When I opened my eyes, I didn’t recognize the ceiling. This wasn’t my room. Wooden beams, a worn-out chandelier, and a strange musty smell… I sat up in bed. I wasn’t anxious, but everything felt disturbingly unreal.
I pushed the blanket aside and stood up. The wooden floor creaked beneath my weight. The room was dimly lit; the only source of light was the moonlight streaming through the window. I pulled back the curtain, and my breath caught in my throat.
An endless sea… Dark, as if hiding something within it. The waves crashed onto the shore as if calling something back. The sound reminded me of a song I had once heard but long forgotten.
I couldn’t remember how I got here. I should remember, shouldn’t I? I forced myself to recall my last memories. I was home. In my bed. Then… what? I shut my eyes, trying to focus, but my memories felt trapped behind a heavy fog.
Then, something moved in the reflection of the window. My heart skipped a beat. Slowly, I turned my head. Someone stood on the shore. A tall, slender figure. Their back was turned to me. The wind played with their hair and the long coat they wore. I took a step back, my breath quickening. Then… it turned.
It had no face.
I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. A deep, primal fear seeped into my veins like ice. But the worst part wasn’t that it had no face.
The worst part was that I knew it.
And when the whispers echoed in my mind again, I started shaking:
“You’ve returned.”
But I didn’t belong here. Did I? I was oddly calm, yet I was shaking. Strange.
I blinked, and suddenly, everything changed. The room felt darker, the smell of mold grew stronger. At the foot of the bed stood an old chair, and on it lay something. A book… Brown leather, worn with age. With trembling fingers, I picked it up and flipped to the first page.
“This book doesn’t belong to me.”
But the handwriting was mine.
And the last line…
“If I’ve found this place again, I know I won’t escape this time.”
My head spun. As I flipped through the pages, they became more and more familiar. A photograph slipped out. I bent down to pick it up, and when I saw my face, my heart nearly stopped.
It was me… Standing next to the figure on the shore. And I was holding its hand.
A single word slipped from my lips, unbidden.
“I remember.”
And the whispers outside were no longer just in my mind.