The Madison sun rose timidly, almost afraid, as if the summer heat refused to return after the blow Sharon's disappearance had dealt to the town. The halls of Madison High smelled of chalk, sweat, and restrained fear. Students walked in silence, eyes fixed on the floor, as if the school itself forced them to drag their feet.
Marlo moved through the main hallway, backpack slung over his shoulder, feeling every glance like an invisible judgment. Rayanne walked a few steps ahead of him, clutching his notebook to his chest, writing something no one could see. Clayne leaned against the wall, his smile gone and shoulders hunched, as if the world had shrunk around him. Cullinan moved carefully, greeting close friends but avoiding larger groups. No one could ignore what had happened—Sharon Lively was dead, and the air in Madison had turned heavy, almost solid.
The rumor began spreading through the school before the second bell. Derek Holloway, a football player and one of Cullinan's close friends, had gone missing during practice. The news first came as a whisper: "No one's seen him since yesterday… he never showed up in the locker room…" Students exchanged nervous glances, and the silence grew deeper. No one wanted to say his name out loud.
Marlo arrived at literature class, where Rayanne had already taken his seat in the corner. Sunlight from the window fell over his notebook, illuminating unfinished notes—drawings of town maps, roads leading into the forest and toward the lake. Rayanne looked up, and his eyes—usually sharp and observant—were now dark, focused, almost paranoid.
"Do you think it's…?" Marlo didn't finish the question. He didn't want to name it, but Rayanne understood.
"I don't know," he answered softly. "But this isn't normal anymore, Marlo. People don't just disappear without a trace."
In the cafeteria, student groups had grown smaller. The rumor that another boy had vanished had put everyone on edge. Hallways emptied early, and conversations were reduced to murmurs and gestures. Clayne slammed his hand on the table, forcing a laugh no one shared.
That afternoon, as Marlo walked toward the parking lot with Abud, he noticed something that made him stop. A dark car, without visible plates, was parked near the school entrance. Inside, two figures seemed to move slowly. It wasn't a police car, nor did it belong to any teacher—just a heavy silence clinging to the skin.
"It's not the police," Marlo whispered, discreetly pointing.
Abud frowned and stepped closer. "Maybe they're just waiting for someone. But I don't like this."
That night, Derek Holloway's body was found in the field behind the school. His football jersey was soaked in blood, and his cleats were half-buried in the muddy ground. The news spread fast, though no one wanted to believe it. Cullinan fell to his knees at the scene, screaming his friend's name, while Marlo stood at a distance, feeling a cold that didn't come from the air.
After that second murder, fear stopped being abstract. It was no longer a rumor. No longer a story told to scare new students. Now it was here—tangible in every shadow, breathing behind every door.
At home, Marlo sat by the window, staring at the fields stretching toward the horizon. The crickets were singing, but there was something else mixed with their song: a faint murmur he couldn't identify, like someone walking slowly through the weeds near the forest's edge. The fading sunlight made the distance between his house and the tree line seem longer than it really was.
Rayanne stopped by his room later, his notebook filled with notes and maps. He showed him the marks he had made—paths, rarely used trails, unknown cars, and patterns no one else seemed to notice.
"Someone's watching, Marlo," Rayanne said. "And I think we're not the only ones who know it."
Marlo didn't answer. He just stared at the horizon, feeling that summer had ended long before its time—and that what remained was a heavy silence, full of omens.
That night, before falling asleep, he heard a creak in the hallway. He looked toward his door and, for a second, thought he saw a shadow vanish as quickly as it appeared. He closed his eyes, but the feeling of being watched didn't leave him. It wasn't a dream. It couldn't be. Madison was changing. And somehow, he knew nothing would ever be the same again.