♡

At night, he never leaves your side and insists to put your daughter to sleep in her crib how you've created her—together.

And when it's finally time to flip the light off and slip under the white linen sheets while the AC hums in the background, you're so riled up with lust and love for your husband that you can barely keep yourself together.

As always, Simon is faster, though.

And he pulls you over to his side of the mattress beneath the sheets with practiced ease and a sigh of relief until your back molds itself perfectly to his bare chest while he runs his rough palm along the curve of your waist, old callouses caused by hard work catching on the fabric of the short, silky negligeé dress.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin at the contact; nipples perking, breath hitching, blood simmering with arousal as his warm breath puffs over your exposed neck.

"My gorgeous wife," he coos, fingers toying with the delicate hem of your dress while your thighs squeeze together as you turn your face away, hiding your coy smile into the plush pillow.

"Mother of my beautiful daughter," he adds, his voice now rougher as he shifts behind you, slowly dragging the skirt up your body as the sheets rustle gently. "Fuck, I need you, love."

You let out the sweetest and giddiest giggle, and Simon's chest vibrates with a low, matching chuckle.

"Stop—" you whine, squeaking when he squeezes your plump ass cheek.

"Christ. Can't never lemme be sexy and seductive f'you, eh?" He gropes you again, pinches your sensitive nipple through the silk, and you press your face into the pillow to muffle your laughter as you try to squirm away. "Simon!"

He merely snorts as you try to get out of his grip, and the tussle turns into playfighting—turns into tender lovemaking.

The night we met.

I met Randall on a Friday night.

Which, in hindsight, should've been my first warning.

The music was too loud.

The house was too warm.

And I already wanted to leave.

I stood in the kitchen, nursing the same drink I'd been holding for the last twenty minutes while my friend talked to someone from her chemistry class.

I wasn't listening.

I was debating whether leaving after forty-five minutes was socially acceptable.

"That's either the saddest drink I've ever seen or you've been holding it all night."

I looked up.

A guy I didn't recognize leaned against the counter.

Buzzcut.

He had that kind of rugged handsome that makes you curious to see if his touch match his rough exterior.

The kind of smile that immediately made me suspicious.

I glanced at my drink.

Then back at him.

"It's a drink."

He huffed out a laugh.

"So that's the personality we're going with tonight?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"And what personality is that?"

"The one where you look like you'd rather be anywhere else."

I took a sip.

"I would."

That made him smile wider.

Which somehow annoyed me.

"I'm Randall."

"Congratulations."

He blinked.

I took another sip.

"You usually this friendly?" he asked.

"Only to strangers who interrupt my brooding."

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

I didn't understand why.

"You know, most people would've just said hi."

"Most people should mind their business."

"Wow."

He looked genuinely impressed.

"You're mean."

"And you're still standing here."

He put a hand over his chest.

"You wound me."

I looked around the room.

"Do you know where my friend went?"

He laughed again.

"You really don't want to talk to me, huh?"

"Nope."

A beat.

"You have a boyfriend?"

I stared at him.

There it is.

He noticed my expression immediately.

"What?"

"That."

"What?"

"That question."

"It's a normal question."

"At a party?"

"People meet people at parties."

"People try to sleep with people at parties."

Randall nearly choked on his drink.

"I wasn't-"

"You absolutely were."

"I just got here!"

"Exactly."

A grin slowly spread across his face.

"Oh, you think I'm hitting on you."

I looked him up and down.

"I think you think you're hitting on me."

He laughed.

Again.

I was beginning to find it deeply irritating.

"You're funny."

"I'm really not."

"No, you are."

I rolled my eyes.

He leaned against the counter.

"So if I was hitting on you-"

"You are."

"-hypothetically..."

I sighed.

"...would it work?"

I looked at him for a long moment.

Then smiled politely.

"No."

He looked offended.

"That fast?"

"Record time, honestly."

He laughed so hard this time that he had to put his drink down.

I stared at him.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because nobody talks to me like this."

"That explains a lot."

He huffed.

"You're brutal."

"And you're persistent."

A beat.

Then he held out his hand.

"Friends?"

I looked at it.

Then at him.

"No."

He smirked.

And that-

that was the beginning of our mutual dislike for one another.

--

A moment early on

After that night, I started seeing Randall everywhere.

Which I told myself meant nothing.

It always meant something.

This time it was at a house party.

Too loud. Too full. Too much of everything.

I was already irritated before I saw him.

Then I heard him.

“Of course you’re here.”

I turned.

Randall was standing in the kitchen like he was already annoyed at the room.

Not relaxed. Not amused.

Just standing there.

Like the air itself was mildly offensive.

“I could say the same,” I replied immediately.

He glanced at me.

Properly this time.

Like I was something he hadn’t wanted to deal with but now had to.

“Don’t start,” he said.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s worse,” he muttered.

That got under my skin instantly.

“Wow. You’re in a great mood.”

“I was fine before I saw you.”

I blinked.

“…Charming.”

He took a sip of whatever drink he had.

“Didn’t come here for charm.”

“Clearly.”

I tried to walk past him.

He didn’t move fast enough.

My shoulder brushed his chest.

Barely.

But it was enough that both of us paused for half a second too long.

Not enough to be obvious.

Enough to be something.

His eyes flicked down briefly.

Then back up.

Expression unchanged.

But something in the air shifted anyway.

He stepped aside after a beat like it irritated him to do it.

“Watch it,” he said.

“You were in my way.”

“I wasn’t moving.”

“That’s kind of your whole thing, isn’t it?”

That earned a sharper look from him.

“Excuse me?”

“Standing in places you shouldn’t be.”

He scoffed.

“You’re really committed to being difficult.”

“I’m not the one blocking doorways.”

We were too close now.

Neither of us had moved properly.

Just repositioning.

Small adjustments that didn’t fix anything.

“I think you like arguing,” he said.

I laughed once.

“No.”

A beat.

“You do,” he added anyway.

My jaw tightened.

“I think you like hearing yourself talk.”

He stepped slightly closer.

Not intentionally dramatic.

Just closing the gap without thinking about it.

Or maybe thinking about it too much.

“Maybe I just like when you stop pretending you’re not interested in what I’m saying.”

That landed wrong.

Heat flickered in my chest.

Annoyance.

Something else I refused to name.

“I’m not interested,” I said defensively.

“Sure.”

The way he said it made it worse.

Because it wasn’t teasing.

It was dismissive.

Like he didn’t believe me at all.

We stared at each other.

Too long.

The noise of the party faded around us for a second.

Or maybe I just stopped hearing it.

Randall looked tired suddenly.

He looked done.

“I don’t get you,” he said.

“Good.”

“No,” he corrected immediately. “That’s the problem.”

That made me pause.

“What?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“You’re always like this,” he said. “One minute you’re snapping at me like I’m the worst thing you’ve ever seen, and the next you’re still standing right here.”

My throat tightened slightly.

“So leave,” I said.

A beat.

He didn’t.

Neither did I.

The space between us felt wrong.

Too small.

Too charged.

He looked down at me for a second longer than necessary.

Then exhaled through his nose.

“You’re exhausting,” he muttered.

“That makes two of us.”

Silence again.

Different now.

Thicker.

Neither of us moved first.

Which was the problem.

Because at some point, we were both just standing there.

Too close.

Too aware.

And for half a second , a stupid, dangerous half second , it didn’t feel like arguing anymore.

It felt like a pause neither of us knew how to break.

Then Randall took a step back like he’d snapped out of it.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “I’m done with this.”

He brushed past me.

Shoulder barely missing mine this time.

But I still felt it.

And I hated that I did.

I didn’t turn around.

Neither did he.

--

A moment of tension

It happened later at night.

We were walking back with a group from somewhere none of us really wanted to be.

Too late. Too dark.

Too quiet in a way that made everything feel louder.

Randall was beside me again.

Not like it meant anything.

That’s what I told myself.

Someone drifted into step on my other side.

A guy from earlier.

Friendly. Too easy with his smile.

He was cute. Harmless, even.

