For my birthday I got this random package with no return address.
Inside was a bracelet (thin gold chain, delicate, totally my style).
No card, no note, nothing. I figured it had to be from my husband but when I asked, he looked confused and said “I thought you bought it for yourself.”
I texted my friends, no one claimed it.
A week later I wore it to a family gathering.
My SIL saw it and instantly grabbed my wrist.
She went PALE. Like really pale. “Where did you get THIS?” she whispered.
I told her the truth and she just shook her head and said “No. No, that’s impossible.”
Then she pulled out her phone and showed me a photo.
Blurry, old, maybe from a flip phone, but clear enough:
A young woman, maybe late teens, smiling at the camera. She was wearing my bracelet.
Only it wasn’t me.
“Who is that?” I asked, my throat suddenly dry.
“My sister,” my sister-in-law whispered. “Her name was Rachel.”
Was.
“She died twelve years ago.”
The room seemed to tilt. I stared at the screen, then down at the bracelet on my wrist. The exact same design—every tiny link. Even the little clasp that was slightly off-center.
My voice barely came out. “How did she die?”
She looked around nervously. “She went missing first. We searched for months. Then… her car was found near an old hiking trail. No body. Just the car and her things.”
“And the bracelet?”
“Gone,” she said. “She never took it off. We thought maybe… whoever took her… kept it.”
I felt suddenly cold, like the bracelet was burning against my skin.
“Why would it show up now? To me?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at my wrist like it might bite her.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept waking up, the bracelet catching the moonlight from the window. I should’ve taken it off. I tried. The clasp wouldn’t budge. Like it wanted to stay.
The next morning, my husband found me in the kitchen, staring blankly at the coffee machine.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Do you remember your sister’s friend Rachel?”
He frowned. “Rachel? I… haven’t thought of her in years.”
I swallowed hard. “She ever give you anything?”
He paused. “Actually… yeah. One time she gave me this little carved stone. She said it was for protection. Why?”
I didn’t answer.
Because that night, as I lay in bed staring at the bracelet, it pulsed—just once. Like it had a heartbeat.
And somewhere deep inside me…
Something whispered:
“She’s not done yet.”