The Dirt Remembers

The morning didn’t feel like a new start.

It felt like a continuation.

Libby was awake before the light fully came through the curtains, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind already moving.

She hadn’t gone back to sleep.

Not after the dream.

Not after the cat.

Church.

The name sat heavy in her chest, like it had been waiting there all along.

Beside her, Alex shifted slightly, still half-asleep. Missy hadn’t moved from the chair—curled awkwardly, but out cold.

For a second, Libby just listened.

The quiet.

The normal sounds.

Breathing.

Air conditioning humming.

Nothing else.

No footsteps.

No voices.

No knocking.

Good.

She pushed herself up slowly, careful not to wake them, and reached for her notebook on the nightstand.

It fell open easily—pages already worn from the day before.

She didn’t flip through everything.

She went straight to a clean page.

At the top, she wrote:

CEMETERY

Then underneath it:

• Mom
• Gage
• Church
• Path behind house
• “Pet Sematary” (spelled wrong)

Her pen hovered.

Then she added one more—

• Why am I seeing this?

She stared at that question longer than the others.

Then closed the notebook.

Decision made.

By the time Alex woke up, Libby was already dressed.

“Please tell me you got some sleep,” Alex mumbled, sitting up.

“Enough,” Libby said.

It wasn’t true.

But it didn’t matter.

Missy groaned softly from the chair. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Libby said. “We should go.”

Alex blinked. “Go where?”

Libby looked at her.

No hesitation now.

“The cemetery.”

That woke her up.

Fully.

Alex ran a hand through her hair. “You’re not wasting time, huh?”

“No,” Libby said.

And there was something different in her voice now.

Not urgency.

Not panic.

Direction.

The drive was quieter than the day before.

Not because they didn’t have anything to say—

but because now they knew what they were walking into.

The cemetery came into view slowly.

Familiar in a way Libby couldn’t explain.

Rows of headstones.

Morning light cutting across them at an angle.

Still.

Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Libby stepped out of the car first.

The air felt cooler here.

Heavier.

Not wrong.

Just… aware.

She didn’t wait.

Didn’t ask where to go.

She just started walking.

And that’s when Alex noticed it.

“…You know where they are, don’t you?”

Libby didn’t answer.

Because she did.

She just didn’t know how.

The cemetery office was small.

Too small for how much it seemed to hold.

A single desk. A wall of records. The faint smell of old paper and something floral that had long since faded.

An older man stood behind the counter, glasses low on his nose as he flipped through a ledger.

“Creed,” Libby said.

He paused.

Not long—but long enough.

Then he nodded, running a finger down the page.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I remember that one.”

Libby’s chest tightened slightly.

“Your family’s out back,” he added. “Far end. Near the tree line.”

He hesitated.

Then—

“And… Jud Crandall’s buried right beside them.”

That landed.

Harder than it should have.

Missy shifted slightly beside her.

“Thank you,” Libby said.

Her voice came out steady.

Even if she didn’t feel it.

The walk out felt longer than it was.

Gravel crunching under their feet.

Wind moving softly through the trees.

Libby didn’t ask where to go.

She just… knew.

Row by row, she moved forward.

Until—

she stopped.

Two stones.

Side by side.

Her breath caught.

She stepped closer.

Slowly.

Reading the names like she needed to prove they were real.

Her brother.

Her mother.

For a moment—

everything else disappeared.

No mystery.

No questions.

Just loss.

Raw and quiet.

Alex stayed back.

Missy too.

Giving her space.

Letting her have it.

Libby reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the top of the stone.

Cold.

Solid.

Final.

Her throat tightened.

And then—

another presence.

Not seen.

Not felt.

Heard.

“Do you know what a graveyard really is?”

The voice was older.

Gentle.

Familiar in a way that didn’t make sense.

Libby’s hand stilled against the stone.

“…Well, I guess not.”

A child’s voice answered.

Soft.

Curious.

Echoing from somewhere she couldn’t place.

“It’s a place where the dead speak.”

Libby’s breath hitched.

The words didn’t come from around her.

They came from inside the moment.

Layered over it.

Like something remembered—

but not hers.

“No, not right out loud,” the voice continued. “Their stones speak. Their markers.”

The wind moved slightly through the trees.

Soft.

Almost like a whisper.

“This ain’t a scary place…”

Libby swallowed hard.

Her eyes flicked—

slowly—

to the third stone.

Right beside them.

Jud Crandall.

“…It’s a place of rest.”

Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of her mother’s headstone.

“And speaking.”

The sound faded.

Not abruptly.

Just… gone.

Like it had never been there.

Libby stood there, unmoving.

Alex stepped a little closer. “Libby?”

Libby didn’t look at her.

Her eyes were still on Jud’s grave now.

Not afraid.

Not confused.

Thinking.

Listening.

“…He was right,” she said quietly.

Missy frowned slightly. “About what?”

Libby exhaled slowly.

“This place,” she said.

A beat.

Then—

“They are speaking.”

Libby didn’t move right away.

Her eyes stayed on Jud’s headstone.

Then slowly—

they drifted back to the ground.

Something small.

Easy to miss.

But now that she saw it—

she couldn’t unsee it.

“…Alex,” she said quietly.

Alex stepped closer. “What?”

Libby pointed—not dramatically, just enough.

“At the base.”

Alex leaned in slightly.

At first, it looked like nothing.

Just dirt.

Grass.

But then—

“…That’s not right,” Alex murmured.

Missy moved in beside them.

“What?”

Libby crouched slowly, her fingers hovering just above the ground near the edge of her brother’s grave.

The soil didn’t look settled.

Not the way the others did.

Every other plot around them was firm. Packed down. Touched by time.

This—

was loose.

Recently disturbed.

Not dug up.

But not untouched either.

Like something had been there.

Or someone.

Libby pressed her fingers lightly into the dirt.

It gave.

Too easily.

Her stomach tightened.

“Someone’s been here,” she said.

Missy’s expression shifted immediately. “People visit graves all the time—”

“No,” Libby said, shaking her head.

She pointed again.

“Look at the grass.”

They did.

It wasn’t just the soil.

The blades around the edge were bent.

Pressed down in uneven directions.

Not grown that way.

Moved.

Brad crouched on the other side, studying it more closely.

“This isn’t from weather,” he said. “Or maintenance.”

Alex straightened slightly. “Then what?”

No one answered right away.

Because they were all thinking the same thing—

just not saying it.

Libby’s eyes moved slowly across the three graves.

Her brother.

Her mother.

Jud.

Then—

something else caught her attention.

A small cluster of flowers.

Set at the base of Jud’s headstone.

Fresh.

Too fresh.

The petals still full.

Color not yet faded.

Libby frowned slightly. “Those weren’t here long.”

Missy shook her head. “I haven’t been out here in a few days…”

Brad looked around the cemetery.

Empty.

Still.

Too still.

“Whoever put those there,” he said quietly, “was here recently.”

Libby stood slowly.

Her gaze lingering on the flowers.

Then drifting—

past the graves.

Toward the tree line.

Her breath slowed.

That same pull from the dream.

The same direction.

Unmistakable now.

“…It’s not just this,” she said.

Alex followed her line of sight. “What do you mean?”

Libby didn’t look back.

“There’s something back there,” she said quietly.

Missy’s voice tightened. “Libby—”

But Libby shook her head once.

Not arguing.

Not asking.

Knowing.

“The path,” she said.

A beat.

Then—

“It starts back there.”

The wind moved through the trees again.

Soft.

But this time—

it didn’t sound like whispering.

It sounded like something waiting.

Libby took a step toward the tree line.

Just one.

But it was enough.

Because the feeling sharpened immediately.

Not stronger—

clearer.

Like she’d just stepped into something that had been waiting for her to get close enough.

“Libby—” Missy started.

“I just want to see where it—”

A voice cut across the cemetery.

Sharp.

Close.

“Hey!”

All four of them turned.

A man was walking toward them from the direction of the office, his pace quick but not quite running.

Mid-fifties. Work jacket. The kind of face that had seen too much of this place to ever fully relax.

“You folks can’t be back here like that,” he said, gesturing toward the tree line. “Not beyond the marked plots.”

Libby didn’t move.

Didn’t step back.

“We’re just visiting,” Alex said, stepping slightly in front of her.

“Visiting’s one thing,” the man replied, slowing as he approached. “Wandering off into the woods back there is another.”

His eyes landed on Libby.

And stayed there.

“You with the Creed plot?”

Libby nodded once.

Something shifted in his expression.

Not surprise.

Recognition.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath. “Figured.”

Missy stepped forward slightly. “Is there a problem?”

The man shook his head quickly. “No, ma’am. Just… rules. Liability and all that.”

But he didn’t look convinced by his own words.

Libby finally spoke.

“What’s back there?”

The man didn’t answer right away.

His gaze flicked once toward the trees.

Then back to her.

“Nothing you need to be worrying about,” he said.

That was the wrong answer.

They all knew it.

Libby took a small step forward anyway.

“Then why stop us?”

This time, he didn’t dodge it.

He held her gaze.

Longer than necessary.

“…Because people who go back there,” he said carefully, “don’t always come back the same.”

Silence fell.

Alex let out a small breath. “Okay, that’s not helpful—”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” the man said quickly. “I’m telling you what I’ve seen.”

Missy crossed her arms. “And what exactly have you seen?”

The man hesitated.

Then shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Point is—you stick to the cemetery.”

Libby’s eyes didn’t leave his.

“You’ve seen it, haven’t you?” she said.

Another pause.

Then—

“…Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

That was enough.

More than enough.

The wind moved again through the trees behind them.

Subtle.

But present.

Libby glanced back at the tree line.

Then back at him.

“We’re not going today,” she said.

Alex turned toward her, surprised.

“We’re not?”

Libby shook her head slightly.

“No,” she said. “Not like this.”

The man nodded once, like that was the right answer.

“Good,” he said. “Keep it that way.”

But as he turned to walk back toward the office—

he added, almost to himself—

“…Best leave that path alone.”

Libby watched him go.

Then slowly—

looked back toward the trees.

The pull hadn’t gone away.

If anything—

it felt patient.

The drive back felt shorter.

Not because it was—

but because none of them were talking.

The cemetery stayed with them.

The loose dirt.

The flowers.

The man’s warning.

And the trees.

Especially the trees.

Libby kept her eyes forward, but her mind wasn’t on the road.

It was back there.

Waiting.

Missy didn’t hesitate when she pulled into the law office lot.

Didn’t sit for a moment.

Didn’t second guess it.

She killed the engine and reached for the door.

“Missy—” Alex started.

“No,” Missy said, already out of the car. “We’re not leaving this place again without answers.”

That was new.

Not the calm, careful Missy from before.

This one was done asking politely.

The bell above the office door rang as they stepped inside.

The same receptionist looked up.

Recognition hit immediately.

“Oh—you’re back—”

“Yes,” Missy said, cutting in as she walked straight to the desk. “And we’re not leaving until someone explains that letter.”

The receptionist blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.

“I—I told you, it didn’t come from—”

“I heard what you said,” Missy replied, her voice controlled but firm. “Now I need you to tell me who it did come from.”

Libby stayed just behind her.

Watching.

Listening.

The receptionist glanced between them, clearly uncomfortable now.

“We don’t have any record of it,” she said again. “There’s nothing in our system—”

“Then check again,” Missy said.

