Pandora's Law: S Class

Snippet

"Sometimes, the quietest voices hold the darkest secrets."
________

The sky was an endless canvas of gray, the sun hidden behind thick clouds that threatened rain. The kind of day that makes you want to curl up with a book and forget the world exists.

But I didn’t have that luxury. I had school, assignments, and the usual routine that kept my life in a neat, predictable order.

Or so I thought.

As I walked home, the streets were unusually empty, the only sound is the soft crunch of gravel beneath my shoes.

I liked this part of the day—the quiet after school, when I could finally be alone with my thoughts. But today, that silence felt different.

Heavier.

I shook my head, trying to brush off the uneasy feeling. It was probably nothing. Just my imagination running wild.

When I reached our house, the door was slightly ajar. I frowned. Mom was usually so careful about locking up. I pushed the door open cautiously and stepped inside.

“Ma?” I called out, my voice echoing in the empty hallway.

No answer. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that prickled at the back of your neck.

I set my bag down and walked through the living room, scanning for any sign of her. Everything was in its place, but something felt off. Like the air was thicker, the shadows darker.

“Ma?” I called again, louder this time, but still, no response.

Maybe she went out and forgot to close the door properly. But that didn’t feel right. My mom never forgot things like that.

I wandered into the kitchen, half-expecting to find her there, but it was empty too. Just the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. I noticed a mug on the counter, still half-full, and the sight of it made my stomach twist. She wouldn’t leave without finishing her coffee.

I reached for the mug, feeling the ceramic cool against my fingers. Everything felt so normal, so everyday, but that only made the strange feeling in my gut grow stronger.

And then I heard it. A faint creak from upstairs, like someone shifting their weight.

I froze, every muscle in my body tensing. The house was supposed to be empty.

“Mom?” I called out, but my voice was barely above a whisper. I didn’t expect an answer.

I forced myself to move, to climb the stairs slowly, my heart thudding in my chest. The second floor was even darker, the hallway stretched out like a tunnel. I walked past the closed doors of the other rooms, heading toward my mom’s bedroom at the end of the hall.

When I reached the door, I hesitated. My hand hovered over the doorknob, a cold dread settling in my bones. I had no reason to be scared. But I was.

I pushed the door open.

The room was empty, the bed neatly made, just like it always was. Nothing seemed out of place, but the air felt colder here, like all the warmth had been sucked out. I stood in the doorway, trying to figure out why this room felt so different. And then I saw it.

On the dresser, next to a framed photo of us, was a small, black notebook. It wasn’t hers—I’d never seen it before. Something about it drew me in, even as my instincts screamed at me to leave it alone.

I stepped into the room, my heart racing, and reached for the notebook. The cover was plain, with no markings, no title. Just a simple, black leather-bound book. I opened it carefully, half-expecting it to be empty.

But it wasn’t.

The pages were filled with neat, careful handwriting. My mom’s handwriting. I skimmed the first few lines, trying to make sense of the words.

“When the time comes, you must remember.”

I stared at the words, my mind spinning. What truth? Remember what? My mom never talked like this.

As I flipped through the pages, I saw some vague words smeared with what looked like failed attempts to erase them.

"You were never meant to remember."

The letters were written messily in red ink, with smudges suggesting that someone had tried to clean them up but failed. The page was one of the messiest I had encountered.

I couldn’t tell if the ink had run out or if someone had used the spilled ink in a futile attempt to erase the writing.

Why not just tear the page out if erasing it wasn’t working?

It was as if whoever had handled the page was desperate to hide the information but couldn’t quite succeed.

Kahit sino ata ang makakabasa sa notebook na ito ay maguguluhan dahil ang sabi kanina sa kabilang pahina ay "You must remember," pero sa kabilang pahina naman ay "You were never meant to remember."

And then, on the very last page, I found a single word, written in bold, dark letters:

“Run.”

My hands were shaking now, the unease from earlier growing into full-blown panic. My breath caught in my throat. I slammed the notebook shut, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

What was I supposed to run from?

And then, as if in response to my growing fear, I heard it again. The creak of the floorboards. But this time, it was closer.

I spun around, but there was no one there. Just the empty room, the open door leading back into the dark hallway.

I wanted to run, to get out of the house, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

But before I could make sense of it, a shadow passed through the hallway, just outside the door. A figure, moving too quickly to be anything real.

“Mom?” I whispered, but there was no answer. Only silence, and the echo of my own breath.

I took a step back, clutching the notebook to my chest. The figure had disappeared, but I knew—deep down—I wasn’t alone.

I had to get out. I had to run, just like the notebook said. But my body wouldn’t listen, my feet wouldn’t move.

The door to the room slammed shut with a deafening bang.

I stumbled backward, my pulse racing. I yanked at the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

I was trapped.

The darkness seemed to close in around me, the air growing colder. Panic clawed at my throat.

As I sank to the floor, the light flickered, and I heard a whisper—a voice I couldn’t quite place, but it was familiar. It spoke softly, almost lovingly.

"You’ve always been alone. There was never a family. Only the stories you told yourself."

My breath caught. The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. I looked around desperately, but the room was empty, and the shadows seemed to grow darker.

I saw a framed photo on the dresser—a picture of a smiling woman with no resemblance to me. It wasn’t a photo of a mother. It was a picture of someone I didn’t recognize, someone who didn’t belong in my life.

The shadows swallowed me whole. The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was a pair of eyes, glowing faintly in the blackness, watching me with an intensity that burned into my soul.

**To be continued…**