The Girl Who Remembered Too Much

age, as if listening to secrets whispered by the wind, flanked narrow, fog-filled streets that wound

ized sweaters, scribbled in notebooks, kept to herself, and had the haunted eyes of someone who did not get muc

mbered e

to her. She recalled the precise tone of her father's voice when he first expressed his pride in her, despite the fact that she was only three years old and that he had only said it in a whis

impressions. They were perf

n, every historical date, and every multiplication table before the teacher finished aski

ies were starting to

r where an old key was hidden behind a loose floorboard in the school library. At first, she thought it was her imagination.

Not even Lila, her best

She pretended not to remember things she hadn't seen. But inside her, ther

ing. He had been a little boy, five years old, with a cracked blue marble in his

he sat up in bed. It was an unfamiliar name. However

ath her mattress. She turned to the page she had completed

Name: Matthew. Drowning. Marble in left pocket.

stronger. More vivid. More real. She wasn't sure how much longer she c

s, she didn't see the figure watching her from the woods. Tall, still

mbered