The Locket and Old Wounds
Rain had been falling since the afternoon, trailing down the large window in Fatih's living room. Droplets danced slowly, like memories that refused to leave.
Fatih sat alone, staring at a small locket dangling from his index finger. A piece of old, faded gold with faint engravings along the edge—letters he had never been able to decipher. It was the only thing left from his mother. And the only object he couldn't bring himself to throw away, even though it always brought nightmares.
Last night, the locket had moved on its own.
From a kitchen drawer to beneath his pillow.
It couldn't have been the wind. Couldn't have been a pet—he didn't even own one.
And in his dream, his mother had appeared again. Standing in front of the same old house. Watching him, before turning into a shadow.
This time, the shadow spoke.
> "You're getting too close…"
Fatih gripped the locket tighter.
That voice wasn't hers.
It was something else, using her face.
He opened the small notebook he always carried when investigating cases. But this time, he wasn't writing a report. He was writing for himself.
> — Locket changed location (3x this week)
— Recurring dream: old house, mother turns into shadow
— Keyla knew about my job without being told
— The old chair — memory of a scream
→ Are all of these connected?
He looked up, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass.
For a second, it felt like another shadow stood behind him.
But when he turned, nothing was there.
---
Keyla knocked five minutes later, carrying two plastic bags—instant noodles, snacks, and… jasmine tea.
"Healing kit for a moody heart," she said playfully, stepping in before Fatih could say no.
Fatih gave a faint smile. "I'm not moody."
"Your face says otherwise," Keyla replied, settling onto the couch and turning on a small stove to boil water. "Something on your mind?"
Fatih hesitated, then pulled the locket from his pocket and placed it on the table.
"Ever seen a locket like this?"
Keyla stared at it. For too long.
"It feels… familiar," she whispered. "But I don't know from where."
Fatih watched her closely. Her expression shifted—tense, not afraid, but as if holding something back.
Her gaze went blank for a few seconds, then she blinked quickly.
"I... just felt like… someone was calling. From the locket," she murmured.
Fatih tensed. "What kind of voice?"
"Soft… sad… a woman. But it wasn't me hearing it. It felt like… I was her. She was calling out to someone. Fatih, are you sure this locket only belonged to your mother?"
Fatih nodded slowly. "That's what I've always believed."
Keyla bit her lower lip, then pulled out her notebook.
She flipped to a page and showed it to him.
The sketch was rough but unmistakable—a locket. The exact same one.
She had drawn it three days ago, from a dream.
Fatih said nothing.
"I don't know why I drew it," Keyla said softly. "But every time I dream of that dark place… this locket shows up. Sometimes in my hand. Sometimes around someone's neck."
They looked at each other.
And for the first time, they both realized—
Their dreams might not be just dreams.
---
That night, when Keyla returned to the apartment next door, she stood silently in front of the mirror.
She looked at her reflection—and at a faint shadow in the corner of the room.
One that didn't move the way reflections should.
Keyla whispered, "Who are you?"
The shadow didn't answer.
But the locket in Fatih's room trembled softly.