Chased By Shadows

Chapter Eleven: The Girl With the Missing Voice

Morning didn’t come gently. It cracked through the windows like a scream. Elise jolted awake, breathing hard. Lana stood at her door. Not moving. “Are you sleepwalking again?” Elise asked, still catching her breath. Lana didn’t blink. “You screamed my name,” she said flatly.

“I didn’t.” Elise answered. Lana said “You did.”

Kaia walked out to the mailbox. She hadn’t checked it in days. Inside: nothing but a single envelope. No stamp. No return address. Just her name. Inside was a cassette tape. And a note. “She tried to warn you. You didn't listen then. Listen now.”

Simon refused to enter the woods again. “They’re different now,” he said. Mallory looked up from her laptop. “How?”

“They whisper. They tell you lies. Or worse, truths.” He glanced toward the tree line. “Sometimes I think she never left. She just learned how to hide better.”

Elise was quieter now. After the photo, after the tape, after the dreams—she kept her distance. But that night, she slipped into Kaia’s room. Held out something. A hairbrush. Broken in half. Kaia stared at it.

“I don’t—”

“It’s not mine,” Elise said. Kaia took it. There was blood in the bristles. And tied around the handle: a pink ribbon.

The tape player wheezed before it worked. Kaia pressed play. Static, at first. Then a voice. Soft. Unsure. “I don’t think they remember me.” A pause. “I think I died. But no one buried me.” Long silence. Then: “Kaia, if you hear this… run. She isn’t who she thinks she is.” The voice cracked. “I wasn’t either.”

Maren sat by the fireplace, turning the charm bracelet in her fingers. E. K. S. Elena. Kaia. Sera?

Was that it? She dug through her old journal. On the back page, something she never remembered writing: “She plays pretend so well, she doesn’t even know she’s pretending.”

And beneath that, scratched into the paper so hard it ripped: “Who are we without the lie?”

That afternoon, a girl arrived. She couldn’t speak. Not from fear. From trauma. She carried a notepad, her name scrawled in shaky ink: “MIRA”

Mallory met her at the porch. “Where did you come from?” Mira handed her a polaroid. A picture of five girls in the forest. The fifth girl had Mira’s eyes. Mallory frowned. “This isn’t possible.” Mira wrote something quickly: “I was supposed to be next.”

Lana saw Mira from the window. Dropped her cup. The porcelain shattered. Maren ran in. “What happened?” Lana didn’t answer. Her hand trembled violently. “I thought she was dead.” Maren stared. “Who?” But Lana had already walked away.

That night, Kaia followed Mira. She found her in the woods, standing by the creek. Mira pointed to a tree. Carved deep into the bark: “ELENA ≠ LANA”

Kaia froze. “What does that mean?” Mira didn’t respond. She just placed a hand over her heart. Then tapped her temple. Then shook her head slowly. As if to say: “She doesn’t even know.”

Simon brought out another folder that night. He had saved it for last. Inside: school reports. Yearbook pages. Only one page mattered. It was labeled “Disciplinary Review – Elena Crowe”

Kaia blinked. “I thought her name was Lana.” Simon didn’t answer. Because beneath that, scribbled in red: “Lana died in the fire. Elena took her place.” Elise stared at the paper. “That’s not possible.” Simon looked at her. “You sure?”

Maren checked her scar again. It was bigger now. But she didn’t remember injuring herself. And now, the skin around it felt cold like something had touched her in the night. She whispered to herself: “Who did you wake up as?”

Lana found herself back in the attic. She didn’t remember walking there. But there she was. The mirror was fogged. On it, in red lipstick: “TELL THEM.” She wiped it with her sleeve. But the words didn’t smudge.

Mira started drawing that night. She sketched a girl with dark hair, eyes that bled black ink. A smile carved too wide. She handed the drawing to Mallory. Mallory stared. “This isn’t anyone here.” Mira shook her head. Then wrote: “Not yet.”

Kaia dreamed again. In the dream, she was in a hospital hallway. Bright lights. Empty chairs. A nurse stood at the far end. “Where is she?” Kaia asked.

The nurse pointed to a door. Kaia pushed it open. Inside: a girl tied to a bed, face turned away. Kaia stepped closer. The girl looked up. It was her. But her mouth had been sewn shut.

Elise stayed up, drawing patterns in her notebook. Not words. Symbols. Like she was remembering something not meant to be remembered. She didn’t notice when Lana entered the room. Or when Lana leaned over and whispered: “If I remember who I am… will you still be you?”

Simon stood outside. He stared into the trees again. And this time, something looked back. Not a person. A reflection. Him. But wrong. And it smiled.