Prologue.
When you think back on your life, you always focus on the aspects of your life that you wish you could change. Never on the things that you did right. Well, I did exactly that when I died. I played the 'What if...' game over and over again.
My name is Krista, and like most people I never thought about dying, until it was too late. I'm an avid reader, or should I say was. My nose was always stuck in a book. And the day I died, it was no different. I had just exited the library in which I worked, the new novel by my favourite author in my hands, fumbling with the keys to the door of the library, paying no attention to my surroundings. This book had really intrigued me, the title was catchy, the same with the cover, the picture was bright and of something that interested me. Although none of this would have mattered, anything that this woman wrote would have ended up in my hands at some point or another. I was halfway through the prologue, when I dropped the keys, annoyed that I would have to look away to find them, I did that deep sigh, you know the one. Keeping my finger in the pages I looked down, there they were -- as well as something that shouldn't have been there. At the side of my shadow -- there was another. Looking round I ended up nose to nose with a very ugly man. His yellow teeth and greasy unkempt hair nearly made my stomach turn. Never mind the dirt on his clothes. I wanted to tell him to go away, but being the nice and polite person that I was, I held back.
"Can I help you?" I asked. He just looked me up and down and grinned.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Years of customer service experience kept me polite. He grinned again. Maybe I should give him my dentists' number. He finally replied.
"There sure is missy. You can help me real good!" I didn't like the sound of this; neither did I like the long, slow glance he did over my body. Now, I could have been flattered, I was nothing to look at; taken separately my looks would sound good, but together they weren't. My figure was slim, with just a hint of curves. My breasts, small but firm. Legs that would make a runner proud. Curly red hair that could never straighten. Bright green eyes, with long lashes. Pale skin and a dusting of freckles over the bridge of my nose. I sound cute, don't I? Actually picture all of those features on a geek, with those below the knee, shirtwaist dresses in terrible flowered prints. And glasses, thick glasses. And then you have me. I was always told when I was younger, that I would never be a beauty, and I accepted that. So growing up, I never made the same efforts that many other teenage girls took. I thought what was the point? I focussed on my studies. But, this guy checking me out was not complimentary!
"How may I help you?" I was starting to get slightly scared now. The area where the library was located was residential, but at 8 o'clock, the streets were empty.
"Well, how about you step back in the building and then I'll tell you how you can help me!" This guy was definitely scaring me now.
"Sorry, the library is closed for the night. It will reopen at 10am tomorrow morning. Come back then, and I'm sure a member of staff will be able to help you." Did I really sound like that?
"That's too late for me sugar. I need you to help me now. Hee hee hee!"
"I don't think so." I replied. I thought that he would just get bored when he saw I wouldn't 'play' with him. There may not have been people on the street, but surely he knew someone would hear if I screamed. He must not have been on the same wavelength as I was. He pulled out a knife.
"Now, don't scream missy!" I was wrong; he knew exactly what I was thinking. "Just go inside, real quiet like, and I won't have to hurt you!"
I wanted to scream, and he knew it. He stepped up to me, yanked my arm and opened the door with his other hand, the hand with the knife in it. I tried to struggle away, but as it was a public library, whom of which, some of its patrons is disabled, the door opened smoothly and with no complaint. There was no time. He kicked my keys inside, pushed me ahead of him and slammed the door
I won't tell you all the details, I'll just say that, the next morning when Mrs Keppleby came by to return her library book at exactly 10 am and the door wouldn't open, she got worried. Knocking on the door of Mr Lovell, who lives next door to the library, and getting him out of bed, (he had been retired for only six months, and was still enjoying the morning lie ins) to make him break down the door, was a bit much. But he knew I should have been there and rang the library, just to see if I was inside and forgot to open the door before going in the back. When there was no reply, he called the cops.
We are a small town, the place where everyone else knows each other, and teenagers dream of being able to move away when they finish school. The sheriff came. Tried the door, said I must be running late. Called my Aunt, whom I lived with, who went up to check on me, (she usually goes to bed before I get in and rises with the sun, so she is usually out by the time I come down to get ready for work), who called back to say that the clean washing that she had left on my bed was still there so looked like I hadn't come home last night. Well that caused him to go with Mrs Keppleby's idea of breaking the door down. Inside, it was not a very pretty sight. Books were torn up, pages strewn everywhere. Shelves turned over, file cabinets open. And as for me, I was curled in a corner, looking like I was just hiding. The sheriff came over to me.
"Krista, are you okay. Who did this?" I didn't reply.
"Krista, it's Sheriff Blakely, there's nothing to be afraid of." I still didn't reply, didn't even flinch when he knelt in front of me and lightly shook my arm.
He stood up suddenly when his slight movement, caused my arm to drop to my side and reveal the knife sticking out of my chest. My eyes were still wide open, after he had felt for a pulse, he gently closed my lids and turned away to get Mrs Keppleby and Mr Lovell out of the building whilst he called for back up and the coroner.
That was the day I died, my nose stuck in a book, that I didn't notice my killer until it was too late. My life ended when I put up too much of a struggle for my killers liking. I was not very happy about that. My funeral was a quiet affair, even a small town had to put some limits, but my wake was far more joyful......
Chapter One
As you may have guessed, I never 'passed on' when I died, I stayed to watch everything that happened in the days and weeks and months after my murder. When I say my wake was more 'joyful' I meant for me. I saw people that I had barely even spoke to, give their condolences to my aunt, saying at what a nice girl I had been. My aunt used the photo of me that was taken when the local newspaper did a feature on the library. I had hated that picture, and so when someone commented on how pretty I was, I had to laugh. My hair had been pulled back with a band and had escaped at the sides, I had a humongous zit on my chin and my glasses hid my eyes. I was not pretty.
I floated around my aunt's front room, listening to the conversations.
