Chapter 12 – The Last Pages
460 Words
Luna waited until the house was silent.
Aunt Marjorie’s snores hummed faintly through the wall, steady and oblivious. The clock on her nightstand ticked toward midnight. Only one shadow moved through the hall now—Rick’s. She could hear his footsteps pass her door every so often, patient, deliberate, like a predator circling its cage.
When the quiet stretched long enough, she slipped the journal from under her mattress. Her hands shook as she turned the worn pages, the inked words pulling her deeper into Julia’s world.
He doesn’t like when I write. He says I waste too much time on paper when I should be paying attention to him. But writing is the only way I still feel like I exist. If he finds this, I know he’ll take it away.
Luna’s breath caught.
Another page:
He says he loves me. But love doesn’t sound like locked doors and whispered threats. Love doesn’t mean waking up to him standing over my bed. Love doesn’t leave bruises you have to hide.
Luna’s stomach churned. Julia’s terror bled through every sentence.
She reached the second-to-last entry, the ink smudged as if written in a hurry.
He told me tonight that I belong to him forever. That even if I tried to run, he’d find me. I’m starting to believe him. I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to be safe here.
And finally—
The last page.
The handwriting was jagged, frantic.
If you’re reading this, it means I couldn’t stop him. Please—leave while you can. Don’t believe his smile. Don’t trust the kindness. He only wants to own you. And once he decides you’re his, he’ll never let you go alive.
The ink ended abruptly, like the pen had been ripped from Julia’s hand.
Luna pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from crying out. Julia hadn’t just been warning herself. She had been warning whoever came after.
Warning me.
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The floorboards creaked outside her door.
Her head snapped up, panic choking her. She stuffed the journal back under the mattress just as the knob rattled.
“Luna?” Rick’s voice, low and careful.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She forced herself to sound groggy. “What is it?”
The knob stilled. Silence stretched like a blade.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he finally said. “I thought I heard you moving around.”
She swallowed hard. “I was… turning over. That’s all.”
Another pause. Then, slowly, the footsteps retreated.
Luna lay back in bed, her body trembling. The journal was a heartbeat away, its last words burned into her skull.
She realized with a cold certainty: Julia hadn’t survived this house.
And if she didn’t act soon, neither would she.
- Writer
