🔴 UNCLE FRANK LEFT ME A NOTE THAT SAID, “THEY’RE WATCHING”
I almost choked on my coffee, staring at the crumpled paper clutched in my sweating hand.
His funeral was yesterday — the smell of lilies still clings to everything. He was always a little… out there. But THEY’RE WATCHING? Was this some kind of joke? Or a sign of something far more sinister?
He died in his sleep, they said. Peaceful. But he hadn’t slept well in years, always muttering about shadows and government conspiracies. “Don’t trust anyone, Sarah,” he once told me, his eyes wide and scared. “They’re everywhere.” I just thought he was lonely.
Now, this note. Tucked inside his old watch, a watch he never took off. The watch felt cold in my palm, the smooth metal slick with something I can’t quite place. Was it sweat? Or something else?
My phone just vibrated, a restricted number flashes on the screen.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…
I hesitated, my finger hovering over the answer button. Curiosity warred with a gut feeling that screamed “Don’t.” But the note, the watch, the lingering scent of lilies and secrets… I had to know. I answered.
A crackly voice, distorted beyond recognition, rasped, “He knew too much. You know too much. They are closer than you think.” Then, silence. The line went dead.
Panic clawed at my throat. I slammed the phone down on the counter. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Too much?” Too much *what*? Frank was a retired accountant, a man who lived a quiet life filled with crossword puzzles and cat videos. What secret could he possibly have stumbled upon?
I needed to retrace his steps. His apartment. His things. Maybe I could find something, anything, that would explain the note, the call, the growing sense of dread.
I spent the next few hours meticulously going through his apartment. It was as if he’d anticipated my search. Everything was neat, organized. No hidden compartments, no coded messages, nothing that hinted at a conspiracy. Except… on the bookshelf, behind a collection of gardening books, I found it. A small, leather-bound journal.
The first few pages were filled with Frank’s shaky handwriting, detailing mundane events – the weather, the price of eggs, the neighbor’s cat. Then, the entries shifted. They became increasingly frantic, obsessed with a particular company: “OmniCorp.” He wrote about secret meetings, suspicious deliveries, and unexplained disappearances. He believed they were using advanced technology to monitor and control people, and he suspected he was one of their targets.
The journal contained a single clue: a specific address in a remote, wooded area.
My hands trembled as I looked at the address. The fear was overwhelming, but I had come too far to turn back. I had to know the truth, even if it meant facing whatever “they” were. I decided to visit the address.
The next day, I drove to the address. It was a sprawling estate, hidden behind a high wrought-iron fence and guarded by security cameras. My heart pounded as I approached the gate. I took a deep breath and pressed the intercom button. After a moment, a cold, mechanical voice said, “Identification?”
I froze, my mind racing. What should I say? I had no plan. I stammered, “I… I’m Sarah. Frank’s niece.”
The gate clicked open.
As I walked towards the mansion, my fear increased. I felt like a hunted animal. The front door was massive, made of dark, polished wood. It opened before I could knock.
Inside, a woman stood, her face expressionless, her eyes the color of ice. “Come in,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth. “We’ve been expecting you, Sarah.”
She led me through a series of sterile, high-tech rooms. We arrived in a large room, where two men waited. One was older, with a distinguished air, the other looked like a technician.
The woman looked at me. “You are Frank’s niece, yes?”
“Yes. I… I have questions,” I replied, my voice wavering.
The older man stepped forward. “We knew Frank would leave a note. He was… sensitive. Easily influenced by paranoia. Everything he wrote in that journal, and the phone call you received, all manufactured, designed to make you seek the truth.”
“And what is the truth?” I asked, my heart pounding.
The man gestured to the technician, who pulled up a screen. It displayed Frank’s apartment, and also… me. The woman showed me security recordings, of myself getting the note, reading the journal, and arriving at the house. The screens showed everything.
“OmniCorp,” the man said. “We aren’t about conspiracy. We’re about the truth. Frank was a test subject, chosen because of his predisposition for paranoia. We studied how fear is created and spread. The note. The call. All designed to make you doubt everything, to see the world as a place of secrets and shadows.”
The woman smiled, “We will be sending you back home. But the research is ongoing, and we will see you again soon.”
I was soon guided out of the house. They drove me home.
Back in my apartment, I looked at my reflection. The note, the journal, the call… all part of an experiment. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, followed by a strange sense of emptiness. Was it all a lie?
I looked down at my watch. Frank’s watch. The smooth metal slick with something I can’t quite place. It was just sweat, wasn’t it?
Then, I looked at my phone. A new notification. A restricted number.
My hand trembled. I had a bad feeling. I opened the message. It was a single line.
“He was right. They *are* watching.”