ShristiAdhikari

The first anniversary of Alexander Rhea’s death should have brought closure, but for investigative reporter Ava Harris, it only deepens the nightmare. A year ago, she thought she had left behind the haunting, manipulative tycoon and bestselling author—but when she picks up his diary on the anniversary of his death, she’s faced with a chilling discovery: a new entry, written in fresh ink.

“To be continued.”

The words send a jolt of terror through Ava, for she knows one undeniable truth: Alexander Rhea has been dead for a year. Or so she thought.

As the memory of their disturbing interview resurfaces, Ava realizes she’s been tangled in a web of lies, power, and dark obsession. Three years ago, she entered Rhea’s mansion to conduct an exclusive interview, expecting the usual. Instead, she was thrust into a twisted psychological game that pushed her to the edge of sanity.

Now, as she revisits the haunting moments of that encounter, Ava uncovers a series of chilling murders—each marked by a cryptic whisper of “Goodnight.”

The closer Ava gets to the truth, the more she feels the unshakable presence of Rhea looming over her. Is he truly gone, or is he manipulating her from beyond the grave? As her investigation unravels, the line between the living and the dead begins to blur, and Ava is forced to confront a terrifying question: What if Alexander Rhea never really died?

SYMPHONY OF SHADOWS

The dining room was eerily quiet, save for the occasional clink of silverware. Ava's appetite had vanished, but she toyed with her food to avoid drawing Alexander's scrutiny.

"Do you like the house?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"It's... beautiful," she lied. In truth, the house unsettled her. It felt like it was watching her, holding its breath.

Alexander nodded, his eyes distant. "It's been in my family for generations. My grandmother passed it down, and now... it's mine."

Ava sensed there was more to the story, but she didn't press. Instead, she turned the conversation back to the journal. "The poems... they were beautiful. Heartbreaking, but beautiful."

Alexander's fork froze mid-air. Slowly, he set it down and leaned back in his chair. "Ava," he said, his voice unnervingly calm, "if you want to stay in my life, you need to stop digging into things that don't concern you."

Her chest tightened at his words. "I'm not trying to pry," she said carefully. "I just want to understand you."

"You can't." His words were final, a wall she couldn't climb.

That night, as Ava lay in bed, sleep eluded her. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch and shift, whispering secrets she couldn't decipher. She couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone.

A faint creak outside her door made her heart skip a beat. She sat up, straining to listen. Footsteps—soft, deliberate—moved past her room and down the hall.

Unable to resist, she slipped out of bed and followed the sound. The house was cold, and the floorboards groaned under her weight. The footsteps led her to the basement door, which was slightly ajar.

Her hand trembled as she pushed it open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness. She hesitated, but her curiosity won. Grabbing a flashlight from a nearby shelf, she descended slowly, each step echoing in the confined space.

The basement was cluttered with old furniture, boxes, and a strange, metallic smell. In the center of the room was a table, and on it lay a box labeled Elena. Ava's breath hitched as she opened it.

Inside were photographs of a woman—Elena. She was beautiful, with a radiant smile that seemed to light up the frame. But as Ava flipped through the photos, they grew darker. Elena's expression changed, her eyes shadowed by fear. The last photo made Ava's blood run cold—it was torn down the middle, with Alexander's face on one side and Elena's on the other.

Behind her, the basement door creaked. Ava whirled around, her flashlight shaking. "Who's there?" she called, her voice trembling.

Whispers in the dark