Trace #009 — He Never Forgets
The figure stood still beneath the flickering streetlamp.
Too far to see clearly.
Too still to be normal.
A shadow pressed against the edge of reality.
I stepped outside.
No coat. No shoes.
Just the music box in my hand and the cold biting at my skin.
I didn't look away as I walked closer.
---
Half a block down, the lamp above the figure buzzed again.
The moment it flickered out, the figure vanished.
Not ran.
Vanished.
Like it had only existed in that light.
I stopped where it had stood.
Nothing.
No footprints.
No warmth in the air.
But something was left behind.
---
At the base of the lamp, resting against the post, was a photograph.
Old. Curled at the edges. Slightly burned on one side.
I picked it up with trembling fingers.
And the moment I saw it, my chest locked.
It was me.
Seven, maybe eight years old.
In a hospital bed.
Smiling.
My parents on either side.
And someone else.
A child.
Blurred. Face turned away. Standing in the far corner like they didn't belong.
Like they weren't supposed to be part of the memory.
But they were there.
---
I staggered back.
This memory didn't exist.
I had no memory of ever being hospitalized as a child.
And yet…
I recognized the blanket.
The pattern on the curtain.
The way my mother's hand held mine.
Real.
Too real.
---
Back at my apartment, I scanned the photo under the trace reader.
> EMOTIONAL DATA DETECTED
Owner: Karl, Yushi
Anomaly: Memory Suppression Detected
Unregistered Entity Present — Trace Signature Match: Subject 014
There it was again.
Them.
Watching.
Present.
But always just outside my reach.
---
The music box hadn't stopped humming.
Even though it was closed.
Even though I hadn't wound it.
The sound was barely audible — like a tune remembered by a room, not played.
I opened the box and set the photo inside.
As soon as the paper touched the velvet interior, the humming stopped.
But something else began.
---
My vision blurred.
Not a trace.
Not quite.
More like a bleed-through.
The world bent.
I saw the hospital.
Not as a memory — as a shadow layered over my living room.
A trace reality, overlapping mine.
And in the corner, just like in the photo, the child stood.
Head tilted.
Hair in their face.
I couldn't move.
> "He never forgets."
The words weren't spoken.
They arrived in my chest. Heavy. Final.
> "If you keep remembering, he'll know where to look."
My mouth was dry. My voice felt borrowed.
"…You were there. Weren't you?"
Silence.
> "You were supposed to forget me."
---
The figure turned slightly.
Not enough to show their full face.
But enough for me to feel something rupture inside me.
A pressure.
Like the moment before a scream.
Then the shadow figure was gone.
The music box closed on its own.
And I dropped to my knees.
---
I didn't trace anything for days.
I didn't call Rey.
Didn't sleep.
Didn't eat.
Just sat in that apartment with the photograph and the music box.
Waiting.
---
On the third day, the doorbell rang.
I opened it without thinking.
It wasn't Rey.
It was a girl.
Thirteen, maybe.
Eyes too sharp for her age.
And in her hand… was one of my old notebooks.
> "You dropped this," she said.
I hadn't seen that notebook in years.
It had music. Lyrics. Scribbles from when I was a kid.
I took it slowly, heart hammering.
"How did you—?"
But when I looked up, she was already walking away.
I called out.
She didn't stop.
Didn't turn.
Just disappeared into the morning crowd.
---
Inside the notebook, written in shaky black pen between the pages, was a line I didn't remember writing:
> "If you forget long enough, he makes it real."
And below it:
> "014"
---
I sat down, staring at the page.
Hands shaking.
The notebook smelled like ash.
And behind my ribs, something cold stirred — like a part of me that remembered what it meant to be afraid… before I ever knew why.
---
To be continued...