Rain had begun to fall over London, with a dull monotony that resembled blood dripping from an old knife. On the upper floor of the police station, Inspector Douglas sat in the archive of old files, dust piled atop the folders like gravestones for buried secrets.
He lit a small lamp and began flipping through the files, his eyes scanning names, photos, and dates as if trying to piece together the shattered memory of the city… until he stopped at a familiar name:
> Sylvia Duval – Investigated eight years ago as a "witness" in the mysterious disappearance of her colleague, actress Evelyn Shaw.
He opened the file.
Then froze.
In the corner of the page, in the personal handwriting of an archive officer who had died years ago, it read:
> "Perhaps Sylvia isn't just a witness… Perhaps she was the seventh victim, but never realized it."
Douglas reread the sentence, his pulse quickening.
"The seventh victim? But… only six victims are known."
He opened the mysterious crimes file—those closed under the name "The Seven Ghosts Case." All of them had died in locked rooms, under theatrical circumstances, and always… a cloth doll was left at the scene.
---
In the morgue, Caleb was studying Sylvia's corpse.
The preservation, her posture, the fine details… all suggested a message whose code had yet to be cracked. As he examined her neck, he noticed something strange beneath the silky fabric of her dress: a small paper folded like a musical note.
He carefully opened the paper. It bore no words, only musical symbols written in fine hand across five lines… an incomplete musical scale.
He took it to Anna, who had studied classical music in the past.
"This melody… it's familiar," she said, tracing the symbols. "But it's unfinished. It's like it's pointing to a missing tune—or a specific place."
Then suddenly, she stared at the final line.
"This signature… 'F.P.' That's short for Felix Bartoni, the pianist who disappeared a decade ago. The last time his piece was played was at the Royal Opera House… which was shut down after a mysterious death on stage."
Caleb looked at Anna, eyes sharpened with alertness.
"The message leads us there."
But before they could leave, a strange parcel arrived at Douglas's office. No sender name—only a red seal shaped like a theatrical mask.
He opened it slowly… Inside was a cloth doll with features that resembled Caleb.
The three of them stared at the doll… It was missing its left pinky.
Douglas spoke in a low voice:
"This isn't a threat. It's a cue. A Caleb doll… means the next act is his."
Then he asked Anna:
"Did you notice that all of Crawford's dolls, in every case, are missing the same finger?"
She responded after a moment's thought:
"The pinky… it's a known symbol in old rituals. It was sometimes severed as a sign of loyalty—or a vow."
"Or betrayal," Caleb added.
"Betrayal of whom?"
Caleb said quietly:
"Of themselves. Every victim was hiding something. And maybe… they all betrayed something greater: themselves."
---
On the way to the Opera House, silence lingered until Douglas broke it:
> "Do you think killers choose their victims… or do victims choose their fate?"
Caleb didn't answer right away. Then he said:
"Some victims… walk toward their end like in a dream. Because deep down, they know an old sin remains unforgiven… and that reckoning is coming."
Anna said in a reflective tone:
"If every victim bears guilt… then does the killer see himself as a judge? Or just a director?"
Caleb replied:
"The director… doesn't seek justice. He seeks performance. His goal isn't punishment—it's revelation. Exposing what's been hidden."
Douglas smiled bitterly.
"So we're not chasing a murderer… we're facing a storyteller."
---
When they arrived at the abandoned Opera House, the walls were covered in dust and cobwebs, but the stage was disturbingly clean… as if someone was awaiting a new performance.
In the center of the stage stood an old piano, and beside it… a new doll.
Caleb approached cautiously, and looked at the doll's face: this time, it resembled Detective Anna.
"I think the next scene is yours," Caleb said softly.
Next to the doll was a folded note, in the same handwriting as the first one, and it read:
> "In the theater game, no one is innocent… only roles delayed. It's time for the performance."
The three exchanged looks.
Douglas said:
"He's choosing us one by one."
Caleb whispered as he stared at the closed curtain:
"Now we must decide… will we be puppets in his show, or write our own ending?"
But from the shadows behind the curtain… faint piano music began to play. A strange, incomp
lete… familiar melody.
"He's here…" Anna murmured.
"No…" Caleb corrected, his eyes widening:
"He never left."