By Kadrolsha Ona Carole
Every February, the town of Briar’s Hollow drowned itself in pink ribbons and paper hearts, pretending it wasn’t built on a tragedy everyone tried to forget. They called it The Valentine’s Curse—a story whispered by children and ignored by adults who should have known better.
Lena Hart had never believed in curses. She believed in work, in routine, in the quiet comfort of her small apartment above the florist shop. But this year, Valentine’s Day felt wrong from the moment she woke up.
A single red rose lay on her nightstand.
She hadn’t bought it. She lived alone. And the petals were still wet—as if freshly cut.
At first, she tried to laugh it off. Maybe a coworker had snuck in as a prank. Maybe she’d forgotten she’d brought it home. But when she lifted the rose, a small tag fluttered loose.
“Be Mine.”
The handwriting was jagged, uneven, almost carved into the paper.
That night, she heard footsteps in the hallway outside her apartment. Slow. Deliberate. Pacing. When she finally gathered the courage to look through the peephole, no one was there—just a smear of something dark on the floorboards, leading toward the stairs.
The next morning, another rose waited for her. This time on her kitchen counter. This time with a longer note.
“I’ve waited so long for you.”
Lena’s hands shook as she read it. She didn’t know why, but the words felt familiar—like something she’d heard in a dream she couldn’t quite remember.
That evening, the power went out.
The florist shop below her apartment went silent. The whole building seemed to hold its breath. Lena lit a candle, trying to steady her nerves, but the flame flickered violently, as if reacting to something unseen.
Then she heard it.
A voice. Soft. Close.
“Lena…”
She froze. The voice came from behind her, but when she turned, no one was there. Only the candle, trembling in its glass.
She backed toward the door, heart pounding. Her fingers fumbled with the lock. She needed to get out, to run, to—
A third rose slid under the door.
Slowly. Purposefully. As if pushed by an unseen hand.
Lena stared at it, unable to breathe. The tag was larger this time, the writing more frantic.
“You promised me forever.”
Her vision blurred. A memory surfaced—one she had buried so deeply she’d convinced herself it wasn’t real.
A boy. A winter night. A pact made in blood when they were far too young to understand the weight of forever.
She had broken that promise. He hadn’t.
The footsteps returned—louder now, heavier, coming straight toward her door. The handle rattled. The hinges groaned. The candle blew out.
In the suffocating darkness, the voice whispered again, right beside her ear.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”
The door slowly creaked open.
And Lena finally remembered his name.
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