Avery's Birthday Party

I grew up in a small village in the north of England. You know, that cliche 'everyone knows everyone' kind of place. The kind of place where if your neighbour had a baby at the same time as you, the two youngsters would grow up more as siblings than neighbours. That's what happened when my mum gave birth to me and our next door neighbour gave birth to a little girl, Avery, a few days later. Avery and I were inseparable, we were in the same class in school and would spend every evening together in one of our two houses. I suppose that's what made it all the more shocking when she was murdered on her eighth birthday.

Forgive me, if when I talk about the events of that day, it is without the same shock and grief that once was. But for someone who has heard the story discussed frequently for the past fifteen years, it seems all but a fabled tale now, a tragic story in someone else's history, not mine.

Even now, I can still remember chatting to my mum about mine and Avery's annual joint birthday party. For the past seven years we had had our birthday parties on the same day, Avery's birthday, and that year was to be no different. I can remember pleading with her to let us have the party on my birthday that year because what was the point in having a party when it wasn't even your birthday? But she told me it was too late to change it because Avery's mum had already paid deposits and it wasn't worth losing her money over; and so came a tantrum that only a child knows how to throw, and I demanded to have a separate party that year.

Probably due to nothing but exhaustion, my mum, who was quite heavily pregnant with my brother at this point, agreed and let me have my own party. It was terribly boring and I recall thinking how much I wished I'd just waited and had my party with Avery.

Then, just a few days later, along came that same party. It's weird because I can remember most of the day pretty clearly, running around the garden, the laughing and squealing, watching the sub-par magician Avery's mum had hired, I can even remember how the birthday cake tasted. But then the memories aren't so clear and I only have pieces. I can remember the scream that came out of Avery's mums mouth, I can remember the smell of rain in the air and the feeling of wet grass under my feet. Then I can remember my dad rushing me into the house, and I can remember the flashing blue lights glowing through our living room window.

She had been found face down on the grass behind her dads shed, a wound on her head, a small part of her skull caved in. They never found the person who did it. They didn't even find the weapon used to kill her. Her parents moved away a few months later, too many bad memories. I haven't seen either of them since.

I don't think about that day much anymore, in fact the only time it ever really gets brought up is whenever I go home to my parents for my birthday, which I do very rarely now.

The reason I've been thinking about it lately, and the reason I'm even bringing it up at all is because I've been getting Facebook messages.. from Avery. Well, some sick b*****d pretending to be Avery, obviously.

I got the first one nearly a week ago when I was at home watching some dumb reality show on the telly. My phone buzzed and in the little message window it said:

Avery Smithson: I know who it was. 19:07

I was freaked the f**k out and immediately clicked on her profile. It was a brand new profile with zero friends. The profile picture was a copy of Avery's school photo from the year before she died. Trying to stop the vomit from rising up my throat I closed the app and dialled my boyfriend. He reassured me and told me it was probably just some sick f**k trying to scare me and that I should block the account. I really wish I'd listened to him, but rage and curiosity got the best of me.

Becca O'Doyle: Who the f**k is this? 19:21

Avery Smithson: It's Avery. Don't you remember me? 19:22

Becca O'Doyle: Avery is dead you twisted f**k, delete this account now. 19:22

Avery Smithson: I know who did it. 19:23

Becca O'Doyle: Did what? 19:23

Avery Smithson: I know who killed me. 19:24

Avery Smithson: Becca 19:37

Avery Smithson: Don't you want to know who killed me Becca? 19:43

Becca O'Doyle: Avery died 15 years ago. I don't know who the f**k this is but I'm blocking you. 19:45

I blocked the account and a little wave of relief chipped away at the anxious nausea I was feeling. I tried to forget about the whole twisted thing, until I received another message from a new account two days later.

Avery Smithson: You shouldn't have done that Becca. 14:02

Avery Smithson: You made me MaD BeCCA 14:03

Avery Smithson sent a video. 0:43.

I know what you're thinking. Don't open the video you stupid b***h, but of course, being the stupid b***h I am, I opened it. It was pretty grainy footage, it must have been filmed on a pretty cheap camera. It took me at least the first fifteen seconds of watching to figure out when the video was taken. It was on the day of Avery's party. Specifically, it was at the moment we were all singing happy birthday to her and she was blowing out her candles. There was no audio and it was filmed in black and white, as if this creepy moment needed to get any creepier. I'd only just finished the clip when the next message came through.

Avery Smithson: I can remember how that cake tasted 14:05

Avery Smithson: It was the last thing I tasted 14:05

Avery Smithson: Apart from the taste of my own blood in my mouth. 14:05

Becca O'Doyle: Who the hell is this? What do you want from me? 14:06

Avery Smithson: I want to tell you who killed me, Becca. 14:06

Avery Smithson sent a photo.

The photo was of me and my dad walking through our front door as the police were arriving. Who the hell could have taken that? Why would they have taken that? I wasn't scared or anxious anymore I was just plain pissed.

Becca O'Doyle: Jesus Christ. 14:08

Becca O'Doyle: You win “Avery”. Who killed you? 14:08

Avery Smithson: :-) 14:10

That was the last message I received until this morning.

Avery Smithson sent a video. 0:55.

I pressed play on the video and the same grainy black and white footage started to play. This time though, the camera was focusing on one of the neighbours sat in the front garden bouncing her baby son on her knee. It flicked between the other adults sat around her. Even without the audio I could tell it must have been a boring conversation. Then the cameraman spun around and started walking towards the back garden. The rain had started at this point and everyone was making their way indoors. As the adults walked past the cameraman, I could tell from the height difference that it must have been one of the neighbourhood kids filming.

The camera panned in circles as the kid must've been enjoying his last few moments outside before his parents dragged him in. I felt my heart stop as the camera started moving towards the garden shed. I couldn't even blink for fear of missing a second. The camera reached the shed and crept round the side. Avery was lying face down on the floor, blood seeping from her head into the earth. Stood over her, bloody rock in hand, was... me. I killed Avery? In that moment the memories of that day began to beam into my brain. I can remember arguing with her, she'd said my birthday party had sucked and she didn't want to ever share a party with such a loser again. I was so mad, I remember the rain starting to come down and her turning away to go inside. I remember seeing the rock on the floor and before I could stop myself it was in my eight year old hand, colliding with her skull.

My name is Becca O'Doyle, and on the 18^th February 2002, I murdered my best friend just because she called me a loser.