Now, I know what you’re thinking: “How would you know if you were murdered?” And to be perfectly honest, I had no memory of what happened to me after I saw that school. I was walking to get a better look, and the next thing that happened was me laying in this cold metal-like structure and overhearing a TV talking about my supposed death. And at this point I was most definitely certain that this was a dream, because how would I be able to tell you all of this?

I can’t really explain my reason for saying this was a murder other than by having a gut feeling, but something about all of this read murder to me. Something told me that I wasn’t attacked by no ordinary animal—or any animal for that matter.

But hey, instead of calling this a “murder” case, let’s call it something else since. Maybe an “I was killed by what was most likely a person with animalistic tendencies, but now I’m somehow still alive in an unconscious state and I really need to figure out where I am and how to get out” case.

It really didn’t take much to wake myself up, but I found that I was in a pitch black space. My skin felt ice cold from the touch of the metal-like surface I was laying on, and I felt a shiver wake the rest of my body up. My eyesight couldn’t adjust to whatever was above or to my sides because of how dark it was.

Slowly, I stretched my fingers and dragged them as far as I could, which was only a few inches, before I felt more metal surrounding me. Then my hands made their way up and dragged over on more metal that was above me, and I realized I was in some sort of case. It wasn’t like a coffin because coffins were usually made of wood, but I couldn’t be too sure.

I tried to squeeze my arms over myself to reach for what was above my head, but I ended up hitting my elbow before my arm shot right up and slammed my wrist into more metal. There was an insane amount of tingling that shot throughout my whole arm, like when you sit for a long time and your legs fall asleep. The unnerving sensation caused my arm to retreat to my chest and I started grumbling.

I noticed what I thought was a sheet covering my chest and began feeling it out with my non-tingling hand. Slowly my mind began to piece together where I was, but I needed to check one last thing before I could say.

My toes stretched out from below, with my legs following. I heard a tiny ring from a bell from where my feet were, confused. I wiggled my toes and heard more ringing, but I couldn’t tell which foot the bell was attached to so I felt it alone for the time being.

I waited for my arm to stop tingling before I pushed both into the sides of the container, and I began to scoot myself down just enough for my feet to feel (surprise!) more metal.

The first thing I thought was that I was in one of those lockers in a morgue that stored dead bodies before or after autopsies have been performed on them. I had no idea if I could kick it open, considering that it's probably locked up. But it couldn’t hurt to try, right?

Well, with one charged kick, the door sprung right out of its hinges and into something outside of my view.

My head throbbed with this intense pain as bright blinding light pierced through the visionless void I was in, and slowly all these different blobs and shapes I could make out from outside were starting to take form right before my straining eyes. I had to shut them tight for a split second before I really went blind, and I shimmied my way out of the small tight locker and fell on the cold tile floor.

I laid on the floor making no movements, as if my body suddenly forgot how to function. My eyes continued to adjust to the lights all over in the room before I could make out where I was. I was definitely in a morgue, my suspicions were right about that for sure, but where was this morgue? In a hospital? Then where was this hospital? Is it near home? Is it in the middle of nowhere or somewhere outside of town?

I had all these questions just pop up in my mind that I needed answers to, so I started by getting up off the floor. I had to wrap my body with the sheet I was covered with since I had no clothes on—and believe me, the last thing I needed was to be naked on top of everything that was going on. If I was dreaming, I would have at least had myself wearing pants to the very least.

But the longer I was exposed to this new environment, the more I was beginning to understand that I might have not been dreaming.

All I could question at this point was what actually happened to me.

I nudged my foot to take a step, and immediately the bell I heard earlier rang from below me. I looked down and noticed the bell as well as a tag around my big toe, so I reached down to remove them. I had seen this type of tag before in some shows I watched—these were tags used to identify dead bodies. So I decided to read what the tag said, but all it had was my first and last name, as well as the date of when I was born on and the date of my supposed death.

I felt really uncomfortable to be reading this information from handwriting that I couldn't recognize—adding on to my “this is not a dream” realization—so I ripped the tag up and threw the bell into the empty compartment from where I emerged from. It didn’t make me feel any better, but I didn't have to look at those things anymore.

Almost immediately I began to examine my arms and hands, looking for any sign of me being in a struggle. But there was nothing to show as proof to me. I searched for a mirror throughout the room and spotted one above a hand washing station near the opposite side of the room. I fell of course, and it took me quite some time to get back up and let my body get used to moving around before I finally reached the mirror.

I had to re-wrap the sheet around myself again, but only over my lower half so I can get a better look at the long scar that was on my torso. As I looked in the mirror, I saw that the incisions were in more of a “T” shape than the usual “Y” shape I had seen on TV (I've watched a lot of C.S.I. related shows and documentaries, don’t judge). I also noticed when looking down on my body how fresh the stitches on the scar looked while the scar itself looked as if it had healed over a long period of time. This really had me wondering how long I had been in that locker.

But then I noticed the absence of bite marks on my neck. There was no scarring or stitches, or any sort of disfigurement to show that I had been bit. It didn’t make any sense to me why I was like this.