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She read it once, and then she read it again. She read it forwards, and she read it backwards. She read it with her fingers gripping the paper so tightly it almost ripped in half, nearly sending her bursting out into a fit of tears over just how careless she had almost been.
Olive… Olive, Olive, Olive.
Her Olive. Her best friend. Her girl. She wasn’t supposed to die. She wasn’t supposed to do this. She… and she had the audacity to talk about it like it was a joke, to treat it like some great epic adventure in a way that only Olive Graff ever would.
When she’d first gotten to the mailbox and seen the two envelopes delicately placed side by side, she hadn’t thought much of it. And then — and then — she’d seen the handwriting.
It didn’t matter how much time passed, because she would recognize that handwriting anywhere. She would always recognize Olive’s scrawl over anyone else’s. It was the handwriting that had been sent to her through countless class periods over the school years. It was Olive, Olive, Olive talking to her.
After all this time, like a ghost creeping out of the shadows.
“This probably isn’t the first stuff you wanted to hear from me,” is what Olive had told her, and Olive was right.
But then again, what would Teddy want to hear from her instead?
She’d want her voice. She’d want her here. No amount of letters was going to bring her back.
She read through both letters until she knew her tears were smearing the seven-year-old ink and she had to place them down on the table before she soiled them any further.
She was okay. She was okay! She was totally and perfectly and completely okay.
No. She wasn’t.
Everything was rushing back to her. That night. That night, that night, that night. Sitting curled up on the bathroom floor with her stomach in knots, the way Olive had told her she was going to take Auggie home. Sending Olive those stupid, stupid text messages that had caused everything afterwards.
Finding out a month later that the baby she’d been so worried about in the first place had been more than a worry after all, but not anymore.
Everything — everything, everything — was Teddy’s fault.
She’d lost Olive, she’d lost Auggie, she’d lost the baby, she’d lost so many pieces of herself that at this point, even after all these years, she was still scrambling to find them all.
And now, her past was staring her back in the face. Mocking her mercilessly, bit by bit.
First the initial note that had been sent to her doorstep with a Return Date from Eliza Lange, Charleston, South Carolina. And then that night with Auggie at the restaurant. And… and now this.
Now this.
August 5. They left August 5.
Everything that had been building up inside of her since before she’d opened her mailbox and maybe even before that was bubbling, coiling, charging and snarling angrily back at her, and she found herself rushing for the bathroom, emptying out all she had left in her before she was left crumpled on the bathroom floor.
Teddy Graham finally let herself break down.
She didn’t know when she’d let herself get back up.
🥲 any writers seeing this ADD ME TO YOUR TAG LISTS!!
i fear my inactivity has caused me to lose a lot of the little rapport and kinship i just began to feel here with you all; the ones i’d begun to make here
sorry everyone. 💔
juggling work, then coming home to write, revising, editing, and then trying to keep a consistent posting schedule??? one of the hardest challenges for me this year, but i like to think i’m getting better now 🫶🏾 so i’m still here everyone.
tag me in your oc, wip, and other fun writeblr games and shares! pls pls pls don’t hesitate to send me questions about my wips! my characters! send me questions about myself!
An excerpt from the horror story series I’ll be posting tomorrow morning!
The Retreat
8 months ago…
It was supposed to be a celebratory hike. David had just landed a major distributor for his athleisure wear brand, and they decided to mark the occasion with a challenging trail they had been meaning to try. The weather in Maryland was perfect this time of year—cool and crisp, with a median level heat ideal for a long excursion.
They set out early, with the morning mist still clinging to the mountains. Monique felt on top of the world, hand in hand with David, their laughter echoing through the trees.
About two hours in, they reached a fork in the trail. The left path was well-maintained and led to a popular viewpoint. The right fork was overgrown and marked with a faded sign warning of unstable terrain.
"Let's take the next right," Monique suggested eagerly.
She began to stretch and lifted the back of her coily red-brown hair, which shimmered in the sunlight and tied it into a messy bun, preparing for the next segment of the trail. Her husband's face was filled with nothing, but apprehension.
David gazed skeptically at the ominous path ahead and asked, “Are you sure about this?”
“Oh, c'mon! Where's your sense of adventure, baby?” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.
David hesitated. “I don't know, Momo. That sign looks pretty serious.”
But Monique was insistent. “Trust me, it'll be fine. We're experienced hikers. Plus, imagine the view without all the tourists.”
Reluctantly, David agreed, knowing it would make Monique happy. And for the first mile, everything seemed fine; the path was rough but manageable. Then—they reached the cliffside portion...
The trail narrowed dramatically, hugging a sheer rock face with a dizzying drop to the right. Monique led the way with steady, confident strides, her resolve unwavering despite the precarious path. She glanced back periodically to check on David, noticing his forehead crinkle in that way she found endearingly adorable. It always amused her that this 6’2” muscular Italian, so strong and charismatic, could be unnerved by heights.
