Elena’s hands trembled as she flipped through the pages of the second book Daniel had left at her door. His handwriting covered every page, the ink slightly smudged as if written in haste. But something about this book was different. It wasn’t just cryptic notes or unsettling messages—it was a story.
Her story.
Each chapter detailed moments from her past. Conversations she had, places she visited, even thoughts she barely remembered thinking. It was all there, written with chilling accuracy. But then, the details began to change. Some memories were altered, twisted into something else entirely. In this version of events, she had never walked away from Daniel. She had never left him behind.
Her fingers tightened around the pages as she reached the last few. Unlike the rest, these were blank, except for a single line written in deep red ink:
"The ending is up to you, Elena."
A sudden noise outside made her jolt. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
Elena snapped the book shut and rushed to the window, pushing aside the curtains just enough to see. The street was nearly empty, the dim glow of the streetlights stretching long, eerie shadows across the pavement. But then, her breath caught.
A figure stood just beyond the reach of the light. Tall. Still. Watching.
A chill ran down her spine. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away. Maybe it was just her paranoia. Maybe she was imagining things.
Then her phone buzzed.
She jumped, heart hammering, before hesitantly picking it up. A new message. Unknown number.
"Do you remember the night you said goodbye? Because I do. And so does he."
Her stomach twisted. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she finally typed a response.
"Who is this?"
Three dots appeared. Someone was typing.
She gripped the phone tighter.
Then the reply came.
"Check your doorstep."
Elena’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced at the door, a sinking feeling growing in her chest. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to ignore it, to pretend she hadn’t seen the message. But she couldn’t.
She forced her feet to move, step by step, until she reached the entrance. Slowly, she turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.
The night air was thick, heavy with silence. Her eyes dropped to the ground.
A small package lay at her feet, wrapped in brown paper. No name. No address.
She hesitated, then picked it up. The weight was unsettling—too light to be anything ordinary, too heavy to dismiss. With shaking fingers, she tore the paper away.
Inside was another book.
Her breath hitched. Unlike the others, this one had no title, no markings—except for a single sentence scrawled on the first page.
"You should have let him go."
Then—
A sharp knock.
Not at the door.
At the window.
Her body froze. Slowly, she turned her head, breath caught in her throat.
Outside, behind the glass, a face stared back at her.
And it wasn’t Daniel.
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