The Anonymous Confession

Nikitha sat at her desk, flipping through the morning mail absentmindedly. Bills, advertisements, an invitation to some literary event—nothing unusual. But then, a plain white envelope with no return address caught her attention. Her name was scrawled in uneven handwriting across the front. No stamp, no postmark. Someone had slipped this directly into her mailbox.

Frowning, she tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The message inside was typed, short, and chilling:

I killed someone. And I need you to know.

Her pulse quickened. She scanned the page for more details, but there was nothing—no name, no location, no explanation. Just that one ominous sentence.

Nikitha’s mind raced. A prank? Or something real? If it was genuine, why confess to her? She had solved her fair share of mysteries, but she was no cop.

She turned the envelope over, looking for any clue, any hint of identity. A faint trace of perfume lingered—subtle, familiar, yet unplaceable. Instinct kicked in. Someone wanted her to dig deeper. And she intended to.

Nikitha traced the letter’s origins, checking her building’s CCTV footage first. The grainy footage showed a hooded figure slipping the envelope into her mailbox around 3 AM. Their movements were cautious, deliberate. Not a random act.

She called Inspector Rohan Mehta, a sharp but skeptical officer she had worked with before. He sighed after hearing the details. “Could be a hoax, Nikitha. But if it isn’t, this person might actually be desperate to unburden themselves. Or they might be playing a dangerous game.”

“I need to find out which,” she said. “Can you run forensics on the paper?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

As she hung up, her fingers traced the edge of the letter. Something about it gnawed at her. If this was a genuine confession, was the sender guilty—or was there something far more sinister at play?

 

The next morning, another letter arrived.

This time, it contained more than just a confession.

It contained a name.

And a challenge: "Find the body before they do."

Nikitha’s breath hitched. Someone wasn’t just confessing—they were warning her. And she had no idea who ‘they’ were.

One thing was certain—this wasn’t just another case. This time, she was already part of the story.

Nikitha wasted no time. The name in the letter was Aditya Khanna—a businessman whose recent disappearance had gone unnoticed by the media. She searched for any news articles but found nothing. Whoever sent this letter knew something the world didn’t.

She called Rohan again. “Do you have anything on an Aditya Khanna?”

Rohan exhaled sharply. “He was reported missing two days ago by his wife. But there’s no case yet—no ransom, no signs of foul play.”

Nikitha’s stomach churned. If Aditya was missing, and this letter was real, then she might be running out of time.

She rechecked the envelope and the paper. There was a depression near the bottom, as if someone had written something on a previous sheet. She lightly shaded over it with a pencil. Slowly, words began to emerge:

‘Hotel Riviera – Room 405 – Midnight.’

A meeting place? A trap?

Nikitha didn’t believe in coincidences. If someone wanted her to find the body, this was the first step.

 

That night, she arrived at the Hotel Riviera. The neon sign flickered ominously, casting long shadows over the deserted sidewalk. She walked in, her senses on high alert. The receptionist barely glanced at her as she made her way to the fourth floor.

Room 405 was at the end of a dimly lit hallway. She hesitated, then knocked lightly. No response. She tried the handle. It turned easily.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale perfume. The room was empty—except for a single object on the bed.

A third letter.

She picked it up and unfolded it.

“Too late.”

Nikitha’s heart pounded. Whoever was playing this game was always one step ahead. And now, she wasn’t just looking for a missing man—she was chasing a ghost, a murderer, or both.

The silence in the room was deafening. Nikitha’s mind reeled. If she was too late, where was the body? And more importantly, who had sent these letters?

Her phone buzzed. A text message from an unknown number: "I warned you."

Her pulse quickened. She replied instantly: “Who are you?”

Three dots appeared. Then: "Get out. Now."

Before she could react, the hotel door creaked open. Nikitha spun around, her heart hammering. A figure stood in the doorway, their face obscured by shadows.

"I told you to leave," the voice said softly. A woman’s voice. Chillingly familiar.

Nikitha took a step forward. “Who are you?”

The woman stepped into the dim light, revealing her face.

Nikitha gasped.

It was her own reflection.

Or rather—someone who looked exactly like her.

“You don’t remember, do you?” the lookalike whispered, tilting her head slightly. “You should.”

Nikitha’s breath came in short, sharp bursts. A trick? A trap? Was she losing her mind?

The woman smirked. “You got my letters. And now you’ve found me.”

“What the hell is this?” Nikitha demanded.

“I killed someone,” the woman said. “And I needed you to know.”

The room spun. Nikitha’s hands trembled. “Who did you kill?”

The woman’s eyes gleamed. “Aditya Khanna.”

Nikitha shook her head. “No. No, I—”

And then, a flood of memories slammed into her.

Blood on her hands. The weight of a lifeless body. A voice in her head, whispering “Make him disappear.” A frantic drive through the city. A shovel. Dark, damp earth swallowing secrets whole.

She staggered back, gripping the wall for support.

Her lookalike smiled. “You see now? You weren’t supposed to remember. But some part of you did. So I helped.”

Nikitha’s knees nearly buckled. “This… this isn’t real.”

“Isn’t it?” The woman stepped closer, her eyes filled with eerie amusement. “You sent those letters, Nikitha. You just didn’t know it.”

The weight of it all crashed onto her, suffocating. If this was true—if she had truly killed Aditya Khanna—then who was she?

What had she become?

A loud knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. “Nikitha? Open up! It’s Rohan!”

She turned back—but the woman was gone. Only the letter remained.

The final words now burned into her memory: “I killed someone. And I needed you to know.”

Her own confession.

And there was no running from it now.

Rohan burst into the room, gun drawn. “What the hell is going on?”

Nikitha swallowed hard. “I need you to check something for me.” She handed him the letter. “Find out whose fingerprints are on this.”

