Isolated House and The Girl 3 (AI Edition)

The cold seeped into my bones as I opened my eyes. My body ached, and the hard surface beneath me was colder than any nightmare. The first thing my vision caught was a glittering object—a strange, white glow—just beside my head. Disoriented, I tried to shift my focus. It took a few seconds to realize the truth: I wasn’t on my bed. The floor beneath me was tiled, smooth, and unyielding, nothing like the comforting spring mattress I should have been lying on. Panic set in as the realization struck—I had slept in the living room.

With trembling arms, I pushed myself upright. My heartbeat was erratic, the silence of the house amplifying the sound of my shallow breaths. Beside me, on the small table, was the red necklace, glinting unnervingly in the faint morning light that crept through the closed windows. It was the same cursed necklace. The sight of it sent a chill racing down my spine.

I stood, unsteady, my knees threatening to buckle as I scanned the room. The sunlight piercing through the curtains revealed an unsettling stillness, a quiet so heavy it seemed unnatural. Desperation surged within me. I needed air—something to convince me that the world outside hadn’t descended into the same madness.

I stumbled toward the window, my fingers fumbling with the latch before I managed to fling it open. The light flooded in, warmer and brighter than I had expected, momentarily chasing away the oppressive dread. Yet, even the sun’s rays couldn’t touch the sinister presence of the necklace lying behind me.

I didn’t dare to look back as I made my way to the kitchen. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but fear gnawed deeper at my soul. The house felt... different. As I nibbled on stale bread and sipped lukewarm milk, my mind replayed the events of the past few days. The girl. Her floating figure. That blood-red dress. The necklace.

Each memory was sharper than the last, digging into my thoughts like shards of glass. My fingers twitched with the urge to do something—anything. Without fully understanding why, I found myself walking back into the living room. My eyes locked on the necklace. It seemed to gleam brighter, as though mocking my resolve.

I clenched my teeth and grabbed it, my grip so tight it left marks on my palm. The chill of the metal burned into my skin, but I didn’t let go. My legs carried me to the main door, my mind screaming at me to act before fear could paralyze me again. I flung the door open, and the garden greeted me with deceptive normalcy. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. The world outside seemed oblivious to the curse I carried in my hand.

I ran—no, bolted—down the path, clutching the necklace like a venomous serpent. The road was alive with passing vehicles, and I waved frantically at the first motorbike I saw. The rider hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he took in my disheveled appearance.

“Where are you going?” he asked cautiously.

“To Marake Ocia,” I blurted out, my voice trembling.

His expression darkened at the name. Everyone knew Marake Ocia. Its jagged cliffs and poisoned waters were infamous. Those who ventured there rarely returned, and when they did, they were forever changed. But I didn’t care about its grim reputation—I only cared about ending this nightmare.

The rider reluctantly agreed to take me for double the fare. As we rode toward the cursed cliffs, the wind bit at my skin, but I barely felt it. My thoughts were consumed by the necklace. Its weight seemed to grow heavier with every passing second.

When we arrived, the cliffs loomed above us, stark and foreboding. The ocean below churned with an unnatural fury, its waters an eerie shade that defied description. Poisoned, they called it—teeming with bacteria so deadly that survival was impossible.

I wasted no time. With all the strength I could muster, I hurled the necklace into the waves. It vanished beneath the surface, swallowed whole by the cursed waters. Relief surged through me, a momentary reprieve from the suffocating fear.

But the moment was short-lived. As I turned to head back to the motorbike, a deafening screech shattered the air. A van careened down the road, slamming into the bike with horrifying force. The impact was catastrophic.

The rider—the man who had brought me here—was killed instantly. His lifeless body lay crumpled on the blood-streaked asphalt. The van’s driver fared no better, his lifeless hands still gripping the wheel. The scene was chaos—twisted metal, shattered glass, and the thick, metallic scent of blood.

I stood frozen, unable to tear my eyes away. The guilt was unbearable. This man had died because of me—because I had dragged him into my cursed world. The crowd that gathered felt like ghosts themselves, their voices a distant hum as my mind spiraled.

It wasn’t until hours later that I found myself back at the house. The windows and door were still open, just as I had left them. But something was wrong. The air felt heavier, charged with an unseen malice.

And then I saw it. Sitting in the center of the doorway was a parcel, its edges crisp and clean. My heart sank as I approached it, every step a battle against the suffocating dread. I knew what it was before I even opened it. My fingers trembled as I tore away the wrapping, revealing the object inside.

The red, shiny necklace gleamed back at me, untouched and pristine. It was back.

I collapsed to the floor, the weight of the curse crashing down on me. There was no escaping it. The necklace wasn’t just an object—it was a promise. A reminder. And no matter how far I ran, it would always find its way back.