December 20, 2024
Lydia Crane sat alone in her small apartment on a chilly December evening. The glow of her laptop cast eerie shadows on the walls, the kind that moved when you weren’t looking directly at them. She had been scrolling aimlessly, avoiding the gnawing anxiety that always crept up around this time of year. The holidays were a reminder of everything she hadn’t accomplished: the job that didn’t fulfill her, the weight she hadn’t lost, and the oppressive grip her father still had on her self-esteem.
It had been nearly a year since that fateful New Year’s Eve party. Lydia’s best friend, Steve, had hosted it in his sprawling suburban home, the kind of place that always seemed alive with people’s chatter and laughter. That night, in the spirit of fun, Steve had handed out slips of paper for everyone to write down their resolutions. “We’ll burn them at midnight,” he had declared. “It’s symbolic—letting go of the old to make way for the new.”
Lydia’s resolutions had felt ordinary, even banal. Lose 20 pounds. Get a promotion. Finally stand up to her father. She remembered tossing the folded paper into the fire, watching as the flames consumed it, the cheers of the partygoers blending with the crackling wood. It was supposed to be liberating. But nothing had changed.
Now, with just a week left until the next New Year’s Eve, the knock on her door startled her. It was firm, deliberate. Not the kind of knock that suggested someone had simply taken the wrong turn.
Lydia hesitated. When she finally opened the door, the man standing before her was unfamiliar and yet strangely recognizable. Tall, imposing, and dressed in an impeccably white suit that stood out starkly against the night, he looked like he belonged in another era—or perhaps another world.
“Can I help you?” Lydia asked, her voice wary.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” the man said. His voice was smooth, almost hypnotic. “My name is Bumble. We met last year at Steve’s party.”
Lydia frowned. The name didn’t ring a bell, but there was something about him that tugged at the edges of her memory. She stepped aside reluctantly, allowing him in. Bumble walked past her, his presence filling the small space like a cold draft. From his pocket, he pulled out three slips of paper.
Lydia’s heart stopped. She recognized them immediately. They were the resolutions she had written and thrown into the fire—the ones she had watched burn.
“How?” she stammered.
Bumble smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “The how is unimportant. What matters is this: you have one week to fulfill these resolutions. If you fail, you die.”
The words hit her like a slap. “This is some kind of sick joke,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Do you remember Tom?” Bumble asked.
The name sent a chill through her. Tom had been at last year’s party. They weren’t close, but she remembered the shock of hearing he had died in a car crash on his way home that night. Everyone had chalked it up to drunk driving.
“I gave him the same chance,” Bumble said. “He didn’t take it seriously. And now he’s gone.”
Lydia felt the room spinning. “Why me? Why are you doing this?”
“You invited it,” Bumble replied, gesturing to the slips of paper. “Resolutions are promises, Lydia. Promises to yourself. And breaking a promise always comes at a cost.”
Before she could respond, Bumble was gone. No sound of the door closing, no footsteps in the hall. Just the oppressive silence of her apartment.
Lydia spent the next hour pacing, her mind racing. She called Steve, hoping for answers.
“Bumble?” Steve repeated. “Never heard of him. Are you sure he was at the party?”
“I’m positive,” Lydia insisted. “He’s in some of the photos. Check your album.”
Steve’s hesitation was unsettling. “I’ll look, but… wait, you don’t think this has something to do with Tom, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Tom wasn’t drunk,” Steve said. “The crash didn’t make sense. He wasn’t even speeding. It’s why I’m not doing New Year’s parties anymore. Every year, it feels like someone… doesn’t make it.”
Lydia hung up and dug through her phone for last year’s photos. There he was. Bumble, in the background, always watching. His white suit gleamed like a ghost’s shroud. How had she not noticed him before?
She went further back. New Year’s Eve parties from previous years. Each time, she found him hiding in plain sight. She had never noticed him before. But he was there the whole time.
By morning, Lydia was determined to prove Bumble wrong. She stepped on the scale and groaned. Not only had she not lost weight, but she was up three pounds. Panic set in. She skipped breakfast and lunch, guzzling water instead. At work, she cornered her boss and mustered the courage to ask for a promotion.
“Maybe in the spring,” her boss said dismissively. Lydia turned to leave, but her boss stopped her. “Unless, of course, there’s a vacancy.”
The words lingered in her mind like a seed of poison. That evening, she confronted Sarah in the parking garage. She had always wanted Sarah’s position. She even heard her from time to time talking about leaving the company. If Sarah left, that would solve her problem. Lydia would be a shoo-in for her role. A grand promotion. She just needed to convince Sarah of that.
Sarah brushed off the suggestion at first though Lydia pressed on. “You should leave, like today!” Lydia told her. Almost scolding her for not taking the suggestion.
The argument escalated. Sarah tried to push her way past her. Lydia grabbed her and they began to wrestle. She threw Sarah to the ground. Sarah’s head hit the concrete with a sickening thud. Blood poured on the concrete. More than she knew a head could hold. Sarah was out cold and losing blood. Lydia fled, her heart pounding. She told herself it was an accident, but the guilt clawed at her.
