The wind had a voice that night.
It didn't howl—it whispered. Like breath against the ear, like words meant only for the guilty.
Daniel stood by the edge of Maplewood Lake, staring at the faint reflection of the moon. The same lake where it had all begun. The same water that once hid their whispers, now seemed to echo them back with cruel memory.
The trees rustled behind him. Every creak sounded like a footstep. Every sigh of wind felt like Rebecca's breath brushing against his neck.
He turned sharply.
No one was there.
And yet… something was.
A folded note sat pinned to a tree trunk—its paper fluttering in the cold wind. The ink bled faintly, as though written in haste. Daniel's heart pounded as he approached it.
The handwriting was the same. The crimson ink unmistakable.
> "You swore a promise by this lake.
You broke it.
You lied to love, to God, to death itself.
Three days are done. The reckoning begins at dawn."
His throat tightened. The page smelled faintly of ash and oil. Whoever had written this wasn't content with warnings anymore—they were closing in.
---
He stumbled back to his small room above the carpenter's shop, the shadows inside seeming to move as though they breathed. He locked the door, bolted the windows, then sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the letter until the candle burned low.
He whispered to himself, "It's not real. It's madness. Just madness."
But then the wind returned—soft, cold, deliberate—pressing through the cracks in the wood like something alive.
It carried a sound with it.
A woman's laugh.
Broken. Familiar.
Rebecca's.
Daniel froze. His breath came short. The candle flickered violently and went out.
And then he heard it—three soft knocks at the door.
Slow. Rhythmic.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
He didn't move. He couldn't.
The voice came next, muffled but clear—
> "You promised, Daniel…"
The sound melted into the wind, leaving only silence and the faint creak of the hinges.
When he finally dared to open the door, there was nothing there. Only a single black ribbon tied to the doorknob.
And beneath it, a drop of blood.