Next he murmured, extremely quietly, “I am prepared to share the reality with you.”
“Which reality?”
“I discovered this item beneath the loft’s wooden planks.”
He placed it on the surface separating us. Contained inside sat a metal chain I gifted Gwen many years back, a worn-out picture, and a few notes bound neatly by a blue string.
Should you be viewing this message, a situation went wrong, and I failed to return when I swore I would. I concealed this item prior to departing since I already felt terrified. An individual has been observing my movements. Should one of the kids locate this once they grow mature enough to grasp it, travel to Blackwood Church. Assuming I am absent from that spot, hold on until it gets dark.
Avoid placing faith in every person who grieved my loss.
He appeared deeply embarrassed. “Seven days.”
“Seven days?”
“I reviewed a single note initially. After that, I became terrified.”
“Terrified of what exactly?”
He took a hard gulp. “An individual has been sending me texts.”
“What sort of texts?”
“A nameless profile. Zero images. Zero identity. Things stating, ‘Certain tombs ought to remain shut.’ Plus, ‘Deceased ladies ought to remain deceased.’ I assumed it was a joke. Afterward, I uncovered the container.”
That evening, once the rest of the children fell asleep, Leon and I traveled to Blackwood Church.
Past the damaged shrine sat a slim timber entrance.
We headed below.
My torch beam highlighted a worn jacket resting on a metal spike.
Gwen’s jacket.
“I realized that eventually you guys would show up.”
I spun around.
And she stood right there.
Aged. Skinnier. Colorless. Yet definitely Gwen.
