A sharp pain throbbed in Amelia Sterling's head as she blinked against the blinding morning light. She sat up in bed, disoriented, her breath shallow. Something felt… off.

She glanced around. The room looked familiar—her bedroom, the same floral wallpaper, the old wooden dresser, the ticking clock on the nightstand. Yet, something nagged at her, an unease curling in her stomach.

She reached for her phone, fingers trembling. The screen flickered to life. 

Her heart stuttered. The last date she remembered was 

One full year—gone.

A chill ran down her spine. She scrambled out of bed, her pulse hammering in her ears. Clothes she didn't recognize hung in her closet. A half-empty cup of tea sat on her desk, long since cold. How?

She ran downstairs. "Mom? Dad?" Her voice wavered, but the house was silent.

In the kitchen, the coffee machine was still warm. Someone had been here.

Then, she saw it.

A small leather-bound diary, placed neatly on the table. Her fingers hovered over it before she snatched it up, flipping to the last written page.

"If I forget again, I need to remember: Don't trust them. They're lying. And whatever happens… don't leave the house at night."

Her own handwriting. But she had no memory of writing it.

Her breath caught in her throat. What had she forgotten?

A sudden knock at the door made her jump. Slow. Measured. Almost… expectant.

She turned, her fingers tightening around the diary.

Whoever was outside already knew she was awake.

To be continued…