Psychological thriller in Finland: Someone knows how her story ends.
Episode 1
If you go home, you’re dead
Anna stops walking. Is this a prank from a friend? Some sort of weird welcome home after a holiday in Japan.
Someone bumps into her.
“Excuse me.” A young Japanese man says in English. He bends down to right his shoe that had come off when he’d collided with her heavy case.
The phone in her hand buzzes again.
She clicks. A photo pops up of a moving van in front of her house. Then another of her furniture being loaded. Her fingers flick through images of empty rooms.
“What…”
Another message.
If you go to the police, you’re dead
The crowd flows around her with practiced impatience, cases swinging wide to avoid the obstacle she’d become. Oblivious, she checks the number. It’s unfamiliar.
“Are you OK?” he asks. “I’m sorry. I don’t speak Finnish. Is it alright to ask?”
A notification flashes.
At that moment, finding a very deep hole somewhere in Lapland suddenly seems appealing.
She opens it. What else could she do? The urge to find out what’s going on is strong.
In fact, wherever you go, you’re dead
The phone slips from her hand, clattering onto the honey-coloured floor where thousands of shoes cross every day. He picks it up and tries to pass it back. She freezes, as though she’s standing on thinning ice. He glances uncertainly around the terminal, perhaps seeking help, then back at Anna.
“Please take. It’s yours.”
Trembling fingers close around the purple case. She nods a thanks and stumbles outside. A cold grey afternoon hangs over Helsinki, with a sharp breeze off the Baltic and a lingering threat of rain.
The long-term carpark is exactly as she remembers. Except for one thing—her car isn’t there. Is she in the wrong place? With distaste, Anna pulls out her phone. The once cherished device is now seriously trauma coded. A quick scroll through notes confirms that it’s the right level, the right location.
For several seconds she stares at the empty space, waiting for reality to correct itself. If her bright orange Volkswagen is gone, what else is gone?
Maybe the photos are real.
A sharp tremor runs from her phone into her palm, and travels straight to her stomach.
“Oh god, no.”
She tries to ignore it. But it’s insistent, indifferent to her panic. She clicks.
Remember, what I said. That thing about being dead. I’m not joking
Anna falls into a crouch close to the cold concrete and cocoons her head with shaking arms. She stays like this until her knees hurt. Slowly she struggles to her feet, clasps the handle of the suitcase packed with sweet memories of a great holiday.
Without realising she’d made a decision, she finds herself in the queue at the taxi rank. When her turn comes, she mumbles her address.
Where else can she go, but home?
When the taxi drives away, she stands in the quiet street of birch trees and bicycles. Her house looks like the other houses; neat, practical, and unremarkable. It is simply her place in the world.
The door is still red, the roof is still pitched high, the windows are still large. But there the sameness ends. A different car sits in the gravel driveway, the treasured pot plants are gone, and the cream curtains are now green floral.
The cold wind cuts through her light travel jacket, chilling her bones.
A strange woman comes out of her house. The gaze that scans Anna and her suitcase is more curious than hostile.
“Can I help you?”
Anna doesn’t know what to say.
In the end she just points to the red door that used to make her laugh with joy.
Episode 2
Anna doesn’t hear the soft hiss of tyres whispering against the asphalt. She also misses the thin reedy whistle that slowly builds to a rushing roar seeking to swallow everything in its path.
It is the violent, staccato clatter of metal that makes her turn.
The air stops whistling and starts thundering. A car clips a barrier, sending a grinding shriek of steel on concrete. The sound bypasses Anna’s ears to reverberate in her chest.
Undeterred, the car continues on. Straight for Anna.
Someone screams.
Gravel sprays as she leaps out of the way.
A single concussive bang rocks her as she lands on the cold pavement. The car and the lightpost lay twisted, groaning and creaking.
A wheel spins, humming down to silence.
“Are you OK?” The woman is by her side.
Anna pushes herself upright. With the woman’s help, she stands.
“I’m not hurt,” Anna says. “Just shaken.”
Neighbours appear. They are more shocked to see Anna than the runaway driverless car.
“Oh, you’re back?” the man from number ten says.
“I thought you moved away,” the woman from across the road says.
“But I saw the removalists loading all your furniture,” another says. “And now there’s new tenants.”
How can she explain what she doesn’t understand?
“You’re poor suitcase,” says the tenant. “It doesn’t look like it can be salvaged.”
Everyone looks at the squashed case and mangled clothes.
“Here.” The tenant picks up Anna’s phone from the ground. “Someone’s calling.”
“It’s not important,” Anna mumbles.
