The morning sunlight broke through the gap in the curtains, touching my cold skin. But I still sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor with a heavy mind. I tried to calm my breathing, ignoring the anxiety that had been haunting me since last night.
I couldn't stop thinking about the messages, Luna's photo, and the shadow of someone under the streetlight. I knew I had buried her. I watched her die. So how was this possible?
"Honey?" Samantha's soft voice broke my reverie. I turned my head, seeing her standing in front of the mirror, combing her long hair in slow motion. "You've been up since earlier? I haven't even heard the alarm."
I took a deep breath, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just... I have a lot to think about for work today."
Samantha approached, placing the comb on the table. She looked at me with those soft eyes that always made me feel a little better. "Is something important? You look a little... tense."
I shook my head, dismissing her concerns. "It's nothing. There's a new client who wants me to design his house. I have to meet him today for an initial discussion."
She smiled, then touched my shoulder gently. "You're always busy, Ryan. But I like seeing you so focused. I'm sure this project will go smoothly."
I nodded, though my mind was still racing. "I hope so. It seems like the client is quite specific."
Samantha raised an eyebrow, as if she wanted to say something, but hesitated. "After work, I have something for you."
I looked at her, a little confused. "Something? What do you mean?"
She smiled a little, tilting her head. "A surprise. You'll find out later tonight. But for now, focus on your work first."
I wanted to ask more questions, but I knew she wouldn't reveal them. Samantha always had a way of making me curious, and even though I didn't always understand, I appreciated her efforts to keep our relationship alive.
Morning Routine
After breakfast, I prepared myself to leave. Samantha walked me to the door, as usual, giving me a small kiss on the cheek before I stepped out.
"Don't forget your lunch," she said, waving goodbye.
"I'll try," I replied with a faint smile. "And don't work too hard at home."
Disruptive Encounters
After driving for a while, i am finally arrived at a cafe. The café was small and nondescript, located at the corner of a fairly quiet street. I parked the car in front, my eyes sweeping the room through the glass windows. This place felt quiet, almost too quiet for a business meeting location.
I walked inside, the doorbell rang loudly, and the smell of fresh coffee greeted me immediately. There were only a few customers, most of whom seemed busy with their laptops. In the corner of the room, an elderly man sat alone, wearing a dark brown suit as described in the email. He held the coffee cup with trembling hands, but his gaze was sharp, scrutinizing every corner of the room.
I sighed, straightened my back, and walked over to him. "Mr...?" I stopped, realizing that I didn't know his name.
The man looked at me calmly, then placed his cup on the table. "Names aren't important. You're Ryan, right?"
I nodded slowly, feeling a little uncomfortable with his cold demeanor. "Yes, I'm Ryan. I'm the architect you contacted."
He gave a small nod, then pointed to the chair in front of him. "Have a seat. We don't have much time."
I pulled out a chair and sat down, trying to remain professional despite the strange atmosphere. "So, you want to build a house. Can you explain the details?"
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small brown envelope, and pushed it towards me. "Everything you need is in here."
I opened the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper with a rough floor plan and some very detailed notes-too detailed, even for a specific client. The size of each room, the location of the windows, even the direction the sun came in in the morning were all recorded. But what surprised me the most was the location: an address on the edge of the forest, quite far from the city.
"It's a rather remote location," I said, trying to find out more.
"A house like this can't be built in the middle of the city," he replied simply, expressionlessly.
I nodded, though the feeling of unease grew stronger. "Do you have a particular theme you want? Modern? Classic?"
He smiled a little, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I just want this house to stand as it is in the picture. Just follow the plan. That's enough."
I looked at him with slightly furrowed brows. "May I know the purpose of this house? Is it for your family or just an investment?"
He paused for a moment, then looked directly into my eyes. "Sometimes, a house is not just a place to live. Sometimes, it's a place to remember."
His words sent chills down my spine. There was something in his tone of voice-something cold, but it also felt like a warning.
"You mean...?" I asked, trying to probe further.
He smiled a small smile again, then continued in a low voice. "You'll understand in time. But remember, Ryan. The design of this house must be perfect. There must be no mistakes."
