Just... Wall

The next day, I decided to get serious. By “serious,” I mean I wore shoes that matched and avoided any suspicious puddles. Preparation is key, even if you’re about to chase ghosts and cryptic cults through public spaces.
I returned to the library — because apparently, bad ideas like reinvestigating where mysterious people vanished are my brand now.
The table where I found the first scrap of paper was empty, naturally. No one in sight. But there was something new: a faint trail of chalky footprints. Yes, footprints. Indoors. And they… glowed? Slightly. Like someone had sprinkled magical glitter and hoped no one would notice.
I followed them. Quietly. Carefully. With my trout book still clutched like a shield.
The trail led me to a side door I’d never seen before. Locked. Of course. That’s how these things work. But next to the handle was a small note:
“Patience reveals the passage.”
Patience, I have learned, is not my strong suit. But curiosity is. So I waited. And waited. And waited.
Then I noticed my reflection in the window — it wasn’t me anymore. Not really. It was smirking, like it knew something I didn’t. And suddenly, the lights flickered… and I wasn’t alone.
A shadow moved behind the shelves, fast and silent. I blinked. The shadow paused. Then, as if acknowledging an unspoken agreement, it vanished through the wall. Not a door. Not a gap. Just… wall.
I think I’m going to need more than pickles this time.

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Diary Entry #8Dear Diary,
Today I confirmed a few things:
1. The Hollow Circle is definitely not a pottery club.

2. Footprints indoors that glow are terrifying.

3. Reflections are freelancing again — mine now apparently moonlights as a smirk consultant.

4. Shadows have become professionally evasive.


— MeP.S.: If I vanish, at least finish the jar of pickles. And maybe leave a note for my reflection. It owes me one.