It Always Leads Back

PART 2

We know that Mondays are always tiring and boring, but to some people… Mondays were cursed. Every Monday they stepped back into moments they didn’t choose—moments fate had already written for them. Around 02:00 a.m., Mondays turned into a curse of unclear dreams. Dreams that didn’t just visit, but lingered like shadows long after the dreamer had woken.

It was a Monday—the same day Barbie Waffles had died—that Bella kept seeing the same dream over and over.

In her dream, she stood three houses away from a girl outside her gate, standing slightly in the middle of the road. The girl never moved, never spoke. Bella could never see her face because the distance was too great, and for some reason, the thought of moving closer never crossed her mind. Every time she tried to blink, the dream ended, leaving her with the same unanswered question: Who was the girl?

Bella was a journalist fascinated by mysterious cases, but her obsession had cost her reputation at work. Colleagues whispered that she wasted time chasing ghosts. Every file she opened remained unsolved, every clue always led her in circles. But Bella had one case that refused to let her go—the case of Miss Barbie Waffles, the young lawyer found dead under the Mandela Bridge five years earlier.

The world had moved on, but Bella hadn’t. Something about Barbie’s death felt unfinished, like a door left half open. The police had closed the file, the newspapers had printed their last headlines, and the city forgot. But Bella couldn’t forget—not when every Monday, her dreams pulled her back.

Her latest lead brought her to Barbie’s old law firm, now nothing but blackened ruins. The fire had swallowed its walls, but Bella believed the ashes still held secrets. She was adjusting her camera, snapping pictures of the wreckage, when she noticed her.

An old woman stood at the edge of the building, her back bent, a scarf tied around her head. She looked like a traditional healer, her eyes sharp despite her age. Bella felt a chill even before the woman spoke.

“If you don’t complete what she wants,” the old woman said, her voice low but clear, “she’ll start moving. Her only way of communicating is when she possesses your dreams of—”

The woman stopped. Her mouth twisted into a smile Bella couldn’t read. And then, without warning, a cloud of dust swirled violently around her. Bella shielded her eyes, coughing, but when the dust cleared—the woman was gone.

The street was empty. Silent.

Bella’s heart raced as she looked around. Who was she? What did the woman mean by moving? And why did her words feel like a warning, not advice?

That night, Bella went through the evidence she had gathered, replaying the strange encounter over and over in her mind. She discovered something chilling: on the very day Barbie had died, her therapist was also found dead in his home. Official reports claimed it was suicide, but the small details—blood patterns, the time of death—told a different story.

Two deaths. Two different places. But one identical moment in time.

It was enough to convince Bella that the cases were connected. The therapist hadn’t just been Barbie’s secret lover; his death was tied to hers.

But why did both lives end on the same night, at the same time, as if fate itself had synchronized their deaths?

Bella’s hand trembled as she closed her notebook. She thought of the old woman again, her smile, her words, and the cloud of dust. For the first time, Bella wondered if she was chasing a story—or if the story was chasing her

To be continued...

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