“Hey,” he said, like we were already mid-conversation. “You never told me your name.”

I glanced at him.

Then gave it.

Short. Polite.

The kind of answer that usually ended conversations.

It didn’t.

“That’s pretty,” he said.

I blinked once.

“…It’s a name.”

He laughed like I’d been joking.

“I mean it suits you.”

Behind me, I heard Randall exhale through his nose.

Not loud. Sharp.

I didn’t look back.

The guy kept talking.

Staying close.

Closer than before.

“So what do you do back home?” he asked.

“I try not to get stuck in places like this,” I said.

He smiled.

Randall didn’t.

I felt it again. A shift.

Tightening.

Contained.

Not visible unless you were paying attention.

And I was.

I slowed my pace slightly.

Just enough that the guy matched it.

Randall stayed exactly where he was.

Which meant the space between us rearranged itself without anyone acknowledging it.

“You’re funny,” the guy said.

“I’m not,” I replied.

“You kind of are.”

I let out a small breath.

“Depends who you ask.”

A pause.

Then I glanced sideways at him.

Randall.

Just briefly.

He was looking straight ahead.

Jaw set.

Like he was pretending this entire interaction wasn’t happening.

The guy kept talking as we walked.

Too friendly.

Too comfortable.

“So do you two know each other or—”

“No,” Randall said immediately.

Flat.

Like it ended the question.

I smiled faintly.

“Barely,” I added.

The guy nodded and drifted a little ahead of us.

Which left just enough space.

Enough for me to keep going.

Because I could feel it now.

Randall’s irritation.

Controlled.

Tight under his skin.

I glanced at him.

Then forward again.

“He prefers when I’m quiet,” I said lightly. “Isn’t that right-”

I paused just long enough to be annoying.

Then:

“-Randy?”

It landed instantly.

I didn’t even need to look at him to feel it shift.

But I did anyway.

Randall had gone still. Not dramatic.

Just stopped reacting for half a second like he had to reset.

Then his eyes moved to me.

Slow.

“What did you just call me?”

The guy ahead let out a short awkward laugh.

“Randy?” he repeated, unsure.

Randall didn’t acknowledge him.

Still looking at me.

“That’s not my name.”

“I shortened it,” I said.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

I tilted my head slightly.

“Relax. It’s a joke.”

It wasn’t.

And we both knew it.

The guy ahead of us drifted further away without another word.

Smart.

The space around us tightened again.

Randall exhaled through his nose.

Not loud.

Just irritated.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said.

I shrugged.

“I’m right here.”

That earned me a sharper look.

And something in his patience finally snapped - not loudly, just cleanly.

“You’re such a brat,” he said.

Then, after a beat, like it annoyed him to even engage further.

“Always pushing it. Always running your mouth like someone needs to put you in your place.”

Silence.

Warmth spread throughout my face.

I blinked once.

“…Excuse me?”

Randall didn’t soften it.

Didn’t take it back.

“You heard me.”

A subtle warmth began swarming within me.

I scoffed to cover it.

“So now you’re giving speeches?”

He glanced at me briefly.

Still annoyed.

Still contained.

“Now I’m telling you to shut it for five minutes.”

That should’ve just pissed me off.

It did.

But the space between us felt different now.

Charged in a way that wasn’t friendly at all.

"Or I'll have to do something about it."

My breath hitched in my throat.

The warmth became stronger.

Harder to ignore.

I looked away first.

“Whatever,” I muttered.

And started walking again.

Faster this time.

Behind me, I heard him follow.

Of course he did.

And that warmth lingered.

Reminding me of him every step I took away from him.

--

The time we almost kissed

"I think you enjoy annoying me," I say.

"That’s because you’re easy to annoy," Randall shoots back immediately.

I scoff.

"That doesn’t even make sense."

"It does," he says. "You just don’t like it."

I step closer without thinking.

"I don’t like you."

"Yeah," he says. "I know."

That lands sharper than it should.

I open my mouth to argue again.

He talks over it.

"You’re always like this."

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to win."

I take another step forward.

Now we’re arguing closer than we were before.

Not on purpose.

Just… nowhere else to go on the porch.

"I don’t try to win arguments with you," I say.

He laughs once.

"Sure you don’t."

I roll my eyes hard enough to hurt.

"You’re insufferable."

"You already said that."

"Because it’s true."

He tilts his head slightly.

"You’re right in my space again."

That makes me stop for half a second.

"I’m not-"

But I look down and realize I am.

Closer than I meant to be.

And he is too.

Neither of us moved.

At some point the argument stopped making us step away from each other.

It just didn’t.

The silence that follows isn’t intentional.

It just happens because we run out of things to throw at each other.

His eyes flick over my face like he’s still deciding what to say next.

I don’t look away fast enough.

That’s the problem.

Because now I notice he’s not smirking anymore.

He's watching.

Waiting.

Like he forgot what the point of the argument was.

My throat tightens slightly.

I don’t know why.

The porch behind us feels quieter than it should.

Farther away.

Like we stepped out of it without moving.

He exhales slowly through his nose.

And for a second, neither of us says anything.

Not because it’s deep.

Because it’s stalled.

Too close to continue arguing the same way.

I swallow.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask.

He blinks once.

"Like what?"

"Like-" My voice wavers. "You know. Like that."

His expression tightens just slightly.

Not anger.

Something more restrained.

"What are you talking about?" he says.

But he doesn’t move back.

Neither do I.

That’s the problem.

The silence stretches.

Not comfortable.

Not awkward enough to break.

His eyes flick over my face again, slower this time, like he’s trying to figure out what I mean without giving anything away in return.

I shouldn’t have said it.

I can feel that immediately.

Because now it’s there.

In the space between us.

Unspoken, but not gone.

Randall exhales through his nose.

"You're imagining things," he says flatly.

But his voice is a little too controlled.

A little too deliberate.

As if he's trying to be careful with his words. Like at any moment, this could fall apart.

I narrow my eyes slightly.

"Am I?"

That makes him pause.

Just a beat too long.

Then-

"Yeah," he says. "You are."

But he still doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

And that’s the part that doesn’t match his answer.

The porch behind us suddenly feels too quiet again.

Too far away.

Like we’ve drifted out of it without meaning to.

I can hear someone inside calling for us.

Neither of us responds right away.

Then-

a voice from the doorway snaps through the moment.

"There you are!"

We break apart instantly.

Too fast.

Too obvious.

Randall steps back like it never happened, already slipping back into himself.

"Finally," he mutters.

I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath too long.

"Yeah."

The door opens wider.

Our friend grins at us.

"What were you two doing out here?"

"Arguing," Randall says immediately.

"Nothing," I say at the same time.

The friend laughs and walks back inside.

The porch feels normal again.

But I don’t look at him as we follow.

And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t look at me either.

Not even once.

--

That moment where I couldn't breathe

It had been boiling up for awhile.

My family kept calling. My work was increasingly stressing me out. Bills needed to be paid. My friends forcing me to come out tonight.

It starts the same way it always does.

Too fast to catch at first.

The party behind me is still loud, but it’s already slipping out of focus.

Randall is there too.

Closer than I want to admit I’m noticing.

Looking at me again.

Just enough.

And something in my chest reacts before I can stop it.

Wrong.

No.

Not here.

I stand up too quickly.

Chair scrapes.

Too loud.

Too many heads turning.

My stomach drops immediately.

I turn away fast and walk out.

Not thinking. Just escaping.

I need to leave.

Cold air hits me outside and it makes everything worse instead of better.

My breath doesn’t come in properly.

It catches.

Breaks.

I try again.

Nothing. Nothing works.

"Fuck." I mutter under my breath.

My hand hits the wall outside the house. Gripping it as if it is some type of lifeline.

It doesn’t help.

It’s already slipping.

“Hey.”

Randall’s voice behind me.

Not now. No, no, no.

“What are you doing?” he says.

I shake my head too fast.

I can’t explain it.

He can't see me like this.

“I can’t breathe,” I manage.

It comes out wrong.

Thin.

Fractured.