A beat.

Then, quieter—

“Or get me someone who can.”

That did it.

The receptionist hesitated, then nodded quickly. “One moment.”

She disappeared through the back door.

Silence settled into the room.

Different than before.

Tighter.

Alex leaned slightly toward Libby. “She’s not messing around.”

“No,” Libby said quietly.

And for the first time—

she didn’t feel like she had to carry it alone.

A few minutes later, a man stepped out from the back office.

Older. Late sixties. Suit that had seen better days but still carried weight.

He looked at Missy first.

Then at Libby.

And something in his expression shifted.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

“…Creed,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

Libby felt it immediately.

“You know who I am,” she said.

The man exhaled slowly.

“I was hoping this wouldn’t come back around,” he muttered.

Missy stepped forward. “It already has.”

She held up the letter.

“This brought her here. If it didn’t come from your office, then someone is using your name. And I’d like to know why.”

The man didn’t take the letter right away.

He just looked at it.

Then at Libby again.

“…Where did you get this?” he asked.

“It was mailed to me,” Libby said. “In California.”

That made it worse.

He rubbed a hand across his face.

“Alright,” he said finally. “We should talk somewhere private.”

Missy didn’t move.

“Then talk.”

The man met her gaze.

And for a second—

it was a standoff.

Then he nodded once.

“…Fine.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“There was an estate,” he said. “Years ago. Your family’s. But it was closed. Sealed. Completely.”

Libby’s chest tightened. “By who?”

The man hesitated.

Then—

“By request,” he said. “And not just your adoptive parents.”

That shifted everything.

“What does that mean?” Alex asked.

The man looked at Libby again.

Carefully.

“It means,” he said, “there were people in this town who wanted that entire situation buried. Legally. Permanently.”

Missy’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

The man let out a slow breath.

“Because what happened out there…” he said quietly, “wasn’t something anyone wanted on record.”

Libby took a step forward.

Her voice steady.

“You mean my family?”

The man shook his head slightly.

“No,” he said.

A beat.

Then—

“I mean everything connected to them.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Final.

Libby held his gaze.

“Then someone sent that letter to reopen it,” she said.

The man nodded once.

“…Yeah.”

Missy crossed her arms. “Who?”

The man didn’t answer right away.

Because he didn’t have one.

Or didn’t want to say it.

“…If I had to guess,” he said slowly, “it’s someone who wants the truth dug up.”

Libby’s grip tightened slightly at her side.

Because that—

was already happening.

With or without them.

And for the first time—

this wasn’t just something they were chasing.

It was something that had started before they even got here.

The police station didn’t look like much.

Brick.

Faded signage.

A flag out front that barely moved in the still air.

Normal.

That was the word that kept coming up.

Normal on the outside.

Libby stepped out of the car first.

Notebook already in hand.

“Let’s just ask for the file,” Alex said, like if she kept it simple, it might stay that way.

Missy didn’t respond.

Because nothing about this had been simple so far.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and old carpet.

A front desk.

Bulletin board.

A deputy behind the counter flipping through paperwork.

He looked up as they approached.

“Can I help you?”

Libby stepped forward.

Her voice steady.

“I’m looking for a missing persons file,” she said. “From 1990.”

The deputy leaned back slightly. “That’s a ways back.”

“My biological father,” she added. “His body was never recovered.”

That got his attention.

“Name?”

Libby hesitated—

just for a fraction of a second.

Then said it.

He turned to the computer, typing it in.

The clicking of keys felt louder than it should have.

A pause.

Then—

his expression shifted.

Subtle.

But enough.

“Hang on a second,” he said, standing. “I’m gonna grab something from the back.”

He didn’t bring them with him.

Just disappeared through the door.

Missy watched it close.

“…You see that?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Brad said. “He found something.”

Libby didn’t say anything.

Her grip tightened slightly on her notebook.

Because she felt it too.

That shift.

The deputy came back a few minutes later.

But he wasn’t alone.

An older officer walked in with him.

Sheriff, if the badge meant anything.

His expression was neutral.

Practiced.

“You’re asking about an old case,” he said, stepping up to the desk.

Libby nodded. “Yes.”

He studied her for a moment.

Then—

“…You’re the Creed girl.”

Not a question.

Again.

That word moved through the room like a current.

Libby didn’t correct him.

“Can I see the file?” she asked.

The sheriff rested his hands lightly on the counter.

“There isn’t much to see,” he said.

“That’s fine,” Libby replied. “I’d still like to.”

Another pause.

Then he nodded slightly to the deputy.

“Print what we have.”

The deputy hesitated—

just for a second—

then turned back to the computer.

The printer whirred.

Paper slid out.

A few sheets.

Not many.

Too few.

The deputy gathered them, handed them over.

Libby took them immediately.

Started reading.

Date.

Name.

Basic report.

Initial response.

And then—

her brow furrowed.

She flipped the page.

Then back.

“…This is it?” she said.

The sheriff nodded. “That’s the file.”

Libby looked up.

“No,” she said. “This is a summary.”

“That’s what we have.”

“That’s not possible,” she shot back. “A missing persons case—no follow-up reports? No search records? No witness statements?”

The sheriff’s expression didn’t change.

“Records get lost,” he said.

Brad let out a quiet breath. “Not like that.”

Libby flipped through the pages again.

Faster now.

Looking for anything.

Margins.

Notes.

Attachments.

Nothing.

Then—

she stopped.

Her eyes narrowing.

“…This doesn’t even make sense.”

“What?” Alex asked.

Libby turned the paper slightly, pointing.

“The case number,” she said. “Look at it.”

Brad leaned in.

“So?”

“It’s out of sequence,” Libby said. “This should fall between two other reports from the same week.”

The sheriff didn’t react.

Didn’t even look.

Libby’s voice sharpened.

“It’s been reassigned,” she said. “Or replaced.”

Silence.

Missy crossed her arms. “Meaning?”

Libby looked up.

Straight at the sheriff.

“Meaning this isn’t the original file.”

That landed.

Hard.

Because this time—

the sheriff didn’t deny it.

He just exhaled slowly.

“…No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Alex blinked. “Then where is it?”

The sheriff held Libby’s gaze.

And for the first time—

there was something behind his expression.

Not authority.

Not control.

Something closer to… caution.

“Restricted,” he said.

Libby didn’t hesitate.

“By who?”

A beat.

Then—

“By request,” he said.

The same words.

The same answer.

Just from a different place.

Missy let out a quiet, frustrated laugh. “That again.”

Libby stepped closer to the desk.

Her voice low.

Steady.

“You’ve got a missing person,” she said. “My father. No body. No closure. And you’re telling me the file is sealed?”

The sheriff didn’t flinch.

“I’m telling you,” he said, “some things in this town were locked down for a reason.”

Libby’s jaw tightened.

“That’s not your call to make.”

“No,” he agreed.

A beat.

Then—

“But it’s one I have to live with.”

Silence stretched between them.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Real.

Libby slowly lowered the papers.

Her mind already moving.

Because now—

it wasn’t just that the truth was hidden.

It was being protected.

As they turned to leave, the sheriff spoke again.

Not loud.

But enough to stop them.

“If you’re digging into this,” he said, “you should be careful where you step.”

Libby didn’t turn around.

“We already are,” she said.

The door opened.

Light spilling in from outside.

And as they stepped out—

the weight of it followed them.

Because now they knew for sure—

someone had gone through a lot of trouble…

to make sure this stayed buried.

The feeling started before they even pulled out of the lot.

Libby didn’t say anything at first.

She just… felt it.

That same quiet pressure at the back of her mind.

Not fear.

Awareness.

She glanced at the side mirror.

A car sat two rows over.

Engine running.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t signal.

Just… there.

“Brad,” she said quietly.

He followed her gaze.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “I see it.”

Alex turned slightly. “What?”

“No sudden moves,” Missy said under her breath as she pulled out. “We’re just leaving.”

The car didn’t follow right away.

That almost made it worse.

Because it meant—

whoever it was—

wasn’t in a hurry.

The drive back to the diner felt longer this time.

Every turn watched.

Every stop measured.

But no one said it out loud.

Not yet.

Not until Missy pulled into the lot.

The same car rolled past slowly.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t turn in.

Just kept going.

Libby watched it disappear down the road.

“…That’s the second time,” she said.

Brad nodded. “Yeah.”

No one added anything else.

Because they all knew—

that wasn’t coincidence anymore.

Inside the diner, the door shut behind them with a soft click.

The familiar space should’ve felt safe.

Grounded.

But something about it felt… off.

Libby couldn’t place it right away.

She just knew it.

Missy moved behind the counter automatically. “Sit. I’ll get something started.”

Brad leaned against the edge of the booth. “We need to start writing down—”

Libby froze.

Her eyes scanning the table.

The booth.

The counter.

Her stomach dropped.

“…No.”

Alex looked at her. “What?”

“My notebook.”

Silence.

Immediate.

Sharp.

Libby turned in a slow circle, like it might just appear if she looked hard enough.

“I had it,” she said. “At the station. I had it in my hand.”

“You didn’t leave it in the car?” Alex asked.

Libby shook her head. “No. I brought it in here. I always bring it in.”

Missy stepped out from behind the counter. “Okay—okay, we’ll find it. It’s here somewhere.”

But Libby already knew.

That same feeling again.

Like at the motel.

Like at the library.

Something not lining up.

“It’s gone,” she said quietly.

Brad straightened. “You don’t know that—”

“Yes, I do,” she snapped.

Then softer—

“…I do.”

Because this didn’t feel like losing something.

It felt like something being taken.

The room went still.

No one said it out loud.

But they were all thinking it now.

Someone was watching them.

And now—

someone had gotten close enough to take something.

Libby forced herself to move.

To focus.

She still had the police copies in her hand.

“Okay,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Okay… then we use this.”

She sat down, spreading the papers across the table.

Her fingers moved faster now.

Scanning.

Re-reading.

Looking for anything she might’ve missed.

Anything that mattered.

Anything—

Her hand stopped.

“…Wait.”

Alex leaned in immediately. “What?”

Libby didn’t answer.

She was staring at the bottom corner of the second page.

Something small.

Typed.

Almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

But now that she saw it—

it didn’t belong.

“…This wasn’t in the report,” she said.

“What?” Brad asked.

Libby turned the page toward them, pointing.

“There,” she said.

Missy leaned closer.

A line of text.

Faint.

Like it had been added later.

Or printed from a different layer.

Brad frowned. “What does that say?”

Libby read it slowly.

Carefully.

“…‘Secondary site flagged—access restricted under municipal directive.’”

Silence.

Alex blinked. “What secondary site?”

Libby’s pulse ticked up.

Her mind already racing ahead.

Because there was only one place that made sense.

The cemetery.

The trees.

The path.

Missy straightened slightly. “That’s not normal police language.”

“No,” Libby said.

Her voice quiet.

Certain.

“It’s not.”

Brad leaned in closer. “Is there a location?”

Libby scanned the line again.

Then—

her breath caught.

“…There’s a code.”

“What kind of code?” Alex asked.

Libby tapped it lightly.

“Parcel designation,” she said. “Land record reference.”

Missy’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

Libby looked up.

And now—

everything was connecting again.

Fast.

“It means this isn’t just a missing person case,” she said.

A beat.

Then—

“It’s tied to a piece of land.”

