Carefully flattening out the pages, I tried to decipher the writing in the margins. "Cedar Street, under tree." Cedar? Martha used to live there but had moved out-of-state when we were teenagers. 

     I didn't recognize the handwriting and no one had touched this book in years, its layer of dust having caught my eye when I riffled through the bookcase earlier.

     Dread constricted my ribs, making my heart thud painfully. I was never one for mysteries. Maybe someone buried money in Martha's backyard! Or there could be a doomsday bunker. What if they're directions to some murderer's victims?

I set down the book, unsure what to think. Maybe I was seeing stuff? With the phone call, the text, and now this? I just needed sleep.

Heading upstairs, I went into my room. My window was wide open and the curtain moved with the breeze. Did I really leave my window open all day? I guess it was hot out earlier.

Shaking my head, I closed the window and got into bed, not even bothering to change.

Everything would be better tomorrow.

It's 10:30 PM on a Monday night. I'm on my bed, reading a book. The phone rings - a restricted number. Do I pick it up? Nope. Finally, it stops ringing and I decide to grab a snack. When I come back, there's a text. I don't recognize the number, but I open it anyway. It's only a text, right? Wrong. I open the text and then there is nothing.