The Girl from Newspaper
1029 Words
Liv came back home with the newspaper folded tightly under her arm, like it was a police report instead of 10-year-old gossip.
Her mom was in the kitchen wiping down the counter. She glanced at the old paper.
“What’s that?”
“A recipe for bad decisions,” Liv said. “And maybe murder. Jury’s still out.”
Her mom didn’t even flinch. “Wash your hands before lunch.”
---
They sat around the table — simple food, soft chatter, and Liv occasionally zoning out while rereading the front page in her head.
After the last bite, she cleared her plate, grabbed another coffee, and practically sprinted to her desk.
Tonight would be long. She needed her school work out of the way.
Chemistry? Done.
Math revision? Crushed.
Biology definitions? Memorized in the time it took the kettle to whistle.
She was ready.
Not for school.
For surveillance.
Because Liv wasn’t just interested in the girl from the newspaper anymore.
She was invested.
And this time, she wasn’t waiting for weird to come knocking.
She was going to find it first.
Notebook open. Clock ticking.
Operation: 13th Floor — in full effect.
12:05 AM
Liv sat at her desk, coffee in hand, newspaper spread wide open beside her laptop.
She typed the girl’s name — the one from the article — into every archive, local news site, and half-broken blog she could find. The internet didn’t disappoint.
Buried forums. Tiny subreddit threads. Clickbait videos with spooky music overlays.
The case had gone cold in 2013, but it left behind whispers:
No signs of forced entry.
No fingerprints.
No lift call from the girl herself.
Last seen on the 13th floor.
And then the strange ones:
Multiple neighbors claimed they saw “her” walking around after the official time of disappearance.
One forum post said her face was seen in a building window three months after she vanished.
Liv wrote it all down. Bullet points. Timelines. Names. Witness contradictions.
This wasn’t reading.
This was building a case.
She found the girl's full name: Alicia Fern
Age: 16
School topper. Night owl. Loved puzzles. Never liked social gatherings.
Sounded familiar.
Then she clicked an old article with a clearer photo.
And froze.
The screen showed Alicia, standing stiffly, face caught mid-blink.
But it wasn’t Alicia Liv was staring at.
It was… herself.
Same jawline. Same haircut. Same posture.
It was like looking into a slightly glitched mirror.
Liv blinked. Leaned back.
Then let out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh good. A doppelgänger. Just what I needed.”
She picked up her pen and scribbled in her notebook:
> “Theory: I’m either cursed, cloned, or being pranked by the universe. Cool cool cool.”
She shook her head and glanced out the window—
—and froze again.
The road outside was not empty.
This time, three men.
Same uniform: black pants, sky blue shirts.
Same eerie, synchronized walking. No talking. No hesitation.
One more than last time.
She ducked, switched off her lamp.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t blink.
Then scribbled again:
> “12:47 AM – Three now. Still matching. Still moving weird. Something’s escalating.”
She sat in the dark, heart racing.
Whatever this was… it wasn’t random.
And it wasn’t finished.
Liv moved away from her desk and padded silently toward her parents’ balcony. It was the only other spot in the apartment where the view stretched clean across the street.
She stood behind the railing, keeping her head low.
There they were — the three men.
Still walking.
Still moving like they were stuck in a slow-motion drill. Arms swinging, legs pumping with robotic rhythm.
Were they exercising?
Were they students?
A late-night hostel escape? But why uniforms?
Why the same clothes every night?
Liv’s eyes narrowed. “Same shirts. Same route. Same time.”
Coincidence was no longer on the table.
1:33 AM
She heard it.
A soft, mechanical sound behind her — the elevator.
She moved fast, ducked into the hallway, and dropped to the ground near the door.
Eye pressed to the keyhole.
She held her breath.
Waited.
The lift dinged. Door slid open.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No voices.
But then — just barely — she saw something flutter on the floor.
A newspaper.
Old. Yellowed at the edges.
Slipped into view like someone had pushed it under the door.
Except the door was still locked.
Liv stayed still, heart hammering.
Then slowly stood, opened the latch, and picked up the paper.
Same layout. Same age. Different headline:
“Silent Walkers of Sector 4: Locals Report Late-Night Rituals”
She didn’t blink.
She turned the newspaper over again, eyes scanning every inch.
She stepped back inside and tossed the newspaper on her desk — right next to the two glass bottles of milk.
She hadn’t touched them. Not yet.
Now she opened the second newspaper. This one was worse.
Bolder headline. Bigger letters. A warning scrawled right across the margins:
“Careful. You might be killed.”
Liv stared at it.
Then at the milk.
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, I was gonna do this the stupid way, but fine.”
She pulled open her drawer, grabbed a strip of pH test paper from her old chemistry kit, and dipped it in.
It turned orange.
Slightly acidic. Not regular milk.
Definitely not safe.
She labeled the bottles in red marker: DO NOT DRINK – EVIDENCE
And underlined it twice.
What she didn’t notice, though — not yet — was that one of the bottles had less milk than the other.
Not dramatically. Just a tablespoon missing. Like someone had taken a cautious sip.
Or tested it.
She’d realize later.
But for now, Liv was already flipping through Alicia Fern’s case notes she’d started building.
She opened a new page in her notebook and began writing:
Case File: Alicia Fern
Age: 16 at time of disappearance (2013)
Last seen on 13th floor of same building
No forced entry
Lift called (Access ID: Fredrick Macaulay – deceased)
Several false sightings in months after disappearance
School record: Top of class, socially distant, puzzle-minded
Underlined: Facial resemblance to me — alarming.
- Writer