That’s when it really starts to go.

Randall steps in front of me.

Blocking everything behind him.

“Sit,” he says sternly.

I try to shake my head but my body isn’t listening anymore.

My legs give out more than they obey.

I end up on the curb outside the house.

Too fast.

Too hard.

My hands are shaking badly now.

I press one against my chest like I can physically force my breathing to fix itself. Please. Please.

It doesn’t. It’s getting worse.

Randall crouches in front of me.

“Look at me,” he says.

I don’t want to.

I do anyway.

And the second I do, my breath breaks harder.

“No-” I try.

It collapses.

“I can’t. I can’t do this,” I get out.

My voice cracks completely.

That’s when it stops being something I can contain.

My hands move before I think.

I grab him.

Not gently. Not carefully.

I grab his jacket like it’s the only solid thing in the world.

My fingers curl hard into the fabric.

I can’t stop shaking.

“I can’t. I can’t breathe,” I say again, and it sounds worse this time. More real. More exposed.

Randall goes still.

Just for a second.

Then he catches my wrists, not pulling them off, just stabilizing them so I don’t spiral further.

“Hey,” he says sharply. “Hey. Look at me.”

I do, because I don’t have anything else to hold onto.

My grip tightens anyway.

Like letting go would make everything disappear.

“I need-” I start.

It breaks.

I swallow hard.

“I need you- I can’t do this.”

The words come out before I can stop them. Almost a whimper.

Small. Broken. Weak.

Embarrassing even as I say them.

Randall’s jaw tightens slightly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”

He shifts closer, still holding my wrists firmly, anchoring them so I don’t shake myself apart.

“Breathe,” he says again.

I try. It fails.

I shake my head quickly, breath catching.

“I can’t— I can’t—”

“Look at me,” he cuts in.

Not a request.

A command.

I do.

And it helps.

It actually helps.

That’s the worst part.

Because I hate that it does.

“Copy me,” he says.

He breathes in slowly.

Controlled.

I try to follow.

It stutters.

Breaks.

Again.

“Again,” he says immediately.

No frustration.

No softness.

Just control.

Again.

This time it holds longer.

My hands won’t stop shaking.

I hate that he can see it.

I hate that I’m still holding onto him.

I don’t even realize I’ve loosened my grip until he shifts slightly.

Randall notices immediately.

Of course he does.

He doesn’t pull away sharply.

Doesn’t react like it’s a problem.

He just catches my wrists again briefly. Not to remove me, just to steady the movement.

“Hey,” he says, quieter now. Controlled again. “You’re alright.”

I nod too fast.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

My voice sounds wrong.

Small.

Randall studies me for a second longer than necessary.

Like he’s checking whether I actually believe it.

Then he lets go.

Not abruptly.

Just… done.

Like the moment has passed its emergency state.

He straightens up.

I still can’t fully look at him.

Because I can still feel it.

My hands.

Where they were.

The way I held on.

The way I said I needed—

No.

I swallow hard and force my breathing to stay even.

Randall glances down at me once more.

“You good?” he asks.

I nod immediately.

“Yes.”

Fast. Too fast.

He hums once, unconvinced, but doesn’t push it.

A pause.

Then he says, flatly,

“Don’t worry about it.”

That’s it.

No explanation.

No acknowledgment.

Like it’s already been filed away as irrelevant.

He turns slightly like he’s ready to go back inside.

But he doesn’t look at me again before he adds, almost offhand:

“Just breathe next time before you make a whole thing out of it.”

Not cruel.

Not soft either.

Just him.

And then he’s gone back toward the party like nothing happened.

And I’m left sitting there still trying to figure out why that somehow feels worse than if he’d said nothing at all.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

im think of doing these every now and again to create more tension and backstory between chapters :) let me know what you think!

-nora

It has been a month.

A whole month since I last knew what normal was.

That first night in the sheriff's office has felt like months not weeks. I remember spending the rest of that night just staring. Just staring at the wall, realizing this was my life now.

Kenny and Boyd haven't told anyone else within the town about that night. About how this town knows me. Knows me better than I know myself.

Since that first night, I have many sleepless nights of constant tossing and turning. Clawing at my ears to stop hearing the whispers of the monsters that lie amongst us. I still don't know why or how I am connected to this place.

Despite the many questions this place leaves me with, I have found some type of routine out here.

Routine.

Just knowing I have a routine or normalcy in this place is too much to even think about.

I chose to stay within town rather than Colony house.

Colony House felt loud. Too many people. Too many questions. Too many eyes.

The town felt quieter. Safer somehow.

Or maybe I just found people there easier to understand.

Boyd helped where he could. Kenny checked in more often than he probably realized.

And then there was Sara.

Out of everyone here, she was the one I found myself gravitating toward most.

Which probably said concerning things about both of us.

Sara wasn't much of a talker. Neither was I when I wasn't actively trying to fill silence. We existed beside each other more than anything else.

I helped her in the diner most days. Or we would simply take walks around town with a comment here and there.

I was staying with her and her brother, Nathan. Since it was just the two of them, they had ample room for me.

Sara and I had the routine of sitting on the porch as long as we could. Boyd would always come by with his bell and usher us inside. Both of us miss the night. Just existing within the stillness of the night.

After the first week is when I noticed how different she was from the others. How alike we were.

I noticed how sometimes she would suddenly tense and run out of the room. I would find her mumbling to herself. I never said anything. I would simply help her up and sit with her til she felt clear again.

I never pushed her to talk about it. Nor did she push me to talk about my own issues at night.

So many nights were met with my screams. When I did sleep, it was full of monstrous nightmares.

Nightmares of the monsters, of a man, of darkness.

Sara would always come into my room on those nights. She would simply lie with me til I caught my breath.

No questions. We simply just understood each other.

The funny thing was, I don't think either of us understood ourselves.

I knew I didn't.

Most days, I helped at the diner. It kept my hands busy and my mind occupied. The alternative was sitting alone with my thoughts, and I had learned long ago that nothing good came from that.

The townspeople had mostly stopped looking at me like I was the newest tragedy.

Now I was simply another resident.

Another poor soul stuck here.

I wasn't sure whether that was comforting or depressing.

Probably both.

The sight of fresh dirt beneath my boots answers that question for me.

The town stands gathered around two newly dug graves.

A mother.

A daughter.

Gone in a single night.

The spring air feels unusually cold as I stare at the small headstone before me. The smaller of the two.

Megan Pratt.

My chest tightens.

Boyd had explained what happened.

The little girl had opened the window.

Just a child being curious.

Just a child who thought the smiling woman outside looked friendly.

I swallow hard.

It's impossible not to think about it.

At her age, I would've done the same thing.

Most kids would've.

The monsters know that.

That's what makes them monsters.

Around me, the townspeople stand in silence. Heads bowed. Faces tired. Some grieving. Others simply numb.

One month here has taught me that death isn't rare.

That doesn't make it easier.

Father Khatri stands before the graves, Bible in hand, his voice carrying softly across the cemetery.

I try to listen.

I really do.

But my attention keeps drifting.

The unease beneath my ribs has been restless all morning.

Like something is coming.

Like the town itself is holding its breath.

As Father Khatri continues speaking, movement catches my eye beyond the gathered crowd.

A vehicle.

My stomach drops instantly.

Not one of ours.

New.

The RV rolls slowly into town.

--

A few minutes later, we were speeding down a dirt road toward the crash site.

The farther we drove from town, the tighter my stomach became.

Not because of the monsters.

Not yet.

Because of the trees.

The woods always felt different.

Like they were listening.

When we finally arrived, my breath caught.

The RV had flipped.

The massive vehicle lay on its side among broken trees and scattered debris.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then everyone started moving at once.

And suddenly the reality became clear.

The RV wasn't going anywhere.

The vehicle rested on its side among broken branches and churned earth.

For a moment, everyone just stared.

Then Boyd started issuing orders.

And suddenly the crash site exploded into motion.

People moved toward the RV.

Questions were shouted.

Most went unanswered.

