Salem wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting at his desk. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Time didn’t work the way it used to—not for him. The journal still lay open in front of him, the mysterious handwriting glowing faintly under the desk lamp, as if mocking him.
You’re not the only one who remembers.
That sentence played on repeat in his head. Like a whisper stuck between dimensions, humming in the space between thoughts. Whoever—or whatever—had written it, knew more than him. That thought was more terrifying than the skips.
The air in the room buzzed.
A soft hum. Then a static pop. Then—
BZZZT.
His vision blinked.
Like someone hit the pause button on reality.
Everything froze—except him.
The shadows on the wall stayed mid-wriggle. The fan stopped mid-spin. Even the blinking cursor
