PART 3

☾

The rain wasn't just falling; it was hunting us. Each drop struck like an icy needle, targeting any exposed skin as we huddled beneath the narrow overhang of our front porch. The yellow porch light flickered, threatening to abandon us to the darkness. Mom's fingers drummed against her thigh in that familiar pattern—tap-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap-tap—her tell when anxiety got the better of her. Her eyes never left the stubborn door, as if she could intimidate it into opening.

"Where in the name of all that's holy is he?" The words hissed through her teeth. She pulled her cardigan tighter, though it was already soaked through.

I shifted my weight, trying to keep Austin upright without slipping on the slick concrete. His arm felt like a steel beam across my shoulders, and each ragged breath he took sent tremors through both our bodies. Whether from cold or shock, I couldn't tell. My muscles screamed in protest, but I locked my jaw and held firm. After what we'd witnessed in those woods, this was nothing.

The journey home felt endless. The puddles reached for us with icy fingers, and the wind-driven rain cut like glass. Each gust seemed to carry echoes of what we'd left behind. Austin and I hadn't spoken; the horror we'd witnessed hung between us like a physical barrier, turning any attempt at words to ash in our mouths.

Only Mom had dared break that silence, her voice hitting that high, brittle note I hadn't heard since Dad's accident. "We're almost there," she'd repeated, over and over, like a prayer. "Not much further now." As if I couldn't trace every crack in these sidewalks from memory, every house we'd passed a familiar landmark in the storm. As if I could ever forget the path home, even as home itself felt suddenly alien and uncertain.

A soft electronic buzz from inside cut through the storm's howl. Mom lurched forward, hands splaying against the door like pale starfish. "Rex!" The crack in her voice matched the lightning splitting the sky. "For the love of God, hurry!"

"Mom, wait—" My warning was lost in a thunderclap. She either couldn't hear or wouldn't listen. The electronic door—installed after Dad's accident—began its agonizingly slow movement. Mom had left her access chip at the station in her panic, leaving us at Dad's mercy.

When the gap finally widened enough, I saw Dad's silhouette, the wheelchair a dark frame around him. The half-repaired clock in his lap caught the porch light, its exposed gears winking like cruel stars. His eyes widened as he took in our state—three drenched figures straight from a nightmare—and I caught that familiar flash of frustration cross his face. The one that said he wished he could stand, could wrap us all in his arms like he used to.

"Good lord," he breathed, his voice steady despite the concern etching deeper lines around his eyes. "What happened to you all?"

"No time for questions," Mom snapped, as she pushed past him, the wheels of his chair squeaking in protest as she forced him backward. The warmth of the house hit like a physical wall, shocking enough that my grip on Austin faltered. He swayed dangerously, a low moan escaping his lips.

"I'm getting towels and running a bath," Mom announced, as she darted down the hall, leaving wet footprints in her wake. She spun back toward Dad, her eyes fever-bright in the dim light. "Rex, look after Austin's knee, would you? And mind it's properly cleaned this time."

"My dad already checked—" Austin began, but Mom silenced him with a sharp wave that sent water droplets flying from her sleeve.

"Hush now, love. Don't be wasting your strength." She disappeared into the bathroom, the door slamming with enough force to rattle the family photos on the walls.

Our house had never felt so wrong. The familiar hallway now seemed to twist inward, its walls pressing closer with each thunderclap. Every door—bathroom, parents' room, Dad's study—loomed like a mouth ready to swallow us whole. The brass doorknobs caught what little light remained, gleaming like cats' eyes in the dark. My room and Sebastian's stood next to each other, silent sentinels to a normalcy that felt as distant as a dream. Family photos lined the walls, their frozen smiles now seeming more like grimaces, snapshots of a time that felt centuries removed from this nightmare.

"Theo," Dad called from the kitchen, his steady voice anchoring me to reality. "Need your help here." The wheels of his chair protested against the linoleum as he struggled to maneuver around the kitchen table. A wooden chair scraped across the floor as he tried to pull it out, his frustration visible in the tight set of his jaw.

I guided Austin through the darkness, our sodden shoes leaving trails like snail tracks across the floor. Each squelching step seemed to echo in the unnatural quiet that had settled over the house. The kitchen light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that made everything look sharp and unfamiliar.

Dad had draped one of Mom's good dishtowels—the faded green one she saved for company—over the chair. As I lowered Austin into it, the weight of my own waterlogged clothes suddenly became unbearable. My jeans clung like a layer of ice, and water dripped steadily from my hair, forming a puddle that spread like spilled ink across the linoleum. But Austin needed help first.

His mud-caked jeans had practically fused to his skin. We peeled them off together, his fingers trembling so badly I had to take over. Each tug drew a sharp intake of breath from Austin, but he didn't complain. When we finally worked them past his swollen knee, I had to bite back a gasp. The injury looked angry, purple-black against his ghost-white skin.

Austin sat there in his soaked boxer briefs and t-shirt, looking nothing like the confident kid who'd been cracking jokes in the woods just hours ago. His lean frame seemed to cave in on itself as violent shivers wracked his body. Goosebumps raised his skin into tiny mountains, and his dark hair hung in wet ropes across his forehead. Water droplets clung to his eyelashes, catching the harsh kitchen light like tears he refused to shed.

But it was his eyes that stopped me cold. Those usually bright green eyes—the ones that sparked with mischief during our gaming sessions—now stared through me, glazed and distant. Dark crescents had formed beneath them, aging him beyond his years. His lips, usually quick with a smart remark, were pressed into a bloodless line.

"Who did this?" The words barely made it past his lips, almost lost in the storm's fury outside. We both knew he wasn't talking about his knee.

I gripped his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. Ms. Gabrowski's face flashed through my mind—not the horror we'd discovered in the woods, but the way she'd look when explaining Shakespeare, eyes alive with passion, staying late to help struggling students parse through difficult passages. The contrast between those memories and what we'd found made my stomach roll. What kind of darkness had reached out and dragged her into its depths?

Austin's gaze locked with mine, and I saw my own horror reflected there. We were just kids playing at being heroes in our RPG campaigns. Nothing had prepared us for real monsters, real darkness. The weight of what we'd witnessed pressed down on us like a physical thing, threatening to crush whatever innocence we had left.

