"The plot of your novel matches the Vance Family Massacre from ten years ago. perfectly. But due to the gruesome nature of the crime, the details were never released to the public." The implication was clear: aside from the killer, no one could possibly know the specifics. Facing the interrogation, I let out a soft laugh. "You're wrong, Detective. There is someone else." "The victims." 1 "The victims?" The man across the table scoffed. "So, what you're saying is, you know the details because you're one of the dead?" "Avery Stone, you’re a professional thriller author. Do I need to explain the concept of death to you?" The man speaking was Detective Miller, the youngest captain in the precinct’s history. He slammed his hand on the metal table for emphasis. I understood his anger. The Vance case was a cold case that haunted every cop in this city. Now, because of my book, it was back in the headlines. The internet was already buzzing with theories. Most people thought the author was the killer. Some trolls were even saying it was a manifesto—a preview of the next slaughter. The city was on edge. I smiled, leaning back. "Detective Miller, I'm just telling you that the killer isn't the only one with a memory. Why are you so worked up?" "Besides, you know who I am. My face doesn't look anything like the four people who died in that house." Miller glared at me. "Avery, be serious. We ran a full background check." "You have no relation to the Vance family." "Ten years ago, you weren't even in the state. Where did you get the details? What is your relationship with the suspect?" Seeing that I was about to be booked as an accomplice, I quickly countered. "Careful with the accusations. I don't know any killer." Miller gave a long, drawn-out "Oh?" and looked at me with a face that said, Go ahead, lie to me. I cleared my throat. "Everything I know, Lily Vance told me herself." Lily was the teenage daughter of the victims. "Detective, do you believe the dead can dream?" At first, I didn't believe it either. The first time I saw her was two weeks ago. I was blocked on my manuscript, totally burned out, so I went to meet an old friend for drinks. It was a Friday. Traffic was a nightmare. The cabbie asked if I minded taking a shortcut through the backwoods. I hate traffic horns, so I told him to go ahead, even if it cost extra. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "Doesn't cost extra. It's just... that road is cursed. Most folks won't take it." My writer’s instinct kicked in. I shoved my phone in my purse. "Cursed how?" "Sigh." The driver turned the wheel, his voice dropping an octave. "There was a headless massacre on that road. A whole family." 2 "It was June 7th. Graduation night for the daughter, Lily Vance." That morning, after the ceremony, her homeroom teacher realized Lily was missing. Thinking she was upset about something, the staff searched the entire school. Kids get emotional around graduation; sometimes they do stupid things. But the campus was empty. Then, a classmate spoke up: "Mrs. Higgins, Lily never showed up to line up for the diploma." The teacher panicked. She drove straight to the Vance estate. The front gate was unlatched. She called out, but got no answer. According to the police report later, she knew something was wrong immediately. Lily’s dad raised Dobermans. Usually, they barked at everything. That day, the estate was silent as a grave. She walked into the yard and saw three dogs lying dead in the grass. Her legs went weak, but she pushed the front door open. The smell of iron hit her first. Then she saw them. Four bodies, seated neatly around the dining table. Heads nowhere to be found. That afternoon, the police issued a statement asking for leads. But they withheld the brutal details. No one knew where the heads were, or the time of death. Three years later, a developer bought the land. But every time they tried to demo the house, the excavators malfunctioned. Workers reported hearing weeping from the walls. The developer eventually fenced off a two-mile radius and built a factory down the road instead. The factory went bust. Now, no one goes there. "Look," the driver said. A three-story Victorian stood alone against the setting sun. The gate was gone. Weeds choked the yard. Paint was peeling, but you could tell it used to be magnificent. "That's the place." I sighed, about to say something. Then I saw her. Standing in the overgrown grass was a girl in a blood-soaked dress, staring dead at me. I rubbed my eyes, thinking it was a trick of the light. She was still there. And she took a step toward the car. 3 I screamed. The driver jumped. "What? What is it?" I swallowed hard, stammering. "I... I think I saw a girl. No, not think. I really... I really saw... Ah!" The driver slammed on the gas, throwing me back into the seat. He sped away, muttering prayers. "Sorry, sorry, I won't talk about you anymore, please don't follow me." When he dropped me off, he looked pale. "You better burn some sage, lady. Or they'll latch onto you." I told my friend at the bar. He just laughed. "Come on, Avery. You have an overactive imagination." "Remember when you wrote that historical romance and swore you saw a knight in your kitchen?" True. The bar was loud, the drinks were strong, and I forgot about it. I went home drunk and passed out. In my dream, I saw the girl in the bloody dress again. She asked if I wanted to write a bestseller. I nodded desperately. A few days later, my editor called. She was screaming with excitement. The new book was viral. "Where did you get this concept, Avery? It's genius!" Confused, I opened the link. Someone had uploaded a new book under my account. It was #1 on the charts. I read the first chapter and my blood ran cold. It was the story of the Vance family. "And that's it," I sighed, looking at Detective Miller. "Technically, I didn't write it. Lily Vance did." 4 The interrogation room fell into a dead silence. Miller kept his poker face, but the rookie cop next to him looked like he wanted to call an exorcist. Finally, Miller