The Girl Who Knew Too Much

I first heard about the girl when I moved to the small town of Ashwick. I’d come to escape my past, a past filled with mistakes and regrets. The quiet, sleepy town seemed like the perfect place to start over—until I met her.

Her name was Lily. She couldn’t have been older than ten, with pale skin, wide blue eyes, and long, dark hair that hung over her shoulders. The locals whispered about her, said she was strange, that she could "see things"—things no one should know.

At first, I dismissed it as small-town gossip, something to pass the time in a place where nothing ever happened. But then, one afternoon, I saw her sitting alone on a park bench, swinging her legs back and forth as if she were waiting for someone.

As I walked past, she looked up and smiled—a smile that was too knowing for someone her age. Her eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.

"He's coming for you," she said softly, her voice like a whisper carried on the wind.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart hammering in my chest. "What?" I managed to choke out, turning to face her fully.

She tilted her head, her smile widening just a little. "You can’t run away from your past. He knows where you are. He’s been watching you. And soon, he’ll come for you."

I laughed it off, trying to shake the fear gnawing at my gut. "Who are you talking about?"

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she just sat there, staring at me with those wide, unblinking eyes. The silence stretched out between us, thick and oppressive, until I finally turned and walked away, my mind racing.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Her words echoed in my head, growing louder and more insistent as the hours ticked by. "He’s coming for you… He knows where you are…"

I told myself it was nonsense. A creepy kid with a vivid imagination, nothing more. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew something I didn’t—that she had seen something in my future.

The next morning, I woke up to find a note slipped under my door. There was no signature, no name, just four words scrawled in a messy hand:

"You can’t hide forever."

My blood ran cold. I checked the locks on my door, the windows. Everything was secure. But the fear was there, gnawing at me, tightening its grip on my mind.

Over the next few days, I started noticing things. Shadows moving just outside my line of sight, the feeling of being watched whenever I left the house. I’d see figures in the distance—too far away to recognize—but they were always there, lurking, just out of reach.

I tried to go about my day, tried to convince myself it was all in my head, but it was no use. The town, once quiet and peaceful, now felt like a trap, like every corner hid something sinister waiting to strike.

Then, one night, I heard footsteps outside my window. Slow, deliberate, growing closer with each passing second.

I froze, my breath caught in my throat. I didn’t dare move. The footsteps stopped just outside the window, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then came the knock.

It wasn’t frantic or rushed, just a slow, steady rhythm—three knocks, then silence. I sat there, paralyzed, the darkness pressing in on me from all sides.

Another knock. And then a voice, low and raspy, barely a whisper.

"I know you’re in there."

My heart nearly stopped. I crept toward the window, my body shaking. Carefully, I peeked through the blinds. The street outside was empty—no one was there.

But the voice came again, closer this time. "You can’t hide forever."

I stumbled back, my heart racing. Whoever—or whatever—this was, it was playing with me. It knew where I was, and it was only a matter of time before it got to me.

The next few days were a blur. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the voice. Every time I stepped outside, I felt the weight of eyes on me, watching, waiting. And every night, the knocks returned.

I tried to leave. I packed my bags and headed for my car, but when I got there, the tires were slashed, the windows shattered. I was trapped.

On the last night, I knew it was coming for me. I could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating, like the calm before a storm. I barricaded myself in the house, every window and door locked, furniture pushed up against them. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

At midnight, the knocks came again.

This time, they didn’t stop. The sound grew louder, more insistent, echoing through the house until it felt like the walls were closing in on me. The voice followed, creeping under the door, slithering through the cracks in the walls.

"You can’t run. You can’t hide."

And then, the door slowly creaked open.

I don’t remember what happened after that. All I know is that when I woke up, I was lying in the park, the same park where I had first seen Lily. The sky was dark, the moon high above, casting long shadows over the trees.

And there, sitting on the bench, was Lily. She smiled that same unsettling smile, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"I told you," she said softly, her voice carrying on the wind. "You can’t run from your past."

I staggered to my feet, my mind spinning, but when I looked around, the town was empty. Not a single soul in sight.

And then, I saw him—standing in the distance, just at the edge of the trees. A figure, shrouded in shadow, watching me with those cold, dead eyes.

I knew then that it was over.

I couldn’t run.

I couldn’t hide.

He had found me.