We’re together again…”
As she spoke, she turned around, holding the photo high in both hands, smiling softly. A chill ran down Ethan’s spine. He slowly backed away towards the door, trembling as he whispered:
“Are you… are you okay?”
Miranda stopped, staring at him, her voice low:
“It’s not you… it’s Lana.”
BOOM!
Ethan let out a terrified scream, kicked the door open, and bolted into the hallway—racing downstairs in nothing but his shorts. Hotel staff froze as his voice echoed through the corridors:
“Help! She’s… she’s possessed!”
Chaos erupted across the resort.
The groom vanished, fleeing the scene—while the bride remained alone in her room, still seated before the mirror, gently stroking her platinum-blonde wig. “Ms. Miranda didn’t sleep at all that night.
She just sat there, staring into the mirror, mumbling to herself… she kept repeating the name ‘Lana.’”
By midday, the police were summoned. But Miranda was eerily calm. She gave them a soft, unsettling smile and simply said:
“Don’t worry.
Lana won’t hurt anyone. She just came back to say goodbye… one last time.”
Whispers swept through California’s elite circles. Some claimed Miranda had suffered a psychological breakdown after losing her same-sex partner over 15 years ago.
Others insisted she had hired a spiritualist to summon Lana’s spirit from beyond the grave. As for Ethan? He never spoke publicly again.
After that horrifying night, he returned to his hometown, withdrawing completely from society. Even years later, he would shudder at the faint sound of a locker clicking open. And Miranda?
She sealed herself away in her oceanfront villa, rarely making public appearances. But sometimes, passersby would glimpse her through the window—gazing out at the sea, brushing her silver-blonde hair, whispering softly into the wind:
“Don’t worry, Lana… I’m still keeping my promise. And maybe next time… I’ll find someone new to join us.”
The wind howled.
White curtains danced in the salty breeze. Locals swear that on nights when the moon is full, if you stand close enough, you can hear two voices drifting from that room—one old, one young… one belonging to the living, and one to the de:ad.
