Dark Alley Chapter 4 The Weight of Guilt

　　The next morning, Mia Carter dragged herself into the office, bloodshot eyes ringed with bruise-dark shadows beneath them. Her coworkers clustered around her, murmuring soft condolences, urging her not to drown in grief over her lost lover.

　　The company's CEO, Mr. Raymond Cole, clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder. His tone lingered over the words "loved one," thick with pointed implication that sent a faint flicker of panic across Mia's face—too quick for anyone else in the room to catch.

　　"Our firm runs on compassion," he told her smoothly. "Take two full weeks of fully paid leave. I hope you can pull yourself out of this grief."

　　Mia couldn't stand the stifling atmosphere of the office for more than an hour. She trudged back to her tiny apartment and collapsed into bed, sleeping straight through until nightfall.

　　The second she stirred awake, a ghastly face pressed against her window once more. Rows of jagged, shadowed teeth split its features in a silent snarl, and that terrible guttural cackle echoed through the walls. Mia scrambled to the glass, throwing it wide open—yet again, nothing waited outside, only empty grass and towering old trees.

　　Night after night, the phantom and its haunting noise gnawed away at her sanity. Her cheeks hollowed, dark circles deepened, and she shrank thinner by the day.

　　One dawn, she headed out to the market with a woven grocery basket slung over her arm. A prickling sensation crawled up her spine; someone's icy gaze bored into her back, unblinking and relentless.

　　The traffic light blazed red, but Mia wandered blindly into the crosswalk, oblivious to the shouts of passersby. A scarlet Audi sedan slammed into her. Her shopping basket skittered across the hood of a neighboring car, and Mia crumpled onto the asphalt.

　　She woke in a hospital bed hours later, only minor scrapes and bruises marking her skin, no life-threatening injuries. Colleagues drifted in and out, bearing bouquets and fruit, offering hollow words of hope. Her closest work friend, Jenna Reed, gripped Mia's trembling hands tightly, tears streaking her cheeks like a frightened child begging for comfort.

　　"The light was red—everyone stayed on the curb. You just walked straight out, and no amount of calling could snap you out of it. What's happening to you?"

　　Tears welled in Mia's eyes, and she let out a bitter, shaky laugh. She spilled every terrifying detail: the endless three soft knocks at midnight, the faceless ghost pressed to her window, the unending cackling that haunted her every dark hour.

　　Jenna volunteered to move in and stay by her side without hesitation. The moment Jenna crossed the threshold of Mia's apartment, the spectral visitations vanished entirely. Weeks of quiet, unbroken calm followed. When Jenna judged Mia steady enough to live alone again, she packed her bags and headed back to her own place.

　　Before she left, Mia begged her to keep her phone charged and on standby twenty-four seven.

　　That very same night, the ghost and its hideous cackling returned.

　　Mia seized a kitchen cleaver and sprinted to the window, tearing the panes open wide. There was nothing there, not a single shadow. The final thread of her frayed sanity snapped.

　　Jenna's phone buzzed with Mia's frantic call. When she answered, only incoherent, rambling nonsense poured through the line. Jenna rushed over and drove the delirious Mia to a psychiatric facility.

　　Jenna stood beside Mia's hospital bed, watching the woman she'd once envied giggle vacantly at blank walls. Once the nurses stepped out of sight, a cold, triumphant smirk twisted her lips.

　　Mia had stolen the coveted executive secretary position that rightfully belonged to Jenna—by seducing Raymond Cole. Every torment Mia endured had been Jenna's carefully crafted scheme.

　　Those slow, muffled three knocks at the door? Jenna's fist, tapping lightly from the landing before she slipped around the back of the building. The blinding flashlight glare through the window? An extendable stepladder she'd hidden behind the banyan trees, its beam aimed straight at Mia's bedroom glass.

　　The horrifying ghost face pressed against the window was a rubber mask Jenna had practiced wearing for weeks. The scratchy, ghoulish cackle echoing through the night? She'd rehearsed that distorted croak in front of her bathroom mirror until it sounded utterly inhuman.

　　When Mia threw open the window to hunt for the phantom, Jenna simply ducked down behind the shrubbery, vanishing from sight in an instant.

　　Now Mia was locked away in a ward, lost to her own fractured mind. The prized secretary role was finally Jenna's, no competition left standing. She stepped out into bright, warm sunlight, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulders, peeling away every layer of gentle, sympathetic pretense to reveal a sly, fox-like grin.