Words failed me. Instead, I squeezed his shoulder again, trying to pour everything I couldn't say into that simple gesture. He nodded once, a slight dip of his chin that acknowledged our shared trauma.

"This might sting," Dad warned, his voice gentle but firm as he prepared to clean the wound. The sharp bite of antiseptic cut through the damp air, making my empty stomach clench.

"Ow!" Austin jerked away, his calm facade cracking.

"Easy there, buddy." Dad's steady hands never falted. "Sometimes healing hurts worse than the initial wound. That's just how it goes."

I collapsed into the chair beside Austin, drawn to the kitchen window like a moth to flame. Outside, the storm had swallowed every trace of light, leaving nothing but an impenetrable void where our backyard should be. The kitchen clock read just before six, but in the unnatural darkness, it might as well have been midnight.

As Dad worked, my eyes kept drifting back to that window. The darkness pressed against it like a living thing, and I half-expected to see Ms. Gabrowski's face materialize from the void, her lifeless eyes full of accusation. The image was so vivid I had to look away, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Theo?" Dad's voice cut through my spiral, steady and grounding. "You hurt anywhere, son?"

I shook my head, though the truth was more complicated. Every part of me ached, but it wasn't the kind of pain you could bandage or ice. This hurt lived deeper, in the marrow of my bones, in the hollow pit that had opened up inside me the moment we'd found her.

"I'm fine," I lied, attempting a smile that felt like it might crack my face. Dad's eyes lingered on me, seeing straight through the facade. He'd always been able to read me, even when I wished he couldn't.

The sound of running water echoed down the hall, punctuated by Mom's frantic movements. Her worry had become a tangible presence, seeping under doors and through walls like smoke, filling every corner of the house. I wanted to call out, to tell her everything was okay, but the words turned to ash in my throat. Because nothing was okay. Nothing might ever be okay again.

Dad finished wrapping Austin's knee with the same careful precision he used when fixing his clocks. The kitchen settled into a heavy silence, broken only by the methodical ticking of the wall clock—each second a mocking reminder that the world kept turning, oblivious to how it had shattered around us. I caught Austin's eye, and the look we shared said what neither of us could voice: How do you return to normal when normal no longer exists?

The storm howled against the windows, but it felt distant now, almost irrelevant. The real storm was just beginning. Whatever darkness had claimed Ms. Gabrowski wasn't finished with our quiet town. As I sat in our kitchen—a space that should have felt safe and familiar—I couldn't shake the certainty that this was merely the eye of something far worse approaching.

The overhead light flickered, casting sharp shadows over the wet floor. Mom rushed in, paper towels in hand, wiping up the puddles we’d tracked in. "The wood will warp," she muttered, her voice absent as she scrubbed.

She moved fast, her hands trembling slightly as she cleaned, eyes darting to the kitchen table where Austin and I sat, water dripping onto her pristine centerpiece. The table she’d been so proud of, as if it could hold everything together.

I could still remember her voice, bright with hope: "Just imagine, love—all of us, together for proper meals, like a real family."

But reality had worn that dream thin. Most days I ate breakfast standing up, if at all. Lunch was whatever the cafeteria served, and dinner usually meant retreating to my room with a plate, leaving Mom's perfect family dinner scene to gather dust like an abandoned stage set. Even on weekends, when we managed to coordinate a meal, Dad would inevitably suggest moving to the living room, unable to bear the silence that always settled over the table.

Now we sat here like trespassers in our own home, our sodden clothes and muddy shoes desecrating Mom's careful order. Everything felt wrong: the dark wooden cabinets that Mom had spent weeks choosing, the refrigerator humming its mundane song, her hairdressing tools scattered across the table—scissors, combs, and clips arranged with professional precision. All these normal things seemed obscene now, like props in a play where something had gone horribly off-script.

Dad wheeled over to the counter, retrieving his half-repaired clock before disappearing down the hallway. The soft whir of his chair faded into silence. He hadn't said much, but that was Dad—steady, quiet, leaving the emotional heavy lifting to Mom. Sometimes I wondered if that was his way of coping, focusing on things he could fix, like broken clocks and scraped knees, while the bigger fractures spread unchecked around him.

Mom burst back in, all nervous energy and clumsy movement. She knocked a bottle of conditioner off the table, letting out a startled "Oh!" as she fumbled to catch it. Her hands trembled as she set it upright, and she let out that high, forced laugh that always signaled she was close to breaking. "Towels!" she announced, as if she'd just discovered their existence. She practically threw them over our laps, her movements too sharp, too urgent. As she rushed past us again, her familiar floral perfume—usually so comforting—mixed with something else, something raw and metallic. The scent of fear, I realized, clung to all of us now like a second skin.

I glanced at Austin, who sat motionless beside me, his face ashen under the harsh kitchen lights. His unfocused stare seemed to look straight through the wall, seeing something I couldn't—or didn't want to. Finally, he turned to me, his voice barely a breath. "Did that really happen?"

"I think so," I murmured, wishing I could tell him different. Wishing I could frame it as just another one of our RPG scenarios gone dark, where we could roll back time with the throw of a dice. But the copper smell of blood still clung to my nostrils, too real for any game.

Austin shifted, wincing as the movement jarred his knee. His teeth worried his bottom lip raw. "I heard she had a boyfriend," he whispered, hunching forward as if sharing a dangerous secret. Something in his conspiratorial tone sent ice down my spine. Even alone in the kitchen, it felt wrong to discuss it, like speaking about death might summon it closer.

"Really?" The question caught in my throat. "Who?"

Austin's response was cut short by voices drifting from the hallway. His eyes darted toward the sound, then back to me. I raised a finger to my ear, and he leaned in closer, both of us falling into the familiar pattern of eavesdropping—a skill honed by years of friendship and shared secrets.

"So, Mrs. Gabrowski is really dead?" Dad's voice, usually an anchor of calm, wavered with disbelief. The uncertainty in it scared me more than I wanted to admit.

"That's what the boys are saying," Mom replied.

"And what did Paul say?" Dad's voice dropped lower, taking on that tone he used when he thought we couldn't hear.

