of the Dead (Original Story)

That's right, re-posted!

Read, enjoy and if you have the time, I'd be very thankful for comments and ratings!

Group story with AL16, also known as Cat.

Chapter 1

Chapter One

My name is Emma Greensleigh, Em for short.

I was a normal, plain, fifteen-year-old girl. Perhaps slightly cheerier, slightly less popular than most. What others call an easy victim . . . Which I only realized when it was too late to do anything about it.

He was kind, like the father I never had; a friend I could trust, despite his age. He talked to me, consoled me, embraced me. . . .

He became my murderer on March 12th, 2010, at three o'clock in the afternoon. I know this because I was looking at the wooden clock the gleaming metal closet while he whispered those things in my ear, while his hands touched places where I didn't want to be touched: where no teenage girl was supposed to be touched by an old man. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't; his sweaty palm that had once held my hand was pressed against my lips, and my cries for help were muffled.

Then I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, I was at my own funeral. My mother cried. My father was away on business. Six months later, he ran off with another woman, or so I heard from the neighbors (beware of the eavesdropping ghost).

I went to school every single, dull day loyally and tried to tell people--even the jocks and cheerleaders--that I was still here, but no one saw me--I was as invisible as I had suspected. Once school was out, I'd go home and sit with my mother, who gradually moved on as the months passed.

Years passed, actually, and it became January 1st, 2012. Snow fell. Children laughed. Another girl was killed, a five-year-old girl called Charlotte Jenkinson--a merry kid. No one knew and she moved on happily, not paying any attention to my staring eyes that'd witnessed the horrible scene.

I thought the world had forgotten all about Emma Greensleigh when she came along and helped me. The ghost in shining armor, the brave girl who'd never forgiven her killer . . . and probably never will.

As cowardly and introver as I am, she is the exact opposite. Only one thing bonds us together, a bond so tight that it will never be broken:

Our murderer.

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