The Girl From the Woods

The phone dropped from my hand and hit the floor, my hands trembling. I felt sick.

"I killed Rachel Saunders."

This was the ghost—Victor—calling to confess.

Finally I picked up the phone, my heart racing, and pressed it to my ear.

"You're the one from the party," I said. "You chased Rachel into the woods."

"Smart boy," he said, laughing. "Did the police tell you that when they arrested you? I have been following up on your life, Quinn. I know everything."

"Who are you?" I snapped.

"You can call me Victor," he said. "That's what Rachel called me."

He mocking me, and it's pissing me off.

"You fucker," I snarled. "Why did you do this?"

"Because I can," Victor whispered. "The police will never catch me, there's so much evidence against you now that you will never be able to prove your innocence."

He hangs up, and I find myself holding a dead line. I want to call the cops, but I know they won't believe me. No one will.

As far as everyone is concerned, I'm a killer and there's no way to convince them otherwise.

And the only one who knows the truth is dead.