"He and Joey are heading into the forest. That's where they said the body is." Mom's casual mention of "the body" sent my stomach lurching. Just hours ago, she had been Ms. Gabrowski—the teacher who'd stayed late helping me understand fractions, who'd smiled with genuine pride when I finally grasped long division. Now she was just "the body," reduced to a piece of evidence in a police report. The reality of it hit me like a physical blow.

Mom's footsteps approached before we could pretend we hadn't been listening. She burst into the kitchen, her nervous energy preceding her like a wave. "Bath's ready!" The false brightness in her voice was painful to hear, each word balanced on a knife's edge between normalcy and hysteria.

I caught Austin's eye, seeing the exhaustion etched in his face. "I should take that bath first," I said, pushing myself up, my legs trembling beneath me like I'd forgotten how to walk. "You can't get that bandage wet anyway."

"Yeah," he mumbled, slumping deeper into his chair. Mom descended on him immediately, tucking the towels around his shoulders with frantic care. She folded and adjusted, tucked and smoothed, until he looked like a child being bundled up against winter's bite. But no amount of fussing could hide the haunted look in his eyes—the same look I'd seen in the woods when we'd first found her.

"Mom, he's fine," I said quietly, trying to still her nervous hands as she attempted to smooth Austin's wet hair.

"I know, I know," she stammered, her movements finally slowing. "I just... I just don't know what else to do." Her hands fluttered aimlessly, lost birds searching for somewhere to land.

The admission hit me hard. I stepped forward and hugged her briefly, feeling her tense frame soften for just a moment. She was trying—she always tried—to smooth over life's jagged edges, even when they cut her in the process.

As I made my way down the hallway, their voices faded to a low murmur behind me, somehow making me feel more untethered from reality. I glanced back once to see Austin watching me go, his eyes heavy with unspoken understanding. We both knew that what we'd seen in those woods couldn't be washed away, no matter how hot the water or how clean the towels. Some stains sink deeper than skin.

The bathroom was thick with lavender—Mom's universal cure for everything from scraped knees to broken hearts. Steam hung in the air like fog, making the small space feel even more closed in. I approached the bathtub, testing the water with my fingers.

"Ouch," I muttered, pulling back. "Too hot, as usual." Mom never could gauge temperature right, always treating bathwater like it needed to sanitize as much as soothe.

I caught my reflection in the mirror as I waited for the water to cool, barely recognizing myself. My light brown hair had dried in wild directions, like I'd been electrocuted. Dad's voice echoed in my head, his constant refrain about cutting it shorter, keeping it "neat." But I liked how it fell, just long enough to hide behind when needed. The slight part in the middle made it look intentional, even if Dad thought otherwise.

A smudge of dark mud streaked across my nose, transforming my face into something feral. I scrubbed it away, Mom's familiar praise floating through my mind: "Such a beautiful face. Those gorgeous blue eyes, that cute button nose, those full lips." She'd gush like this to anyone who'd listen, as if saying it enough times would make it more true. As if she could reshape reality with enough eager words.

Peeling off my mud-caked clothes felt like shedding a second skin. Each item landed in the laundry basket with a wet thud—shirt, pants, underwear, socks—each one carrying a piece of the forest with it. The floor-length mirror reflected back a stranger, and I couldn't help but stare, really look at myself for once.

My light brown hair was a disaster, dried all crazy and sticking up everywhere. Dad was always going on about cutting it shorter, but I liked how it fell just past my ears, how the slight part in the middle made it look kind of intentional even when it was a mess. A smudge of dark mud streaked across my nose—the same stupid button nose Mom was always going on about, along with my "gorgeous blue eyes" and "perfect bow lips." Sometimes I wished she'd stop trying to make me sound like some kind of angel baby.

The rest of me was just... awkward. My neck was too long, my shoulders too bony. Mom's voice drifted through my memory: "You're too skinny. I could play a xylophone on those ribs." My hand traced the pronounced ridges of my ribcage, down to my flat stomach. She wasn't wrong. No matter how many of her comfort foods she piled on my plate, I remained stubbornly thin. My chest was basically nonexistent—not like Sebastian's, which actually had muscle definition. Just more bones and pale skin that never tanned, only burned.

My arms were like twigs, all elbows and weird angles. Even my hands looked too delicate, like they belonged on someone else, with long fingers Mom said were "made for piano" (too bad I sucked at music). My legs weren't much better—too long and skinny, knobby knees, ankle bones that stuck out like they were trying to escape. At least I was tall for my age, but that just made me feel like a stretched-out version of my younger self.

My chest was basically nonexistent—not like Sebastian's, which actually had muscle definition. Just more bones and pale skin that never tanned, only burned. The only hair I had on my chest were these weird, pale, practically invisible strands that Sebastian said didn't count as actual chest hair. At least I'd started getting some dark hair under my arms last year, though it was still pretty pathetic compared to the other guys in the locker room.

My arms were like twigs, all elbows and weird angles. Even my hands looked too delicate, like they belonged on someone else, with long fingers Mom said were "made for piano" (too bad I sucked at music).

A trail of dark hair had started growing from my belly button downward, which was pretty much the only proof I was actually going through puberty. Looking down at myself, I couldn't help doing that thing every guy secretly did - checking if everything looked normal down there. Mine seemed okay, I guess? Not huge or anything, but probably not small either. Not that I had much to compare it to, even though everyone in the locker room tried to sneak glances without being obvious about it. Austin had once said everyone was probably average and just lying about being bigger, but who really knew? It's not like you could just ask people.

My legs weren't much better—too long and skinny, knobby knees, ankle bones that stuck out like they were trying to escape. At least I was tall for my age, but that just made me feel like a stretched-out version of my younger self.

The only thing I kind of liked was that I could eat whatever I wanted without gaining weight, but even that felt like a double-edged sword. Sebastian was always saying I needed to "bulk up" if I ever wanted to make the team, like being thin was some kind of personal failure. But looking at myself now, pale and vulnerable in the bathroom light, I just saw a kid pretending to be grown up—all awkward angles and sharp edges, marked by the day's horrors in ways I couldn't quite name.

The bath had cooled enough to be bearable. I slipped in slowly, letting the warm water claim me inch by inch, willing it to wash away more than just the mud and sweat. The lavender scent wrapped around me like a blanket, but instead of soothing, it felt cloying, artificial—a fragile mask over the day's horrors.