The woman answers. “Hold the line please, I’ll pass you over.”
Under the curious gaze of the small crowd, Anna takes the phone. It slips out of her trembling fingers.
“It’s OK, dear,” a woman says. “I’ll hold it for you.”
The phone arrives at her ear, the angle slightly off.
“I told you not to go home,” an unfamiliar voice says.
Anna freezes. Her brain needs every resource and can spare none for movement.
“There’s nowhere you can go.”
Held by a stranger, the phone is not hers to move. Helplessness simmers in the pit of her belly.
“You are dead.”
The voice is piped directly into her skull by someone else’s hand, who doesn’t know what they’re delivering.
Something gives way inside Anna. A slow, awful separation of everything she can no longer hold together.
The proximity of the people standing around her, their obliviousness, becomes unbearable.
She jumps backwards. Spinning fast, she stumbles away. Suddenly, she stops, swivels and grabs the phone. It’s the only thing she has left.
Episode 3
Anna spends her first homeless night in a hotel that caters for people who are in between places. The difference is that she has nowhere to go in the morning.
The room smells of industrial-strength disinfectant and stale coffee. Neutral and soulless, beige and pale, it’s designed to offend nobody and remain in nobody’s memory.
Crouched in a corner, she clasps her phone and wallet. With no house, no car, and now no clothes, these are all she has left. She unlocks the phone. The screen glows like a dying star in the dark room.
Shaking fingers fumble the keys. By the third attempt she’s fixed the typos and presses send.
Who are you?
Message not delivered.
She resends and receives the same response. Her breath is ragged as she pokes the call icon.
The number is no longer in service.
“Seriously?”
She raises her arm to hurl the device across the room. On the screen, the grid of colourful squares that neatly arranges the compartments of her life, shines down, mocking.
An idea hits. She opens her emails.
Subject: Loyalty Card Activity Summary
Hello Anna Korhonen,
Thank you for shopping with us.
Recent purchases have been recorded on your loyalty account:
15:42 – City Market, Espoo
€24.76
To view your full transaction history, please log in to your account.
Kind regards,
Customer Services
The ordinariness of a small grocery shop gaining points in her name almost unsettles her more than the threatening messages.
Who is this person?
Subject: Membership Cancellation Confirmation
Hello Anna,
This email confirms that your gym membership has been cancelled effective immediately, as requested.
We’re sorry to see you go.
Thank you for being a member.
Kind regards,
ActiveLife Fitness
Anna can’t think straight. Why would someone dismantle her life?
Subject: Notice of Lease Termination
Dear Ms Korhonen,
Please find attached the receipt of your notice to terminate the tenancy agreement for 14 Koiukatu.
The tenancy concluded on 9 May 2026.
Unfortunately, due to the lack of adequate notice we are unable to return the bond.
Thank you for your tenancy. We wish you well in your future home.
Kind regards,
North Helsinki Property Management
She blinks, rubs her eyes, stares fixedly at the text. The edges of the letters smear and the rhythm of language unravels.
How long have they been planning this?
Subject: Vehicle Ownership Transfer Completed
Hello Anna Korhonen,
This is confirmation that ownership of the following vehicle has been transferred:
Vehicle: Volkswagen T-Cross
Registration: FNI-482
The transfer was completed successfully on 31 May 2026 at 10:17.
Yours sincerely,
Vehicle Registration Services
The words sit on the screen like a death notice. The memory flashes of the day she’d collected the orange VW from the dealership and driven home with the window down despite the rain, singing to her favourite playlist.
What else have they taken?
She was only in Japan for a few weeks.
A cold sweat prickles at her hairline. Trembling hands grip the fabric of her jeans one second, then press flat against her thighs the next, in a desperate search for something to hold onto.
Questions swamp her exhausted brain until only one remains.
How much of me is left?
Episode 4
Anna stands completely still amongst the rushing people. They emerge from trains, vanish up the escalator into the airport, to disappear into the world of destinations. With nowhere to go, she waits on the platform with the concrete walls, and the strips of glass and steel. For what, she doesn’t know.
In a daze she’d checked out of the hotel and followed the signs to the station. And now, here she was.
A train arrives with a tearing wind that smells of metal and wet stone. The crowd surges forward, dragging Anna along. Something strikes her from behind, landing hard between her shoulder blades. White noise compresses into a high-pitched metallic screech as she stumbles over the yellow safety line.
The tracks sway beneath her. A rough hand grabs her coat, and she’s yanked backwards.
She tries to look behind, but travellers and suitcases force her onto the train. The carriage is packed. Everyone looks ordinary. No one looks like they just attempted murder.
