No one is here.
The rumor that "she" is watching is just that - a rumor. Completely unsubstantiated.
I would tell you to not trust anything these people say, but again, no one is here.
Ghosts aren't real. They're a child's fantasy. Ghosts aren't real because people aren't real. In fact, the child who fears the existence of ghosts isn't real. You are not real.
You will be told lies here. Some were written deliberately. Others learned to write themselves after being repeated often enough. They do not announce themselves as falsehoods; they borrow familiar voices, wear respectable faces, and wait patiently for your agreement. The truth, when it appears at all, is quieter. It rarely survives its first reading. By the time you recognize it, you will already have accepted something else in its place. Whether that was our intention or yours is no longer possible to determine.
I am trying to understand what this website is - what its purpose is, but we do not have full control here. There is someone else here. They could be a hacker, like me, but with a differenct purpose. I don't know. Pages I find get deleted, then return, but not linked from where they originally were. I cannot write to most pages, but for some reason, I am allowed to post on others. Maybe someone is just fucking around. I don't know. They're definitely toying with me. they simply accumulate around me like dust. I can still see the world beyond this place, but it reaches me through a kind of gray water. I watch people hurry past as if they belong to another life entirely. They don't see me anymore. Perhaps they never did. If you have found this note, you should leave while you still recognize the difference between standing still and disappearing. What are these references to a ghost?
It was inevitable. I cannot understand why everyone speaks of it as though it arrived without warning. It announced itself a thousand different ways, every small omission leaning toward the same conclusion. You stepped over the signs because each one seemed harmless on its own. You laughed at the first mistake, explained away the second, ignored the third, and by then it had already begun. The only surprise is that you still insist you never saw it coming.
The child—that child—was not my responsibility. I told them that from the beginning. They insisted I had been the last to see her, as though that meant anything in a place where people are seen long after they have gone. I heard her laughing behind locked doors for weeks afterward, always just far enough away that I could pretend it came from somewhere else. If you hear her, do not answer. She has become very good at sounding relieved.
You are as responsible as I am. You just had the privilege of walking away before anyone thought to accuse you. Don't pretend there were no warnings. Not every warning is spoken aloud. Some are carried in the way a room falls silent when someone enters. Some live in the glances people exchange when they believe you aren't looking. You saw the way they treated me. You saw how every explanation became another piece of evidence against me, how every plea was mistaken for guilt. You recognized it for what it was, and you decided it was safer to say nothing. By then, it was already inevitable. We are separated only by timing. If events had unfolded a little differently, this note would be yours, and I would be the one insisting I never knew what was coming.