I found myself helping Kristi climb through one of the shattered windows.

The inside looked worse than I expected.

Luggage and debris were scattered everywhere. Broken glass glittered across the floor.

Or wall.

Or whatever counted as the floor when an RV was lying on its side.

"You okay?" Kristi asked.

I nodded.

"Ask me again when I stop finding new bruises."

A small laugh escaped her.

For someone dealing with a medical emergency, she looked remarkably calm.

Or maybe she was just good at pretending.

A voice shouted from outside.

"Kris!"

I glanced through the broken window.

Kenny.

Of course.

He was carrying a medical bag that looked far too heavy.

Kristi immediately climbed back toward the opening.

"You brought everything?"

"I brought half the clinic."

"Only half?"

Kenny rolled his eyes.

"I had to leave some things behind."

Their exchange was quick.

Comfortable.

Practiced.

Something about it made me smile.

Even here. Even now.

The two of them seemed to find each other naturally.

Like they'd had this conversation a hundred times before.

Kristi took the bag from him.

Their hands brushed.

Neither reacted.

Which somehow made it more obvious.

Interesting.

Kenny caught me looking.

I immediately looked away.

Something unpleasant twists in my stomach.

I decide it's stress.

That explanation feels safer.

"Don't," he whispers to me.

Kenny's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I look up.

He's staring directly at me now.

"What?"

His eyes narrow slightly.

"You have a look."

"A look?"

"The look you get before you say something."

I blink innocently.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

A shout from deeper inside the RV cut the conversation short.

And we are back to work.

Time seemed to pass.

The sun continued sinking.

And every minute made the situation worse.

Ethan couldn't be moved safely.

Not yet.

Every attempt to come up with another option ended the same way.

Too dangerous.

Too risky.

Not enough time.

The realization settled over everyone slowly.

Then all at once.

We weren't getting back before dark.

I saw the exact moment Boyd accepted it.

His shoulders dropped. Just slightly.

But enough.

The decision had been made.

A talisman would be placed inside the RV.

The windows would be covered.

And whoever remained inside would stay there until morning.

Nobody looked happy about it.

Especially Kenny.

"What about Kristi?" he asked immediately.

Boyd's jaw tightened.

"What about her?"

"She's staying?"

"She has to."

Something flickered across Kenny's face.

Worry.

Raw and immediate.

Like the answer had already been keeping him up at night.

My stomach twisted unexpectedly.

Kenny looked away.

Toward the woods.

Toward the darkening sky.

Anywhere but at Kristi.

I suddenly felt like I was witnessing something private.

Something neither of them intended anyone else to see.

Kristi stepped closer.

"Kenny."

He looked back at her immediately.

Not after a second.

Not after a pause.

Immediately.

She offered him a small smile.

The kind meant to reassure someone.

The kind that never actually works.

"I'll be okay."

Kenny let out a breath.

"You better."

The words were simple.

But something passed between them anyway.

Familiarity.

History.

Trust.

All the things that come from knowing someone longer than a few weeks.

The knot in my stomach tightened again.

I ignored it.

Or tried to.

Because it wasn't my business.

And because I had absolutely no reason to care.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Boyd cleared his throat loudly.

The moment vanished instantly.

I pretended not to notice.

The sun dipped lower.

Boyd rubbed a hand over his face.

"We need someone else in here."

Nobody volunteered.

Shocking.

Then Boyd looked at me.

Immediately suspicious.

"No."

"I haven't said anything."

"You looked at me."

Boyd sighed.

Kristi laughed quietly.

Traitor.

"We need another set of hands," Boyd said.

I looked around.

"There are literally people everywhere."

"Not people I trust."

That was annoyingly nice of him.

And annoyingly effective.

Before I could come up with another argument, Kristi spoke.

"I'd appreciate the help."

I froze.

That was unfair.

Very unfair.

Because now saying no felt terrible.

I glanced toward the woods.

Toward the darkening horizon.

Toward Kenny.

His attention was still on Kristi.

Still watching her.

Still worrying.

Something unpleasant stirred in my chest.

I immediately decided it was stress.

Because obviously it was stress.

We were discussing spending the night trapped in an overturned RV surrounded by monsters.

That seemed like a reasonable explanation.

Much more reasonable than whatever else my brain was trying to suggest.

A second later, Kenny finally looked over at me.

His expression immediately told me he hated this plan too.

Which honestly wasn't helping.

Then he said,

"Stay near the talisman."

I blinked.

That was it?

Not don't go.

Not you shouldn't stay.

Just—

Stay near the talisman.

Like he'd already accepted he wasn't changing anyone's mind.

"That's the advice you're giving me?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"It's the most important one."

And just like that, I found myself preparing to spend the night trapped inside an overturned RV.

Again.

My life had become ridiculous

--

After an emotional goodbye between the Matthews family, we were officially stuck in the RV.

It was me, Boyd, Kristi, the father of the young boy, and the boy himself, Ethan.

"Are we sure this is even going to work?" I whisper towards Boyd.

Boyd looks at me.

Stress controls every line of his face.

The expression alone is enough to answer my question.

"No," he says honestly.

I blink.

"...Oh."

Boyd lets out a tired breath.

"We know the talismans work in houses."

That isn't reassuring.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

Outside, the woods creak softly in the evening wind.

The sound immediately makes me regret asking questions.

The inside of the RV feels impossibly small.

Every shift of weight makes the vehicle groan.

Every shadow feels too dark.

Across from us, Ethan lies bundled in blankets while Kristi checks his injury for what feels like the hundredth time.

His father hovers nearby.

Watching.

Worrying.

Trying not to panic.

I recognize the look.

Everyone who arrives here gets that look eventually.

Some just get it faster than others.

I pull my knees closer to my chest.

The silence stretches.

Nobody seems eager to fill it.

The last rays of sunlight disappear through the broken windows.

Darkness settles over the woods.

My stomach immediately tightens.

There it is.

Night.

Even after a few weeks, I haven't gotten used to it.

I don't think anyone ever does.

A few minutes pass.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

Nothing happens.

The quiet somehow makes everything worse.

I find myself listening.

Waiting. Bracing.

The same way I always have.

A branch snaps somewhere outside.

Every head turns.

My pulse jumps.

Nobody speaks.

Another snap.

Closer this time.

The woods seem to hold their breath.

And then-

Footsteps.

Slow.

Unhurried.

Circling.

A chill races down my spine.

The footsteps continue.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Slowly moving around the overturned RV.

Like someone inspecting it.

Like someone curious.

Boyd's hand tightens around the gun resting in his lap.

I notice it because it is the first time I've ever seen him look genuinely nervous.

Not concerned.

Not stressed.

Nervous.

And somehow that terrifies me more than the footsteps.

Because Boyd is the one person in this town who always seems to know what to do.

If he's worried—

maybe we should be too.

Then the footsteps stop.

Silence.

Complete silence.

The kind that presses against your ears.

My heart pounds.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then a friendly voice drifts through the darkness.

"Is everyone okay in there?"

Every muscle in my body locks.

A man.

The voice sounds friendly.

Warm.

Normal.

Jim looks over to us. Confusion floods his features.

"They came back for us. They came back," Jim says, "Aren't you going to let them in?"

My breath hitches. This could be it. If Jim makes one wrong move, we are all dead.

I look over to Boyd, he shakes his head slightly.

"No," he says simply.

"Why? Why keep them waiting?" Jim retorts.

"I'm not letting them in," Boyd says sternly.

The tension within the RV rises.

Jim looks around at all us.

"Well, then I'll let them in," he states simply.

Kristi and I begin pleading, telling him to wait.

He gets up and moves towards the doors.

Boyd quickly moves in the way to stop him.

It all happens so quickly.

Jim fights back and then within a few seconds Boyd has him in a headlock. He speaks to him through gritted teeth.

"They are not people, they are not here to help, Jim."

Jim struggles in his arms.

"You good?" Boyd tells him. Jim just grunts.

Boyd lets him go finally, and Jim seems to get the memo not to open the door.

Finally, I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

The silence that follows feels deafening.

