Morning came reluctantly, a bleak gray seeping through the curtains rather than sunlight. It took Mara a moment to remember where she was and why her chest ached with a familiar, gnawing dread.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
Like the breathless seconds before a storm.
Mara forced herself out of bed and dressed quickly, refusing to inspect the hallway where the footsteps had paused hours earlier. She only glanced once as she descended the stairs-and immediately regretted it.
A faint, dark smudge marked the wood just outside her bedroom door.
Long.
Thin.
Like the drag of a fingertip.
She hurried down the last steps faster than necessary.
"Coffee." she muttered. "Just get coffee."
The kitchen felt brighter than last night, though not warmer. Her hands shook only slightly as she brewed a cup and stood by the window overlooking the street.
Blackbridge at dawn was unsettling calm.
No cars.
No pedestrians.
Just rows of quiet houses and a thin mountain mist drifting between mailboxes.
It didn't look like a town. It looked like photographed of one.
It took her several minutes to work up the nerve to venture outside. The cold bit at her cheeks as she stepped onto the porch. Her father's mailbox was jammed with weathered envelopes, some swollen from past rain. She sifted through them- which turned out to be mostly ads, a few bills, and one unmarked envelope with no stamp.
Inside was a single note.
Don't wander off alone. They like new faces.
Her breath clouded the air as she stared at the message. The handwriting was messy, hurried. But not her fathers. She shoved it into her jacket pocket and forced herself down the slope.
Walking into Town- 25 minutes later
The path into town wound past tall pine, silent except for the occasional rustle that remined her how empty everything here felt. When she reached the downtown strip- really just a short street of old brick buildings- she caught her first glimpse of Blackbridge in daylight.
It should have felt quaint. Charming even. But something was wrong.
A woman sweeping outside the general store paused mid-stroke when she saw Mara. Her expression didn't shift- no surprise, no curiosity. Her eyes just...fixed. Dark, unblinking.
"Morning," Mara offered.
The woman's response came slow, slightly delayed.
"Morning."
She resumed sweeping, but her gaze followed Mara long after her head turned away. Mara felt her skin crawl.
Two men unloading crates from a truck did the same thing- watching her without the warmth or recognition you'd expect from small-town locals. Their movements were synchronized enough to look wrong, like puppets reacting to the same unseen tug.
This was not just small-town suspicion of outsiders. This was observation. Study. Assessment.
She tried to steady her breathing as neared the diner- one of the few places in town that looked alive. Warm light glowed from the windows, and the faint clatter of dishes drifted though the air.
But when she opened the door and stepped inside, conversations died instantly.
Dozens of eyes shifted towards her. All at once.
Mara froze.
A man in a booth near the window tilted his head in a creaking snapping movement. A waitress carrying a pot of coffee approached the counter, her smile a fraction to tight, lips not quite matching the expression in her eyes.
"You're new," she said while staring.
Mara nodded slightly, "Yes and no, my names Mara Kessler- my father lived out by Hanson Ridge. Jack Kessler. I moved out of town roughly 8 or 9 years ago."
A flicker- a twitch of something- passed across the waitress's face. Not recognition. Not compassion.
More like correction.
"We remember Jack," the waitress said, her voice thin. "He kept to himself."
The whole diner seemed to lean in imperceptibly, as though listening.
Mara managed a strained smile- "Well, I'm just here settling his-"
A man cut her off from behind.
"You shouldn't stay in that house."
Mara turned. The speaker was elderly, sitting alone in the back corner. Unlike the others, his eyes were alive- alert, darting nervously towards the other patrons.
A few diners turned their heads towards him with stiff, synchronized motion.
The man winced, lowering his voice.
"Mara. Sit. Quick."
She did.
He leaned closer, whispering with a trembling breath.
"They're not all right. Haven't been for years" He makes a circling motion with his fingers near his temple.
Mara felt her pulse spike. "Who? The townspeople?"
He nodded his head. "Yes, but they're not the townspeople. Not anymore really. You'll see soon enough."
She wanted to ask more, but the man's face suddenly went pale. His gaze wondered to the front windows.
Three people stood outside the diner. Stood- not walked up. As if they had simply appeared.
Thet all stared inside at Mara. Her stomach dropped.
The old man swallowed hard. "They know you're back. They'll want you to stay and they'll do anything to make that happen."
Mara shot to her feet. "I need to go."
He caught her wrist, grip surprisingly strong. "Mara, listen to me- if you hear knocking, do not answer it. And of the lights go out-"
His warning cut off abruptly, his breath hitching.
Mara followed his gaze.
The three people outside were now pressed against the glass. Faces inches from the window. Expressionless. Breath fogging faint circles on the pane.
The waitress spoke from behind Mara, her voice suddenly smooth. "You should go home how, its getting dark."
"It's ten in the morning," Mara whispered.
The waitress blinked slowly, unblinking stare settling back in place like a mask dropping.
"Go home," she repeated.
This time, half the diner echoed softly- flat, toneless:
"Go home."
Something primal in her brain snapped into motion.
Mara stood and backed towards the door, hand trembling as she pushed it open and stepped outside. The three watchers pivoted to face her with eerily unified timing.
She forced herself not to run until she made it to the street corner.
And then she ran.
Retreating back home
The forest path back to the house felt tighter than before, as if the trees leaned in to listen. She didn't stop until she reached the porch, chest heaving.
Inside, she slammed the door shut and slid the deadbolt.
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
Her father had been right. Something was happening to this town. Her breathing slowed as she pressed her back to the door, listening. The house felt protective today, almost warm after the diner's cold, silent stares.
Then-
A creak behind her. Mara spun around. A shadow moved to the top of the stairs. Slowly and deliberate. Her throat tightened.
No footsteps this time. No knocking. Just the shape of something standing motionless in the darkened hallway, waiting for her to notice it.
Mara swallowed. "Hello...?"
The silhouette didn't respond. Didn't move.
But she knew- without understanding how- that it was watching her as intently as the townspeople had in town.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text.
Unknown number: You shouldn't have come back.
Her pulse hammered. She looked back towards the stairs. The shadow was gone.