All of Anna shakes. Her hands, her breath, even the hair in her nostrils flutter. The wall is solid against her back as she huddles in the corner.
When the train arrives at Central, Anna waits until she’s the last one left. She jumps off, runs along the concourse, and through the exit. Her heart pounds and her phone bounces in her pocket. A few early shoppers glance at her panicked face.
At the Kamppi Centre she checks the bus departure board, searching for a faraway place. And there it is. Kuhmo, eight hundred kilometres away. Just a tiny dot on the map near the Russian border, with few people and millions of trees, somewhere nobody would look.
By nightfall, she’s crossed half of Finland on a succession of buses. Exhaustion has replaced outright panic.
As the bus pulls into the town, the sun sets reluctantly below the horizon, leaving a pale silver light hanging over the forest. In a few hours, it will climb again. Kuhmo won’t give her the darkness she needs to hide in.
She checks into one of the few hotels and realises her second mistake. With only eight thousand residents, people here notice newcomers.
The room looks like it has been assembled over decades; the exact opposite to her own carefully designed furnishings. Nothing matches, but everything works.
Anna throws herself onto the floral bedspread. The evening light reflects off the pine-panelled walls and lands on a small dish containing two wrapped chocolates. A pair of knitted woollen slippers wait on the floor, left there by someone who knew that guests would appreciate warm feet.
The only sound is her breathing, and even that softens and lowers.
In the morning she goes for a walk. Kuhmo isn’t a town surrounded by a forest, but an endless forest with a town inserted within. Whichever way she goes, she ends up amongst the birch and pine that stretch all the way to Russia and beyond.
Outside of the narrow trail, the trees are impenetrable. Moss covers fallen logs and the ground gives way underfoot where water hides beneath the vegetation.
The land is too old and too vast to care whether Anna Korhonen exists or not. The forest doesn’t make her feel safe; it makes her feel temporary. And oddly, that helps.
Back in town she drinks coffee in the bakery café surrounded by cinnamon buns, pastries, and sandwiches. Three retirees occupy a table as though they’ve done so every morning for years. No one hurries, and more importantly, no one looks frightened.
Anna wraps both hands around the mug and stares out the window at a street so ordinary it feels unreal.
Drink finished, she swipes through the photos she took on her walk. Green leaves and brown trunks beneath a washed-out blue sky that refuses to commit to either day or night. And a tiny patch of grey.
She zooms in. Half hidden along the winding trail is a human figure. Heavily pixelated, it’s impossible to see clearly. She hadn’t seen anyone else. A small stab of fear returns. She checks the other photographs. The figure appears in another seven. Always half hidden, always unclear.
Her phone pings. She jumps.
An email notification flashes on the screen.
She tosses the phone face down onto the wooden table, flips it back, swipes to shut it down. Her finger hovers, darts away and back.
A deep breath, trembling and uncertain. Six more, just the same.
She whimpers. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help either.
I still need my life back.
She clicks.
Subject: Confirmation of Resignation
Dear Anna,
This email confirms our acceptance of your resignation from your position with Nordic Solutions Ltd.
As requested, your final day of employment was 29 May 2026.
We thank you for your contribution to the company and wish you every success in your future endeavours.
Your final payslip and employment separation documents have been forwarded to your nominated email address.
As requested, your farewell message has been distributed to staff.
Kind regards,
Human Resources
Nordic Solutions Ltd.
Hi Anna,
Formalities aside, I have to admit at being surprised by your sudden decision to resign.
I thought you were happy here.
I’ll miss you.
Stay in touch.
Minna
Her mouth opens, a scream forms. How much of me is left?
The screen flickers. The email disappears. The screen goes white.
Session expired
Please sign in
What?
Anna taps furiously.
The login screen remains.
“No. No. No.”
Password incorrect
Recovery options updated
Account unavailable
She scrambles to phone the office.
Silence. Not even a sterile beep.
Call failed
She tries again. Same result.
The signal bars are still there. The battery is nearly full.
A notification appears.
Your account requires attention
Contact your service provider
She opens the carrier app.
Your mobile number has been transferred successfully
Episode 5
Anna boards the first bus heading south. The dense spruce and birch forests slowly merge into the muted yellows, greys, and reds of towns.
In Kajaani she changes buses with the growing certainty that running won’t solve anything. She spends the rest of the day staring out the window with nothing to do but think.
The long dusk lingers soft and golden over the lakes; the beauty cruel in its indifference.
As night falls the window becomes a mirror, confronting Anna with her own face.
