The sun was slipping behind the clouds… the scene of its setting was breathtaking.
I held my cup of tea and sat watching this magnificent view from behind the window glass. Without realizing it, time passed while I drifted, lost in the sky and its beauty.
When I finally noticed how long I'd been standing there, I turned toward the living room, placed the cup on the table next to the book I still hadn't finished, and began to draw the curtains…
Night had fallen and my usual reading time had arrived.
But…
A white envelope lying in front of the front door stopped me. I picked it up curiously, wondering what was inside.
"You will be mine alone, Rose… only mine—even if that means I have to kill you."
Well… that was the content of the message inside. I smiled sarcastically.
It was Jack, my upstairs neighbor—older than me by a few years and fond of these ridiculous theatrics.
I tossed the envelope and its contents carelessly into the trash, then relaxed onto the couch with my book in hand, savoring this beautiful time of day that I make sure to preserve as a daily ritual.
Around one o'clock in the morning, just as the tension in the novel was rising, the knocking on my door grew equally frantic.
"Who the hell is knocking at this hour?" I muttered in annoyance.
"Oh, who else could it be but you, Jack?"
I said it while looking at his face through the peephole before opening the door.
"Happy to see me, aren't you?"
"You idiot, what makes you think it's okay to bang on my door at this hour—or any hour, for that matter?"
"Well… I came to make my threat a little more serious."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know… the note… I wrote it for you. Did you understand what it meant?"
I caught sight of his hand pulling a knife from the pocket of his jacket.
"For God's sake, Jack, this isn't the time for your lame jokes."
I slammed the door in his face, wondering how anyone could stand his thick-headedness.
Okay, yes—he has a knife and he's threatening me—but this isn't the first time he's just messing around… Who knows, maybe one day he'll actually do it. But right now I'm going to lose myself in my novel and forget about this world for a while.
The annoying ring of my phone.
"Hello?" I answered sleepily.
"Rose, where the hell are you, girl? Work started ages ago in case you hadn't noticed."
"Work what?!!"
I shot up.
"Oh my God, I stayed up all night reading. I completely lost track of time. Hang up now—I'm coming."
I rushed to my room and got ready as fast as humanly possible so I wouldn't be even later.
(A small fact that might be useful: I work as a journalist at a newspaper whose office is here, which is why I moved to this house.
As a child I loved horror stories, grew up reading global crime news, and now I write and investigate those stories myself.)
"You're late."
"I know, I know—but not by that much at least. And anyway, that's not exactly a polite way to greet someone."
"True. But next time the boss will greet you… in his own special way. Maybe by firing you, Rose."
"Come on, it's only happened a few times. It's not that serious."
"Tell that to him, not me. Now move—there's an article about a criminal that needs to be written."
"Finally, something I actually want to hear."
I sat at my desk. In front of me: stacks of papers and photos… Several people had vanished without a trace. This time I was writing about something happening right in the area where I live. That means the danger is close. Anyone near me could be the next victim… or the wanted criminal.
But something felt off.
I had previously written about five people disappearing without trace in a different area… and before them, another five in yet another area. The gap between each cluster was roughly three months.
If we assume five will disappear here too… that means only one victim remains.
I didn't need to dwell on all this—I'm just a journalist. My job is to write about crimes, not solve them…
Yet curiosity was pushing me. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to uncover the truth myself, just once, instead of merely writing about it.
I remembered reading a similar case when I was a teenager, but I never reached the ending.
Maybe now was the time to live something similar—and reach the end on my own.
It wouldn't hurt to play detective for a few hours… right?
I grabbed my pen, gathered everything on the desk, and began drafting the article while simultaneously trying to solve the puzzle.
"Rose, come on—you're unbelievable. You arrive late and now you're leaving late too."
"I'm coming. Why are you so talkative today?"
"And why are you so stubborn?"
"I'm not stubborn. I'm special."
"Yeah… specially stupid."
We walked out together, then parted at a side street. As I continued, the tempting smell of barbecue caught my attention. Then I saw my neighbor—his house right next to mine, separated only by a wooden fence between the two gardens.
"Hello, Mr. Alexander."
"Oh, hello there. How was work today?"
"Good. And you?"