Jim sits against the opposite wall, breathing hard. His face is flushed with anger and embarrassment. Boyd remains standing for another moment, watching him carefully before finally sitting back down.

Nobody speaks.

Nobody seems to know what to say.

Outside, the voices continue.

My hands are shaking.

I don't realize it until I look down and see them.

God.

We almost died.

Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the RV.

I bring my hand to my racing heart.

That was too close.

--

The young boy, Ethan, speaks up.

Every head turns toward him.

The boy is awake.

Jim immediately moves to his side.

"Ethan? Hey, buddy."

A small whimper escapes Ethan as he shifts.

His face pinches with pain.

Kristi is beside him instantly.

"Easy, sweetheart. Don't move."

She carefully examines his leg, her expression growing more concerned with every passing second.

"What is it?" Jim asks.

"I need to do something for the pain before I work on his leg."

Her voice is steady.

Professional.

But I notice the tension in her shoulders.

The exhaustion.

The pressure.

We've all been through hell today, and somehow she's expected to keep a child comfortable while trapped in an overturned RV surrounded by monsters.

Kristi begins digging through her medical bag.

A moment later she pulls out a syringe.

Jim's eyes immediately lock onto it.

"What is that?"

"A sedative," Kristi says. "Just enough to help him relax."

Ethan's face immediately crumples.

"No."

"It's okay," Jim says gently.

"It's going to help."

The boy starts crying anyway.

I don't blame him.

I'd probably cry too.

Kristi works quickly, speaking softly the entire time.

Within a few minutes, Ethan's breathing begins to slow.

His eyelids grow heavier.

Eventually, he drifts back to sleep.

The tension in the RV eases slightly.

Only slightly.

Kristi checks his pulse.

"Strong."

She exhales.

"I think we're ready."

As she begins arranging her supplies, a familiar voice drifts through the darkness outside.

"You really should have let us in."

My stomach drops.

The room immediately goes still.

Jim looks toward Boyd.

"What happens if they get in?"

Nobody answers.

Outside, soft laughter echoes through the woods.

Jim looks between us.

"What happens?"

"Jim..." Boyd says quietly.

Jim doesn't let it go.

"What happens if they get in?"

My chest tightens.

Every instinct inside me is screaming at him to stop asking.

Stop engaging.

Stop listening.

Boyd's expression hardens.

"You don't want to know."

Jim shakes his head.

"You have a gun. Use it."

"'Cause it won't do any good," Boyd replies.

The certainty in his voice sends a chill down my spine.

Jim looks unconvinced.

Of course he does.

A few hours ago he was driving his family down a highway.

Now he's trapped in a nightmare.

He pushes himself to his feet.

"We have to try something."

Immediately, he moves toward one of the covered windows.

My pulse spikes.

"Jim—"

His hand reaches toward the covering.

"Stop."

The word leaves my mouth before I even realize I'm speaking.

Everyone looks at me.

Including Jim.

I've barely exchanged more than a handful of words with the man.

Why would he listen?

Still, I find myself continuing.

"Please."

My voice sounds smaller than I want it to.

"Just listen to Boyd."

Jim hesitates.

Only for a second.

Boyd stands.

"The only way they get in is if we let them in."

As if responding to him, laughter erupts outside.

The sound crawls beneath my skin.

The RV door rattles violently.

Kristi jumps.

I nearly do too.

The metal shakes against its frame.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

My heart slams against my ribs.

The monsters laugh.

The sound comes from every direction now.

Kristi rushes toward the door.

"Is it secure?"

Her breathing is becoming uneven.

"What if the talisman doesn't work? What if—"

Boyd immediately steps in front of her.

"Hey."

His hands settle firmly on her shoulders.

"Kristi."

She looks up.

"This is what they do."

The rattling continues.

"They want us scared."

Another bang against the RV.

"They want us to panic."

Kristi swallows hard.

"You know how this works."

For a moment, she just stares at him.

Trying to believe him. Trying to remember.

Then, we hear them.

Footsteps.

Heavy footsteps.

Directly above us.

The roof groans.

Every head tilts upward.

Something is walking on top of the RV.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Like it's inspecting us.

Kristi's composure finally cracks.

I see it happen.

The fear.

The exhaustion.

The reality of where we are.

Without thinking, I move beside her.

I take her hand.

Her fingers are ice cold.

"Hey."

She looks at me.

I force a smile I don't entirely feel.

"Let's focus on what's in here."

Another footstep sounds overhead.

I ignore it.

Or at least pretend to.

"We're safe."

The words are as much for me as they are for her.

"Just stay here with me, okay?"

Kristi takes a shaky breath.

Then another.

Gradually, her grip on my hand loosens.

Across the RV, Boyd watches us.

For the first time all night, some of the tension leaves his face.

He gives me a small nod.

A silent thank you.

I return it.

Outside, the monsters continue circling.

Above us, footsteps continue pacing across the roof.

But for now-

The door remains shut.

And we're still alive.

--

Finally, Kristi and I were able to successfully treat the boy's leg.

Kristi, mostly.

I was there for moral support.

Now Ethan slept peacefully beside his father, the sedative helping him rest through the worst of the pain.

The RV had fallen quiet again.

Well, as quiet as it could be with monsters wandering around outside.

Sitting against the wall, I just stare.

My heart had finally settled.

My hands, however, had not gotten the memo.

No matter how tightly I clasped them together, they continued trembling.

Adrenaline.

Fear.

Exhaustion.

Probably all three.

Across the RV, Kristi was organizing supplies while Jim sat watch beside Ethan.

Boyd eventually made his way over and lowered himself onto the floor beside me.

For a few moments, neither of us spoke.

The RV creaked softly around us.

Outside, distant footsteps drifted through the woods.

Boyd leaned his head back against the wall.

"Tough night."

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

"Tough night?"

His mouth twitches.

"I was trying not to undersell it."

I shake my head.

A small smile manages to appear despite everything.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

Then Boyd glances down.

At my hands. Still shaking.

I immediately tuck them beneath my arms.

As if that somehow fixes it.

It doesn't.

Boyd notices anyway.

"You're doing alright."

It isn't a question.

I stare ahead.

"No."

The answer slips out before I can soften it.

Boyd nods.

Like that's the response he expected.

"Yeah."

Another silence settles between us.

Comfortable this time.

Or as comfortable as anything can be in a flipped RV surrounded by monsters.

Eventually Boyd speaks again.

"You helped Kristi."

I shrug.

"I handed her things."

"You kept her calm."

That makes me glance over at him.

Boyd is still looking forward.

Still listening to the sounds outside.

"You saw her."

His voice is quiet.

"She was starting to spiral."

I look down at my hands again.

"They were walking on the roof."

Boyd lets out a breath through his nose.

"Yeah."

"Which feels like a reasonable thing to spiral over."

That earns a small laugh.

A real one. Short. But real.

The first I've heard from him all night.

"Fair point."

For a second, the tension eases.

Just a little.

Then Boyd's expression softens.

"You did good."

The words hit harder than they should.

Maybe because nobody has said them to me in a very long time.

Maybe because I didn't realize how badly I needed to hear them.

I look away before he notices.

"Don't make it weird."

Boyd chuckles.

"There she is."

I roll my eyes.

The smile that appears is small.

But genuine.

For the first time since the crash, I feel something besides fear.

Not safety.

Not exactly.

Just...

Less alone.

Outside, something laughs in the darkness.

Neither of us looks toward the sound.

For once, we ignore it.

And for a little while, that's enough.

Beside us, Ethan begins to stir awake.

Jim immediately leans toward him.

"Hey, buddy."

Ethan blinks slowly.

The sedative is still making him groggy.

"I saw it," he says weakly.

Jim smooths a hand through his hair.

"What'd you see?"

Ethan's eyes drift toward the ceiling of the RV.

"The Lake of Tears."

My stomach drops.

The reaction is immediate.

Sharp.

Like missing a step in the dark.

I sit up straighter before I can stop myself.

Beside me, Boyd glances over.

Probably noticing my reaction.

