ECHOS OF THE PAST

3. The Journal

I hadn't seen Mona in almost two days. Her absence was not unusual—she often disappeared without a word, returning whenever she pleased, usually with a new story or a half-hearted apology. But this time felt different. It wasn't just her absence that gnawed at me; it was the oppressive silence that seemed to envelop the apartment, growing thicker with each passing hour. It was as if the walls themselves were closing in, suffocating me with the weight of something unseen.

I stared blankly at the walls of the four-by-four motel room, my temporary refuge for the week. The bed was lumpy, and the wallpaper was peeling at the edges, but it was a sanctuary compared to the haunted atmosphere of the apartment. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the dull ache of worry in the pit of my stomach. The old, frayed curtains fluttered slightly with the breeze from the cracked window, and I could hear the faint hum of the highway outside. I tried to picture how the apartment would look right now. I couldn't focus on anything else, even though I tried to. 

The picture in my mind was distorted and twisted. The shadows seemed to pulse, creeping along the walls as if they had a life of their own. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if it was weighed down by something malevolent. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the apartment bathed in the cold glow of moonlight. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows, but inside, everything was eerily still. It was surreal—like a scene from a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. 

I pictured the hallway outside my room, debating whether to call Mona. My hand hovered over my phone, the screen dimly lit in the dark room. I imagined the sound of her voice, maybe laughing off my concern with one of her usual nonchalant remarks. But deep down, I knew something was wrong. This wasn't like the other times she had vanished.

As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, something caught my eye—a faint glow emanating from under Mona's door. The image was so vivid that it felt as if I had been transported back to the apartment. My pulse quickened. Did Mona come back? Was she hiding something?

Before I could second-guess myself, I was standing outside her door in my mind, just as vividly as if I were there in reality. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. The sense of dread that had been inching at me wouldn't let go. I could feel it, a cold, creeping sensation that curled around my spine.

I turned the knob slowly, the door creaking as it opened. The light was coming from her bedside lamp. Mona's bed was unmade, sheets tangled as if she had left in a hurry. Clothes were strewn about, and the faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air—a heady mix of something sweet and slightly bitter. But what caught my attention wasn't the mess; it was the small leather-bound journal lying open on her bed, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze from the open window.

I blinked, realizing that I was back in the motel room. My thoughts had wandered again, pulling me into a vivid memory—or was it something else? I couldn't shake the feeling that the apartment was trying to reach me, calling out to me even from miles away. I rubbed my temples, trying to push the unsettling thoughts aside. I needed to focus. There was a reason I had taken the journal with me, even if I didn't fully understand it yet.

With a deep breath, I reached into my bag and pulled out the journal, my fingers brushing against the worn leather. As I flipped through the pages, the neat, spidery handwriting danced before my eyes. 

I decided to go through each of the pages this time. 

The entries started innocently enough—mundane details about daily routines, grocery lists, visits with friends. But as I delved deeper, the tone began to change.

The entries grew darker, more fragmented, filled with strange, cryptic descriptions of "dark shadows" and "whispering voices" that seemed to follow Lillian everywhere. My heart raced as I skimmed through the pages, each entry more unsettling than the last. It was as if Lillian had been slipping away, piece by piece, into a darkness I couldn't understand.