It was the days leading up to Valentine's Day, the overhead sky was cast with a greyish cloud giving a warning of rain. Amaka was at home feeling lonely and had just concluded a mental breakdown episode where her main focus was calling the forces of the world not to let her be alone on Valentine's Day no matter what. Apparently, it seemed the fates answered her prayer. As she sat down in her dark room, she heard a definitive knock on her door. Not expecting anyone, she cautiously opened her door and found a small package lying at her doorstep.
Thinking she had a secret admirer, Amaka happily picked her package up and tore it open. Inside, she found a red ruby necklace and a note saying..
"Day 1, a ruby necklace.I make a promise to gift you things with the color red, up until the day of Valentine's. I love you Amaka, Xoxo."
Amaka was confused with the note and gift but just shrugged it off and was just happy to be receiving attention. The next morning, she found another package on her doorstep. This time it was a butcher's knife stained blood red and another note saying..
"I promised you red, you'll get red. I love you Amaka, xoxo."
Amaka was terrified but thought it was a prank by the neighborhood kids. She went inside and put on her security system and thought that was that.
It was finally Valentine's Day and Amaka had not seen her secret admirer who gave her the ruby necklace. She refused to give in to the thought that it was the same person that gave her the necklace that also gave her the knife, which she already disposed of. She waited throughout the day, but neither admirer nor gift arrived. As she was just about to give up that night, she heard a knock on her door. Ignoring caution, she ran to her door to see who it was, surprisingly there was a package at her doorstep. She opened it happily and dropped it just as suddenly. The box was filled with blood and a human heart. She was scared out of her mind. Then she realized that she never actually put down her security system.
Amaka’s hand trembled even more as she looked at the bloody box lying on her doorstep, the horrifying weight of its contents sinking into her bones. She backed away slowly, her mind spinning. The ruby necklace around her neck felt suddenly heavy, as though it were a collar binding her to this strange, twisted admirer she had unwittingly invited into her life. She could feel the bile rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to keep calm.
‘It’s a prank’, she told herself, clinging desperately to the thought. ‘A sick joke’.
But deep down, she knew that no ordinary prank could explain the uncanny way the gifts kept arriving, bypassing her locked gates, slipping past the security system she’d activated after the second package arrived. She hadn’t told anyone about the unsettling deliveries; even her friends would think it was her imagination, or worse—they’d think she was losing her mind. No, she had decided she would handle this alone, but now, as she stared at the grotesque box on her doorstep, her resolve began to waver.
Shutting her door with a shaky hand, Amaka turned the locks carefully, as if moving too quickly might somehow shatter the thin shield of normalcy she was struggling to hold onto. The dim light of her living room stretched long, jagged shadows across the walls, filling the silence with an oppressive presence. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, fingers hovering over the screen, and thought about calling someone—anyone—for help. Yet, a peculiar sensation washed over her, something she couldn’t name, a twisted fascination mixed with fear, compelling her to stay silent.
It was Valentine’s night, and the air felt unnaturally still, as if even the wind was holding its breath, watching her. The ruby around her neck glinted under the dim light, and she found herself reaching up to touch it, running her fingers over the smooth, cold stone. It was beautiful—captivating, even—but now it seemed tainted, as if the gift held a sinister energy of its own.
In that moment, her phone buzzed in her hand, jolting her out of her reverie. She glanced down, heart pounding, and saw a message from an unknown number.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love. You’ve received all your red gifts… but there’s one final present waiting for you. Open your door, Amaka. Xoxo.”
Amaka’s pulse spiked as she stared at the message, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped her phone. She could barely breathe, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t answer. “Who was this? How did they have her number? And why did they seem to know exactly what she was doing?”
She looked toward the door, the dull echo of her own heartbeat in her ears. Every rational thought in her mind told her not to open it, to stay locked inside, call the police, or wait until morning. Yet, something pulled at her—an insidious curiosity gnawing away at her fear, urging her to confront the mystery.
Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. She unlatched the lock and turned the knob, inching the door open until the night air seeped into her home, carrying with it a strange, metallic scent that made her skin prickle.
A figure stood on her doorstep, cloaked in the deep shadows of the night. He was tall, his face obscured by the darkness, but his eyes—those cold, glinting eyes—glowed with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. He wore a dark coat that billowed around him like a shadow, and in his hand, he held a glass bottle filled with a thick, crimson liquid.
“Amaka,” he murmured, his voice smooth and dark, laced with a familiarity that made her stomach twist. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She took a step back, her hand instinctively flying to her necklace as if it would somehow protect her. “Who… who are you?”
