Her hands trembled as she read the note on her windshield: “I know your secret.” Nervously, she scanned the parking lot filled with regular people. She crumbled the note and tossed it in her car as she hopped in her old beat up Honda. She wanted to believe it was coincidence, or even a prank some kid left only on her car. She cranked the handle to roll down her window as she pulled out the parking lot, looking back in her rear view mirror hoping to notice anything out of the ordinary.

The ride home was a blur. The note’s words echoed in her mind, turning her thoughts into a jumbled mess of panic and speculation. How do they know? she thought, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the steering wheel. It’s just a prank, she repeated to herself. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, louder with each passing moment.

Pulling into her driveway, she sat in her car, engine idling, and stared at her small bungalow tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac. The curtains in the living room were drawn just like she’d left them. Nothing seemed out of place, but unease gnawed at her.

Inside, she double-locked the front door and leaned against it, exhaling a shaky breath. Her gaze darted around the living room, scanning for anything unusual. She told herself it was nothing—a stupid prank—but deep down, she knew better.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, making her jump. She hesitated before picking it up. It was a text from an unknown number:

“You can’t hide forever.”

Her stomach dropped. The trembling returned, this time worse. She stared at the message, her mind racing. This can’t be a prank, she thought.

She thought about the file.

It had been weeks since she’d stumbled across it—an innocuous-looking folder buried deep in the archives at work. She hadn’t meant to open it, but curiosity got the better of her. What she found inside still made her stomach churn: names, dates, and payments linked to… something dark. She’d quickly closed it, told herself it wasn’t her problem, and tried to forget but couldn’t as she copied the files.

But someone must have seen her.

The phone buzzed again.

“Check your mailbox.”

She froze. How could they know where I live?

The curtains were drawn, but she swore she felt eyes watching her. Slowly, she crept to the window and peeked through the edge of the fabric. The street was empty—silent and still. Her mailbox, illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamp, looked ordinary.

Don’t do it, she thought. But she knew she had no choice.

Grabbing a flashlight and the baseball bat she kept in her closet, she stepped out into the night. The cool air nipped at her skin as she inched toward the mailbox, every shadow feeling like it was alive.

Her hands trembled as she opened the metal lid. Inside was another note, neatly folded and ominous in its simplicity. She unfolded it under the beam of her flashlight, her breath catching as she read the words:

“Time’s running out. Choose wisely.”

Her vision blurred. When she turned back toward her house, the porch light flickered once, then went out. A shadow moved in the corner of her eye, and she dropped the flashlight.

The flashlight clattered to the ground, its beam rolling erratically across the pavement. She fumbled to pick it up, her pulse roaring in her ears. A low rustling sound came from the bushes at the edge of her yard. She froze, every instinct screaming for her to run, but her legs refused to move.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice wavering.

Silence.

A car passed on the distant street, its headlights casting fleeting shadows across the yard. She gripped the bat tighter, her palms slick with sweat.

Then her phone buzzed again.

She yanked it from her pocket, the screen lighting up her pale face. Another text from the same unknown number:

“Don’t make me come inside.”

Her stomach twisted into knots. She turned and sprinted back to the house, slamming the door behind her and throwing the deadbolt. Her breathing was shallow, panic gripping her chest like a vice.

Her phone buzzed once more, but this time, it wasn’t a text. It was a call. The unknown number glowed on her screen.

She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the “decline” button. But what if this was her only chance to get answers? Steeling herself, she accepted the call and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

At first, there was nothing but static. Then a voice—low, gravelly, and chillingly calm—broke through.

“You shouldn’t have looked,” it said.

She felt the blood drain from her face. “Who is this? What do you want from me?”

The line crackled again, and the voice came back, colder this time. “You made a choice, and now you’ll pay for it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she cried, her voice rising.

“You will.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving her in suffocating silence. Her hand shook as she lowered the phone.

And then she heard it.

A soft thud on the back door.

Her breath hitched. She turned toward the kitchen, where the sound had come from. The faint outline of a shadow shifted against the glass door.

Someone was there.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Clutching the bat, she crept toward the kitchen, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. The thudding came again, louder this time.

Her trembling fingers reached for the curtain over the back door. She hesitated for a heartbeat before yanking it aside.

The glass was smeared with something dark. Red. Words scrawled in crude, uneven letters.

“Too late.”

Behind her, the floor creaked.

Her entire body stiffened as the sound registered. The creak came from behind her—inside the house.

She didn’t dare turn around immediately. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the bloody words on the glass. Too late.

Gripping the bat with both hands, she forced herself to pivot slowly, her knees trembling.

The living room was shrouded in shadows, the faint glow from a streetlamp outside barely illuminating the space. Everything looked the same—her couch, her coffee table, the stack of books she’d been meaning to organize. But something was wrong.

The air felt heavier, oppressive.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice firmer this time, though fear cracked through the edges.

No response.

She stepped forward cautiously, her eyes darting to every dark corner of the room. The bat felt like a lifeline in her hands, but deep down, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to use it if it came to that.

Another creak. This time, it came from the hallway leading to her bedroom.

Her mouth went dry. She knew she should run—throw open the front door and bolt into the night. But something about the voice on the phone, the message on the door… They weren’t trying to kill her. At least not yet.

They wanted her scared.

Steeling herself, she moved toward the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last. The floor beneath her bare feet seemed to groan louder than usual, her every movement amplified in the silence.

As she reached the hallway, she paused. The shadows here were thicker, her flashlight’s beam barely cutting through the darkness.

The door to her bedroom was ajar.

She hadn’t left it that way.

Heart pounding, she nudged it open with the bat, the hinges squealing in protest. The flashlight revealed her bed, her dresser, her scattered clothes on the chair in the corner—everything as she’d left it.