Who am I if I am not myself?
The blackness shifts in texture, gradually shrinking as Helsinki’s streetlights appear in steady lines. Passengers stir, gather bags, check phones. Anna has neither.
She just watches the play of city light against the dark sky.
The bus pulls into Kamppi Terminal, the doors hiss open, and the smell of diesel and cold rushes in. Despite the late hour, the depot is bustling.
Anna steps down slowly. She pulls up the hood of her jacket and walks to the nearest hotel with twenty-four hour reception.
The narrow room overlooks rooftops and tram wires. But the sheets are clean and there’s a lock on the door.
Overtired, she sleeps badly.
At 7:52 she stands outside the Central Library waiting for the doors to open. By 8:01, she’s sitting in front of a computer. The room is modern and bright and casually welcomes each new arrival as they claim spaces to work or read.
Anna logs in to her social media account.
Incorrect password
It still hits hard, even though she’d prepared herself.
Without access to the recovery email or phone account, there’s no way to receive a verification code. She bangs her head on the desk. A few disapproving glances are thrown her way.
She quickly creates a new email account, then a social profile: AnnaKorhonen20_26. Dread pools deep in her belly as she searches her own name.
Anna’s original account, her own account, is now public. Her hand shakes as she scrolls. She’s always been super strict about privacy controls.
The real Anna looks at the fake Anna through a brand-new account that nobody knows exists.
A post from 12.06.2026:
Sometimes you have to leave an old life behind in order to find the right one
She clicks through photographs of her furniture arranged inside someone else’s life.
Her blanket is neatly folded on the arm of her sofa against an unfamiliar wall. The alternating colours of orange and rust always reminded Anna of autumn, but never truly hid the stain that resisted every attempt at removal.
The comfy beige cushions are gone, replaced by sharp zigzags of mustard and charcoal.
A favourite mug sits on a new side table with the caption: Just a tiny improvement.
As crazy as it sounds, what hits the hardest is the reorganisation of Anna’s books.
Colour coded! How dare you?
The photos are smug and scream I’m a better version of you.
So far, thirty people have liked, loved, or laughed at the post.
Love the new cushions
Proud of you
Brave decision
Wish I had the courage to do it myself
We should have done this years ago
The urge to shatter the silent room with a scream that would curdle the insides of a ghost takes hold of Anna. She clenches her teeth, forces her fingers to keep scrolling.
The images grow harder to look at, and carry a disturbing intimacy. Many are ones people take without thinking, containing fragments of life never intended for strangers. Except that a stranger is now living inside Anna’s life.
Somebody’s hand holds her toothbrush, their feet stand inside her favourite shoes, their fingers hold her bag.
A new post pops up with an image of someone who looks like Anna in the distance, walking away. The caption states: Thanks for understanding
Likes and comments quickly follow:
Looking great as usual, Anna
Glad you got my message
So great to catch up the other day. Must do it again
Anna’s friends are already accepting the new version of her.
The chair scrapes against the timber floor as Anna springs to her feet. She stumbles outside, bumps into people on the pavement, and walks.
Without knowing how she got there, she stands in front of Töölönlahti Bay. The wind ruffles the reeds along the shoreline as she stares at the water without seeing. Time slips by unnoticed.
Somewhere behind her, the city continues as if nothing has happened.
The thought arrives so quietly she almost misses it.
The imposter has taken everything they need. They’re not coming for Anna. She will have to go to them.
If you want to be me…
I’m coming to meet you.
Episode 6
Beneath the pale face of the station clock, ten women in identical red raincoats stand in a row, solid and unmoving, as though they’ve always been there.
Ten pairs of black boots stretch along the grey pavement in perfect alignment, the soles pressed flat against the ground.
The light moves across the blonde heads, each one an echo of the other.
They are as still as the stonemen guarding the entrance. No hand rises to brush away the strands of hair blown by the breeze.
Undisturbed, pigeons flap for scraps at their feet.
No one speaks.
Passers-by search for a difference, for a detail that breaks the pattern. Finding none, they shrug and move on, eager to follow the call of the train departure chimes or the clatter of tram bells.
The hands of the tower clock move silently to ten. The line breaks, like a single breath dispersing into the air.
One woman walks straight ahead, another to the left, a third to the right, others at the diagonal. Ten red raincoats drift from one another, ten strangers moving through Helsinki.
Across the square, in a café where nobody stays for long, Anna opens the only account in the world that belongs solely to her.
She posts a single photo, without words or explanation.
One by one, she summons all the people who know Anna Korhonen.
Then she waits to see who answers.
