The Most Terrifying Online Shopping Experience of My Life – Part 2: I Should Have Blocked Him
The Most Terrifying Online Shopping Experience of My Life – Part 2: I Should Have Blocked Him
A week after I posted my review, I got an email from the owner of Valvera.
At first, I thought it was a generic “we’re sorry for your experience” message. It wasn’t. It was personal. He addressed me by name. He said he had “no idea” how that item ended up in circulation. He begged me to reconsider. Claimed it was an “experimental art collaboration” that was never meant to ship. He said the brand was his life, that one mistake shouldn’t destroy everything he’d built.
Then he wrote something that made my stomach drop:
“It wasn’t meant for you.”
I didn’t reply.
But he kept emailing. Not aggressively—desperately. Offering refunds. Free replacements. A lifetime discount. He even attached what looked like security footage from a warehouse. In the video, workers packed normal-looking clothes. No blood. No messages. No crawling Victorian corpse men.
I barely slept that week. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that whisper again: Ken Lee…
Still, a tiny part of me needed closure. Needed to prove to myself I wasn’t losing my mind.
After days of thinking, I replied with three words: “One last chance.”
He responded instantly.
Two days later, a new package arrived. This time, no smell. No stains. Just a neatly folded charcoal sweater with a handwritten note:
“Thank you for trusting us again.”
The handwriting looked… shaky.
I told myself I wouldn’t try it on.
I lasted about an hour.
The moment I pulled it over my head, nothing happened.
No flickering lights. No voices. No static.
I almost laughed from relief.
Then I felt it.
Not cold this time.
Warm.
Like hands resting gently on my shoulders.
I turned around.
No one.
But my reflection in the mirror—
—was smiling.
I wasn’t.
Slowly, the reflection tilted its head.
A second too late.
Then it mouthed something I didn’t say.
“Much better fit.”
The lights didn’t flicker.
The TV didn’t turn on.
Instead, my phone buzzed.
An email notification.
From the owner.
Subject line: “Transfer Complete.”
My reflection blinked.
I didn’t.
I don’t remember falling.
I don’t remember screaming.
But I remember this:
When I opened my eyes, I was standing inside a dark room filled with stacked boxes.
Through a small rectangular glow in front of me, I could see—
My apartment.
My body.
Moving.
Breathing.
Smiling.
Wearing the sweater.
And somewhere, far away, I heard the owner’s voice whisper:
“Thank you for the second chance.”