A soft knock jarred me from my thoughts.

"Theo?" Austin's voice wavered through the door, stripped of its usual confidence. "Can I... can I come in for a sec? I don't want to be alone right now."

I hesitated, suddenly super aware that I was completely naked. Sure, we'd changed for gym class hundreds of times, trying to act casual while everyone did that weird dance of switching clothes without actually showing anything. But this was different. In the locker room, you had the towel trick down to an art - that careful wrap that showed you weren't shy but also didn't show anything else. Here I was just... exposed.

Plus things always got weird when you were completely naked around your friends. Like, there was this unspoken rule that you just didn't do that. Looking was definitely not allowed, even though everyone secretly did it anyway, trying to figure out if they were normal compared to everyone else.

Still, the tremor in Austin's voice made my decision for me. He sounded scared in a way that went deeper than just not wanting to be alone.

"Yeah, okay. Come in."

As the door creaked open, I sank deeper into the bubbles, making sure everything below my waist was well hidden. Austin limped in, still cocooned in Mom's towels, the white bandage on his knee stark against his skin. His face was drawn, shadows pooling under his eyes like bruises.

I shifted awkwardly, trying to sit in a way that looked natural but also kept everything covered. The last thing I needed was for this to get weird - we had enough to deal with already.

"You okay?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, immediately feeling stupid. Nothing about this was okay.

Austin collapsed onto the closed toilet lid, his whole body seeming to fold in on itself. "I keep seeing her face," he whispered, staring at the tile floor like it might offer answers. "Every time I close my eyes, she's there. It's like... like she's watching me."

A chill ran through me despite the warm water. "Yeah, me too," I admitted. "Like I can't escape it."

Austin's eyes finally met mine, filled with a desperation that made my chest ache. "Do you think... do you think we did something wrong? Like, maybe if we'd gotten there sooner..."

"No," I said firmly, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "We couldn't have known. It's not our fault." The words felt right, even if they didn't feel true.

Steam curled between us like ghost breath as silence settled in. I shifted, trying to stay covered while maintaining eye contact. The vulnerability of the moment went far deeper than physical nakedness.

"Theo?" Austin's voice was barely a whisper now.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we'll ever feel normal again? After what we saw?"

The question hung in the lavender-scented air like a weight. I wanted to lie, to offer some comfort, but Ms. Gabrowski's lifeless eyes flashed through my mind, and I knew I couldn't.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"I don't know, Austin," I said softly. "I really don't know. But... I think maybe we'll find a new normal. Eventually."

He nodded, fear and understanding warring in his expression. In that moment, we were just two kids who'd stumbled into something far bigger than us, trying to navigate a world that had suddenly lost all its familiar landmarks.

"We'll figure it out together, though," I added, a sudden strength flowing into my voice. "You, me, and Wei. We're in this together, no matter what."

The ghost of a smile touched Austin's lips, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Yeah," he said. "Together. That's... that's good."

As he stood to leave, he paused in the doorway, something of his old self flickering across his face. "Thanks, Theo. For, you know, letting me in. Both literally and... yeah."

I started to nod, but a sudden awareness prickled across my skin. The warm water lapped against me, but something felt wrong. My eyes darted down, and panic jolted through me—the bubbles had dissolved to nothing, leaving me completely exposed. The clear water hid nothing, my pale legs and everything else clearly visible beneath the surface.

Heat rushed to my face and neck as I instinctively tried to sink lower, pressing my knees together, but it was too late. I forced myself to stay calm, though my heart hammered against my ribs. Austin seemed not to notice, still giving me that small, grateful smile. My body felt frozen between the urge to cover myself and the fear that sudden movement would draw attention to my nakedness.

"Anytime, man," I managed, my voice climbing an octave too high. "That's... that's what friends are for, right?"

Austin nodded, that same gentle smile still in place. "Yeah. Thanks, Theo," he said, before slipping out, closing the door with a soft click.

I sank beneath the cooling water, releasing a shaky breath. The physical vulnerability of the moment seemed almost trivial now, compared to the emotional walls we'd just let down. We'd seen each other stripped bare in ways that went far deeper than skin. And somehow, that felt right. Like an anchor in the storm our lives had become.

By eight o'clock, wrapped in a towel, I cracked open the bathroom door. Cool air raised goosebumps on my damp skin as I strained to listen. The sharp ring of the phone froze me in place. My hand gripped the doorframe as I held my breath, not wanting to alert my parents to my eavesdropping.

"Felicity Dempsey speaking." Mom's voice carried that high, tight quality it got when she was preparing herself for bad news. "Oh... hello, Paul."

My pulse quickened at the name. Paul. Every second stretched like taffy as I waited.

Her sharp intake of breath cut through the silence. "Oh my God." The whisper sliced through the quiet house like a knife. What followed was a silence so deep it seemed to swallow even the kitchen clock's steady ticking. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

"Thank you. See you tomorrow," she finally said, her voice hollow, stripped of its usual warmth.

"What is it?" Dad's voice was unnaturally flat, as if he was already bracing for the blow.

Mom's pause seemed endless. When she finally spoke, her words came out fragile as spun glass. "Mrs. Gabrowski is dead."

The truth of those words pressed down like a physical weight. I moved toward the kitchen on silent, bare feet, feeling like I was underwater, everything slow and surreal.

My parents turned as I entered. The three of us froze, reality settling over us like morning fog. Mom's face had gone chalk-white, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief. Dad sat rigid in his wheelchair, hands clenched in his lap, staring through the walls at something none of us could see.

Mom broke first, rushing to pull me into a fierce embrace. The familiar scent of hairspray and lavender enveloped me as her arms wrapped around me like she could shield me from the horror with nothing but maternal determination. "I'm so sorry you had to see that," she whispered, as she smoothed my damp hair. I let myself lean into her warmth, for just a moment feeling like a little kid again—back when I still believed Mom could fix anything, when a hug and a kiss could make the worst things better.

But the buzz of the front doorbell shattered that fragile moment like glass.

