The Girl with the Knife 🗡️ 1️⃣

Chapter One — You Remembered Me She didn't sleep again that night. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the kitchen knife she had carried upstairs. She couldn't explain why she had brought it with her. She couldn't explain why she was afraid of it. And she couldn't explain the words carved into the chopping board. YOU REMEMBERED ME. At exactly 3:17 a.m., her phone rang. Unknown number. She stared at the screen. It stopped. A few seconds later, it rang again. She answered. “Hello?” Nothing. Only breathing. Slow. Heavy. Almost directly against the microphone. “Who is this?” A whisper finally came through. “You shouldn't have woken up.” The call ended. She immediately checked the number. No Caller ID. Her heart began racing. Then— Knock. She froze. Another knock. Knock. Knock. Someone was at her bedroom door. She looked toward it. “Mom?” Silence. She reached for the handle. Before she could touch it, a voice came from the other side. Her own voice. “Don't open the door.” She stumbled backward. The voice spoke again. “I'm warning you.” She stared at the door in terror. Then came three slow knocks. Knock.Knock.Knock. And suddenly, everything went silent. She waited. One minute.Two. Nothing. Finally, she gathered enough courage to approach the door. She opened it. The hallway was empty. But something was lying on the floor. A photograph. She picked it up. It was the same photograph from her dream. Her family. Her younger self. Everyone smiling. She turned it over. Written on the back were four words: ONE OF THEM IS LYING. Her fingers trembled. Then she noticed something she hadn't seen before. There was someone standing behind her in the photograph. A man.His face was scratched out. But beneath the scratches was a date. 17 YEARS AGO. She stared at it. Her stomach dropped. Because she knew that date. It was her birthday. And she had been born nineteen years ago. She slowly turned the photograph back around. The man was no longer standing behind her. He was standing beside her mother. And this time... his face wasn't scratched out. It was hers. Her face. She dropped the photograph. From somewhere downstairs came the sound of a knife hitting a chopping board. Chop. She stopped breathing. Chop. Then a little girl's voice floated up the stairs. “Mummy... she's awake again.” Part 2 ?...........

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