Maggie had always been a lover of antiques.
On a sunny Saturday, she stumbled across a
quaint shop tucked away on a cobblestone street. Among the dusty treasures and weathered
furniture, a small leather-bound diary caught her eye. Its cover was adorned with delicate
engravings, but what intrigued her most was the lock clasped around it. The shopkeeper, an
elderly woman with kind eyes, insisted she take it for free.
“It’s been here for years,” the woman said, her tone unusually grave. “Perhaps it’s waiting for
you.”
Maggie accepted the diary, though she found the statement peculiar. At home, she examined
it more closely. The lock was rusted, but with some effort, she pried it open. The first page
was blank, save for an inscription at the bottom: To remember is to return.
The pages that followed were filled with elegant handwriting, recounting the life of a young
woman named Eleanor. She described her home, an idyllic estate surrounded by lavender
fields, her family’s wealth, and her budding romance with a man named Thomas. But as
Maggie read further, the tone darkened. Eleanor spoke of shadows in the woods, whispers in
the hallways, and a growing sense of dread.
Eager to learn more, Maggie flipped the page—and found it blank. Frustrated, she tried the
next one. It was blank too. She flipped through the entire diary, only to find the last entry
written in bold letters: Remember me.
That night, Maggie dreamed of lavender fields. She walked through the rows, the scent
overwhelming. In the distance, she saw a woman in a white dress, her back turned. Maggie
called out, but the woman didn’t respond. When Maggie approached, the woman turned, her
face pale and unfamiliar.
“You found it,” the woman whispered. “Now you must return.”
Maggie awoke with a start, her heart pounding. The diary sat on her nightstand, its cover
glinting in the moonlight. The next morning, she was compelled to research Eleanor. To her
astonishment, she discovered an old news article about a wealthy family that had
mysteriously vanished from their estate in the 1800s. The only clue left behind was a diary,
found locked and untouched.
Days passed, and Maggie’s dreams grew more vivid. Each night, Eleanor appeared, her pleas
growing desperate. “Please,” she begged. “Help me remember.”
Finally, Maggie could no longer resist. She drove to the location of the estate, now
abandoned and overgrown. The air felt heavy as she stepped through the crumbling doorway.
In the center of the room was a pedestal, and atop it sat another diary, identical to the one
she’d found. As she approached, the air turned icy, and whispers filled the room.
She placed her diary on the pedestal, and the whispers ceased. The room brightened, and for a
moment, she saw Eleanor standing before her, a faint smile on her face.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said. “You’ve set us free.”
Maggie blinked, and the vision disappeared. The diary crumbled to dust, leaving only the
faint scent of lavender in its place. She left the estate, but the dreams never stopped. Each
night, she returned to the fields, walking beside Eleanor. Some memories, she realized, were
meant to linger forever.
