My Friend Abby

My Friend Abby. I thought she was my friend but it seems I didn't know Abby at all.


She was a regular visitor to my house since we were little kids. Tea parties with teddies, trips to the park, then she went home. "Gotta be home before dark or my olds will kill me."

We went to the same schools, had the same friends but something about Abby was different. She didn't judge, didn't take the micky when the sole was hanging off my trainers.

"I'm not allowed boyfriends," she informed me when I started raving over my latest conquest and the chips he had bought me after our Saturday morning walk in the park. We were fourteen, it was innocent enough.

It was her seventeenth birthday when Abby turned up on my doorstep with an overnight bag. It was already dark so this was a surprise.

"I'm staying the weekend, if that's OK with you?" Of course it was OK. I wanted nothing more than to celebrate my friends birthday.

"Is it alright with your parents?" I asked, knowing what they were like.

"I don't care if it's not. I'm seventeen today and they're not going to treat me like a child any more." This attitude was new. I had never known her to be like this; she was normally cowed to her parents' wishes. Was it just that she was growing up, or was it something else?

"Come on, let's have some fun," she laughed, pulling a bottle of vodka from her bag. "It's my birthday, it's my birthday," she started to sing.

"OK, let's go up to my room," I suggested. My parents were fairly liberal but not so keen on my drinking alcohol. Of course I had had a drink or two but not under their noses. The bottle was not full and I wondered how much of Abby's bravado was booze related.

She started searching through my cd collection, tossing most onto the floor before putting Emenem in the player, turning it to full volume. Then she threw herself onto my bed. I turned the volume down to a level I (and my parents) could cope with.
"What's that?" she said.
"What's what?"

"What? Did you say something?" She looked at me strangely, then started rubbing at her temples.

"You OK?" I asked. She shook her head violently, then jumped up, took a swig of vodka, and started dancing.

"Come on, dance with me," she said, grabbing my hands. She started spinning me around until I felt dizzy.

"Enough!" I shouted, trying to break her grip on my wrists. Her nails dug in, leaving marks. We spun and spun then just as suddenly she let go and I was thrown against a chest of drawers. She retreated to the bed as I rubbed my bruises.

"Should I?" she was saying, but she was not looking at me, "OK, no, don't stop me."

I have no idea where the knife came from; the first I knew was when it penetrated my skin, making contact with my ribs. I tried to scream but there was no air in my lungs. The knife twisted as Abby stared at some unknown being behind me. Then she let out a blood curdling scream. Abby loosened her grip and I fell to the floor. Then she walked out of the room.

I lay there, getting colder, my eyes glued to the door. When Abby came back in I feared she was about to finish me off.

"Oh, my god, what happened?" she asked, kneeling beside my body. The old Abby was back, but too late for me.

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