⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5/5 from readers
Genre: Mystery / Contemporary Fantasy / Psychological Fiction
A haunting metaphysical thriller where fiction refuses to stay on the page.
A successful writer, a creative crisis, a deserted park at midnight. And a voice in the dark that leaves a note before disappearing.
What seems like the beginning of an impossible love story becomes something much bigger: the words he writes don't stay on the page. Somewhere, in a world that shouldn't exist, they're changing the life of someone truly trapped, someone who's only waiting for him to find the courage to rewrite the ending before it's too late.
A novel about the power of words, about waiting, about the voices that reach only those who truly know how to listen.
One voice. One notebook. One impossible mystery.
Perfect for readers who love:
✔ Metaphysical Thrillers
✔ Magical Realism
✔ Mysterious Parks
✔ Slow-Burning Mysteries
✔ Stories About Stories
✔ Atmospheric Fiction
What readers are saying
Il legame tra il blocco creativo e l’elemento soprannaturale
“Un romanzo ricco di descrizioni evocative e atmosfere misteriose, che unisce il tema del blocco creativo a elementi paranormali. La storia coinvolge grazie al rapporto tra il protagonista, Edmund ed El, mantenendo fino all’ultima pagina un senso di meraviglia e malinconia.”
— L’alchimista delle parole, Amazon
Breve ma super intenso!
“Il secondo libro che leggo di L. K. Aerden e anche sta volta non mi ha affatto deluso. Anzi!!! Breve ma intenso e ricco di suspance. Consigliatissimo!!”
— Angelo Aiello, Amazon
Un libro che dovete leggere!
“Che viaggio incredibile è stato leggere queste pagine! Adoro come giochi con la metanarrativa e con l’idea profonda che le storie abbiano una vita propria. Il finale? Un meraviglioso e poetico passaggio di testimone che ti lascia una voglia incredibile di sederti su una panchina ad ascoltare il mondo.”
— rottasud, Amazon (acquisto verificato)
Read an Excerpt
(Chapter 1 — Opening)
“Today, a day like any other. Same routine, same day. I come home tired of repeating the exact same things. I feel invisible, as if others don’t even hear my voice, or notice my efforts to interact the way they do with each other.”
Naaaa.
What a depressing start. Let’s try again.
“Today, a day like any other, same routine, same day…”
Nooo. I don’t feel like staying home. I’m going out tonight, and I’ll tell you how it all began.
The cursor blinks.
One line written.
Two deleted.
The document is named:
“NEW_NOVEL_v27_final_for_real.docx”
Which, judging by the name alone, makes it pretty clear it’s not final at all.
I sigh.
I open my email.
Marco Ferretti.
Subject: Do you have anything to send me?
I don’t even open the message.
I close my laptop.
Okay, that’s enough.
If I stay here tonight, I’ll end up staring at the cursor until three in the morning.
Shoes? On. Jacket? On. Umbrella? Yes, better bring it, I saw some storm clouds. Voice recorder, here it is. Phone too.
Keys? Let’s zip up the backpack. Okay, ready to go.
Should I take the bike? Yeah, why not, I’ll get to the park faster. It’s 10:35 PM. Alright, let’s go.
“Evening, Mrs. Kindley. How are you tonight?”
“Good, thank you. Going out so late tonight?”
“Yes, I couldn’t resist. I feel like going for a walk tonight.”
“When my leg feels better, will you take me with you?”
“Of course, gladly. I’ll see you around, have a good night for now.”
“Will you be back late?”
“I think so. I hope to catch some ideas for the new book.”
“Oh, come on, are you writing another one? Let me know when it’s out, eh.”
“Of course, you know it. You’ll get the first copy, you’re my favorite first critic. See you soon.”
“Have a nice walk, and be careful.”
“I will, Mrs Kindley. Thank you.”
Okay, let’s head out. Chain off, throw it in the basket, and feet on the pedals.
The night air bites my face just enough to keep me awake. It smells of distant rain and wet asphalt.
The bike wheels make that soft, rolling sound against the dampness of the road.
There are few people out. Well, better for me.
Oh god, I forgot. There, bike lights on. But will the flashlight in my backpack be charged?
I don’t remember charging it. Oh well, I’m already on my way, I’ll just use my phone if I need to.
A quick stop. “Hey, pup… there you go, you’re so soft. Yes, yes, here’s your usual treat. See you on my way back, okay?”
Let’s keep going. Feet on the pedals and off we go. The road seems to slide by faster and lighter today.
We’re almost there.
Arrived. Here we are. Chain locked, and let’s enter the park.
What peace there is here. The air is crisp tonight; luckily, I brought my jacket. Let’s grab the recorder and begin.
“Today, a day like any other, same routine. I don’t feel like staying home, I feel invisible…”
Brr, it really is quite crisp tonight. I love this hint of wind moving the leaves on the trees.
A deep breath… Aaah, I was right to come out tonight.
“The wind enjoys playing its melody through the branches of the trees, blending with the gurgling of the stream that runs along the path, creating a masterpiece that only nature can write.”
Ooh, I like that sentence. I’ll use it in the book.
Oh, there’s the bench. I’ll sit down for a moment. I’ve walked a good while, and what a view. From here you can see the whole city, its lights reflecting on the lake, which is particularly peaceful and flat today.
It’s almost midnight. What a starry sky; the clouds from before have almost completely vanished. I’ll take a quick break and then start recording for the book again.
Such peace…
Recorder in hand…
“Today, a day like any other. Same routine, same day. I come home tired of repeating the exact same things. I feel invisible, I feel…”
Crack.
I freeze.
Not a loud noise. Not a branch breaking, not really. More like the faint sound of something stepping on a dry leaf.
The recorder keeps running in my hand.
The wind stops.
Or maybe it’s just me who stops hearing it.
I hold my breath, listening.
Silence.
Then.
“Excuse me…”
The voice comes from the dark.
Soft. Calm. Close.
Too close.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, wait, sorry, who are you? Where did you come from…?”
My god, she vanished. How did she move so fast? And what a gorgeous voice. I couldn’t see her, but the voice is enchanting, warm, calm, sad yet cheerful. Oh god, I have to find out who she is.
I turn back.
But she’s so fast, she’s nowhere to be seen. A quick jog, maybe I can catch up to her. Here’s the bike. I’ve made it outside the park, and there’s no sign of her. Who on earth was she?
On the ground.
A small piece of paper folded in half.
I pick it up.
Thin, ivory colored paper.
Perfectly folded.
As if it had been prepared even before I arrived.
I open it.
“Excuse me again. I hope to be quieter next time.”
The handwriting is precise.
Too precise.
Next time? Does that mean she comes here often? But who is she?
Some stories change your life.
Others begin writing it.
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Available in Kindle Unlimited, Kindle eBook and Paperback.