"What's going on here?" Sebastian filled the doorway, a dark figure dripping rainwater onto the floor. His light brown hair—usually styled with careful precision—was plastered to his head in wet ropes. Water traced paths down his face, dripping steadily from his nose to form a growing puddle at his feet. His varsity jacket, normally a symbol of his athletic prowess, clung to his muscular frame like a second skin. His eyes held a wild edge I rarely saw in my perfectly composed brother.

"Mrs. Gabrowski is dead," I said, the words coming out as barely more than breath, as if speaking them too loudly might make them more real, might summon something dark from the shadows.

Sebastian's eyes widened, then narrowed sharply. "Don't mess with me, Theo," he snapped, swiping rain from his face with jerky, aggressive movements. But beneath the anger, I caught something else—a flicker of doubt, the slow dawning realization that this wasn't one of our usual brotherly provocations.

"Sebastian." Mom's voice carried that particular tone she reserved for defusing tensions, gentle but brooking no argument. "Go get changed first, then we'll talk."

He stood frozen for a moment, rain still dripping from his clothes, looking lost in a way I'd never seen before. Then, with a frustrated sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him, he turned and trudged down the hall, leaving a trail of wet footprints like breadcrumbs in his wake.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. I caught Dad's eye and my stomach twisted. He hadn't moved, had barely spoken, but something in his gaze made me want to look away—a mixture of sorrow, resignation, and something else I couldn't quite name. He was looking at me like he was seeing something he'd hoped never to see, like he was calculating what came next and finding no good answers.

"Is it true?" My voice came out small, childlike. "Did they really find her... like we said?"

Mom and Dad shared one of their looks—the kind that made me feel like a little kid again, excluded from the adult table. Finally, Dad nodded, his expression carefully neutral but his voice heavy with certainty. "Paul confirmed it, son. They found her."

Something inside me cracked. That last thread of hope I'd been clinging to—that desperate wish that this was all some terrible mistake—snapped clean through. The truth settled over me like a physical weight: this was real. All of it.

"What happens now?" I hated how young I sounded, how scared.

Mom's hand found my shoulder, her grip anchoring me to the moment. "Now," she said quietly, "we try to get some rest. Dinner's almost ready. Tomorrow..." Her voice wavered slightly. "Tomorrow we'll figure things out."

I nodded, but the words rang hollow. Looking at Mom's forced smile, Dad's careful blankness, the wet trail Sebastian had left behind, I knew that "figuring things out" wasn't going to be simple. The world I'd woken up to this morning—the one that made sense—had vanished like morning mist. Our forest, our playground, had transformed into something else entirely, something that held darker things than we'd ever imagined. And now the shadows of Aves Grove seemed to press closer, as if they were gathering just beyond our kitchen door, waiting.

Half an hour later, we all sat around the dining table like we were at a funeral or something. The candles Mom had scattered everywhere made everyone's faces look weird and shadowy. Nobody touched their food - we just sat there, like we were all waiting for something bad to happen.

Sebastian, his hair still wet and messy, finally broke the silence. "So her guts were really hanging out of her stomach?"

Mom's fork hit her plate so hard I jumped. "Sebastian!" She looked like she might throw something at him. "The boys are—"

"Traumatized, yeah, whatever." Sebastian stabbed at his food, but his voice shook a little. For a second, he actually looked scared, which was worse than his usual jerk attitude.

Dad shifted in his wheelchair, the squeaking super loud in the quiet. "We're eating," he said, but he kept staring at his plate like it was the most interesting thing ever.

Mom had cobbled together what passed for a meal—baguettes, vegetables sliced with shaking hands, spreads that nobody touched. We picked at our food in near silence, the usual dinner table symphony of clinking silverware replaced by the heavy sound of rain against windows.

"Austin," Mom said softly, trying to inject warmth into the coldness that had settled over us. "Your father will pick you up in the morning. He's very busy tonight, of course."

Austin didn't look up, just nodded as he pushed a tomato across his plate with his fork. The red juice it left behind looked disturbingly like a trail of blood in the dim light. His face remained pale, distant, as if he'd retreated somewhere far beyond our reach.

Suddenly, the lights died with a sharp crack that felt like a gunshot in the quiet room. Darkness crashed over us like a wave.

"Damn it," Dad muttered from somewhere in the black. His wheelchair creaked as he shifted, the sound unnaturally loud in the darkness. "Must be that old fuse again." The soft whir of his chair faded as he moved away from the table, leaving behind a silence that pressed against my ears like cotton.

Mom's chair scraped back. In the dark, I heard her fumbling with something, then a match flared to life. The candlestick flame wavered as she stood, casting her face in ghostly light. "I'll get a flashlight," she said, trembling slightly. She disappeared down the hallway, taking most of the light with her, leaving us with just the feeble glow of the remaining candles and the endless drumming of rain against the windows.

The shadows writhed on the walls like living things, transforming our familiar dining room into something alien and wrong. What little light remained seemed to make the darkness deeper, more conscious, as if it was watching us from the corners.

"I'm going to my room." Sebastian's voice cut through the dark as he stood abruptly. "In case anyone cares." His laugh that followed was sharp and hollow, echoing strangely as he disappeared upstairs, his footsteps heavy with teenage defiance.

The screech of chair legs against wood made me jump as Austin suddenly stood. "This day is cursed," he muttered, limping toward the window. The candlelight caught his profile, transforming him into a stark silhouette that seemed to vibrate with tension.

I followed, my sock feet silent on the wooden floor. The rain attacked the glass in sheets, turning the world outside into a watery blur.

"That's weird," Austin breathed, fogging the cold window. "Look around. The streetlights should be on."

My stomach dropped as I pressed closer to the glass. He was right. The darkness beyond our window was absolute—no streetlights, no house lights, not even the glow of a distant car. Just an oppressive void that seemed to swallow everything it touched.

"Maybe the storm knocked out deera power line," I offered weakly, but the words rang false even as I said them. This darkness felt wrong—too thick, too purposeful to be a simple blackout. It reminded me of the shadows in the woods where we'd found her.

A dark shape shot past the window, there and gone like a fragment of nightmare.

"Shit!" Austin's fingers dug into the windowsill, his knuckles white. "What was that?"

Heart hammering, I reached for the window latch, but Austin's hand clamped around my wrist like a vise.