spoke. "If that's true, why isn't the book finished?" I had asked Lily that in a dream. She looked sad. She told me she didn't know who the killer was. She used my hands to write the details to get the police's attention. She wanted you to catch him. "So, the rest is up to you, Detective. If you have questions for Lily, let me know. I'll ask her tonight." Miller tapped his knuckles on the table. "Avery, do you really think I buy that?" "You're a great storyteller, I'll give you that. I almost believed you. Almost." Almost? "We tracked your movements," Miller said, his voice hard. "Two weeks ago, August 2nd. You took a cab, license plate 7723. You passed the Vance estate. The driver admits he told you the story." "You got dropped off at the bar. You met a guy named Brad." "But you never went home, Avery." "We pulled the CCTV from your apartment complex. You never walked in that door." "So, the whole 'drunk dreaming' story is a lie." My heart hammered against my ribs. Impossible. How did he know I didn't go home? I’ve been ordering takeout for two weeks. I have an arrangement with old Mr. Henderson upstairs to take my trash... Wait. The cameras. I forgot to smash the cameras in the hallway. 5 A knock on the door broke the tension. "Captain. Urgent." The officer at the door stared at me with pure horror. Miller frowned and stepped out. He came back two minutes later, looking like he’d seen a ghost. "Someone just turned themselves in. Do you know who?" I shook my head innocently. "I'm not psychic." "It's Brad," Miller said. I knew it. He was the only one who knew where I went that night. "Avery, do you know what he just told me?" Miller’s voice trembled slightly. "He says he killed a woman on the night of August 2nd. He says he killed you." He was right. He did kill me. Or rather, he killed "Avery Stone." But he didn't kill me. 6 My name is Lily Vance. Ten years ago, on June 6th, my parents, my little brother Leo, and I were butchered in our home. Maybe my rage was too strong, but my soul became tethered to the house. I tried to leave to find the killer, but I was trapped within the property lines. For ten years, I watched people come and go. Police recreating the scene. Mourners leaving flowers. YouTubers breaking in for "ghost hunts." I tried to scream, to move things, to make the air cold. I thought if I scared them, they’d bring a medium. Someone who could hear me. But no one ever did. Eventually, the world forgot us. Until Avery Stone showed up. I was sitting in the weeds, reading a book someone had left as an offering, when a cab slowed down. "That's the place," the driver said. I looked up and locked eyes with the woman in the backseat. She... she could see me? I stepped forward to test it. "I... I think I saw a girl..." she stammered. The car sped off. My hope shattered. But hours later, she came back. 7 It was 10 PM. Avery walked into the house with a guy—Brad. She was saying, "I know that was Lily Vance. She wants to tell me something. If I write this story, it’ll be a bestseller." She started looking around for inspiration. Brad, however, was just staring at her legs. "Brad, stop..." she turned, noticing his look. He didn't pretend anymore. He shoved her onto the dusty sofa. "Come on, Avery. You wanted a thrill, right?" She struggled, but she was a writer who sat at a desk all day. He was a gym rat. I rushed forward, screaming, clawing at him. But my hands passed through his body like smoke. I tried to slam doors, break windows—nothing worked. My energy was gone. "This place is haunted, Brad! Stop!" "Haunted? Good. No one will hear you scream." I watched him assault her. I watched him strangle her. Just like I watched the killer slaughter my family. I knelt beside her, screaming her name, but her eyes went glassy. Brad cursed, realizing what he’d done. He ran. I reached out to touch Avery's body. A blinding white light swallowed me. When I woke up, I was Avery Stone. 8 "Avery?" Detective Miller snapped his fingers. "Brad says he strangled you. What do you have to say?" I held out my wrist. "Want to check my pulse?" Miller frowned. "He's hysterical. He’s on his knees begging us to lock him up." "We told him you're alive. He doesn't believe us. He demands to see you. Do you... want to see him?" I felt a surge of adrenaline. "Yes. Why not?" Thirty minutes later, I walked into the viewing room. Brad looked like a wreck. Pale, shaking, eyes darting around the corners of the room. When he saw me, he froze. Then he dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm a monster!" "Please, let me go. I’ll die. I’ll kill myself right now!" He tried to slam his head into the table. Miller grabbed him. "Look! She's alive!" Brad shrank into Miller's arms, trembling. I couldn't help it. I laughed. The sound made him shriek. "She's dead! That's a demon! She's come back for me!" The medics rushed in. Only I noticed the truth. Brad wasn't looking at me. He was looking behind me. 9 I turned around. Nothing. Was I imagining it? They dragged Brad out. I sat down, exhausted. "What are you looking for? I'm right here." A voice laughed beside my ear. I turned. The real Avery Stone—her ghost—was floating on the desk. I pointed at the door. "Brad... was that you?" She crossed her arms, looking smug. "Nobody hurts me and gets away with it. I've been haunting him for two weeks." Miller walked back in. He saw me talking to thin air and paused. "What are you doing?" I smiled awkwardly. "Plotting my next chapter. I dictate aloud." Avery giggled in my ear. "Liar. I hate dictating." Miller sighed. "Writers are weird. Look, sign this statement." He watched me sign. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the pen move. I left the station and talked to Avery. She told me her soul had latched onto Brad that night. That's why I couldn't find her in the house. "I drove him insane. But he tried to hire a priest to exorcise me. The nerve!" "Anyway," Avery floated alongside me. "Did the book work? Did we flush out the killer?"
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