I don't even notice his gaze.

Because all I can hear are those three words.

Lake of Tears.

The name settles somewhere deep inside me.

Familiar.

Not familiar enough to recognize.

Just enough to hurt.

Like remembering a dream the second before it disappears.

My chest tightens.

Jim smiles at Ethan.

"The Lake of Tears?"

Ethan nods weakly.

"It's from my book."

The knot in my stomach doesn't loosen. Not even a little.

Because somehow I know that's not why I reacted.

And judging by the way Boyd is looking at me now.

He noticed it too.

--

I lie staring at the ceiling.

The sun should be up any minute now.

At least, I hope it should.

Time feels strange during nights like this.

Kristi lies beside me, softly snoring despite everything. I honestly don't know how she managed it.

Across the RV, Boyd sits against the wall with his arms crossed.

His eyes are closed.

But I can tell he's awake.

Jim sits beside Ethan, watching over him like if he looks away for even a second, something terrible might happen.

I wish I could sleep.

I tried.

God, I tried.

But every time I closed my eyes, my thoughts came rushing back.

The Lake of Tears.

The words keep replaying in my head.

A place from a child's story shouldn't affect me this much.

Yet every time I think about it, that same feeling returns.

Like I'm forgetting something important.

Something just out of reach.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

I want my brain to stop.

Just for a minute.

Just one moment of peace.

Beside me, Kristi suddenly jerks awake.

Her breathing is fast.

Panicked.

For a second, her eyes dart around the RV as if she's forgotten where she is.

I immediately push myself upright and place a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey."

She looks at me.

"It's okay," I say softly. "We're okay."

For a moment, her chest continues rising and falling too quickly.

Then recognition settles across her face.

The RV.

The crash.

The night.

She lets out a slow breath.

"Sorry," she mutters.

"You don't need to apologize."

A tired smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Without another word, she looks towards Ethan.

The doctor in her is awake before the rest of her is.

She carefully checks his bandages and rests a hand against his forehead.

Only after confirming he's alright do her shoulders finally relax.

I watch her for a moment.

Even exhausted, even terrified, she's still taking care of everyone else.

--

The sun creeps up slowly, bathing the woods in pale gold.

For the first time all night, my shoulders relax.

We made it.

Somehow, we actually made it.

The monsters are gone.

The footsteps have stopped.

The voices have disappeared with the darkness.

Slowly, we gather our supplies.

Nobody says much.

We're all exhausted.

Too tired to celebrate surviving.

Too tired to process what happened.

Boyd is the first one out of the RV.

A few moments later, the sound of an approaching engine echoes through the trees.

Everyone freezes.

Then relief washes over us.

A car.

Our ride back.

Kristi and I help steady Jim as he lifts Ethan into his arms.

The second my boots hit the ground, I tilt my face toward the sun.

Fresh air fills my lungs.

Real air.

Not stale RV air soaked in fear and adrenaline.

I close my eyes for a second.

Just one second.

I can't believe we made it through the night.

Together, we make our way back toward the road.

The car comes to a stop a few yards away.

The moment it does, Julie and Tabitha spot Jim and Ethan.

They're moving before the vehicle has fully stopped.

The reunion is immediate.

Messy.

Desperate.

The kind of embrace that comes from believing you might never see someone again.

I look away.

Not because it feels private.

Because it hurts.

To be loved like that.

To know someone would search for you.

Wait for you.

Miss you.

My thoughts drift briefly to home.

To my family.

I push them away before they can settle.

Across the road, Kristi is already moving.

"Kenny."

He reaches her in seconds.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other.

Neither speaking. Neither moving. Just confirming.

Alive.

Then Kenny pulls her into a hug.

A real hug.

Tight.

Relieved.

The kind people only give when they've spent an entire night imagining the worst.

Kristi wraps her arms around him immediately.

I look away.

Then immediately get annoyed with myself for doing it.

People hug. Friends hug. People who think they might never see each other again definitely hug.

Completely normal.

Perfectly reasonable.

My stomach disagreed.

When they finally pull apart, Kenny's hands linger briefly on her shoulders.

"You okay?"

Kristi nods.

"I'm okay."

"You sure?"

A tired smile tugs at her lips.

"Kenny."

The way she says his name makes him finally exhale.

Some of the tension leaves his face.

The knot in my stomach tightens anyway.

I immediately blame sleep deprivation.

It feels safer.

Then Kenny's gaze lifts.

Past Kristi.

Toward me.

For a second, he just stares.

Like he's making sure I'm actually standing there too.

Then he starts walking over.

My heart immediately does something deeply annoying.

"You okay?"

I blink.

"What?"

"You okay?"

The concern in his voice catches me off guard.

Like he'd been carrying the question around all night.

I shrug.

"I only spent the night trapped in an overturned RV surrounded by nightmare creatures."

A laugh escapes him.

Small.

Tired.

But real.

"Fair."

"I think I handled it with grace."

"That's not the word I'd use."

I place a hand dramatically against my chest.

"Wow."

His smile widens slightly.

Only slightly.

Then it fades.

"You're alive though."

The words settle between us.

Simple.

Honest.

And somehow far more dangerous than they should be.

Because he sounds relieved.

Not generally relieved.

Not relieved everyone survived.

Relieved that I survived.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

The morning air suddenly feels very still.

Then Kenny reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.

Quick.

Gentle.

Gone almost immediately.

"I'm glad you're okay."

My chest tightens.

Stupidly.

Embarrassingly.

Much harder than it should be.

Before I can think of a single thing to say back, Boyd's voice cuts through the morning.

"Kenny."

Boyd stands a few yards away, his expression unreadable.

For a second, nobody moves.

Then he gestures toward the road.

"We need to get back."

The drive into town is quieter than I expected.

No one talks.

The exhaustion from the night settles over all of us like a heavy blanket.

For the first time since sunrise, I let myself believe the worst was over.

I should know better by now.

A few minutes later, we pull up outside the clinic.

Immediately, something feels wrong.

The front door hangs partially open.

My stomach drops.

Beside me, Kenny goes rigid.

Father Khatri notices it too.

Before the vehicle has fully stopped, Kenny is already moving.

"Kenny!" Kristi calls.

He doesn't listen.

He jumps out and rushes toward the building.

Kristi and I are right behind him.

The closer we get, the worse the feeling becomes.

Something is wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

The clinic is eerily silent.

No voices. No movement. Nothing.

Then we see her.

The nurse lies crumpled on the floor.

For a moment, I can't process what I'm looking at.

Blood stains the ground around her.

A strangled gasp escapes me.

The monsters.

Somehow they got in.

My gaze immediately snaps toward Kenny.

He has gone completely still.

Father Khatri catches up beside him and gently places a hand on his shoulder.

"Kenny," he says softly.

Kenny doesn't respond.

The priest's voice grows quieter.

"Let me go first."

Silence.

"It doesn't have to be you."

Kenny's jaw tightens.

Then he pulls away.

No hesitation. No discussion. Just movement.

Slowly, he follows the trail of blood deeper into the basement.

The rest of us follow.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears.

Every step feels heavier than the last.

Then Kenny reaches the doorway.

And stops.

The room beyond is silent.

For a moment, nobody moves.

Nobody breathes.

Then I see it.

My stomach twists violently.

Mr. Liu is lying on the floor.

The monsters didn't simply kill him.

They destroyed him.

The room looks like something from a nightmare.

Something no son should ever have to see.

Kenny grips the doorframe so hard his knuckles turn white.

For one horrible second, he just stares.

Like his mind is refusing to understand what his eyes are seeing.

Then his legs give out.

He drops to his knees.

A broken sound escapes him.

Not a scream.

Not a cry.

Something deeper.

The sound of a heart shattering.

"Dad..."

His voice cracks completely.

He crawls forward.

Slowly.

Like he's afraid that getting closer will somehow make it more real.

"No."

The word comes out barely above a whisper.

"No, no, no..."

His hands shake as he reaches for his father.

As if he can still help him.

As if there's still something left to do.

