The Window Message
363 Words
She stumbled back from the window, heart pounding in her ears.
The message was unmistakable. Thick, red letters. Crooked, rushed strokes. Still fresh, the ink hadn’t even dried completely. Her hand trembled as she reached for the light switch.
It flickered before steadying.
The message glared under the glow of the bulb:
YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME BACK.
Her brain scrambled to make sense of it.
Had she missed someone outside? Was the figure real, or just a reflection? The message, it was on the inside of the glass.
Whoever had written it had been inside the room.
Her chest tightened.
She backed up slowly, eyes darting to the door, the closet, the corners. Nothing. No sound. No sign of forced entry.
But someone had been here.
She ran to the hallway and threw on the light.
Aunt Claire’s door was closed, the soft hum of her white noise machine spilling out beneath it. Lena stood frozen, unsure what to do. Tell her? Wake her up?
No. Not yet.
Instead, she tiptoed downstairs and checked every door and window. All locked. Deadbolted. Even the old screen in the laundry room was shut tight.
How?
She returned to her room with a kitchen towel and wiped the message away with trembling hands. The marker smeared before disappearing completely. But the fear didn’t.
She stared at the now-blank glass, heart still racing.
Was it a warning?
A threat?
Or a promise?
She didn’t sleep that night.
She sat on the floor, back against the closet door, notebook in her lap, eyes fixed on the window.
Lena had come back to Ridgewood for answers.
But now she had questions she never expected to ask:
Who was watching her?
Why now, after all these years?
And what did they know about Emily Reeves?
As the sky began to lighten, Lena opened the notebook again. Most of the pages were empty, save for the ones they had filled as kids, drawings, games, riddles.
But then, halfway through the book, something caught her eye.
A new page.
A fresh one.
Not in Emily’s handwriting.
No drawings, no lines, just one sentence:
"The truth was never buried. You just stopped looking."
- Writer
