Charlotte did not touch the phone.
For a long moment, she only watched it — as if the screen itself were breathing.
The room had gone unnaturally quiet. Not normal quiet. Not night quiet.
Listening quiet.
The kind where sound wasn't absent…
It was waiting.
Her throat felt dry.
Slowly, she reached toward the phone and stopped halfway.
"Seven…?" she whispered.
Her voice sounded wrong in the room, like it didn't belong to her.
She finally picked it up.
The notification was still there.
Location saved: Grey Hollow — Home
Previous visits: 7
Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the location history.
The loading circle spun.
Once.
Twice.
Then the map opened.
Charlotte's breath caught.
The screen didn't show a timeline of recent days.
It showed years.
Markers filled the map — not just around the inn, not just the town square.
The woods.
The lake.
The church.
The school.
The cemetery.
Each one stamped with different dates.
Different seasons.
Different years.
Her birthday.
Again.
Her birthday again.
Every single entry…
was the same day.
March 7th.
Every year.
Charlotte slowly sat down on the edge of the bed.
"No…"
Her voice shook.
"That's not possible."
She had never been here before.
She remembered never being here before.
Didn't she?
The phone vibrated suddenly in her hand.
A new notification appeared.
Memory synchronization incomplete.
Before she could react, the lights in the room flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the bathroom door creaked open by itself.
Charlotte froze.
She hadn't gone near the bathroom since entering the room.
The air coming from inside was colder than the rest of the room — not cool…
Cold.
Like underground air.
Her chest tightened.
A faint sound came from within.
Drip.
…Drip.
…Drip.
Water.
But the sink had been dry earlier.
The mirror inside the bathroom was fogged.
She could see it from the bed.
Fog forming slowly across its surface — as if someone had just taken a hot shower.
Charlotte stood up without realizing she had.
Her feet moved carefully across the wooden floor.
Each step felt guided, not chosen.
The closer she got, the clearer the mirror became.
Something was moving on it.
Not a reflection.
Writing.
Letters slowly appeared across the fog.
Not written by a hand…
But forming from inside the glass.
Charlotte's pulse thundered in her ears.
The message finished forming.
WELCOME BACK, CHARLOTTE
Her breath stopped.
Behind her—
The floorboard creaked.
She turned sharply.
No one was there.
But the indentation on the bed was.
Someone had just sat down.
The mattress slowly sank deeper.
Charlotte backed away, hitting the bathroom doorframe.
Her phone slipped slightly in her hand.
It vibrated again.
She looked down.
A photo had appeared in her gallery.
Time stamp: March 7th — Unknown Year
With shaking fingers, she opened it.
The image loaded.
Charlotte stared.
It was taken in the town square.
The fountain behind her.
The same clothes she wore today.
But she wasn't alone.
A little girl stood beside her, holding her hand.
The girl was smiling.
Charlotte wasn't.
She looked terrified.
And scratched into the bottom corner of the photo — not digitally, but physically carved into the image — were the words:
You promised you'd come back for me.
Charlotte dropped the phone.
The lights went out.
In the darkness…
something in the room exhaled.