Cassandra’s memory had been a little spotty lately. She would shut a door, then remember her housemate was walking behind her. The woman would sweep past her with wide eyes, and Cassandra would merely move out of the way. There were other things too. She would grab up a knife, prepared to go make some dinner, then lay it down and forget she had needed it. One time, she even left the stove on.
She didn’t know where this was coming from. She had always enjoyed a sharp mind before. And she certainly wasn’t old enough to be developing Alzheimer’s. She spent some time searching the Internet for some sort of clue, but her housemate didn’t like her using the computer. She would shout, and Cassandra would flee.
Once or twice, she tried calling the doctor, but apparently their phone was disconnected. She wasn’t very comfortable going to a different doctor, either.
Cassandra knew she embarrassed her housemate with this sort of behavior. One time, guests were over, and Cassandra came in to join in on the conversation. Her housemate glared at her, eyes wide once more. Was she afraid Cassandra would say something wrong, forgetting that it was wrong? Cassandra once again retreated. She was becoming used to this.
Worse than the memory loss were the memories that seemed to come from nowhere, and have no context. Cassandra was sure if she could remember more then they would make better sense. She remember children playing in the yard; she was quite sure of that. She wondered if her housemate had babysat before, or possibly had some nieces and nephews over. Cassandra also remembered someone standing in the doorway, and if she closed her eyes she remembered it being very dark and her being very dizzy.
Cassandra started writing herself notes, to help her memory loss, but her housemate seemed to think that finding them scattered about the house were quite a nuisance.
Then, one day, a psychiatrist came. At least, Cassandra was sure of it. Her housemate let her in, and the psychiatrist paused, her eyes roaming the room until they landed on Cassandra. Then she came forward.
“Why?” she said. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“I don’t mean to do anything,” Cassandra said. “I’m just trying to remember.”
The woman paused, then seated herself.
“What do you want to remember?”
“I forget little things, like leaving things where they don’t go, or shutting the door when my housemate is coming through. And then I forget where some of my memories are from.”
“What sort of memories do you have, dear?” The woman was very kind, Cassandra thought.
“I remember a man in the doorway, and I remember being very dizzy.”
The woman sighed, stood, and approached her. Cassandra thought she wasn’t dressed very much like a psychiatrist.
“Do you remember what happened two months ago, when there was a break-in?”
“A break-in! That must explain it! But why do I have memory loss from that? Why do I feel dizzy when I think of it?”
The psychiatrist looked at her with sad eyes.
“The man killed someone in this house. My dear, you are remembering your death.”
HEY GUYS BRUCE WILLIS WAS A GHOST THE WHOLE TIME