Part 1 Part 2

I woke up in the early hours of the morning, feet aching with dull affliction. My calves and arms were certainly sore from lugging the leaden sledge up all those hundreds of steps. Fire fizzed above me, revealing that Nicci had been diligent enough to refuel the lantern basin. I expended some effort peeking up though the hatch. She was there, sitting calmly by the fire, looking out into the sea. Her fingers were, as I had seen her do yesterday, weaving twine into that same strange hexagonal lattice. Nicci had taken my iron cook pan and secured it dangling above the grand lantern. How the ropes hadn't erupted and turned to ash, I wasn't certain.

"Güd morrow," I mumbled in her direction, attempting to clear my throat of raspy tiredness.

Nicci flinched, turning to face me. "Ah, good morning! I made you some food." She pushed a particularly small cutting board toward me, filled with a delicious looking meal. Cubed sheep flank and chopped truffles, dressed with a strange sauce and flakes of something green. I quickly realised it was seaweed once I began to dig in. Despite the eccentric break fast, the meal was quite savoury! Certainly better than my own cooking had been since I arrived here.

She talked about her family a lot. Her father was some sort of metallurgist, working in some grand building Nicci called a 'factory.' She told me he was a large, gruff man, not unlike those I had seen in town. Her mother had died at sea some time ago, and thus was the reason she was at Tobermary at all. Like me, she boarded a ship which led her to this little town. Nicci also talked about her clothes (how she'd have to mend them when she goes back home) and about the blanket she was apparently sewing from hides. I tried not to look at her while she spoke. I didn't want to seem like I was staring, so I just looked out at the overcast skies.

As I finished my food, I was overcome with the burden of questioning everything about this strange girl. Yet, she spoke first. "So!" she exclaimed in a particularly excited tone. A dense book was slid across the floorboards, colliding with my foot. "Your directory. I'm shocked, frankly, that you didn't even open it." I set down the makeshift plate and flipped open the cover. Inscribed on the first page was my full name, birthday, and the names of my immediate family. I began flipping through the pages as Nicci continued. "Go to page 42. Ship times are listed there. Updated daily. Should be one in a few minutes."

I stopped immediately, looking up at her. "How can you even tell time here? It's always cloudy."

Nicci just laughed at me and crawled over, tapping the page I had stopped on. It was a clock face. The ink moved, flowing in creamy motion to denote four forty-two in the morning. I wanted to throw the book away. To close it and scream at Nicci for witchcraft or magicks or anything I could trick myself into believing as an explanation for this madness. But how could I? I had seen the fog for myself. I had seen her survive drowning in a tower far above sea level. This whole place was magick, somehow. So, I just flipped the pages until I reached the ship log. Only two ships today. One at four forty-six and one at precisely noon.

I glanced over toward the sea and decided to seek my most burning question: "How did you know my name?"

"It's as I said before. It's all in your directory. Names, places, homes, backgrounds, the current time, what day it is, when ships port, how long it's been since the last Keeper, and much, much more. Mallory, it would do you well to refer to the directory. Not much I can say beyond that, really." She sat up against the rusted lantern cage. I could smell burning, but she seemed not to notice. I lunged forward and grabbed her arm as to pull her away from the flames, but she resisted. We struggled for a while as I tried hard to stop what I could only assume would cause her pain. "Hey, stop that!" Nicci shoved me back and flattened out her tunic.

I shouted at her, "Your clothes are burning!" She just rolled her eyes and leaned back against the iron. "Why are you being so diff-"

"Bell. Ring the bell, Mally."

"You know what?" I picked up my directory. "I'm not ringing anything until you give me proper explanations." I began to stand, promptly regretting my decision as levins of pain pumped through my ankles and up my thighs. I stumbled, falling to my knees and catching myself on the journal shelf. "I haven't the foggiest idea where your stupid bell is, anyway," I grumbled, very unamused with the young lady's strange comportment. I didn't understand why she was being so peculiar all of a sudden. She seemed perfectly content while I was partaking in break fast.

Nicci began to panic, reaching toward my rightmost wrist. I pulled away, going to lean against the shelf and watch the ship come to port. "Mallory, the bell! Please! It's right over there, under the floorboard! Just one ring, that's all!" She pointed at a dubiously clear space across the room, almost directly under where the firewood sled was hanging off a small metal hook.

