Nothing happened
The story I am about to tell you is one of the darkest and most terrifying stories in the world—a story you may not even be able to believe. And you will surely say, “He really killed himself over such a meaningless joke?” By the time this book is published, I will no longer be alive.
Let me start from the beginning.
I lived in the forest. No, don’t get me wrong; I’m not a wild man. Let me put it this way: I’m an architect. I live in a well-equipped, not exactly rustic, wooden cabin that I built myself. I designed all the floor plans, the doors and windows, all the cabinets, the ceiling and the floor—everything—myself. It was my own idea. Then, with my own hands, I carried the timber there, built the place, and filled it with the most modern equipment.
One day—or rather, one night—I went outside. It was a calm, starless night. I was walking along the road in the opposite direction from the cars. Maybe one or two cars passed by. The sky was clear and everything was quiet when, suddenly, I saw a young girl sitting on the ground. She looked as if she had fallen or been injured.
I walked closer. The girl was a little over twenty, wearing a black sundress, with long hair, sitting on the ground with her head lowered.
Perhaps you expect the horrifying part of the story to begin now. She raises her head and reveals sharp teeth and empty eyes. But no. She raised her head, and I asked:
“Is something wrong? Do you need help?”
She explained:
“No, it’s nothing. I’m just a little injured.”
I helped her to her feet. She explained that she had made a bet with her friends and lost, and now they had come and left her alone for the night on a deserted road.
She looked around.
“Don’t you have a car?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“My house is nearby. It’s somewhere around here.”
I took her to my house.
Her mouth fell open in amazement. Admiration shone in her eyes. A modern house in the middle of the forest.
“Wow! What an amazing place you live in... This is so cool!”
I explained that I had built the house myself and that I was an architect.
“You’re such an artist!! Are you important?”
“No, no, I don’t think so. What do you mean by ‘important’?”
She didn’t know what to say.
“By the way, do you have a phone here? I need to let my family know.”
“Yes.”
I handed her my mobile phone.
“Don’t worry, there’s reception here. It’s not like we’re on Mount Everest.”
So, by this point in the story, we understand that she is an ordinary girl with relatively mischievous, playful friends. She made a bet with them and lost, and they probably do even cooler things together and have a lot of fun. She has a family that she needs to reassure.
Perhaps you are still waiting for the interesting and terrifying part of the story.
Surely you expect me to say: “The girl stayed the night, and in the middle of the night, I woke up feeling as though I were suffocating. I saw her sitting on my chest, strangling me with superhuman strength that you would never expect from a young woman.”
But no. If you hear the rest of the story, you will wish this had been just another one of those ordinary ghost stories, and that it had ended right there, without anything that happened afterward.
But let’s continue.
She stayed the night, and in the morning, her mother came to pick her up.
A well-dressed, stylish, modern, smiling, civilized, pleasant woman. She arrived in a high-end car, twirling a set of keys in her hands. She thanked me profusely and even offered to pay me, but I refused. She gave me her phone number and told me that I absolutely had to come and visit them.
The story ended, and we went back to our ordinary lives.