No one spoke.

Because they all knew—

exactly which land that was.

Libby leaned back slightly.

The missing notebook.

The car.

The sealed file.

And now this.

Someone was watching.

Someone was hiding things.

And someone—

had just taken the one place where she’d written everything down.

Her jaw tightened.

“Good,” she said quietly.

Alex frowned. “Good?”

Libby nodded once.

Not scared.

Not backing down.

“If they’re taking things,” she said, “it means we’re getting close.”

The room sat in that for a moment.

Then Missy spoke.

Low.

Firm.

“Then we don’t stop now.”

Libby shook her head.

“No,” she said.

Her eyes flicking once toward the window.

Half-expecting—

something.

Someone.

But the road outside sat still.

Empty.

Watching back.

“We don’t.”

The diner had gone quiet again.

Not empty—

just contained.

Like everything inside it was being held in place by the conversation at the table.

Libby sat forward, elbows resting lightly near the scattered papers, her eyes moving between the police report and the space where her notebook should have been.

Gone.

Still didn’t feel real.

Missy slid a fresh cup of coffee in front of her. “You don’t have to decide everything right now.”

Libby let out a slow breath.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

Alex looked at her. “Lib—”

“No,” Libby said, shaking her head. “If I walk away now, I’m walking away from all of it. My parents lied. The town’s hiding things. That file was altered. Someone’s watching us—”

“And your notebook was taken,” Brad added.

Libby nodded once.

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s not something you just ignore and go home from.”

Missy leaned back slightly. “So what are you saying?”

Libby stared down at the report again.

At the line that didn’t belong.

At everything that didn’t add up.

“I’m saying…” she started slowly, “I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore.”

That was honest.

More honest than anything she’d said all day.

Alex softened slightly. “You’re looking for the truth.”

Libby let out a quiet, humorless breath.

“Yeah,” she said. “But what if the truth isn’t what I think it is?”

No one answered that.

Because they couldn’t.

Not yet.

Libby’s fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the paper.

Then—

“…What if he’s not dead?”

The words hung there.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Brad frowned slightly. “Your dad?”

Libby nodded.

“They never found his body,” she said. “Not one piece of physical proof. Just a story. One they controlled.”

Missy’s expression tightened. “Libby—”

“I’m serious,” she said. “What if this whole thing—everything—was built around something that isn’t even true?”

Alex leaned forward. “You think he’s still alive?”

Libby opened her mouth—

But she didn’t get to answer.

Because a voice cut in.

From behind them.

Low.

Certain.

“He’s not dead.”

Every single one of them turned.

A man stood near the edge of the diner.

Mid-twenties.

Worn jacket. Tired eyes. The kind of look that said he hadn’t just heard the conversation—

he’d been listening to it.

For a while.

Libby’s body went still.

“Excuse me?” Brad said, already half-standing.

The man didn’t look at him.

His eyes were on Libby.

Locked.

“You heard me,” he said. “Your father isn’t dead.”

Silence snapped tight across the room.

Missy stood slowly. “And who the hell are you?”

The man hesitated.

Not because he didn’t have an answer—

but because he knew what it meant to say it.

Then—

“My name’s Jeff,” he said.

A beat.

Then he stepped closer.

“And if you’re going where I think you are…”

His eyes flicked briefly toward the window.

Toward the direction of the cemetery.

The trees.

The path.

“…you’re gonna want to hear what I have to say.”

Libby didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

But something in her expression shifted.

Because this—

this was it.

Another piece.

Another person who knew more than they should.

And this time—

he wasn’t hiding it.

Brad didn’t sit back down.

“Start talking,” he said.

Jeff shook his head slightly.

“Not like this,” he said. “Not out in the open.”

Missy crossed her arms. “You’ve got about five seconds before I decide you don’t belong in here.”

Jeff didn’t react to that.

Didn’t flinch.

He just looked at Libby.

“You’ve been watched since you got here,” he said. “Car outside? That’s not new.”

That landed immediately.

Libby’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You know about that,” she said.

Jeff gave a small nod.

“I know a lot more than that.”

Alex stepped in. “Then prove it.”

Jeff’s gaze didn’t leave Libby.

“You were at the cemetery,” he said. “You found the graves. The disturbed ground. The flowers that shouldn’t be there.”

Missy’s posture stiffened.

Brad went quiet.

Because that wasn’t something you guessed.

Jeff took one more step closer.

Lowering his voice slightly.

“And you were about to follow the path,” he added.

A beat.

Then—

“But something stopped you.”

Now—

no one spoke.

Because now—

he had their attention.

All of it.

Libby finally stood.

Slowly.

Her voice steady.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

Jeff held her gaze.

And this time—

he answered with more than just his name.

“I’m someone who didn’t stop,” he said.

A beat.

Then—

“And I’m telling you right now… if you go back there without knowing what you’re walking into…”

His expression hardened slightly.

“…you won’t come back the same.”

Silence filled the diner.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

Libby studied him.

Not afraid.

Not trusting.

But listening.

Because whether she liked it or not—

this just got bigger.

Again.

Jeff didn’t speak right away.

For a moment, he just stared at the floor, like everything he was about to say was still happening somewhere behind his eyes.

Then he exhaled.

“My mom didn’t die here,” he said. “She died in Los Angeles. Work accident. Something collapsed… wrong place, wrong time.” His jaw tightened. “My dad—Chase—he couldn’t stay there after that. Said the city felt… cursed. So he moved us to Ludlow. Fresh start.”

Jeff let out a humorless breath.

“Funny thing is… that’s exactly where things got worse.”

He finally looked up.

“You already heard about Gus. About Drew.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Brad. “But you don’t know all of it.”

No one interrupted.

“Gus shot Drew’s dog. Zowie. Said it was mean. Dangerous. Truth was, Gus just liked control. Drew was… all that kid had.”

Jeff swallowed.

“So we buried him. Me and Drew. Took him past the deadfall… to the burial ground.”

A silence settled over the room.

“And he came back.”

Missy shifted. Alex’s fingers curled tighter around her sleeve.

Jeff nodded slowly.

“Not right. But… not wrong enough, at first.”

He rubbed his hands together like he could still feel dirt under his nails.

“Halloween night. There was this party. Drinking, stupid stuff. Drew wasn’t supposed to be there—Gus had him grounded for lying about the dog.”

Jeff’s voice dropped.

“But Gus came home early.”

Brad’s posture stiffened.

“He found out Amanda let Drew go. He didn’t yell. Not at first. He just… went looking.”

Jeff’s eyes darkened.

“When he found us, he was already gone. Rage, I mean. Just… empty behind it.”

He paused.

“He grabbed this old wooden cross—big, heavy thing—and he was gonna beat Drew with it.”

A breath caught in Missy’s throat.

“And that’s when Zowie came out of the trees.”

Jeff’s voice turned hollow.

“Gus was screaming, ‘Drew, call him off!’”

A long beat.

“But Drew didn’t.”

Another.

“And Zowie didn’t stop.”

No one spoke.

“After…” Jeff shook his head. “We didn’t know what to do. We were kids. So we did the only thing that place teaches you.”

He looked at them, one by one.

“We buried him.”

The words landed heavy.

“And he came back,” Brad said quietly.

Jeff nodded.

“Yeah. And at first… we thought maybe it worked.”

A bitter smile.

“He was calm. Nicer. Like something in him got fixed.”

Jeff’s eyes flickered with regret.

“But it didn’t fix anything.”

His voice hardened.

“He killed Amanda. Then Drew.”

Silence.

“They said it was an accident. That truck driver… survivor’s guilt, they called it.” Jeff shook his head. “But I believe that driver. I think he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.”

Jeff’s gaze shifted again—back to Brad.

“And people knew. Kids talk. Bullies especially.”

Brad didn’t look away this time.

Missy’s voice came soft, but sharp.

“My nephew,” she said. “Clyde. He went missing in ‘92.”

Jeff went still.

For a moment, it looked like he might not answer.

Then he nodded once.

“That was us.”

The room seemed to shrink.

“After Gus… after everything…” He hesitated. “He came to me.”

Alex frowned. “Who?”

“Gus.”

The word landed wrong.

“Not long after… what happened to Amanda and Drew. He wasn’t right anymore. Not even pretending.” Jeff’s voice lowered. “But he knew about the burial ground. Knew what it could do.”

A pause.

“And he knew about my mom.”

No one breathed.

“He said I didn’t have to live without her,” Jeff continued. “Said he could help me fix it.”

Missy shook her head slightly. “Oh no…”

“I should’ve said no,” Jeff said. “I should’ve walked away.”

But he didn’t.

“We dug her up. Me and him. Middle of the night.”

His voice hollowed out.

“I remember the smell. The weight of the dirt. The sound of the shovel hitting the coffin.”

Alex squeezed her eyes shut.

“He helped me carry her,” Jeff said. “All the way out there.”

A beat.

“And we buried her again.”

Silence.

“She came back.”

The words barely had sound.

“And the night she did… she killed our housekeeper. Margie. Just… like it was nothing.”

Missy covered her mouth.

“We tried to run,” Jeff continued. “Me and my dad. Pack what we could. Get out.”

His eyes lifted slowly.

“That’s when Clyde came back.”

Missy froze.

“He wasn’t your nephew anymore,” Jeff said quietly. “Not really.”

The air felt thinner.

“He came at me with an ice skate first,” Jeff said, his tone flattening. “Tried to put it through my face.”

Alex flinched.

“I dodged it. Barely. Then he grabbed an axe.”

Jeff’s hands trembled slightly now.

“And when he swung… he hit the electrical box.”

A faint, imagined hum filled the silence.

“I saw the wires. Sparks. And I just… reacted.”

His eyes locked onto Missy’s.

“I grabbed them. Pressed them into him.”

No one spoke.

“He lit up. Just—” Jeff made a small, sharp gesture. “And then he dropped.”

Missy’s eyes were wet now, but she didn’t look away.

Jeff swallowed.

“That’s when my dad got the attic door open.”

His voice softened.

“I turned back… and she was still there. My mom. Burning. But she was smiling.”

A chill settled over the room.

“She locked us in,” Jeff said. “Said we belonged there. Said…”

He hesitated.

“…‘dead is better.’”

The words barely came out.

“My dad grabbed me. Yelling—” Jeff’s voice cracked slightly. “‘That’s not your mom, Jeff. Let’s go. That’s not your mom.’”

A long silence followed.

“We left the next morning,” Jeff finished. “Didn’t take anything we didn’t have to.”

His gaze drifted somewhere far away.

“And we never looked back.”

Brad cleared his throat.

“What about your dad?”

Jeff blinked.

“He died last year,” he said. “Massive stroke.”

A pause.

“Didn’t suffer.”

The room sat in silence.

Heavy.

Unfinished.

Like something had just been uncovered—

and something else had just started listening.

Jeff leaned back slightly, like the weight of everything he’d said was finally catching up to him.

“I’ve lived with this for ten years,” he said.

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

“Gus. Drew. Amanda. Zowie…” He swallowed. “Even Clyde.”

Missy flinched at that.

Jeff’s eyes drifted, unfocused, like he was looking at something no one else could see.

“That’s not something you forget,” he went on. “Doesn’t matter how far you go, or how much you try to bury it. It stays with you. Follows you.”

A pause.

“I didn’t handle it well.”

He rubbed his hands together slowly.

