Chapter Three: Whispers in Walls
279 Words
Celestine stopped sleeping.
Gifts continued. Her mother thought it was sweet. Her friends teased her about mystery boy. But Celestine was spiraling.
She started finding things moved in her room. Her window, which she always locked, was sometimes ajar in morning. Her drawers opened by themselves.
Tyler began appearing more frequently—just appearing, in places he shouldn’t be. Near her house. Behind her in library. On bench outside her dance studio.
Every time she confronted him, he played same game: calm, unreadable, always denying everything.
One night, she stayed awake with her phone ready.
At 2:14 AM, a noise. A soft thump from her window.
She turned. A box.
Inside: a lock of her hair.
And a note.
Just two words, written in red:
"You're mine."
She screamed.
Her mother called police. They searched perimeter, asked questions, filed a report. But there was no proof. No prints. No evidence.
Tyler was questioned. He denied everything.
“You think I’d do something like that? Just because she’s pretty?” he asked, with mock concern.
Officer glanced at Celestine. “You two have history?”
Tyler smirked. “Only in her dreams.”
He was released.
But gifts continued.
And every one of them said something new.
A broken music box: “I know your favorite song.”
A bracelet: “You wore this once in 4th grade. I kept it.”
A photo of her sleeping: “So peaceful when you’re quiet.”
Celestine realized then: this wasn’t about affection. This was about ownership.
Tyler wasn’t a mystery. He wasn’t misunderstood. He was obsessed. Dangerous. He had planned every step.
But no one believed her.
Not yet.
- Writer
