Behind closed doors

Chapter 3 : The Photograph

Maya couldn't take her eyes off the photograph.

Emma looked frightened.

It wasn't obvious at first, but the longer Maya stared, the more she noticed the tension in her sister's face. Emma's smile looked forced, and her eyes kept drifting toward someone standing just outside the frame.

Who had taken the picture?

And who had sent it?

Maya flipped the photograph over again.

She trusted the wrong person.

Those words echoed in her mind.

She rushed upstairs to Emma's old bedroom, switching on the light.

The room hadn't changed in six months.

Dust covered the bookshelf.

A faded scarf still hung behind the bedroom door.

The scent of Emma's favorite perfume lingered in the air, faint but familiar.

Maya searched every drawer, every notebook, and every box beneath the bed.

Nothing.

Just as she was about to give up, she noticed a loose floorboard beneath Emma's desk.

Her pulse quickened.

She knelt down and carefully lifted it.

Hidden underneath was a small leather journal.

"Emma..." Maya whispered.

She opened the first page.

Most of it contained ordinary notes—shopping lists, appointments, and little reminders.

Then she reached the final pages.

The handwriting had changed.

It was rushed.

Uneven.

As though Emma had been writing in fear.

The first sentence read:

Someone is lying to me.

Maya swallowed hard and turned the page.

The next entry was even more unsettling.

If anything happens to me, don't trust anyone... especially—

The sentence ended there.

The rest of the page had been torn out.

"No..." Maya gasped.

That missing page could have revealed everything.

Who was Emma trying to warn her about?

Suddenly...

The lights went out.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Maya froze.

The house became eerily silent.

Then...

A floorboard creaked in the hallway.

Someone was inside the house.

Maya held her breath.

Another step.

Closer.

Her phone screen suddenly lit up, casting a pale glow across the room.

A new message appeared.

You should have left the journal where it was.

Her blood turned to ice.

Whoever was sending the messages wasn't just watching her.

They had been inside the house.

The bedroom door handle began to turn.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

Maya reached for the heavy lamp on the bedside table, gripping it tightly.

The door creaked open.

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

She raised the lamp, ready to strike.