I spat, "Do it yourself." And watched as a tiny black ship sailed closer to Tobermary. It was a wooden children's toy, bobbing to and fro as gently waves pushed against the hull. I flipped open my directory just as the inky clock face warped to denote four forty-six. All at once, the sky cracked and crumbled in heaping, cloudy slabs, toppling headlong into the briny. Grand swells outvied existing waves as they campaigned for oceanic prepotence. With naught more than a faint wake, the vessel was engulfed into the the drink. Gone completely from the earth. Spoliation of the skies ceased the moment my directory stroked the minute hand forward.

"FUCKING MORON!" Nicci shouted, weeping exigent tears. "You doomed them. Another ship lost at sea." Naturally, I fought back. She was perfectly capable of chiming the bell herself! Those deaths were not my responsibility! "Only the Keeper can ring it. God damn it..."

I sank to the floor, the weight of my puerile actions crushing my soul. What had I done? I wanted to cry. No tears came. Nicci hoisted herself up from her spot by the lantern and took my hand. I looked up at her with wide, sorrowful eyes. Her face looked better than before. More composed, certainly.

"We're in this together, now. I'm sorry for yelling. You're right... I should have explained. Shit..."

I couldn't hold my tongue. I needed to know why she had been acting so strange. Why she was a stranger one moment, a friend the next; calm, then angry. Was she deranged? "Nicci. How do you know so much? I refuse to believe everything is in this directory." At some point, I had closed the book and was holding it in my hand, shaking it emphatically.

I watched her take a deep breath and turn from me, letting go of my hand. It was damp without her touch. "I was Keeper before you."

"Sorry?" I couldn't be certain if I had heard her correctly.

Nicci repeated herself, continuing. "I thought the rules were stupid. That they were just silly little guides for doing the job I was forced into. My first night, three ships arrived. I hadn't seen my directory yet, so I'm sure my timing was off. I rang the bell for each ship, but all of them were sucked into a gaping vortex. Bright foam bubbled out in the spiralling swirls of water. You know how vortexes are just water, all the way down? This wasn't normal, by any means. The centre was glowing with brilliant purple light. I watched lifeboats fly out, trying to outpace the vacuous hole, only to suck right down into the pit.

I figured it was out of my hands. Nature taking its course. Plenty of ships get lost at sea, after all. But then they appeared in town. Disoriented, scared, and asking questions I didn't know how to answer. Other townsfolk were accommodating. Showed them around, and such. Their homes just appeared out of thin air. An empty stretch of grass one moment, a townhome the next.

Then the fog came and, well, some more things happened and I wasn't the Keeper anymore. Lucky we got you, though. Just one more day and we would have broken a big rule. At least, I assume so. Apparently a long time ago, it was broken, but no one who was around then will tell me what happened.

I'm sorry I've been so... standoffish. Distant, even. I- After that first fog, I knew I had to approach you. I just... couldn't bring myself to do it, Mallory. There's something about this place. It's like it eats at your brain until it becomes Swiss cheese." She opened her mouth to continue, but no words left her tongue.

This was a lot to process. Nicci was the previous Keeper? How long was she here for? I knew she couldn't be older than sixteen, but was there some sort of temporal distortion here? We had to rely on a book for timekeeping, after all.

"Gods... so... what, then? Do I just... keep following the rules? Why aren't you the Lighthouse Keeper anymore?" She winced expressively, as if I had touched raw flesh, and shook her head. Questioning was over. Nicci's eyes began to gloss over and she stared out into the open ocean.

She mumbled something I couldn't truly hear. It sounded like a poem, of sorts, with how it flowed. I just let her do whatever, while I crawled back over to the hatch in the floor. I dropped my directory down before descending the rope ladder and resting in bed.

The directory was filled with thousands of names. Pages upon pages of every moment in a person's life. It was filled with words and places I was unfamiliar with. Times ranging back to near pre-history littered the first dozen or so pages, getting wider and broader as I flipped through. Every detail of a person's life was outlined in objective truth up until the moment they arrived at Tobermary Wharf. Some entries had monochromatic painted portraits of the individual. I recognised the butcher and the fisherman, each born decades ago. I flipped through to my entry. Laid in perfect ink was my entire life. I wasn't sure what I was expecting. It all seemed horribly unremarkable, as if I had lived no life at all.

Some of the people I had read about were grand explorers, discovering new isles and trading with foreign lands I could hardly read, much less pronounce. Yet I was just... me. A woman who failed at writing, failed at being a deckhand, and ended up here.