“Spent some time in a mental hospital after we left. Couple years, on and off.”

Brad shifted slightly. Alex didn’t move at all.

Jeff exhaled through his nose.

“That’s where I met him.”

Now he looked up again—sharper this time.

“Louis.”

The name settled uneasily in the room.

“He wasn’t like the others,” Jeff said. “Didn’t scream. Didn’t lash out. Didn’t even really talk to anyone.”

A beat.

“But he… muttered.”

Jeff’s jaw tightened slightly, like even repeating it felt wrong.

“All the time. Same thing. Over and over.”

His voice dropped, quieter now.

Barely above a whisper.

“‘I waited too long with Gage… she died just a little while ago.’”

No one spoke.

Jeff continued.

“Didn’t matter if it was day or night. Lights on, lights off. Sitting, standing… didn’t matter.”

Another pause.

“‘I waited too long with Gage… she died just a little while ago.’”

Missy shifted uncomfortably.

“He’d say it like he was reminding himself,” Jeff said. “Or like… if he stopped saying it, something worse would happen.”

Alex’s fingers tightened around her sleeve.

“I saw him once in the hallway,” Jeff went on. “Real late. They were supposed to have him sedated.”

His eyes unfocused again.

“But he was just… standing there.”

A long beat.

“In the dark.”

Jeff swallowed.

“And he wasn’t looking at anything.”

Another pause.

“He was looking through it.”

Silence pressed in.

“And still—” Jeff’s voice dropped again, hollow now, “—still saying it.”

“‘I waited too long with Gage… she died just a little while ago.’”

Brad shifted. “Did he ever stop?”

Jeff shook his head slowly.

“No.”

A beat.

“Not while I was there.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“That’s how I know he wasn’t crazy,” Jeff said quietly. “Not the way they thought.”

Something colder.

“He got transferred out,” Jeff continued. “No warning. One day he was just… gone.”

“Where?” Brad asked.

Jeff shook his head again.

“They didn’t tell us. Didn’t tell anyone.”

A pause.

“But I remember the year.”

His voice dropped.

“1997.”

Silence settled in, heavy and suffocating.

“So whatever happened in Ludlow…” Jeff said quietly, looking between them, “whatever that place does to people…”

A long beat.

“It doesn’t let go.”

Juniper Hills didn’t look like the kind of place that held secrets.

That was the first thing Ellie noticed.

Clean floors. Soft lighting. Neutral colors meant to calm people down. The kind of place designed to make everything feel controlled.

Safe.

It wasn’t.

Ellie stood at the front desk, fingers curled tightly against the counter.

“I’m looking for records,” she said. “My father was a patient here. I just need to know where he was transferred.”

The woman behind the desk gave her a polite, practiced smile.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t release patient information.”

Ellie didn’t move.

“I’m not asking for everything,” she said. “Just where he went.”

“I understand,” the woman replied, tone unchanged. “But that’s still confidential.”

Brad shifted beside her. Alex stayed quiet.

Ellie felt that familiar frustration rising—tight, sharp, useless.

“There has to be something you can tell me.”

“There isn’t.”

Too quick.

Too clean.

Ellie’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t even look.”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter.

“I don’t need to.”

That was when Missy stepped forward.

At first, her voice was calm.

Quiet.

“My nephew,” she said.

The woman blinked, thrown just slightly off script.

Missy swallowed.

“My nephew was connected to this place.”

A pause.

“His name was Clyde.”

Something changed.

It was small—but it was there.

The woman’s expression flickered.

Just for a second.

Missy saw it.

“So don’t tell me there’s nothing you can do,” she said, her voice starting to strain. “Because I’ve heard that before.”

The woman straightened. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you—”

“He went missing.”

Missy’s voice cracked.

The word hung there, fragile and sharp.

“He went missing,” she repeated, louder now. “And no one ever told us anything. Not what happened. Not where he went. Nothing.”

The lobby felt quieter now.

Too quiet.

“I’m not doing that again,” Missy said. “Not with her.”

She gestured toward Ellie, but didn’t look away from the woman behind the desk.

“So you can stand there and tell me policy all you want,” she said, voice trembling, “but I am not leaving here empty-handed. Not this time.”

Silence.

The woman hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then—

“Marianne.”

A voice from behind them.

They turned.

A man stood in the hallway, half-shadowed by the dimmer lights beyond the lobby. Mid-fifties. Tired eyes. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept well in years.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly.

The woman—Marianne—relaxed slightly, though she didn’t look happy about it.

The man stepped forward slowly.

“You said your father,” he said to Ellie.

Ellie nodded. “Yes.”

He studied her face for a moment.

Longer than necessary.

“What was his name?”

She told him.

Something in his expression tightened.

Not surprise.

Recognition.

“He wasn’t discharged,” the man said carefully.

Ellie’s breath caught. “What?”

“He was transferred,” he continued. “Special case.”

“Where?” Ellie asked immediately.

The man hesitated.

Behind him, Marianne shook her head slightly.

He ignored her.

“There was a group,” he said. “Late nineties. Cases they didn’t want handled here.”

Jeff’s words echoed in Ellie’s mind.

1.  
   

“Your father was part of that,” the man said.

“And another,” he added, almost under his breath.

Ellie leaned forward. “Who?”

The man looked at her.

Then past her.

Then back again.

“Louis,” he said quietly.

The name landed heavy.

“Same year,” he continued. “Same transfer.”

“Where did they go?” Brad asked.

The man shook his head.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“But you are,” Missy said, her voice still unsteady.

A long pause.

Then—

“Records were sealed,” he said. “Some of them… removed entirely.”

Ellie felt her stomach drop.

“Removed?” Alex asked.

The man nodded once.

“Like they were never here.”

Silence stretched.

“But there’s a file reference,” he added quickly, like he’d already said too much. “A transfer authorization. Signed.”

“By who?” Ellie asked.

He hesitated.

Then said it anyway.

“Dr. Halvorsen.”

The name meant nothing.

Not yet.

“But I don’t have a location,” he said. “That part’s gone.”

Marianne stepped forward now, sharper.

“That’s enough.”

The man straightened slightly.

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”

Just like that, it was over.

The crack sealed shut.

Ellie opened her mouth—

But he was already turning away.

“Wait—”

“I can’t help you anymore,” he said without looking back.

And then he was gone.

The lobby felt wrong again.

Too clean.

Too quiet.

Like nothing had happened.

Missy wiped at her eyes quickly, trying to steady herself.

“We got something,” Brad said softly.

Ellie nodded, but her mind was racing.

1.  
   

Louis.

Dr. Halvorsen.

Transferred.

Erased.

“Ellie.”

Alex’s voice.

Low.

Uneasy.

Ellie turned.

At the far end of the waiting area, near a row of empty chairs, someone was sitting.

A patient.

Thin. Pale. Rocking slightly.

At first, Ellie thought he was talking to himself.

Then she listened.

“…too late…”

Barely audible.

“…too late…”

Ellie’s chest tightened.

“…too late…”

She took a step forward.

The man’s head tilted.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

He stopped rocking.

And then—

he looked straight at her.

The whisper stopped.

Just like that.

The silence that followed felt heavier than the sound had.

Ellie didn’t move.

Neither did he.

For a moment, it felt like the entire building was holding its breath.

Then a nurse stepped between them.

“Sir,” she said gently, guiding him away.

The moment broke.

But not completely.

Ellie turned back to the others.

“We need to find that doctor,” she said.

No one argued.

Behind them, down the hallway—

something metal clanged softly.

Like a door closing.

Or locking.

And somewhere deeper in the building—

just for a second—

it almost sounded like someone whispering again.

The note didn’t leave Ellie’s hand the entire drive back.

She kept unfolding it.

Refolding it.

Like maybe something new would appear if she looked at it enough times.

It didn’t.

Just the same thing.

Topsfield, Maine.

An address.

Nothing else.

Brad pulled into the diner lot slower than usual.

No one said it out loud, but they were all thinking the same thing—

They needed to talk.

Figure out how to approach Halvorsen.

Figure out if they even should.

The gravel crunched under the tires as the car rolled to a stop.

And then Alex leaned forward slightly.

“…That wasn’t here before.”

Ellie looked up.

There was a car parked near the front of the diner.

Not local.

Too clean. Too new.

Out of place.

Brad frowned. “You recognize it?”

Alex didn’t answer right away.

She was already opening her door.

Ellie followed her gaze—

And then her stomach dropped.

“…No way.”

The diner door swung open before they even reached it.

“Libby?”

The voice hit her first.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

Pam stood just outside the doorway, eyes wide, relief flooding her face so fast it almost didn’t look real.

“Oh my God.”

She hurried forward, closing the distance in seconds, and pulled Libby into a tight hug.

“You’re okay,” Pam said, breath shaky. “Jesus, you’re okay.”

Libby didn’t hug her back right away.

She was still trying to process how she was even standing there.

“Pam… what are you doing here?”

Pam pulled back just enough to look at her.

“I’ve been calling you for days,” she said. “Texting. Nothing. You just—disappeared.”

Libby blinked. “I—”

“You said you were going to Chicago,” Pam continued, words coming fast now. “And then the last thing I remember you mentioning was… Ludlow. Maine.”

She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half panic.

“So I got on a plane.”

Silence.

Brad and Alex exchanged a look.

Missy watched quietly.

“You flew here?” Libby asked.

Pam nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

A beat.

“I was worried.”

That landed harder than anything else.

Libby’s grip tightened slightly around the folded note in her hand.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Alex said gently.

Pam frowned. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Because they all had.

In different ways.

Libby shook her head. “We just—this isn’t what you think it is.”

Pam looked between them.

“Then tell me what it is,” she said. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you all got yourselves into something and decided not to tell anyone.”

No one answered.

Not right away.

The wind shifted slightly through the lot.

For just a second—

it carried a faint sound with it.

Ellie’s head turned instinctively.

“…too late…”

Her chest tightened.

When she looked back, no one else had reacted.

Or if they had—

they weren’t saying it.

Pam crossed her arms, trying to steady herself.

“Libby,” she said more quietly now, “what’s going on?”

Libby hesitated.

Then looked at the others.

Brad gave a small nod.

Missy didn’t say anything—but she didn’t stop her either.

Libby looked back at Pam.

And for the first time since she got there—

she didn’t try to soften it.

“It’s not safe,” she said.

Pam’s expression flickered.

“Okay…” she said slowly. “Not safe how?”

Libby unfolded the paper in her hand.

Showed it to her.

Pam glanced down.

“Topsfield?” she read. “What is that?”

“We think it’s where someone is hiding,” Libby said.

“Someone who knows what’s happening,” Alex added.

Pam looked back up.

“And you’re just… going to go there?”

A beat.

“Yes,” Libby said.

Pam let out a quiet breath.

Of course they were.

She studied their faces.

One by one.

Whatever she saw there—

it made the decision for her.

“…Then I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Libby said immediately.

Pam didn’t flinch.

“Yes.”

“Pam—”

“You don’t get to disappear for days,” Pam said, her voice tightening slightly, “and then tell me to just go home like everything’s fine.”

“It’s not about that—”

“I know it’s not,” Pam cut in. “That’s the point.”

Silence settled between them.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

Pam’s voice softened.

“I didn’t come all this way to leave you in something like this,” she said. “So either you tell me everything… or I find out the hard way.”

