Katy Morrell was our school outcast. From the moment she arrived it was noted how fucking weird she was. She’d always wear the same black hoodie low over her eyes- her hands never seemed to leave her pockets, and if she spoke she whispered.

Billy Desmond was our school bully, so we all kind of followed his lead. But Billy was ruthless.

“Hey Katy,” he called down the hall, directing everyone’s eyes to the poor girl, “My dad says you’re an orphan! What’d you do, kill your parents?”

Katy just stared while the rest of us forced laughs, lest Billy turned his attention on us. I guess that wasn’t enough for him, though. He marched right over and yanked her hood as far down as he could. And in the few moments she struggled to pull it back up, we saw it. Her left hand was withered, looked almost melted.

Now, I’m uncertain who started it- Billy would probably take credit, he’s too fucking dumb to be as creative- but through some demented game of telephone, the rumor about what happened to her hand was spawned.

“…I heard she set her folks on fire. Just sat on the end of their bed with a tank of gasoline and watched them burn alive,” someone would say, “Watched for so long, she got burned!”

“Oh man, don’t ever let her touch you with that thing!” someone else would chime in, “It’s cursed! One touch, and you’re dead!”

The thing about small towns, you can never really escape the people there. Even after we reached high school, Billy kept tormenting Katy.

One afternoon I happened into the restroom she’d apparently fled to after he’d said something particularly vile. She was standing perfectly still, peering at her reflection. It was eerie. I’d started backing away when she spoke.

“I didn’t kill them.”

I froze.

“I-I know.”

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“Our house caught fire. I got burned. And they died…”

“I’m… sorry, Katy.”

I decided to walk her home that day. For the first time since I’d known her, I saw the ghost of a smile. Though if there was anyone who could wipe it from her face, it was Billy.

He came flying around a bend at us in his dad’s car, hurling insults out the window instead of watching the road.

It happened in an instant.

Tires left pavement, then the vehicle went tumbling down a ravine. Terrified, I followed Katy to the ledge.

The car had landed upside down, halfway in the river and quickly being pulled under the water. She wasted no time climbing down the slippery rocks to the wreckage below.

“H-help… me…” Billy pleaded, struggling to free himself.

His frantic eyes met Katy’s, and he reached for her charred hand. I grabbed her other, pulling back with all my weight until we’d dragged Billy to the safety of the muddy banks.

There we sat, gasping and trembling as the car disappeared below the surface.