Introduction to Dead Girls

You Think You Know?

Have you ever wished yourself dead? More to the point, have you ever wished someone else was dead? If you did, did you do anything about it, other than a general prayer to whatever gods you wished existed?

I did. Not in a physical, tangible way. I didn't go out and purchase a Wilkinson Sword, eleven inch carving knife with serrated blade and dishwasher-proof steel handle so it couldn't be identified by blood smears, or at least, I'm not admitting to it. Nor did I go out and buy a gun, but mostly because they're illegal in Britain and you can't buy one anyway, and especially not if you're a fifteen year old girl at a Catholic school and living at home with your dad.

What I actually did was much more sneaky and completely deniable, should anyone even suspect I was connected with a series of seven tragic, unexpected deaths; four of whom were in my year at school, one of whom was a teacher, one three years above me and the seventh a man I'd never met who happened to be driving a taxi at exactly the wrong time.

I asked the devil to do it. The whole 'sell your soul to the devil thing' isn't the urban legend it's made out to be. At least, not if you know where the devil actually lives, and you deliver The Guardian to him on a daily basis for a year and a half.

© Rachel Green 2018