A long pause.

Libby closed her eyes briefly.

Then opened them again.

“…You’re not going to like it.”

Pam gave a small, humorless smile.

“I already don’t.”

That almost broke the tension.

Almost.

Behind them, the diner door creaked slightly in the wind.

No one had touched it.

Ellie glanced back.

For a second—

she thought she saw someone standing just inside.

Watching.

But when she looked again—

there was nothing there.

Just empty space.

And her own reflection in the glass.

She turned back to the group.

“We shouldn’t stay out here,” she said quietly.

No one argued.

As they moved toward the diner—

Libby folded the note again.

Tighter this time.

Like she was trying to contain something inside it.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

If anything—

it felt stronger.

Like whatever had left that address…

knew exactly where they were.

And now—

there were more of them to follow.

Pam didn’t back down.

“…Then I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Libby said immediately.

“Yes.”

“Pam—”

Libby stopped herself.

Looked at Missy.

Then at Brad.

Something shifted in her expression—less hesitation now. More decision.

“We’ve got backup,” Libby said.

Pam frowned slightly. “Backup?”

Libby nodded toward her.

“She’s street smart,” she said. “Not like me and Alex—we’re book smart.”

Alex gave a small, humorless shrug. “She’s not wrong.”

Libby continued, eyes still on Missy and Brad.

“If we get into something we can’t get ourselves out of…” she said, “she will.”

Silence followed.

Missy studied Pam for a long second.

Not judging.

Measuring.

Brad leaned back slightly, arms crossing.

“…You sure about that?” he asked.

Pam didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Not defensive.

Certain.

That was enough.

Missy gave a small nod.

“Alright,” she said. “Then you stick close. And you listen.”

Pam nodded once. “Got it.”

Libby exhaled, tension easing just slightly.

“Let’s go inside.”

The diner felt warmer than it should have.

Too normal.

Like it existed outside of everything they’d just been through.

They slid into a booth near the back. Same one as before.

That didn’t feel like a coincidence.

A waitress came by, poured coffee they didn’t ask for, and left without a word.

Pam looked around once.

Then back at them.

“Okay,” she said. “Start talking.”

No one jumped in right away.

Where do you even start?

Libby looked down at her hands.

Then up.

“There’s something wrong with this place,” she said.

Pam let out a small breath. “That much I figured.”

“No,” Alex added quietly. “We mean wrong.”

Brad leaned forward slightly.

“You ever hear of something… coming back?” he asked.

Pam frowned. “Coming back how?”

Missy spoke this time.

“Dead,” she said.

The word landed flat.

Pam blinked.

“…What?”

Libby held her gaze.

“People here bury things,” she said. “And sometimes… they don’t stay buried.”

Pam let out a short laugh.

It died quickly.

“You’re serious.”

No one smiled.

No one softened it.

That’s when it started to sink in.

“Okay,” Pam said slowly. “Okay… so what, like—zombies?”

“No,” Alex said. “Not like that.”

“They come back wrong,” Brad added. “Not sick. Not decaying. Just… not right.”

Missy’s fingers tightened slightly around her coffee cup.

“They remember things,” she said. “But not the way they should.”

Pam’s eyes moved between them.

Searching for the break.

The punchline.

It didn’t come.

“So all of this—” she gestured between them, “—this is real?”

Libby nodded.

“Yes.”

A long silence followed.

Pam leaned back slightly, processing.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “Alright.”

She rubbed her hands together once.

“Then explain this.”

Libby slid the folded paper across the table.

Pam opened it.

Read it.

“Topsfield,” she said again. “Maine.”

A long silence followed.

Pam leaned back slightly, processing.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “Alright.”

She rubbed her hands together once.

“Then explain this.”

Libby slid the folded paper across the table.

Pam opened it.

Read it.

“Topsfield,” she said again. “Maine.”

She looked up.

“And we’re just… what? Supposed to go?”

No one answered right away.

That was answer enough.

Pam exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly.

“That’s a bad idea,” she said.

Brad frowned. “Why?”

Pam tapped the paper lightly.

“Because this is how people get themselves into something they can’t walk out of,” she said. “No context, no backup, no clue who left it—just an address and a feeling.”

She looked at Libby.

“I’m not saying we can’t handle trouble,” she added. “If something goes sideways, yeah—I can get us out.”

A beat.

“But not like that.”

Libby’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Pam leaned forward now, more serious.

“I mean unfamiliar ground changes things,” she said. “New place, no exits mapped, no idea who’s watching or who isn’t. You don’t walk into that blind unless you’ve got no other choice.”

The weight of that settled over the table.

Alex nodded slightly. “She’s right.”

Missy didn’t argue either.

Brad leaned back, thinking.

“So what, we just ignore it?” he asked.

Pam shook her head. “No.”

She pushed the paper back toward Libby.

“I’m saying we don’t treat this like the only move we’ve got.”

Silence again.

All eyes shifted to Libby.

Because it was her call.

Libby stared down at the note.

Topsfield.

It felt like a pull.

Like something waiting.

But Pam’s words stuck too.

Unfamiliar ground.

No exits.

Blind.

She exhaled slowly.

“I want to go,” she admitted.

No surprise there.

“But not like this.”

She looked up.

“We don’t run straight into it.”

A small shift in the room.

Not relief.

But direction.

Jeff, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke.

“There might be another way,” he said.

Everyone turned to him.

“What?” Brad asked.

Jeff leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.

“There’s someone else,” he said. “Or… there was.”

A beat.

“Dr. Yolanda.”

The name hung there.

“He was the vet in Ludlow before my dad took over,” Jeff continued. “Retired back in ’91.”

Libby frowned. “A vet?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah. But he knew things. About the town. About what people didn’t talk about.”

Missy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You think he’d know about this?”

“I think if anyone outside of Ludlow would,” Jeff said, “it’d be him.”

Pam tilted her head. “Where is he now?”

“Outside of town,” Jeff replied. “Kept to himself even back then. My dad used to say he left for a reason.”

Alex crossed her arms. “That doesn’t exactly make him sound approachable.”

“No,” Jeff said. “It doesn’t.”

Another pause.

Then—

“But it makes him worth talking to.”

Libby looked between them.

The note.

Jeff.

Pam.

Two paths.

One unknown.

One… slightly less unknown.

“What’s closer?” Brad asked.

“Yolanda,” Jeff said. “By a long shot.”

Pam nodded immediately. “Then that’s your move.”

Libby hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then made the call.

“We talk to Yolanda first,” she said.

The tension shifted.

Not gone—

just redirected.

“We get whatever he knows,” she continued. “Then we decide if Topsfield is still the next step.”

Pam leaned back slightly.

“That’s a smarter play.”

Brad nodded. “Agreed.”

Alex let out a small breath. “Finally.”

Missy gave a faint, approving look.

Jeff just sat back quietly.

Like he’d been waiting for that choice.

Libby folded the note again.

Carefully.

Not dismissing it.

Just… delaying it.

“For now,” she said.

But even as she said it—

something about that address lingered.

Like it wasn’t done with them yet.

Like waiting…

wasn’t the same as avoiding.

And somewhere in the back of her mind—

a quiet thought settled in.

We’re going there anyway.

Just not yet.

The road to Dr. Yolanda’s place felt different from the others.

Less forgotten.

More… avoided.

Even the trees seemed to give the house space.

Jeff slowed as they pulled up the long gravel drive.

“That’s it,” he said quietly.

The house sat back from the road, modest but well-kept. Not abandoned. Not neglected.

Just… isolated.

Pam noticed it immediately.

“He didn’t leave,” she said. “He withdrew.”

Jeff nodded once. “Yeah.”

Yolanda answered the door quicker than expected.

Like he’d been watching.

He was older now. Thinner. Hair gone mostly gray, but his eyes—

sharp.

Still sharp.

Jeff gave a small nod. “Dr. Yolanda.”

Yolanda looked at him.

Recognition came slow.

Then settled.

“…Jeff Matthews,” he said.

Not surprised.

Just… disappointed.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Jeff shifted slightly. “We need to talk.”

Yolanda’s eyes moved past him.

To Libby.

Then to Pam.

Something changed.

Subtle.

But there.

“About what?” he asked.

Pam stepped forward before anyone else could speak.

“About things that don’t stay buried,” she said.

Yolanda didn’t blink.

Didn’t react.

Just watched her.

“People,” she added. “Animals. Things that come back… wrong.”

A long pause.

Then—

“…Come inside.”

The house was quiet.

Not empty.

But careful.

Like everything had a place—and stayed there.

Yolanda didn’t offer them seats right away.

He turned.

Studied them again.

Longer this time.

Then his eyes settled on Libby.

“…What’s your name?” he asked.

Libby hesitated.

Pam answered for her.

“Libby.”

Yolanda’s expression didn’t change.

But something behind his eyes did.

“And you?” he asked, looking at Pam.

“Pam.”

A nod.

Then back to Libby.

“Last name.”

The room tightened.

Jeff shifted slightly.

Libby swallowed.

“…Creed.”

That did it.

Yolanda stepped back.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

But immediate.

“No,” he said under his breath.

More to himself than them.

“No, no…”

Pam stepped in again.

“Look,” she said, calm but firm. “We’re not here to drag anything up. We just need answers.”

Yolanda shook his head slowly.

“You shouldn’t be asking these questions,” he said.

“We already are,” Pam replied.

That stopped him.

Just enough.

Yolanda turned away, pacing once across the room.

Thinking.

Or remembering.

When he spoke again, his voice was different.

Heavier.

“You’ve seen something,” he said.

Not a question.

Libby nodded.

“Yes.”

A beat.

“It’s repeating things,” she added. “Over and over.”

Yolanda closed his eyes briefly.

Then opened them again.

And looked directly at her.

“The Creed cat,” he said.

Silence.

“That’s right,” he continued quietly. “Bastard’s name was… Church.”

Pam didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t push.

Just let him talk.

“Now let me guess,” Yolanda went on, his voice tightening slightly. “Your dog’s tissue isn’t healing… pupils aren’t dilating… maybe you can’t find a heartbeat.”

He looked between them.

“There’s no blood condition,” he said. “The dog isn’t sick.”

A beat.

“It’s dead.”

The word sat there.

Cold.

Final.

“And so was Creed’s cat,” Yolanda continued.

“And so was his wife… on the night she was killed for the second time.”

Libby’s breath caught.

Jeff looked down.

He’d heard this before.

But it didn’t land any softer.

Yolanda stepped closer now.

Not aggressive.

But urgent.

Focused on Libby.

“Now you want some advice, my friend?” he said.

His voice dropped.

Grave.

“You get in your car…”

A pause.

“You get the hell out of that town.”

Silence filled the room.

Thick.

Unavoidable.

Pam was the first to speak.

“We’re past that,” she said.

Yolanda looked at her.

Studied her differently now.

“You don’t understand,” he said.

“No,” Pam replied. “We do.”

A beat.

“Which is why we’re not leaving.”

That lingered.

Yolanda’s jaw tightened slightly.

Not anger.

Something closer to resignation.

“…Then you’re already in it,” he said.

Libby stepped forward.

“My dad,” she said. “What happened to him?”

Yolanda didn’t answer right away.

He looked at Jeff instead.

Then back at her.

And whatever he saw—

made the decision for him.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” he said quietly.

A beat.

