Amelia's heart pounded as she stood before the mirror in her dimly lit bedroom. The diary entry she had just read felt like a knife slicing through her sanity.
"They are watching. They know when you remember. Act normal. Or you'll disappear too."
Her own handwriting. But she had no memory of writing it.
She turned away, pushing the diary into the drawer. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, as if the walls were pressing in. She needed answers, and she wouldn't find them here.
Throwing on her coat, she stepped outside. The town of Blackwood was eerily silent at night. A few streetlamps flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the pavement.
She walked toward The Hollow Tavern, the town's only bar, hoping to find familiar faces—people who might help her untangle this mess.
As she stepped inside, the scent of aged wood and whiskey filled her nose. A few locals sat hunched over drinks, their voices low. The bartender, a burly man with salt-and-pepper hair, looked up.
His face went pale.
"You shouldn't be here, Amelia," he muttered, wiping his hands on a rag.
She frowned. "Why not?"
A long pause. Then, in a hushed voice, he leaned forward. "Because you're supposed to be gone."
A chill crawled up her spine. "Gone where?"
Before he could answer, the door swung open, slamming against the wall. A gust of cold wind rushed inside.
Amelia turned—and froze.
A man stood in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on her. She didn't recognize him, but something about him felt… familiar.
Then he spoke.
"Amelia Sterling," he said, his voice a whisper laced with something sinister. "You shouldn't have come back."
Her pulse spiked. The entire tavern had fallen silent.
And that's when she noticed it—several faces she had seen before were missing.
People she had spoken to just yesterday… had vanished.
To be continued…