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Be Mine, Forever: A Haunting Valentine’s Tale of Love

Writer's picture: Wayne AllisonWayne Allison

Updated: Jan 24

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A fictional image of Timeless Kreations, an antique shop in downtown Joplin, MO. The frosted, vintage storefront features an American flag near an old street clock, with heart-shaped Valentine’s decorations visible in the window. The setting is bathed in a wintry morning glow.

Catherine unlocked the door to Timeless Kreations, her antique shop in downtown Joplin, just as the first hints of dawn kissed the frostbitten streets. A faint bell jingled overhead, the sound as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. Inside, the air carried its usual cocktail of aged wood, leather, and history—a blend that whispered secrets to those willing to listen.

Valentine’s Day was just a week away, and the shop reflected the season. Red roses in chipped vases, vintage heart-shaped jewelry, and faded love letters lay carefully arranged on antique tables. Romance was in the air—or at least the commercially fabricated kind.

But something felt off today.


On the glass counter, nestled between a Victorian cameo brooch and a rusted compass, was a locket she didn’t remember acquiring.

It was heart-shaped, tarnished silver, with intricate etchings that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Catherine frowned, running her fingers over the cool metal. “Strange,” she murmured. “I don’t remember this.”

Do you?



Her breath caught. She turned sharply, scanning the empty shop. The bell hadn’t rung; no one else was there. The words hadn’t been spoken aloud, and yet they lingered in the air, weighty and undeniable.

Carefully, she pried the locket open. Inside was a faded photograph of a woman with piercing eyes and a sharp, haunting smile. They seemed to follow Catherine’s every movement, studying her, evaluating her.

A soft whisper curled through the silence, faint but unmistakable:

"Be mine, forever."


Her heart stuttered. The whisper hadn’t come from the street outside, nor from the antique radio crackling faintly in the corner.

It came from the locket.


A fictional image of a tarnished silver heart-shaped locket with intricate designs, resting on the antique shop's glass counter. Surrounding it are a vintage pocket watch, an aged letter, and other timeless trinkets. Dim, moody lighting creates a reflective atmosphere within the shop

The First Fracture


Catherine slammed the locket shut and stepped back, her pulse roaring in her ears. “Okay,” she muttered to herself, forcing a laugh. “Someone’s pulling a prank.”

But was it you?

The thought wasn’t hers. It was intrusive, sharp—like a splinter lodged deep in her mind. Her eyes darted back to the locket. Its hinge moved ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, as though it were breathing.


The bell above the door jingled, startling her. A man in a faded denim jacket entered, his boots clacking against the wooden floor. “Morning,” he said, nodding politely as he headed toward a shelf of vintage books.

Catherine managed a faint smile, but her gaze kept flickering to the locket. She could feel its presence, pressing against her thoughts like a weight.


The man paused, picking up an old copy of Wuthering Heights.

“That’s a classic,” Catherine said hesitantly. “Romantic and haunting.”

The man looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing. “I know,” he said, his tone flat and unreadable. Her stomach dropped.



The Whisper Grows


Throughout the day, Catherine tried to focus on her work—dusting shelves, rearranging displays—but the locket refused to be ignored. It seemed to shift positions each time she looked away. Once, she swore she saw its lid twitch open, just for a moment, as though winking at her.


By mid-afternoon, she’d had enough. She grabbed the locket and marched toward the back room. “You’re going into storage,” she muttered.

But when she opened the cabinet, she froze.


It was already there. Sitting on the top shelf, as though it had been waiting for her.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, snapping her back to reality. She fumbled it out, desperate for a distraction, and opened her messages.

The most recent text was from an unknown number:

"Be mine, forever."


The Shadows Close In


That evening, Catherine scrolled through social media in search of solace, her hands trembling. She paused on a local history group’s post about cursed artifacts. The accompanying photo made her blood run cold.

It was the locket.


The caption read: “Legend says this piece belonged to a woman who died of a broken heart on Valentine’s Day, 1683. Anyone who opens it is doomed to share her fate.”


Her laptop screen flickered. The photo of the locket glitched, pixelating into a distorted image of Catherine’s own face—her eyes hollow, her mouth twisted into a mocking grin.

Do you see it?


A fictional image showing Catherine’s hands hovering over a glowing laptop screen that displays a ghostly woman with hollow eyes and a heart-shaped locket. Spectral energy seems to flow from the screen in the eerie setting of the antique shop, surrounded by vintage decor and dim lighting.

Valentine’s Day


The shop pulsed with a life of its own, shadows writhing like living things. The whispers were everywhere now, growing louder, overlapping, weaving into a chorus that felt ancient and unstoppable. Catherine clutched the locket tighter, her heart pounding as if it were trying to flee her chest.

Her reflection in the shop’s glass cabinet caught her attention. It didn’t mirror her movements. Her mirrored self was frozen, staring back at her with those same sharp, predatory eyes from the photograph inside the locket. Slowly, it tilted its head and smiled—a smile she would never make.


The lights flickered violently, and in the stuttering glow, the shadows thickened, pooling into the shape of a woman. The figure stepped forward, her features now clear. It was the woman from the locket, her eyes as piercing as ever, her voice layered with countless others.

“You opened me,” the woman said, her smile razor-sharp. “And now, we are one.”



And Then It Changed


Paused, faltered—as if it were deciding where to go next.

The lights in the shop went out completely, plunging the room into darkness. But the darkness wasn’t empty. It was full—full of whispers, full of unseen eyes.

Her voice returned, raw and trembling. “Please,” she begged, but her plea felt small, insignificant.

The shadows shifted again, and for a moment, Catherine swore she saw another face in the dark—yours.



A fictional image of Catherine fully possessed, featuring an unsettling close-up of her face. Her hollow, glowing eyes and unnaturally wide, eerie grin create a haunting expression. Her pale complexion and disheveled hair amplify the disturbing tone of the image.


Now, Don’t You?


Did you notice? The way the locket seemed to breathe beneath your gaze, even as you read? The way the words wrapped around your mind, like fingers tapping softly against your thoughts?

Did you think you were just an observer? Watching Catherine’s story unfold from a safe distance?


The whispers shift again, closer this time. You can feel them curling around you, testing the edges of your resolve. Did you notice the shop, as it was described? The way the door creaked open, the way the scent of aged wood and history seemed to drift into your mind?

It’s familiar, isn’t it? Too familiar.


The Final Connection


The locket in Catherine’s hand opened with a snap, the photograph inside now empty. But the whispers didn’t stop. They grew louder, sharper. The woman’s voice rang out above them all:

"Be mine, forever."

The story falters again. A long pause.

And then the sound—faint, almost imperceptible at first. The bell above the shop door. The creak of footsteps against the wooden floor.


The door opens behind you.

You’re still reading. Still here.

Look around. Does it feel different now? Do you feel the weight of the locket, though it’s not in your hand?

Don’t turn around. Not yet.

The whispers are clearer now, one voice cutting through the static, curling softly around your ear:

"Be mine, forever."

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