"Are you crazy?" His whisper was fierce, eyes wide and reflecting tiny candle flames like trapped stars. "Don't open it."

Movement flickered at the edge of my vision—something dancing just beyond the candlelight's reach, moving too fast to track, as if it was slipping through the spaces between raindrops.

"There," I breathed, barely audible over the storm's fury. "Did you see that?"

Austin nodded, his breathing shallow and quick. "Is it... the fox?" The question hung in the air, neither of us believing it.

"No way. Too big," I whispered, my pulse keeping time with the rain.

"Maybe it's just a really big fox?" Austin's nervous laugh couldn't hide the tremor in his voice as his eyes searched the darkness.

Then it appeared—closer now, more defined. A massive shape emerged from the gloom, and for one terrible moment, lightning cast it in stark relief against the rain. The silhouette was impossible to mistake: tall and ancient-looking, with antlers that seemed to tear holes in the storm-dark sky.

Austin's fingers dug into my shoulder, his voice a ghost of itself. "It's the deer," he breathed. "The one from before."

I squinted through the rain-blurred glass, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he whispered, "look at the antlers."

But as I stared at those curved shapes cutting through the rain, something felt wrong. "It's too small," I murmured, dread pooling in my stomach. "That's not a normal deer."

Just then, the lights blazed back to life, making me stagger back from the brutal brightness. I lunged for the switch, plunging us back into the shelter of darkness.

"Can you still see it?" I whispered, rushing back to press my face against the cold glass.

But the shape had vanished like smoke. Austin shook his head, eyes wide and searching the spot where the deer—or whatever that thing had been—had stood moments before.

We stood frozen, breathing hard, watching the rain hammer against the window. Each drop seemed to echo in the silence as we strained our eyes against the dark, waiting for something, anything, to move in the shadows.

The lights snapped back on with a sharp click that made us both jump. Sebastian lounged in the doorway, one hand on the switch, the other holding a half-eaten piece of baguette. His casual posture felt like an insult after what we'd just witnessed.

"What are you two gawking at?" he asked around a mouthful of bread, voice dripping with his usual older-brother disdain.

"There was a deer right outside the window," I blurted, my words tumbling over each other, voice tight with residual fear and adrenaline.

Sebastian barked out a laugh, spraying crumbs. "Bullshit. You know deer don't come into villages." He lounged back in his chair, all casual confidence and athlete swagger. Even with his hair still damp and messy, he managed to look like he'd stepped out of some sports magazine. It drove me crazy how he could do that.

"We saw it!" Austin's voice cracked with frustration, his face flushed.

"Right." Sebastian dragged the word out, his eyes flickering between us with that look he got when he thought he had us figured out. "Just like you saw Bigfoot last summer? Or was it aliens?" His mouth curled into that familiar smirk – the one that made me want to punch him and prove myself to him at the same time.

Mom had disappeared down the hall, and Dad's wheelchair squeaked as he headed to his study. The moment they were gone, Sebastian's whole demeanor shifted. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes suddenly intense.

"Listen, you little nerds," he said, but there was something off in his voice. Not quite the usual mockery. "If you're trying to get attention or whatever, fine. But May's coming over later, and I swear to God, if you pull any of your weird shit—"

"We're not lying," I cut in, hating how defensive I sounded. "We really saw—"

"Yeah, yeah." Sebastian stood up, stretching his arms overhead like this conversation was already boring him. But his movements were too sharp, too aggressive. "Sure you did. Next you'll tell me the deer was wearing a tutu and doing ballet." He grabbed another piece of bread, tearing into it with unnecessary force. "Here's what's gonna happen: You two are gonna be real quiet, and if May asks, everything's fine. Got it?"

I caught a glimpse then of something I rarely saw in my brother – actual worry. It disappeared so fast I might have imagined it, covered quickly by his usual cocky grin.

"Or what?" Austin challenged, but his voice was weak.

Sebastian's laugh was harsh. "Or I'll tell everyone at school about that time I caught you crying over that stupid poetry book." He fixed Austin with a look that was pure predator. "What was it again? 'Oh, the darkness in my soul' or some emo shit like that?"

Austin's face went white, then red. I could see his hands shaking under the table. "That's not—" I started, but Sebastian cut me off.

"Save it, baby brother." He headed for the stairs, then turned back with that infuriating grin. "I'm gonna get ready for May. You two should try it sometime—getting actual girlfriends instead of playing your weird forest games." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Unless you're already doing each other?"

"Fuck you," I spat, but it came out weak. Sebastian just laughed, that booming athlete's laugh that always made him the center of attention at school.

"Seriously though," he added, and for a split second, his voice softened. "Just... stay in your room tonight, okay? Don't make things weird." Then, as if catching himself being almost nice, he added, "I mean, weirder than you already are, freakshows."

He disappeared upstairs, leaving us in a silence that felt heavy with all the things we couldn't say. I looked at Austin, saw my own mix of anger and fear reflected in his face. Sebastian had this way of making you feel stupid for being scared, while somehow making you more terrified at the same time.

The worst part was, under all his jackass behavior, I could tell he was scared too. And somehow, that was more terrifying than anything we'd seen in the woods.

The storm continued its assault outside, but the darkness pressing against the windows felt different now—more conscious, more alive. We stood shoulder to shoulder, staring into the night, my heart still racing as I searched the shadows for any sign of movement.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped. The silence that followed felt wrong, like someone had pressed a mute button on the world. The streetlights buzzed back to life, casting long fingers of light across the empty streets of Aves Grove. Everything looked exactly as it always had—quaint, picturesque, perfectly normal. But something had shifted, like the familiar facade was just a mask covering something darker underneath.

I thought about our town, nestled against the Misty Mountains like a postcard come to life. The kind of place tourists dreamed about, with its old brick church and charming boutiques. In summer, they filled our streets, exploring family-owned restaurants and taking photos of every "quaint" detail. Winter brought different visitors, drawn by snow-capped peaks and frozen lakes that glittered like diamonds. But tonight, all that picture-perfect charm felt hollow. The wet streets, the flickering lights, the unnatural quiet—it all seemed too perfect, too staged. Like a beautiful prop that could collapse at any moment.