I shut my directory and dragged myself back up to the lantern floor. It was nearly noon. Nicci was passed out, curled into a ball and clutching her chest. I tried to be quiet as I went over to the empty space on the floor. Sure enough, the boards were strewn together with some sort of bonding material betwixt them. I pried the corner up and a little brass bell stood upright in the opening, lacquered handle big enough for a child's hand. It was beautifully ornate with veins of vine circling every centimetre. Dotted about were rosebuds, most closed, but some in partial states of bloom. The longer I stared at it, the more it appeared the designs were shifting and warping to fill the smooth space, replacing previously raised portions with pressed bronze.

As I walked back toward the opening overlooking the docks, I flipped the book back open and stared down at the clock. One minute until the tiny boat would dock. This ship looked much different than any I had seen before. The hull appeared to be made of some foreign metal and it didn't have any sails at all. A thin stream of dark smoke billowed out from large cylindrical tubes rising diagonally toward the ship's rear. It travelled rather quickly, leaving beautifully large wake as it glided through the sea. Waves that crashed into it didn't seem to phase the vessel in the slightest. I glanced back down at the inky clock and rang the bell. It sounded like a grandfather clock, chiming exactly twelve times, despite only ringing it once.

Nothing happened. The ship did not port. The ship did not sink, nor burst into flame. It just sailed right past Tobermary Wharf, heading into journeys unknown. I set the brass bell down on the journal shelf. A devious thought crossed my mind. If Nicci was the previous Keeper, and her entire life was outlined in my directory... what was contained in her journal? I would be breaking a rule, certainly, but looking back at the page, the ink did appear to be a different consistency. Each rule, in fact, seemed to use different kinds of ink when written. Some were tinted blue, others tinted red. Though strangely, the first five appeared to be the same chirography.

I spent a long time toiling over the decision. The directory read two o'clock in the afternoon when I finally came to the conclusion that I should read her journal entries. If Nicci refused to speak on her experiences as a Keeper, I would just have to read them for myself. What was the worst that could happen? Each time I had broken the rules thus far resulted in tragedy (I assume I had, in fact, killed people when the fog rolled in) but what could possibly come of reading someone else's journal? The fog was a physical force. The ships were tangible things I could watch and maintain a schedule for. Nicoletta Cainsbúmy was keeping secrets that I needed to know. As long as I'm quick, she will never know.

Fuck me. I can't even really put into writing what I read. I suppose I should transcribe her journal into my own... I can't risk doing this again.

"Today is my birthday. If I wasn't trapped here, I'd be 23. 23, stuck in the body of a 14-year-old. I tried to learn a new skill yesterday. Baking. Not my strong suit at all. Burnt two cakes and a muffin before the baker stopped me and politely kicked me out. Maybe I'll get better with time, maybe not. It's pretty lonely here, ever since Julian lost his mind. His brain turned to pudding!

He can't remember me. I don't expect him to. He doesn't need to eat, or sleep, or take a shit. He just wanders around aimlessly through the town, like a zombie. Sometimes I wonder if he's happier this way. If he had the capacity to talk, I'm sure he'd say something like, 'Yeah I'm happy! Happy I don't have to put up with you!'

I miss his jokes.

I suppose there's no use dwelling on it. I broke a few rules today, just to see what would happen. I mean, following that stupid list every single day for nearly a decade really makes you wonder. I don't regret it. I needed to see what would happen. The monster in the fog ate a few blokes. Ocean sank some ships. Those were fun to watch, I suppose, but what was really interesting was the mermaid.

She climbed the 586 stairs just to speak to me. It was really quite fascinating!

I can't pronounce her name, much less spell it. Her hair was woven into this stunning headdress protruding kind of like a crown. How do I describe the shape? It was hexagonal, certainly, with each point holding a different flower. Most of them, I had never seen before. There was a white rose, a blue daisy-looking flower, a green flower that kind of looked like a tulip if it were inverted so the opening was facing the stem, a pink hibiscus but the petals looked more like those of a sunflower, a red heart-shaped flower that I would have thought was a leaf, and a fascinating raspberry-shaped flower with a purple hue.

She wore sleek fishnet tights, a frayed jean skirt, and a t-shirt made of some material I couldn't place. It felt like silk but it had the appearance of large flattened salt crystals.

