KILL ME AGAIN!

The first thing I noticed that morning was that my alarm had betrayed me. Again. I stared at my phone through one half open eye, watching the numbers change from 7:29 to 7:30. “Traitor.” My alarm had been screaming for the last twenty minutes. Apparently, I had been sleeping through it. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what day it was. Monday. Of course it was Monday. There were very few things in life worse than realizing you had overslept on a Monday. Being murdered, perhaps. Getting your heart broken. Finding out your favorite restaurant had permanently closed. But Monday morning was definitely somewhere in the top five. I groaned and pulled the blanket over my face. Five more minutes. Five innocent, harmless minutes. That was all I needed. My phone buzzed. I ignored it. It buzzed again. I reached blindly across the mattress and slapped my hand against it until my fingers finally found the phone. Three missed calls. Two messages. One reminder that I had absolutely no business going back to sleep. I sighed and dragged myself out of bed. The room was freezing. I immediately regretted every decision that had led me to this moment. My feet touched the floor, and I nearly stepped on the pile of clothes I had abandoned beside my bed the night before. “Perfect.” I picked up the shirt sitting on top. Black. Of course. Everything I owned was black. Not because I was mysterious or depressed or trying to make some kind of statement. I simply had terrible fashion sense and preferred clothes that didn't show stains. I pulled it over my head and caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair looked like I had fought a lawn mower in my sleep. I stared at myself. My reflection stared back. “Don't judge me.” It didn't. At least, not out loud. I grabbed my toothbrush and shuffled toward the bathroom. The house was strangely quiet. That was the first thing that bothered me. Not enough to make me nervous. Just enough to make me notice. My mother was usually awake before everyone else. She had this annoying habit of making noise at an hour when normal people were still dreaming. Cupboards opening. Plates clattering. The kettle screaming for its life. This morning, there was nothing. I brushed my teeth and listened. Silence. I spat into the sink. “Mum?” Nothing. I rinsed my mouth and looked at myself in the mirror again. Maybe she had gone out. Maybe I had simply slept through her leaving. That was entirely possible. I was very talented at sleeping through important things. I was halfway through fixing my hair when someone knocked on my bedroom door. Three times. Pause. Three more. I froze. The toothbrush in my hand slowly lowered. I knew that knock. My mother. Who else knocked like that? “I'm awake.” No answer. I frowned. “Mum?” Still nothing. I walked toward the door and opened it. The hallway was empty. I stared at it. Nothing. Not even the sound of footsteps disappearing down the stairs. “Mum?” I stepped into the hallway. The house remained silent. I looked toward the staircase. Empty. Then toward the other bedrooms. Nothing. I let out a small laugh. “Very funny.” I was about to close my door when something caught my eye. A white envelope sat on the floor. Right in front of my bedroom. I stopped. For a moment, I simply stared at it. I couldn't remember seeing it there when I opened the door. I crouched and picked it up. My name was written across the front. Not printed. Written. I turned it over. Blank. No stamp. No address. Nothing. Just my name. I frowned. “Mum?” Still nothing. I looked down the hallway again. Nobody. I considered leaving it there. Then curiosity won. Curiosity had ruined my life more times than I cared to admit, but apparently I hadn't learned my lesson. I opened the envelope. There was a single piece of paper inside. Five words. You should have stayed dead. I read it once. Then again. My eyebrows pulled together. A laugh escaped me. Not because it was funny. Because sometimes, when something makes absolutely no sense, your brain doesn't know what else to do. I looked at the note again. You should have stayed dead. Okay. That was new. I checked the envelope. Nothing. I checked the back of the paper. Nothing. I turned it upside down, as if the words might suddenly rearrange themselves into something less insane. They didn't. I stared at the handwriting. It was neat. Almost too neat. Every letter was carefully formed. Whoever had written it had taken their time. That was probably the part I didn't like. If it had been messy, rushed handwriting, I could have convinced myself it was a stupid prank. But this looked deliberate. I folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope. Maybe someone had the wrong person. That made more sense. There were plenty of people in the world who could have been threatened. I just wasn't supposed to be one of them. I placed the envelope on my desk and decided to forget about it. That lasted approximately twelve seconds. I picked it up again. Then put it down. Picked it up. Put it down. “Get a grip.” I grabbed my bag instead. By the time I reached the kitchen, I had almost convinced myself the whole thing was stupid. Almost. My mother was standing by the counter. She turned when she heard me. “You're late.” I glanced at the clock. “Good morning to you too.” “You're twenty minutes late.” “I know.” “You're going to miss breakfast.” “I know.” “You'll complain later that you're hungry.” “I know.” She narrowed her eyes. “You're very irritating in the morning.” “I've been told.” She shook her head, but there was a small smile on her face. For a few seconds, everything felt normal. Comfortably normal. The smell of toast filled the kitchen. Sunlight spilled through the windows. My mother was complaining about my sleeping habits, and I was pretending to listen. I almost forgot about the envelope. Almost. Then she looked at me. “You okay?” I paused. “Yeah.” “You look distracted.” “Didn't sleep well.” That wasn't exactly a lie. She studied me for another second. Then she nodded. “Eat something.” I reached for a piece of toast. “See? This is why you're my favorite.” “I'm your only child.” “Exactly. Strong competition.” She laughed. I smiled. And for a few minutes, I let myself believe the morning was ordinary. I didn't tell her about the envelope. I wasn't sure why. Maybe because saying it out loud would make it real. Maybe because it was ridiculous. Or maybe because some quiet part of me already knew that whoever had left it hadn't made a mistake. I finished breakfast and grabbed my bag. At the front door, I paused. Something felt strange. I couldn't explain it. I looked back at the hallway. Nothing. The staircase. Nothing. The kitchen. My mother was already washing dishes. Everything was exactly where it should have been. I opened the door. Then my phone buzzed. I nearly dropped it. I looked at the screen. Unknown number. One new message. My heart gave a strange little jump. I opened it. Good morning, sweetheart. I stared at the words. My fingers went cold. I looked behind me. My mother was still in the kitchen. Nobody was standing outside. Nobody was watching me. At least, nobody I could see. I looked back at the message. Another one appeared. Did you sleep well? My stomach tightened. I didn't answer. A third message came through. I hope so. I stared at the screen. Then another. You'll need your rest. For the first time that morning, I wasn't laughing. I locked my phone. My hand remained wrapped around it. I didn't know who was texting me. I didn't know what they wanted. And I definitely didn't know what they meant by the first message. But there was one thing I suddenly knew for certain. Whoever had left that envelope outside my bedroom hadn't made a mistake. They knew exactly who I was. And somehow... they knew something about me that I didn't.