A few days later, Clara found herself wandering into the library during her lunch break, as usual. She spotted the staff member who had been there when she discovered the book. Her curiosity piqued, Clara walked toward him.
"Hey," she called, "have you found out anything more about that book?"
The staff member looked up, shaking his head. "No, it's not ours," he said, his voice a bit dismissive. "It's just a blank book. We might as well throw it out."
Clara raised an eyebrow, surprised by his indifference. "Throw it out? But just look at it," she said, reaching for the book that still sat on the table. "The cover is gorgeous. Why would you throw it away when it could be used for something?" She ran her fingers along the patterns on the cover. "I could make it my diary."
The staff member hesitated, eyeing the book for a moment. After a pause, he shrugged and handed it to her. "If you want it, I guess it's yours. It's not like we're going to keep it."
Clara smiled, holding the book carefully in her hands. "Thanks!" she said, and walked away.
.
.
That night, Clara was on the phone with her mom, her voice soft and filled with longing. She told her how much she missed her and how she couldn't wait to visit. "I'll come next year, Mom. This year, I have a lot of work to take care of..." She sighed, wishing she could be there sooner. After a few more heartfelt words, the call ended, and Clara put down her phone with a small smile.
She made herself dinner and sat down at the table to eat, flipping through her phone to catch up on her favorite drama. It was one of those shows she never missed, no matter what was going on.
But just as she settled in, a loud crash came from the hallway, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Clara's heart skipped a beat, and she jumped, startled by the noise. The vase on the table had fallen, and she stood frozen for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.
Cautiously, she left her slippers behind in the kitchen and walked towards common area. As she approached she slightly moved her head to see who was there, she noticed that the window was wide open, and the rain was pouring in. The wind was howling, gusting so forcefully that the curtain had flown up and knocked the vase off the table. Clara let out a relieved breath.
She hurried to close the window, but in her haste, she accidentally stepped on a shard of glass. She flinched, her breath catching in a sharp hiss of pain. "Ahhhhhhh... ouch!" she whispered to herself, but she pushed through the discomfort, and with some effort, she managed to close the window against the strong wind, though it was a struggle.
Once it was secure, she limped, carefully avoiding the glass and reached into the drawer for the first aid kit, hoping the pain in her foot wasn't too bad.
Clara wrapped her foot carefully and cleaned up the glass on the floor. After everything was back in place, she returned to the kitchen, sat down, and finally took a bite of her food. With a sigh, she resumed watching her favorite drama, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling from the sudden disturbance.
.
.
In the darkness, a large piece of broken glass floated, reflecting Clara as she cleaned the glass on the floor. Her movements were slow and calm, unaware of the eyes watching her through the shard.
But Clara wasn't the only one being watched.
Scattered around the space were other pieces of broken glass, each showing a different person. Each shard displayed a silent moment as if time was moving slowly.
In the darkness, someone smiled, their gaze fixed on Clara.
.
.
The day when Rosy visited the museum, she was delighted to see a familiar face. As soon as she walked in, she recognized Clara immediately. Clara, who was working as a guide that day, noticed her too, and a warm smile spread across her face.
"Aunt! I didn't know you were in this city!" Clara exclaimed, her eyes bright with surprise. "If I had known, I would have visited you sooner!"
Rosy laughed softly, shaking her head. "Oh no, we just got here recently. Our new house wasn't ready yet, but now it is, so we've finally moved in."
Clara nodded, glad to hear that Rosy was settling in well. She then gave her a personalized tour of the museum, sharing the history and stories behind the exhibits.
.
.
It was almost the weekend, and the friends had gathered at Clara's place for a cozy get-together. May, Amy, and Leah arrived together, their laughter filling the air as they entered, chatting excitedly about their day.
They settled into the comfy chairs, making themselves at home, and spent the next hour catching up. Between bites of snacks and sips of drinks, the conversation flowed effortlessly.
Leah, with a grin, mentioned, "I saw Erik and Blizz together earlier today." Clara nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "Yeah, I ran into Aunt Rosy at the museum I work at a few days ago."
"Really?" Amy asked, her eyes wide with surprise. "Tell us more!"
Just as Clara was about to speak, a voice suddenly interrupted them. "SURE!" It wasn't just any voice—it was a voice full of horror, chilling enough to make everyone freeze.
The words echoed through the room, and a shiver ran down everyone's spine.
"Ha... ha," Leah laughed awkwardly, trying to brush off the eerie feeling. "Clara, you're funny. I got scared by that voice... that was a prank, right?"
But when Leah glanced at Clara, she noticed that Clara's face was just as surprised as hers.
"PR..ANK?" the voice repeated, its tone now sharp, almost angry.
The voice continued, lingering in the air like a cold whisper, "Hmm? Well, I guess it is a prank... but~ what will you do if it's not? Huh~?"
Then, the sound of chains dragging across the floor filled the room, slow at first, then growing louder and louder, echoing in every corner. Yet, there was nothing to be seen—nothing that could explain the noise. The chains seemed to be moving on their own, tied together in some unseen space.
With every dragging sound, the room grew darker, as though the very shadows were creeping in, swallowing up the light...