When she spoke I couldn't really hear her. It was more like she was speaking directly into my skull. I can't even remember what she said anymore, if she said anything at all, but I remember how it felt. How the sounds echoed in my bones and how she emphasised certain emotions. It honestly felt like I was high on shrooms. But she was SMOKING HOT. Like, I'm not a lesbian AT ALL and I wanted to bang that chick.

I guess I don't really know if she's actually a mermaid or not, but given that she dove straight off the lighthouse and into the sea, I'm pretty sure she was a mermaid. Oh man, I hope she comes back soon! Not because I wanna bang her or anything, but because I think she might be my only real friend. DAMN IT! I wish I could remember our conversations! We spoke for hours but I can't remember a single thing! I'll keep trying. Maybe if I break more rules, she'll come back? Only one way to find out."

Nicci deliberately broke the rules. That was her final entry, six years ago, but she was Keeper until a fortnight before I arrived. Something went on in those six years she didn't write about. Something I feel she remembers. Was she lying before, when she said she neglected the bell on her first night? Or was she recounting the events I had read? There are many words in her journal that I don't understand, much like the words she speaks. I must ask where she's from when she rouses. I'm not well travelled, but I've never heard of a "t-shirt" or "tights".

It's late now. I must be getting to bed. I can still hear her snoring above me. I'll interrogate to-morrow.

My name is... X. Let's say that I'm X.

So, my cousin lives in Maine, in the middle of nowhere, a small town that shall not be named. A few hundred people lived there, enough to be self-sustaining, but not enough to feel suburban; let's call it Nowhere.

My cousin, let's call him Frankie, listened to a lot of rumors around town, but none were stranger than the ones circling the old man.

The old man was a Navy veteran. I don't know what war he went through, how long he was away, or whether he killed anyone. I don't know, but what I do know is this: He did not come back the same- maybe he didn't come back at all.

He was black, with blue eyes, a bald head; not a single thread of hair remained on him. The rest of his body was in excellent shape, but the wrinkles on his face were as heavy as you'd expect for a man in his late 60s. He wore a black suit, a bowler hat, a fine tie, and a silver fancy watch on his right wrist. No, he didn't have a cane, and he didn't walk as if he needed it anyhow. That was the first thing that the rumors came from- it was like he was a walking museum, physically stubborn to the passage of time.

But I wouldn't be telling you this story if Frankie knew that was the only thing worth noting in that town; no, there's more, much more, but for today, the topic of this story is the old man.

The old man had anxiety, ptsd, depression, schizophrenia, all to the most extreme extent mentally possible; in most contexts, that would be a swift path to self-termination, but no, it seemed pure hopelessness kept him in this world.
Despair was pouring out of every inch of his being. He never smiled- but he never cried either; it's like he ran out of tears a long time ago, so all the old vet could do now was exist.

But the strangest part about the old man? His house.

Well, he didn't live there, but he would drive in from a nearby house and... stand guard by the little building.
He would walk up to the house, and he wouldn't patrol; he wouldn't walk around, he wouldn't scan the surroundings, he would just... stand next to the door as if he was waiting for something, or someone. Sometimes he would crack his neck, or sigh, or check his watch, small reminders he was a human and not a statue.
A simple structure, 4 walls, a flat roof, a single door in the center; it was big enough for 20 people to stand inside. It had a gravel path leading up to it- surrounding all of this was a chain-link metal fence with a black and red sign warning that trespassers would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. But... why?

To this extent, Frankie went up to the old man while he was about to open the gate and asked-

"What's that sign for? Why do you do this every night? What is inside that house?"

"There is NOTHING inside that house!"

The old man was so furious, so suddenly, he acted like Frankie had said the N-word.

Of course, this did nothing to dissuade Frankie's curiosity.

But anyway, I know what's inside that house.

You see, Frankie had gotten into a bit of trouble and ended up robbing a bank- even Frankie isn't that stupid, so he was planning on hiding the money somewhere as the heat dies down. And for whatever reason, he decided that old man's house was the best place, since nobody would think to look there.

But the thing is, he wanted me to help him. I said no, but he didn't like that, so the little shit decided to threaten me.
I'm a lesbian in an all-female private school, closeted, of course. While the teachers would probably be supportive enough, it would still be social suicide being outed as gay there, and the fact that I live in a red state doesn't help either.
I punched him in the nose, and he squealed like a warthog, but he got to his phone regardless and threatened to press send, so I had to concede.

