Thriller Suspense Mystery

The breeze was gentle, almost comforting against her skin. It felt like a soft caress, a gentle reminder of the world around her. Cordelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts in her mind.

It had been two years since her sister's death, but the pain was still fresh, still raw. She couldn't understand how someone could take another's life, especially that of her own sister. She had always been the protective one, always looking out for her younger sibling. But she had failed to protect her when it mattered the most.

The police had closed the case as a homicide, but they never found the killer. It was like her sister's death had been swept under the rug, forgotten by everyone except her. She couldn't let go of the memory, the feeling of loss and guilt that consumed her every day.

There was no blood or anything, but just the sight of her sister's limp body haunted her. Her sister had been found dead with no sign of wounds, blood, or any injuries. Except the injury on her head, which was caused when she had fallen to the ground.

She had become obsessed with finding her sister's killer, spending every waking moment going over the details of that night. She had even started keeping a journal, writing down every thought and theory that crossed her mind. But despite her efforts, she was no closer to finding the truth.

As she walked down the street, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. It was the same street her sister had walked down on the night of her murder. She shivered and quickened her pace, trying to push away the memories that threatened to overwhelm her.

But as she turned the corner, she saw something that made her stop in her tracks. A man, standing on the opposite side of the street, staring directly at her. She couldn't make out his features, but she could feel his gaze piercing through her.

Her heart started to race as she recognized the man. He had been at the crime scene on the night of her sister's death, but the police had ruled him out as a suspect. Not only because he had disappeared after, but also because there was no record of him. The police had thought she was hallucinating. She had always found it strange that they didn't investigate him further, and now here he was, staring at her on the same street where her sister had been killed.

Her instincts kicked in and she started to run. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she had to get away from him. As she turned a corner, she bumped into a woman, causing them both to fall to the ground.

“I'm so sorry,” she exclaimed, trying to help the woman up.

“It's alright, dear. Are you okay?” The woman asked, concern etched on her face.

The younger woman nodded, still trying to catch her breath. She looked up and saw the man standing in front of them, a few feet away. He was smiling, but it sent shivers down her spine.

“What are you looking at dear?” The woman asked.

“The man, he’s been watching me.” 

“There’s no man there.” The woman looked at Cordelia skeptically. “Ar–are you okay?” The woman asked, Cordelia didn’t respond. The woman thought Cordelia was crazy, and started to walk away.

The man's eerie twisted smile widened, he turned and walked away, into the fog. Cordelia decided it may have just been an odd coincidence, and went home. 


The phone calls started out as a soft whisper, barely audible through the receiver. At first, the words were unintelligible, but eventually a pattern began to emerge as the same voice began to recite a line of a poem each day. Cordelia recognized the voice, it was the same man at the crime scene, the same man who had been watching her. The poem seemed to be a warning of sorts, as it spoke of someone or something and the inevitability of its arrival. The calls became more frequent, and the voice more menacing. Each day, a new package would arrive at the doorstep, addressed to you. Everyday a new item- an hourglass, a black rose, a skull, a photo of a person Cordelia knew, but is now deceased. Her sister. The poem seemed to be a warning, but she couldn't decipher its true meaning. Was the caller trying to scare you? Was there something she should be doing to prepare yourself for what was to come? The caller then gave the last line of the poem. 

It was then that Cordelia realized the poem was more than just a warning. It was a reminder of the truth of life - that it comes for us all, and that there is no escaping it. Cordelia was left with a feeling of dread, knowing that one day the caller would be right, and it would come for her too. Each item seemed to reveal its meaning, after she put the poem together. The hourglass was how little time she had left. The skull tells her that it is spontaneous, the photo tells her that it can happen to anyone, and the black rose means how many would be saddened if it got you.

She re-read the poem, understanding it much more deeply every time she read once more. Maybe no person had killed her sister. Something had killed her sister, or rather taken away her life. And Cordelia could understand what now. It was the man who killed her sister, but the man wasn’t a man. He was the personification of something. The something that the poem warned about.

Life is short, and I am near,

The end is always here.

Life is fleeting, ever-changing

I am certain, I’ll always be waiting

A grain of sand in the hourglass,

Every second someone’s to pass

You can flee, I'm in pursuit,

I'll always find another route

You’ll meet me when you take your last breath

As I go by the name ‘Death’

March 06, 2024 22:54

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