![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F077dd65a-f98c-47a7-9111-fe8617ce8ac0_6877x4590.jpeg)
Lisbeth haunted the fields surrounding her old home.
She never understood why he murdered her. He’d always been a father figure, a mentor, a coach — someone she had trusted.
At night you can still hear her from town, shrieking at the blood-red moon, the unrelenting dark: “Why, why, why?”
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