Whisper

So, this is my first voice recording. I got the idea a few weeks back – after I read this book, what was it called? Thirteen Reasons Why, that’s it. Where this girl who commits suicide sends thirteen tapes to thirteen different people, pretty much blaming them for what she did.

But I’m not suicidal, at least not at this moment. And I don’t plan on anyone hearing these. Why would they? This is being recorded on my mp3 and no one but me uses my mp3.

I guess this is kind of a diary, right? Weird. I’ve never kept a diary before.

My name is Josie Thomas. I’m sixteen years old – too young, too old. I could say anything about myself right now. I could describe how I look. What I like, what I hate. What my family’s like. But there’s nothing really to say.

Only, there is one thing: People say I’m crazy. Because of what I told everyone. They say I’m wrong and that I’ve gone crazy with grief.


Part one of my story is that I was born with a twin sister. Not identical or anything. We were similar in ways but different too. Oh, very different. In ways.

Her name is – was – Christie. She was very pretty. I said we weren’t identical or anything, and she happened to draw the long straw when it came to looks. And she was kind, too. Most of the time.

It makes me sick thinking about her. I think I have to stop now or I’ll throw up.


I first started loving her in ninth grade. She was gorgeous and kind and everything you could ever want. And even though when I saw her doing something horrible and it broke my heart, I still loved her.

But acting on that love for her would be breaking a law – I mean, sure, most people think incest is disgusting and wrong, but it’s not really harming anyone.

Except, now I’ve broken a law and it’s hurt her. It wasn’t the incest law.


I saw them, you know. I saw Christie and that stupid eight year old. Well, no, he wasn’t really stupid. But he didn’t tell anyone what she did to him.

She was supposed to be babysitting him because his older brother and his parents were out at some kind of school thing. They shouldn’t have trusted her. And I went too, because I was bored and wanted to spend time with her.

And she took him upstairs to get him to have a shower and clean his teeth. And after maybe half an hour, she hadn’t come down. So, I went up to look for her.

The door was slightly open. I could hear her telling him it’s okay and he was sobbing and I think she was crying too. And when I looked through the crack, I saw she had her hands down his pants.

I stumbled to the bathroom and threw up but she still never found out I saw her. Well, until I made it clear I did.

She deserved it, right? She d-deserved it.


That was two years ago, when she was fourteen. When we were fourteen. The boy, Cory or Colin or something, is now going through counselling for nightmares nearly every night for two years straight. Nobody knows why he’s having them.

I do. Christie did.

That’s why I met with Cory-Colin-whatever’s brother, Jack, to tell him what happened. I thought it would help everyone understand and maybe even help his little brother. But it made him angry. So angry.

He hit me twice. But his anger was infectious. And when he suggested something I should have been horrified by, I agreed to help him.


I told her we were going for a walk, a midnight walk. She giggled at me and came – she trusted me. And when she saw me leading her to the cliff, her eyes grew wide in surprise, but she still trusted me.

The cliff is this rocky hill jutting over the ocean. It’s so high up, the view is amazing. But no one ever goes up there anymore because of a man who committed suicide by jumping off it a few years back. I still remember everyone’s tear streaked faces.

Jack was at the top. Christie didn’t even recognise him until he opened his mouth and said, “Remember my brother? Remember what you did to him?”

That was when she turned to me, realising what I’d seen. Her face was guilty and full of self hatred.

We only meant to scare her. I was supposed to hold her arm and lead her to the edge and then Jack was going to p-push her but I was going to make sure she didn’t actually fall.

B-But I lost my grip. I l-let her go. I’m a m-murderer. I tried to tell them but they didn’t realise it. They thought I was a grief stricken teenager driven crazy by loss.

After she fell, after she screamed, oh god, her scream...After she...Jack turned to me and screamed, “What have you done? We weren’t supposed to kill her! You’re a murderer!” And he shoved me to the ground and he held me down and he whispered in my ear, “You won’t tell anyone. You won’t ever mention I was here.”

A-and then he yanked my jeans down and he-he-he...H-how c-c-could he do that? After everything that n-night? Even when I-I rolled over a-and p-puked, he d-didn’t even regret what he’d d-done. He spat at m-me, naked on the gr-ground and left.

I d-didn’t tell anyone a-about him.


I miss her.


Christie, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I killed you. But I’m going to make it better. I’m going to kill him for you and then I’m going to kill me and then I can be with you and everything will be better. Probably no one will ever hear our story. I’ll make everything better, Christie.


Someone did hear this, you stupid girl. It’s your sister, Josie. The younger one everyone forgot about after yours and Christie’s story. Your deaths.

I found this today. It was hidden under the carpet, under a loose floorboard. I knew it would be here somewhere and it took me four years to find it. I saw you doing one of the voice recordings, saw you through a crack in the bathroom door. I was only ten, but I could figure out what you were doing when you whispered at the mp3.

I know Cory. Yes, his name is Cory. How could you even forget his name?

He is absolutely amazing but he’s so broken.

I let him touch me. When I say no, he tells me it makes him forget what happened with Christie. Once I tried to move away but he held me there. It doesn’t matter, though. Not if it helps him.

I used to visit yours and Christie’s graves. They’re side by side, you know. Two twin sisters, dead within months of each other.

One by a tragic accident.

The other, by murder, dragged into that boy’s home.

Both so wrong.


I wish everyone would realise, they’re not the only ones who are suffering. There’s still me. Can anyone hear me?