The next morning, the office was abuzz with news of Sarah’s death. Lydia’s boss pulled her aside. “I hate to ask, but could you take on Sarah’s responsibilities? Temporarily, of course for now. But if you’re willing to assume her role, we can talk.”
Lydia nodded, numb. That evening, she noticed one of the slips of paper had turned to ash.
That evening, she sat on her couch, phone in hand. The screen glared at her with his contact information. Sound scrolled to DAD. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the call button. The dial tone rang endlessly, each sound a drumbeat of dread. Finally, his gruff voice answered.
“What do you want, Lydia?”
The dismissal in his tone lit a spark in her, turning her fear into defiance. “I want you to listen,” she said, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “You’ve controlled every aspect of my life for as long as I can remember. But I’m done. You don’t get to make me feel small anymore.”
There was a pause, heavy with tension. “You’re being dramatic,” he said, but his voice wavered just enough to let her know she had struck a nerve.
“Maybe I am,” she snapped back. “But for once, I’m saying what I need to say. You’ve hurt me, and I’m tired of carrying that weight. This is my life, and I’m taking it back.”
Her father started to respond, but she ended the call before he could. Her hands were shaking, tears streaming down her face, but a sense of relief washed over her. She had done it. She had stood up to him.
When she turned back to the slips of paper on her kitchen counter, she noticed something strange. The one labeled “Stand up to my father” had turned black at the edges. Before her eyes, it crumbled into ash, leaving only a faint scorch mark behind.
Lydia gasped, the realization hitting her. Bumble hadn’t been lying. The slips of paper were more than just resolutions—they were bindings, contracts. And now, with her final task complete, they were undone.
Lydia went to work the next day, determined to prove Bumble wrong. She took the time to learn Sarah’s job description and daily tasks. The office was still shaken by Sarah’s death, and the atmosphere was tense. It was Wednesday, just days before New Year’s Eve. She had until Sunday to fulfill her resolutions.
A police officer entered the office that morning, asking to see the footage from the garage where Sarah had fallen. While they had ruled her death an accident, they wanted to review the chain of events. Lydia panicked, knowing the video would reveal her presence near Sarah before the fatal accident. She didn’t know what to do or where the footage was stored.
Her boss promised the officer she would find the video and provide it. Lydia felt sick to her stomach and asked to leave early. Once home, she stepped on the scale. She had lost four pounds, but it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t going to make it. She got on the treadmill, but she was too weak to maintain a good pace. Her mind raced with fear about the video and Bumble’s ultimatum.
On Thursday, Lydia called in sick. She closed her window shades, turned out the lights, and sat quietly on the couch, trying to think. That afternoon, her phone rang—a number she didn’t recognize. The voicemail was from the police, asking to speak with her. She panicked, convinced they would come to her house next. She packed a few belongings, rushed out, and drove to a hotel miles away. Using a fake name and cash, she checked in and turned off her phone to avoid being traced.
By Friday morning, she was even weaker. She avoided calling her workplace, assuming her boss and the police knew she had killed Sarah. At the hotel gym, she stepped on the scale. She had lost eight pounds in total, but it wasn’t enough. Desperate, she went back to her room and cut off all her hair, hoping it would help. She tried to vomit but had nothing left in her stomach. The scale showed no change.
New Year’s Eve arrived. Lydia had no intention of attending her planned festivities. She needed to lose another 14 pounds to stay alive. A desperate Google search revealed the average human leg weighed about 18 pounds. The idea horrified her, but the alternative was death. She walked to a restaurant supply store, purchased two large serrated knives, and returned to her hotel with all the ice she could carry. Filling the bathtub with ice, she began drinking bourbon to numb the impending pain.
Drunk and trembling, Lydia took the first knife and pressed it against her thigh. The initial cut sent a searing pain through her body. She screamed but forced herself to keep going, sawing deeper as blood poured into the water. The pain was unbearable, and her vision blurred. Desperate to finish, she drove the knife into her leg with all her strength. She let out a horrifying scream, the the world went black.
Lydia woke in a hospital bed. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the sterile smell stung her nose. Her left leg was gone. She wasn’t sure how she had survived. Turning her head, she saw Bumble sitting in a chair beside her.
“My leg… it’s gone?” she croaked.
Bumble nodded. “You were successful. The doctors couldn’t save it. Someone at the hotel heard your screams and called an ambulance.”
“So I did it? I completed my resolutions?” Lydia asked, her voice trembling.
Bumble’s expression darkened. “No. While you did lose the weight and reconcile with your father, you abandoned your job. Your boss assumed you quit. And the garage footage? It only showed cars entering and exiting—no evidence of your involvement with Sarah’s death. You hid for nothing.”
Lydia’s heart sank as the weight of his words crushed her. “That’s not fair! It’s not too late!”
“It is,” Bumble replied coldly. “Instead of striving for impossible goals, you should have embraced who you were and lived your life.”
He reached out, touching the bandages on her stump. Blood began to seep through, quickly pooling on the bed. Lydia’s heart monitor beeped frantically as she felt her life slipping away.
Bumble leaned in close, his breath icy against her ear. “Happy New Year.”
As he walked away, the room faded to black, Lydia’s screams swallowed by the silence.
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