I didn't move. Didn't speak. Couldn't.
Mr. Calder sipped tea like he belonged here. Like this was some polite afterschool visit and not the same man I'd just watched supervise a blood ritual in Mason Rowe's living room.
My dad walked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a towel.
"Ryan," he said, smiling like he hadn't just let a monster into our house, "Mr. Calder dropped by. Says he's impressed with you. First day back and already participating. That's new."
I looked at him. Then at Calder. Then back again.
Participating?
Calder gave a soft chuckle. "He raised a great point during our discussion on moral ambiguity. Seemed more awake than some of the others."
I hadn't said a single word in class. I was barely conscious in that room.
My jaw tightened. My chest felt hollow. But I forced a nod, because what else could I do?
"Yeah," I said. "Guess I was just… feeling it today."
Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Told you that new jacket would give you some confidence."
Calder stood and set the cup gently on the table like he'd never poisoned a soul in his life.
"Well, I should get going," he said. "Just wanted to drop in and give credit where it's due."
He turned to me, holding my eyes too long. That same unreadable expression. Like he saw more than he was supposed to. Like he was seeing through me.
"Keep up the good work, Ryan."
Then he left. Calm. Polite. Like the devil in a pressed suit.
The front door closed with a soft click. I just stood there.
My dad picked up Calder's empty cup and walked back toward the kitchen like nothing about this was strange.
"Since when do teachers visit students at home?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He chuckled. "Since a student actually made a good impression. I mean, come on, Ryan, the guy said you were sharp. That's a first."
"I didn't even talk in class today."
Dad raised an eyebrow. "He said you made a comment during the discussion."
"There was no discussion."
He gave me that tired look, the one that says drop it, I'm not in the mood. "You don't need to be paranoid every time someone says something nice about you. Maybe just take the compliment."
I let it go. Not because I believed him, but because I couldn't explain what I'd seen in that living room because that could put dad in risk.
"I'm going upstairs."
"Dinner's in the fridge."
I didn't answer. I walked up, shut my door, and locked it. Then I grabbed my phone and called Ethan.
He picked up on the second ring. "What's up?"
"You need to come over. Now."
There was a pause. "Everything alright?"
"Just come."
Fifteen minutes later, I heard the knock.
I opened the door, and there he was, hoodie half-zipped, hair still messy from whatever nap I dragged him out of.
"You look like shit," he said. "And you never call me like that. What's going on?"
"Come in."
We went upstairs. I shut the door behind us. Sat down on the edge of the bed, hands clasped so tightly they'd gone pale.
"Alright," Ethan said. "Talk."
I told him everything.
The walk. Mason bolting. Following him. What I saw through the window. The bowl. The blood. Calder.
He didn't interrupt. Didn't laugh. Just stared at me with narrowed eyes, arms folded across his chest.
When I finally stopped talking, the room was quiet.
He leaned back against the wall. "Okay. That's a lot."
"I know how it sounds."
"Do you?"
"Ethan, I'm not making this up."
"You sure you weren't just… I don't know. Seeing things like you used to a while back?"
"I wasn't. It's not like that"
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly.
"Alright. Let's say I believe you. Let's say Calder's doing some real shady ritual crap in Mason's house. Why the hell would he just show up at your place after?"
"I don't know. That's what's freaking me out."
He paced for a second. "Alright. Then let's go."
I frowned. "Go where?"
"To Mason's. If this is real, I want to see it. And if it's not... maybe we figure out what you actually saw."
"I'm not crazy."
"I didn't say you were. But you're rattled. Let's just… check it out. You and me."
The streets were mostly empty by the time we got there. Streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, throwing long shadows across Mason's narrow, overgrown yard.
We parked a few houses down. Walked the rest of the way.
Ethan kept low, glancing around like we were about to break into a military compound. I just kept my eyes on the windows.
A warm glow came from the living room. Faint, steady.
We crouched behind the same fence I'd ducked behind yesterday.
"See anything?" he whispered.
I moved up to the same dusty side window. My heartbeat quickened.
There they were.
Mason and his dad.
Sitting at the dinner table.
Talking. Smiling.
Mason was laughing about something, holding a fork in one hand, sipping from a glass of water.
His dad passed him the bread basket. He took a slice. It was the picture of domestic normalcy.
Ethan peeked beside me. "This is your horror story?"
"They were doing something earlier," I said. "I swear."
Ethan looked again. "That's pasta. That's not cult behavior."
I stayed frozen at the window, searching for something—anything—that looked off.
There was nothing.
Eventually, we backed away and slipped out of the yard.
Neither of us spoke until we were back in the car.
We drove in silence for a while. Ethan leaned his head against the window.
"I get it," he finally said. "Your head plays tricks. Especially when you're alone."
I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
"I didn't imagine it."
"I know," he said. "I mean… I don't know. But I believe that you believe it."
It wasn't much, but I took it.
I pulled up outside his house. He opened the door and climbed out, then leaned in again.
"Try to sleep tonight. Seriously. You probably just misread something."
He gave me a nod, then headed up his walkway.
I sat there for a minute before putting the car in gear.The night felt heavier now. Not darker—just... off. Like the world had tilted slightly and no one else noticed.
I turned onto the back road past the old rail yard, thinking of everything Ethan had said. Maybe he was right. Maybe I needed sleep, maybe my brain had wired the wrong dots together.
Home was silent.
Dad was already asleep. Nothing moved except the hum of the fridge and the creak of the stairs as I made my way up.
I dropped my bag in my room, switched on the desk lamp, and sat down.
Tried to settle. To convince myself the night had been pointless. That I'd dragged Ethan into something that wasn't even real.
But something felt… off.
The air. The light. The silence. Like the room wasn't mine anymore.
I stood up and turned toward the window.
It was shut.
I never shut it.
Didn't remember doing it before I left. Didn't remember locking it either. But the latch was down. Tight.
I turned around.
That's when I saw the paper.
Perfectly folded.
Resting on the center of my bed like it had been placed there carefully. Deliberately.
I opened it.
One line. Same precise handwriting I'd seen earlier.
"You shouldn't have brought him."
I stood there for a long time.
I looked around the room.
Nothing moved. Nothing out of place.
But I could feel it.
Not fear. Not yet. Just the awful weight of knowing.
Not guessing.
Knowing.
Someone had been here.
Close enough to stand where I was standing. To watch. To fold the paper. To place it right there, like it was normal.
And that's when it settled in.
The moment everything slowed, and my brain caught up to my body:
ETHAN'S FUCKED!!
To be continued