Windridge Notes

Chapter 3 | Weight

W E I G H T

. . .

The Stillwater Pond sat on the outskirts of Windridge, nestled deep within a dense forest of towering pines. The path leading to the pond was overgrown with weeds like nature itself was trying to hide it.

The further I walked, the quieter everything became—the village sounds faded until all I could hear was the crunch of my boots on gravel and the faint rustling of wind through the trees.

This pond... We'd spent hours here, talking about dreams, fears, and the future that seemed so far off. But now, as I approached the water's edge, that sense of peace was gone, replaced by the weight of the letter burning a hole in my pocket.

The setting of the sun casts a golden glow over the water. The surface was like a mirror, perfectly reflecting the sky and the surrounding trees. But beneath that calm, I could feel the tension building inside me.

There was something here, something Liam wanted me to find. And I knew, deep down, that whatever it was, it would change everything.

I made my way to the large flat rock by the water's edge—our rock.

We'd always sat there together. Seeing it now brought a flood of memories, but I pushed them aside as I crouched down and began searching. My fingers brushed against cold stone, dirt, and fallen leaves.

And then, tucked just beneath the edge of the rock, I found it—a small, weathered notebook. My breath caught in my throat as I pulled it free. The cover was faded, and worn, the edges frayed, but there was no mistaking it.

This was Liam's journal.

Liam had always been a writer. He kept detailed journals—his thoughts, his dreams, his fears all laid out in those pages. Writing things down helped him make sense of everything. It was his way of dealing with the world.

I remembered his journal vividly—an old, leather-bound notebook he carried with him everywhere. It was filled with scribbled notes, sketches, and half-formed ideas. It was a window into his mind.

My hands shook as I opened it, flipping through pages filled with his familiar handwriting. The words were chaotic, scribbled in haste like he'd been racing against time to get his thoughts down.

One page stood out—bold, frantic letters that sent a chill down my spine:

I can't keep doing this. The weight is too much. I'm losing myself, piece by piece. There's something they don't know—something they can never know. But I'm trapped. I'm trapped, and I don't see a way out.

My heart pounded as I read the words again and again.

Trapped?

I don't understand. What had Liam been trapped in? What was so unbearable that he felt like there was no escape? And who were "they"?

The questions swirled in my mind, but the answers were just out of reach. I kept flipping through the journal, searching for more clues. But the entries became more fragmented, more disjointed as his thoughts unraveled.

His words were filled with pain, confusion, and a deep sense of isolation. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as I realized just how much Liam had been struggling—how alone he must have felt, even with me and Lori by his side.

The final entry was just a single sentence, written in shaky, uneven letters:

The truth is buried where the fire never fades.