Fragments

“I know something you don’t know.”

Margot whipped her head around, her golden curls bouncing behind the back of her black polyester witch cloak she bought at Halloween City for five dollars the day before. Her eyes darted frantically around the empty record store, the only movement coming from a few of the swaying vinyl albums hanging from the ceiling. 

“Who’s there?” She asked the darkness, placing the box of used CDs she was told to bring to Kyle Perry’s Halloween party later that night, on the counter.

Margot was sure there was no one else inside the closed music shop. She had been hearing voices for a few weeks now. Well, one voice in particular. A familiarity to its playful, almost mischievous tone, that tickled the back of her mind, tugging on her memories as it begged her to remember who it belonged to. 

“You can’t tell anyone. Pinky swear that you won’t.”

It was always fragments of one-sided conversations. Never more than a sentence or two. Always the same voice. 

“Hello?” Margot called out, not expecting an answer but feeling the need to ask despite herself. “Who are you?” 

She knew it wasn’t a real person. And it didn’t feel like a ghost, not that she had much experience with the paranormal. But deep down in her bones, she believed that wasn’t the answer. 

No, this was something else entirely. And it was getting stronger. 

Margot took a few tentative steps towards the used vinyl bins, eyeing the vintage concert posters lining the wall above them with curiosity. Her chunky combat boots sounded thunderous in the eery stillness of the shop as she made her way to the end of the aisle. She wanted nothing more than to kick them off and toss them in her giant tote bag she used to haul home the records she had put on hold for the week, but she kept walking, as if a mysterious force was leading her to something at the other end of this particular row of albums.

Suddenly, her gaze shifted to a tattered-looking Pixies poster pinned to the wall above the crate labeled "Alternative Rock." There were dozens of posters peppering the walls, but her focus was pulled to the topless girl on the cover of the Pixies album, the image beginning to develop a sort of haunting quality to it the longer Margot stared. 

“Are you even allowed to call yourself a music lover if you don’t own ‘Surfer Rosa’ on vinyl? God, promise me you’ll play this entire album at my funeral.” 

A flash of an unknown memory came barreling its way to the front of Margot’s thoughts. A girl with blazing red hair bending over the record player, her head tilting back and her eyes fluttering shut contentedly as she placed the needle on the record and it came crackling to life. Margot mimicked her actions, removing the same album from its sleeve and placing it on the turntable. Goosebumps prickled her bare arms and legs as the first few notes flooded the quiet room. 

“‘With your feet on the air and your head on the ground’,” she breathed the lyrics to “Where is My Mind” so quietly her lips were barely moving, just as the mystery girl did in the long-lost memory. As she sang, tears popped up in the corners of Margot’s eyes, threatening to ruin the heavy eye-makeup her friend Angela spent an hour getting just right. 

“You’re my absolute favorite person, Ollie. The brightest star in my otherwise gloomy night. I hope you know that.” 

Margot’s heart stopped. She had heard that name before. Where? Where had she heard that name? Margot squeezed her eyes shut tight, her palms flying to her temples and squeezing, urging her brain to remember, remember, remember. 

Frustrated and a little spooked, Margot quickly removed the needle from the record, pushed the arm back into place, and shut the turntable off. She needed to get out of there. Needed to be around other people. Real, living breathing people who didn’t haunt her thoughts and make her feel crazy. She hurried over to the counter, snatched the box of CDs off the glass surface, and made her way to the front door. 

“Just go without me! God, can you not go one day without being attached to my hip? Get your own life and stop latching onto mine!” 

Margot skidded to a stop in front of the exit, her boots surely leaving scuff marks on the pristine black and white title floor. 

Another flash. The red-head, whose face still hadn’t been revealed to Margot, was angrily flipping through albums then abruptly froze and slammed the crate on the ground. Grabbing her army-green jacket from off the coat rack, she slid her slender arms into the sleeves and stomped out of the store. 

Margot’s mind was racing. Was the girl talking to her in those memories? And if so, why couldn’t she remember any of it? Were these memories even hers? All of these thoughts and more sped through Margot’s mind as she placed a shaky hand on the door.

“Who are you?” She muttered to the empty store, her voice trembling slightly as she turned the handle and pushed open the door to feel the chill of the crisp autumn evening on her skin. 

“Goodbye, Margot Oliver. I’ll miss you most of all.” 

Margot turned her head just as the girl from her memories turned hers and she came face to face with piercing blue eyes, porcelain skin peppered lightly with freckles on the bridge of her nose, and that fiery red hair blowing wildly behind her as she took off into the blustery night. 

“Ashlyn.”

It was like getting punched square in the stomach. Every memory came flooding back to her in one frenzied gush of emotion and realization. Every moment. Every look. Everything they heard or smelled or tasted together. All of it came back to her at once. 

Margot remembered everything. 

Ashlyn Park. Missing since October 31, 1998. Age: 16. Height: 5’3” Weight: 110lbs. Hair: Red. Eyes: Blue. Last Known Location: First Class Vinyl record store on Halloween night wearing an all red devil costume with her best friend Margot “Ollie” Oliver. 

At least, that was what her missing persons poster would have said. It was as if her entire existence had been wiped from the town’s memory. Her parents, who Margot went to church with every Sunday, didn’t remember they had another daughter. Her sister Annie, who had three classes with Margot, didn’t remember she wasn’t an only child. Her boyfriend Robbie, who sat across from Margot at lunch on the quad every day, didn't know that he was technically cheating on Ashlyn with his current girlfriend, Mia. 

Her best friend, who Ashlyn had been like a sister to since they were in diapers, had forgotten she even existed. 

The whole town had forgotten she existed. 

The tears were coming hot and fast now, any hope of salvaging her makeup completely forgotten. Margot quickly pulled her keys out of the pocket of her leather mini skirt, locked the door to First Class Vinyl, and began sprinting down the sidewalk towards Ashlyn’s house. 

If Margot could remember Ashlyn Park, so could the rest of the town. 

She was going to start with Ashlyn's parents. Then her sister. Then the kids at the Halloween party. 

They had to remember. She would make them remember. 

And then she was going to find her best friend.