This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/JamFranz on 2024-10-06 18:36:26+00:00.
It began a week ago, with a text from a number – a name – I never thought I’d hear from again.
‘Hey baby’
I nearly dropped my phone when I read the text from Rosalie. I ignored it, because I knew there was no reason for her to ever contact me again. It had to be a prank.
She texted again the next day
‘I miss you. Did you miss me?’
I ignored that too, until she sent a picture of herself – pouting. She looked just like I remembered, minus the nose ring.
‘I look good, right? ;) Better than you thought I would?’
She did look good, far better than she had the last time I’d seen her. I began to doubt the details of our breakup. Maybe it hadn’t gone like I remembered. Maybe I’d made a mistake.
‘Belize has been kind to me. That’s where you told people I went, right? When you got bored of me?’
That got my attention. ‘What do you want?’
‘I just want to talk. In person. I want to know why.’
I shouldn’t have gone to meet her. I should’ve ignored the texts. But I needed to know how she was contacting me after all these years.
‘Does anyone else know the details of our break up?’ I never bothered meeting them, but I was fairly certain that her family never liked me. ‘Does anyone else know we’re talking again?’
‘No.’
I decided to take a chance.
‘Where do you want to meet?’ I finally sent back.
‘The place where you left me.’
I paused for a moment – even better. The thought made me smile for the first time since she reached back out to me.
I agreed.
As I made the long drive out, down the winding country roads, I felt a pang of doubt.
I told myself I had nothing to worry about. I’d dumped her once already, so I’d hear her out, and then I’d do it again.
For good, this time.
As I pulled up, a lone figure stood on the outskirts of the dark trees, squinting at the sudden brightness of my high beams.
There she was, Rosalie. It was really her, in the flesh.
I shouldn’t have gotten out of the car – It would’ve been so easy to end it then and there – but like an idiot, I wanted to do it up close in person, with my own hands.
Again.
So, I left the car, discretely tucking the sheath of the knife into the small of my back, slowly closing the distance between us.
Just like old times.
She was covered in mud. A strange, dirt streaked smile was plastered across her face as she stared at me from across two freshly dug holes.
For a moment I wondered if she truly was back in the ‘flesh’ after alI. I felt a pang of something so foreign to me, that it took a moment to recognize what the feeling was.
Fear.
I was so distracted that it took me too long to notice the differences.
“Your tattoos are gone.”
A sad little smile softened her features, “Tattoos were always Rosalie’s thing, not mine.” she continued on, in response to the confusion that surely must’ve been written across on my face. “Mom used to tease us that she was glad Rosalie got so many – it made it easier to tell us apart.”
I stared, comprehension dawning on me as her smile disappeared.
“You aren’t her.”
“No. No I’m not. Death is forever, Jonathan. There is no coming back.”
I looked down into the first hole, the one closest to me.
Torn fabric punctuated by slender bits of white gleamed up at me, stark against the dark soil.
Rosalie.
She was still there, in that shallow little grave.
Right where I’d left her.
I ventured a glance into the other, much deeper pit, where a crude, rectangular, particleboard box sat open.
I looked back up just in time to see the moonlight glinting off the metal of the shovel before it connected with my head.
The rest is fuzzy:
A vague recollection of her tossing my phone and some other device at me as she closed the lid.
The sound of her muffled voice, saying something about maybe I should try calling the police.
She must have shoveled the dirt back on top of me, because I cannot, for the life of me, push the top open.
I’ve called the police and I’ve given them my location, but I’m not sure if they even believed me, much less if they’ll make it here in time.
My reception is spotty – I’m frankly shocked I even have any – but If anyone is reading this and is nearby, please come find me before it’s too late.
I’m in the woods outside of Fall’s Mill, about ten miles east of route 24.
And, about six feet underground.