“What you should be asking is…”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

“…what came back with him.”

Jeff didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll take you,” he said.

Libby looked up. “You sure?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. If Yolanda’s still out there… he’s your best shot before you go chasing something like that.”

He didn’t look at the note when he said it.

Like he didn’t want to.

Pam caught that.

But didn’t comment.

“Then let’s move,” she said. “Daylight’s not something we waste.”

The drive was quieter this time.

Not tense.

Just… focused.

Jeff kept his eyes on the road.

“You’ll have to let me do the talking at first,” he said. “He knew my dad. Might not be thrilled to see me.”

Pam leaned back slightly. “We’ll see how that goes.”

Yolanda’s house sat where the trees thinned just enough to let it exist.

Not hidden.

But not meant to be found either.

Jeff knocked.

They didn’t wait long.

The door opened.

Dr. Yolanda looked older—but not weaker.

His eyes were still sharp.

Still searching.

They landed on Jeff first.

Recognition came quick.

“…Jeff Matthews,” he said.

Not warm.

Not welcoming.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Jeff gave a small nod. “I know.”

Yolanda’s gaze shifted.

To Libby.

Then to Pam.

Something changed.

Subtle.

But immediate.

“Who are they?” he asked.

Pam stepped forward before Jeff could answer.

“We’re not here to cause problems,” she said. “We just need information.”

Yolanda didn’t move.

Didn’t invite them in.

“About what?”

Pam held his gaze.

“Things that come back,” she said.

A beat.

“Wrong.”

Silence.

Then—

“Come inside.”

He didn’t offer seats.

Didn’t offer anything.

Just turned and watched them as they stepped in.

Measuring.

Waiting.

His eyes landed on Libby again.

Stayed there.

“…What’s your name?” he asked.

“Libby,” she said.

“Last name.”

“…Michin.”

He shook his head immediately.

“No.”

The word cut clean.

Libby frowned. “What?”

“I know you from somewhere else,” Yolanda said, stepping closer. “Who are you?”

A beat.

“What is your real name?”

The room tightened.

Pam stepped in smoothly.

“Her name is Libby,” she said. “That’s the one that matters right now.”

Yolanda didn’t look away from Libby.

But he didn’t push further.

Not yet.

“You’ve seen something,” he said.

Pam answered.

“Yes.”

“What kind of something?”

“Something that repeats,” she said. “Talks like it’s stuck.”

Yolanda exhaled slowly.

Like that confirmed more than he wanted.

Then he looked at Libby again.

And spoke.

“The Creed cat,” he said.

Silence fell.

“That’s right,” he continued. “Bastard’s name was… Church.”

His voice didn’t rise.

Didn’t dramatize it.

That made it worse.

“Now let me guess,” he went on. “Your dog’s tissue isn’t healing… pupils aren’t dilating… maybe you can’t find a heartbeat.”

He looked between them.

“There’s no blood condition,” he said. “The dog isn’t sick.”

A beat.

“It’s dead.”

“And so was Creed’s cat,” he continued.

“And so was his wife… on the night she was killed for the second time.”

Libby felt her breath hitch.

Jeff looked away.

He’d heard it before.

Didn’t make it easier.

Yolanda stepped closer.

Not aggressive.

But firm.

“Now you want some advice, my friend?” he said.

His eyes locked onto Libby.

“You get in your car…”

A pause.

“And you get the hell out of that town.”

Pam didn’t flinch.

“We’re not leaving,” she said.

Flat.

Certain.

Yolanda looked at her.

Longer this time.

Then nodded once.

“Didn’t think you would,” he said.

He turned away.

Paced once.

Then stopped.

“There’s something I didn’t tell your father,” he said, without looking at Jeff.

That pulled everyone still.

Jeff frowned. “What?”

Yolanda turned back slowly.

His gaze landed on Libby again.

Then settled.

“When something comes back,” he said, “it isn’t alone.”

Silence.

Pam’s expression didn’t change—but her focus sharpened.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

Yolanda took a breath.

Like he’d held this in for a long time.

“It brings something with it,” he said. “Not a spirit. Not a ghost.”

A beat.

“Something that learns.”

Libby felt her chest tighten.

“Learns what?”

Yolanda’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

“You.”

The word lingered.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

“At first, it repeats,” he continued. “Fragments. Sounds. Moments.”

A pause.

“Then it starts to understand them.”

Jeff shifted. “Understand how?”

Yolanda didn’t answer him.

Still watching Libby.

“By watching,” he said. “By listening.”

Another beat.

“By getting closer.”

Pam stepped slightly in front of Libby again.

Protective.

“So what happens when it learns enough?” she asked.

Yolanda didn’t hesitate.

“It stops repeating.”

A beat.

“And starts choosing.”

That landed harder than anything else.

Yolanda stepped back.

Creating space again.

“You came here for answers,” he said.

“You’ve got more than your father did.”

A pause.

“Doesn’t mean it’ll help you.”

They turned to leave.

But before they reached the door—

Yolanda spoke again.

Quiet.

Directed at Libby.

“Whatever name you’re using…”

She stopped.

Didn’t turn.

“…it won’t matter,” he said.

A beat.

“Because if it’s already started…”

Silence stretched.

“…it knows who you are.”

 

They didn’t say much at first after they left Yolanda’s place.

The gravel crunched under their shoes.

The trees felt closer now.

Like they’d shifted while they were inside.

Libby walked a few steps ahead of the others, arms folded tight, her mind racing.

“He knew me,” she said finally.

No one answered right away.

“He looked right at me,” she went on. “Not just like he recognized me—like he knew me.”

Pam glanced at Jeff.

Jeff stayed quiet.

Thinking.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Libby said, more to herself now. “I’ve never met him before.”

Pam spoke carefully. “You sure about that?”

Libby stopped walking.

Turned.

“Yes,” she said. “I would remember something like that.”

Jeff stepped forward slightly.

Not confrontational.

Just… certain.

“Maybe not,” he said.

Libby frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jeff hesitated.

Then—

“Did you ever go into the vet’s office with your dad?” he asked.

The question landed oddly.

Simple.

But pointed.

Libby blinked. “What?”

Jeff held her gaze.

“Back in Ludlow,” he said. “When you were a kid.”

A pause.

“With Church.”

Everything went quiet.

Pam looked between them.

Libby didn’t answer right away.

Because something in her expression shifted.

Not recognition.

Not fully.

But something close.

“I…” she started.

Then stopped.

Jeff didn’t push.

Didn’t need to.

“He’s not a stupid man,” Jeff said quietly. “He knew who you were.”

A beat.

“He just wasn’t pushing it.”

Libby shook her head slightly.

“That’s not— I would remember that.”

But her voice wasn’t as sure now.

Jeff glanced back toward Yolanda’s house.

Then back at her.

“It’s a wonder he didn’t kick us off the property,” he said. “Knowing who the both of us were.”

Pam’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean both of you?”

Jeff exhaled through his nose.

“Me,” he said. “My dad. What we were tied to.”

Then he looked at Libby again.

“And you,” he added.

Libby felt something cold settle in her chest.

“Church…” she said slowly.

The name felt strange in her mouth.

Familiar.

But distant.

Like something remembered through someone else’s story.

“I remember a cat,” she said.

A beat.

“Not clearly. Just… pieces.”

Pam watched her closely now.

“What kind of pieces?”

Libby frowned.

Trying to grab onto it.

“A carrier,” she said. “Metal door. It kept rattling.”

Her voice slowed.

“Something inside it… wasn’t still.”

Jeff didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t correct.

“Smell,” Libby added quietly. “Like… dirt. Wet dirt.”

She looked up.

Eyes unsettled now.

“I thought it was a dream.”

Jeff shook his head once.

“It wasn’t.”

Silence settled over them again.

Heavier this time.

Because now—

it wasn’t a question anymore.

It was a memory.

Pam crossed her arms, thinking.

“So Yolanda didn’t just recognize you,” she said.

“He remembered that.”

Libby swallowed.

“And he didn’t say anything,” she murmured.

Jeff nodded.

“Because if he said your real name,” he said, “this would’ve gone a lot different.”

A beat.

“He was giving you a chance to walk away.”

Libby looked back toward the house.

Something about that felt worse now.

Not safer.

Not helpful.

Just…

delayed.

Pam stepped beside her.

“So what now?” she asked.

Libby didn’t answer immediately.

Because now the question had changed.

It wasn’t just about what was happening.

It was about how long it had been happening.

And how much of it she had already been part of—

without knowing.

After a moment—

“…now we decide if we keep going,” Libby said.

Her voice was quieter.

But steadier than before.

Because now—

walking away didn’t feel like an option anymore.

The drive back felt longer.

No one rushed to fill the silence.

Libby sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, watching the trees blur past without really seeing them.

Pam didn’t push her.

Jeff didn’t either.

Whatever had shifted back at Yolanda’s house—

it hadn’t settled yet.

Brad looked up as they came through the diner door.

“About time,” he said. “What’d he say?”

No one answered right away.

That was enough to wipe the edge off his tone.

Missy leaned forward slightly.

“Start talking,” she said.

Pam slid into the booth first.

“He confirmed it,” she said. “Everything.”

Alex frowned. “Everything what?”

Pam didn’t soften it.

“They come back wrong,” she said. “And they don’t come back alone.”

That landed hard.

Brad let out a quiet breath. “Jesus…”

Missy’s eyes shifted to Libby.

“And?” she asked.

Libby sat down slowly.

“He knew me,” she said.

That pulled everyone still.

“What do you mean he knew you?” Alex asked.

“I mean he knew me,” Libby said. “Not my name. Not Michin.”

A beat.

“Something else.”

Jeff leaned against the edge of the booth.

“He recognized her from when she was a kid,” he said. “Back in Ludlow. With Church.”

Missy’s expression tightened slightly at that name.

“Then he knows exactly what she’s tied to,” she said.

“Yeah,” Pam replied. “And he still let us walk out.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Loaded.

Brad leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So what now?” he asked. “We still chasing that address?”

All eyes shifted to Libby.

Again.

But this time—

she didn’t answer right away.

Because now it felt different.

Less like a lead.

More like a trap.

Pam spoke first.

“I still think it’s a bad move,” she said. “Nothing we heard today makes that place safer.”

Brad nodded slowly. “Yeah… I’m starting to agree.”

Alex looked between them. “Then what, we just sit on this?”

“No,” Missy said.

Firm.

Decided.

Everyone looked at her.

“We stop chasing ghosts in the woods,” she said. “And we start where the truth should actually be.”

A beat.

“The system.”

Pam tilted her head slightly. “You mean records.”

Missy nodded.

“Louis Creed was institutionalized,” she said. “That means files. Evaluations. transfer logs.”

Alex leaned forward. “Those don’t just get handed over.”

“No,” Missy agreed. “They don’t.”

A pause.

“But they exist.”

Brad frowned. “Where?”

Missy met his gaze.

“Bangor,” she said. “County courthouse.”

The word courthouse settled differently than everything else.

Real.

Concrete.

Harder to run from.

Libby looked up.

“You think they’ll actually let us see anything?” she asked.

Missy shook her head slightly.

“No,” she said.

Honest.

“But I know how to push.”

A faint edge crept into her voice now.

“And I know when someone’s hiding something.”

Pam gave a small nod.

“That I believe.”

Missy looked directly at Libby.