He gathers him into his arms.

The sob that follows tears through the room.

Raw.

Uncontrolled.

The kind of grief that leaves no room for pride or dignity.

I feel my own eyes burning.

I grab Father Khatri's arm next to me. Something to steady me. Ground me in reality.

Nobody says anything.

What could anyone possibly say?

Father Khatri lowers his head.

Kristi wipes at her eyes.

And Kenny-

Kenny just holds his father.

Rocking slightly.

Repeating the same word over and over again.

"Dad."

As though saying it enough times might bring him back.

As though refusing to let go could somehow change what happened.

But this place doesn't care about love.

It doesn't care how badly something hurts.

The monsters don't just kill people.

They leave the rest of us behind to suffer.

To remember.

To carry it.

They live to torture us.

Standing there, listening to Kenny break apart in front of me-

I know this is only the beginning.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

hi guys!!! this took awhile for me to write. i hope its okay for you guys :))) let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

-nora

xoxo

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The laugh outside is soft.

Almost pleased.

Like it’s enjoying the fact that I understood it enough to react.

I swallow hard. My mouth feels dry.

“I…” My voice breaks slightly. I clear my throat. “It’s saying I’m still waiting for something.”

Boyd’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpens.

Kenny pushes off the wall a little.

“Waiting for what?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head fast.

“I don’t know.”

That’s the truth.

And it feels worse than anything else I could’ve said.

Because the thing outside doesn’t sound like it’s guessing. It sounds like it’s correcting me.

Another tap hits the glass.

Once.

Deliberate.

Then the voice returns, closer than before.

“You know.”

My stomach drops.

“No,” I whisper automatically.

Boyd raises a hand slightly. A silent warning.

“Don’t engage,” he says.

But it’s too late. Because something in me already did.

Outside, the figure shifts. Just slightly. Enough that I see the outline of its face better. Still human-shaped. Still wrong.

The smile doesn’t move.

But the eyes-

the eyes feel like they’re holding something still.

Like they’ve been waiting a very long time for me to answer correctly.

Kenny moves closer to Boyd.

“Has it ever done that before?” I ask, voice thin.

Boyd doesn’t answer right away.

That silence is answer enough.

My chest tightens.

“So this is normal for you?” I say, louder now. “People standing outside saying creepy personal stuff and you just ignore it until it goes away?”

Kenny flinches slightly at my tone.

Boyd finally speaks.

“It doesn’t go away,” he says.

That lands wrong. My brain tries to reject it immediately.

“What do you mean it doesn’t go away?”

A beat.

Then Boyd says it like he hates the sentence before it leaves his mouth:

“It waits until you let it in.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Thick.

Outside, the voice softens again. Almost conversational now.

“You always do this part the same way.”

My breath catches.

Kenny looks at me. Really looks. Like he’s trying to understand something he’s not equipped for.

“Did it say that to you before?” he asks.

I shake my head quickly.

“No. I’ve never been here before. I’ve never—”

But even as I say it, my stomach twists harder.

Because the certainty in the voice isn’t about location.

It isn’t about the town. It’s about me.

Boyd steps forward again, this time toward me instead of the window.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly.

I force my eyes onto him.

“Whatever it says, whatever it’s trying to make you think, it’s not you.”

I laugh once. Small. Broken.

“Then what is it?”

Boyd hesitates.

That hesitation feels like a crack forming in something solid.

Then-

“It’s what’s out there,” he says simply. “And it’ll use whatever it can get.”

Outside, the smile widens.

Like it heard him. Like it agrees.

And then-

the voice lowers again.

Soft.

Almost intimate.

“Still waiting for the drop.”

My entire body goes cold.

Everything stops.

Not metaphorically.

Not emotionally.

Physically.

Because that sentence-

that sentence doesn’t belong in this place.

That sentence belongs in me.

My knees feel weak. I take a step back without realizing it.

Kenny notices immediately.

“Hey,” he says sharply, moving toward me.

But I can’t look away from the window anymore.

Because the thing outside-

it’s not just smiling now.

It looks satisfied.

Like it finally said the right thing.

And I realize, with a sick twist in my stomach-

it didn’t just find me. It recognized me.

Kenny notices before I do.

"Hey."

His voice cuts through whatever is happening in my head.

I blink.

The room rushes back all at once.

The desk. The walls.

Boyd standing a few feet away.

My own heartbeat pounding so hard it feels like it's shaking my ribs.

Only then do I realize my hand is pressed against my stomach. Like I'm trying to hold something still.

Kenny takes a step closer.

"Are you okay?"

No. Not even a little.

But I can't explain why.

Because the feeling is wrong.

Not stronger.

Different.

My whole life that unease sat low in my stomach like background noise. Constant. Familiar. A song playing in another room that I eventually stopped hearing.

Now it feels concentrated.

Focused.

Like somebody took all of it and shoved it into one tiny spot beneath my ribs. Like it's pointing somewhere.

The thing outside hums softly.

My stomach twists again.

Hard.

A sharp breath escapes me.

Boyd notices immediately.

His eyes narrow.

"What is it?"

"I..." I swallow. "I don't know."

Another soft tap against the glass.

The feeling spikes. Instantly.

So sudden my knees nearly buckle.

Kenny reaches out automatically, grabbing my arm before I can stumble.

His hand is warm.

Solid. Real.

"What happened?" he asks.

I stare at the floor. At his hand around my sleeve. At the way my fingers are shaking.

"It..." My voice comes out thin. "It did it again."

Kenny and Boyd exchange a look.

Not the weird silent communication thing again.

Anything but that.

"What did?" Boyd asks carefully.

I slowly lift my head.

"The feeling."

Silence.

Great.

Perfect.

I sound insane now.

I laugh weakly.

"I know how that sounds."

Neither of them says anything. That somehow makes it worse.

I press my hand harder against my stomach.

"It's just..." I shake my head. "I've always had this weird feeling. Like..." I hesitate.

Because I've never actually said this out loud before. Not really.

"Like a constant pit in my stomach. Call it impending doom or something like that. My whole life I've felt like I have been just waiting for something bad to happen but it never comes."

The room goes still.

Outside, the thing laughs again.

Soft. Pleased.

And my stomach twists so violently I flinch.

Kenny's eyes flick to me immediately. Then to the window. Then back to me.

Slowly, his expression changes.

Not fear.

Not confusion.

Something else.

Because he saw it too.

The timing.

And suddenly I realize the feeling isn't happening randomly.

It's happening every time it speaks.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i know this chapter is a bit short but i have been busy and lacking inspo :,)

give me some suggestions or ideas in the comments, if you'd like

-nora

Honestly, I consider it.

I glance back toward my car still sitting outside the diner.

I could get in.

I could drive.

I could keep driving until I hit another road, another town, another person who didn't look at me like they already knew something terrible.

My fingers twitch at my sides.

"Can I leave?" I ask suddenly.

Maybe this is some cruel joke. Some elaborate prank and the film crew will jump out at any second.

Kenny's expression shifts.

Not pity. Something worse.

Understanding.

My stomach sinks before he even answers.

"If you could," he says carefully, "don't you think everyone else would've already done it?"

I stare at him.

"No."

"No?"

"No, I mean....no." I shake my head hard enough that my hair falls into my face. "No. Absolutely not. I don't....people don't just get trapped somewhere. That's insane."

My laugh comes out thin. Sharp. Wrong.

"You hear how insane that sounds, right?"

Kenny studies me for a second.

"So what is this purgatory? Am I dead?" My thoughts ramble out of my mouth. I mean, maybe I ran into that tree and this is just where I am meant to suffer for the rest of eternity? God, what am I even saying.

Kenny glances toward the sky. I follow his gaze automatically.

The sun is still up, but lower than I remember. Hadn't I just gotten here?

No. Not just.

Time feels slippery suddenly.

"Come on," Kenny says quietly.

He starts walking before I answer. I hesitate.

"Come on where?"

He looks back over his shoulder.

"We should get you somewhere."

Somewhere. Not home. Not your car. Not back to the highway.