As midnight crept closer, Austin and I retreated to my bedroom, both pretending we weren't jumping at every shadow. My room was its usual disaster zone: clothes strewn everywhere in various states of cleanliness, half-empty glasses creating a graveyard of forgotten drinks, desk drowning under books and papers where my attempts at writing usually died unfinished.

Austin picked up one of the abandoned glasses from my nightstand, studying its contents with suspicious eyes. "Is this still drinkable?" he asked, nose wrinkling.

I shook my head. "Nah. Want something fresh?"

He nodded, and we slipped out into the hallway like thieves, creeping past Sebastian's door where the blue glow of his TV bled under the gap. From my parents' room came the sound of heavy, rhythmic snoring.

"Is that your dad?" Austin whispered, fighting back a grin.

I smothered a laugh. "Nope. Mom."

The hallway stretched before us, lit only by two small nightlights—one by my room, another near the bathroom. Their weak glow seemed to make the shadows deeper, the house larger and stranger than it should be.

"Gotta pee real quick," Austin murmured, disappearing into the bathroom.

I drifted into the kitchen, where an empty cabinet greeted my search. "Great," I muttered, fishing two glasses from the dishwasher I'd been too lazy to unload. The kitchen felt too quiet, with only the refrigerator's steady hum for company as I tried to shake off the memory of what we'd seen outside.

Austin joined me, now wearing one of my old t-shirts and a pair of my underwear that fit him perfectly—we'd always been about the same size. His tousled brown curls fell across his forehead as he ran a hand through his hair, his expression softer now but still shadowed by what we’d seen earlier. He grabbed a bottle of cola from the fridge, lifting it in silent question before pouring us each a glass.

Back in my room, we settled onto my bed, the cola fizzing quietly between us. The desk lamp and distant streetlight twisted our shadows on the walls, making the familiar space feel warped and strange. We sipped in silence, but the air hummed with all the things we weren't saying.

A sudden blast of hip-hop music shattered the quiet—Sebastian's ringtone. His voice carried clearly through our paper-thin walls. "Hey, babe. Did you find the house okay?" The familiar cockiness in his tone made me wince.

I shook my head, grimacing. Privacy was a foreign concept in our house. Growing up, I'd learned more than I ever wanted to know about everyone's private lives. It didn't bother me much—I had nothing worth hiding—but Sebastian would probably lose it if he knew how much I overheard of his late-night activities.

"How long have they been together?" Austin asked, his voice low.

"Couple months," I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Sebastian acts like he owns her or something. Like he's God's gift to Aves Grove."

The words came out sharper than I meant them to. Austin shot me a look, and I knew he'd caught the edge in my voice. But if he noticed my jealousy, he was decent enough not to mention it.

Through the wall, we could hear Sebastian moving around his room, probably cleaning up the mess he never bothered to deal with unless May was coming over. The thought of them together made my stomach twist, but I pushed the feeling down. I had bigger things to worry about tonight than my stupid crush on my brother's girlfriend.

Austin leaned his head back against the wall, something hesitant in his voice. "Does she just come over for sex?"

"You'll hear for yourself soon enough." I tried to laugh, but it stuck in my throat. Everything felt too raw tonight for casual jokes about my brother's love life. A heavy feeling settled in my stomach, refusing to be ignored.

A sharp crack from outside froze us both mid-conversation. Our heads snapped toward the window, laughter dying instantly.

"You heard that, right?" Austin's whisper barely carried across the space between us.

I nodded, pulse jumping. The rain had stopped, but darkness still pressed against the window like a living thing. The streetlight outside flickered, steadied, then flickered again, its sickly glow washing over the yard. Something moved in the shadows—a darker shape sliding across the grass—but when I blinked, it had vanished.

"Maybe it's just a branch," I offered, my racing heart betraying my false confidence.

We crept toward the window together, trying to minimize the bed's protestesting creaks. The sound outside continued—methodical, purposeful, like footsteps just beyond sight. Wind rattled the glass, its moan carrying hints of something that made my skin crawl.

"Probably just someone walking their dog," Austin breathed, but his trembling voice suggested he was trying to convince himself more than me.

I shot him a silencing look, my heart hammering so hard I was sure it would give us away. The air felt thick, suspended, as if the whole house was holding its breath. Bracing against the windowsill, I leaned forward carefully. The streetlight's unsteady glow carved deep shadows across the lawn. Something moved again—more defined this time, almost human-shaped—before melting back into darkness.

Another crack split the silence, sharp as a gunshot, closer now. Every instinct screamed at me to hide, but curiosity held me frozen. Gripping Austin's hand, I slowly raised my head higher. The breath caught in my throat.

There, crouched beneath my window, was a girl.

"There's someone out there," I whispered, the words barely a breath.

Austin's hand clamped down on mine with bruising force as we watched the figure below.

She was hunched over like a predator, her back to us, dark hair spilling over her shoulders in wild waves. Her movements were strange—not the random scrabbling of someone searching for something, but precise, deliberate. Her hands traced patterns in the dirt with an unsettling purpose. My pulse roared in my ears as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing, each possibility worse than the last.

Then she moved.

Her head turned toward me, startled. I hadn’t meant to scare her. The streetlight flickered as I recognized the face staring back at me—Sebastian's girlfriend, May.

"May?" I blurted out like an idiot.

She jumped, looking up at my window. Even with mud on her jeans and her hair all messy from the rain, she still looked beautiful. "Theo!" She gave me that smile that always made my stomach do weird flips. "Sorry, I dropped my key."

My heart was doing that stupid racing thing it always did around her. "You could've knocked," I whispered, then added, "You shouldn't have to crawl around in the mud. Especially not after all this rain." I hated how much I cared, how I wanted to protect her even though she wasn't mine to protect. She was Sebastian's girlfriend, and here I was, acting like some pathetic knight in shining armor.

"Didn't want to wake up your parents." She brushed some dirt off her knees, found her key, and shot me another quick smile. "Thanks though."

I nodded, still feeling a little awkward but understanding. "No problem. Just be careful, okay?"

"Always am," she said with a wink. Then she headed around to Sebastian's window, and I tried really hard not to think about why she was here so late.

Austin and I collapsed back onto the bed, adrenaline still coursing through our veins.

