The next day, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. The garden party, the strange guests, and the host’s chilling words haunted me. Every sound felt too loud, every shadow too dark, and the world around me felt… unreal.
I checked my phone for the contact details of the garden party organizers, but there was nothing. No messages, no call history. It was as if the job had never been offered. I tried searching for the estate online, but there were no records, no photos, nothing. It was like the place didn’t exist.
But then, as I was scrolling through my phone, a notification popped up. A calendar reminder, labeled “Garden Party – 7:00 PM tonight.” My blood ran cold. I hadn’t set that reminder, and there was no way I was going back.
As evening approached, I locked all my doors and windows, trying to convince myself it was all in my head. But as the clock struck seven, I heard it—the faint sound of music, the same haunting melody from the night before, drifting through the air as if it was coming from my backyard.
I looked out the window, and to my horror, there they were—guests from the party, standing in my garden, their eyes fixed on my house. Their expressions were blank, but their presence was undeniable. And at the front, standing beneath the moonlight, was the host, smiling that same eerie smile, his hand outstretched as if inviting me to join them.
I slammed the curtains shut, heart pounding, trying to ignore the soft whispers that started filling the room, calling my name, telling me to come outside. My phone buzzed again. Another notification. This one read: “It’s time.”
I don’t know what will happen next. I’m writing this now, hoping that if someone reads it, they’ll know the truth. The garden party—it never ends. Once you’ve been invited, you can’t escape. The guests, the host… they’re waiting.
And the worst part? I can hear them getting closer.