Isolated House and The Girl 3

As I opened my eyes, I noticed a white, glittering object beside my head. Normally, waking up feels comforting, but today was different. That glittering thing was firmer than my spring mattress, and the floor beneath me was as cold as ice. It was then I realized—I wasn’t on my bed but on the tiled floor of the living room. I stood up, shaken, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

Beside me was a small table, and lying on it was the beautiful red necklace. Though the house was shrouded in darkness, a few rays of sunlight pierced through the windows, cutting through the gloom. Those rays felt like a blessing. They glittered so brightly that I could see every corner of the room. Without hesitation, I rushed to the windows and flung them open, letting the sunlight flood the house.

As I crossed the living room to the kitchen, I noticed not just the floor tiles but also the necklace glinting in the light, its beauty adding a strange charm to the house. However, its allure did little to ease the unease in my heart. In the kitchen, I found a few slices of bread and some milk. The house appeared more pleasant than it had the day before—or perhaps my hunger momentarily masked my fear.

Despite the peaceful atmosphere, my mind urged me to act. Clenching my teeth, I grabbed the necklace with the strongest grip I’d ever mustered. Without allowing myself time to second-guess, I ran to the main door and flung it open. My heart pounded louder and louder, and my breathing grew heavier as I dashed through the garden, the necklace gripped tightly in my hand like a dangerous secret.

Reaching the road, I frantically waved at passing vehicles. A motorbike screeched to a stop in front of me before I could even finish signaling. Without hesitation, I asked the rider, “Where are you going?”

He seemed startled by my urgency and replied cautiously, “Where do you need to go?”

“I need to get to Marake Ocia,” I said firmly.

Marake Ocia—a notorious spot for suicides. Though it was part of the ocean, its jagged cliffs and treacherous waters made it infamous. The waters were poisoned, teeming with deadly bacteria, and anyone who jumped stood no chance of survival. Despite its grim reputation, the roads nearby were always busy, filled with people going about their lives.

The rider, a man who transported passengers for a living, agreed to take me there for double his usual fare. As we rode toward Marake Ocia, I realized I was still wearing the same dress from the previous day.

When we arrived, I wasted no time. I flung the necklace as far as I could into the water, watching it sink into the deadly waves. Relief washed over me as I turned back to the bike, ready to leave this cursed place behind. But before I could climb on, a van sped down the road and collided with the bike.

The scene was horrific. The driver of the bike—my driver—was killed instantly, his body mangled and blood staining the asphalt. The van driver also died on impact. The wreckage was gruesome, the air heavy with the scent of oil and blood. A crowd quickly gathered, but there was nothing anyone could do.

Though I had only known the bike driver for a few minutes, I felt immense sorrow for his fate. My heart ached, and I stayed to assist the police and others as much as I could. It wasn’t until midday that I finally returned to my house.

When I approached the main door, I saw that all the windows and the door were still open—just as I’d left them in my haste to get rid of the necklace. But what caught my eye made my blood run cold.

There, in the very center of the doorway, was a parcel. Its size and shape were unmistakable. I knew what it was before I even opened it. It was the same parcel, identical to the one given to me by that girl in the isolated, deserted house.

Inside was the red, shiny necklace.