“You and me go,” she said.

Libby blinked. “Just us?”

“Less attention,” Missy replied. “Less noise. We ask the right questions, the right way.”

A beat.

“And if they try to shut us down…”

Her expression hardened just slightly.

“…we don’t let them.”

Brad exhaled. “And the rest of us?”

“Stay here,” Missy said. “Keep digging. Talk to Jeff. Cross-reference anything we get.”

Jeff nodded once. “I can do that.”

Alex looked uneasy—but didn’t argue.

Pam leaned back slightly, watching Missy now.

“You’re confident about this,” she said.

Missy didn’t smile.

“I’ve seen what happens when people don’t push hard enough,” she said.

A beat.

“I’m not making that mistake again.”

Libby studied her for a moment.

Then nodded.

“Okay,” she said.

Not hesitant.

Not this time.

“Let’s do it.”

The decision settled over the table.

Different from the others.

Less reckless.

More deliberate.

But not safer.

Not really.

As Libby folded the note from Topsfield and slipped it back into her pocket—

she didn’t throw it away.

Didn’t dismiss it.

Just… set it aside.

For now.

Because whatever answers they were about to find in Bangor—

something told her—

they weren’t going to make anything easier.

Just clearer.

And sometimes—

that was worse.

Marie’s eyes stayed on her.

Unblinking.

Searching.

Then—

“…Ellie?” she said.

The name landed wrong.

Like it didn’t belong in the room.

Libby frowned immediately.

“No,” she said. “It’s Libby.”

Marie didn’t react to the correction.

If anything—

her expression softened.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

“When we were best friends,” Marie said quietly, “you were Ellie.”

A beat.

“Well before everything happened.”

Silence stretched between them.

Libby’s chest tightened.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

Marie shook her head slowly.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

She took a small step closer.

Not threatening.

Just… certain.

“I never saw you again,” she went on. “After you left.”

A pause.

“But I never stopped thinking about you.”

That hit harder than anything else.

Not fear.

Not danger.

Something deeper.

Something personal.

Libby swallowed.

“I don’t remember that,” she said.

Marie studied her for a long moment.

Then nodded slightly.

“Yeah,” she said. “That makes sense.”

A faint, sad smile touched her lips.

“Some things about Ludlow…” she added softly, “…don’t stay the way they should.”

Missy stepped in, grounding the moment.

“We need those records,” she said.

Marie blinked once—

like she was pulling herself back to the present.

Back to the risk.

Back to the choice.

Her eyes shifted from Libby—

from Ellie—

to Missy.

And the decision settled in.

“I can’t help you here,” Marie said.

Her voice was steady again.

Controlled.

“But I can help you.”

She reached for a piece of paper.

Wrote quickly.

Slid it across the desk.

“Tonight,” she said. “Eight o’clock.”

A beat.

“Come alone.”

Her eyes flicked back to Libby one last time.

Lingering.

“…Ellie.”

Libby didn’t correct her this time.

Because now—

she wasn’t sure she could.

The courthouse doors shut behind them with a dull, echoing thud.

Libby exhaled slowly as they stepped out into the open air.

“That was… a lot,” she said.

Missy didn’t respond.

She was already scanning the parking lot.

Always aware.

Always checking.

Libby followed her gaze—

and froze.

“…Missy.”

Something in her voice made Missy turn immediately.

Libby was staring at the car.

At the windshield.

Missy’s eyes followed.

And there it was.

Libby’s notebook.

Sitting right in the center of the glass.

Flat.

Still.

Untouched.

Missy frowned. “You leave that there?”

Libby shook her head slowly.

“No.”

A beat.

“I lost it… back at Juniper Hills.”

Silence.

Missy looked back at the notebook.

Then around the lot.

Nothing.

No one watching.

No one close enough to have placed it without being seen.

She stepped forward carefully.

Picked it up.

Turned it over.

No dirt.

No damage.

Like it had never been dropped.

Never been lost.

She handed it back.

Libby took it, her grip tightening just slightly.

“That’s not possible,” she whispered.

Missy didn’t argue.

Didn’t try to explain it.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

They didn’t stay.

Didn’t question it further.

Because there wasn’t an answer that made sense.

The diner felt louder when they walked back in.

Too normal.

Like the world hadn’t shifted at all.

Brad looked up first.

“You guys good?” he asked.

Missy slid into the booth.

“We’ve got a meet tonight,” she said.

Pam leaned forward. “With who?”

“Records clerk. Name’s Marie.”

Libby sat beside her, still holding the notebook.

“She knew me,” she added.

Alex frowned. “Knew you how?”

“She called me Ellie,” Libby said.

Silence fell over the table.

Jeff looked down slightly.

Pam didn’t interrupt—but her attention sharpened.

Missy nodded once. “She’s helping us. But it’s off the books.”

Brad let out a slow breath. “That sounds illegal.”

“It is,” Pam said.

Missy didn’t deny it.

The phone rang.

Sharp.

Cutting through everything.

The waitress picked it up.

Listened.

Then turned toward their table.

“It’s for you,” she said, looking at Missy.

Missy stood and walked over, taking the receiver.

“Yeah?”

A pause.

Then her expression shifted.

Subtle.

But enough.

“Hey,” she said. “Slow down.”

Libby was already halfway out of her seat.

Missy held up a hand.

Listening.

“…Missy, please,” their mother’s voice came through the line, tight and shaking. “I need you to listen to me.”

“I am listening,” Missy said calmly.

“You have to bring them home,” she said. “Right now.”

Missy glanced back at Libby and Alex.

“They’re okay,” she said.

“No,” their mother snapped. “You don’t understand. Something’s wrong—I can feel it.”

Her voice cracked.

“Please don’t help them do this.”

Missy exhaled slowly.

“They came here for answers.”

“And they’re going to find something they shouldn’t,” she said. “Missy, I’m begging you.”

Silence stretched.

Heavy.

Missy’s gaze shifted back to the table.

To Libby.

Watching her.

Then she said one word.

“Pam.”

The line went quiet.

Immediately.

Completely.

Then—

“…Pam’s there?” their mother asked, softer now.

“Yeah,” Missy said.

A long pause followed.

Then a slow exhale.

Not relief.

Not fully.

But something steadier.

“…okay,” she said quietly.

The fear didn’t disappear.

But it changed.

“They’re still in danger,” she added.

“I know,” Missy replied.

“But they’re not alone.”

Another pause.

Then—

“Just… bring them back,” she said. “When you can.”

Missy didn’t promise.

“Yeah,” she said.

And hung up.

When she came back to the table, no one asked right away.

They already knew.

“She wants you home,” Missy said.

Alex nodded faintly.

“Yeah,” she murmured.

Libby looked down at the notebook in her hands.

Then back up.

“We’re still going tonight,” she said.

Missy met her gaze.

“Yeah,” she said.

“We are.”

Night settled in slow.

Heavy.

The service road behind the municipal storage buildings was exactly what Marie described.

Empty.

No lights.

No movement.

Gravel crunching under their shoes felt too loud.

Missy checked the time.

“Eight.”

Right on.

Headlights appeared in the distance.

Approaching slow.

Controlled.

A car pulled in.

Stopped.

Engine idling for a moment—

then shut off.

Marie stepped out.

Alone.

She looked more tense now.

Less composed.

Her eyes went straight to Libby.

“…Ellie,” she said softly.

Libby didn’t correct her.

Marie walked closer, clutching a thin file tightly in her hands.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said. “If anyone checks the logs—”

Missy stepped in gently.

“Then let’s make it quick.”

Marie nodded.

Right.

Focus.

She held the file out.

Hesitated.

Then placed it in Libby’s hands.

“This is everything I could pull without triggering anything obvious,” she said.

Libby looked down at it.

Then back up.

“Marie…”

Marie shook her head.

“Read it first,” she said.

A beat.

“Then ask.”

Pam shifted slightly, scanning the dark around them.

“You said these were flagged,” she said. “Why?”

Marie’s eyes stayed on Libby.

“…because some cases don’t stay closed,” she said quietly.

The night pressed in around them.

Closer.

Quieter.

And standing there—

with the file in her hands and the notebook tucked under her arm—

Libby felt it again.

That same quiet certainty.

That this wasn’t something they had stepped into.

It was something—

that had already been waiting for them to come back.

Marie’s expression shifted the second the name left Libby’s mouth.

“…Pascow?”

It wasn’t confusion.

It was recognition.

Immediate.

Uneasy.

“You know that name?” Missy asked.

Marie let out a slow breath.

“Yeah,” she said. “Everyone did—for a while.”

A beat.

“He was a student. Got hit by a car just outside campus.”

Pam frowned slightly. “And Louis knew him?”

Marie shook her head.

“That’s the thing,” she said. “He didn’t.”

Silence.

Then—

“He was brought into the hospital,” Marie continued. “Bad shape. Really bad.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Libby.

“To your dad.”

Ellie didn’t react.

Not outwardly.

But her grip tightened slightly on the file.

Marie kept going.

“Dr. Creed tried to save him,” she said. “That’s what people said.”

A pause.

“Worked on him longer than anyone thought he should.”

Missy narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Meaning?”

Marie hesitated.

Then—

“Meaning Pascow was already gone,” she said. “But he didn’t stop.”

The words settled heavy.

Pam crossed her arms.

“So Louis tried to save him… and later he’s talking to him?”

Marie nodded faintly.

“Yeah,” she said.

A beat.

“That’s why people started talking.”

Ellie finally spoke.

Quiet.

“He spoke to me too.”

Everyone looked at her.

Marie’s brow furrowed slightly.

“What do you mean?”

Ellie didn’t look at her.

Her eyes were on the file.

On the line.

You warned me… Pascow… protect my Ellie.

“He came to me,” she said. “After the accident.”

A pause.

“Before we even knew what was happening.”

No one interrupted.

Because the way she said it—

wasn’t dramatic.

Wasn’t uncertain.

It was matter-of-fact.

Missy studied her carefully.

“And you didn’t think that mattered?” she asked.

Ellie let out a quiet breath.

“I didn’t think it was real,” she said.

A beat.

“I was a kid.”

Pam shook her head slightly.

“Yeah,” she said. “Except now we’ve got a documented record of your dad talking to the same person.”

Marie looked between them.

Something unsettled settling deeper now.

“So this isn’t just…” she trailed off.

“Grief?” Missy finished.

Marie nodded faintly.

“Yeah.”

Missy shook her head.

“No,” she said.

“It’s not.”

Ellie flipped back to the page again.

Reading the line one more time.

Slower now.

Taking it in differently.

“You warned me…” she read under her breath.

Pam leaned slightly closer.

“So what did he warn him about?”

Ellie didn’t answer right away.

Because that part—

she did remember.

“Not to do it,” she said quietly.

A beat.

“Not to bring anything back.”

Silence.

Jeff shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah… that tracks with everything we’ve heard.”

Marie looked at Ellie again.

More carefully now.

Less like someone remembering a friend—

and more like someone realizing what that friend had been connected to.

“And he asked him to protect you,” Marie said.

Not a question.

Ellie nodded once.

Missy stepped in.

“Which means he thought something was coming for her,” she said.

A beat.

“Or already had.”

Pam glanced out into the dark.

Then back at the group.

“Either way,” she said, “this isn’t over.”

Ellie closed the file slowly.

Her thoughts weren’t racing anymore.

