“Anne…” I heard the voice say. “Anne… go to the bridge Anne… you need to go…” the voice always seemed to appear at approximately 3:30 a.m., and it was so menacingly soft that it woke me up every single time. It always told me to go to the bridge a few blocks from my house… the one that my father jumped off…

Today would be the first time that I listened to the voice. I got out of bed and got dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt, then I started walking… down the stairs, out my front door, and towards the bridge.

“Follow in his footsteps, Anne…” the voice said as I drew closer and closer to the bridge. My body trembled with nervousness as the voice grew louder and the bridge drew nearer.

“Jump… jump, Anne… do it… do it and you’ll see him again.” The voice repeated this phrase over and over again while I stared down from the bridge and at the rapidly flowing water below. If how I wished that voice would just shut the hell up… and it seemed to know that, because it said, “if you really want to silence me… there’s only one way. I won’t stop until you jump, Anne… so if you want me to shut up THAT BAD… you know what to do…”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I’ll do it, ok?! Fuck off!” I yelled angrily, but my voice quavered with fear. Was I really going to jump?

The voice must have noticed my hesitation, for it said, “are you really going to back out now? How weak…”

“I’m… not… weak!!!” I screamed, and with that, I jumped off the bridge, bracing myself for hitting the water beneath me. It wasn’t as painful as I imagined, because I almost instantly snapped my neck on a rock.

The last thing I heard before I died was that goddamn voice saying, “one down… just a few more to go…”

Then everything was gone…