Returning to the Scene of the Crime

The lantern in front of him was not lit, but he could make out her silhouette. She stood motionless. Blood dripped from the wound on the back of her head.

He took a step back.

"Look, I… didn't want this."

She began to turn slowly: first her head, then her body.

"You… I beg your forgiveness. Do you hear me?"

She smoothly spread her arms out in front of her, then did it again and finally fully turned to him.

"It wasn't my fault. I was drunk! Do you understand? And you—"

She slowly looked up, raised her arms, her hands open and palms down, and again began to spread them and bring them together. It was like she was… rowing?

He looked down at her legs and swallowed: they were not touching the ground.

He realized she was floating. But she was not moving up, but along the alley—straight at him.

"You… You were alive when—" He felt pure horror. "No. No!"

He turned around and tried to escape, but after five meters, he crashed into an invisible obstacle. He saw that the road continued, but he could go no further. He jerked to the right—a wall, to the left—another wall.

A dead end.

He slowly turned in the direction from which the girl was floating towards him—the girl he had killed.

"Please… please!" he pleaded. "I did not want to! It was an accident!"

The girl held out her hand to him. He screamed…

***

And woke from his own scream.

He was in his apartment, in his own bed, and shaking with small tremors. His breathing had stopped, and eyes had opened so wide in fright that a little more—and they would have popped out.

There was no one around.