The Note

At first, Elise thought nothing of it.

The note was small, neatly folded, and waiting on the kitchen table when she returned home from work. The sight of it struck her as odd—she lived alone, after all—but there was no reason to assume the worst. Perhaps she had written it herself and simply forgotten.

She opened it.

“Don’t forget to lock the back door.”

The handwriting was hers.

A faint chill whispered down her spine, but she dismissed it. She must have written it that morning in a rush. She did that—left herself reminders—shopping lists, appointments, reminders to water the plants.

Still, she glanced over her shoulder towards the back door.

It was locked.

Reassured, she tossed the note into the bin and went about her evening.
The next morning, there was another.

This time, it clung to the bathroom mirror, a Post-it placed carefully at eye level. Elise frowned and peeled it off, her fingers hesitating before she unfolded the paper.

“Check under the bed.”

Unease bloomed in her chest. She stared at the handwriting—her delicate loops, the familiar slant of the letters. It was hers. Undeniably so.

But she hadn’t written it.

The thought was ridiculous, and she knew it. She must have jotted it down absentmindedly. Perhaps she’d scribbled it down in her sleep, stirred by a dream. Nonsense, but it was all she had.

Even so, her steps slowed as she approached the bedroom.

The bed was unremarkable—wooden frame, cotton sheets slightly rumpled from the night before. Elise knelt, steadying herself with one hand as she leaned down to peer into the shadows.

Dust. Floorboards. Nothing else.

A breath eased from her chest. She sat back, shaking her head. She let out a breath that didn’t steady her.

Still, she didn’t throw this one away.

That night, Elise jolted awake.

For a moment, all was still. The apartment was quiet—the soft hum of the fridge in the next room, the faint tick of the clock—but something felt wrong.

Then she saw it.

A piece of paper.

Not neatly placed like the others, but crumpled, clenched in her fist. Her heart kicked. She fumbled to unfold it in the dark.

“He’s in the closet.”

Her breath stalled.

The closet door stood slightly ajar—a black slit in the grey light seeping through the window.

She wanted to laugh it off, tell herself it was another trick of memory. But she couldn’t.

Because she had shut that closet before bed.

Hadn’t she?

She wasn’t sure.

Reaching for her phone, she switched on the flashlight. The beam wobbled across the floor, catching the pale wood of the door.

A prank. That’s all it was.

Her bare feet met the cold floor. The light flickered across her hand as she crept closer.

A floorboard groaned.

She froze.

Held her breath.

Silence. Thick. Waiting.

She stretched out a hand and yanked the door open.

Coats hung limp. Shoes below. A stack of shoeboxes. All exactly where they should be.

Relief rushed out in a nervous laugh. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to steady herself. This was getting out of hand.

She turned back towards the bed—

And froze.

There was another note.

Right on her pillow.

She had only turned away for a second.

With stiff fingers, Elise unfolded the slip of yellow paper, dread already curling through her.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Elise didn’t sleep.

By morning, she had reasoned it through. Someone was in her flat. Someone was leaving these notes.

It wasn’t her.

It couldn’t be her.

She searched everything. Under the bed. The closet. Kitchen cupboards. Even the air vents.

Nothing. No signs of a break-in. The locks were intact.

Impossible.

And yet—back on the kitchen table, another piece of yellow paper.

Fresh. Waiting.

“Stop looking.”

Elise grabbed it, crushing it in her hand. A scream threatened, but she swallowed it, reaching instead for her phone. She needed someone else. Someone to see this. To tell her she wasn’t losing her mind.

She rang Laura. Her best friend.

One ring. Two.

Then—another note appeared.

She hadn’t seen it happen. No sound, no flicker of movement. But it was there. Sitting exactly where there’d been nothing a moment before.

A single line. Her own handwriting.

“Don’t call anyone.”

Elise’s breath caught in her throat.

The phone slipped from her fingers.

It was still ringing.

A final buzz, then Laura’s voice crackled through.

“Hello?”

Elise opened her mouth—nothing came out.

The flat felt changed. The walls too close. The air too thick. A presence, standing just behind her shoulder.

Something warm brushed the back of her neck.

A whisper—

her own voice.

“Hang up the phone.”

The line cut.

She turned.

Nothing.

Just another note. Waiting.

“Good girl.”