Isolated House and The Girl 5 (AI Edition)

“There’s something on your face,” the neighbor said, her voice sharp enough to cut through my daze. I flinched and turned toward her.

“What?” My voice came out hoarse.

Her eyes narrowed, fixating on my forehead. “That mark… that symbol. It wasn’t there before, was it? It looks—” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “It looks like fear.”

I reached up, my fingers brushing against my skin, but there was nothing I could feel. Her gaze was piercing, her curiosity unrelenting.

“What’s wrong?” she pressed. “Why are you so afraid? Does it have something to do with the parcel?”

I shook my head furiously, clutching the package tighter. “I’m not afraid,” I muttered, though my trembling hands betrayed the truth. “I don’t know anything.”

She didn’t believe me. I could see it in her eyes.

“You’re lying,” she said, her words like arrows piercing straight through me. “Why are you lying? What’s in that parcel?”

“I said I don’t know!” I snapped, my voice cracking. I tried to steady myself, to put on a mask of indifference, but her questions came faster, more relentless.

“Why does it matter to you?”

She didn’t answer, only stared, her expression unreadable. The weight of her gaze was unbearable.

“I need to open it—with a friend,” I blurted out suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

And then I ran.

The market was bustling, but my turmoil made it feel like a labyrinth. I searched for my friend, but his stall was empty.

“Where is he?” I muttered under my breath, panic creeping in.

A vendor nearby overheard. “He left hours ago. You’re late.”

My chest tightened. “Home?” I echoed.

“He waited for you. But you didn’t show up,” the vendor added.

I cursed myself silently. Why hadn’t I come earlier? My mind raced, recalling our memories—his laughter, his jokes. Now even those felt distant, overshadowed by my fear.

The parcel in my hands felt heavier with each passing moment.

Then, my phone rang.

The unknown number made me hesitate before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Jigihan,” came a familiar voice.

“Who?” I asked, confused.

“Jigihan. From school? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”

His name brought memories flooding back. He was the boy I once stood up for in school.

“What do you want?” I asked, my tone sharp.

“It’s about her,” he said.

Her?

“She brought it up today. The fight. She remembered it. And then… we got into an accident. She’s okay, but it was strange. Before it happened, she mentioned the exact spot where everything went down.”

I hung up without replying. My mind spiraled. The ground where I destroyed the necklace.

I rushed to that spot, but it was undisturbed, as if nothing had ever happened.

Back at the market, I entered a small jewelry shop.

“I need to sell this,” I said, placing the parcel on the counter.

The shopkeeper unwrapped it, his eyes widening at the necklace.

“How much?” I asked.

“If you can wait until tomorrow, I can offer four million.”

“I can’t wait,” I replied.

He hesitated. “Four lakh. That’s all I have tonight.”

“Fine,” I said.

The transaction felt like a weight lifted—briefly. That night, I dreamed again. The girl from the isolated house spoke to the shopkeeper in sorrow. Then he clutched his chest and collapsed.

The next morning, I woke up to shocking news.

At the office, chaos reigned.

“You didn’t send the 2-million-dollar client file!” my team leader barked.

I stammered, overwhelmed, but there was no reprieve.

Summoned to the owner’s office, his fury was palpable.

“You’re careless and incompetent!” he said.

I begged for another chance, and he reluctantly agreed.

Later, my phone buzzed with breaking news:

“Gold shop owner hospitalized after sudden illness. Condition critical.”

The article claimed the jewelry shop had a high-profile customer after me. My mind reeled. There hadn’t been enough time for another transaction.

The next day, I made another critical mistake. I failed to send a 1-million-dollar file. Consumed by the news and the necklace, I missed the deadline.

This time, there was no mercy.

“You’re fired,” the owner said.

As guards escorted me out, he threw a parcel at my feet.

I unwrapped it, trembling.

The necklace gleamed, mocking me.

Why won’t it leave me?

It had taken everything—my peace, my job, my sanity.

And I knew it wasn’t done yet.