The sky was overcast when Moonella returned home. The forest where Elira had been found still lingered in her mind—damp leaves, moist soil, and a heavy atmosphere that felt like it held a thousand secrets. In her pocket, the small silver locket felt cold, almost frozen.
She went straight to her study, a room lined with old newspaper clippings, handwritten notes, and a wall covered in pins and string connecting fragments of the orphanage case. She placed the locket carefully on her desk, as if handling something alive.
Moonella sat in silence. Her gaze locked on the locket, now catching a faint glow beneath the desk lamp. She bit her lip, trying to piece together everything. Elira—a young orphan. Sister Helena—the caretaker with a dark secret. The other children—missing, dead, or forgotten.
And now, her.
Moonella. A writer. A seeker of truth. But this truth felt different—closer, darker.
Night slowly crept in, swallowing the afternoon light. Rain returned, tapping gently against the windows like tiny fingers wanting to come in.
She decided to shower and rest. But as she walked down the hallway toward her bedroom, the ceiling light flickered—once, twice—then went out. Moonella froze. Her breath caught.
"Just the wiring," she whispered to herself.
But her heart knew better.
That night, she woke up three times. First, to the sound of knocking. Second, to the soft patter of tiny footsteps in the hall. And third, to the sound of crying.
A child's whimper. Inside a house that should be empty.
Moonella sat up in bed, wrapping herself in her blanket. She didn't dare move, didn't dare speak. Her eyes locked on the closed door. Beneath it, a shadow—a small figure—stood still. Then vanished.
Morning came reluctantly. The sky remained gray, and even the birds were quiet.
When she returned to her study, the locket was open.
She was sure it had been shut tight the night before.
Inside, a scrap of old paper she'd never seen before. Handwritten in delicate, childlike script:
"You saw me... now you have to listen to me."
Her fingers trembled as she held the note. This wasn't from this world. She could feel it.
She lifted the locket, stared into it—hoping to see something, anything. At first, there was only her reflection.
Until...
A flicker. Quick, almost imperceptible. But it was there.
Elira's face. Eyes hollow. Her mouth barely opened, as if trying to speak—but no sound came. Just silence. Heavy, choking silence.
Moonella dropped the locket.
It rolled, stopped beneath the bookshelf. The room fell into an even deeper quiet.
She wanted to quit.
To close the case, toss the locket away, and forget everything. But her body wouldn't move. Something held her—or perhaps... pushed her forward.
That day, she tried to write. But every time she touched her keyboard, the screen would glitch and go black. Then, white text would appear:
"Continue my story.""Don't let them win.""I'm still here."
Moonella closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I have to know," she whispered.
She picked up the locket again, brought it close to her face. It smelled strange—a mix of flowers... and something metallic.
"If you want to speak, I'm ready to listen," she said aloud.
As if in response, a soft voice whispered behind her.
"She's not done, Moonella…"
Moonella spun around. No one there. But the voice was real. Too real.
From that moment, her life began to shift.
The phone rang every night—no caller, no sound. Her TV turned on by itself, showing only static with strange whispers. And sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she saw two reflections—hers, and a child standing behind her.
Each time she touched the locket, the whispers returned:
"Help us.""She's going to kill again.""Don't let her come back..."
Her mind raced. Her body grew tired. But her heart—her heart knew this wasn't over.
Moonella realized there was more to the orphanage tragedy than anyone ever reported. Maybe the locket was the key. Maybe Nina, the ghost that once helped Elira, was now guiding her. And maybe... Sister Helena had never truly left.
That day, she made a decision.
She would investigate everything.
She'd start with the village near the orphanage, tracking down anyone who remembered it. She'd look into old medical records, legal documents, survivor testimonies—whatever she could find. Even if it meant returning to the cursed grounds everyone else avoided.
Moonella had come too far to turn back.
And maybe... that was exactly what Elira wanted all along.