It was a stormy night, the kind where the wind howls through the trees and rattles the windows as if some unseen force wanted to break in. I was pacing through the dimly lit living room, my hands clenched into fists, unable to shake the creeping sense of dread. It had been two weeks since my wife, Lily, was murdered. And for what? A worthless piece of jewelry—a necklace that meant nothing to anyone but her.
Lily had inherited the necklace from her grandmother. It wasn’t valuable; it was old, tarnished, and had no gems worth noting. But to her, it was priceless. She would always wear it, saying it was a symbol of love, passed down through generations. I never imagined that something so insignificant could cost her life.
The police couldn’t make sense of it. There was no forced entry, nothing was stolen except for that necklace. And the way she was killed… it was brutal, merciless, as if someone had a vendetta. But Lily didn’t have enemies. She was kind, loving, and kept to herself.
The night she died, I wasn’t home. I had gone on a short business trip, leaving her alone in the house. She called me before I boarded the plane, her voice soft and comforting as always. “I’ll be here when you get back,” she said. But when I returned, it wasn’t Lily who greeted me—it was the flashing lights of police cars, the cold stares of detectives, and the blood-stained floor.
Days passed, and I couldn’t sleep. Something was wrong. I could feel it. I began to hear whispers in the house, faint and distant at first, but growing louder each night. I told myself it was my imagination—grief playing tricks on my mind. But the whispers seemed to come from the necklace, now placed on the mantel, the only thing the killer left behind.
Then, one night, as I stared at the cursed piece of jewelry, I saw something that chilled me to my core. In the reflection of the tarnished metal, there was a figure—shadowy, twisted, with eyes glowing a sickening green. It wasn’t human. It was something else, something ancient and malevolent.
Suddenly, the room went cold, and the whispers turned into a scream. The figure in the necklace stepped out from the reflection, manifesting in front of me. Its voice was a guttural growl as it spoke, “She took what was mine.”
I couldn’t move, frozen in terror as the creature loomed over me. It reached for the necklace, its clawed hand brushing against the chain. “The necklace… it was never hers to keep.”
I realized then that Lily had been killed not by a person, but by this thing—this vengeful spirit that had attached itself to the necklace. It wasn’t after money or revenge. It wanted the piece of jewelry, a relic from a time long forgotten. To it, the necklace was not worthless—it was everything.
With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I grabbed the necklace and threw it into the fireplace. The flames roared as the necklace melted, and the creature screamed, a sound so horrific it felt like my ears would bleed. And then, just like that, it was gone. The house fell silent, the air warm once again.
But the damage was done. Lily was gone forever, and no amount of burning the past could bring her back.
Now, every night, I wonder if the creature still lingers somewhere, waiting for its next victim. Waiting for someone else to claim the necklace.
Because no matter how worthless it seems, to some, it’s worth more than a life.