The Truth

Thriller Short Story

Any self-respecting true crime aficionado knows the Katherine Morgan story.

They all have theories:

She ran away.

A serial killer got her.

It was the boyfriend (it’s always the boyfriend).

She was pretty and white. Nineteen. Blonde. Skinny. A promising pre-med student. The only daughter of affluent parents. By all accounts, a nice person.

Katherine’s absence was so sudden, it captured the nation’s imagination.

In October 1992, at 7:34 p.m, in the middle of a football party, Katherine went out for a smoke. A minute later, she was peeling out of the student parking lot.

By 8:16 p.m., CCTV showed her getting McDonald’s at a drive-through forty miles from campus.

By 10:30 p.m., someone called the cops about a woman matching Katherine’s description walking away from a car crash. She refused the motorist’s help.

Katherine was never seen again.

In the years since, Marybeth had seen every documentary, listened to every podcast. Even participated in the Reddit threads.

(Quiet-Girl9817

A lot of bag juju in those woods. Might’ve been Bigfoot)

Sometimes, Marybeth wished the filmmakers would interview her. She’d tell them that Katherine Morgan was a grade-A bitch.

Attention was Katherine’s drug of choice. And, dear God, did Marybeth love giving it to her. Until a boy (it’s always a boy) got between them. Then, Maybeth’s devotion became old news, and so did Marybeth.

She didn’t even get invited to the football party, despite specifically asking Katherine to come along.

“Oh. I don’t think it’s your kind of scene,” Katherine had said. “You’re too quiet to fit in with that crowd.”

Marybeth came anyway. She didn’t make it past the parking lot. When she saw Katherine’s light blue Honda, an idea struck her. Sure, it was dumb, but the impulse was so strong, she couldn’t resist.

She picked the lock and got into the back seat.

It was supposed to be a prank—a simple scare to remind Katherine of Marybeth’s existence.

But when Katherine got in the car, Marybeth liked the proximity. Every breath became filled with the smell of Katherine’s sweet body spray and cigarettes. Just like old times.

As the miles piled on, Marybeth’s anger grew. Why did she have to hide in the back seat like some creep, instead of sitting up front with her friend?

Katherine, meanwhile, seemed to be having a great time. Loud music and a Big Mac. It was at the McDonald’s that Marybeth realized where they were heading. The stargazing spot used to be Marybeth’s private oasis before she shared it with Katherine.

Deep jealousy cut through Marybeth’s chest. How was this not stealing? Katherine broke her heart, and now she was claiming Marybeth’s haven like some deadbeat husband taking the house after a divorce.

Just before the exit onto the country road, Marybeth’s emotions got to a boiling point. Tired of folding herself into the crevices of Katherine’s car and life, she jumped up from the floor and yelled right into Katherine’s ear.

“I fucking hate you!”

The crash was loud and forceful. Marybeth, unrestrained by a seatbelt, flew forward. Her hips lodged between the front seats. She hit her head on the dashboard.

Katherine’s forehead made contact with the airbag.

“Are you ok?” Panic nearly choked Marybeth. Katherine will make her pay for the damage, no doubt. She will tell everyone in school that Marybeth is psycho. Her existence of invisibility will morph into one of ridicule.

Katherine moaned as she pulled herself up, looking dazed. “Where am I?” she asked.

Marybeth had every intention of getting help. She truly did.

That’s why she told Katherine to stay still as she started toward town. But Katherine never listened. When Marybeth looked back, a few feet into her cold, scary walk, she saw Katherine wobbling along the highway.

Maybe she’ll get hit by a car. The thought was so appealing, Marybeth forgot to feel ashamed.

Just then, headlights came along. Marybeth ducked into the dense forest, curious to see if her dark wish would be manifested. No luck. The car stopped. The driver chatted with Katherine.

Marybeth couldn’t make out the words.

If Katherine got into that car, Marybeth’s life would be over. She’d have to transfer schools. Her parents would be ashamed of her. Her brother would never let this go.

When the car drove away without Katherine, Marybeth made sure this transgression stayed a secret.

After all, a grave of leaves is not that different from a grave of dirt.

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