Novel & Cerita The Little Man Who Wasn't There

I end the call and leave the house. The day after the night the pretty boy dropped me off at home, I woke up to my car outside my house with a sticky note on it: Good morning, Little Miss. I immediately knew he was the one who got my car home. And I didn’t run into him at school anymore — it felt like he disappeared for almost a week. I didn’t want to go to the gala. It’s going to be filled with insufferable housewives who are miserable and want company. They’ve always had a problem with how I look. It’s why I always try to tone it down at any school event.

I put my head on his neck and started crying in his arms. "Oh, Trevor," I shutter his name while crying and nuzzling his neck. "Why did you leave? I miss you so much," I said with hick-ups and wiping my face with his shirt. "I am so sorry, little one, but I don't have any choice, that bloodsucker had attacked me and killed me before I could do anything," he said while caressing my back. "I will leave you guys to give you so much privacy," the woman said and walked out from there.

Days? I reached a small town. It looked like it had been there forever—stone houses, flowers on every windowsill, people waving hello as if I were just another traveler passing through. “Do you know the Blackwell family?” I asked the first old man I saw. He furrowed his brows. “Blackwell? Doesn’t ring a bell.” “What about the manor? The one by the cliffs?” “There’s never been a manor out there, sweetheart. Just a stretch of land. Abandoned.”

In the picture, Harold was listening intently to a doctor in a white coat, while Jacob sat obediently beside him. Susan's face was only half visible in the corner of the frame, but she was smiling brightly. The caption read. "I thought I'd hit rock bottom, only to realize a new path was waiting just ahead. I'm so lucky that you're always here." I thought I'd be angry when I saw the post. Yet, to my surprise, I felt nothing. It felt like I was observing two strangers who no longer had any connection to me. I liked the post and commented, "Such a lovely family. Congratulations."

The trees swayed gently beneath the night breeze as the shadows shifted. Moonlight spilled across the clearing. Empty. I knitted my brows and stared at the clearing. A second ago he had been standing there, watching. Now there was nothing. No trace that anyone had ever been there at all. Then my phone buzzed one final time. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Good girl. See you soon, Little Cub.

Right before the syndicate's power handover, I flew back to New York after a year of studying jewelry design in Europe. But the night before the ceremony, my secret boyfriend of three years—the Rossi family's new second-in-command—sent me a text: [Sorry, Chloe. I lost a card game, and you were my chip. You're his problem now.] Before I could even breathe, I got tagged in the family's encrypted dark-web channel. The top thread was blowing up: [The Mafia Boss Just Won a Fat Pig for a Girlfriend!] Pinned right at the top was an old photo of me from a few years ago. Back when I was 180 pounds. The comment section was ruthless: [If the Boss knew what he actually won, he'd regret making that bet.]

Because if there was anyone who knew how quickly something could disappear… it was us. ______________________________________ It was past 11 at night, the air in the room heavy with the lingering scent of food and the warm buzz of alcohol. We had all eaten our fill, sprawled lazily on the floor, the edges of our vision softened by the tipsiness— everyone except my Mini, of course. She was the only one who hadn’t indulged, sipping on her Sprite instead, nursing the drink like it was some fine liquor. Every few moments, she let out a small burp, and each time, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Luckily, we are at a party. Unnoticed, they vanished out from our side. Oh shit! I couldn't feel any tears in my eyes as if there were no more water to cry out. "Don't tell me you are going to cry from that, Dreanna? You don't even know them." "Huh?" Now, what is this guy spattering? Is he having a crack on his head? Why I couldn't read him. He changed from a total sweetheart to a deadass insensitive man. "I told you, I am Erina!" I argued.

Trusting the flying not-fairy person, I took the long trek on the hammered planks on the tree. The little person sat on my shoulder while I used my good leg and arms to make up for the lack of a leg I had. Once we reached the top, I was exhausted. Wet, cold, and most likely sick, I crawled on the front ledge of the treehouse. It was the same as I looked at it from below. No roof, the door hung to the side. The only thing we managed to do was get closer to the sky and feel the rain. Little-not-fairy-man waved me over while walking through the door. He disappeared on the other side. My head perked up in astonishment. The little-not-fairy-man vanished in front of my eyes. I grumbled to myself

Dark hair. Silver eyes. Simple black clothing. Nothing remarkable. Nothing terrifying. Nothing ancient. Yet the moment he appeared, every instinct screamed danger. Not because of what he was. Because of what he wasn't. He felt wrong. Like a sentence with missing words. Like a memory half-erased. Like reality itself had forgotten how to describe him. The man smiled warmly. "Hello." Silence. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The man glanced around. Taking in the group. The city.