A twinge of remorse washed over her as she remembered how she had convinced him to come along on this adventure, despite his apprehension. She hoped the stunning views and sense of victory would eventually outrank his current anxiety.
“Momo, we seriously should turn back,” David called out, lagging behind his enthusiastic wife.
“Don’t worry, babe, we’re almost through,” Monique replied, seeing the clearing just a few steps ahead. “Just a little further.”
Those four words would haunt her forever.
A few steps later, she heard a sickening crumble, a sound that now echoes in her mind whenever she closes her eyes or feels anxious. The next thirty seconds shattered her world; the path beneath David's feet gave way. As Monique spun around in horror, she couldn’t even process the scene before her.
“David!” she shouted, reaching out desperately, but she was too far ahead. Their fingertips brushed, and their eyes locked for a split second before her husband plummeted into the abyss. It was the last time she touched or saw her college sweetheart.
The world seemed to slow down as Monique watched David disappear into the void. Her scream echoed through the mountains, a sound of pure anguish that was swallowed by the vast, indifferent wilderness. She fell to her knees, the weight of what had just happened crashing down on her. She could barely breathe, her chest tightening with a mix of shock and terror.
Minutes felt like hours as she scrambled to the edge, hoping against hope to see David clinging to something, anything. But there was nothing—just the sheer drop and the distant sound of rocks tumbling into the chasm below. The reality of the situation began to sink in, and with it came a flood of guilt and regret.
“Why had I convinced him to take this path? How could I have been so careless?!”
The next hours were a blur of frantic calls for help, rescue helicopters, and devastating news. Monique sat there, feeling detached from her body as they asked her all their typical questions; all she could hear was static. Despite the best efforts of the rescue teams, the news came that David hadn't survived the fall. Friends and family were notified, and the reality of the loss began to sink in as everyone tried to come to terms with the sudden tragedy.
In the days and weeks following the funeral, Monique was overwhelmed not only by all-consuming grief but also by a crippling sense of guilt. She found herself trapped in a storm of emotions, unable to escape the constant reminders of his loss and the nagging voice in her head that kept repeating, “If only I had listened to David, if only I had been more cautious, if only I could have saved him.”
Every moment without him felt like a lifetime, and the burden of her guilt grew heavier with each passing day. She often found herself either lost in a bottle of whatever she could find in their extensive stash to avoid leaving the house or endlessly, hopelessly, scrolling through ten years of memories in the darkness of their shared apartment in downtown Maryland. Her photos app mocked her every time she picked up her phone, thanks to the new and taunting 'Featured' section that adorns our technology today. She hadn’t worked or touched her art in months. Unless her twin brother Marcus, or her best friend Ashleigh brought her food—she wouldn’t even eat. She was constantly surrounded by the hall of fame of their love. The awards he won for the prosperity of his athleisure wear business, which she signed over to his family out of respect, still adorned the shelves. His clothes hung in the closet, and his shoes sat by the door as if waiting for him to come home.
It took Ashleigh planning this trip to wake her from her grief-ridden daze; she owed her friend her entire future.
Now, lying in bed in the dark cabin, Monique felt the weight of her actions more acutely than ever. She had come here seeking healing but was now confronting her deepest regrets in the most terrifying way possible. The shadows of the room seemed to press in around her, and the sounds of the forest outside took on an eerie, almost whispering quality.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. The image of David’s fall played over and over in her mind, a relentless loop of her greatest nightmare. She clutched the blanket tightly, as if it could shield her from the torment within her own mind.
As dawn began to break, the faint light filtering through the curtains, Monique made a decision. She would confront whatever was taunting her—whether it was the memory of David, her own guilt, or something more sinister lurking in the woods. She needed to face it, to find some semblance of peace.
She owed David that much.
Monique opened her eyes with a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, feeling the first rays of sunlight touch her face. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but she felt a spark of determination for the first time in a long while. The path to healing would be painfully difficult, but she was finally ready to take the first step.
@drchenquill @illarian-rambling @kaylinalexanderbooks @leahpardo-pa-potato @slenders1ckn3ss @somethingclevermahogony @inky-duchess @sassystyl @rotting-moon-writes @highlycosmic @avaseofpeonies @oc-atelier @ceph-the-ghost-writer @paeliae-occasionally @davycoquette @unforgettable-sensations @hissorrow22 @boredwritergirl @scorpiothesaint @thewrathoffemaleragem @spookyceph @enne-uni if interested in joining or being removed, just let me know! :)
The Shadows of Whitmore Estate: A Journey into Mystery and Legacy
I've been wanting to tease this one for a while and now that I'm finally starting to write it all out I thought: why not introduce the book? Keep reading to immerse yourself into Havenwood, Virginia.