He tilted his head, his lips curling into a smile that was almost gentle, but there was something predatory in his gaze that made her blood run cold. “I am your Valentine, Amaka,” he said, his voice laced with a dark amusement. “You asked not to be alone on this day, didn’t you? I’m here to grant that wish.”
Amaka’s voice caught in her throat, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of the situation. She shook her head, inching further back into her house. “This… this is insane. I don’t know you. I never asked for this.”
“Oh, but you did,” he replied, stepping forward with an unsettling grace. “When you whispered your lonely wishes into the dark, when you cried out to the world not to leave you alone, you called me. I was listening, Amaka. And I never break a promise.”
She stared at him, horrified. “Was this some twisted joke? Some cruel manifestation of her own desperation?”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,” she managed, her voice quivering, “but you need to leave. Now.”
The man simply chuckled, raising the bottle in his hand. “But I brought you a final gift,” he said, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Blood-red wine, as promised. And the special ingredient, darling, is something I know you’ll find exquisite.”
With a slow, deliberate motion, he uncorked the bottle, and a thick, red liquid sloshed against the glass. The scent hit her almost immediately—a rich, sickly-sweet aroma that filled her senses with dread. She recoiled, covering her mouth, but his laughter followed her, low and haunting.
“Drink with me, Amaka,” he said softly, stepping over the threshold into her home. “Let’s make this a Valentine’s Day you’ll never forget.”
Before she could scream, before she could run, he was upon her, his hand clamping down over her wrist, pulling her close. His touch was cold, almost inhuman, and as she struggled, she could feel the strength in his grip, a supernatural force that rendered her helpless.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over her skin. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To feel wanted? To never be alone?”
Her vision blurred with tears as she fought against him, her mind reeling with horror and disbelief. “No, this isn’t what I wanted”, she thought desperately. “I wanted love, companionship, not… not this”.
But the man’s grip tightened, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. “I promised you red, Amaka,” he murmured, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “And I always keep my promises.”
With one swift motion, he brought the bottle to her lips, tilting it so the thick, crimson liquid poured into her mouth. She choked, her body revolting against the sickening taste, but he held her firmly, forcing her to swallow. The liquid burned as it went down, a fiery warmth that spread through her veins, filling her with a strange, terrible energy.
As her vision began to fade, she heard his voice, soft and haunting, echoing in her mind. “You’ll never be alone again, Amaka. Not now, not ever. This is the promise of Valentine’s love.”
Darkness swallowed her, and she felt herself slipping, descending into an endless, blood-red void. Her last thought was of the ruby necklace around her neck, the beautiful, cursed gem that had marked her for this twisted fate.
And then, silence.
---
A week later, Amaka’s neighbors began to notice her absence. The curtains remained drawn, and the lights that usually flickered on in the evenings stayed dark. When they knocked on her door, no one answered, and her phone calls went straight to voicemail. Growing concerned, they eventually alerted the police, who came to investigate.
When the officers arrived and forced open the door, they were met with an eerie silence. The air inside was cold, heavy with the faint, sickly-sweet scent of roses and something else—something metallic and unsettling. They moved cautiously through the house, calling her name, but no answer came.
On the coffee table, they found a single red ruby necklace, its gemstone gleaming under a thin layer of dust. Next to it sat a wine glass filled halfway with dark red liquid, the glass smeared with fingerprints. In the faint light, they could see the smudged shape of a handprint, as if someone had tried to grip the edge of the table in an attempt to steady themselves.
One of the officers picked up a note lying beside the necklace, its handwriting delicate and looping.
"Thank you for a Valentine’s Day to remember. Forever yours, Valentine. Xoxo."
As they continued to search, one officer noticed something unusual: faint stains on the floor leading down the hall to the bedroom, marks the color of rust. When they reached the bedroom, they found a final, chilling sight: a large, heart-shaped smear on the wall, as if someone had pressed their hand there before being pulled away. And, just barely visible, a faint outline of red in the shape of lips—a kiss imprinted on the wall.
Then, a cold draft swept through the room, carrying a whisper so faint it was almost inaudible. It sounded like a woman’s voice, soft and ghostly, drifting through the air: “I’m here… I’m not alone…”
The officers shivered, glancing at each other uneasily. They could find no trace of Amaka, and no further clues. But as they left the house, one officer swore he felt a cold hand brush against his own, like a desperate touch from someone unseen.
To this day, no one knows what happened to Amaka. But on every Valentine’s Day, neighbors claim they hear faint knocks echoing through the night, followed by the scent of roses and the lingering shadow of someone watching from her darkened window.
