If you ever want to make yourself really depressed, just do an Until Dawn playthrough with Jess as the lone survivor. Not only is the child a complete wreck by the end of the game, but she has no idea what happened. Imagine her finally getting out of the mines, bleeding and concussed and probably with a broken rib or four, limping back to the lodge only to find the place is burning to the ground and all of her friends are dead.
Then the police show up and take her to the station and pummel her with questions, and all she can say is, “I don’t know…I don’t know.” She would probably even be the top suspect for a while, at least until the cops start to find bodies and realize a teenage girl who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet could physically never have done that.
Imagine her attending seven closed-casket funerals, people staring at her the whole time, whispering behind their hands. Imagine the survivor’s guilt, the sessions where a mild-faced therapist tries to convince her it wasn’t her fault. Imagine her staring blankly over the therapist’s shoulder and remembering the moment when she first dreamed up that prank, putting the note down on the table where Hannah would be sure to find it.
Imagine that while she was being dragged away through the snow, she tried to fight back against her unseen attacker. All of her flailing and scratching had no effect, but the police scrape under her fingernails for residual DNA anyway, just to make sure. It takes so long to hear back that she almost forgets about it, until weeks later, when the cops tell her that, somehow, the trace under her fingernails came back as a match to Hannah Washington.
Imagine that she sleeps with a lamp switched on for the rest of her life. It still doesn’t keep the nightmares away: dreams of being dragged through the snow, unable to see anything but bits of dark sky and spindly tree branches, Hannah’s laughter echoing all around.