Michelle returned to the cottage without speaking to anyone.
The town seemed quieter now. Not just sleepy but staged, like everyone had gone behind curtains to wait for their cue. The sea breeze carried a strange scent, not fish or salt, but something musty. Like wet parchment.
She placed the brochure from the museum on the kitchen table and unfolded it again.
Midnight Summer Theater
Performers Must Return What Was Taken
No date. No year. No location beyond "Merrow's Point."
The handwriting on the back Marklyn Jane... felt familiar because she'd seen it before. In the journal.
She ran to her room, opened the drawer, and slid the panel aside.
The journal was still there.
She flipped to the middle pages, scanning fast. There it was Entry 42 dated July 4th.
"Marklyn said the masks know more than the audience. But if that's true, why does mine feel blank when I wear it? Maybe the role isn't mine to choose."
Michelle read it three times. She had never noticed that name before. It wasn't just a coincidence. The journal's writer knew Marklyn. But how? And why did they both know the cottage?
She turned the page.
Entry 43 — July 5th
"Christian said I should stop reading the script, but I can't. The words change when I'm not looking. He saw it too. He thinks the role will swallow me whole if I keep rehearsing. I told him it's not rehearsal. It's remembering."
Christian. Louie?
The name throbbed behind her eyes.
She walked to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, then dried her hands on the towel. A note had been slipped beneath the towel hook. One she hadn't seen earlier.
It read:
Michelle, you left the mask behind. Don't forget your entrance. —CJ
CJ?
Christian...?
No. She hadn't spoken to him in two days. Not since they texted before her drive. He wasn't here.
Unless...
She opened her phone.
Still frozen.
Still stuck on the altered photo.
But now it had changed again.
The woman in the picture—Clara—was looking directly at Michelle. Not the camera. Not straight ahead.
At her.
Michelle slowly turned off the phone and tucked it under a pillow.
She returned to the kitchen. The sun was lower now, soft gold touching the yellow shutters.
Something buzzed against the front door. A sound like paper scraping.
She opened it.
A script had been nailed to the frame. Thin parchment with thick black ink.
"A Play in Three Acts"
Below that, no title.
Just roles.
The Mirror
The Mask
The Girl Without a Part
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Echoes of the Script
Misterio / SuspensoOn a solo summer retreat to a fog-laced coastal town, Michelle Shiori rents a charming seaside cottage with faded yellow shutters and the scent of salt lingering in every corner. All seems quiet until she discovers a weathered journal hidden behind...