"As you can see—preparing for my weekly family barbecue dinner."
"Enjoy it, sir. See you later."
He seems friendly… yet no one from his "family" ever appears. He holds the barbecue alone… or at least that's what I've noticed when I come home late and don't actually see what he does.
I closed the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted… still thinking.
I have to solve this puzzle. I don't care about the police and their investigation. I want to reach the truth myself—not keep writing fake, recycled stories. A little change won't hurt.
Half an hour later I had made coffee, opened a notebook and pen, and started writing down everything I knew.
So… if we connect these three incidents and assume the same perpetrator is behind them all, that means he's mobile. That narrows our focus to people who recently moved here… and I'm at the top of the list. Maybe I'm the killer and I do it unconsciously… maybe all the madness I read about has driven me insane.
There are also three others who moved here recently besides me: Jack, Mr. Alexander, and Mrs. Colette—who moved here to sell flowers. But a fifty-something woman could be a criminal too. Very possible.
I wrote their names in front of me, finished the last sip of coffee, closed the notebook, and jotted a quick to-do list for tomorrow at work:
Pull everything I previously wrote about the two earlier crime clusters. I need to know how the victims disappeared, what their relatives said, what the murder weapon was…
Because at the end of each case, parts of each victim were found buried together in a pit in the middle of a forest.
These aren't ordinary disappearances. They're carefully planned murders.
The story was getting more thrilling by the minute.
"Well, well—look who arrived early today."
"Yeah, you know punctuality matters."
I went straight to my desk, gathered what I needed, and started reading.
Five people who didn't know each other vanished within a short time frame, all living in the same area. After forensic tests on the meat found in the forest… the shock: it belonged to the five missing people.
The weapon used was sharp—like an axe… or a very large knife!
There were no strange occurrences before any of them disappeared. Some neighbors mentioned hearing something fall or smelling smoke. The rest lived in relatively isolated houses.
Okay… maybe a little fear was starting to creep in. Four disappearances in our area had the police everywhere—but those four homes were extremely close together, so the police focused on that cluster… which, conveniently, is as far as possible from my house. I reach it by walking a side path that avoids the city center.
But today I didn't leave when work ended. I stayed, trying to focus…
Who could the killer be?
The flower seller?
The retired hunter?
The guy who threatens to kill me?
Honestly… I was starting to hate the day I moved here.
Darkness began to invade the office. The city had sunk into night and I still hadn't left… so I locked up and started walking home.
The air was calm, the sky clear, the breeze truly refreshing.
"Rose, how are you?"
I looked toward the voice.
"Oh—hello, Mr. Alexander. What are you doing outside at this hour?"
"I'm preparing dinner. Care to join me?"
"Well… maybe next time."
"Come on, you won't lose anything."
I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I gave a half-smile.
"Okay… five minutes only, then I have to get home."
I took one step into his garden. He greeted me, holding my hand.
"Yes, yes—of course."
As we walked and reached the far end of the garden, I felt his hand tighten around my arm near the elbow until my veins bulged.
"Oh my God—let go! What are you doing?"
"Oh, I will let go… soon."
As he said it, I felt a prick in the fold of my elbow where he was pressing.
"Ah—what is this, you lunatic—get away!"
I threw the bag I was holding in my other hand at him, trying to push him off and defend myself. I pulled out the needle—but it was already empty.
"You bastard—what is this stuff? What did you do?"
"Oh don't worry… just a little… curare."
"Curare what?"
I felt a light tingling at the injection site spreading quickly.
Then my eyelids suddenly grew heavy. I felt something strange—even the muscles in my face wouldn't move the way I wanted.
"What did you do to me—tell me."
"Calm down, little one… no one's going to hear you anyway. Your friend isn't here and the others are far enough away."
I could no longer blink. Swallowing and speaking became difficult.
"What—what's happening to me?"
"It's only the beginning. Just hold on a little longer."
I tried with all my strength to move, to reach him, to hit him, to run—but my limbs were weak. I couldn't move them anymore.
And in an unexpected moment, I collapsed to the ground. Eyes open. Muscles paralyzed. But I was fully conscious of everything.
I saw him crouch to my level.
"It's curare, my dear. ....