A Dangerous Infatuation

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ven possible? It's then that my eyes land on the empty bottle of red wine lying on the floor. I must have indulged in drinking last night aft

y, and I've completely forgotten about it. I hastily clean up and manage to tie my hair into a messy bun. I grab the first outfit I lay my hands on

ly some makeup in the car before finally making my way towards the building. Lost in the moment, I wander around for a bit before finally finding my w

gs. Observing how skillfully that seasoned old lawyer handled his files, a surge of determination courses through me.

cations and discover an anonymous message waiting for me on Instagram. Curiosity piqued; I open the message from a user named "Brahms 2023." This ac

I scan the faces around me, searching for any familiar expressions or telltale signs. But the sea of strangers offers no

I read the words with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. This prank is lame and ridiculous. Deciding not to give it a

ht: a peculiar bouquet of flowers positioned right in front of my door. I park my car and quickly approach the bouquet, my curiosi

handwriting is all too familiar. Damn it. Nathaniel. I unlock the door and step inside, my heart pounding with a blend of annoyance and une

e flames consume the roses, I feel a sense of catharsis washing over me. The act of letting go becomes both symbolic and empowe

refuse to let his attempts at reconciliation disru

way the stress and anxiety of the day. Emerging from the bath, I feel rejuvenated. I decide to continue my relaxation by watching a Netflix show in my bedroom.

focus from the CCTV camera feed to Netflix, picking a horror movie – "Army of the Dead." Horror films have always been

ve shared the location of my home this time. I roll my eyes at the foolishness of it all and dismiss the message. However, my annoyance is short-lived, as I

pletely unexpected. "Olivia!" he exclaims. My irritation flares up. "What the hell? What do you want?" I demand, my

on't know who you are, but whoever you are, tell Elea that this time, I'm not falling for her pranks

again disrupted by the incessant ringing of my phone. Annoyed, I pick it up, unable to hide my irritati

oice on the other end retorts, a sense of urgency in their tone. "Are you Brahms 2023?" I ask, wa

ople late at night? Do you think I'll waste my precious time talking to someone as low and pathetic as you?" I assert, not mincing words. "I'm so

ing. "How much is she paying you for all this?" I ask, still not convinced of the authenticity of t

ly, but I swiftly regain my stance. "I've watched way too many horror movies to

uggests. I hesitate, my heart pounding, before deciding to prove my point. Without further hesitation, I stand u

til morning," I assert before decisively hanging up the call, s

errupt my viewing, a fact I'm truly grateful for. After finishing the movie, I start another one, hoping

the lights before dozing off. With sleep still heavy in my eyes, I fumble to turn on the flashlight on my phone before cautiously maki

mple, "I'm sorry," as if bumping into someone in the middle of the night in my own home is an everyday occurrence. I hurriedly pick up my phone from the fl

. I catch sight of a figure on their knees, their presence sending a chill down my spine. What I witness ne

movie, "The Boy." My blood runs cold as I recognize the distinct features of the mask, a stark reminder of the unsettling doll that haunted the screen. T

now. The realization strikes like a bolt of lightning: I inadvertently invited this intruder in. My heart pounds wit

d, creating some distance between us. In response, the figure rises, towering over me. The combination of the haunt