I wanted to ask more questions, but he stood up before I could open my mouth. He picked up the wooden stick leaning against the chair and prepared to leave.
"We'll talk later," he said before walking towards the door.
I could only watch him go, the envelope in my hand feeling heavier than it should.
As I sat alone in the café, thoughts began to swirl. The man's words kept ringing in my head: "Sometimes, home is a place to remember."
The floor plan on paper was still on the table. I stared at it for a long time, trying to find a clue or something that would explain what it meant. The location of the house, the details that were too perfect... everything felt unnatural.
I took the envelope and put it in my briefcase. The rain began to fall softly outside, soaking the glass windows of the cafe. I let out a long breath, trying to calm myself down. Maybe I was just overthinking things. Maybe that guy was just a weird client who happened to be too specific.
But deep inside me, I knew it wasn't just a coincidence. There was something bigger, something darker behind this project.
I walked out of the cafe, staring at the rain-soaked streets. As I opened the car door, my cell phone vibrated again. An incoming message from an anonymous number:
"You're being watched, Ryan. Don't let your guard down."
I stared at my phone screen with bated breath. I looked around, trying to figure out if someone was watching me. But the streets were empty, with only the shadows of trees swaying in the wind.
The message made no sense, but I knew one thing for sure: I wasn't alone.
The chat with the client made me think while driving. I sat in the car, still holding my phone with the anonymous message. "We're being watched, Ryan. Don't let your guard down." The words kept ringing in my head, making my breathing heavy. I looked out the window, searching for any sign of someone, but there was no one. Only the rain-soaked streets and the trees swaying in the wind.
Who sent this message? The old client? No way. He's too... direct. This message feels different. More personal.
I put the phone on the dashboard, trying to ignore it. But the uneasiness won't go away. The small brown envelope from the client is still on the passenger seat. I reached for it, opening the floor plan I'd read at the café again.
It was too detailed, but there was something I realized-the largest room in the house had no clear function. There was no sign of a living room, room, or dining room. Just a big box in the center of the house, with no windows.
"A place to remember..." I muttered, repeating the old man's words. What did he mean?
I decided to continue my journey home. The rain was getting heavier, and my car's wipers were moving fast, trying to clean the windshield. But my mind was too full to really focus.
I thought about everything that had happened lately-the strange messages, Luna's photo, and now this mysterious client. It was as if everything was connected, like pieces of a puzzle that were starting to fit together. But the picture was still blurry, too difficult for me to understand.
When I was almost home, my cell phone vibrated again. An incoming message. This time I stopped on the side of the road to read it.
"We're waiting, Ryan. Your family will be busy soon."
I read the message over and over again, unable to believe what I was seeing. Who was the "we"? What did "family will be busy" mean? My chest felt heavy, like a weight was pressing down.
I stared at the phone screen with cold sweat running down my temples. I knew this was no coincidence. This message, the house plan, everything was connected. But how? And more importantly, who was behind all this?
I finally arrived home, parking the car in the garage. The living room light was on, indicating Samantha was inside. I tried to calm myself before entering, hiding all the anxiety boiling inside me.
Samantha greeted me with her usual warm smile. "How was your day, dear?"
"Tired," I replied briefly, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
She looked at me with a worried look. "You look tense. Is that client too much trouble?"
I shook my head, trying to sound casual. "It's nothing. Just a normal job. Maybe I need a shower to freshen up."
Samantha nodded, but I could see she knew something was wrong. I walked to the bathroom, leaving the envelope on the work table in the living room. But even the warm water running down my back couldn't take away the chill that was creeping up inside me.
That night, I sat in the study, trying to analyze the floor plan of the house once again. But my mind kept returning to that last message.
"Your family will be crowded soon."
I stared at the envelope, trying to connect the dots. Then suddenly, my phone screen lit up by itself. Another message came in, but this time it was something more frightening.
I played it with trembling hands. The video showed someone standing in front of a house. The house was familiar. It was my house.
In the video, a woman's voice rang out, quiet but full of that familiar cold tone. "Ryan, I was waiting for you. Our family will be complete soon."
My phone fell out of my hand, and I stared at the window with my heart beating fast. Outside, I could have sworn I saw the shadow of someone standing on the street, but when I blinked, it was gone.