**I BORROWED A WEDDING DRESS AND FOUND A NOTE IN THE LINING**
The day I tried on that wedding dress, I swear I felt something strange.
Not fear.
Not beauty.
Just heaviness.
But I brushed it off.
After all, it was borrowedfrom a vintage boutique downtown. The woman said it had only been worn once, twenty years ago. Cleaned. Preserved. Untouched.
None of that mattered to me. I was just happy to finally afford something that didnt look cheap.
I took it home.
Hung it carefully.
And every night before my wedding, I stared at it. Dreamed of my day. The aisle. The music. The man.
I was in love.
Deeply.
Foolishly.
Young.
But the night before my wedding, as I steamed the dress, checking for wrinkles I felt a tug. Inside the lining, near the hem, something was stitched oddly. A tiny, flat lump.
Curious, I grabbed a needle.
Opened it carefully.
And inside
A note.
Old. Faded. But the ink was still visible.
*If youre reading this, please dont marry him. I beg you. Hes dangerous. I only escaped because of his carelessness.* **M.**
I dropped the dress.
Literally let it fall.
My heart pounded.
I flipped the note over.
There was more.
> *If he gave you this dress, hes done this before.*
But he didnt.
I bought it at a boutique.
Right?
Or did *he* suggest the place?
Suddenly, I couldnt remember. Everything blurred.
I grabbed my phone. Searched the shop online. No website.
Weird.
Checked the address. It didnt exist on Google Maps.
Even weirder.
I drove there that night.
My wedding was tomorrow, but I couldnt sleep. I needed answers.
And when I arrived?
It was gone.
Closed.
Empty windows.
Dust.
No trace of the old woman. No sign it had ever been open.
I knocked on the neighbors door.
A sleepy-eyed young man answered.
*Hi sorry to bother you. Do you know the boutique that was here?*
He frowned.
> *Boutique?*
> *Yes a vintage bridal shop. Run by a woman*
He shook his head.
> *Maam That stores been closed for almost twenty years.*
I froze.
> *But I bought a dress there a few days ago.*
He looked me up and down. Then whispered:
> *Youre the third woman to ask me that in five years.*
My blood ran cold.
> *What happened to the others?*
He shrugged.
> *One canceled her wedding and vanished.*
> *The other went through with it.*
> *Last I heard, she disappeared on her honeymoon.*
I ran.
Back to the car.
Sat in silence for twenty minutes.
Then I called himmy fiancé.
Didnt mention the note. Or the shop. Or the neighbor.
Just asked:
> *Where did you say you were before we met?*
A pause.
Then:
> *Why are you asking me that now?*
And I knew.
That note wasnt a coincidence.
That dress wasnt a coincidence.
And tomorrow?
Might be my last day alive.
**I BORROWED A WEDDING DRESS (EPISODE 2)**
I woke in silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that feels wrong. Like something is holding its breath.
I sat up, hair tangled, heart pounding from a dream I couldnt rememberjust the feeling it left behind: cold. Stained.
The note was still on my nightstand.
Crushed. Crumpled. But there.
> *IF HE GAVE YOU THIS DRESS, HES DONE IT BEFORE.*
I held it like glass.
I didnt want to believe it. Didnt want to believe *he*, the man I was marrying, could have secrets deep enough to rot silk.
But I couldnt ignore it anymore.
The dress was back in its box. Ivory. Vintage. Hand-stitched. Still faintly smelling of lavender and something else. Faint. Metallic.
Id thought it was old perfume.
Now, I wasnt sure it wasnt old blood.
I needed answers. And I couldnt ask *him*. Not yet. Not without proof.
So I drove.
Still in pajamas. Hair thrown up. No makeup. Just fear.
The shop was only ten minutes from the hotel. A hole-in-the-wall wedged between a salon and a used bookstore. Called *Second Chances.*
I didnt remember the name on the receipt.
I pushed the door.
No bell rang.
Because there was no bell.
No anything.
No dresses.
No racks.
No counter.
Just an empty room with dusty tiles and a broken mirror leaning against the back wall.
Empty.
Abandoned.
Like it had been for years.
I stepped back, confused. A man sweeping the sidewalk next door looked up.
> *Looking for something?*
> *The clothing store. It was here. Two days ago.*
He frowned.
> *That place has been closed since 2019.*
I swallowed hard.
> *You sure?*
> *I live upstairs. Never seen it open.*
My breath hitched.
I walked back to my car on shaky legs.
If the shop didnt exist where did I get the dress?
And who*who*left that note inside?
I didnt go to the hotel. I couldnt.
Instead, I went to my aunts.
Shes calm. Unshakable. Seen too much in life to be surprised.
When I walked in with the dress box, she didnt ask. Just pointed to the kitchen and made tea.
Then I showed her the note.
Told her everything. When I finished, she leaned back in her chair. Eyes distant.
> *Sounds like something that happened to someone I knew. Long ago.*
> *Who?*
> *Her name was Morayo. She also wore a secondhand wedding dress. From a shop that wasnt really a shop.*
> *What happened to her?*
> *The same thing you fear.*
> *She married the wrong man.*
> *And the dress tried to warn her.*
I stared.
> *Are you saying the dress is cursed?*
She didnt answer directly.
Instead, she stood.
> *Go home. Burn the note. Leave the dress. Dont wear it.*
But I didnt.
Because that night, when I picked up the dress box again
It was already open.
And neatly placed on top of the folded dress
Another note.
Smaller.
Fresh handwriting. Just five words:
> *You have seven days left.*
My heart stopped.
I wasnt even married yet.
**I BORROWED A WEDDING DRESS (EPISODE 3)**
I stared at the note. Just five words:
> *You have seven days left.*
It sat folded over the same dress Id tried so hard to forget. The one I rented from a tiny shop wedged between two old buildings. The shop that no longer existed. Or maybe never did.
My fingers shook as I picked it up. Another letter. Neater. Firmer. Less frantic than the first. But it didnt matter. It felt just as heavy. Just as *wrong*.
Seven days for *what*?
I didnt believe in curses. Not really. And yet, fear has a way of making the most rational person start believing in the impossible.
I called the rental number on the dress receipt again. Still unanswered. The line was dead.
I told myself it was just someone playing a cruel joke. Maybe someone at the shop found out I was marrying. Maybe they wanted to scare me. Maybe it was nothing.
But it didnt *feel* like nothing.
I went digging.
Spent the next morning scouring the internet for traces of *Second Chances.* Business listings. Archived Yelp reviews. Facebook pages. Nothing. It was like the place had vanished.
Or worsenever existed.
I was exhausted by noon.
Then my best friend, Phola, called.
My voice of reason.
> *You sound like youve seen a ghost,* she said. *What happened?*
I told her everything.
The first note. The second. The empty shop. The neighbor who swore it had been closed for years.
Finally, standing alone in the abandoned boutique with the dress clutched in my hands, the whispers in the walls told me the truth*run now, or become the next ghost.*.
