Estimated reading time — 4 minutes
Alright, so, I’ve read some of the things on this site and from what I’ve gathered, all of it is simply here to scare, and most of it is based off of the paranormal. But the story I’m sharing with you is not made up. It’s not exactly scary as it is disturbing. Saddening, for me, because the person who wrote the note I had found that day was a close friend of mine. A best friend. Her name was Alex, a slightly overused name I know, but she was Alex. An everyday kid who dealt with all of the stuff that everyday kids deal with. Bullying, being one of those things, attempting to have fun, and trying to get through the week without crying over a break-up, the death of a pet, or whatever it is that was bothering her at the time. You know tweens. She was nearly 13 and in her eyes life was hectic. And I guess that in the end, it really was.
Anyways… Life was good for the both of us, filled with smiles and laughter. But it seemed to change drastically, due to the death of her family and her disappearance. She couldn’t smile with me anymore, because she was missing. There was no doubt in my mind that she was out there somewhere… Maybe taken hostage, but not dead. All I know is that the search continued, for both her and the killer. I prayed to God she wasn’t dead. Maybe someday, she’d just be there, and life would be good again. But after awhile, like everyone else, I gave up hope… I finally let go.
I tried to hold close to me all of the memories I’d made with her. I looked through old scrapbooks, walked passed our favorite places to hang out, and scrolled through old texts. I smiled every time I saw her humorous and smart-ass replies. One day while doing this, I turned off the phone and threw it on my bed. It was to the woods, now. I didn’t like it there but she always insisted we went every Friday. And so I’d continue doing it, even though she wasn’t there. You could call it commitment.
After having been in there a good 30 minutes, I stepped on a piece of paper. It looked worn and torn, but despite my lack-of-interest in ripped paper, I grabbed it. The writing on it looked familiar… But I couldn’t put my finger on who could’ve written it. Keep in mind, we didn’t have any of the same classes, so I couldn’t really remember writing I hadn’t looked at to copy onto my tests.
It’s what I’d read that told me who had written it. And you’re about to read the same thing; It was titled “MY CONFESSION”, and the writing was sloppy. It looked shaky like it had been written in a hurry.
( NOTE: I’ve fixed the misspellings and grammar issues. Like the writing, I think it was rushed, so she didn’t have time to think while she was making this.)
Before you read this, I need to tell you my name and you need to report this to the police as soon as you’re done reading it. I can’t right this wrong, but I can try, can’t I? My name is Alex Goodman, and I am the missing girl who’s family was killed on 2-8-06.
I’ve been thinking about what I’ve done a lot recently. It’s been eating away at me, but not because I regret it. No. I’d do it again if they were still alive… Try to understand, I was raised in a Christian home. I’m scared of hell and now that I know I’m going there I only fear it more. I’m tired of fearing it so I’m just going to get this over with and go. I’ll leave this to whomever finds it, so this mystery of “Who killed my parents” is solved. I did it. That’s all there is to it.
There’s only so much a girl can handle. Through all the shit they gave me, I’ve lived through it, hurting no one but myself. Given my situation that’s all I could do. I cared that I might go to hell, I wanted to hurt them so many times, I got urges to end their lives, but I couldn’t because they’d raised me to fear going to hell. One day, I couldn’t care anymore. I killed them. I got their blood on my hands because I was tired of having to take it out on myself. I’ve left everyone worried because I couldn’t control it anymore. I hurt myself so many times when I just wanted to hurt them.
I bet people are still searching for me. All I left was my blood on my bed sheets, but no body. I stabbed myself so that I would seem as a victim rather than the killer. It would be fishy if I was the only one alive and unharmed. But I fixed that, didn’t I? It was a waste though, because I’ve come to admit to it in the end.
It felt good after I finally got rid of them. No more bickering, no more plans of divorce, no more hitting me, telling me I’m going to hell and doing nothing but comparing me to my sisters who, might I add, I killed too. They had it coming to them. But now that I’ve killed them I guess I have what’s coming to me, too. I guess I would have gone to hell anyways, I at least had to have some fun before I did.
So now that I’ve confessed, you don’t have to look for me… I’ve punished myself. Don’t look for my body, I don’t deserve to be buried or “put to rest”. Even if you try you won’t find me. Just know that I’m dead, and in hell now. Goodbye.”
The note ended there. I was wailing, all of this newfound information was heavy. Why was I the one to find the note? Was I the one who she wanted to have read it…? I don’t know, but I regretted picking that piece of paper up. I honestly didn’t know she was capable of such a thing, and to think she could have gotten away with it.
You have to wonder though, if she’s still out there. Sometimes I wonder if she’s still alive, and sickly, part of me still hopes so. She was my best friend and no matter what she did, I’ll love her until the end. Despite what she’d done to herself and her family.
If you’re wondering, I didn’t give the note to the police. I instead, posted it here. More people deserve to know. If you knew her, now you know where she went and what she did… I’ve got nothing more to say. I’ll stop here.
Credit To: Hannah Arthur
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