They were aligning.

Locking into place.

“Pascow wasn’t part of it,” she said.

A beat.

“He was trying to stop it.”

Missy nodded.

“Then maybe he still is.”

Marie shook her head slightly.

“You’re talking about a dead guy like he’s still involved.”

Ellie looked up at her.

Calm.

Certain.

“He is,” she said.

That landed differently than everything else.

Because no one argued.

The night pressed in around them.

Quiet.

Still.

Pam shifted her weight slightly.

“We shouldn’t stay here much longer,” she said.

Missy nodded.

“Agreed.”

Marie took a small step back.

“You’ve got what I could give you,” she said. “Anything more than that—”

She shook her head.

“I can’t help you.”

Ellie gave a small nod.

“That’s more than enough,” she said.

Marie hesitated.

Then—

“Ellie…”

She stopped.

Choosing her words carefully.

“Whatever this is,” she said, “it didn’t start with you.”

A beat.

“But it didn’t end without you either.”

Ellie held her gaze.

Didn’t argue.

“I know,” she said.

They parted after that.

No long goodbye.

No comfort.

Just the understanding—

that whatever they had stepped into…

had been waiting a long time to be found again.

The diner noise pressed in around them—plates, voices, coffee pouring—but it all felt distant. Muffled. Like it was happening behind glass.

Libby didn’t notice at first.

Her pen moved fast across the page, scribbling half-formed thoughts, arrows, fragments—

Pascow = warning
knows names
before death / after—

Her hand slowed.

Stopped.

Something didn’t line up.

She looked up.

Brad.
Alex.
Missy.
Jeff.
Pam.

Her stomach dropped so fast it made her dizzy.

“Where’s Marie?”

No one answered.

Jeff blinked. “What?”

Libby’s eyes moved again—counting, slower this time.

“One, two, three…” she whispered. “No—no, she was right behind us. She was on the road—”

Brad went still.

That same shift again—when something clicks into place and you wish it hadn’t.

“…she wasn’t,” he said quietly.

Libby snapped toward him. “Yes, she was.”

Brad shook his head, already locked into the memory. “When we turned onto the back road, I checked the mirror.” His voice tightened. “There was nothing behind us.”

Missy’s face went pale. “That’s not true—I would’ve seen her headlights—”

“You didn’t,” Brad said. Not harsh. Just certain. “None of us did.”

Pam leaned forward, voice trembling. “Maybe she turned off? Maybe she—”

“There’s nowhere to turn,” Jeff cut in. “Not out there.”

Silence fell hard over the table.

Alex’s voice came out barely above a whisper.

“She never made it off the road.”

Libby felt it settle in her chest like something heavy and cold.

Marie hadn’t missed the diner.

She’d been left behind.

The bell over the door jingled.

Every nerve in Libby’s body lit up at once.

The cop stepped inside.

Same one.

Same slow, deliberate walk. Like time didn’t move the same for him as it did for everyone else.

The room noticed—but not enough to stop him.

His eyes found them immediately.

Of course they did.

He walked straight over.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t ask.

Just stopped at the edge of the table and looked down at them like he already knew how this was going to go.

“Evening,” he said.

No one answered.

His gaze moved across the group—counting.

Then landed on her.

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“Ellie.”

The name hit like a slap.

Libby was on her feet before she even realized she’d moved. Her chair screeched loudly against the tile.

“Don’t call me that.”

The shift in the room was instant.

Subtle—but real.

The cop didn’t react.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t even pretend to misunderstand.

“Ellie,” he said again, calmer this time. “You and your friends shouldn’t be here.”

“I said don’t,” she snapped, her voice cutting sharp enough to turn heads now. “That’s not my name.”

Brad stood too, tension rolling off him. “Hey, she told you—”

The cop ignored him completely.

Still watching Libby.

“You used it once,” he said. “For a long time.”

Libby’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

“I stopped when I was nine,” she said. Each word precise. Controlled. “So unless you’ve got a file on me you shouldn’t have, you don’t get to use it.”

That got a reaction.

Not from him.

From the room.

People were listening now.

The cop tilted his head slightly, studying her like she’d just proven something.

“Names don’t just go away,” he said. “Not the important ones.”

Missy shifted nervously. “Brad…”

But Libby didn’t back down.

“Our friend is missing,” she said, louder now. “She was behind us on that road and now she’s gone. So if you’ve been following us like we think you have, you’re going to tell me what you know.”

The word missing carried.

A waitress froze mid-step.

Someone at the counter turned fully around.

The cop’s expression didn’t change—but something underneath it hardened.

“She didn’t make it very far,” he said.

Pam sucked in a sharp breath. “What does that mean?”

Jeff leaned forward. “Did you see her or not?”

The cop finally looked away from Libby—just briefly.

“Back road like that,” he said, “people get turned around. Stop where they shouldn’t.”

Brad’s voice dropped. “Or someone makes them.”

That earned him a look.

Cold.

Then the cop stepped closer to the table again.

Close enough now that it felt intentional.

Close enough that Libby could see the faint reflection of herself in his badge.

“Ellie,” he said quietly, like it was just between them now, “you should’ve stayed gone.”

That was it.

Something in Libby snapped loose.

“My name is LIBBY,” she shot back, loud enough that the entire diner went quiet this time. “And you don’t get to drag up something that’s dead and act like you know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

The word hung there.

Dead.

The wrong word.

The worst word.

The cop’s eyes flickered—just for a second.

Then hardened.

“Well,” he said, voice no longer friendly, “you’re getting awfully loud for someone asking for help.”

Brad stepped in, grabbing Libby’s arm. “Hey—hey, okay, that’s enough—”

“No,” Libby snapped, yanking free. “He knows something.”

“And you,” the cop continued, now addressing all of them, “are starting to look like a group causing a disturbance.”

There it was.

The shift.

Authority.

Control.

Alex stepped in quickly. “We’re not—we’re just trying to find our friend—”

“Then I suggest,” the cop said, straightening, “you calm down and let me handle it.”

No one spoke.

Because now the rules had changed.

He wasn’t just watching them anymore.

Now—

he had a reason to stop them.

And outside, beyond the diner lights—

the dark road waited.

The one Marie never made it off of.

They didn’t argue about it.

Not really.

By the time they left the diner, it was already understood—no one was going off alone again.

Not after Marie.

The motel room wasn’t built for six people.

Too small. Too stale. The air smelled faintly of old carpet and something chemical trying to cover it up. Brad dragged in a chair from outside. Jeff took the floor without complaint. Pam and Missy shared one bed. Libby and Alex took the other.

No one turned the lights all the way off.

And no one slept easily.

It didn’t feel like falling asleep.

It felt like slipping.

Like something pulling them under at the exact same moment.

They were standing in the road.

All of them.

Together—but not.

The air was colder than it should’ve been. The sky hung low and gray, like it didn’t belong to any real time of day.

The Creed house stood ahead.

Still.

Silent.

Watching.

Libby felt it immediately—that same pressure from before. That same wrongness sitting just beneath everything.

Then—

movement.

A small figure burst from the yard.

A child.

Running.

Fast.

Straight toward the road.

“Gage,” Alex whispered, though none of them had said his name before.

Behind him—

Louis.

Running harder.

Desperate.

“Gage!” he shouted. “Gage, stop!”

His voice cracked in a way that didn’t sound like acting or memory.

It sounded like something breaking in real time.

The truck’s roar came from nowhere.

Too loud.

Too fast.

Too late—

The scene snapped.

Not faded.

Not transitioned.

Snapped.

The kitchen.

Dim light. Yellowed. Sickly.

The air felt thick. Wrong.

Libby couldn’t move.

None of them could.

They weren’t in the room.

They were inside it.

Watching.

Louis stood there.

Waiting.

Still as a statue, but trembling in small, almost invisible ways—his hands, his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.

The back door creaked.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Every inch of it felt stretched.

Rachel stepped inside.

Barefoot.

Her dress hung wrong on her frame. Her movements just slightly off—like something was wearing her instead of being her.

“Louis…” she said softly.

Her voice sounded… layered.

Like more than one thing was speaking at once.

No one in the room breathed.

Louis didn’t answer.

He just watched her.

Waited.

She took a step forward.

Then another.

Her eyes drifted—not quite focusing, not quite alive.

She reached the counter.

Her hand moved slowly… casually…

And picked up the knife.

Libby tried to scream.

Nothing came out.

Louis finally moved.

“One more step,” he said, his voice low, shaking, “and I’ll—”

Rachel smiled.

It wasn’t right.

It didn’t belong on her face.

“Oh, darling,” she said.

And then—

darkness swallowed the room.

Not dimming.

Not fading.

Gone.

Louis screamed.

Not once.

Not short.

It went on—raw, tearing, animal.

Echoing out of the dark like something being ripped apart.

Like something realizing too late what it had done.

Libby bolted upright.

Gasping.

The motel room snapped back around her—dim light, stale air, bodies shifting in panic.

Beside her, Alex jerked awake at the exact same moment.

Across the room—

Brad.
Missy.
Jeff.
Pam.

All of them sitting up.

All of them breathing hard.

All of them looking at each other with the same expression.

No one had to ask.

No one had to explain.

They already knew.

“We saw the same thing,” Jeff said, his voice barely holding steady.

Missy shook her head, backing slightly against the wall. “No. No, that’s not possible—”

“It is,” Alex said quietly.

Libby’s hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

From certainty.

“It wasn’t a dream,” she said.

Silence fell over the room again.

Heavy.

Waiting.

Brad looked at her. “Then what was it?”

Libby swallowed, her eyes drifting toward the dark window.

Toward the road beyond it.

“Them,” she said. “Showing us.”

A long pause.

Pam’s voice came out small. “Showing us what?”

Libby didn’t answer right away.

Because she already knew.

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.

“What happens… when you don’t listen.”

And somewhere far off—

beyond the motel…

beyond the road they came in on—

something waited.

Patient.

Like it knew they were coming back.

No one spoke after that.

They didn’t need to.

Six people.

Same dream.

Same details.

The same screams still echoing somewhere deep in their heads.

Brad rubbed his face, pacing once before stopping short. “That wasn’t normal,” he muttered. “That doesn’t just happen.”

“No,” Libby said quietly.

She was still staring at the window.

At the dark beyond it.

Something about the dream hadn’t let go.

It hadn’t ended.

It had just… stopped.

Like it was waiting.

Missy pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “So what—what, we’re just supposed to go back there now? After that?”

No one answered.

Because they all knew the truth.

They weren’t being warned away.

They were being pulled in.

Alex looked at Libby. “You think that was Pascow?”

Libby shook her head slowly.

“No,” she said.

A beat.

“That didn’t feel like a warning.”

Silence stretched again.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Brad let out a breath. “Then what the hell was it?”

Libby finally looked away from the window.

At all of them.

Her voice came out steady.

Too steady.

“An invitation.”

The word settled over the room like something alive.

No one argued.

No one laughed it off.

Because deep down—

they felt it too.

Outside, a car passed slowly along the road.

Headlights dragging across the motel curtains.

For just a second—

too quick to be sure—

it looked like something moved in that light.

Standing there.

Watching.

Then it was gone.

Dark again.

Still.

Libby didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Because now she understood something she hadn’t before.

Marie hadn’t just gone missing.

She’d been taken first.

And whatever took her—

wasn’t finished.