_If only I knew. Oh God, if I knew maybe I would have said it differently._

__

_I would believe her and kept her close to me._

__

_I was too late. Too late._

_…._

__

It was a Sunday afternoon when he went over to her apartment, finally discovering where she had been staying after being missing for months. The police had been of no help, and he had to hire multiple private investigators to search for her. After months of agony, he finally had a lead. He was anxious and hopeful with each quickened step he took, approaching Unit 104 on the fourth floor. He was terrified at the thought that she might not be alive anymore but too afraid to fully confront that possibility.

_She’s still alive. I know she still is._

As he opened the door to the apartment, it creaked with a low, eerie sound. The living space was so small, almost lacking room to walk without the risk of tripping due to it being filled with endless boxes. He didn’t dare to open them for fear of finding something terribly dirty—or something dead. Speaking of something dead, the stench in the apartment was almost unbearable. He instantly regretted not bringing a mask and had to pinch his nose tight as he ventured deeper into the apartment. When he reached the kitchen, he saw the sink piled high with dried, greasy dishes, as if they had been there for months.

It was a shocking sight for him. He never would have imagined his sister living here. She had always been such a hygiene freak.

_What the hell happened to you, Emma? Where are you, sis? I thought we had a good talk months ago._

He started calling her name after failing to find her amid the boxes and piles of dishes and trash. His hands became cold out of fear and increased anxiety.

“Emma?! Emma! Where are you?!”

No response.

“Emma? I’m here now. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously. I’m so sorry, Emma.” His voice quivered, begging her to show herself.

Silence.

“Emma?”

He struggled as he ran through the cluttered hallway to enter what seemed to be the only bedroom in the apartment.

The bed was empty. She was nowhere to be found.

In the middle of the worn-down, yellowish mattress, blackened with mold, was a red envelope. Among the trash scattered throughout the room, the red envelope looked almost brilliantly majestic.

He picked it up, confused. He looked around; still, nobody was in sight. Deep down, he knew it was meant for him.

And it wasn’t a good feeling. His gut felt tight and knotted, heavy as if it were sinking. He slowly opened it and read the letter:

**_To my dear brother,

Remember our last conversation? I’ve been thinking a lot about it since then.

You said I was just overreacting to avoid the reality that I need to grow up.

That I was a coward and I should to stop running away and face my fears.

That I’m stronger than I give myself credit for.

But you misunderstood me, James.

When I talk about those demonic shadows, I’m not talking about delusions or things in my head.

I see them, James. With my own eyes. I fucking see them.

I kept telling you, again and again, but you always shut me down.

Of all people, I thought you would be the one to believe me.

I was so wrong.

I’m sorry I had to run, and it must have taken you a long time to find this place.

Maybe I’ll be long gone by the time you get this letter.

But you know what, dear brother?

You were right about one thing.

I need to face my fears. I’m tired of running.

I’m so tired.

This time, it’s my turn.

I’m hunting.

I love you. And I’m sorry.

….

_**

He broke down, crying in agony.****

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