The Ghost of Karen Brewer
Chapter One - The Funeral.
I always thought that my funeral would be magnificent. A lion tamer would greet people as they came in, and the walls would be covered in glamorous photos of me. Fresh flowers in beautiful colours would line the walls, and there would be a plush red carpet leading all the way down the aisle to my coffin. The only downer would be all the people completely devastated over my death, and the eventual stampede caused by people not fitting into the church.
Of course, all those glamorous photos of me ranged in age from 5 to 105, the age I was going to die. Not 17.
I was going to marry young, have 12 children, but also find the time to be a Vet, a Pilot, an Author, an Actress, and President. But that was all when I was sixteen. When I was seventeen, my life started to change, and everything I knew, everything I planned, suddenly didn't matter as much.
I died almost two months after my seventeenth birthday, two crazy months that I know look back on with awe. Was it something I did during those two months that caused my death? If I'd stayed the same old Karen Brewer, would I still be alive?
Honestly, I'm not sure. Because the thing is, I don't remember how I died. Or I should say, I don't remember who killed me.
But I intend to find out. I already have a few suspects. My funeral was a great starting point, the amount of people who came up to the closed coffin to talk to me… not knowing I was listening.
"I'm so sorry Karen. It's all my fault." Hannie said tearfully, her long dark hair pulled up on top of her head in a neat bun.
Hmm… I thought. This was almost too easy.
I was about to call for someone to come and arrest Hannie, when she moved back, letting the next person come up.
Ricky, my boyfriend.
"Oh Karen… This is all my fault. I can't believe it happened. I still can't believe it." He said, wiping away a lone tear.
With a sigh, I looked at the long line behind Ricky. There were a lot of people who could be feeling as equally guilty as Ricky and Hannie. There had to be a clue here.
Resolved to having to listen to each and everyone of their tearful confessions, I was about to turn back, when a lone figure at the back of the church caught my eye. I made my way toward him, gliding carefully, so as not to glide through someone (I think Emily Michelle almost had a heart attack when I did it to her).
And there, slouching so as not to be seen, was Linnie Papadakis. I was drawn toward him, as he glared at everyone and everything. Linnie was a sour puss, if there ever was one. And sure enough, not a tear in sight.
Ah huh! I thought, feeling slightly smug. It must be Linnie. But why?