🌳🏰✨
Welcome to Havenwood, Virginia, where the past lingers like fog over the landscape, and secrets whisper from the shadows. In the heart of this quaint town lies the Whitmore Estate, a grand colonial mansion wrapped in mystery and tales as old as the bricks that built its walls. This is the setting for our story, “The Shadows of Whitmore Estate,” a tale that weaves together the threads of family legacy, supernatural mysteries, and the search for identity.
Meet Marcus Whitmore:
Marcus, a tech entrepreneur far removed from the whispers of ancient legacies, finds himself inheriting the Whitmore Estate, a place that holds more questions than answers. His journey from skepticism to belief is a compelling dive into the heart of mystery, where the past is alive, and shadows hold the truth.
And His Son, Xavier
Xavier Whitmore, a young soul grappling with their non-binary identity amidst the backdrop of family secrets and an ancestral home that seems almost alive with unseen presences. Xavier’s story is one of courage, acceptance, and the universal quest to find one’s place in a world that often feels too vast and mysterious.
A Tale of Mystery and Discovery
“The Shadows of Whitmore Estate” isn’t just a story about ghosts and unexplained phenomena; it’s about the ghosts of the past that shape our futures, the unseen forces that guide our destinies, and the light we find in the darkness. Join Marcus and Xavier as they unravel the mysteries of the Whitmore legacy, confronting their fears and discovering the true power that lies within acceptance and unity.
As Marcus delves into the secrets of the estate, aided by the alluring librarian Farrah Martinez and his steadfast folklore obsessed friend, Ben Chandra, he encounters a history steeped in darkness and light. From hidden journals that speak of ancient pacts to the spectral appearance of ancestors who still roam the halls, Marcus’s quest is as much about understanding the past as it is about shaping the future.
A Story for the Brave
“The Shadows of Whitmore Estate” invites you on a journey that bridges the gap between the seen and unseen, the past and present. It’s a story for anyone who’s ever felt out of place, questioned their legacy, or sought to understand the mysteries that lie just beyond the reach of the light.
🏰 Explore the Echoes of Whitmore Estate 🏰
Dare to step onto the grounds of the Whitmore Estate, where history whispers from the shadows and mysteries are hidden in plain sight. The Shadows of Whitmore Estate invites you into a story where the legacy of a family intertwines with the supernatural, setting the stage for an exploration of the unknown.
Within the walls of this grand estate, lies, truths, and legends blend together, crafting a tapestry of intrigue that beckons to be unraveled. As our protagonist delves into the estate’s enigmatic past, they find themselves facing more than just the ghosts of history. The journey is fraught with challenges that test the very essence of their being, revealing that some shadows hold deeper darknesses than others.
This narrative is a call to those enchanted by the dance of the ethereal with the eternal, where every discovery shifts the boundary between reality and beyond. If your heart races at the thought of uncovering hidden truths and your soul yearns for tales that weave through the corridors of time, then welcome to the enigma of Whitmore Estate.
Stay tuned as I peel back the layers of mystery, offer whispers of the past, and maybe, just maybe, give you a glimpse into the legacy that shadows these halls. The door is open; let’s uncover what lies beyond together. 🕯️🔑
Join me as I step through the creaking doors of the Whitmore Estate. Who knows what secrets we’ll uncover together?
“august 10, 2005 - EIGHTH GRADE STARTS IN ONE WEEK HOLY FRAPPUCCINO!!! we went to the mall today and YOU KNOW WHO was at aeropostale and i probably looked really stupid but then syd’s mom picked us up so WHATEVER. p.s. olive told me i need a better code name than YOU KNOW WHO because it sounds like i’m talking about voldemort LOL. voldemort wishessssss xP” #tbt. #oliolioxenfree.
51 LIKES
elizathornberry: look at her.
thayerone: OK BUT UR ENTIRE LOOK, THEODORE.
i mean... obviously it’s yogi, because it’s always yogi. it’s yogi’s notebook.
anyway. not the point.
the actual point is that... i think things are really starting to piece together. and i don’t really know what’s happening because i haven’t gotten those... instructions from you yet.
was that the right word? instructions? that really makes it sound like you’re a mob boss and we’re all just waiting for you to give us a two finger wave or something so we know when to drop the next hit on a target... which is probably exactly what you were going for, huh?
i miss you. so much. that’s not going to change. it hasn’t changed in 1000 letters or almost 3000 days.
auggie’s here, because he lives here. so i guess it’s more that i’m back in his hemisphere and that’s just about as awkward as you would imagine. i haven’t really talked to him about much more than french fries.
french fries. of all things out there to talk to a person about.
i was with bry last night and sometimes she’ll just get this look in her eye and she’ll crack up over something that bryson cane would never laugh about? and it’s like you’re there.
because you are. you’re always here. you’re in everyone all the time, oli.
i’ll talk to you later, okay? sooner rather than later, really. let’s be honest.
i just wish you could talk back. even if it was just to tell me to shut up.
