I heard it before I saw it.
Even from my third-story window, the echo of a loud crash from the ground could be heard clearly. I had been sitting at my desk for awhile, trying to get my English essay done and contemplating what to eat for dinner. But the sound bothered me.
I got up and headed towards the window, tying my long brown locks into a braid at the same time. The only view I had was the backyard of Mr. Thomson’s house, a stretch of grassy area filled with mostly weeds and an odd petunia here and there.
Mr. Thomson was a gray-haired man in his fifties who lived alone ever since he got a divorce from his wife five years ago. He rarely went outside, staying in the comfort of his house and watching television all day long. So it struck me as being odd that such a loud sound had come from an unoccupied place.
I checked the area, only to find that nothing was out of place. Slightly disappointed, I was starting to head back to my desk when a sudden movement by the shed caught my attention. I wish I hadn’t seen it, but I had, and there was nothing I could do about it now.
Two figures--one of them whom I could clearly recognize as Mr. Thomson--were struggling in some kind of a battle. They sprung apart, and Mr. Thomson swiftly grabbed an empty pot used for gardening to defend himself.    
Then, the other person, who I now knew to be a woman, judging by her long blond hair and slender frame, flung a knife at him with an ease that hinted at years of training. Mr. Thomson attempted to block it with a pot, barely succeeding in not getting hit.
Even from my faraway view, I could see the woman snarl, her features twisted into a furious expression. Then, she did something neither Mr. Thomson nor I expected--she pulled out another knife and stabbed it into his chest before he could even react.
Mr. Thomson fell backwards, clutching his chest in agony. And just like in the movies, blood pooled over his body and the ground steadily as he gasped out his last breaths.
For a moment, I stood there by the window, frozen in horror and disbelief. That was when the woman looked around her surroundings sharply, scanning for anyone who had seen the whole murder happen. Her gaze traveled north, and she squinted in my direction as if to examine my appearance.
For a few seconds, I looked straight back at her in shock. Then, my rational thinking took over and I ran downstairs to call the police.
But the woman was long gone. And I knew that she remembered my face.

The weirdest part about witnessing something as horrific as a murder was that the rest of the world seemed to be fine. My classmates didn’t know I had been a witness of the murder, but they did know what had happened. In our small town of 500, news traveled fast. So it came as no surprise that everyone at school was talking about old Mr. Thomson the next day.
From wild stories about being shot by a hitman to wrestling with a bear, students tried their best to guess what had really happened leading up to the murder.
But after hearing so many ridiculous stories, I realized that it was frustrating to live like this. From what I knew, I had been the sole witness of the murde, the only one who knew enough about the case to make a difference and maybe even identify the killer.
She had been tall and thin, with long, straight blond hair in a ponytail. She was also probably young, judging by her speed and agility when fighting.
I had been thinking about the woman for the entire duration of my walk back home after school, when I suddenly bumped into someone in front of me on the sidewalk.
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention!” I exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
“It’s fine,” the lady replied quickly, already turning to head the other way.
I then realized that she looked very familiar, so I instinctively reached for her shoulder.
“Wait...” I said slowly. “Are you... Ms. Catt? The third grade teacher at Rosewood Elementary?”
She beamed back. “Yes, I am! Are you one of my old students?”
“Oh, wow,” I said, stunned. “You look exactly the same as I remember you! I’m Libby Lee--I was in your class 8 years ago. I’m sixteen now.”
And no, I didn’t say that she looked young just to flatter her. I said it because she literally looked the same as 8 years ago, with the same pale skin, short brown hair, round-framed glasses, and slender frame
Ms. Catt looked pretty surprised to see me as well. She looked at me up and down as if to recall me from her memory of hundreds of students, then nodded.
“Libby Lee!” she said. “You were best friends with Hanna Smith then, if I recall correctly.”
“We still are,” I smiled. “It’s really nice to see you again.”
“It’s really nice to see you too,” she smiled once more, revealing perfect teeth. “But I have an appointment to get to, so I have to go now. Bye!”
“Bye, Ms. Catt! Nice seeing you!”
She waved at me with a strained smile on her face, then turned around. And then the sun caught her hair, causing it to become gold for a split second.
And she looked like she might be the woman who killed Mr. Thomson that day.

That night, I crawled into my bed and fell asleep in moments.. But around 2 a.m., I heard a crash from somewhere below and jolted awake. It was the same sound I had heard on that fateful day Mr. Thomson was murdered.
After a quick debate on whether to go down or go back to sleep, I decided to have a quick look. After all, it was doubtful something like a murder could happen in my proximity ever again.
I tiptoed downstairs to the first floor and almost cried out in surprise when I saw a lone figure standing in the middle.
It was a thin blond woman clutching a knife, looking around her surroundings impatiently as if waiting for someone. This time, I was able to recognize her immediately.
“Ms. Catt,” I whispered.
She heard my voice and headed towards me with the weapon in her hands--a long knife that glinted silver.
“Libby Lee,” she said. “Such a shame we have to meet again like this, after all these years.”
My eyes darted around nervously, every hair on my body quivering in fear. I opened my mouth to say anything that would save me from meeting a terrible fate, but words failed me. Luckily for me, she seemed to have a few things left to say.
“I must admit, you surprised me” she continued, as if we were having a normal conversation, “I didn’t expect you to be the one who saw me get rid of old Thomson. You seemed much younger and smaller when I saw you staring out the window. But your hair was a dead giveaway. I’m just lucky we met that day on the sidewalk, or else you might’ve reported me first.”
I listened silently, despair gripping me with each word.
“The town is so small, I don’t think there’s anyone else who wears her hair in a brown braid besides you.” Here, she laughed, a humorless chuckle. “And now that I’ve finally managed to corner you, I guess you know what’s to come. But I assume you probably don’t know why I’m doing this.”
I finally regained the courage to speak. My throat had dried up from both disuse, but I didn’t want to die without saying a few words.
“Don’t justify yourself,” I croaked. “Don’t you dare justify a murder. You killed Mr. Thomson with your own two hands, and you’re going to have to pay for it.”
She snarled at me. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I had my reasons too!”
“I’m sure you did,” I muttered under my breath.
“Thomson killed my daughter!” she wailed suddenly, tears streaming down her face freely. “He’s the one who ruined everything. That’s why I had to kill him too.”
“What?”
“Thomson…” she gasped out, choking on unshed tears. “He’s the father of my daughter. He was the one who got into a car accident and killed them. If only he had died instead.... But no, he just had to survive, and Mary just had to die. I’m sorry, Libby, but this is the only way. I know you’re not a part of our messed up history, but I’m going to have to sacrifice you too. Tonight, we’re ending it all together.”
She raised the knife to my throat. For a split second, my life flashed before my eyes.
Then everything went black.