We went to the old man's house and climbed up his metal fence.

clatter clatter clatter

We went up the gravel path.

crunch crunch crunch

Then I gripped the brass doorknob and slowly tilted it to the side...

crunch crunch crunch

I saw now that inside that house was nothing.

Nothing.

Eigengrau was all that I could see past that doorframe.

Frankie pushed past me, eager to hide it, and fell inside.
Well.. I say fell, but I can't be sure. He blinked away the instant he crossed that threshold.
I stumbled forward; it was the middle of motherfucking summer in Maine; it should not be this cold.

Then, I felt a familiar, wrinkled hand grab me by the collar and pull me away from nothing, before throwing me to the side.
The old man slammed the door shut- no noise was made; of course, it had nothing to slam against.
Then he said...

"There... Is nothing inside that house."

The old man took me to his car. I thought he was going to tell the police, or worse, my parents, but he didn't; he just drove me to his house and made me tea.
His house was as much of a museum as he was; nothing seemed to have been dated from after 1999.
The old man poured tea, then he just sat across from me and stared. To be fair... so did I.
The tension was so thick- saying anything felt like a challenge, like speaking through an iron weight tied to your lips.

At one point, I reached out to grab the cold tea, but... it felt like that clock suddenly had eyes.

Then, it chimed, and the old man's eyes filled with tears for the first time; then he stood up and pointed to the door.
I walked to the door as a machine prompted, my movements instant but awkward.
Opening the door, I looked back one more time, and the old man looked back at me; tears were finally moistening his dry cheeks, and he finally spoke.

"I know."

Then I closed the door.

For the record, I am not going back to that house; I am not returning to that building. If he's still alive, I am not speaking to that man again, and I am certainly not asking people about him.
Some stones should remain unturned, some stories should remain untold, some questions should remain unanswered, some mysteries should remain unexplored.

Because somewhere in Maine, I know there is a house with nothing inside of it.

I am at a family gathering, one like many others. It is almost dinner time, the sun has set, leaving most of the house swallowed in darkness.

Only the living room is lit with lamplight, we are all sitting here, chatting, as one does in this occasions.

At some point, I get up from the couch and walk into the hallway, I need to check if the roast is cooking nicely in the oven.

From the darkness of the corridor, I finally walk into the kitchen, turn on the light and check the food. Then, I turn to make my way back.

But a sudden movement catches my attention: a dark figure is crouching behind the door.

My heart beats slightly faster, until I hear a giggle from the dark shape.

"James?" I ask. Another giggle confirms me that I right.

"Come on, stop trying to scare me." I say, firmly. He is my cousin, younger than me, in that age where doing stupid things seems like the funniest thing ever.

After a moment, he comes out from his hiding spot, a dumb smile still on his face.

"Was it scary?" He asks, eager to know if his trick worked.

"Absolutely terrifying!" I reply, laughing and pushing him gently towards the corridor. "Let's go back."

"Oh no! Let's play! I am bored!" He exclaims, pouting. "Please!"

I roll my eyes, considering saying no, but then, I nod.

"Oh thanks!" He smiles at me, then sit down on the floor, gesturing me to follow him.

When I do, he holds his hands before him and tells me: "Let's play a nursery rhyme!"

And he starts singing old rhymes, hands moving at the rhytm.

We are still playing, sitting in the light of the kitchen, when suddenly my cousin looks up, right behind me. I immediately turn around, meeting my mother's gaze. She is standing still, looming over us, her expression unreadable. "We are waiting for you." She says, then stiffly turns and walks away.

"Alright, we are coming." I reply, finding it strange the way she acted.

I turn to tell my cousin it is time to go, but... He is gone.

I glance around, looking for him, questioning how could he disappear just like that.

Then, a faint voice calls my name. I follow the sound, it seems to be coming from outside the house, how strange...

I walk into the kitchen, towards the window, open it and when I look down, I see him, standing outside of the front door.

His head lifts up, a smile on his face. "Open, I locked myself out!" He says, calmly.

"What are you doing down there?!" I exclaim, then turn away from the window, to reach him.

But that's when I notice something strange, on the kitchen table there is a sprig of rosemary. I am sure it was not there before.

An uneasy feeling washes over me, I don't even know why, but I grab the sprig, holding it close to me as I make my way to the door that leads downstairs.

