The Lost Confession

Chapter 12: The Name That Unlocks Everything

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The door to Room 19 groaned as Daniel pushed it open, the sound echoing down the empty corridor like a dying breath. The air inside was thick—stale, untouched for years. But something else lurked beneath the dust and mildew.

A faint, metallic tang.

Blood? No. Something sharper, colder.

A single, flickering lightbulb buzzed overhead, casting erratic, shifting shadows across the cracked walls. The room itself felt... wrong. Like it had been waiting for him.

The walls seemed pressed in the air with a sent of decay . It felt alive- not just waiting for him but hungry

Daniel stepped inside.

No bed. No medical equipment. No signs that anyone had ever lived here.

Just a desk in the center. A single drawer slightly ajar.

And a torn, leather-bound diary lying on the surface.

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The Diary

Daniel's fingers hovered over the book.

The leather cover was scarred and warped, as if someone had tried to claw it open. The initials E.W. were faintly imprinted on the front, barely visible beneath the dust.

A cold prickle ran down his spine.

E.W.

Why did that feel... familiar?

Slowly, he flipped it open.

The first page was intact, written in rushed, shaky handwriting.

> "If you're reading this… you are not ready yet."

Daniel's breath hitched, His chest tightened as if an invisible hand won a squeezing air from his lungs. His fingers trembled, the diarys leather cover cold and against his skin.

He turned the next page—ripped out. The next—gone. And the next.

Scattered half-entries remained, fragmented thoughts—like someone had tried to erase their own mind.

> "It keeps happening. I remember, then I don't."

"They are watching."

"I left something here… but I don't know what."

"I am not who I think I am."

"If I disappear… do not trust—"

The sentence cut off abruptly, the rest of the page torn away.

Daniel swallowed hard.

The handwriting—it looked almost like his own. But not quite.

Like a different version of him had written it.

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The Name That Shouldn't Exist

A cold draft swept through the room. The bulb flickered, casting shadows that didn't move right.

Daniel's gaze drifted to the desk drawer.

It was slightly open—just enough to see a single file inside.

His fingers curled around the aged paper, pulling it free. The document was old, yellowed, fragile. His name was printed at the top.

🔹 Daniel Whitaker

He exhaled shakily.

But then—the ink shifted.

For half a second, another name flickered over his own.

🔹 Elias Wren

The letter seem to bleed into the paper, the ink shifting like liquid before snapimg back into the place

Daniel's heart stopped.

The bulb buzzed louder, the room warping for just a second.

He blinked, and the text was gone.

His name was back.

But he had seen it. He was sure of it.

Elias Wren.

A wave of nausea rolled through him. The name didn't just look familiar—it felt like a wound reopening inside his mind.

His pulse hammered.

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Reality is Breaking

A sudden noise—a sharp scrape behind him.

Daniel spun around.

Nothing.

But something was different.

The diary—it had moved. It was no longer on the desk but now on the floor, open to a page that hadn't existed movement before. The age of the paper seemed to curl in wards , as if the book itself was alive , breathing

A single sentence, scrawled in jagged, violent handwriting:

🔹 "If you're reading this… they know."

Daniel's stomach twisted.

The lights cut out.

Darkness swallowed the room.

The silence was too thick, too deliberate.

Then—

From the corner of the room, a voice—low, distorted—whispered through the void.

> "Not this time."

It wasn't just a sound ; it was a presence calling ; crawling into his mind ; wraping around his thoughts like a vice

Daniel's body went rigid.

A faint glow flickered in the darkness—the diary.

The ink on the page began to shift, the letters rearranging themselves.

> "Find the key."

"Remember the name."

"Before they find you."

The lights snapped back on—harsh, blinding.

Daniel gasped, blinking against the sudden brightness.

The room was empty again.

The diary was back on the desk. The file was back in the drawer.

Like nothing had happened.

But Daniel knew better.

He wasn't alone.

And whoever was watching him did not want him to remember.

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