I always wondered what happens when you die. Now I know.

Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. In fact, it’s the opposite. I can’t even remember my final moments. One second I was laughing in the living room, enjoying life; the next I’m here—wherever this is.

The air feels heavy, somehow weighed down, but I feel lighter. I try to scream, shout, or even whisper, but nothing comes out. I can see them, but I know they can’t see me. At least, not this version of me.

It was a scene you’d expect to see in some cheesy who-dunnit. Five friends huddled in a small pantry, staring at a body—my body. I look so strange, just crumpled on the floor. My face is a shade too pale, my eyes wide open, staring at nothing, my fingers arestill clasped around the broken neck of a wine bottle. 

I remember now; that was my task. On the floor, the wine mixes with my blood, creating some sort of forbidden cocktail. I trace the blood back to its source and realize what happened.

I was literally stabbed in the back.

Fear sinks in; I can see it on their faces. They’ve all come to the same conclusion: one of us did this. It had to be — there was no one else. The house was private, remote, secluded. We had come here seeking peace and quiet, but the very isolation that once felt like an escape now feels like a trap. 

Mia turns away from me, burying her face in Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy, for his part, tries his best to console her, stroking her hair with his trembling hand. Not such a happy couple now. 

Theo, impulsive as ever, moves towards my body but is stopped. Elena pulls him back and instructs Jennifer to go call the police. She has to ask twice to break Jen out of her shock.

The police will need to boat out; it’ll take 30 minutes at least. “So we wait,” Elena declares, and they go to sit in the living room, silent. The minutes creep by, agonizingly slow, and I desperately try to remember who asked me to get the wine. We were scattered throughout the house, preparing for dinner, but the murderer would need to have known where I’d be or, more likely, sent me there. Theo speaks up, his voice sharp. “Are we really just going to sit here waiting for who knows how long?”

Just like that, the dam bursts.

Accusations fly across the room. “Why are you so nervous, Theo?” Mia asks, her tone clearly suspicious. Theo snaps back, “Where were you before the murder, Mia?” His voice is quivering, but his eyes are cold.

Jimmy jumps to Mia’s defense, his words striking hard and fast, all while Elena, ever the diplomat, struggles to maintain order, her fervent pleas drowned out in the noise.

Theo, now cornered, eyes darting nervously at his ‘friends,’ points a finger at Jen. “What about you?” he shouts. His desperation is clear. It’s almost pitiful.

Jen, startled, stammers out, “I—I was here, in the living room.”

That’s when it hits me. The argument continues on, devolving into a muddle of anger and fear, but I’m no longer listening. My mind is elsewhere, swept away in a flood of memories. Memories of laughing in the living room with Jen.

She had asked me to get the wine. She was the only one who knew I’d be there. She did this.

I try to scream. “Jen! Guys, it was Jen!” But my voice is still gone. I’d been so focused on finding the culprit I never thought about how I’d warn them.

Suddenly, Elena gasps. She stands up and slinks into the corner of the room, eyes wide. “Jen,” she whispers, staring in horror and pointing at Jen’s feet.

The rest of us slowly turn towards Jen, then look down—and we see it. It was barely visible when she was standing but is now fully revealed as she sits. On Jen’s left sock is a splatter: a splatter of wine and blood.

Jen darts towards the lightswitch, and the room goes dark. The others scream. Then, for the briefest moment, I swear she sees me. 

She looks me dead in the eyes and smiles.

Jimmy stumbles to the switch, flicking the lights back on. The front door is wide open, and Jen is gone. Everyone scrambles to lock the doors and windows, but I remain frozen. Powerless. I can’t warn them—it’s not over. Not yet.

Because Jen isn’t running away. She’s hiding. Waiting.

And I’m the only one who knows where.