"Jesus," Austin exhaled shakily, attempting a laugh that came out more like a whimper. "I thought my heart was going to explode."

"Same," I whispered, but my mind kept replaying those moments on loop. Even crouched in the dirt, May had moved with a grace that made my throat tight.

"She's pretty," Austin observed, but his tone was wary now, as if he'd caught something off about the whole scene.

I nodded, my thoughts a tangled mess. She was beautiful—heartbreakingly so. The way the streetlight had caught her pale skin, how her red hair had gleamed in the darkness... but there had been something else there too. Something in the way her laugh hadn't quite matched her eyes, how her smile had seemed practiced. Or maybe I was just looking for flaws because she was with Sebastian, trying to convince myself I wasn't falling for my brother's girlfriend.

We lay in silence, broken only by the TV's muted drone and the house's restless settling. Through the wall came the murmur of voices—Sebastian's familiar laugh, and May's responses, musical even when muffled. I tried to tune it out, but the walls might as well have been tissue paper.

When the moaning started, I yanked the blanket higher, my stomach churning with jealousy. My thoughts desperately sought distraction, landing on the woods, on that deer with its dead eyes that had seemed to recognize us, and the storm that had appeared from nowhere.

May's laughter filtered through the wall again, and my chest ached with want and guilt. Here I was, pining after my brother's girlfriend while something dark stalked our town. It felt ridiculous—pathetic even—to be worried about crush problems with everything else going on, but I couldn't help it. Every time I heard her voice, it was like my brain short-circuited, forgetting everything else.

I looked over at Austin, already drifting into sleep beside me, and felt profoundly grateful for his presence. Whatever darkness was gathering in Aves Grove, we at least had each other.

As consciousness began to slip away, one last thought surfaced through the fog of exhaustion: tomorrow, Wei needed to know everything. Because deep in my bones, I knew this was just the first tremor of something massive stirring beneath our quiet town—and my complicated feelings for May would have to wait.

The scream ripped through the night like a knife, raw and wet and wrong. I jolted upright, tangled sheets trapping my legs as my heart tried to punch through my chest. Austin was already sitting up beside me, his face bleached white in the darkness. The air felt too thick to breathe, carrying a metallic tang that reminded me of the woods. Of Ms. Gabrowski.

"Did you hear that?" Austin's whisper was barely there, trembling like a leaf.

My throat had closed up completely. I could only nod. Then it came again—louder, closer. Not just a scream of fear anymore, but something final. Something dying.

The temperature in the room plummeted. My breath came out in visible puffs, though it was barely autumn. The yellow streetlight outside flickered, its rhythm matching my racing pulse: darkness-light-darkness-light. In those brief moments of illumination, shadows writhed against the walls, moving against gravity, reaching toward the window like grasping fingers.

"Maybe it's just... May," Austin stammered, but we both knew this was something else entirely. This was wrong on a fundamental level, like reality itself was starting to unravel.

A sharp crack echoed from outside—not the clean snap of a breaking branch, but something wet and organic. Like bones being twisted. The sound drew me toward the window despite every instinct screaming to hide. Dread sat heavy in my chest like a stone as I peered out into the darkness.

A figure stood at the tree line, barely visible. Its movements were jerky, desperate, like a marionette being yanked by invisible strings. As I watched, it seemed to glitch between positions—one moment by the oak tree, the next closer to the house, without ever actually moving.

"Austin..." My voice came out strangled. "Someone's there."

"Oh God." Austin yanked me backward, his nails breaking skin. "Did you see—"

A thud against the house cut him off, the impact vibrating through the floors. Something scraped against the foundation, a sound like knives being dragged through concrete. We scrambled back, pulses racing in terrified synchronization.

Then, barely audible at first: "Help me."

The voice was wrong—like someone trying to remember how human speech worked. Every word seemed to echo slightly, as if multiple voices were speaking almost, but not quite, in unison. The temperature dropped further, frost crystallizing on the window in intricate, unnatural patterns.

Austin's fingers clamped around my wrist. "Don't," he begged, eyes wild with panic. "Don't go near it."

I moved forward anyway, drawn by some horrible curiosity. My breath clouded the glass as I leaned in, the frost melting wherever I touched, leaving perfectly circular holes in the crystalline patterns. And there she was—crouched below like a predator about to strike.

Tangled brown hair fell in wet ropes around her face, but my eyes caught on the wounds first. Deep gashes carved across her right eye and cheek, still weeping blood that looked black in the stuttering streetlight. But the cuts... they formed patterns. Deliberate patterns, like the ones we'd seen on Ms. Gabrowski. My stomach lurched as the girl's head snapped up, movements too quick, too sharp to be natural.

Her hand pressed against the glass, leaving wet, dark smears. Blood trickled down the window in thin rivulets, and where it touched the frost, the ice hissed and steamed. The metallic smell grew stronger, seeping through the sealed window.

"Please..." The word cracked like thin ice, her lips barely moving. "I need help."

Behind me, Austin's panicked breathing seemed very far away as he burrowed under the blankets. But I couldn't look away from her. Everything about this was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. Like looking at something wearing human skin that had never actually seen a human before.

A metallic glint caught my eye—something in her other hand. The knife was long and wicked, its blade slick with fresh blood that seemed to move of its own accord, droplets crawling up the steel instead of down.

I staggered back, heart trying to punch through my chest. My thoughts spun wildly. Was she running from something? Or was she the thing others ran from?

Before I could process it, she rose—not standing up, but unfolding like paper being smoothed out, joints bending in ways that bones shouldn't allow. We were eye to eye now, only glass between us as she pressed closer, leaving crimson streaks with her fingers. Her face was inches from mine.

The fear in her eyes disappeared like a mask dropping away, replaced by something ancient and hungry. Her voice changed too, becoming something that didn't quite sound human anymore. "Let me in."

I stumbled backward, nearly falling over Austin. His grip on my arm would leave bruises. "Theo, don't!" he hissed, dragging me away.

We huddled below the windowsill, listening to the soft tap of bloodied fingers on glass. Each touch sent vibrations through the floor, through our bones. She wasn't going anywhere. The rhythm continued, gentle but insistent, making the window vibrate with each touch.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her voice came again, playful now, like a child's sing-song: "Let me in."