Rohan studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Are you okay?”

She hesitated before replying. “I will be.”

As Rohan left, Nikitha exhaled slowly. Whoever had orchestrated this wanted her rattled—but she wasn’t about to let them win. The truth was close.

A new text buzzed on her phone. "Not quite. You’re still playing my game."

Nikitha’s fingers clenched around the device. A final message appeared:

"You're not the hunter, Nikitha. You're the prey."

A chill ran through her. Somewhere in the distance, a shadow moved. The game was far from over. But she wasn’t backing down. Not now. Not ever.

Nikitha stared at her reflection in the mirror, the room closing in around her. The image of the other woman—herself, yet not—flickered like a dying flame before vanishing altogether. A cold sweat clung to her skin. The room was empty, save for her and the crumpled letter in her trembling hands.

The air in Room 405 grew heavy, suffocating, as if something unseen coiled around her, watching, waiting. Her breath was shallow. Had she really written those letters? Had she really killed Aditya Khanna? The memories that had crashed into her moments ago now felt disjointed, like fragments of a nightmare slipping through her fingers.

Then, a whisper. Low, rasping. Not from the door where Rohan had knocked. Not from her phone. From inside the room.

"Remember."

Nikitha whirled around. The shadows seemed thicker, pulsing with something alive. The bed, the walls, the single lamp—everything felt distorted, shifting in and out of focus.

The whisper came again. "I made you remember."

This time, the voice didn’t just speak—it echoed within her skull, threading into her thoughts like an unwelcome intruder. Her head throbbed. She pressed her palms against her temples, willing herself to stay grounded. But the floor beneath her seemed to ripple, as though she were standing on the surface of water.

And then she was no longer in Room 405.

Nikitha blinked. The walls had changed. The sickly yellow light was gone, replaced by the dim glow of street lamps filtering through a broken window. The scent of damp earth and something metallic filled her nostrils. She knew this place.

The construction site.

The place where Aditya Khanna had disappeared.

Her feet crunched against loose gravel as she stepped forward. The site was unfinished, skeletal steel beams jutting into the night sky. Her fingers trailed along a cold metal railing, the sensation both familiar and foreign. And then she saw it.

A shallow grave.

Freshly dug. The soil still unsettled.

Nikitha gasped as her body moved on its own. She crouched, heart hammering, hands reaching for the mound of dirt. As her fingers brushed against it, a jolt of icy pain shot through her spine. And suddenly, she wasn’t alone.

A presence loomed behind her.

The whisper turned into a chuckle, dark and knowing.

"You buried him here," the voice said. "And you thought you could forget."

Nikitha spun around, but the figure wasn’t solid. It was a shifting, writhing silhouette, its form flickering like candlelight. It had no face, yet its presence was suffocatingly familiar. She felt it in her bones.

She had met this thing before.

"What... what are you?" she choked out.

The figure tilted its head. "I am you. The part you chose to silence. The part that remembers." It reached out, fingers stretching impossibly long. "And I will not be forgotten again."

Nikitha tried to back away, but the ground beneath her gave way. She tumbled into the grave, her body hitting something soft—something cold. She screamed as fingers, real fingers, curled around her wrist from below.

A lifeless, decayed hand.

Aditya Khanna's hand.

Nikitha bolted upright with a gasp. She was back in Room 405, sprawled on the floor. Rohan was shaking her, his voice distant but urgent.

"Nikitha! Can you hear me? What the hell happened?"

She looked around wildly. The room was as it had been moments ago. No grave. No shadows creeping toward her. But her hands were coated in something damp. She lifted them in horror.

Dirt.

Real, dark soil beneath her nails.

Rohan's eyes followed her gaze. "Nikitha... what did you do?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed her phone with shaking hands and typed in the address of the construction site.

She already knew what they would find.

Aditya Khanna’s body.

And maybe, just maybe, the part of herself she had buried along with him.

As sirens wailed in the distance, she realized the truth—there was no escaping what she had become.

Nikitha staggered to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The soil beneath her nails, the haunting vision, the voice—it all felt too real. But deep within her, an instinct, sharpened by years of unraveling mysteries, told her there was more to this.

Rohan steadied her. “Nikitha, what’s going on?”

“I think... I think something’s trying to make me believe I killed Aditya Khanna. But it’s not real.”

Rohan’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s get to the construction site. If there’s a body, we’ll find it.”

As they raced through the city streets, Nikitha’s mind churned. The eerie double, the cryptic letters, the visions—they were fragments of something far more sinister. Something not of this world.

At the construction site, the place from her vision, the ground was indeed freshly disturbed. Rohan’s team began digging. Moments later, a shout echoed through the night.

“We’ve got something!”

Nikitha’s heart pounded as they unearthed the body. It was Aditya Khanna. But the cause of death wasn’t blunt force trauma or strangulation—it was a heart attack. The autopsy would later confirm it.

Rohan turned to her. “You didn’t kill him, Nikitha. Someone wanted you to think you did.”

Before Nikitha could respond, a chilling wind swept through the site. In the dim light, she saw a figure standing at the edge of the shadows. The woman who looked exactly like her. But now, her face was serene.

“I needed you to find him,” the apparition whispered. “To bring him home. My debt is paid.”

With that, the figure dissolved into the night, leaving only the faint trace of that same subtle, familiar perfume.

Nikitha shivered as the weight lifted from her chest. “She wasn’t me. She was... his wife. Or his lover. Stuck between worlds until justice was done.”

Rohan shook his head in disbelief. “You and your mysteries, Nikitha.”

But Nikitha knew the truth. Sometimes, the dead needed the living to speak for them. And this time, she had.

As dawn’s light crept over the horizon, Nikitha felt an unfamiliar peace settle within her. The case was closed. And the haunting was over.

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Image: Freepik