It was all over the news. Annabelle. The haunted doll. And yeah—they lost her. How the hell do you lose the world’s most cursed object?

I couldn’t stop talking about it. Every hour, every update. I watched all The Conjuring movies—twice. I knew the Warrens said never to move her. Never to touch her. And then someone decided to take her on a damn tour like she was a museum artifact, not a vessel for something evil. The house she was staying in burned down. After she got there. And now? Eleven inmates escape from New Orleans prison? That’s not a coincidence. That’s summoning energy. That’s real.

But Rafe… God, Rafe doesn’t believe a damn thing I say.

“Babe, it’s just a doll,” he mumbled the night before, eyes half-lidded in that smug way of his. “You’re scaring yourself.” But I know what I saw. What I read. And now… this.

It’s 3:02 a.m. My phone buzzes so hard it nearly vibrates off the nightstand. Rafe’s dead asleep beside me, breathing deep, one arm lazily slung across my waist.

I grab my phone.

NEWS: ANNABELLE HAUNTED DOLL SPOTTED IN OUTER BANKS

My blood runs cold. Outer Banks. Here. I feel like ice, like I swallowed glass. And then—

DING DING

The doll bell. That tiny chime we installed last Halloween as a joke. It rings.

I freeze. No wind. No motion. Just that sound.

A jolt shoots through me. I glance at Rafe. Still out. Of course he is. I slide out from under his arm, every movement slow, careful. My heart is slamming against my ribs like it wants out.

I creep down the stairs. Everything’s still. No creaks. No noises. Just the heavy silence of a house holding its breath.

I reach the door. I don’t want to open it. But I do.

Nothing. The porch is empty. But something’s off. The air feels…thicker. Like it’s watching me.

I look down. A letter. Folded paper. In red crayon—“Missed Me?”

I nearly scream. The color. The message. That’s straight out of the damn movies. It wasn’t a letter in The Conjuring, but the red crayon—it’s what she used. Walls. Drawers. Toys. That’s her. It’s like she’s playing the same game all over again.

I pick it up, hands trembling. It feels…warm. Like someone just placed it. The hair on my arms rises.

Then a whisper. Not from outside. From behind me.

A voice, soft and sweet like a child’s—but wrong. Tilted. Mocking.

“Why’d you leave me?”

I spin around—nothing. But the front hallway light flickers. And it’s colder.

I bolt upstairs, skipping steps, heart in my throat. I slam the bedroom door shut and dive back under the covers. Rafe stirs. “What the hell?” he mutters, half-awake.

I’m shaking. I show him the letter.

“Jesus,” he breathes, sitting up now. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

I can’t speak. Only cry.

Because he believes me now.

And I wish he didn’t. Because if she’s here, we’re not safe. Not tonight. Not ever.