Just somewhere.

"So are you not going to answer my questions?" I chatter back as I follow behind him like a lost puppy. Kenny shakes his head as he walks ahead of me.

"I never said I wouldn't answer your questions. We just to need to get inside before dark. We can't risk it."

Risk it? What does that even mean?

Before I can respond, the sound of a bell meets my ears.

Ahead of us, a man walks down the lone street ringing a bell. He just walks nonchalantly, almost as if this is routine for him. From afar, I can tell he's wearing some kind of badge. An officer, maybe?

Kenny slows beside him.

"Found her at the diner," he says simply.

The man looks me over for a moment. Not in a suspicious way. More like he’s checking for injuries after a car accident. Or checking whether I’m about to break down.

Great.

"You must be the newcomer," the man with the bell says again.

I stare at him.

Newcomer. Like I just moved into town. Like there was a welcome basket waiting for me somewhere. I mean, I could really use some wine right now.

I glance between the two of them.

"You all keep saying things that make me feel like I'm having a stroke."

Kenny coughs beside me, clearly trying not to laugh.

This has to be some cruel joke.

The man's mouth twitches slightly.

"I'm Boyd."

He offers his hand.

I look at it. Then at him. Then back at his hand.

"You ring bells often?" I ask cautiously.

His eyebrows lift.

"The bell thing's throwing me off."

For a second, he just stares at me. Then a quiet laugh escapes him. Actually laughs. Okay, am I missing the joke?

Kenny drops his head, shaking it.

"Seriously?" he mutters.

"What?" I whisper harshly. "I'm sorry if creepy town traditions aren't easing my nerves."

Boyd lets out a breath through his nose, amusement fading as his expression softens.

"The bell means people need to start getting home."

My stomach drops.

Home. Something about that word feels wrong here.

"Why?" I ask.

The smile disappears from Boyd's face completely.

The air feels colder suddenly.

He looks toward the sky. The sun hangs lower now. Far lower than I remember.

"Because you don't want to be outside after dark."

Silence. I wait. For a punchline. For someone to smile.

Nobody does.

--

"So there are monsters that come out at night? Am I hearing you correctly?"

I find myself pacing within the makeshift police station. The curtains are closed and the sun is nearly set.

Boyd and Kenny exchange a look.

I stop pacing.

No one answers immediately.

"No," I say, pointing between them. "No, don't do that. Don't do the weird silent communication thing."

Kenny shifts against the wall.

"They come out at night," Boyd says carefully. "They look like people."

I blink.

"Okay so vampires? Werewolves? That sort of thing?" I reply.

Vampires doesn't sound entirely terrible. Maybe they're hot like Edward Cullen, I could work with that.

"Like Edward Cullen!" I add trying to lighten the mood.

Kenny blinks at me. Boyd just stares.

"...Edward Cullen?" Kenny repeats slowly.

Heat crawls up my neck.

"Okay, not the point," I say quickly, waving my hand. "I'm spiraling. People spiral. Continue."

Boyd rubs a hand across his face.

"No vampires."

"No werewolves."

I nod once.

"Okay."

A beat.

"They look normal," he says.

I stare at him.

"What do you mean normal?"

"They look like us," Kenny says quietly.

Something in my stomach tightens. I don't like the way he says us.

Boyd leans back against the desk, arms crossing over his chest.

"They'll talk to you."

My eyebrows pull together.

"...Talk?"

"They'll smile at you," Kenny adds.

"They'll ask you to let them in."

I let out a small laugh.

Nope. Absolutely not.

"Great, just great" I mumble to myself, "I thought going home was bad. Look where I ended up now."

Kenny lets out a quiet breath through his nose beside me. Not exactly a laugh, but close.

Boyd doesn't. His eyes stay on the window.

I notice it immediately.

Actually, I notice a lot of things immediately.

The room feels quieter now. Too quiet. The sounds from outside are gone. No footsteps. No distant voices. No wind.

Nothing.

Slowly, I look toward the windows.

The sunlight that had spilled across the floor earlier is gone.

In its place are long shadows stretching across the room.

My stomach twists. That familiar feeling returns. Only now it isn't sitting quietly beneath my ribs. Now it's climbing. Slowly. Like hands wrapping around my throat.

"...Why is it so quiet?" I ask softly. The grip on my throat tightens.

Neither of them answer right away.

Kenny looks at Boyd. Boyd looks at the clock. Then back at me.

"Because they're out now."

Something taps against the window.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

My body goes rigid. Nobody moves. Nobody breathes.

Slowly, my eyes drift toward the curtains. I can see the faint outline of someone standing outside. Just standing there. Waiting.

A soft voice slips through the glass.

"Hello there, darling"

My stomach drops.

The voice is gentle. Almost warm. Like someone speaking to a nervous animal.

"You don't have to be scared."

Nope.

Absolutely not.

I stare at Kenny.

Kenny stares at the window.

Boyd's jaw tightens.

Another pause.

Then—

"You can stop waiting now."

My breath catches.

Everything inside me stops.

The room.

The air.

My thoughts.

Those words hit something buried so deep inside me I don't understand why they hurt.

My whole life had been waiting.

Waiting for the drop.

Waiting for something terrible.

Waiting for something I couldn't explain.

And outside that window, someone smiles.

"Must be nice."

My heart thumps in my chest.

"Not feeling it for once."

Cold spreads through me so suddenly I nearly stop breathing.

The waiting. The impending doom. I've never told a soul about it.

Not my parents. Not friends. Not therapists.

Nobody.

My eyes stay locked on the curtains.

No.

No, no, no.

My mouth suddenly feels dry.

"...Kenny."

My voice barely comes out.

Kenny still hasn't looked at me.

His eyes stay fixed on the window.

"Don't answer it."

"I wasn't going to answer it," I whisper harshly.

Another soft tap.

Then another.

Like fingernails brushing lightly against glass.

The voice hums quietly from outside.

Almost amused.

"Still waiting for it."

My stomach twists.

"Always waiting for it."

My pulse pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears.

Because now I'm not scared. Not in the normal way. I'm terrified.

Because monsters knowing your name?

Fine.

Monsters trying to trick you?

Terrible.

This felt different.

This felt like meeting someone who'd been watching me long before I knew they existed.

Boyd slowly pushes himself off the desk.

"What exactly is it saying?" he asks.

My head snaps up so fast my neck hurts.

"What?"

His expression hardens.

"I asked what it's saying."

The room suddenly feels very, very small. Because Kenny is looking at me now too.

And outside

the voice laughs softly.

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hiii!!! i hope you guys are enjoying these chapters :) im not sure where this may go but i am open to suggestions or ideas! let me know :)

-nora

Soap did. Technically.

But over the next ten months, things only became more suspicious. Ghost always sat beside you during briefings. You always looked for him first after nasty fights out in the field during missions. Neither of you were affectionate, but somehow that made it worse. Every interaction carried this unbearable intensity, like a live grenade with the pin halfway pulled.

Then the operation ended with the enemy successfully neutralized.

The team crowded into a dim pub near base, Soap sat across from you and Ghost, still mentally trying to solve whatever strange thing existed between the two of you.

That’s when he noticed the silver ring on your finger, he could swear it wasn't there before.

He blinked. “Ye married?”

You took a sip of your beer. “Yeah, for a few years now."

Soap stared at you in disbelief. "Ten bloody months and ye never mentioned that?”

You only shrugged, amused, "I don't really talk about my personal life at work, MacTavish"

“What’s next?” he laughed, turning toward Ghost. “You married too, Lt?”

“Yeah,” Ghost answered calmly.

Soap barked out a laugh. “Aye, right.” He took a sip from his whiskey, "Good one, Lt"

“He’s not joking,” you said as a matter-of-factly.

Soap looked between the two of you slowly.

Everything clicked into place at once.

The staring. The arguments. The tension.

Soap rubbed his temples with one hand, speechless. “Steaming Jesus.”

Ghost leaned back in his chair, unfazed. “Took you long enough.”

How did Ghost and lieutenant!reader meet?