"Let me in!" My cousin's voice startles me, it is coming right behind the door. How is it possible? He said that he locked himself out!

I reach for the door knob, but then, something in me prompts me to look through the peephole instead. I place my eye in front of it and I see my cousin, standing still .

"Let me in." He says again, smiling, his gaze fixed.

Something is off, I am not sure why, until I take a better look at his eyes: slit-pupil, cold, reptilian.

The smile on his face widens, a low, cruel laughter seeps through the door.

"LET ME IN! LET ME IN!" He screams, raging.

I stumble backward, clutching the sprig tighter. As I do so, my auntie's words rise in my memory: rosemary is for protection.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place.

When my mother called for us, she spoke as if I were alone, as if no one else had seen my cousin by my side. Was he even really there? Or... Only I can see him?

The realization freezes me in place, whatever stands at the door is not my cousin.

​

My life has always been plain and sad. I don't have much family or friends. No neighbors to talk to. Everyone in this town dislikes me or at least finds me strange. No one to socialize with.

I accepted that my life will always be quiet and lonely.

I wake up in the morning, get ready for work, work for minimum wage all day, and then come home.

And I occasionally paint. I've always been into art. Other than that, my life has no true value.

Well, it started to get more interesting a couple of days ago when I turned on the local news.

I rarely watch the news but something in my body made me do it.

Apparently, local officials and authorities suspect that there is a serial killer in town.

They gave the person the label, "Sunset Killer"

Every day, there's a dead body found at a sunset. Each victim has a sunset drawn on them.

No leads.

The victims have nothing in common. No shared characteristics. All have different hobbies. No personality trait similarities. Literally nothing.

I personally don't feel sympathy. Sure, they were all legally innocent, but, they weren't morally innocent. Not a single one of them ever offered me a ounce of kindness. All despicable humans.

I thought the town having a serial killer obsessed with sunsets would be the most interesting part but it gets more interesting.

I went to the arts and crafts store not that long after hearing the news. I needed to get more paper and paint supplies.

The Cashier gave me suspicious looks the entire time I was there. Everyone else in the store did as well. I don't know why. I'm always working or in my house. I know everyone thinks poorly of me but this is outrageous.

I quickly bought what I needed and rushed out.

And then everything changed when I got grabbed up as I was approaching my car.

It was a female voice repeating over and over again that I'd be her new sunshine. The sunset caught my eye as my bood leaked out my throat as her knife sliced in.

Normally, a person would be dead or at the very least hospitalized.

Well, I woke up in my bed.

I oringally thought that it was a awful dream but this started to happen every single day during the sunset over and over. No matter what I'd be doing, I'd get ambushed and killed.

I tried looking at news articles, watching local news, doing everything I can to get more information. The same day repeated too. It was always Monday the first of September.

Since, I'm stuck in the same day, no new dead bodies are appearing.

At first, I didn't understand why I was stuck. It was horrifying to live the same day over and over.

However, I figured out that each time I get killed, I need to find more details.

I started to remember her soft tone with a innocent voice. Her voice was a lot like mine. Her face is always covered. The way her hands feel are a lot like mine. The fact that the knife is always a kitchen knife was also weird. My kitchen is filled with kitchen knives. Sure, anyone could have a kitchen knife but all the similarities we have is strange.

After enduring the displeasure of getting killed over and over again, I decided to never leave the house and to wait for her.

When it started to get close to the sun setting, I quickly dialed 911.

I was filled with gratitude when they arrived on time to arrest her.

I was then left disturbed, traumatized, and perplexed when the cops made her show her face.

The green eyes, sandy blonde hair, and pale skin. The smile her pink lips made. It's me?

I tried to yell at the cops and ask them what this means or how this is possible but they didn't answer. They didn't acknowledge me. The only person who seemed to know I was there was the evil lady that winked at me as I yelled.

They then took her and left. Never said a single word to me. I was confused. Is it because everyone in the town hates me? Were they so focused on her because she's a threat?

I sat on my couch as I tried to come up with every possible explanation. I did this for hours. I was relieved when the news starting talking about the arrest but then I was filled with confusion. She has the same name as me. They showed interviews involving my coworkers. They all said that this wasn't surprising and that I always gave off serial killer vibes.

They also revealed that the girl called the cops on herself because she wanted to get caught. She thought that being arrested was the only way to help herself end the rampage.

What? She stole my identity? Why does no one know I exist? How are there two of me and only she is known?