Chapter 11: The Locker
Chapter 11: The Locker That Shouldn't Exist
The key felt heavier in Daniel's pocket.
He stood outside the chapel, the rain soaking through his coat, but he barely noticed the cold. His fingers curled around the small metal object, tracing the number engraved into its surface.
173.
The number meant something. He could feel it—a pressure at the back of his mind, like a word on the tip of his tongue that refused to form.
But just like everything else in his past, it hovered at the edges of his memory, slipping away the moment he reached for it.
A locker key.
The man had left it behind on purpose.
A breadcrumb. A challenge.
Daniel exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air.
There was only one place in town where he might find a locker like this.
The train station.
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The Station That Should Be Empty
The streets were deserted. It was late—too late for anyone to be out in this weather.
By the time Daniel reached the station, the rain had slowed to a thin drizzle, but the air remained heavy with moisture. The building loomed ahead, its fluorescent lights flickering against the damp concrete walls.
The station had been partially abandoned for years. Only one platform was still operational, and the rest had fallen into disuse—a ghost of a place where people used to come and go.
Daniel stepped inside, his wet shoes squeaking against the tile.
Silence.
The departure board overhead was frozen, displaying trains that had long since left.
A faint hum of electricity filled the space, but there was no movement. No signs of life.
He walked past the empty ticket counters, heading toward the row of lockers near the far wall. Most were rusted shut, their paint peeling, numbers barely visible.
But when he reached Locker 173, his breath caught.
It wasn't rusted.
It wasn't broken.
It looked… new.
Like someone had been using it.
Recently.
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The Note That Shouldn't Exist
Daniel hesitated, then slid the key into the lock.
A soft click.
The door creaked open.
Inside, there was only a single item.
A folded slip of paper, yellowed with age.
Daniel reached for it slowly, his pulse hammering against his ribs.
The handwriting was precise, neat. Familiar.
His own.
A cold dread settled in his stomach as he unfolded the paper.
The words stared back at him, crisp and deliberate.
> "If you're reading this, you're not ready yet."
Daniel's breath hitched.
This was his writing.
But he had never written this note.
Had he?
A sharp pulse of pain shot through his skull.
A memory—faint, fragmented.
🔹 Standing in front of this locker.
🔹 Slipping the key inside his coat.
🔹 Whispering to himself: "Don't forget this time."
This time.
Daniel's hands tightened around the paper.
How many times had he been here before?
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The Photograph That Changes Again
Something shifted in his pocket.
Daniel froze.
He reached in and pulled out the photograph the stranger had given him earlier.
His breath stopped.
It had changed again.
The edges felt warmer, almost pulsing in his hands.
Before, the third figure in the background had been blurred, unformed.
Now—
The figure was turning toward him. It's moment a naturally slow, as if it were fighting against the very fabric of the photograph.
Not completely. Just enough to show part of a face.- A face that shouldn't exist , not here , not now.
Daniel's blood ran cold.
Because even with only half the face visible—
He recognized it.
His fingers trembled. He flipped the note over, hoping for another clue.
There was one more line.
A single name, scrawled in the same handwriting.
A name Daniel hadn't spoken in years.
But when he saw it, the world around him tilted.
The train station flickered.
The lockers blurred.
And for just a second—
He wasn't in the station anymore.
He was in a sterile, white hallway.
A cold metal door loomed ahead, its nameplate gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights.
> Room 19.
A distant beep—like a heart monitor—echoed in his ears, followed by faint, chocked whisper : " You are not supposed to be here "
Then the vision shattered.
He was back in the station, gasping for air.
His hands trembled as he read the name again.
Daniel's hand shook so violently the paper rattled. His knees buckled, and he braced himself against the locker , the metal cold against his palm.
The Name That Unlocks Everything
Daniel staggered backward.
The name felt too big. Too important.
Like it was the key to everything.
A whisper of something—**someone—**echoed in his mind.
> "You have to remember, Daniel."
The lights flickered.
For a fraction of a second, the reflection in the locker door wasn't his own. The figure stared back at him; it's half formed face twisted into a knowing smile - a smile that promised answers Daniel wasn't sure he wanted
The figure in the photograph—the one slowly turning toward him—
It was almost clear now.
And he knew, with absolute certainty—
He wasn't supposed to.
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