The Most Terrifying Online Shopping Experience of My Life â Part 2: I Should Have Blocked Him
The Most Terrifying Online Shopping Experience of My Life â 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 âweâre sorry for your experienceâ message. It wasnât. It was personal. He addressed me by name. He said he had âno ideaâ how that item ended up in circulation. He begged me to reconsider. Claimed it was an âexperimental art collaborationâ that was never meant to ship. He said the brand was his life, that one mistake shouldnât destroy everything heâd built.
Then he wrote something that made my stomach drop:
âIt wasnât meant for you.â
I didnât reply.
But he kept emailing. Not aggressivelyâdesperately. 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 LeeâŠ
Still, a tiny part of me needed closure. Needed to prove to myself I wasnât losing my mind.
After days of thinking, I replied with three words: âOne last chance.â
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:
âThank you for trusting us again.â
The handwriting looked⊠shaky.
I told myself I wouldnât 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 mirrorâ
âwas smiling.
I wasnât.
Slowly, the reflection tilted its head.
A second too late.
Then it mouthed something I didnât say.
âMuch better fit.â
The lights didnât flicker.
The TV didnât turn on.
Instead, my phone buzzed.
An email notification.
From the owner.
Subject line: âTransfer Complete.â
My reflection blinked.
I didnât.
I donât remember falling.
I donât 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 seeâ
My apartment.
My body.
Moving.
Breathing.
Smiling.
Wearing the sweater.
And somewhere, far away, I heard the ownerâs voice whisper:
âThank you for the second chance.â








