But I didn't remember turning.
So how did the camera record it?
I sat frozen, still staring at the final frame of the video—
my own back, facing the hooded figure.
The moment before I looked over my shoulder.
A moment I have no memory of.
---
I pressed pause.
But the screen didn't respond.
I tried shutting the laptop.
Still open.
Then the lights in my room flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Dead.
The only glow left was the screen.
And then—words began to type themselves.
> "You turned."
"You saw him."
"You just weren't ready to remember."
I slammed the lid shut.
---
Breathing hard.
My chest burned.
Not pain.
Not panic.
Like something was waking up inside me.
Then the buzzing came again—
not my phone.
Not the walls.
The mirror.
And in its reflection—
I wasn't alone.
---
Someone stood behind me.
I turned—
Empty room.
The mirror stayed still.
But my reflection blinked late.
Like it wasn't copying me anymore.
Like it was… thinking.
> "You were marked," it whispered.
---
My phone buzzed.
New message. Unknown number:
> "Don't let it speak your name."
"Not in the forest."
"Not near the stone."
I didn't understand.
But my body did.
It moved before my mind could catch up.
I was outside.
In the trees.
---
Same path. Same quiet.
But this time, I knew where I was going.
There's a clearing near the west edge of Fairhill.
Locals avoid it.
No signal.
No paths.
Only one object there:
A stone slab with ancient carvings.
And buried beneath it—if the rumors are true—
a dagger.
One that belonged to a priest from Petra.
A ritual dagger used in forbidden rites.
Said to trap souls.
Said to cut names out of history.
---
I found the slab.
My hands moved on their own.
I cleared away the dirt.
And there—underneath—
a wooden box.
Old. Dry. Cracked.
I opened it.
Inside:
The dagger.
Dark steel. Curved edge.
And on the hilt—
Three circles. Intertwined.
Same symbol from the flash drive.
---
I reached for it.
Then I heard it:
> "Qussai…"
A voice under my skin.
A name I didn't remember giving anyone here.
A name I didn't say since arriving.
But the trees knew it.
The stone knew it.
And something in the air whispered:
> "That's not your name anymore."
---
I froze.
The dagger was still in my hand.
And the name—Qussai—kept echoing around me like a heartbeat.
Each time it was spoken, something inside me twitched.
Like the name itself had teeth.
---
Then the ground shifted.
Not an earthquake.
A rising.
Like something underneath the earth was pushing up… waking.
My foot sank slightly into the soil.
The dagger pulsed—like it wasn't made of metal anymore.
Like it was alive.
> "Give it back."
A voice.
Deep. Layered.
It didn't sound spoken.
It sounded assembled.
Like it was built from the last screams of the forgotten.
---
I turned to run.
But the forest had changed.
Every tree looked the same.
No trail.
No stars.
No wind.
Only shadows.
And they were moving before I did.
---
Then I saw it.
Me.
But standing still, across the clearing.
Same hoodie. Same face.
But his eyes—
pitch black. No pupils. No light.
---
I screamed.
And he screamed too.
Same tone. Same voice.
Like a perfect echo—
but delayed.
Then he smiled.
Not like me.
Like something wearing my smile.
---
> "You were made," he said.
"Not born."
He lifted his hand.
It held another dagger.
The same one.
---
> "You're not the first," he whispered.
"Just the first to survive this long."
Then the trees bent inward—like pulled by gravity.
The sky above split—not in color, but in memory.
I saw flashes:
Petra, ancient rituals.
Blood on stone.
A boy screaming in Arabic.
A name scratched out of a journal.
My name.
---
The ground cracked.
I fell to my knees, gasping.
And from below the soil, dozens of hands reached upward.
They weren't grabbing.
They were offering.
Dozens of daggers, all the same.
> "Choose your version," the echo of me said.
"One of us becomes real."
---
I looked at the original dagger in my hand.
And whispered:
> "I don't want to be any of you."
Then…
Everything snapped back.
I was standing alone in my room.
Floor clean.
Mirror untouched.
Phone screen dark.
Except for one message:
> "Now you've touched it.
It knows which form to take."
---
© Qussai, all rights reserved. Do not copy, repost, or reuse without permission.