But then her gaze fell on her nightstand.

Inside was the USB drive. The one she’d used to copy the files.

Her stomach twisted as she stepped closer as she opened the drawer, her flashlight trained on the small, innocuous piece of plastic. But the moment she reached out for it, the bedroom door slammed shut behind her.

She screamed, whirling around to face the door. The flashlight wavered in her hand, the shadows on the walls dancing erratically.

“Too late,” the voice from the phone whispered, this time right behind her.

She spun again, swinging the bat wildly, but it hit nothing but air.

The flashlight flickered, and when the light stabilized, she saw it.

Words carved into the wall above her bed, freshly etched:

“Give it back.”

Her knees buckled as she backed away from the nightstand, her flashlight trembling in her grip. The carved words glared at her, each jagged letter taunting her as the walls seemed to close in. Give it back.

She stumbled toward the door, desperate to escape the suffocating darkness of her bedroom. Her hand gripped the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. She twisted harder, pulling and shaking it, but it held firm, as if something on the other side was keeping her locked in.

The phone buzzed again, startling her. She fumbled it out of her pocket and stared at the screen. Another text from the unknown number:

“Last chance. Meet me where it started.”

Her breath caught. Where it started? The office. The archive room where she’d found the file.

The lock clicked behind her.

She turned, her chest heaving, but the room was empty. The door was now ajar, swaying gently as if beckoning her. Gripping the bat tightly, she crept through the house and out to her car, her mind a whirlwind of panic and determination.

The drive back to the office felt like a fever dream. The streets were eerily empty, the silence pressing down on her. When she arrived, the building loomed in the darkness, its windows like dead eyes staring at her.

She parked and made her way inside, the stale air and dim emergency lights adding to her unease. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as she descended to the basement, where the archive room waited.

The door to the room was already open.

Her flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing row after row of dusty shelves. She stepped inside, her movements slow and deliberate.

“Okay,” she called out, her voice trembling. “I’m here. What do you want?”

No response.

She moved deeper into the room, her bat raised, until she reached the far corner where her cubicle resides, where she’d first found the file. A single chair sat in the center of the space, a laptop resting on the seat. The screen glowed faintly in the dim room, its pale light casting an eerie glow over the cluttered desk. The soft hum of the computer was the only sound, a faint reminder of the desperate act that had taken place just weeks before.

With shaking hands, she plugged the USB drive into the laptop on the cluttered desk, the faint click of the connection sounding deafening in the oppressive silence of the room.

A shadow shifted in the corner of her eye.

“You’ve caused a lot of trouble,” the gravelly voice said, echoing through the room. She spun, but there was no one there.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“Finish it.”

She turned back to the laptop, her hands trembling. The file blinked at her, lines of damning information scrolling endlessly.

“What does this mean?” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

The voice came again, close and cold. “Erase it. Or you’ll regret it.”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She could delete the file and walk away, leaving this nightmare behind. But if she did, the people implicated—the corruption, the crimes—would stay buried forever.

She hesitated.

“No.” The word came out firm, surprising even herself.

Silence. Then a slow, chilling laugh. “Wrong choice.”

The lights flickered, and a rush of air whipped past her. She grabbed the USB drive, yanked it from the laptop, and bolted for the door.

Behind her, the shelves groaned, crashing to the ground one by one.

She ran, heart pounding, feet barely touching the ground as she burst out of the building and into the night. She didn’t stop until she reached her car, slamming the door and locking it.

As she sped away, her phone buzzed one last time.

“You can’t outrun the truth.”

Tears streamed down her face as she gripped the USB drive in her hand. She didn’t know who was after her or what would happen next, but one thing was clear: the truth wouldn’t stay hidden, no matter the cost.

And now, she was the one holding it.

Her hands trembled as she plugged the USB drive into her laptop. She was back home now, every light in the house blazing, but it did nothing to quiet the fear curling in her chest. The laptop’s screen glowed like a beacon in the dark room, the files loading onto the drive, exposing every name, every transaction, every crime she wasn’t supposed to see.

The last text still lingered on her phone: “You can’t outrun the truth.”

She couldn’t outrun it. But maybe she could spread it.

She opened her email, typing in the addresses of every media outlet she could think of. Reporters, editors, even anonymous whistleblower hotlines—she didn’t care who got it, as long as someone did.

In the subject line, she typed: “The truth they don’t want you to know.”

The attachment loaded, and she hesitated for only a second before clicking Send. A progress bar appeared, creeping forward painfully slowly.

Come on. Come on.

Her eyes darted toward the windows, their curtains drawn tight. She couldn’t shake the feeling she wasn’t alone, that someone—or something—was out there. The porch light flickered again, just as it had earlier.

The file sent.

She exhaled a shaky breath, relief washing over her as she leaned back in the chair. The truth was out now. They couldn’t stop it, no matter what they did to her.

But the relief was short-lived.

A low, almost imperceptible creak came from the hallway. Her blood ran cold.

She turned slowly, the chair swiveling toward the sound. The light in the hall flickered, shadows shifting unnaturally.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

And then, a shadow emerged. Not a person—no, this was something darker, something wrong. It moved toward her with deliberate, predatory steps.

She scrambled to her feet, knocking over the chair as she grabbed the bat again, her last line of defense.

“You can’t stop it,” she said, her voice shaking but defiant. “They know now.”

The figure didn’t respond. It lunged.

The bat clattered to the floor, her scream piercing the night.

When the neighbors found the house the next morning, the door was wide open. The laptop sat on the desk, its screen still glowing, the email confirmation frozen in place.

But she was gone.

All that remained were the bloody words scrawled across the wall above her desk:

“The truth comes at a price.”