The blinds in Chief Warren Holt's office were half-closed, letting in thin slats of gray morning light. Dust floated through the beams like lazy snow. The air smelled like stale coffee and paperwork.
Sheriff Lane stood in front of his desk, hat in hand, eyes tight.
"It's happened again, Chief," he said quietly. "Another kid. Twelve years old. Name's Tyler Mendez."
Chief Holt didn't speak. Just reached for the manila folder the deputy held out, his fingers already heavy with dread.
Opening it.
Inside: a photo of a boy smiling awkwardly in a school picture. Legal records. Notes from a panicked mother.
And below that—four other files. Four other kids. All from Mayfield. All gone this year.
Four of them were found.
Just not alive.
Holt flipped to the next photo and flinched, even though he'd seen it before.
A body, twisted and mangled beyond recognition. Limbs broken like snapped branches.
One girl had her mouth frozen in a scream, but her eyes were missing.
Another boy's entire chest cavity was torn open, ribs cracked wide like a cage, and his guts... gone. Like something had feasted on them.
And the worst part?
They all went missing from inside their own home.
No signs of forced entry. No broken windows. No struggle.
Just… gone.
Not animals.
Not human.
Something else.
"Jesus," Holt muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Five kids in one year. No pattern, no evidence. And this town still sleeps at night."
Sheriff Lane shifted, uncomfortable.
"You think it's the same thing, Chief?"
Holt didn't answer. He looked out the window, where the woods pressed too close to town. His jaw tightened.
"I don't know what it is, Lane," he said.
"But it's not done."
Cut to:
The silence inside the car felt just as heavy.
Simon sat in the passenger seat,hands trembling. His mom kept glancing over at him, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the radio dial—but she didn't say anything.
Maybe she was afraid to.
Simon stared out the window. The trees blurred as they passed by. Last night kept playing in his mind over and
Over in a loop he couldn't forget. The breathing. The darkness. The presence in the hallway.
His mom, running into the room.
Was it real?
Please tell me it wasn't real.
He closed his eyes shut. His chest was tight. Skin felt cold.
"You're not crazy," he whispered to himself.
"You're not…"
But he wasn't sure anymore.
Something was in the dark.
And it knew his name.