The Girl Who Remembered Her Death

I knew the alley before I ever stepped into it. I knew the smell of wet bricks, the flicker of the broken streetlight, and the sharp sting of the blade that pierced my ribs...

At seventeen, Alina Grey had never set foot in the old part of town.

But when her classmates dragged her into a late-night dare to explore the “dead streets” of Brighton, shI knew the alley before I ever stepped into it. I knew the smell of wet bricks, the flicker of the broken streetlight, and the sharp sting of the blade that pierced my ribs...



At seventeen, Alina Grey had never set foot in the old part of town.

e froze in front of a rusted alleyway like she’d just seen a ghost.

Or maybe she was one.

It all started three months ago. Dreams — vivid and violent — invaded her sleep.

Every night, she woke up gasping, the metallic scent of blood clinging to her nose. In her dreams, she ran down narrow streets, screamed without sound, and collapsed with a knife in her stomach. Every detail etched itself into her mind like memories.

But they weren’t memories… were they?

Her therapist called it stress. Her mother blamed horror movies. But Alina wasn’t so sure anymore.

That night, standing in that alleyway, something inside her snapped into place.

The brick wall to the left — she had leaned against it while dying.

The garbage bin by the corner — she had tried to crawl behind it to hide.

And the tall shadow that stood under the broken lamp… she had seen it before.

Someone had murdered her here.

And it had already happened — just not in this life.

She didn’t tell anyone. Not her friends. Not her mom. Not her school counselor.

Instead, she went to the city archives.

She searched for murders in the area — and there it was.

“Teen Girl Found Stabbed in Old Brighton Alley, 2004.”

Name: Elise Rowen. Age: 17. Killer never found.

Elise looked eerily like her — same dark eyes, same crooked smile.

Alina stared at the photo for hours, shaking.

That night, the dreams changed.

She didn’t just feel the pain — she heard a voice.

"You shouldn’t have run, Elise."

The name echoed in her head all week. At school, at dinner, even in her dreams.

She found herself writing the name Elise over and over in her notebooks.

She stopped sleeping. The dreams weren’t just dreams anymore — they were flashbacks.

In one, she saw a tattoo on her killer’s wrist — a jagged wolf’s head.

In another, she heard the killer’s phone ring. The ringtone? A creepy nursery rhyme:

“London Bridge is falling down…”

Now obsessed, Alina began searching for anyone who matched the clues.

She found nothing. Until one afternoon, while walking home from school, she passed by a mechanic’s shop — and froze.

The man at the front desk had a tattoo on his wrist. A jagged wolf’s head.

Her breath hitched. His phone rang.

“London Bridge is falling down…”

He looked up — and smiled.

Not a friendly smile.

A recognition smile.

“You look just like someone I used to know,” he said.

Alina ran.

Back home, she locked her doors and searched online. His name was Ray Thomsen. He had been a suspect in Elise Rowen’s murder… but was never charged.

The next few days, she stayed home. Her mom thought she was sick.

But Alina was preparing.

She wasn’t going to be murdered twice.

Not again.

On Friday night, she returned to the alley. She had a flashlight in one pocket, a hidden voice recorder in the other, and Elise’s old photo in her hand.

And she wasn’t alone.

Ray Thomsen followed her, just like he did seventeen years ago.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said behind her.

“So did I,” Alina whispered.

This time, she had a plan. As he stepped closer, she clicked the voice recorder in her pocket.

“Why’d you do it?” she asked.

“Why did you kill Elise Rowen?”

Ray hesitated. Then smiled that same cold smile.

“Because she remembered.”

Within minutes, police sirens echoed down the alley.

The recorder had already transmitted to her phone, which was being tracked.

Ray was arrested — not just for Alina’s attempted assault, but for Elise’s murder too.

DNA had improved. So had justice.

Final Paragraph:

Weeks later, Alina stood at Elise Rowen’s grave.

“I don’t know how you came back through me,” she whispered.

“But I hope you can rest now. We both can.”

As the wind rustled through the leaves, a faint whisper seemed to ride the breeze.

“Thank you…”